Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/150748.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Ginny_Weasley/Charlie_Weasley
  Character:
      Ginny_Weasley, Charlie_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Drama, Coming_of_Age, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Minor
      Violence, Bad_Decisions
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-02 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 35119
****** Postcards From Exile ******
by sharkygal
Summary
     Romania, 1996 - the lost summer.
***** I *****
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, places, etc. belong to
J.K. Rowlings. They are not mine. You would have to be crazy to think that. I
am not that crazy. This is strictly non-profit, because I would go directly to
hell for that. For external use only.
 
o o o

               And did you exchange your walk-on part in the war
                          for a lead role in a cage?
                      (Pink Floyd - "Wish You Were Here")


                              I'm not all right,
                                 but I'm okay
                   (Nothingface - "Murder Is Masturbation")
 
o o o
Dear Mum & Dad (see? I'm using the Muggle picture cards you gave me, as
promised),
Romania is fine, I suppose. Still don't see why Ron gets to stay with Bill
while I got sent all the way off to here, but you already heard my arguments &
don't care are differently opinioned. But it's nice seeing Charlie, & everyone
here seems an all right sort. Charlie says to tell you I'm not being allowed by
the dragons, & that he's feeding me loads of nutritious food that isn't too
spicy, & making sure I get up early & wash behind my ears & all that. Which is
rubbish. My ears are filthy, & I sleep 'til supper, which has been nothing but
Chocolate Frogs & butterbeer. You should send for me soon, or I may perish. You
don't want to risk my health, do you?
XOXO to all back home. Tell Ron I said he's a big prat hello.
Refugee ever faithful,
Ginevra Weasley
o o o
Ginny finally got the camp's communal owl to take her picture card...thingy,
but only through threat (desperate and unconvincing) and bribery (heavy, also
desperate).
Owls, it would seem, hated the silly things -- God only knew why. You'd think
they would appreciate them, being just sleek little scraps of pretty paper
rather than Marika's two-foot-long novels to home or the Howlers Nicu bombarded
his friends with for fun, but apparently not. Did owls get paper-cuts? Maybe
that was a concern.
Ginny shivered, and hugged herself, tucking her hands into her armpits. Summer
hadn't quite infiltrated the Carpathians, especially in the thicker forests,
and she could feel what wind there was pierce right through her clothes (hand-
me-down red jumper, probably Percy's, jeans stolen from Ron that fit alarmingly
well).
Romania, away from the Order, was not where she'd envisioned her summer
holiday.
"Oy, Ginny," called Jaswinder from London (that's how she thought of most of
the camp; Jase-from-Toronto, Reiko-from-Blackpool, Panos-from-Athens). "You
seen Charlie skulking about?"
Sunlight caught Jaswinder's hair as she tromped up the hill, and flashed vivid
unnatural violet, before she shoved it back behind her ears. A fierce
impression of Tonks flickered in Ginny's mind, then was gone, and homesickness
was like a sudden shaft through her heart, so strong it made her stomach clench
around the feeling.
Ginny shook her head, tasted sour longing. "No," she said, coming out of
herself. "No, not since breakfast."
"Damn," Jas frowned, and pulled her cardigan straight, looking off at the tree-
line as if he might be hiding there, like a squirrel, just to spite them.
"Well, if he turns up, tell him the Longhorns from the meadow are having a go
and he's missing all the fun."
Somehow 'fun' would not be her first choice to describe fighting dragons, but
Ginny nodded politely. "Of course."
Jaswinder grinned, white-toothed and charmingly crooked, then clapped Ginny on
the shoulder. Admirably, Ginny hid her wince. "Right then, I'm off -- laters,
love!" she waved, and jogged away without waiting for an answer, long black
skirt swishing. The little chimes on her golden chain belt made shimmery
jangling sounds like fairy bells.
Barking mad, the lot. Probably why she got on so well with them.
There really wasn't much to do at the camp, when the others were gone. Never
quiet, thanks to the funny little Muggle music receptor Panos and Reiko set up
by the fire pit, usually set to receive what she was told was called 'punking
rock', wholly unlike anything on the WWN. Shame it was all in Russian -- would
give Mum absolute fits back home (perhaps at supper tonight, Ginny would ask
Reiko if punking had come to Britain yet).
She fiddled with the volume control, and tried not to think of what intrigue
the Order must be managing these days, forcing herself to concentrate instead
on the great dilemma: Which Distraction Next?
Shall it be reading, knitting, or suicide?
"Careful, might freeze like that," came a voice from directly behind her.
Ginny didn't startle. After years of both brothers and You-Know-Who, she hardly
had any nerves left. She rolled her eyes instead, and turned around, hand
cocked on hip. "What are you blithering about, Charlie?"
"Your face," he smiled; she thought it must be an insult, until he unexpectedly
continued the thought. "You looked so serious, I hardly recognized you. Had me
wondering, 'when'd Percy grow his hair so long'?" the last delivered with
wicked relish, and he chucked her under the chin.
That was an insult. "Prat!" she growled, and socked him in the belly so hard,
he laughed between wheezes. "Jas came looking for you. There's a row between
some dragons."
"When isn't there? It's mating season, they're hormonal buggers," Charlie
rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "You hit just like Bill, y'know."
"Should, he taught me."
Sneaky-quick, she went to demonstrate once more. He caught her hands this time,
and began to spin her round and round with him like she used to make Ron, 'til
she was dizzy and shrieking with laughter. Ring around the rosies, pocket full
of posies... "Oh Charlie, stop, please, oh I'll be sick," she giggled and
gasped, and he obliged, crashing to the ground with her, to lay side-by-side
panting for breath.
Sometimes Romania could be a bit of all right.
After a second, Charlie propped himself up on one elbow, to face her. "How are
you, Ginny?"
Left out. Useless. Bloody freezing. "Fine."
The sky was pale grayish-blue. She'd like to think of it as 'silvery', but it
was really just gray. It would be hot in London right then, probably clear.
Goosebumps pebbled the skin beneath her jumper sleeves, and she sat up, locking
her teeth to keep them from chattering. The grass was almost as cold as the
wind.
"Bit chilly out today, isn't it?" he said and sat up as well, as if reading her
thoughts.
What do you mean, 'today'? As if he would know, in his nice warm rugby shirt,
scarf, and ever-present red windcheater. "Mm," was all Ginny said, vaguely.
Political exiles were, of course, aloof and blasé, just by nature. Plus, it
made you seem more posh. At least, that's what Parvati and Lavender told her.
But they were probably full of it. Charlie gave her a sparkly-eyed look, that
didn't seem very bowled over by her sophistication. "Aren't you opinionated?"
Brothers were so stupid. "Oh, get off," Ginny gave him a shove with her feet,
smiling.
"What?" said Charlie very innocently. "I was being perfectly genuine -- lovely
trainers, by the way. Most redheads can't pull off that shade."
Ginny blushed, and tucked her knees to her chest, for warmth as well as to hide
her blindingly pink high-top shoes. "I was trying to spell them red," she
muttered. "It just came out a little...off, is all. I'm afraid they'll grow
tails or start talking if I do anything else to them."
Charlie nodded absently, having stopped paying attention by then, to what she
was saying at least. Instead, he reached out to trace a strangely perpendicular
set of scars along her left shoe's toe. She looked at him curiously. "These
were my old trainers," he said.
"Y'know, I'd thought maybe. You've the twins' build, and I wear their size,"
she held one foot up to the light, as if she hadn't already examined each in
unhappily pink detail. "Wish I'd got the height as well. Ron says it all went
to my feet instead," Ginny made a face, and sighed. "How'd you know it was
them, anyway? Didn't think even Seeker eyes were that good."
"If only! I'd be playing for England," he chuckled. "I recognized the brand,
and those scratches besides. Newborn manticore did it, broke my foot as well -
- I never could get the marks to fade, no matter what I cast," Charlie rubbed
the back of his head, ruffling his hair up even further. "But no wonder your
spell got so arsed up! Those manky old things are scarcely more than magic now.
I thought they were long dead and buried."
Ginny kept her face blank, brain whirring to recall if it had been summer
hols...two years back? When she'd dug them out of the attic, because she nor
Fred nor George could find a reasonably intact pair of their castoffs. That had
been a long afternoon, scavenging through the twins' closet (they, mirrors of
triumph, then devastation, together producing a single decent, mismatched set,
and broke her heart with love). But it'd been a longer one choking on antique
dust, and suffocated by three generations of clothes; her grandmother's, her
mother's, and all of theirs, the kids.
All of it better than having to ask Mum and Dad for another new pair she would
outgrow too fast.
There were just things you all felt and knew, growing up like they had. The
haze in Charlie's eyes said he was thinking the same. So Ginny made no comment.
Sometimes nothing was the best you could say.
In the distance, there was a great screeching roar, and some faint shouting.
Charlie hopped to his feet, and brushed himself off. "Well, Pinky, that's my
cue -- dragons wait for no man," she shivered through a smirk, and he quickly
stripped the scarf from his own neck, to loop around hers; hesitated only a
moment to drop a kiss on her cheek. "See you later, Gin."
His scarf was soft, rainbow-colored, and still warm. It smelled like him. "See
you," she echoed, putting fingertips to the place he'd kissed, finding it
freckled, still barely moist.
Charlie was already walking away, but he paused, to glance over his shoulder at
her. "I'd rather be there with them, too, you know."
Blood rushed to her face in a fierce, arterial wave. He didn't see it, like she
didn't, but she wondered if he could feel like she did, the heat coming from
her. Ginny burrowed her chin deeper into his scarf, and watched him go,
ignoring the tight ball of...whatever sitting in her stomach. Charlie still
wore Converse. Always black.
o o o


                               If I could count
                              from then 'til now
                              I'd count too high
                   I can't help but think about the meantime
                       (Phantom Planet - "The Meantime")

***** II *****
Note: Footnotes at the bottom. Oh my God, there are footnotes. Why?
 
o o o

                             Is this how it feels
                  when you don't even fit into your own skin?
                     (Thursday - "Signals Over The Air")
o o o
Dear Bill,
Hope Egypt is nice. Also hope it's warmer there than Romania, which shouldn't
be hard as there are warmer dungeons at Durmstrang currently. Isn't there ever
summer here? It's not that far from England. You should come visit & freeze
with us soon, because Charlie & I may be gone shortly (me if Mum & Dad would
only regain senses, Charlie because he makes fun of me & I will kill him). All
of the people here are mad, but I think you'd like Marika -- she's pierced,
too, only in different places that I'm not sure you have. Don't get your hopes
or anything else up, though, you big tart. You unfortunately have a penis
aren't her type.
Miss you & the others. Be careful not to get cursed or anything. Oh & just in
case Mum & Dad didn't pass it on, please mention to Ron what an enormous toss
he is that I'm thinking of him.
Getting frostbite in the middle of bloody July,
your sister (Ginevra Weasley)
o o o
A few things that Ginny had learned, since her arrival in Romania:
Apparently there could never be too much soup or eggs -- occasionally together
in the same dish. Sour cream was also in good supply, though that was fairly
tasty.
No one actually wrestled the dragons, though Nicu would probably if the others
would let him.
And the green shoots of sexual intrigue Ginny had noticed just forming at
Hogwarts were in full bloom there at the camp.
Nothing was outright. You just saw it after awhile.
Ginny kept a log of observation (in her head; she didn't write anymore), like
they did of the dragons and their habits. Reiko wore feathers and a lock of
Marika's hair on the leather strip at her throat, smudged lavender lipstick on
the side of her neck. Jase watched in equal amounts skinny Panos shirtless in
the mornings, and Jas's long maple-icing legs, revealed as absently in the
firelight as they would be covered because Jaswinder only thought of dragons.
Nicu, who was mostly like Jas, but flirted with all of them, because he loved
everyone at least a little.
It was harder to tell where Charlie fit in. He was such a part of them, the
Weasley institution, that it was a like kissing her elbow to measure him, out
of their light. Like herself. Only except that she didn't have a place in group
politics at all.
She might wonder why that role always fell to her hands, but the answer would
probably just depress her, so she did silly pointless crafts instead. Like the
misshapen hat she was knitting (present for Neville), or trying to, at least,
when the owls would let her. "Shoo, Drag1," said Ginny, waving him off.
Drag flitted halfheartedly away, for only the barest necessary second, before
returning to tangle and pull at her yarn with his claws. "Cut it out, I mean
it!" she swatted at him again, and the owl's reply was to dart forward and sink
his beak into the soft flesh of her earlobe, hard; Ginny lurched backwards with
a startled cry.
Snakebite quick, Nicu snatched him by the feet, and yanked him off of her. "Bad
boy! Very naughty owl. There will be no attacking little girls here," he
scolded, unmindful of Drag's screeching, flapping protest -- Ginny shuddered,
violently glad he'd still had his thick dragon handler's gloves on (for both
their sakes). "Unless it is by big charming wolves, of course."
Nicu gave her an easy, long-lashed wink, and suddenly Ginny was intensely
absorbed in checking her bitten ear, willing the signature Weasley blush to
die, die, die. Her fingers came away slick, and cranberry red.
"Silivasi, you devil," as ever, Reiko seemed to appear out of nowhere, and
flopped down beside Ginny, one arm already slipping around her shoulders. "Are
you all right, Ginny love?" Reiko smoothed Ginny's hair out of the way for a
better look, and winced. "Horrid old vulture. What's his problem?"
The lush scent of mimosa water and ginger candy swelled like pomegranates,
dizzying, and Ginny breathed in deeply. If she tried, she could almost smell
Marika's spiced lotion fingerprints on Reiko's cheek. "I don't know," said
Ginny, wiping her bloodied hand on the grass. "He's just mental."
"Maybe he was envious of your very cheerful shoes," said Panos shyly, though
his eyes gleamed. Ginny threw a pinecone at him.
"Come on, let's get you patched up," said Reiko, and led her to the first aid
tent, which was less commonly referred to as Jase's tent; Reiko burst past the
door flap, shouting. "Hey, Warrick! Where d'you keep that purple-foggy
rubbish?"
"Sorry, there's only me in here, but I've got some of the 'rubbish' on
brewing," it was dark inside and Ginny's eyes took a moment to adjust. Once
they did, she saw Charlie, sitting on the floor in only his jeans, with a small
cauldron haloed by an aubergine mist. There were long, wicked gouges carved
down his back.
Ginny gasped, but Reiko hardly seemed fazed at all, breezing right past him to
the gigantic medical cabinet. "Never mind, you're probably going to need most
of that. We'll use the little disposable what's-its instead," she tossed the
cabinet doors open, rifling through the shelves inside, and teased him over her
shoulder while she searched. "Gorgeous scratches. Cut yourself shaving?"
"Ah, you know it was your razor wit that did it," he grinned sheepishly. "With
a little help."
"Cross wankers. Honestly, you'd think the dragons would be cheerier from all
that shagging -- ah! Here we are," Reiko emerged holding a miniature cotton-
tipped wand, and a small tube filled with some kind of glowing purple liquid.
"Poke this little stick into the vial, and give it a good shake, so the potion
soaks through. Then just swab it on your ear, and Bob's your uncle, you're good
as new. Okay?"
"Thanks," Ginny accepted both parts from her without looking, too distracted by
the red oozing channels in her brother's skin.
Reiko patted Ginny's cheek, and smiled. "Well, the fellows and I are due for a
spot of dragon ward renewal at town, so I've got to be off," she glanced at
Charlie, very purposefully casual. "You going to be all right, Weasley?"
He waved her off, not quite able to stifle his wince. "Go on, I'm fine, I'm
bloody spectacular."
"You make a terrible patient, you know that?" Reiko winked, and blew them both
kisses. "Take care, children. Behave, don't die, and watch out for the nasty
owls."
Then she was gone, as abruptly as she had shown up. Charlie shook his head, and
adjusted the fire beneath his cauldron. Its flames were a soft, shimmering
green that reminded her of Potions class (it wasn't a completely horrible
association, strangely). "So what's this about owls?" he asked.
Oh...that. "It's nothing. Drag's just acting a nutter today, is all," Ginny
fiddled with the tiny wand, voice dropping to a disgruntled mutter. "Apparently
has some sort of mental instability about knitting."
Charlie was quiet for a moment. "It's not today," he spoke up, inordinately
grave. "Something's been off with the owls lately, all of them."
A creeping sense of unease prickled along the back of her neck. She couldn't
have said why, exactly. "Do you think it's the dragons, spooking them maybe?"
"No, they're used to one another. Longhorns don't care for owl meat," said
Charlie, and gave the potion one final stir, before putting his fire out. "At
least, they don't usually. That's the other thing -- the dragons are acting
queer as well."
The disquieted feeling had trickled down, to sit heavy, cold, as marble in the
drop of her belly. Far from any blush (Weasley or otherwise), she knew she
would be pale, freckles standing out like dark constellations. "What's
happening, do you think?" she sounded small and young, embarrassing to her own
ears; Charlie craned round to look at her.
"I don't know," he shrugged, eyes distant and troubled. "It's only a feeling
I've got. Something's not right."
There was a basket of clean, white rags off to the side. Charlie grabbed one,
dipped it into the medical potion, and twisted to reach over his shoulder,
where his cuts were. His face contorted with pain, as he struggled to swipe at
them. Ginny threw the set of vial and disposable wand onto Jase's futon, and
knelt behind her brother. "Here, you silly git," she said, taking the rag from
him. "Let me do it."
"Cheers, Pinky, you're a good girl," he said, then sighed as she began bathing
his many gashes. "A very good one."
She worked in mostly silence. The potion was sticky, and had a slight sweet
fragrance, like milk, Charlie's skin. His body was warm even on such a chilly
day, as if it had retained all the heat of his thousand burns from years past,
and his muscles would flutter gently sometimes, under her careful touch.
There were loads of those muscles, too, through his broad shoulders and back.
Thick, sinewy columns on either side of his spine, tapering only the slightest
into his waist, the dense core of his strength (and he was tremendously strong;
she remembered once long past, him with a twin under each arm and Bill on his
back, racing them all 'round the yard).
Never had she been as aware of his solid space, her own, or the empty ones
between them.
"That feels lovely," murmured Charlie, barely audible but she thought she
could've read the vibration, resonating deep in his chest and echoed
soundlessly in hers. "You're really good at this."
"Practice makes perfect. One of you lot was always ripping off half his skin,
playing Quidditch," strangely dry-mouthed, she fought to swallow. "Somebody had
to be mediwitch."
"You made a decent Seeker as well, as I recall."
"I wasn't awful," said Ginny evenly, trying not to let show how thrilled she
felt at the recognition. "I'll make a better Chaser."
It was a bit funny, how you could know someone, and not even need to see their
face to know the moment they smiled. She could feel it come off him, like sound
waves. "You know you'll be brill, whatever you play. Quidditch might not have
got us all equally, but you've got your share," Charlie flexed his shoulder
blades gingerly, testing them. "How's it look?
"Terrible, absolutely awful, you could die any second. The mere sight of it's
scarred me for life."
"Oh, well, just as long as it's all right."
His skin was knitting itself back together before her eyes, thankfully better
than she had ever managed with needles and yarn. In only a matter of minutes,
all that remained were crinkled, silvery lines, to go with the multitudes
already crisscrossing his torso.
A low, deep tingling had begun in her fingertips; examining them, she found
only baby pink skin. The potion had dissolved all her calluses. "Weird,"
muttered Ginny. On impulse, she drew her hand over his healed flesh, feeling
smooth new scar tissue in hypersensitive detail. A subtle shudder ran through
Charlie.
The tingling redoubled, nothing to do with magic. "Thanks, Gin. Madam Pomfrey
would be proud," he said, a touch hoarsely; Charlie shifted around to look at
her more easily, his eyes instantly drawn to her bloodied neck and ear. "Here,"
he took a clean rag, and used one corner to mop up the last few smoking purple
drops from the cauldron bottom. "Hold still."
Charlie reached out, and she wordlessly swept her hair back, holding it out of
the way for him to dab, dab, dab at her ear.
His fingers were large, somewhat square, surprisingly agile. But they were also
very gentle, which was not surprising at all because Charlie was nothing if not
gentle. It was what animals sensed, that drew them to him.
The potion's sweet stench was almost overwhelming, so near to her nose -
- Ginny's eyes watered from it, and the sting. She didn't know quite where to
look, with him turned round now and bent in, only inches away. It was probably
the closest she had ever looked at her brother face-to-face, half-naked, and
she noticed that his eyes were soft, murky blue, banded by her own cinnamon
hazel.
She stared resolutely at his forehead, aware of her pulse, the sounds both of
them made inhaling, exhaling.
"There," his voice drew her attention back; she startled herself by looking him
directly head-on. He startled a little as well, and accidentally brushed her
throat with his knuckles as he drew his hand away. "Sorry."
The moment lingered, humming in gazes carefully dropped, shared breaths. A
sudden, vivid image of Charlie palming her breast seared her, and she felt her
face burn along with her ear, a rush of blazing cold shimmering through her
whole body. "Er...right, thanks a heap," she scrambled to her feet, blood
pounding. "Feels loads better already."
Charlie smiled, bemused. "Yes, I've always thought the ability to heal was an
excellent quality in a healing draught."
Ginny laughed, and was highly impressed with herself that it was not a more
hysterical reaction. "Right. Well. Knitting awaits! Even if it is stupid and
boring and Neville's hat looks more like a cat jumper than anything," she
tripped over her feet, stumbling toward the tent flap, and escape. "Bye!"
"Ginny, hold on," he called out. Achingly close to scot-free, but somehow she
coaxed her legs into stopping, her face into some kind of normal expression.
She sneaked a tiny glance over her shoulder, and saw Charlie pulling on an old
green tee-shirt. Dim filtered sunlight arced across his bare chest and stomach,
and caught the fine hairs dusted over his pectorals; a thin trail of auburn led
down from his navel, to vanish in the shadowed hollow behind his zipper.
Bloody hell. She needed to lie down, and...jab her eyes with sticks or
something. "Yeah?"
His hair was messy, static-charged, alternately standing on end and falling
into his eyes. Rather like Harry's, which was not a helpful connection at the
moment. "You might want to check your tent," said Charlie, far too innocently.
"Difficult to say what might have wandered in."
Ginny narrowed her eyes. Without wasting a millisecond, she raced from Jase's
tent to her own. "If you have transfigured my pillow into some type of animal
again, I will hex off your bollocks and strangle you with them!" she screamed
behind her.
She did not recklessly throw open the door flap, as she so desired to. Life
with Fred and George had taught her caution (that, and to stop, drop, and
roll). First, she put her good ear to it, listening for any telltale growling
or rustling about. Satisfied on that account, Ginny warily poked her head
inside -- and gasped.
At the foot of her bed were a pair of suede boots; light clover-honey brown,
embroidered with a rainbow of runes and trimmed in creamy fur. They
were...beautiful. Amazing. Ginny traced their butter-soft curves, and let out
the long shaky breath she hadn't been conscious of holding. There was a card
inside one.
Was accosted by women's shoe personnel. Knew you had enormous feet, so thought
you might like these.
Love, Charlie
The boots would be a perfect fit, she could tell it just by looking at them.
Love, Charlie.
Ginny ran back out, so focused on finding Charlie and barraging him with hugs
and excited squealing, that she almost didn't notice the heavy white flakes
falling thickly all around her. Then she felt them land like cool kisses on her
cheeks, trickle icy through her hair, and stopped in her tracks. "Charlie," she
shouted, after a shocked moment. "Charlie, come quick!"
It was hardly a second before he appeared, red-cheeked and excited. "Are they
all right? The color? I'm not exactly brilliant at shopping..." Charlie's voice
faded, the silly grin melting from his face; he stared up at the sky in utter
disbelief. "Merlin's bony arse," he said. "It's snowing."
o o o

                        Goodness knows I saw it coming
                         or at least I'll claim I did
                        but in truth I'm lost for words
                         (Snow Patrol - "Chocolate")
 
* * *
1Drag - Sweetheart
***** III *****
Warning: Round one of horrible Romanian skills! Not much yet, but oh, just you
wait.
o o o

                              Don't make this out
                                to be more than
                                   it isn't
                        (Chevelle - "Don't Fake This")
o o o
Dear Professor Mr. Remus Professor Lupin,
There is snow up to my knees here. More is falling as we speak. It is bloody
August. Do you know of any spell that could be responsible for this type of
unbelievable bollocks abnormality? Would it have any, er, side effects, you
think? Such as sudden, enormously inappropriate sexual interests? I will keep
you posted with any further mental deviations developments.
Any information you might offer would be deeply appreciated, as would your
utmost discretion about this to my parents. They've got enough to be frightened
about on their minds as it is. Thank you.
Sincerest regards,
Ginevra Weasley
P.S. - the parcel I sent is Muggle chocolate. It's not entirely a bribe. I just
miss all of you a lot know how much you like sweets.
o o o
Marika cast an Impervious charm on Ginny's new boots, so the snow and mud
wouldn't ruin them. Sometimes it was very nice, having other women around -
- they knew about things like that. The best you could expect from the men were
three mismatched pairs of old, holey socks to stick over them (a sweet, though
misguided collective effort).
It allowed her to tromp about as she liked, which was something she very, very
much liked. Even during freakish pseudo-winters, the Carpathians were a lovely,
fascinating place to explore.
Ginny never strayed very far, and was careful to avoid the dragons'
territories. She quite enjoyed having all her limbs unburned and undigested,
thank you. But the hill-walks gave her a nice bit of exercise, and something to
do besides. They were also an excellent way to get some time alone, to think.
Or not-think, as the case may be.
There'd been a lot of that lately.
Everyone was more busy than usual these days with the dragons. Norwegian
Ridgebacks had begun turning up, drawn by the freakish cold, and now the
Longhorns seemed too distracted fighting with each other and fighting the
Norwegians to remember what season it was supposed to be.
All the camp was worried, checking how badly their habits were being disrupted,
if their chances of successful mating had gone down the toilet entirely.
Romanian Longhorns only came into season once every five years -- something
like this could severely impact the species.
The camp owls had all deserted within a week of the first snowfall, so Jase and
Charlie had had to go to the nearest village earlier, in order to send out more
inquiries about The Situation. Of the responses so far, Dumbledore had sent his
best wishes but no answers, and word from the Ministry was that they were
imagining everything, there was nothing peculiar going on, but if there were,
it was a 'weather balloon'. Whatever the hell that was.
She'd given Jase the parcel for Lupin and her latest picture card...thing to
send as well. She had her own strings to pull, after all.
Right after everybody had left for the day, so had she.
Today's adventure walk was more pleasant than adventurous, even if it was
bloody effing cold and still snowing. Charlie had made her promise not to go
out if it were storming, but it only sprinkled the tiniest of flakes, and there
hadn't been a blizzard in a fortnight, so she was almost fairly positive that
nothing would happen. It wasn't breaking her word, not...completely.
What Charlie didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them.
Ginny had come a bit further out than she'd planned to, but her feet (warm
inside those gorgeous boots) seemed to have minds of their own, carrying her
onward -- north, deeper into the mountains than she had ever been. Eventually,
she stumbled upon a small, ice-glazed clearing. The higher she went, the colder
it was, she'd noticed. But wasn't that how it would usually be?
The clearing was quite pretty, like it was covered in glass. Ginny wandered
around it, somewhat aimless; balancing along the slick felled logs, hopping
from stump to stump, blowing clouds of frozen breath. Not-thinking about her
personal disruption that was nothing to do with temperature, and everything
with skin, scarred and toughened, nearly tanned from freckles.
It was quiet...quieter than it should have been. Loads of animals lived in the
area, so far from most humans. It left a subtle taste of menace zinging in her
mouth, like iron.
A stick snapped, disconcertingly loud in the absence, and the bushes at her
back shook. Something was there. Wand in hand, Ginny whirled around to face
whatever it was; too fast, and one foot shot out from under her, off the stump.
There wasn't even time to swear, a half-second moving backwards through space,
before she landed, tailbone first, then hit her back -- striking the ground so
hard, it forced the air from her lungs in a great, misty huff.
Ginny laid there a moment, too shocked to move, gasping. Colors swam in front
of her eyes, and agony sizzled along her nerve endings, swelling. Vulnerable,
her body screamed, and she gripped her wand tighter, held it out before her,
lifting her head (though it made her stomach heave) to scan for danger.
The something crashed through, and bolted straight toward her, then over,
leaping her without hesitation. Hooves passed inches above her face, and she
felt the air whoosh by, needle-cold; one struck her wand, knocking it from her
hand, and Ginny screamed in pain as well as fright. Once it had cleared her,
Ginny rolled as quickly on she could onto her stomach, and pushed herself up
onto elbows to see what it was. She barely caught a glimpse before it vanished
into the brush, opposite her.
A young, skinny reddish-colored buck, with the same sort of lumpy look many of
the animals had, caught halfway between shedding and growing winter coats.
Obviously scared out of its wits.
Quite a bit of that going around, apparently.
Silence blanketed the clearing once more. Ginny rose up shakily onto her hands
and knees, sobbing for breath, and felt around for her wand. Snow had begun
falling harder now, and stuck to her lashes. She wiped her eyes ferociously,
then grabbed her wand, jamming it in her pocket, and clambered upright.
Her hand throbbed where it had been kicked. Ginny cradled it to her chest, and
took off running towards the camp. She'd had enough walk to last her a long
while.
There were cramps all through her side, and her chest burned with every breath,
by the time she made it. Charlie and Jase were the only ones there, having
returned minutes earlier. "Hey, little sis," said Jase pleasantly. "We mailed
your stuff off, no problem -- their owls are still cool, not like our drama
queens. What's up? You look kinda' pale."
Charlie didn't look nearly so pleased. "Where've you been off at?" he asked,
frown deepening. "You said you'd stay put if the weather got bad. Ginny, you
promised," his cheeks were bright pink from cold. There were darker red patches
in his hair, damp where snowflakes had melted.
It's your fault, she wanted to shout. Instead, she pushed past him. "Spare me a
lecture from you on personal safety," she snarled, and stormed off to her tent.
She ripped off her boots and wet clothes, and chucked them in a ball into the
corner. Sod it, sod everything! Sod Charlie, and this whole summer -- wasted in
Romania when she could be helping fight, helping do something, doing anything
besides what she was, which was going completely mental and starting to think
things she couldn't understand, like what her brother's mouth would be like,
and why was this happening?
Angry tears squeezed out through her lashes, hot but cooling quickly on her
face. She just wanted...just...nothing. Something. But she wasn't supposed to.
Why wasn't she ever what was supposed to be?
"Fuck you," whispered Ginny to no one in particular -- the universe at large,
perhaps. She curled up on the bedroll, shivering in just her underwear, and put
her hands over her eyes. Her bruised hand and back hurt, but her head hurt
more, and felt just as bruised.
Reality faded in and out. Ginny was aware of being cold, but not caring enough
to do anything about it, and then someone coming inside, shaking her. "Wake up
now, love, come on," they coaxed. "Don't make me get the water bucket."
Ginny sat up with a jolt. Jaswinder was crouched beside her. "What's going on?"
she asked, scrubbing at her eyes. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Party, and a few hours, give or take," Jas looked her up and down. "The better
question would be, where did you find those darling knickers? They're fabulous
-- with the little dragons on them and that adorable lace..."
Ginny felt the blood rush to her skin, all over, and blushed even more, knowing
Jas could see all of it. "My mum makes them, I'll have her send you a pair,"
she thought for a second. "What's this about a party?"
Apparently, it had been declared they would have a small party at the local
tavern to boost camp morale. If she hadn't left so quickly, Jase probably would
have told her the same as he had the others, but she had instead used the time
far more wisely; by being in a good, long, naked strop.
"I am not in a strop -- or naked," muttered Ginny, trying not to smile or
freeze to death, whichever came first. "I was...tired."
"Of course," said Jaswinder dryly, then took a spare set of robes from her bag,
and draped them over Ginny's shoulders. "Come on, Sleeping Shirty. Let's get
you good and gorgeous for those Romanian boys -- 'cause you look like shit."
Ginny snorted, feeling for the arm openings. "Thank you. I'll be sure to tell
Jase what a bang-up job you've done on my morale already."
"If you don't hurry and fasten this robe on properly, you're going to raise a
lot more than morale."
It was a short, extremely cold dash to Jaswinder's tent. Ginny had barely time
to glimpse Panos and Jase by the fire pit, watching them in equal parts
confusion and alarm, before she was bodily dragged through the door flap.
Inside was a bizarre hybrid of library and dormitory. There were...things,
everywhere; clothes, papers, shoes, Quidditch gear, jars of ingredients and
also what appeared to marmalade. But there were also bookshelves lining every
available inch of wall, neatly stacked and sorted alphabetically. Ginny
couldn't help but goggle at it all.
"Closet Ravenclaw," said Jaswinder. "Now come into my parlor, said the spider
to the fly."
Total nutters. Every one of them.
Ginny gave her a blank stare, but obediently followed. There were three rooms
in all, four if you counted the lavatory, which was two more than Ginny had (if
you counted her lavatory). Jaswinder's bedroom was every bit as messy as her
study had been, though with far fewer potion jars and more Quidditch
paraphernalia.
Jas immediately began ransacking her closet. "No, no, no, yes, no, maybe, no,
no, oh FAB!" Jas gathered up her choices, and came towards Ginny, an unholy
light in her eyes. "Trust me! It'll be brill."
Which was when she realized her doom.
In a flash, Ginny found herself first stripped then dressed like a doll,
sputtering protests all the while. When it was done, Jaswinder conjured a full-
length mirror, and shoved her in front of it (as if an oncoming train). Her
brain stuttered to a momentary halt.
Short-sleeved peasant blouse, white with cherries printed on it, and some type
of stretchy band stuck on right underneath her breasts, pulling it snug over
them. Denim skirt with a centimeter or so brown leather fringe, dangling barely
halfway down her thigh. Uncomfortable, frilly push-up bra that formed her still
(oh Lord, please let it be) developing chest into a small, perfect knickknack
shelf.
Wait. Push-up bra? When had that happened?
"These were my mum's, back when she was a hippie," Jas volunteered cheerily.
"Except the bra, of course -- she burnt all hers. I just transfigured yours."
"Um," said Ginny, once she recovered the ability to speak. "It's very...aren't
I going to sort of freeze to death in this?"
Jas waved airily. "Oh, we'll be inside most of the night. Just move around a
lot, keep your circulation up, and you'll be fine."
There was some sound advice.
"Now, cosmetics aren't my strongest subject. You'll have to ask Marika about
those. But anyroad, if you'll excuse me, I have to see what dazzling clobber is
left to yours truly..." Jaswinder began pillaging her closet once more, as if
there could possibly be anything left to rifle through. Ginny happily took the
opportunity to toss out a fast 'thank you', and run for her life.
Emerging, she saw only Panos was still there, fiddling with the 'sounding
system' and looking bored. He glanced at her once briefly, then snapped his
head up to stare; blindly, he twisted the wrong knob, and leapt backwards when
polka music blared out at a deafening volume. Ginny tugged at her skirt self-
consciously, and hopped barefoot back through the snow, to fetch her boots.
Marika was waiting for her inside the tent. Speak of the devil. Ginny was
apparently quite popular today; she felt a new empathy for Harry. "Er...hi?"
"Hi," she said, and gave a soft, easy smile. Marika's heavy-lidded eyes always
made her seem sleepy, and her sleek, straw-blonde bob gleamed immaculately,
gelled into submission. Ginny touched her own hair, gone frizzy after being
snowed on and looking like angry rats had styled it. She sighed to herself.
They lapsed into momentary silence after that, simply looking at one another,
Ginny with increasing paranoia and Marika still smiling. Finally, Ginny
couldn't stand it any longer, and blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Where's Reiko?"
"In our tent, making herself crazy finding what to wear -- I do not share that
problem," Marika's full lips pressed into a slight self-deprecating smirk; she
wore her typical (comfortingly normal) hooded sweatshirt and camouflage
breeches, whimsical yellow socks peeking out from the top of her boots. Ginny
had never longed for another person's trousers so deeply. "It seems you don't
either, being ready so quickly," Marika hesitated, eyes darting to Ginny's
hair. Comprehension dawned.
Ginny wondered if every single woman on the planet had actually held a meeting
to decide that she needed a makeover, or if it was just some desperate
instinctual urge.
"All right," said Ginny, and flopped down in front of Marika. "Do your worst."
It wasn't an entirely traumatic experience. Hopes had been good for Marika,
anyhow, being so achingly cool herself it made lesser beings (such as Ginny)
want to build her a temple and become acolytes, or something like that. Her
hands felt marvelous, massaging the Sleekeasy's into Ginny's hair and raking
gently along her scalp. The steady rhythm of her dark, sorghum alto was
hypnotic.
Marika spoke to her all while working; of her mother in Germany, her Romanian
father, being expelled from Durmstrang when she was fifteen and transferring to
Beauxbatons. Places she had traveled, people she'd met, including her first
real love, a belly dancer called Aziza.
Ginny listened with her eyes closed, falling into the images Marika wove, the
spell of her voice. The world ceased to exist outside of that, and the skilled
fingers, combing through her hair.
Marika sighed, twisting a curl around her thumb. "You have such beautiful hair
-- it would be a sin to cut it. Just like your brother's, magnificent red..."
It was Charlie's hair, silky sliding around her fingers, Charlie with kohl-
rimmed eyes and a ruby in his navel, dancing under a falling red Egyptian sun.
Broad, bare shoulders, a copper arrow on his belly, carrying them in circles,
circles, around the yard.
"There."
Ginny slipped into waking as easily as she had dreaming. Everything felt smoky,
and smelled like spices. She opened her eyes, and saw a shimmering, iridescent
dragonfly, in the palm in Marika's hand. It took her a moment to realize it
wasn't another vision -- it was a barrette. "It's lovely," breathed Ginny.
"For luck," Marika smiled again, mysterious now, and fastened it into Ginny's
hair.
She painted red gloss that tasted like cherry onto Ginny's lips, glittering
copper wings on her eyelids, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then wiped the
purple imprint of her mouth from the pale skin. The Sleekeasy's smelled like
bubble bath, and girl.
"Everyone decent in here?" called a voice from outside.
"Hardly ever," said Marika. "But we are dressed."
Jase poked his head inside, jade eyes drawn to Marika first, then lingering on
Ginny. He grinned. "Don't you clean up nice," he said, then cocked his head.
"Isn't it a little cold for that outfit, though?"
"Not according to the mad," quipped Ginny.
"And who could argue with an endorsement like that. You guys ready to go?"
Marika fastened a string of apple red beads around Ginny's neck, then brushed a
stray lash from her cheek. "Yes, now I would say we are."
Everyone else was already standing around outside, huddled in jackets and with
each other to ward off the crisp night air. Ginny sucked in a sharp breath
through her teeth, feeling as though she were dressed in a tissue. Which was
disturbingly not far from the truth.
Reiko gave her a wolf whistle, and Nicu selflessly offered to share whatever
body heat she might desire him to produce. "You're going to sodding freeze in
that," was all her brother said, hands shoved in his pockets. His expression
looked like it didn't know quite what it was, either.
All of them gathered in a circle, to touch the Portkey Jase had made out of an
enormous pinecone. Ginny was crowded in next to Charlie, and tried to ignore
his agitated breathing, her heartbeat matching it. The wind whipped through her
hair, and she knew he could smell it, fresh like new bathwater.
They touched fingertips to the cone; Charlie placed his hand on her back just
as the Portkey tugged behind their navels, and Ginny felt that pull inside her
as well.
It was significantly warmer where they materialized, on a road just outside the
village. There was only about an inch of snow on the ground there. Ginny
wondered if the dragons would start moving down the mountain now, into the
lower altitudes where it wasn't so cold. That would be very bad for the
townspeople.
The party hurried along, talking animatedly around the Weasley siblings, who
were remaining silent. Ginny was too busy trying to keep from getting frostbite
to feel like chatting -- she didn't know what Charlie's problem was. Probably
still out of sorts about earlier. Guilt gnawed at her, but she pushed it back
for the moment.
In minutes, they'd reached the tavern. Ginny ducked inside as quickly as
possible, and was immediately disappointed to find it wasn't the haven of
warmth she'd been pining for. Of course, no one else inside was dressed for the
actual month of August either, which might have explained it.
The dragon handlers were both the largest and youngest group there, a desperate
letdown for more than one of them. "Sorry, Gin, seems that brassiere's going to
be wasted on us," said Jaswinder, and gave her a sympathetic thump on the back
(directly over a bruise, ouch). "Unless you've a hidden fetish for old, married
farmers."
Ginny rolled her eyes. Pulling some bloke wasn't exactly what you'd call an
impassioned goal of hers. Boys were the same wherever you went: trouble.
"Look, minstrels," said Panos, delighted. Sure enough, there was an elderly
gentleman, sitting on a stool by the dance floor and tuning his violin. Two
more men stood near him; one had a guitar, the other a tambourine. That looked
promising, at least.
One good point to having so few other patrons was it made getting a table a
breeze, unlike the Three Broomsticks. Ginny sat (very gingerly on her sore
tailbone) between Nicu and Reiko, who did everything one-handed because her
other was firmly entangled with Marika's. They ordered a bottle of firewhiskey,
plus one butterbeer.
"I can get this at Hogsmeade," grumbled Ginny, peeling the label off in one
long, practiced strip. "What good's being on hols without responsible adult
supervision if I'm still drinking butterbeer?"
Jase downed his shot with a wince, smoke leaking out his mouth. "Hey, what am
I, running with scissors and giving out candy from a van? I'm responsible -
- ish."
"Right," snorted Charlie, ignoring Jase. "And then I'll go have a snog with a
Hungarian Horntail. Mum would castrate me if she knew I'd even brought you
here, let alone let you have anything. Don't you like having me as a brother? I
know there's a lot of us to consider, but I've got to be in the top five at
least."
"Come on, Weasley," said Reiko, flushed red from the firewhiskey. "Live a
little! She can't take your bollocks if you don't grow some first, right?"
All the others oo'ed and ah'ed their appreciation; thinking up new, preferably
emasculating ways to slag on one another was part-high art, part-official sport
of the camp. Charlie just shook his head. "Bollocks aren't the problem. Death
wishes are the problem, and my lack of one."
Nicu leaned over to whisper in Ginny's ear. "Don't worry, I will give you a sip
from my glass next time. Yes?" he patted her knee in reassurance, palm hot on
her bare skin. A feeling like lightning shot up her legs, and she jumped,
knocking into the table and sending her butterbeer airborne. Sweet, fizzy
liquid splashed all over the table and down her front.
"Sorry!" she yelped, and leapt up so quickly her chair nearly tipped as well.
"Oh, Jas, your mum's clothes! Sorry, I'm such an arse, I'll fetch a rag -- "
"Don't worry about it," Jaswinder took out her wand, and pointed it at the
mess. "Scourgify!" instantly it vanished, from both the tabletop and Ginny.
"All fixed," she smiled, to show there were no hard feelings.
The others were for the most part still wearing identical stunned looks, except
Charlie who was giving Nicu a suspicious glare instead. Then he looked at
Ginny, and softened. "Why don't you go wash your hands, Gin. I'll get you
another one while you do, all right?" he suggested gently.
She nodded, blushing up to her hairline, and made a beeline for the loo. A
bearded, scraggly man at the bar glanced at her as she went by; she paused for
a brief second, caught by his stare. He twitched into a smile, which never
quite reached his eyes.
There was something familiar about him...
Ginny burst into the ladies', and commandeered the sink, splashing her face
with cold water, trying to regain her composure. Which helped a little, but
yanking off the ridiculous bra Jas had conjured helped a lot more. She stuffed
it into her bag, and pulled her blouse straight, studying her reflection.
Didn't look too scandalous -- in fact, the shirt looked somehow more right,
braless. Probably been designed with that in mind, knowing the period it was
made during.
Mum would strangle her, if she knew her only daughter was gallivanting about
with no 'support'. Not that Ginny had much in need of supporting.
Puberty, she decided, was a right pain in the arse.
The man at the bar had gone, by the time she came out. Ginny frowned absently,
picking her way back to their table. The musicians had begun playing, which
meant Jas and Nicu were up and dancing, and had dragged Reiko with them. Marika
followed, amused. Jase and Panos had located a darts board, and Panos was
teaching Jase the fine art of the swizz.
It was only her brother left at the table, watching Nicu and Marika teach the
others a local step, with a small, almost melancholy smile. Ginny sat next to
him. "Hi," she said.
He slid a glance at her, hesitating at her chest, then returned determinedly
forward. A cool sensation tingled over her scalp, and suddenly she understood
Mum's point of view on underclothes more deeply.
"Feel better?"
She nodded, and watched the others laughing and dancing. "I'm sorry, about
before. You were right. I promised you."
"Should've trusted you more. You came back when it got rough," said Charlie,
sloshing his drink in moody circles. "It's just...if anything happened to you
here, when I'm supposed to be watching out for you...I'd lose my nut," he
drained the glass quickly, swallowing hard; his voice came out husky. "I know
you aren't a baby anymore, but there's -- there's things, you don't understand
them yet. You don't know how...fast they happen. And I should protect you from
them, I'm older and it's my responsibility."
They weren't having the same conversation any longer. Danger thrummed in the
places between, haunting and inexorable, like the seconds away from wreckage.
Ginny felt her eyes drag up to his, dark in the tavern shadows, and herself
speaking.
"Might be surprised what I know."
The air swirled, thickening somehow, became charged where it passed by them.
There was no tavern, no music, no people outside them. Their shoulders were
nearly touching, unfilled space crackling, and Charlie bit his lip, looking
almost pained.
Wordlessly, he poured another firewhiskey, and pushed it to her. "Here," he
said. "But just a nip."
Ginny smiled, and toasted him. "Cheers," she swallowed half the shot, burning
all the way down like both their faces were. Charlie took the glass from her,
fingertips grazing hers, and licked the cherry-flavored gloss from its edge,
before tossing back the remains in one go.
"Good on you, Weasley," said a voice from just over his shoulder; they both
turned to see Reiko, the others in tow, shiny with sweat and panting. Ginny
breathed, and felt as though it were her first. "What Mum never catches wind
of, right?" she winked, and pulled up her chair again, scooting it close to
Marika's. "Look, the story's about ready to start."
"Story?" as the other dragon handlers took their seats, Ginny noticed that
indeed, the minstrels really had stopped playing, and the elderly one had put
his violin away, perching on his tall stool.
"Yes," said Nicu, and stole a sip of her butterbeer; Jas swatted him playfully.
"What? I did nothing. But yes, Ladislau is quite well-known here, for his
tales."
The light in the tavern dimmed, and the guitarist resumed playing, softly,
plucking out the tune of an ancient song. Ladislau the storyteller cleared his
throat, and began speaking, in a clear, surprisingly strong tenor. Everyone in
the room had stopped talking, and leaned forward. "Listen," said Charlie.
Her throat tightened. She felt strangely like trembling. "But I don't know
Romanian," she hissed.
Something bumped her elbow from under the table. Ginny glanced down, saw it was
his hand; she met his eye, and discreetly slipped her own below to find his,
palm to palm. "Shh," he murmured, and slid his fingers between hers. "Lean in,
I'll translate it."
She did as he said, as did he. "In the time long ago, there was a brother with
eyes like embers, hair golden-scarlet as the fire he called, and a frost-fair
sister, dark-eyed, wreathed in silver curls that fell to her ankles like icy
rivers," spoke the old man, whispered through Charlie. "Together, they held
each half of their father's magic, and sat at the left and the right of the
wise Decebalus, ruler of the mountain city Sarmizegetusa; offering their
council, their loyalty, and their strength.
"There was a terrible war being waged. A dark tide had swept across the earth,
spreading like moonless night, that sought to swallow Decebalus and his people
next. Their father had held them back ten years, and when he died, the brother
and sister held them ten more, wielding their great and fearsome magic. But
their enemies had found a powerful ally, the famed sorcerer Apolodor of
Damascus, and calling upon the Earth itself to form a bridge, Apolodor brought
wave after wave of soldiers across the Danube, to lay siege on Sarmizegetusa.
Still the city would not fall, for it was fortified by walls of ice, and storms
of fire rained down on any who dared approach."
Beneath the table, Charlie delicately traced runes over the back of her hand;
Kaunaz2, Perth, and Daeg, Sigel drawn just over the pulse of her wrist. She
exhaled softly, tremulously, and imagined the sacred symbols alive and glowing,
burned onto her skin instead of only into its memory.
"The enemy leader, Traianus, would not be stopped. He commanded his sorcerer to
search harder, find a way, and Apolodor did as demanded. He sent his spirit
creeping in through a mouse's hole, and ensorcelled a golden goblet with his
most potent curse, bidding a traitorous servant to take it to one of power."
Like Peter Pettigrew, and Harry's mum and dad. Ginny burrowed her face in
Charlie's shoulder, the worn cotton from his tee-shirt soft against her skin.
It smelled like smoke from the firewhiskey, and soap. "Decebalus had proclaimed
there would a sumptuous feast that evening, in honor of the brother and sister.
It was there the servant presented Apolodor's beautiful jeweled cup, filled
with sweet water, to the brother-wizard, who accepted gratefully.
"A single mouthful was all required for the dark spell to take hold, and the
brother had only time to gasp once, clutching his throat as he fell away from
the long table," Ladislau grabbed his own throat for effect, and the guitarist
strummed dramatically. "The sister-witch abandoned her chair with a cry, and
rushed to his aid, but it was too late. The brother with ember eyes, scarlet
hair, had been forever transformed into a great, silent golden stag, antlers
encrusted with jewels."
Her brother's low, constant voice, like Marika's, lulled her slowly deeper into
her unconscious, and Ginny felt her lids growing seductively heavier and
heavier. To keep alert, she let her gaze wander over all the other enraptured
faces -- Reiko laying back in Marika's arms, glossy black hair spread over her
lover's shoulder; Panos, ambiguous but maybe not so oblivious, stealing
glimpses of Jase, Nicu, and Jas passing the bottle round and round, clouded in
smoke.
Charlie and the storyteller flowed on. "The stag leapt to its feet, and ran
from the feast. All the courtiers watched helplessly, rooted by awe -- all,
except the sister, who gathered her skirts to chase after it," Charlie's head
dipped lower, gradually, to rest his cheek against on her crown; somewhere, the
tambourine jangled wildly. "Through the fortress, the mountain city, and
beyond, she chased the golden stag. Her long, silver locks had come unbound,
and everywhere they trailed became frozen; the wind that passed her body turned
to snow, the trees to pillars of ice," his tousled mop of hair fell low enough
to join with hers, bubble bath, girl-flesh, but now man and dragon scales too,
and she knew they would blend perfectly into one Weasley red.
"She ran for a day and a night, as the great mountain city was lost, as
Decebalus let his blood drain into the snows. At last the sister caught glimpse
of the stag, a single glimmer of golden hoof reaching from the ancient oak
grove," murmuring nearly into her hair, stubble-rough chin grazing her forehead
The tambourine stopped, leaving no sound but the guitar's quiet refrain,
mournful now. Ginny held her breath.
"The sister raced to the trees, and discovered the golden stag there, an arrow
stuck in its heart, bronze blood spilt beneath its cold body. It had been slain
by an archer who had followed their tracks in the frost," she shuddered, and
pressed closer into her brother's arm. Charlie squeezed her hand. "The sister-
witch cradled its corpse to her breast, weeping. Her falling tears turned to
rivers of ice and silver, that covered her heart and the land in deepest
winter.
"When Traianus and his soldiers found her, she was as dead as the golden stag,
her brother. Frozen together in an eternal embrace."
Silence hung heavy in the air, like humidity. Then the lights came up, and the
audience began to applaud; Ladislau bowed once, and took up his violin again in
a bright, rousing folk song. The guitarist and tambourine man quickly joined
him. Ginny straightened in her chair, before anyone could see.
"Wow," said Reiko, squinting from the sudden brightness. "Gutting, but lovely."
The others murmured in agreement. Nicu spoke up. "My bunicuta3 would tell me
that story before sleeping," he said. "She called the ice witch Zapada4, and
would try to frighten me so I would not wander, by saying Zapada's spirit
haunted the forests near Sarmizgetusa's ruins," he wavered his voice
dramatically, and wriggled his eyebrows at Charlie and Ginny. "Freezing unwary
travelers to death inside the grasp of her pale, icy arms."
Jase eyeballed him. "That's a great bedtime story, Nicu. I can see why you
turned out so well-adjusted."
The table's mood had lightened considerably, but Ginny wasn't having so easy a
time shaking off the story's tragedy. It had left a hard, queasy feeling in her
stomach, and the Ogden's was making her sick, dizzy. "Love, you okay?" asked
Jaswinder suddenly. "You look a touch peaky."
"Ugh," was her most eloquent reply. "I think maybe I should stick to butterbeer
awhile longer."
Charlie quietly disengaged their hands, then stood up. "Come on, I'll take you
back to camp," he nodded toward the door.
Her heart jumped madly, in thrilled horror, and the blood couldn't quite decide
whether to rush into her face or drain from it entirely. Alone? Now? "It's
fine, really," she backpedaled rapidly. "I'll just lie my head on the table a
minute -- be good as new."
"Don't be daft, Pinky," said Charlie, and took her by the shoulder, steering
her from her seat.
They left to a chorus of goodnights, Reiko blowing her a kiss and Nicu handing
over the pinecone Portkey, telling her to feel better and drink plenty of
water. "Be back in a tic," Charlie called over his shoulder.
Snow was falling light, but steady, which meant it would probably be a ruddy
blizzard farther up the mountain, also known as directly where the camp was.
They tromped along in awkward silence, boots making soft crushing sounds in the
new snow.
"Quite a fairytale, that," Charlie was usually the one who broke these
silences. She gave an indistinct 'mm' as answer, and walked faster. "I wonder
how much of it is true -- if there really was a brother and sister like that, I
mean," he had his hands in his pockets, like earlier.
She didn't want to say what she thought, that she'd hope to hell they hadn't
existed because that could just as soon be them, any one of them. She had six
brothers, two parents, and all of them were scattered nowhere close to another.
It could happen to them so easily, and she wouldn't know until it was too late,
like Zapada and the golden stag, separated when it counted the most.
You couldn't take that for granted. With...with You-Know-Who risen, everything
mattered. Every second could be the one that turned it all on its head, and
changed every second that had come before and would come after.
But hasn't that already happened? Ginny told her brain to shut up.
The Portkey took them, wind screaming and colors blurred, and deposited them
back at the center of camp, where indeed, it was snowing desperately. At least
another foot had built up, just while they'd been out. Ginny hugged herself for
warmth, and tried to come up with something intelligent to say.
"Sorry to drag you away from the fun," she said finally. "But thanks for taking
me."
Charlie gave her a funny look. "Of course, it's nothing -- you're loads more
important than any stupid party," he hesitated, eyes raking over her face, then
reached out to brush the snow from Marika's dragonfly barrette. "You look very
pretty tonight. I didn't tell you that before, but I should have," his fingers
hovered at her temple, centimeters from touching.
Sod it. Ginny threw herself forward, and her arms around her brother's neck. A
half-second after, she felt him encircle her waist, pull her tight to him. "Oh,
Gin," he breathed, ticklish over her neck. His chest and belly were warm where
he held her against himself, firm -- made her more aware of the weight and
yield of her breasts, pressed into him at the line of his ribcage. She balanced
on tiptoes, felt the heat of her body separated from his by only cherry-print,
thin green cotton tee-shirt.
Charlie's hand slipped underneath, onto the bare skin above her waistband. Her
stomach thrilled.
"Ginny..." whispered, the vibration passing from him through her, and she made
a small sound in the back of her throat; he squeezed her, breathing faster.
"Ginny," he said again, and slowly withdrew, just far enough to look her in the
eye. "You should go inside now. You're freezing."
That was possibly the biggest lie ever told. Her whole body was flushed, felt
like the snow should melt before it touched her skin. Like she was this far
from spontaneously catching fire. "Um, right," she said faintly, giddy and sick
all at once. "Goodnight then, I guess."
Calluses gliding over her spine, rough and dry. " 'Night," he looked as if he
might say something more, but pulled back the rest of the way from her instead,
and grabbed the Portkey with both hands. He vanished in a rush and swirl of
snowflakes.
No sound but the creaking trees, her blood and heart. The sound of everything
becoming very, very complicated. Ginny careened on boneless legs to her tent,
and undressed without realizing it, crawled trembling into bed.
The dragons roared back and forth at each other, far off, like it was any
night.
o o o

                             Teach me to inscribe
                            these words on my heart
                     cover me with the shadow of your hand
                (Killswitch Engage - "Temple From The Within")
 
o o o
2 Futhark (or Norse) runes; Kaunaz - fire, enlightenment, love and passion.
Perth - mystery, hidden secrets coming to light. Daeg - transformation,
breakthrough. Sigel - revelation, wholeness.
3 Bunicuta - Grandma
4 Zapada - Snow
***** IV *****
Warning: Strong sexual content and incest involving a minor (15).
o o o

                      It's a feeling that you cannot miss
              and it burns a hole through everyone that feels it
                        (The Used - "Blue And Yellow")
o o o
Dear Hermione,
How's your hols been? Mine's indescribably cracked not worth speaking of. One
of the blokes from camp is Greek, & says he hopes you're enjoying the sights,
he wishes he were there with you (not just because of what a saucy vixen you
are). Coincidentally, I also wish I were there (definitely not because of that
vixen bit). Oh well, guess you'll have to oil the bulging muscles of those
gorgeous, tanned fellows for the both of us as I am too busy with freckly
British ones who are terribly related to me.
Miss you horribly, Harry & even Ron, I guess, too. Am almost looking forward to
September and school. Am obviously off my nut. Please send help.
Say hello to your folks & snog a bronzed god for me (though not all at once),
Ginevra
P.S. - you wouldn't by chance have read up on any golden stag myths, would you?
Depressing stuff, but...well, something's niggling at me about one I heard
lately. Probably nothing, but a healthy dose of paranoia never hurts, does it?
o o o
That morning Ginny had woken up, and realized two things: 1) it was her
birthday today, and 2) there weren't any dragon's screaming or growling or
anything, which was odd because the Norwegians and Longhorns fought very
noisily all the sodding time.
Ginny got dressed quickly. Striped shirt, sleeveless red fleece, and jeans
she'd nicked from Harry the summer before, which were absolutely enormous. She
belted them snugly, zipped her fleece, and felt thankful at least her hand-me-
down trousers came from people within ten sizes of herself. Harry must have
swum in them as well; he was hardly bigger than she was.
It was unreasonably early, the sky barely lightened to gray, and too quiet,
since Panos's music receptor had gotten too wet and stopped working. There'd
been another few inches overnight, and it was still mustering flakes. Never in
the rest of her life had she considered the chance of blizzards on her
birthday. Ginny shook her head with disgust, and went to put the kettle on. She
really needed a bloody cuppa.
A fire had already been started, however, kettle hung over it, and a redhead
already sat nearby, staring dully into the flames.
"Good morning," she greeted.
He looked up, blinking at her. Dark circles ringed his eyes like great bruised
hollows, a day's growth of auburn beard sharpening his features, and his hair
stuck up at all sorts of unlikely angles. Altogether, he looked like very
exhausted, lukewarm death. " 'Morning," he mumbled blearily, then yawned.
"Merlin's hairy bollocks, Charlie," said Ginny. "You look like you haven't
slept in a week."
Charlie mustered a tired smile. "Close enough," the smile faded to void. "All
the Longhorns have gone."
What? That was...that was stupid. This was Romania, they were Romanian
Longhorns; they couldn't just leave like that. She stared at him. "You're
joking."
He shook his head, eyes down, scrubbing his hands through his hair (which only
made it worse). "Wish I were, but it's the truth. The last of them went this
morning, headed down for the coast where it's warm," he stared off at the
trees, toward the former mating grounds. "There'll be no more breeding -- only
Norwegians here now."
Compulsively, Charlie raked through his hair again, mussing it viciously now
with his fingers. He looked ready to cry. "Oh, Charlie," said Ginny, heart
aching sharply. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Snowflakes hissed as they struck the fire. " S' not your fault, you've got
nothing to be sorry for," he let out a deep, shaky breath, and patted the spot
next to him, held out a hand to her. "C'mere, Pinky."
Ginny came around to sit, wrap her arms around him, and he laid his chin on her
shoulder, leaning into her. She smoothed her brother's hair with one hand, like
Mum would have. "They'll be all right. Dragons are tough, yeah? Maybe they'll
like the sea better, anyway."
"Maybe," his tone said otherwise; he shifted, pulling her closer, mouth soft
below her jaw. "Happy birthday, by the way," said Charlie to her collarbone,
but she figured he meant it for the rest of her as well. "I'll fetch your
present once I wake up a bit more."
Her ears heated up. "Charlie! You already gave me these boots, I don't need
anything else," she said, exasperated.
"You're my ickle baby sister, and I'll bury you to the neck in presents, if I
want."
There was obviously no use arguing about it, but a lifetime's habits are hard
to break. A shrill whistle began, soft at first, but grew louder and louder. It
took her a confused moment to realize it was the kettle, boiling. He broke away
to make their tea, but not before giving her a birthday hair-ruffle. "So what
is it -- twelve, thirteen this year, right?"
"Fifteen, you git," she snarled affectionately, and kicked him in the shin. If
he wanted to change the subject, then she was more than happy to play along.
"Ow! Honestly, you kids these days. So violent."
The camp was awake and moving, by the time Ginny had finished her tea. Everyone
except Nicu (who'd gone off at some ungodly hour that morning, and hadn't
returned yet) wished her a happy birthday, but the general mood was gloomy.
"They're moving farther and farther away from the established breeding grounds,
into a lot more populated areas," said Jase wearily; even his hair looked
tired, gone flat, ashy blond. "It won't be long before we get called down to
deal with it."
How exactly you 'dealt' with migrating endangered dragons, Ginny didn't have
the foggiest. "Looks like you might get some sun yet for summer hols," said
Jaswinder, forcing cheer into her voice. "I hear the Black Sea has some well
cracking beaches."
No one looked terribly convinced.
After breakfast (porridge and -- surprise -- eggs), Charlie disappeared briefly
inside his tent, coming out with a small, clumsily wrapped box. It was fastened
by a satin hair ribbon, tied like shoelaces into a lopsided, desperately
mannish bow. It was perfect, and she almost hated to open it. "You're a good
fellow," she kissed him on the cheek, grinning when his face went red.
"Go on, then."
She put the ribbon in her pocket, and carefully removed the wrapping paper
(purple with Quaffles, Snitches, and brooms all over). Inside was a sturdy
leaf-shaped steel pendant, set with a deep, vivid green dragon scale. "Bloody
hell..." there was a thick, black leather cord coiled beneath; she threaded it
through, and held it up for the other dragon handlers to see. The scale flashed
iridescent soap-bubble rainbow-blue even in the anemic sunlight, and they
oo'ed. "Charlie, I -- this is gorgeous. I don't know what to say."
"Okay, I'll give you a hint," he took the necklace from her, and reached under
her hair, to fasten it around her neck. "Rhymes with 'thank you Charlie'."
"Thank you, Charlie," she chorused obligingly.
"Brilliant, you've got it. Soon you'll be coming up with sentences all of your
own," Charlie brushed a stray hair from her cheek, becoming serious. "I can't
believe you're fifteen already. Seems like you were just in plaits and nappies.
When did you grow up so fast, Ginny?"
During her first year, somewhere inside Tom Riddle's diary. She didn't say it
out loud.
"Rejoice!" someone shouted from the trees; soon enough, a familiar dark-haired
shape came bounding into view. "Your brave traveler, Nicu, has found something
wonderful!" he flourished his arms heroically.
Ginny and Marika exchanged an amused glance; Charlie rolled his eyes. "Your
missing sanity?"
Reiko had already fixed a fresh cuppa. "Brain? Moral center?" she offered,
handing him the steaming mug.
Nicu scoffed, giving them all a contemptuous look. "Please, those are all long
gone," he drained half his tea in one pull. "No -- I've found Longhorns!"
All joking died. Jase sat up straight, focusing instantly. "Where? How many of
them?"
"Three, perhaps four," Nicu drank the rest of the mug, and crouched down next
to the fire, warming his hands. "Up in the ruins, hidden from those Norwegian
bastards," he looked over his shoulder at Jase, dark eyes glittering. "Warrick,
they're digging dens. I think they have eggs."
It was a moment before anyone reacted, the news sinking in. Then Jaswinder
threw her head back, and whooped for joy, which set off everyone else -
- leaping and yelling and grabbing each other excitedly. In the chaos, only
Ginny noticed Charlie slip away.
He came back fastening up his heavy blue anorak, pulling his gloves on. "Well?
Who's coming with me?"
Pulling away from Marika, Reiko gave everyone a shrewd look. "The better
question would be: who's going to stay here?"
There was a lot of arguing in a very short period. Nobody wanted to be left at
camp, including Ginny who had the smallest amount of interest in dragons
conceivable (and that little bit was mainly regarding the chances of getting
eaten by one). But Reiko was right, it was too dangerous for all of them to go
except Ginny, who couldn't do magic outside Hogwarts; these were agitated,
possible nesting mothers they were after, and the sky was already darkening
with an oncoming storm.
In the end, it was Panos and Marika who were chosen; Panos because he was their
best at communication spells (in case they had to summon help), Marika because
she spoke Romanian the most fluently of any of them besides Nicu, who had to
go.
Before they left, Nicu came over to Ginny, and took both her hands in his. "You
thought I had forgotten, didn't you? But I have not!" he said, and kissed her
full on the mouth; just long enough for the tip of his tongue to dart along her
bottom lip. "Happy birthday, my red printesa5," he winked, grinning. "Too bad
it's not a few birthdays later, or I would give you more than a little kiss."
'Little' would not be how she described it. She nodded dumbly, and licked her
lips, tasting Darjeeling and milk.
A blind turnip could have felt Charlie's scowl. Jase cleared his throat. "If
you're done molesting Weasley's underage sister, Nicu?" he said dryly, then
added to Marika and Panos (who were capable of remembering, unlike Ginny at
that moment). "Shouldn't take longer than a few hours. Six, tops, there and
back. If we aren't back by dark, send up some sparks -- no answer means we're
in trouble. If any really bad shit goes down, we'll send them up instead. All
right?"
It was said casually, which somehow made it worse; something awful could
happen, it was suddenly clearer than ever. It could happen very, very easily.
Panos and Marika nodded like it was just another day, and Ginny waved like her
stomach wasn't twisting into knots. All three watched until they couldn't see
them anymore, and their chatter and laughing had faded.
Ginny was really beginning to hate quiet spaces. "Would anyone like a game of
Exploding Snap?" Panos asked out of nowhere. There was a tiny catch in his
voice; Ginny looked, and saw he was breathing unsteadily. Marika was pale, even
for her milky white skin.
Maybe it hadn't been so easy for them, either.
"All right," agreed Ginny. It would help with the long hours awaiting.
It did help, but the hours were still long. The three of them played Exploding
Snap, Gobstones, and wizard chess; they washed breakfast dishes, made beds;
Panos got out all his strange tools, and took the music receptor apart,
fiddling with its insides until it worked again. All that came in was static,
though, so he shut it off.
Marika made a special birthday lunch that had no eggs or soup, but plenty of
sour cream and apple blintz for dessert, and they made an effort at
conversation while eating, though no one's heart was really in it.
Supper was sandwiches, and they ate in silence. Snow fell fast and heavy by
then, icy wind screaming, and it was absolutely freezing, but none of them
wanted to go inside. Just in case. Ginny held Marika's hand, and didn't
complain when she squeezed so hard, the bones creaked; she was squeezing back.
Something had gone wrong. It was only a matter of waiting, to know how.
Reiko was the first they saw, crashing through the brush, and Marika burst into
tears when she saw her. Jase was right on her heels, pulling Jas with him; her
left leg was limp, and dragging along behind at an unnatural angle. "Marika,
Panos, get over here now, I need you!" he bellowed, and they were off like a
shot, running to meet up.
Ginny stood frozen, gagging on her heart and watching for Charlie to come out
of the woods as well. Thirty seconds. One minute. At a minute and forty
seconds, he still hadn't appeared, and Panos and Jase were there with
Jaswinder, Marika and Reiko following, clutching each other.
Even from a distance, Ginny could see the bone poking out of Jas's thigh.
"Where's Charlie?!" she cried, breathless. Her lungs had collapsed, she
couldn't breathe, she couldn't...
Reiko shook her head, weeping uncontrollably. "I don't know, we all got
separated," she sobbed. "I was running with Jas, and she fell, she slipped on
the ice and she fell, and she got caught b-between these trees, and I heard the
snap, oh Jesus, I heard her leg!"
"In the tent, all of you!" snapped Jase. "Go, go, go!"
All of them were too overwhelmed not to obey, and trailed behind he, Panos, and
Jaswinder, into the first aid tent. They hurried and lifted her onto the
medical table, obviously trying to be gentle, but Jas still hissed with agony.
"Oh fuck!" she moaned. "Christ, fucking hurts..."
Jase looked ashen and sweaty under the lights, but his eyes were like steel.
"Kostanopoulos, I need you outside, keeping an eye out for signs of Weasley or
Silivasi," Panos nodded and bolted back through the door flap without
hesitation; Jase turned to Marika. "Dodrescru, go to the cabinet and get me one
of the analgesic potions and a Skele-Grow Adapt-O-Splint."
Ginny's throat was closing. "What happened?"
His mouth pressed into a grim line. "We followed Nicu's tracks out to the
ruins, but the dragons weren't there. So we searched for them, all over even
though it was getting colder and darker -- that's when the storm hit us..." he
looked at her, stricken. "There was something out there."
Marika pressed what looked like a roll of bulky cloth bandages into his hands.
"You put that on, I'll give her the potion," she didn't wait for an answer,
before uncorking a small, glistening black vial with her teeth and spitting the
stopper out. She held it to Jaswinder's mouth. "Drink this, liebling, it will
help your pain."
Meanwhile, Jase had quickly wrapped her bare leg from knee to hip. "Sorry, Jas,
this is gonna' hurt like hell," he pulled out his wand, and laid its tip
against the loose bandaging. "Applico Femur!"
Instantly the bandages sprang to life, snake-like. Every inch of slack snapped
out of them, and they coiled tight around her leg, popping the bone back into
alignment with a terrible, wet crack; Jaswinder screamed through gritted teeth,
eyes rolling to white. She'd passed out cold.
Memories flashed from the Department of Mysteries, nightmarish. No, she refused
to go back there now. Ginny shook herself out of her stupor, and noticed Reiko
staring wide-eyed, shivering convulsively. "Here, you're freezing," she ripped
the coverlet off Jase's futon, and wrapped it around the dragon handler's frail
shoulders. "Hey," Ginny forced her to look her in the eyes. "You're okay now,
Jas is okay. You're safe, look, Marika's right here. Ev--" her voice caught.
"Everything is fine now."
Reiko nodded, still shaking. Ginny felt a hand touch her back, and turned to
see Marika. "Thank you," she said, pulling Reiko to her, into her arms. "Thank
you for trying to help her."
Then, a shout from outside: "I see him!"
Ginny ran for the door as fast as she could, reaching it before Jase and
exploding through; she kept running, to where Panos stood, and past.
She saw him, too.
Charlie breaking out of the tree line, fighting through the branches and hip-
deep snow, holding Nicu on his back like his brothers, like Bill. Her heart
thundered in her ears. "Charlie!" she screamed, lost in the wind's howling; she
barreled toward him, but Panos with his long, gangly legs passed her by like a
sprinter.
Charlie looked up at them, face contorted with strain and determination, and
began charging to meet them. "HELP HIM!" he bellowed, throwing himself forward
desperately. "Help me get him warm!"
Thinking quickly, Panos yanked out his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he yelled
against the storm, and Nicu's limp body rose up. "Accio Nicu!" the impact
should have knocked him over, but he stood tall and ready, and the image burned
in Ginny's mind, of him stronger and more courageous than a scrawny nineteen-
year-old Greek boy had ever been.
The others had rushed out of Jase's tent, and Jase vaulted ahead to help Panos.
Ginny saw Charlie stumble to one knee, and took off madly headlong against the
blizzard, not caring what happened to her as long as she made it to him.
"Charlie!" she shouted again, and hurled herself the last feet over the snow to
reach him.
He was still lurching forward, struggling toward the camp. She locked her arms
around his waist, and used every ounce of strength in her body to help drag him
there, muscles tearing and shaking with effort.
"They're dead, the dragons, all of them," repeated Charlie, again and again.
"God, he's so cold, I've got to warm him."
Ginny heaved him the last ways to the encampment, the magically shielded still-
burning fire pit, and collapsed onto all fours. From the ground, she saw Jase
breathing into Nicu's mouth, pressing his chest in short, sharp bursts
punctuated by the horrifying crack of bones fracturing.
Nicu's skin was blue, and covered in frost.
Charlie seemed to come awake suddenly. He leapt at Jase. "Stop it!" he
screamed, ripping him away. "Stop, he's DEAD!"
Happy birthday, printesa
Ginny turned away to vomit into the snow, and started to cry.
Then it was like an ocean, the tide swelling inexorably until it swallowed the
sand, herself. She cried so hard, she was sick again, and someone (Panos) slid
his arms under and around, lifting her up like a sleeping child, and carried
her into the tent. Someone else (Marika) put the bottle to her lips, a purple
one with Sleeping Draught inside, and rubbed her throat like an animal's 'til
she swallowed.
Everything contracted and darkened, narrowing into nothing before her eyes. She
slept.
She called the witch Zapada, and tried to frighten me so I would not wander
There was murmuring around her. Fingers stroked her hair, her face, and soft,
taffeta lips pressed to her cheek in the darkness.
She lurched awake, gasping and sore. Awareness washed through her. This wasn't
her tent. She wasn't alone. Nicu wasn't ever coming back, ever.
The only light was a candle, and even that was too bright. Ginny shielded her
eyes against it, squinting. "How long has it been?" she rasped, voice rough
from yelling and crying so much (he's so cold).
Charlie sat in a chair opposite the bed -- his bed, she realized. This was
Charlie's tent. "About a day, maybe a bit longer," he didn't ask how she felt.
That was an obvious answer. "Hungry? There's a pot of Darjeeling, and I can
warm some soup, if you like."
Her stomach rolled at the mention of Darjeeling; she shook her head
emphatically, wondering if she'd be sick.
"Drink this at least," he pushed a small cup of apple juice into her hands,
forcing her fingers around it. "You need to have something."
Obediently, she drank the juice down, which was cool and soothing on her
throat. It did feel better to have something inside her, after all. It didn't
feel like there was anything else there; her body was hollowed like an empty
bowl.
Somebody had changed her out of her clothes, and into a long tee-shirt,
probably Charlie's. It must have been Marika, with Reiko and Jas...out of it. A
vision of Charlie undressing her floated free from her subconscious, and she
flushed, angry with herself for even thinking that at a time like this. "What's
happened? How's Jas?" asked Ginny.
Charlie looked off to the side. There were red, angry scrapes all along his
arms, and a split in his bottom lip. One of his eyes was black. "She's all
right, I guess, leg's healing nicely, so that's good. Everyone's at town,
with...with Nicu. His family's coming for him tomorrow -- the service is set
for this Wednesday," he paused to collect his thoughts, breathing deeply. "I'll
take you home after. The camp's been closed down."
Surprise and a surprising sense of loss struck her. Wasn't this what she'd been
wishing for every second since she got here? No...not like this. Never like
this. "What?" she said. "But why?"
"We were only here this summer, to observe the Longhorns. They've all gone, so
it's pointless for us to stay," he shook his head, chuckling humorlessly. "Even
the bloody Norwegians are leaving now. Too cold for them as well, I expect."
"Oh," was all she could think to say. There was a tight feeling in her chest,
pressure building up and leaking out her eyes, in welling, stinging tears; she
tried to blink them away, but felt her face begin to crumble instead.
"Gin, no...don't cry..." the bed dipped under Charlie's weight, and she let him
take the glass from her, lay her back, stretch out alongside to hold her.
Ginny clutched her brother, feeling how close she came to losing him, in the
phantom ache of her arms. "Oh my God, I can't believe he's dead," she said,
weeping very quietly. "Nicu was just here talking and breathing, and now he
isn't, he won't ever be again," her voice caught on a sob. "I was so scared,
when you didn't come out. I thought you were gone, too."
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
She raised up on her elbows to look at him, lying on his back. "You've got to
be so much more careful, Charlie, you've really got to. I love you, all of us
do, and we need you here," she whispered. "You can't die."
"I love you, too, and I promise to try my hardest, but that's all," he smiled
sadly, tucking her hair back out of her face, behind her ears. "Anyone can die
-- you can't know if today is the last one you've got, nobody can. I wish I
could give you a better assurance, but it'd be lying," she was on her stomach,
and he had his hands resting on her waist. They felt cool for once, through the
loose, worn material of her makeshift nightshirt.
"You could lie this once," said Ginny. "I wouldn't hold it against you."
He choked out a laugh, eyes wet, and hugged her tightly, pulling her partway
across him. "I won't leave you, I swear, not without a bloody good fight
first."
Her head felt giddy, from the sugar in her apple juice and sadness and
proximity, and on impulse, she kissed his neck, the exposed bit where it began
to curve into his shoulder. His breath hitched softly, but he didn't shove her
off, so she did it again, higher, the skin smooth and scraped tender where he'd
shaved it. Charlie slid one open palm over her back, fingers spanning her
shoulder blades, and tilted ever-so-slightly back to offer a better angle.
There was only the sound of their breathing.
Up, following the line of his jaw, to press her lips against below his ear,
swell of his cheek, and the hollow beside his mouth, delicately overlapping its
corner. "Ginny, no, don't do that," he mumbled, furrowing his brow. He didn't
turn away.
So she didn't either, lifting her eyes to his. Their faces were separated by
only a thread of candlelight, and her hair fell around both of them, a golden-
red veil. "Why not?" she whispered. It smelled like apple.
His pulse was right under hers, quickening; his stomach pressed into hers as
they breathed. "Because," he whispered back. "You're my sister, I can't."
"You don't have to," she slid the rest of the way on top of him, and sat up,
straddling his belly. "I'll do it."
Before he could say anything, she grabbed the tee-shirt's hem and pulled it
over her head. She wished it was silky, matching lingerie underneath, instead
of just her plain white bra and pale pink knickers with little red hearts, but
they were all right. She rather liked the pants.
"Oh fuck," blurted Charlie, staring up at her. "This is so wrong."
"So I won't fly a commemorative banner for the occasion," she replied hotly,
then turned her face to her shoulder, eyes down. "It's okay, if you love
someone."
An unmentioned fact that it had been their Mum who'd told her that, during the
Talk, and who had almost certainly not been speaking in regards to any of her
brothers.
He didn't say anything, and Ginny tried not to fidget, arms hovering around her
middle self-consciously; she didn't know quite where to put them. It felt
very...exposed (even though he'd probably seen her naked loads of times, when
she was little).
It really was wrong -- she knew that. But so was dying, and as Charlie slipped
a tentative hand onto her thigh, she also knew which she would lose more sleep
about. This was what they had been leading to after all, wasn't it?
Ginny put her hand over his, and squeezed it. Charlie's fingers curled into her
skin on their own.
"Okay," he said, wetting his lips. "Okay."
He moved both hands then, onto her hips to scoot her back from his stomach,
lower, over the arch of his pelvis; she caught her breath, and the bottom of
his shirt.
Tugging impatiently, and he lifted to allow it off, kept going 'til he sat
straight against her, bare skin to bare skin, and wrapped one arm around her
waist. They looked at each other a moment, then she darted in to catch his lips
with hers. Her aim went totally buggered, tossing his shirt away.
It was like kissing Michael in basic mechanics, but Charlie knew a lot more
about it, how to nip and suck at her mouth, open it beneath his, and flick his
tongue ticklish along the ridges of her palette. Ginny tasted the firewhiskey
he'd drank while she slept, his apple juice that he'd given her, and felt the
hard pulse beside his zipper.
How absolutely unreal it was hit her, because even if she'd...felt a boy before
(Seamus, just once outside the Quidditch pitch, may Ron never, ever find out),
this was different, this was her BROTHER'S -- she tried to figure out what to
call it, in her head. His, what, his penis? Willie? Manhood? Merlin, that was
ridiculous.
Whatever it was, it was rigidly, undeniably there, and she felt everything go
hot and liquid between her legs, swell with that heavy feeling like before it
rains.
Charlie slipped his free hand between them, and she felt something graze her
knickers. His fingers traced the elastic, then hooked around it to touch her.
"Oh!" as he drew thick, blunt fingertips along her slit, sliding easily, up to
circle the small Gordian knot aching above it.
He licked the side of her neck, and even she felt the rush of wetness come from
her, jerking into him with a little cry. His fingers pressed into her there,
the others steadying on her back, and when he rolled her onto her side, it
seemed effortless.
He cupped her breast, nudging one of his thighs between hers, and she was more
than happy to open her legs in welcome.
It was easy learning how to move, how to rub into him; a lot easier than trying
to knit, that was for bloody certain. She bizarrely wondered where it was that
she'd last left Neville's hat-in-progress, but then Charlie eased a finger
inside her, and she was too busy shuddering to remember.
His finger felt strange, because she never put anything inside when she did
this to herself; he moved it in and out, slow at first but then gaining speed,
more and more, curving to hit something that made her jerk and moan and twitch
around his finger. His breath came quick, pressing his cock to her hip in the
same rhythm as he thrust his middle finger, and kneading her breasts, all at
once. It must have been pretty difficult to keep track of, but he seemed to
manage.
Charlie, like any good Seeker, was very coordinated.
Something had begun tightening, centered in her clit and the space just behind.
Ginny squirmed, the sensation almost unbearable, and Charlie kissed her and
moved her pelvis in time with him, murmuring into her neck. "C'mon, Gin,
c'mon..."
She was panting and shaking, gripping his arm and a fistful of his arse. Sweat
trickled between her breasts, jiggling with the force of each collision of
their bodies, each shove from his cock against her soft, curved belly. Finger
sliding in-out, in-out, rubbing the heel of his palm back and forth over her
clit.
He hooked his fingertip hard inside her and bit her jaw, and that was it, the
tension snapped; Ginny came with a wail, leg pushing into his side and bucking
up into his hand. Her eyes were watering when it was over, internal walls still
spasming and fluid covering the insides of her thighs. Charlie slowed his
movement to none, carefully withdrawing to stroke the back of her leg, trailing
wetness.
His erection throbbed against her, to his heartbeat. He didn't say anything, so
she touched his fly, unspoken laissez passer. He watched her eyes, unfastening
his jeans, and sighed softly from relief as he at last freed his cock. It
wasn't an enormous Bludger Bat of Love, like the stories in Fred and George's
magazines. Bigger than Seamus, but he'd been thirteen so that probably wasn't a
fair comparison.
There was another slightly awkward moment, because yes, hello, her brother's
penis. It seemed like a nice penis, angled cheerfully upward and deep pink, as
a contrast to his blue plaid boxers; it looked very swollen, and pre-come
glimmered at the tip, like a smooth clear stone. He was strawberry-blond Down
There, like she was.
A quite nice penis, she decided. Charlie kissed her brow, her cheek, finally
her mouth, deeply, before sliding his hands around to cup her arse.
There was a lot better leverage, using both hands. Charlie pushed harder,
lifting her to meet him; his cock glided easily back and forth along the soaked
crotch of her knickers. She tried to move with him as gracefully as she could,
which wasn't very, but it wasn't really about her looks, it was about the flush
spreading across his chest, tendons straining taut. "Fuck, Ginny," he breathed,
eyes squeezed shut. "You feel so good..."
He pumped insistently between her outspread thighs, mattress squeaking and
headboard rattling beneath them. She didn't know how anyone could be covert
about this, and dug her fingers into Charlie's shoulders, hanging on for dear
life.
Faster and faster, rocking her under him, and kneading her pale skin red. His
lip had split open again, his bruised eye livid purple from all the blood
rushed to his head, and she kissed him and writhed her body into his -
- gasping, he buried his face in her shoulder, and shoved his cock against her
once more, spurting come up between them over both their stomachs.
It was the first she'd ever seen, different than she might have imagined. There
was a lot more of it, and it didn't seem particularly thick or gooey; just
warm, wet. Kind of salty smelling.
Charlie shifted to wrap both arms around her, crushing her against him though
their bellies smeared sticky together. She realized he was crying silently,
tears running onto her neck. Ginny held him as tight as she could, dragon scale
pendant hot trapped between them. "S' okay," she whispered, pressing her cheek
to his forehead. "It'll be okay."
Outside, it snowed harder than ever.
o o o

                    Cover me with the ashes of remembrance
                          I will learn from this pain
                   (Killswitch Engage - "Life To Lifeless")


                              Remember to breathe
                          and everything will be okay
               (Dashboard Confessional - "Remember To Breathe")
 
o o o
5 Printesa - Princess
***** V *****
Warning: Graphic sexual content and incest with a minor (15). And horrible
Romanian. Oh my God, so bad. I hereby apologize to the citizens of Romania, for
butchering their language. Please feel free to bombard me with curses. So
sorry.
o o o

          In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
                   and the voices of those who stand looking
                    (Led Zeppelin - "Stairway To Heaven")


                            Breathing in this pain
                              rejecting all I am
                             I hear you cry again
                            is this my final stand?
                    (Demon Hunter - "Summer Of Darkness")
o o o
Dear Ron,
I love you, & I'm sorry. No matter what else I've said, that's the truth. There
are things going on here that you don't know about yet, but they're right up
you mad trio's alley, which should tell you everything. If something happens,
tell the others that I love them, too, & Mum & Dad that I didn't suffer,
because you're only cold for a little while & then you just go to sleep. Make
sure Harry doesn't brood too much even if he is a moody bugger, & do the world
a favor and tell Hermione you want to snog her senseless fancy her already, for
God's sakes.
Oh, & make sure Neville gets this hat, all right? I know it's ugly, but I've
always been crap at knitting.
Love you & hope to see you soon,
Ginevra
o o o
For once, when Ginny woke up, it wasn't to any crisis or revelation -- she was
sore and hungry, and that was all.
She still had only her bra and pants, but Charlie had apparently cleaned her up
and covered her with a blanket, sometime after she fell asleep.
There was no sign of him in the tent, but she could feel the heat from his arm
lingering over her waist, so he couldn't be far. She nicked his toothbrush to
scrub the sour morning taste from her mouth, faded apple replaced by fresh
mint, and slipped his discarded tee-shirt on, tucking it into a pair of his
jeans that dragged the ground on her, but not by far.
One good thing about the snow (and there weren't many, so it was worth
noticing), was that it made tracking people a lot simpler. Ginny stepped in his
footprints, just a hair bigger than hers, and tried to keep her teeth from
chattering. Bollocks, it was fucking glacial that morning -- she wished she'd
brought a coat.
Charlie stood at the forest edge, looking out into the trees as if they
contained all the world's mysteries. He didn't seem to notice her, until she
was right behind him. "Hi," she said.
"Hi," said Charlie, glance sliding off her, only to return suddenly. "Is that
my shirt? And...and my trousers? Are you wearing any of my socks, too, maybe my
underwear? I'm not sure, but I might have a hat somewhere you could steal as
well."
"No thanks, that's all right. But I did use your toothbrush."
He stared at her. "You are absolutely horrifying. I thought girls were supposed
to be sweet."
"I'm not a girl, git," she smiled cheekily, butting him with her shoulder.
"Sisters don't count, didn't you know that?"
It got him to smile, just a little, just for a moment. He looked pale
underneath his freckles and black eye. "I was with Nicu, when it happened," he
said suddenly; Ginny's stomach clenched. "We made it as far as the clearing
right before Sarmizegetusa, and then the snow started coming so thick it
blocked the sun. There was...Reiko saw it, and she screamed at everybody to
run, so we did, Nicu and I, we -- we went the same way."
Dread curdled her insides. She didn't want to know, but asked anyway. "What
happened?"
"I spotted them first," Charlie's voice cracked, and he wiped his eyes
viciously. "It's my fault. I saw four Longhorns, but they weren't moving, they
wouldn't leave their eggs. I saw and didn't even think, I just took a run at
them, shouting, so they'd go. Nicu shoved me out of the way, knocked me down
the hill same as Jas," his face had gone terrifyingly blank, closed off. "I
heard them as they died. I heard the dragons screaming, Nicu..."
He trailed off, searching for words that couldn't exist, because there was
nothing to describe what he had to feel. Ginny didn't know whether to touch him
or not. What kind of comfort could you give for something like that? "Charlie,"
she said, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.
He shrugged her off, turning his back to her. She tried to be understanding and
not to feel hurt (she did still). "I'm bringing you to the village today. Jas
will take you back to London, when she goes."
Ginny glowered at him in mistrustful confusion. "Why can't I go when you do?"
Charlie was quiet a long moment. "Something killed them," he said, and looked
at her again finally; his eyes were hard and flat as metal. "I'm going to find
it, and make it answer for that."
The blood drained from her body, filled with black ice instead. She couldn't
believe her ears. "You're having me on," she said flatly. When he didn't smile,
she grabbed his arm. "Charlie, no! You can't go back there, what are you,
mental?"
"I'm sorry, but I have to," said Charlie. "I can't leave it like this."
Fucking Christ, he was really serious. Sudden, sun-hot rage boiled up in her
throat, burning over the fear, the panic squeezing her heart, and exploded like
a fireball behind her eyes. "YOU'RE GOING TO BLOODY DIE, DON'T YOU
UNDERSTAND?!" she screamed, and punched him in the jaw as hard as she could.
It caught them both off-guard. Charlie stumbled and slipped backward right onto
his arse, clutching his face instinctively. When he looked up at her, his eyes
were livid and wet. "I crawled halfway up a mountain to get him, and carried
his body four fucking miles through the snow!" he yelled. "Nicu died trying to
save my dragons and my life, I owe him justice."
"That's justice, then, killing yourself so Nicu died for nothing?" snapped
Ginny, but genuine fear robbed most of its sting away.
Anger he would have gladly reflected back, but her vulnerability undid him;
Charlie sighed, and leaned against his knees. "What do you think is causing
this--" he gestured to the snow, the frozen trees, the darkened sky. "--all of
this madness? And it's only getting worse, Gin," he held her gaze, pleading and
resolute all at once. "You're a smart girl, I know you realize the same as I
do. This won't end until someone makes it."
"So why don't you get the others to help you or a bunch of Aurors or something?
We could owl Dumbledore right now, I'm sure the Order would--" Charlie shook
his head, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
"There was five of us before," he said softly. "Look how that turned out. I
won't endanger anyone else."
The frigid morning air was nothing compared to the cold gripping her from the
inside.
Any more arguing with him would be useless. He'd plainly set his mind, and what
Charlie decided to do, he did. Bloody-minded was not even the term for it.
Only one thing for her to do, then. "You're right, you have to go," she
straightened her shoulders. "But I'm coming with you."
"No! No sodding way," Charlie jumped to his feet in outrage. "Didn't you hear
what I just said? There is not a chance in hell that I'm risking you like
that."
Ginny cocked one hand on her hip. "Well, it's a good thing that I will be
risking myself then, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't," he said stonily. "Because you aren't going."
"You can't stop me," said Ginny. "And if you try leaving without me, I'll
follow you on my own. You know I will."
Charlie's face went bright red. "Not if I hand your Stunned arse over to
Warrick!" he made a grab for her.
He was the most famous Weasley Seeker, but she'd been a good one in her own
rights and had years experience dodging brothers -- she scrambled out of reach,
drawing her wand from her (technically his) pocket as she spun around. "Just
you try," she warned, holding him at wand-point. "Jase would have your arse if
he knew you were going without him, all of them would."
It was immensely gratifying to finally be on the right end of some undeniable
logic for once. Charlie glared daggers at her. "I should tell Mum about this."
"That's a conversation I'd love to see," Ginny snorted. "Especially the bit
where you explain what precisely we were having a row over."
That was a thought to penetrate even the worst fury. He fumed silently. "Five
minutes," he said at last, jabbing his finger at her. "Then I'm leaving, with
or without you. Got it?"
She nodded, no trace of anger left. "I love you, Charlie," said Ginny, and held
her hand out to him. "I'll crawl naked to hell if that's what it takes, but I
won't let you face whatever's out there alone."
A bittersweet shadow rippled over his face, as he momentarily laced his fingers
through hers. "That's exactly why I was going to."
Of course he didn't hold her to the five minutes. There was breakfast to make
first, and sandwiches for taking along. They filled their canteens with water
(not that water would be hard to come by -- there was four feet of snow on the
ground, more in some places), and Charlie helped find a thick coat to fit her,
Reiko's fur-lined anorak with a sewn-in Warming Charm. Paired with snow boots
and Jas's spare gloves, she added the scarf he'd given her what seemed years
ago, but was weeks at most.
They didn't say much.
"We'll take my broom," was the longest and last sentence from Charlie, right
before they left. "In case of a...quick exit," their eyes met, then slid away.
They were almost certain to need the 'exit'. If they lived long enough to, that
is.
It was like going back to the end of term; the DA and the Department of
Mysteries, all those Death Eaters...she tried to put it out of her head,
climbing onto the Cleansweep behind Charlie. She linked her arms around him,
and held his waist tighter than she had to.
No matter the circumstance, it was always a real pleasure, flying with Charlie.
He had a way with brooms like nobody she'd seen except Harry and maybe Krum,
and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that if he hadn't loved Short-Snouts more
than Snitches, he'd have gone professional out of Hogwarts.
Charlie maneuvered them deftly between trees, at speeds the fainter hearted
would have been shrieking and covering their eyes at. Ginny felt a bit dizzy
herself, and put her head down, hoping for the best.
They hadn't gone far before the climate changed dramatically. Ambient
temperature nosedived so rapidly, it was as though the air had flash-frozen,
and made breathing feel like needles scouring her lungs -- Ginny pulled the
scarf over her nose and mouth, before it did any damage.
Great gusts of wind ripped through the pine boughs, howling in their ears and
leaching the warmth from any exposed flesh. "Get down!" Charlie shouted to her,
and the Cleansweep wavered under the icy squall as he rode headlong into its
center, both of them ducked low and hanging on.
Whizzing through the storm, linear falling snow made into meteoric stars that
seemed to be flying at them at a thousand kilometers a second, but that was an
illusion, because it was really Charlie and Ginny doing all the colliding.
Deeper into the forest, the trees grew closer and closer to together, the
branches denser, and though she didn't believe it was past noon yet, daylight
had already begun to evanesce. Charlie had had to slow down to walking pace and
drop to right above the snow, to avoid tree limbs; eventually he stopped
altogether.
He climbed off, sinking deep into the snow. "Come on, we'll have to walk from
here," he said, and pulled up his flying goggles. Ginny hopped down without
help or complaint, as Charlie took out his wand. "Locomotor Broom!" the
Cleansweep obediently floated up, and, when they began to move forward, trailed
right along behind.
It was eerily quiet as they trudged forward, the snow absorbing what little
sound there might have been; all of the forest animals had long since fled, and
neither of them felt much like chatting. Charlie forged ahead relentlessly,
grim with resolution. Ginny followed the best she could, struggling through the
snow, but what came to his mid-thigh was hip-deep for her. It was like
swimming, but more difficult.
The fourth time she fell back, Ginny tried a hopping sort of maneuver through
the snow to try and catch up faster, and lost her balance. A hand shot out and
caught her by the elbow, before she fell; she looked up into Charlie's face.
"You all right?" he asked, eyes thawed by concern.
She nodded, out of breath, and he kept a gentle hold on her arm as they
continued, any lingering hostility from earlier melted away. The trek was
easier after that, though not by much.
Two arduous hours passed, slogging along and helping one another more and more
blatantly as they went. Her legs were shaking with exhaustion by then. "Was it
this rough last time?" she panted, fighting through a particularly deep drift.
Charlie pulled her across it, then grabbed her waist as her legs transformed to
jelly. "No," his hand remained on her hip an instant past necessary, and her
stomach fluttered; last night wasn't far from mind. "More snow since then."
How lucky and comforting. "So what exactly was this great plan you had, for
once you got there?"
The specter of a smile curved his mouth, rueful. "Find it. Kill it. Don't die."
"Excellent plan, very flexible. Simplicity is underrated."
A bit of gallows humor never hurt -- no, that was what the gallows were there
for. And snow banks, Ginny had learned. Snow banks were designed to cause
suffering, it was their only function, really. Another forty minutes of
stumbling through them only reinforced that opinion.
The twilight in the trees was growing darker yet, slow but steady. Ginny
watched her breath turn to silvery-mist. "How much further?" she forced out
through chattering teeth.
"I don't know. Not too, I'd guess," he hesitated, looking at her, then at their
surroundings. "Come on, this way," Charlie tugged her arm. "I saw a dragon's
den just ahead. We can have a rest there."
Ginny was too tired to object, even if she'd wanted to. "Aye, aye, captain."
Snow had almost sealed the den opening shut, and they had to tunnel through to
get inside (forget Seekers; Charlie must have had eyes like a bloody hippogriff
to spot the stupid thing). It was a good-sized, though fairly shallow cave,
filled at the back with what appeared to be grass, tree branches, and all
varieties of bits you might make a nest out of.
"Lumos," said Charlie, for a better look. He frowned. "This is all wrong.
Everything's too tidy -- the nest's been dismantled only partially, not ripped
all to bugger like it should be if the dragons had done it."
Ginny glanced around quickly, as if there might be an intruder lurking in a
corner. "You think somebody's been staying here?"
"Maybe, but you'd have to be pretty desperate," he snorted. "Not to mention
barmy. Having a dragon's den during mating season for your hideout...really not
the cleverest idea."
Unless of course you knew all that was going to go pear-shaped, and the place
would be abandoned. The thought seemed to pop out of thin air, and made her
spine go shivery.
Ginny couldn't shake her eerie feeling as they gathered some of the grass and
branches, and piled them together to build a fire. Charlie pointed his wand at
the lopsided stack. "Incendio!" the grass and smaller twigs burst into flames
instantly, and as they burned, caught the bigger ones. Charlie looked
inordinately pleased. "Don't cast many spells to light fires," he explained.
Between the fire and the snow at the opening, the den heated up nicely. They
took off their anoraks to sit on at the fireside, and their boots to let their
socks dry out (Charlie thought to cast an Impervious Charm on them, this time
around). Ginny stripped out of Charlie's jeans as well, which were soaked, and
had him Levitate them above the fire.
But even with the fire, it was quite chilly to be wearing just your knickers.
Ginny was too exhausted to care, and curled up on her (or rather Reiko's) coat
anyway, hugging her knees to keep from shivering. She felt rather than saw
Charlie look at her, and tried to steady her breathing.
There was rustling, and something brushed her toes, then a solid, warm body
materialized behind her. "Stretch out," he said softly, and she obliged, found
his anorak pulled up below hers, so their feet wouldn't dangle off onto the
dirt floor. Charlie put his leg over both hers, and his arm around her middle,
settling her against him.
Ginny laid her hand over his on her belly, and let herself drift to the
hypnotic flames, terpsichore reds and oranges that softened and bled into each
other as her eyelids slipped.
Time eased around her like treacle. It seemed like only minutes, but was likely
nearer to hours. She'd never know how much -- when she slipped back out of the
doze, the fire hadn't died down anyway, but Charlie might have gotten up at
some point to feed it.
He was curled around her then, sharing his corona of body heat, and erect
against her thigh. It was not the worst moment of her week. Stomach coiling,
she licked her lips, and tried to divine if he was asleep or not. Not terribly
well, mind you, but she hadn't exactly been a devout acolyte of Divinations.
Attempting to be subtle, she ever-so-slightly wriggled her bottom against him.
Her pulse jumped when Charlie squeezed, then began to rub her belly (a better
answer than Trelawney had ever got, she'd bet).
"Woke up, did you?" he rumbled sleepily.
She pressed back harder, and he made a breathy 'ah' sound in the back of his
throat. "Yeah, guess so."
His hand trailed heart-ward to fondle her breast, catching the nipple through
tee-shirt and bra, then plunged across the valley between, the plain of her
stomach, to cup her between the legs.
And it felt as nice as the night before, touching and being touched and just
being close to Charlie, this person she loved with so many different pieces of
her heart. But it was different, because this was nowhere that either of them
had been, not quite, this was hovering over death's shoulder, and she wasn't
about to die without knowing what the rest could be like.
Ginny squirmed onto her other side, and locked her arms round his neck,
scooting up so they were face to face. "Charlie," she whispered, watching his
blue, his band of her hazel. "Be my first, okay?"
He looked away, hesitating, and she willed him with every fiber in her body to
listen. In the end, it was impossible to tell which tipped his decision, the
silent screaming of her cells or his own. "I'll make it good for you, I
promise," he said, and kissed her, just barely brushing his open lips to hers.
She didn't fight when he pushed her onto her back. His weight was heavy on top
of her, but not stifling.
It was only strange because it wasn't strange at all. Charlie shucked off his
rugby shirt then parted her legs, moving down her body 'til his head was at her
belly, and Ginny helped him ruck her shirt up, over her breasts. He raised his
eyebrows at the shimmery lavender bra (changed before they left, utterly
premeditated), and she grinned, tickling her toes over the back of his knees.
Her knickers were the ones Mum had sewn, white with a rainbow of dragons and
embroidered cotton lace edges. It was Charlie that grinned then, and nuzzled
her stomach, the slight soft tummy that separated her from him or their
brothers. He dipped his tongue into her navel, and she giggled. When he kissed
her through her dragon pants, she gasped.
"Charlie!" said Ginny, laughing and embarrassed and excited. It was sort of
confusing.
He didn't say anything, but caught her knickers with a finger on each side, and
tugged them down. She blushed all the way to her chest, raising her legs to let
him pull them the rest of the way off; he stole the opportunity to hook them
over his shoulders, and placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her slick center.
Merlin's white arse. That was indescribable. Ginny grabbed onto his head, as if
that could give her some sense of control, but Charlie only ducked further into
her crotch, stubble scraping her inner thighs. She felt something soft and wet
navigate her opening, slipping inside easier than any finger ever had, and she
moaned in absolute dead surprise.
His nose (broad and slightly crooked, from being broken so often playing
Quidditch) bumped into her clitoris at the same time, a fact neither of them
was unaware of. The dual sensations of that cartilage tip rhythmically stabbing
her and his tongue probing as deep as he could manage had her writhing,
skittering away from the intensity, but Charlie held her down and kept working.
Ginny sobbed with half-relief and half-betrayal when it stopped. It was a false
alarm, though, because immediately that wicked, merciless tongue traveled North
to begin lapping delicately at her clit, and a new player, the digit, entered
both the foray and her in one fell swoop. She was crying out shrilly, gripping
his hair and apparently trying to gain revenge via decapitation-by-thigh.
Charlie latched on with his lips, nursing it for an excruciatingly amazing
second, then launched into a hummed rendition of some Weird Sisters' tune she
could honestly give a knarl's arse about at that moment. His finger was doing
its best to wear calluses inside her, sawing in and out, and when a second
began to work in as well, it twinged slightly but that was hardly noticeable
compared to the armies of other sensations battling it out.
She was cursing and sweating and squirming, as much as he'd allow anyhow. The
dragons could have returned to claim their den, and she would not have noticed
or cared. "Oh God, yes, Charlie, oh!" she gasped desperately, among a lot of
other things that she couldn't keep track of.
Charlie had settled on an unrelenting pattern of sucking, swirling his tongue,
and shagging her energetically with his fingers. Ginny arched up and screamed,
coming harder than ever in her life, ever, probably several lives at least,
spasming so wildly he had to pin her down with both forearms or risk losing a
tooth.
Afterward, all she could do was lay absolutely still, panting, trying not to
have some kind of heart attack. "Wow," was all she could think to say.
His fingers stayed inside, just shifting a little as he slithered back up to
kiss her mouth, tasting like sex. "Okay?" he asked.
"Okay," she slid her hands up over his bare back, circling around front to slip
inside his jeans. He was rock hard, and burning hot; his boxers were soaked
with pre-come. She tentatively traced her thumb around the head, rewarded by
his convulsive jerk into her hand.
Turnabout was fair play. He struggled to focus on her, and removed his fingers.
"D'you still want to?" always a gentleman. Mum would kill any of her sons that
wasn't.
As answer, Ginny unzipped him. Their hands brushed as he reached for his cock,
and Ginny yanked his trousers and underwear down using just her feet.
Funny, how even after the other night, it was still such a shock, the first
touch from his penis. He slid it between her lips at first, slicking himself,
then ran the head up and down her slit. It felt a lot thicker than his fingers.
"Anytime you say, I'll stop. All right?" his voice was husky, and she felt
herself twitch in anticipation; both of them shivered, and she nodded. "All
right," he kissed her again, easy and deep, then started to guide himself into
her.
It took awhile, and it hurt, but not anymore than anything ever did. When he
was all the way in, she looked at him in dazed astonishment, feeling herself
stretched wide around him, him throbbing. She wasn't a virgin any longer -- she
was having sex. She was having sex right at that moment.
It wasn't difficult to see what the fuss was all about.
Charlie pressed his lips to her forehead. "Love you, Gin," he murmured again.
He was very gentle; pulling halfway out slowly, before easing back inside. The
little pain she'd had faded further to the background with each smooth stroke,
still there but negligible, and Charlie reached down between them to touch her.
It felt soothing and wonderful and tortuously slow, an extremely clever
torment.
She felt liquid leak out with his each withdrawal, dripping around him, and
instinctively clenched to try and stop it. Charlie tensed, glancing down at her
in surprise; she tried it again, and on impulse, lifted her pelvis to meet his
thrust, speeding it up. "Please," she moaned, but he shook his head.
"Not yet," he said, holding his rhythm and her hips in place. "Not yet, you'll
see."
It wasn't the sudden, breathtaking rush like before, the orgasmic guerilla
barrage, but instead a steady excruciating climb, the slow burn never wavering,
never ceasing, plowing her methodically centimeter by centimeter until she was
straining against him, spread open and taut, crying and shaking and teetering
unbearably on the edge. "Charlie, please," she begged; he wasn't cruel, so he
rubbed her faster, finally let her move freely, shove onto him as hard and
quick as she needed.
Her orgasm was as gradual and intense as the rise to that point, starting deep
and rippling outward; shudders wracked her body underneath him, and she
squeezed him inside her and outside, arms around his neck and legs around his
waist.
After, she felt him still hard in her. He hadn't come yet. Vague creeping
horror at that; what if she'd been awful? "Charlie?" she didn't specify, but
he'd know what she was talking about.
"Ready?" asked Charlie, and she noticed him pushing in and out, just barely.
Ginny nodded, starting to move with him -- exaggerating his motion. "Faster
this time," she panted, already feeling a renewed tingle.
"It's going to make you sore," but flushed dark, he still seemed glad to,
shifting to drive into her with accelerating thrusts. "Tell me when," he said.
"Say when it's enough."
A dangerous bit of direction, that. He continued to speed up as she continued
to not say anything, and his widened eyes told that he'd realized his mistake,
but by then it was too late.
The cave filled with loud, wet slapping sounds. Charlie was gasping, holding
himself up with one arm and using the other to steady her hips as he pumped her
furiously. "God," he groaned, eyes squeezed shut. "So bloody good, so wet..."
"Let me see," she struggled to lift her head. "I want to see you go in."
Charlie straightened and raised up on his knees, grabbing her arse to pull her
with him, onto him, and leaving just her shoulders on the floor (very strong).
It gave her a better vantage to look down (well, up actually) and watch her
brother pistoning into her; thick and red, sliding in and out. His cock
glistened wet in the firelight.
Ginny was vaguely aware of making high-pitched noises she probably would have
cringed at, but seemed to excite Charlie. His pelvis was fervently hammering
into hers, angling to run along her clit, and the impact from each thrust shook
her. She arched up counterpoint, trying to jar him back. Turnabout.
He was close, she thought, digging his fingers into her skin and pounding into
her intently. Sweat ran down his chest, onto her stomach. The fine copper trail
leading from his navel disappeared into her matching curls, over and over. He
was biting his lip, though it must have hurt to, biceps flexing as he yanked
her forward to take his cock deeper, deeper.
She came suddenly, unexpected, and cried out in almost as much surprise as
pleasure, bucking and gushing wet around him, still impaling her through the
clenching, the convulsing. Charlie's cock slipped easily back and forth, faster
and faster, both of them slippery.
"Ginny, oh, OH!" Charlie threw his head back and rammed into her spasmodically,
coming, thrusting to sticky suction noises as he pumped her to overflow. She
didn't feel any 'powerful shooting cum explode into her lusty womb' (another
literary gem courtesy of Fred and George's educational library); instead she
felt his erection pulse within her, and her groin become even softer and more
wet.
Gradually it stopped, as did he, easing her back onto the ground and following
her down in a trembling slump. She caught him, and pulled him to her breast,
felt him hug her in return. "Thank you," she said, kissing his damp hair. "That
was dead brilliant."
He smiled wearily. "Should be thanking you," he murmured into her skin. "You
were very brave. Not so much as a tear during the bad bit."
"Was I supposed to cry?" asked Ginny, baffled.
He chuckled quietly. "Only if you felt like it. A lot of girls do. The first
girl I was with cried so much, I thought I'd done it wrong. Didn't try again
for three years."
"Told you, I'm not a girl, I'm your sister," she teased gently, and he tweaked
her nose, making her wriggle. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen," he said. "She was a sixth year. My mates thought it was pretty
cool, more than I did."
A week late to share that, then. Ginny wondered if all of them started so
young, but thought of Ron, who hadn't, and Percy and Fred and George, who she
didn't think had. It was strange to think she had finally done something before
they had.
Charlie's breathing had softened, steadied. If he wasn't asleep yet, he was
close to. Ginny stroked his back, to help him drift; she didn't know when he'd
last really slept. The rise and fall of his chest against her stomach was
soothing, warm, and she could count his heartbeats. One for two of hers, two
for four...
She jarred awake. Charlie had rolled to the side, the better not to squish her,
and was snoring gently. Sleep made his face look younger, highlighted his
resemblance to the twins. A surge of groggy, maternal affection tickled her
like little fingers of body heat, and she smiled ironically, because that was
just what they needed, one more dimension to the weird and inappropriate.
It had gotten darker, from what she could see, and the air was very cold. She
extricated herself as gingerly as possible, though Charlie still frowned in his
sleep, to yank free another few branches for their fire. Ginny had just stood
up when the back of her neck began to crawl. A faint wail reverberated through
the den; her ears prickled
There was something outside.
Ginny located and yanked on her knickers, Charlie's jeans that were almost dry
and had been left folded politely by the fire. Her socks were still on, which
suddenly struck her, she had lost her virginity wearing thick gray argyles, but
that was an embarrassment for later. She shoved her feet inside her boots, and
gazed longingly at Reiko's anorak, pinned under Charlie.
It wasn't a conscious decision to leave him there, not...completely. But he
looked so peaceful (and safe), and besides, she would get just a quick peek,
then she would come back to tell him. No use getting him up if it was only a
squirrel or something, maybe a buck like the one that had almost trampled her.
(all the animals had fled after that first snow)
(wait...the animals...)
Ginny grabbed her wand, and ran for the cave entrance.
(why hadn't it gone as well?)
At first she didn't see anything, blind from the fire. A moment later, her eyes
adjusted (brown eyes were faster at that than blue; another reason for her to
investigate instead of Charlie), and shadows emerged against the snow, fallen
and falling still.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing, up a little ways from the cave,
pointing his wand at -- Ginny's mouth went dry as salt. Jesus Christ, what was
it? It held itself upright, humanoid, but every instinct of Ginny's buzzed, not
human. Its limbs were too long, slender and smooth, gleaming argent-white in
the gloom. Silver hair fell in a long mantle around it, flowing as if
underwater in the howling wind that tasted like metal and burned with cold.
Ginny couldn't see its face, and was almost nauseated with gladness of that.
It didn't move, but seemed to waver and flicker in place.
"Imperio!" he boomed above the storm; the creature cocked its head, and stepped
towards him, moving with unnatural grace. "Imperio!" there was fear in his
voice then. It continued to approach, closer and closer, reaching for him now
with long, milky fingers.
"Nu6!" shrieked the man, stumbling away. "Nu, nu, tribuie sa dumneavoastra
asculti de mine7!"
It bellowed with rage, seizing him up from the ground. The air crackled and
dropped at least fifteen degrees; the wind transformed into a roaring, arctic
tempest, whipping the creature's hair and the man's robes about madly. "Nu sint
omului8!" it snarled, a clear feminine soprano.
I heard the dragons screaming...
Nicu, dark lashes frozen white.
"No, DON'T!" screamed Ginny, and vaulted out from the dragon's den without
thought.
She raced uphill, frantically leaping through waist deep snowdrifts. The cold
was so intense, she had begun to shiver uncontrollably the instant she hit open
air, bones aching with it and each breath agonized. Razor shards of ice flew in
the wind, slicing her arms and face as she rushed into it.
The creature twisted around to face her, spine bending fluidly, impossibly.
Ginny's heart lurched, flesh breaking into goosebumps from more than the frigid
night.
It looked like a woman -- an unearthly, terrifyingly beautiful woman clad in
gleaming silk, with purest white skin and luminous jet eyes that had no pupils,
too large, oval to be human. Lacelike frost edged its -- Her -- sharp features,
tracing delicate jaw and cheekbones.
She dropped the man's frozen carcass, to stare at Ginny. "S-Soare9?" the
sonorous whisper passed over her skin, like a caress.
Ginny shuddered, arms scraped raw and red from fighting through the
crystallized snow. Her legs burned from overexertion, each footstep slower than
the last -- she stumbled, eyes watering and drooping closed. If she fell
asleep, she would die.
Shadows flickered, and she forced herself to look up, to see Her coming over
the snow, eerily, bizarrely sinuous, as if there were more joints in Her body
than should have been; She loomed over Ginny, dark-eyed and whiter than the
snow, and reached those endless, spindly fingers toward her. A soft whimper of
pure, primal terror escaped Ginny's throat, and she recoiled from the touch,
like frozen meat, on her cheek. Waiting for the ice to consume her, like the
robed man...
But it didn't come. "Soare, " frozen, tremulous tenderness that made Ginny
finally look Her full in the face, see the eyes filled with all-too-human pain
and hope. "Asta e tu10?"
Heart jackrabbiting so hard, she could hardly hear herself blurt out, "What?"
The Woman (she couldn't think of Her as a creature anymore, not now) stroked
her face butterfly softly, tears shining in the preternatural luminescence of
Her silver-pale skin. "Aveam dor de tine11..."
Understanding colored her fear, tempered it. "I know you," said Ginny, staring
up at Her, awestruck. "I know who you are."
A flash of red caught her eye, seconds before the cry. "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!"
screamed Charlie, charging from the den with his wand out and trained on Her.
The Woman's head snapped toward him, surprise quickly giving way to fury; she
rose with a terrible howl, silver mane whipping in the sudden blizzard that
tore around her, and seared Ginny's exposed flesh.
Freezing rain began to pelt down alongside the near blinding snowfall, slicking
everything it touched in a perfect layer of glistening silver. Icy, tornado
winds ripped through the forest, and the huge pines surrounding them swayed
dangerously, frozen limbs cracking like thunderclaps as they broke off.
Charlie staggered under the onslaught, blood spattering as slashes opened on
his face and bare chest (he hadn't even stopped to put his shirt on) -- but his
wand never dropped. He stood fast and held it, chattering teeth bared and
knuckles whitening with the effort; turned sideways into the storm, arm
extended straight out from his shoulder. "I'm fucking warning you," he
bellowed. "GET BACK!"
"Charlie, don't!" cried Ginny frantically. "Go back inside!"
"Nu!" She stepped in front of Ginny, shoving her behind Her. "Nu veti se
ranesti fratele meu12!" She spit, and rushed at him, trailing ice crystals.
Charlie stood his ground, bracing himself for the fight he had to know he would
lose. He would lose, and he'd die.
Just like Nicu, like the man, oh God, no, NO -- not to Charlie, she wouldn't
let it...
With no actual idea of how to possibly do that, Ginny lurched to her feet and
screamed the only word she could think of: "Zapada!"
She stopped, so fast Her crystals shimmered and crackled against each other,
whirling around to meet Ginny's fervent pleading gaze. Ginny, who couldn't
remember a word of Romanian (that's what it was, right? That's what it had to
be) beyond "Zapada," just kept shaking her head. Desperately hoping it was as
universal as people said, willing to give anything, anything at all, if She
would just understand.
Though she couldn't feel them anymore, somehow Ginny's legs were moving,
carrying her forward. Seconds passed sharper and clearer than reality, and she
was aware of...everything. Glittering ice trees, snow crunching under her
boots; she felt her lungs burn with each breath and the burn between her legs
from each step closing the empty space, blood and semen still trickling down
her thighs.
Random synapse fire, bringing up the memory of something Hermione had said:
that you never really got to where you headed, you just halved the distance,
and halved it again, over and over until the halves were so small you didn't
realize anymore. But you could never get all the way there.
But then her half was finally little enough to reach over, and she thought
nothing at all -- lunging across the snow to grab Zapada's hand -- except that
Romania was really a bloody strange place.
Her skin stung where ice crystals melted then fused onto it, but she didn't
notice; distantly, she felt herself crash land, heard Charlie shouting, and
Zapada's soft cry. Overtaking all that, however, was the sensation of a channel
opening through her arm to her skull, light sucked into her, and not quite
sounds or images but sensations like both pouring piggybacked along.
he was skinny and freckled and small, smaller than she was, younger by five
minutes, and his hair was bright red and shaggy to his shoulders, and they had
loved each other since ever, they were two halves, one legacy of Father who
left them and died, and they were all they'd ever had
The white hand grasping hers breaking-tight was like ice, and there was a flash
from Charlie casting something that didn't help. She wanted to yell for him to
stop, stop it, before She killed him, but her throat had closed, tiny choked
pants forcing just barely out, and her eyes were locked wide, sightless and
watering from the intensity.
they were eight and starving and huddled for warmth in a barn, sixteen and
living gods at either side of the king, they were twenty-three and holding the
Romans back and they'd lain together for the first time that night, before the
feast, and she saw his bright eyes go shocked and frightened, body wrenching,
transforming, and she'd chased him forever, cradled him with their blood in her
skirts and her heart dying inside him, and she would kill them all crush them
make them pay
Ginny reeled backwards, stomach churning, gasping for air as if surfacing from
underwater after too long -- her head throbbed almost frantically, feeling
ready to explode, as her brain scrambled to process what she had just
experienced. "I saw you...I saw," she sobbed. "You loved him so much."
"Soare," Zapada was weeping openly, and sank to Her knees beside Ginny,
reaching for her. "Scumpul m-meu13..." Her voice broke, raw with grief. "Am
fost pierdut fara tu14."
The air had frozen into pearly, frigid mist. It was so cold, Ginny's body had
begun to shut down, and her head felt so heavy, she could hardly hold it up.
Charlie. His image burned clear and bright in her mind, twined with Zapada's
brother, who looked so much like them (like her). Ginny forced herself to keep
awake. "It wasn't right," she whispered frailly, tears freezing in streams. "He
was taken from you, and that was wrong."
Zapada shushed her and shook Her head, gently taking Ginny's face into Her thin
white hands; and Ginny -- who had died once with Tom Riddle and his chamber,
and now again with Zapada and her brother -- did not flinch away. "Dar ai se
intors mie15!" She said with a quavering smile, then quieter again, "Ai se
intors16..."
"Please," Ginny choked, shivering uncontrollably, and she couldn't have
summoned the energy to struggle, even if she'd wanted to -- she was limp as
Zapada pulled her nearer into a tight, freezing embrace, white silk rustling
against Her whiter skin. Ginny felt her grasp on consciousness slip, oblivion
hovering at the edges of her vision. "My brother...please...don't hurt him..."
Zapada's black eyes glimmered inches away, the only spark of warmth in the
world. "Sunt atat de obosita17," She sighed, and sealed Her winter lips to
Ginny's.
Everything turned to ice. All memory of heat or self bled away, replaced by
endless silver-clear, smooth and polished as sheets of glass. Wintergreen
swelled over her tongue, and she felt the ticklish creep of frost on her skin,
her eyes rolling back; wind pounded in her ears to the sluggish pulse of her
heart, and somewhere Charlie screamed over the sound. Spiky outlines of tree
and the moon -- an image of the same scrawny, scruffy young stag she had seen,
centuries ago and just weeks back -- emerged through Zapada, who lifted her
face to the sky and faded into a shimmering breath of frozen stars.
A hush fell, as the winds and silver rain died, and the last remaining
snowflakes drifted down -- then the heavy silence was swallowed by the thrum of
voices, soft murmuring that whispered through the pines, a thousand words of
ancient love and longing.
Dragul meu, eu iubesc tu18
Warm caresses passed through her body, lying spread in the melting snow. Cold,
clammy fingers pressed into her through Charlie's tee-shirt, and a head of
sopping, messy red hair came into view, and a rush of relief and love swelled
in her heart so fierce, it crushed the breath from her lungs. "Ginny, oh God,
Ginny," Charlie was crying messily, shaking, naked skin tinged blue.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, about this indescribable
thing she couldn't even comprehend yet they had just been part of and how very,
very much she loved him and they weren't dead, somehow they really weren't
dead. But the moment came, and all her words turned to dust, and Ginny just
threw her arms around his neck instead, clutching him as hard as her frozen
limbs would allow.
Eu iubesc tu
Mereu19
They were alive.
o o o

                      I have seen you in this white wave
                                you are silent
                               you are breathing
                         in this white wave I am free
                   (Sarah McLachlan - "Silence {Delirium}")


                             I am with you always
                          and I will never turn away
                                   from you
                          breathe me in, I'm forever
                  (Killswitch Engage - "The Element Of One")
 
o o o
6 Nu - No
7 Nu, nu, tribuie sa dumneavoastra asculti de mine! - No, no, you must obey me!
8 Nu sint omului! - I am no man's!
9 Soare - Sun
10 Asta e tu? - Is that you?
11 Aveam dor de tine - I have missed you
12 Nu veti se ranesti fratele meu! - You will not harm my brother!
13 Scumpul meu - My love
14 Am fost pierdut fara tu - I have been lost without you
15 Dar ai se intors mie! - But you came back to me!
16 Ai se intors - You came back
17 Sunt atat de obosita - I am so tired
18 Eu iubesc tu - I love you
19 Mereu - Forever
***** VI *****
Note: The end, at last.
o o o

                               Put out the fire
                          don't look past my shoulder
                              the exodus is here
                          (The Who - "Baba O'Riley")


                      A little voice inside my head said
                                don't look back
                            you can never look back
                      (Don Henley - "The Boys Of Summer")
o o o
Dear Harry,
Hope your summer's been all right. I know it can't have been more than that,
but you should do what you can. To be happy, I mean. It's just...you never
know, do you? So you have to grab all the chances you get, because sometimes
you don't get as many as you'd deserve. It isn't fair how fast it stops.
Anyway. Well...see you soon, I guess.
Ginny
o o o
They flew to the village without stop, not even to gather their things from the
dragon den. The sky was clear as sunlight, summer hot, and trees rained warm
water like tears as the forest thawed around them. Charlie gripped her hand the
entire way, and didn't let go when they slid off his broom, ran through snowy
streets to the inn where the others were staying. His bare feet slapped against
the wet cobblestones; hers ached in sympathy.
When they burst inside, dripping cold, bruised and bloody, the remaining dragon
handlers were sitting around the hearth as if they'd been waiting. Jas was the
first to look up, and dropped her mug of chocolate with a tiny yelp, followed
by a louder one of pain when the hot liquid seeped through her flannel pajamas.
"Shit, ouch -- Weasley! Gin!" she leapt to her feet. "What on earth's happened
to you?"
Then everyone was talking at once, voices rising over each other's and echoing
off the high rafters, until Jase herded them all upstairs to their rooms,
before the owners chucked them out. Towels and dry clothing were distributed,
while the story (minus a few...details) came tumbling out, words pouring from
Ginny like arteries gushing, with hardly a pause to breathe before it was
finished. After, the others stared at both Weasleys in utter shock.
"I can't believe it was all real," said Panos hollowly.
"I can't believe you're so completely stupid!" cried Jaswinder, limping forward
to jab a finger at Charlie. "You didn't come fetch us, you bastard!" she
slugged him in the chest, then grabbed him in a bear hug, apparently trying to
squeeze the life out of him; her voice was muffled by Jase's loaned sweatshirt.
"Bloody Gryffindors -- if you'd got killed without me, I'd've murdered you."
Charlie hesitated before wrapping his arms around Jas, and caught Ginny's eye
over the top of her rumpled purple head; Ginny swallowed, pulling her towel
tighter around her shoulders.
There were only two rooms, three beds; Reiko and Marika sharing, the boys
separate, and Jas on a bedroll in the girls' room, because her leg felt better
that way. Two quick, scalding hot showers later, Panos gave Charlie and Ginny
his, and slept with Jase that night, to no comment. They pretended not to
notice Panos edged backward, Jase curling delicately against him, touching
Panos's hip.
Once the other two had fallen asleep, Charlie pulled Ginny to his chest, and
discreetly slipped his hand between her legs, murmuring charms to soothe the
soreness he'd been right about.
The next morning, Jase rubbed them head to toe with salves for frostbite, and
made them sit in the bathroom for an hour, breathing bluish-colored steam that
smelled like cloves and gardenia, to heal their lungs. Charlie protested
through the door that this was wholly unnecessary because he felt marvelous, he
hadn't even got that close to the bloody Ice Wench, and Ginny just rolled her
eyes and breathed deeper. In fifteen years with Mum, she'd learnt about tilting
at windmills.
Everywhere was flooded, the sudden wave of August heat melting snow into
rivers. Ginny sloshed through it to owl Harry's postcard (useless though it
was), and a scribbled note for Ron saying she was fine, he was a pillock, and
she loved him to pieces. Charlie was waiting in front of the inn when she
returned, Cleansweep hovering over his lap.
He stood, climbing onto the broomstick, and held out his hand to her. "Come
on," was all he said; Ginny silently climbed on behind him, and held on. Now
wasn't the time, but she knew he'd explain, when he was ready to. It hardly
mattered -- she'd follow him anywhere, anyway.
The flight up the mountain in sunshine and birdsong was just different enough
to be like déjà vu. She felt she hadn't been there really, just somewhere a lot
like it. Grass peeked through the snow, flashes of green passing under them,
and she spotted the dragon den right off this time, entrance uncovered by the
thaw.
She tried not to see the dark slash of robes lying not far from it. Charlie
followed her eyes, grim. "Why don't you go fetch everything from inside, Gin,"
he said gently. "I'll...take care of the rest," she wanted to tell him he
didn't have to, she was a big girl -- but the mere thought of that body
reminded her of before, when it had been inhabited, and what had taken his
life, Nicu's, what could have easily happened to Charlie and to her.
"All right," said Ginny, and walked into the cave.
It was quite a bit lighter now, and hot, muggy from the inch deep water pooled
inside. Lovely. Their coats and Charlie's shirt had drifted back, floating
caught in the mucky, jagged edges of the ruined dragon's nest. Ginny sighed in
disgust, and gingerly sloshed forth, to try somehow pulling everything free
without touching any of it.
She wasn't fantastically successful. Reiko's anorak in particular had decided
to be stubborn, and stay firmly caught. "Yuck," she muttered, yanking harder.
Her third tug, the coat came loose along with a sizeable chunk of nest. The
sudden lack of resistance sent Ginny stumbling backward, legs catching on
branches while the rest of her kept moving. She let out a startled cry and
flailed her arms out, soaring through a moment of horrific-thrilling freefall,
then crashed down onto her arse with a truly epic splash.
Oh, bollocks.
Ginny's mind went blank, short-circuited by inconceivable amounts of
grottiness. Lots of jumping and screaming and hysterical skin scrubbing loomed
at her, and she tried to latch onto details -- any detail -- not involving
cold, wet filth.
Blue sky outside the cave. Warm air. The rock ceiling, craggy and dripping
moisture (no, no, don't think about that). The corner of something dark red and
leather poking out the hole in the dragon's nest.
It didn't take even a second. She knew what it was, in her bones, she felt what
it had to be. Ginny scrambled onto her knees, crawling through dirty lukewarm
water. Without a thought now, she plunged in with her bare hands; digging to
widen the hole though mud and decomposing grass caked under her fingernails,
and broken edges of twigs scratched long weals on her skin.
Everything had been shoved from her focus but the emerging clean, squared
lines.
The shape pulled free with a loud sucking sound, and one sharp corner jabbed
her wrist, but she didn't stop to mind it, prying the cover open. Inside were
pages as crisp and immaculate white as she had known they would be. Thick
spikes of cursive began to bleed to the surface, slowly, in smudged, tight
loops.
She couldn't read a bloody word of it, except for one, printed neatly on the
first page. A name.
(staring at her from the bar, eyes smile-less and too bright, familiar)
Ginny's head spun crazily. It felt as though all the air had been crushed from
her body. "It was you," she whispered, tremors building in her arms and legs.
"You did this."
A liquid rush of heat shot over her scalp. Rage shuddered, sizzled up her
throat suddenly, like bile, and blood leeched from her knuckles to glow white,
gripping the diary's halves so hard her hands trembled. She should have known,
she should have remembered him...
"Son of a BITCH!" her voice cracked, like the diary's spine bent to breaking;
she tore the front cover free, and hurled it against the cave's stone wall,
where it struck with a wet slap. "You killed them, you fuck, it was you, IT WAS
YOU! IT'S YOUR FAULT THEY'RE DEAD!"
Horrible, scalding grief rang in her ears, a buzzing shriek that drowned out
her own screams and the heavy splashing footsteps at the den entrance. She was
ripping pages out in fistfuls when Charlie caught her around the elbows, and
pinned her against his body; holding her still though she kicked and struggled
and cursed him, 'til she was shaking, sweaty, and exhausted, limp and crying
wretchedly.
"It's my fault," she sobbed, lying boneless in the filth and her brother's
arms. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."
Charlie's heart was pounding beneath her shoulder blade, his voice right in her
ear. "What are you talking about, Ginny?"
"I saw him, I should've realized...if only I'd said something --" guilt like a
sucker punch, like her stomach had opened, black and endless, and her body was
falling through from the inside; she looked up at Charlie, bloody-eyed and
salt-chapped red cheeked. "Nicu w-would be...he wouldn't..."
She didn't get another word out, before his arms contracted around her,
squeezing her almost frantically and shaking his head. "Stop, Ginny,
love...no," he tucked her head under his chin, rocking her like she was a
little girl. "Isn't your fault -- nothing's your fault."
They would all hate her once they knew. The masochist streak in her rushed into
that waiting pain, made her slip free and unclench her fists to give him the
handfuls of paper, condemning her for the self-absorption that had allowed this
tragedy to occur. Charlie said nothing, eyes flicking as he scanned the pages,
mouthing the words silently to himself until something made him choke.
"Son of a bitch," he echoed her hollowly, staring in disbelief. "That bloody
traitor," he shook his head, gathering her up to pull both of them to their
feet. "Come on."
She nodded, barely hearing, and followed him blankly to the Cleansweep,
gripping it with numb fingers, white knuckles.
The return trip was a blur, passing images leeched of light and color by the
guilt carving out her insides, crippling regret bitter-metallic in her mouth,
nauseating. Her fault.
Charlie took her by the hand and led her up to their room, where Panos and Jase
were playing cards -- holding tight so she couldn't run as he tossed the pieces
of the diary into a startled Jase's lap. "Put that back together while I get
the others," said Charlie, then turned to Ginny, cupping her face with one hand
and squeezing her own captive one with the other. "Stay here."
Ever perceptive, Panos already had his hand on her back when Charlie let go,
gently guiding her to sit beside him. His kindness wrenched tight in her chest,
throat closing; she tried to swallow, feeling sick.
She deserved this pain, and so much more.
A muttered spell and tap from his wand had the diary whole again in Jase's
grasp. He didn't wait to begin reading, and wasn't a page in before he snapped
to sharpest attention, lips flattening into a hard line. His face was grim as
stone by the time Charlie returned, discreetly helping crutchless Jas walk,
trailing a few steps behind Marika and Reiko.
"What is it?" asked Marika, after one look at him.
Charlie answered instead. "We know who's responsible. For Nicu, the
dragons...everything."
Oh God. Ginny's stomach plummeted. They would know, they would know and hate
her with every right. She put her hands over her ears, and quietly started to
cry. It was better than throwing up, the other thing she felt like doing.
Panos's hand was cool on the nape of her neck, soft brown gaze heavy on her
skin.
Jaswinder slammed the door shut. "Out with it. Now."
"Karkaroff."
Jase was hardly recognizable speaking, a raw murmur. Everyone stared at him, in
varying states of shock; he looked up from the pages, and cleared his throat.
When he tried again, his voice was hoarse but steady, eyes the bottom of the
sea. "He means Igor Karkaroff."
Marika swore, and sat heavily on the foot of the unoccupied bed, face in her
hands. Reiko followed immediately, touching her lover's hair, and looked to
them in confusion. "And who the hell is that?" she demanded.
"An ex-Death Eater," said Charlie, taking a seat of his own by Ginny, elbow
grazing hers not quite accidentally. "Missing since year before last. We'd
thought he was dead, but apparently not."
"He was my old headmaster, and a...mentor," Marika spoke softly, without
raising her head. "I...he knew I was Românesc20, like he was...he had told me
of his village, in the mountains near Sarmizegetusa," she shuddered. "I did not
believe it was him, I swear. There was an old man at market once, but I could
not believe...I did not want to..."
It took a moment for the implications to sink in. Everything inside Ginny
slowed, icing over. All thought disappeared under the dark, frozen surface, and
the dull roar of self-loathing and recrimination in her mind lulled, stunned as
the rest of her.
Everyone else seemed a bit dumbfounded as well. "Marika," said Jas, brow
furrowed. "D'you mean you saw him?"
She nodded, letting out an unsteady breath. "It, it was as Charlie said. I
thought he had been killed, I...told myself it was a sad heart's foolish wish,
it could not be him," Marika lifted her face to look at them all, tears running
like snow-melt down cheeks gone ashen, anguished. "I should have told you
all...but I could not allow myself to see, and Nicu is dead for it. I am as
guilty as my teacher."
Marika dropped her gaze, desolate, and Reiko pulled her into her arms, holding
her with all the strength of her thin body. "Oh, love, don't ever think that,
not ever," she said. "So you spotted him once. Big bloody deal. How were you
supposed to know what bollocks he was up to? Who are you, fucking Cassandra, to
see the future?"
"She's right," said Jas, stroking Marika's knee comfortingly. "There's no way
you could have known. It's him, and only him, that's responsible."
The others all nodded and murmured their agreements. It wasn't Marika's fault.
None of them believed that. And if they thought it wasn't her fault, then
maybe...maybe they wouldn't think it of Ginny, either. The fist inside her
chest began to unclench -- not entirely, though. She knew, as she was certain
Marika did, that neither of them were completely innocent.
If they had done differently, there was a chance Nicu would be alive, Nicu and
all those Longhorns and even Karkaroff, wretched waste as he'd been.
So maybe they weren't to blame for what Karkaroff had done. But for what they'd
done, however unknowingly, to help...yes. Yes, they were. Forgiveness for that,
for herself, would be a long time in coming. If ever.
Charlie's hand slipped into hers, warm and tender-rough, and she realized that
this was what it meant. This is what it was to grow up.
The afternoon and night slipped away as Jase read the diary aloud, with Charlie
translating for her. It felt important for them all to understand first, to
hear for themselves, before handing it over to the Ministry.
Karkaroff had indeed been in hiding from the other Death Eaters, living like a
hermit among the forests of his home. And it was there he had heard again and
remembered a legend from his childhood, of ancient magic more powerful than had
been seen for centuries; more powerful than any living wizard possessed.
The seed of a plan to return to You-Know-Who's good graces. The beginnings of
true madness.
He had summoned Her in late spring, using deer's blood and his own, cut from
his wrist. But over the months, waiting for Her strength to ripen, his corrupt
heart had grown blacker and blacker with the temptation of such power.
Eventually, the weapon he had intended to harness for his once master, he
thought to take for himself instead. 'I will fear nothing of the withered Lord,
when I am stronger than death!', he had written.
It was arrogance that undid him, in the end. He'd honestly believed he could
control Her.
Chilling, to think what would've happened if he'd been right.
"How could he do this thing?" said Marika afterward, hollowly. "How could he
have been so evil?"
There wasn't any answer to give.
None of them slept, choosing to stay and talk together, try to make sense of
the senseless. An unspoken wake, because the next day would be Nicu's funeral.
In the morning, everyone at last went their separate ways, to shower and dress
and breathe in and out, pretend to get ready for what nobody was ever ready
for. Ginny went with Charlie, and tried to help with the clasps on his dress
robes, trembling fingers and blurred eyes. Charlie finally caught her hands in
his, to still them, and laid his forehead against hers, eyes closed. "Hush,
love," he'd murmured, when she began to sob. "It'll be all right."
The service was what she was coming to expect, from her (growing) experience
with them. Numb, with icy spikes of regret and fresh pain, sorrow so deep it
lived in the marrow of your bones.
She didn't know anyone there, except for the others from camp (Jaswinder-from-
London, Panos-from-Athens...God, a life ago), and didn't understand what they
were saying anyway, since it was all in Romanian. It was just a haze of people
with eyes like his, his smile, the same voice or posture.
What was left after you couldn't cry anymore?
Time crawled on its belly, slowed to endless, and by the end of it, all of them
were red-eyed and aching and empty. Supper was as low a point as they'd ever
had collectively, and Ginny spent most of it not-eating the soup or the eggs or
the sour cream. Panos and Reiko conspired to make her actually get something
down, and Charlie tried to bully her into it, but none of them got very far
because none of them were really eating, either.
Tomorrow Charlie would take her home. Whatever home was, now. She honestly
didn't know. And apparently it was possible to feel worse than she already did,
because thinking of that made her feel it. It made her scared to wonder what it
would be like, after these last months.
It was worse, knowing the summer would be over. Nothing would ever go back.
She laid awake in the darkness, curled on her side; listening to Panos's gentle
breathing and Jase's accompanying soft snores, feeling Charlie's heart beating
and his chest rise and fall. This moment had almost not happened. She and
Charlie had almost not been here to have heartbeats, or breathe, or lie
thinking instead of sleeping. Ginny tried to sort through the mess of emotion
sitting in her belly, churning and tangled like yarn.
Sadness, always first now. Guilt and relief, because they were alive when so
many others weren't. Confusion. But love, too.
Charlie rolled over, towards her, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if he was
asleep or not. Then his hand found her side, tugging her backwards to notch her
body into his, and she knew he'd been awake probably like she had been. She
turned her head, seeking, and he the Seeker raised up enough to lean over, kiss
her, soft and open-mouthed.
No one would ever know this part, when she and everyone else told what
happened. It would be the secret history, like Zapada and Soare; it would be
the space between words.
Morning came quiet, blurred. She'd packed all her things the night before
(including the lovely boots from Charlie -- it felt right to wear her pink
shoes home), so there wasn't anything to do except say goodbye to the others.
Nobody cried, and that was okay. There'd been enough crying.
Marika and Reiko hugged her, holding hands, left purple lipstick on her cheek
and the smell of spiced lotion. "Get some use out of that bloody bra, all
right?" said Jas, and punched her arm, bells jangling and smile crooked, even
with the dark shadows under her eyes. Panos surprised her by grabbing her and
holding tight, twirling her around and around in circles. He told her to come
visit him in Athens, they'd go dancing.
Jase was sober, shaking her hand and saying how much they'd liked having her,
but when she opened her fingers afterward, there was a slip of paper with the
numbers of stations on the WWN who played punking music, and a message that he
and Panos would send her Floo coordinates to Greece come Christmas.
Merlin's tits, she'd miss them, the whole daft bloody lot -- dragons, endless
complications, and all.
Pangs of it already pierced her, in captive rings like Marika's, Bill's, and
her heart felt heavy like rain. It was hard imagining what it'd be like, life
as she was now without them in it. Ginny buried the thought and kept a brave
face, informing them they were all mad as a bottle of chips, and to drop and
roll whenever they caught fire. If her grin wavered a bit, nobody said
anything.
Finally Charlie put his hand on her elbow. "You ready?" she nodded; he turned
to the others. "I'll be back tomorrow, sometime. Everyone try not to be eaten
before then, all right?"
Chorus of 'yeahs', like it was any errand, any day. Throat prickling as she
realized that for them, it essentially was. They were already busy planning the
next phase, to round up the remaining Longhorns and salvage what they could.
"Who knows? Maybe there'll be some eggs cached away on a beach someplace," said
Jas excitedly. "Lucky I thought to bring my bikini."
All of them were moving on. There was only her left now.
The Portkey to London was a tiny statuette, of a white rabbit with a pocket
watch. Muggle art could be dead bizarre sometimes. She glued her sight on its
golden gleam, eyes watering in the madly rushing winds, and tried to put off
the sinking inside as motion sickness.
They landed in a narrow alley somewhere, with only rubbish bins and three
completely uninterested rats to see their arrival. It was hot and bright out,
high summer, with not a cloud in sight. It made her glad she'd worn shorts; the
rugby shirt (stolen from one of the twins, ages ago) was definitely better
suited to the Carpathians, though.
Charlie seemed immune to weather in his old red windcheater and good jeans (no
burnt patches, only one rip in the knee). He brushed himself off, mussing his
already hopeless hair even more, then stuck the figurine in his pocket. "Come
on, Pinky," he said, putting his arm around her. "We've got places to be."
But not the same ones. Ginny wrapped her own arm around his waist as they
walked, and squinted off at the horizon, above the cityscape. The sky was so
blue it hurt to look at, just a bit. Its endlessness was...comforting.
Five minutes to reach Number 12 Grimmauld Place, which looked as grim and
grotty as ever. "Home, sweet home," said Ginny wryly, pushing the heavy black
door open.
Mum was downstairs in the kitchen, tending a giant stew pot and steadily adding
to the heaps of baked goods piled over the counters and table. She nearly
dropped a sheet of pumpkin biscuits in her rush to wrap them in great hugs,
fussing over how thin and exhausted they looked. "Sit down this instant, the
both of you. Honestly! It looks as if you haven't been fed properly in years,"
she scolded, taking two bowls from the dresser, and filled them right to the
lip with mutton stew. "Get this down while I'll make you some tea."
Charlie caught her eye, grinning, as they obediently took the bowls. Arguing
would probably just get her a second serving. Ginny sighed to herself, picking
without interest at her stew. Then the smell of the meat and rich gravy hit
her, delicious and familiar, so thick she could almost feel it, taste it. Her
mouth watered, stomach growling.
Suddenly starving, Ginny decimated her helping in record time, along with two
buns and countless cups of tea. It felt like blood returning to her body.
"Good grief, and I thought Ron was the family shark," came a voice from behind.
"Careful not to inhale anything, like silverware."
Ginny didn't have to turn around to know who it was. "Bill!" she cried, and ran
to leap on her eldest brother.
Surprised, he still caught her effortlessly. She held tight around his neck,
feet dangling and eyes shut, mentally cataloguing changes, the lack of them.
Bill smelled like leather and frankincense, and his hair was almost as long as
hers now. A new silver barbell glinted in his eyebrow. He was alive. He was
alive and whole, and they'd all lived through the summer.
"Hello to you, too," he laughed, setting her back on the ground, then grinned
at Charlie. "What, no hug from my ickle brother?"
Charlie rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't know. Go find an 'ickle' brother and ask
him, toerag," he said, but got up all the same to embrace Bill, clapping him
manfully on the back. "S' good to see you."
A quiet second passed, them just holding onto each other. No one else would've
noticed, but suspicion crawled along Ginny's spine, thoughtful and cold. Then
they broke apart, Bill keeping one arm thrown around him. He ruffled Charlie's
hair. "It's been too bloody long. Don't wait so long to come around next time,
you silly git."
"Aye, aye, sir," muttered Charlie, but he was smiling. So was Mum. Everybody
loved Bill.
The fresh tea was hot, almost scalding. Ginny added another few lumps of sugar,
then took a sip, and held it in her mouth, feeling the bittersweet burn all
through her body. She loved him, too.
Ron was there of course, sunburnt and cheerful, and the twins as well. Everyone
had come home all at once, it seemed.
Except Percy. Except that it wasn't home.
Supper was chaotic as it had always been, an explosion of red hair and chatter
and temper and laughter. Fred and George were discreetly flinging peas at Ron,
who took it with better humor than usual. The hols must have set well with him.
Mum harangued Bill about his new piercing and breakup with Fleur Delacour,
while Dad and Charlie played mellow counterpoint as they had since forever;
talking about the Cannons' new Beater and work at the Ministry.
It was like a thousand meals they'd had before. There wasn't -- wasn't any
reason it should be awkward. Yet Ginny said only a word or two, allowing
herself to fade into the noise, and barely touched her food. Her whole body
felt disjointed, heavy, head wide open and out of sync. Light was harsh, seeped
in from the top of her eyes to fill her cotton-packed skull.
Unease clung to her skin like patchouli oil, too thick and sick-cloying. She
tried to push the feeling away, but everywhere was something else. Fred and
George still teasing, but looking like grown men now, sharper. Charlie's eyes
always tracking Bill, who underneath his charm was always tracking back.
Ron and his new sideburns. Ron grinning the widest, laughing the hardest. Ron
taller and stronger and happier than ever after the summer, when all she'd got
was older.
What would they see, looking at her?
After dessert, Bill volunteered to help Mum with the dishes, and the twins
dragged Dad off to test their new product, playing cards that provided
extremely biased commentary in a voice suspiciously like Lee Jordan's. Charlie
didn't say anything, but gave her shoulder a squeeze as he passed, trailing
quietly along to the kitchen. For some reason, her chest ached thinking of it.
Utterly cracked, that's what it was. Ginny shook her head, and made to go to
her room, maybe sleep away this sense like everything was happening too close.
She'd got one foot on the stairs when Ron grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
"Hey!" she stumbled, managing to catch herself but just barely, then socked him
in the arm. "Merlin's sac! What'd you do that for, you giant mental case?"
"This," Ron ripped a crumpled, much-abused scrap of paper out of his pocket,
and shoved it at her. It was her letter card...thing. "And what it's supposed
to mean, exactly."
Right...that. She flushed, pulling her arm away from him. "I sent you a letter
explaining that."
"No, you sent a letter saying that I'm a prick but you love me heaps, and oh
yeah, don't worry," he said, the last words dripping with sarcasm. "So please
excuse me for not gleaning any answer from that, except that you're totally off
your nut."
In retrospect, she supposed she could've been a bit clearer. Well, bugger.
Ginny sat down on the foot of the staircase, and sighed, pushed her hair out of
her eyes. "Didn't think you'd get so worked up," she said. "I thought you'd be
used to that sort of thing by now, with all the nonsense you lunatics are
always getting mixed up in."
Ron snorted. "Are you mad? I was halfway to sodding Romania when you owled the
second time. Do you know what that trip is like on a broom?" he plopped down
beside her, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're my sister, twit. I worried
like hell -- I will always worry like hell if you're in danger of snuffing it,
especially if it's on top of some fucking mountain a thousand kilometers away."
"Oh," she winced, conscience putting its teeth to her. Self-absorption was so
much easier when you were on your own. "Did you tell Mum and Dad?"
"Did Mum come drag you home by the ear?" he said dryly, then looked away, eyes
dropped. "No, I didn't say anything. You know I wouldn't."
A surge of tenderness in her heart, because yeah, she had known and that's why
she'd owled him. Ron was good at discreet, at least when it came to stupidly
risking your life. God, she'd missed him, she'd missed all of them so much, and
come so close to never seeing any of them again. She closed her eyes, warm-wet
stinging, and laid her head on his shoulder; his tee-shirt was new, crisp
against her cheek.
"Gin?" murmured Ron, startled.
She buried her face, breathing in the smell of laundry soap, the cologne he'd
begun wearing. "I'm really glad we're here."
Ron went quiet; he knew that 'here' didn't mean London, or the stairwell. "Me,
too," he said after a minute, and took her hand. They remained like that, not
speaking, until the sound of footsteps up from the basement reached them. Ginny
moved first, erasing, and they could've been sitting for any reason when Bill
and Charlie appeared.
They were chatting and laughing about something, Charlie's shoulder grazing
Bill's bicep. Jealousy did not flare blinding burning stabbing all over her.
The landing was just stuffy. And overheated. Of course.
Bill came to a dramatic halt, stopping Charlie with an extended elbow, and eyed
them in highly theatrical suspicion. "All right, you two, the jig is up. It's
no use pretending innocence, as we have in fact actually met you before, and
know it for bollocks," he teased, and held up his fists, play-fighting Ron.
"Particularly this rough bastard -- look at those eyes! Curse your bits off
soon as look at you, I bet."
"Sooner, with a face like yours," grinned Ron, slipping punches like a boxer
and floored them all by actually sneaking a jab past Bill's guard, catching him
clean on the chin.
Charlie hooted and clapped while Ginny covered her mouth, hiding a laugh. Bill
shook off the hit, and cackled, grabbing his little brother around the neck.
"Oo, look out, got a real hard man here," he tousled Ron's hair, and cuffed him
on the back of the head; pride shone in his beaming face. It was obvious what
they'd spent at least part of the summer doing.
It was sweet, in a...demented sort of way. Which was typical where her brothers
were concerned, actually.
The front door opening jerked her attention away. "My! It seems the prodigals
have all returned," said a familiarly soft, slightly hoarse voice that could
only belong to Remus Lupin. He looked shabby and tired as ever, a thin smile
warming his peaked, careworn face as he stepped inside, suitcase in hand.
"Remus!" said Bill, and (after one final noogie) released his hold of Ron to go
shake Lupin's hand. "I thought you weren't due back for days yet."
"A slight, er, adjustment of plans," his smile became somewhat abashed.
"Cornish Pixies are quite...enamored of wolfsbane. My supply in particular, it
would appear," he coughed, and gracefully redirected the conversation,
searching out amongst the mob of red. "Ah, Ginny, Charlie. Just the Weasleys I
wanted to speak with. How is Romania?"
They exchanged a glance. "It's well," said Charlie, and sounded as if he meant
it. "There was a bad patch, but I think that's finished now."
Remus's gaze was calm, friendly -- but there was a piercing quality to it, too,
that made her uncomfortable. A keen intelligence lay behind that deceptively
mild stare. "Good, good, I'm pleased to hear it. But I'm also very pleased to
be so near a bed, so if you'll excuse me, I shall go take advantage of that,"
as he passed through to the stairs, Lupin paused beside Ginny. "Thank you for
the chocolate, by the way. Very thoughtful of you," his eyes sharpened on hers
a moment, before returning to their former easy nature. "Well, goodnight then."
A chorus of 'goodnights' followed him up the darkened stairwell. Ron shot her a
meaningful look behind Bill's back; she bit her lip, and ignored it.
Mum discovered them shortly after, and shooed Ron and Ginny off to their rooms,
to rest at least if they wouldn't actually sleep. "Come on," she said, herding
the both of them along, protesting (Ron) and resigned (Ginny) alike. "It's been
a long day."
"Really, Mum, I think they're old enough to decide whether they're tired or not
--" Bill stopped dead at the look she leveled him. "Erm, I mean...dreadfully
late, isn't it? Far too late for...people...er...what a lovely brooch. Is it
new?"
Defying typical universal order, Charlie did the safe thing for once, which was
to wave and wish them a good night's sleep.
Ginny's stop came first, which she was not ungrateful for. Even through the
door, she could still hear Ron's voice arguing with Mum, all the way to his
room on the second floor. She didn't bother unpacking her things, since they'd
just be leaving for Hogwarts in a few days, anyway. Instead, she sat quietly on
the bed, and looked around.
It felt strange, to be back in her old room at Grimmauld Place. Like things
should all be radically different, or crumbling to bits or something. That was
actually the overall sense she'd been having since her arrival. Like nothing
should be the same, because she wasn't. Except maybe she was, and it was
everybody else who'd changed and she was lost, playing keep-up.
Balls, her head was killing her. In at least two ways, possibly hundreds (she
wouldn't put it past). The light on her eyes made it worse, so she squeezed
them shut, burying her head under a pillow for good measure.
Sleep wasn't surprising. She awoke without realizing it at first, reverse-
fading into twilight consciousness; she did not exist, then did, with no clear
dividing line between. The clock's ticking reverberated in her skin. There
wasn't any sound aside from that, which made it seem louder.
The pillow had gotten hot and damp from her breathing, and her lungs sort of
hurt from the effort. She chucked it away, and sat up, squinting blearily at
the time. It was just after two o'clock. Five hours, then.
Her mouth felt and tasted like something had nested, given birth, then died
inside it. Water, thought Ginny, almost feeling it on her tongue, cool and
delicious. She rolled off the bed, stretching to try and ease her stiff
muscles, and shuffled out from her room, zombie-like.
The light was still on in the drawing room. Very curious.
Wide awake now, she crept toward the open door, and peeked inside. It was Bill
and Charlie, lounging together on one of the sofas and well into a bottle of
brandy. They were talking quietly. Ginny strained to hear what they said, fill
in the gaps with body language.
Bill leaned forward to refill his glass, chuckling at something, and his collar
stretched open, enough so the candlelight glinted off a thin filigree chain
around his neck. Heartbeat quick came Charlie's hand, and Ginny caught her
breath as he caught the chain. Her ears buzzed with the intensity of trying to
listen. "--lieve you still wear this old thing," he said, running the
glimmering, delicate strand between his fingers. A pale, crescent-shaped object
dangled from it.
"Of course. You gave it to me, didn't you?" murmured Bill, and his eyes were on
Charlie's face, warm and summer-sky clear, drawing in.
It was a dragon's tooth necklace.
Ginny spun away, not wanting to see the heavy-soft darkening of Charlie's gaze,
Bill looking at him like, like. She opened her eyes, aching dry, and found
herself downstairs somehow, no memory of getting there. Her body didn't feel
connected, like floating, and she floated down further to the kitchen, blindly
following the last sensible direction from her brain: get water.
And nearly collided face-first with Remus. "Ginny!" he startled, nearly losing
grip on his sandwich. "You scared me. What on earth are you doing awake?"
Words. She knew how to use those, yes. Her mouth opened, though, and nothing
came out; all she could do was stand there, making little airy sounds.
Remus stared at her, half curiously and half with alarm. "Is everything okay?"
he asked, frowning slightly, and touched her shoulder; she jerked back,
would've tripped if he hadn't caught her arm. He tugged her into the crook of
one elbow, and gingerly steered her to the table. "All right, let's have a sit-
down, shall we? There now."
He helped her onto a chair, waiting a moment to see if she'd stay on or fall,
before pulling up a chair of his own. "Sorry," she managed at last, feeling the
blush spread up all the way to vanish into her hair. "I'm...sorry."
Her knuckles were white, bloodless, from clenching her fists so tightly. Dull
fascination, there, because she hadn't felt herself doing it at all, not even
the bite of her nails into palms. Lupin followed her gaze, and covered her
hands with his, uncurling them gently. "No harm done," he smiled faintly,
sympathy and fatigue softening the angular lines of his face. "I was very sorry
to hear about your friend, Nicu."
Wait. What?
The abrupt shift in subject set her head reeling. "Excuse me?" blurted Ginny,
struggling to form some type of actual, coherent reply. "How did you know...?"
"Recognized the name, when Charlie owled. I stayed with his family once upon a
time," said Remus, summoning two cups of tea with a flick of his wand. "I've
spent quite awhile in Romania, on and off. They're more tolerant, there, of
those with my affliction. Sugar?" she shook her head; he added some to his own
cuppa, stirring absently. "It was many years back, after James and Lily -
- went. I was very unwell, and the Silivasis took me into their home, cared for
me when I had no care for myself. They treated me with great kindness, when
they had no obligation to."
Ginny swallowed around the lump in her throat. "You knew Nicu?"
Lupin nodded. "He was only a little boy at the time, but yes," he turned his
head, looking off into space. "Quite the rascal, always getting into trouble,
but there was...was such a sweetness to him as well."
The tight, burning knot in her chest erupted, face crumpling, spilling out her
eyes, and she scrubbed at them viciously, fought to keep from crying. "Oh,"
wavering, and a choked, pathetic sob burst out. She clapped her hand over her
mouth, but it wouldn't stop coming, she couldn't stop them.
There was just so much...pain...that opened endless deep and tears could never
fill its void, not tears or shame or bitter, bitter regret. Nicu was lost,
everything he would ever have been and done, and she and Charlie had made such
a fucking mess of themselves, she didn't know how to begin fixing it.
Silent, Remus stroked her hair as she regained control, delicately unobtrusive,
and offered her his handkerchief after. "Good girl," he said as she wiped her
face. "Better to get it all out."
Oh sweet Merlin's arse. She'd just bawled in front of someone, a grown man who
used to be her professor of all people possible. Absolute mortification
withered her insides. "I'm sorry," she said again, horrified. "I -- I'm not
usually such a blubbering git."
"Bollocks," said Lupin mildly, placing her cuppa back into her hands. "Don't
ever apologize for being sad. Look at me, now," he tipped her chin up with a
finger, looking deeply into her face. "No matter how awful it feels now, try to
remember that it won't always be like this. Time...softens the edge, of any
pain. Do you understand?"
Ginny nodded.
He smiled again, sad-eyed and shadowed, older than anyone should ever have to
be. "Good," he patted her knee, climbing to his feet. "Come on. It's long past
both of our bedtimes, I believe."
One more oddity in a summer full of them, to be escorted to her room by Remus
Lupin. "Thank you," she said once they'd arrived, and meant it down to the last
fiber of her heart.
"You're more than welcome," said Lupin, and inclined his head. "And may I say,
growing up suits you quite well."
With that said, he vanished down the hall. Ginny stood at her door, listening
to his footsteps fade. She should go to bed, she knew. Really.
The light was still on.
Ginny didn't give herself enough time to consider what a completely rubbish
idea this was, just set her jaw and walked straight into the drawing room.
Charlie was the only one there, drowsing moodily. He jolted fully awake at the
door slamming shut. "Gin," he said, and rubbed his face, blinking against the
light. "What's going on? Are you all right?"
His concern was obvious, genuine. It made her whole body clench in misery.
"You're going to run out of dragon parts, if you keep tossing out necklaces at
this rate," she spat. Anger was easier -- anger didn't hurt just you. "What's
next, claws for Ron? Pair of eyes for Fred and George, or kidneys? Maybe Percy
would speak to us again if you gave him a heart."
All the air went out of Charlie's lungs, and he shut his eyes. "It's not like
that," he said, too reasonable. "Ginny, please --"
She ripped the pendent from her neck, and hurled it at him. "I'm not anyone's
fucking replacement, Charlie," she cried. "If Bill's what you want, then fine,
that's super, fucking fantastic for you. But don't make me into some kind of
placeholder for him."
He shot to his feet, reaching for her. "I'd never do that to anyone, let alone
you. Christ, let me explain, would you?"
"Go to hell! Don't you bloody touch me!" Ginny shoved him away, spun on heel
and made to storm out, but he was faster, grabbed and tackled her onto the
sofa, pinning her under his body so she couldn't leave. She cursed him for it,
writhing and twisting. "Let me go, you bastard, let go!"
"Ginny, stop and just LISTEN to me a minute, for fuck's sake!" he yelled, and
shook her, hard. It shocked her into freezing, into actually being able to hear
him. "Everything that happened between Bill and me was over ages ago. It
doesn't have a thing to do with you, and it certainly doesn't with what
happened between us."
It killed her that she was on the verge of bursting into tears again, and he
knew. The rage deflated, because it'd been empty to begin with. "Why didn't you
tell me?" she asked.
He stared down at her, breathing hard and eyes filled. After a minute, he slid
off of her onto the floor, and leaned back against the kickboard, compulsively
raking his fingers through his hair. "I couldn't," then more softly. "I
didn't...want you to know I was making this mistake again. Didn't want you to
think you were just another notch on the family tree," he laughed bitterly,
almost crying. "Fuck, that's wrong...all this is. I'm so sorry, Ginny."
The anguish and guilt in his face struck her. She'd never seen her strong,
solid brother look so...lost, not even during the worst in Romania, in the
cave.
Ginny climbed down beside him. "It's not your fault," at his look, she
corrected herself. "Not all your fault," she sighed, speaking gently. "Look, it
was us together, us and the situation. When everything gets so awful and
bizarre and desperate...sometimes things happen you don't mean to."
Charlie wiped his face with his palms and breathed deep, then looked at her.
"When did you get so smart?" he asked, red rims making his eyes look bluer than
ever.
"It's the shoes," said Ginny, absolutely deadpan. "Pink is a really sharp
color, y'know."
Surprised chuckle from him, thick and mucous-y. Absently, she wished for
Remus's handkerchief. "God, what a wreck," sighed Charlie, and slipped away
into thought, working up to say something. "That Sixth Year I lost my virginity
with was Bill's girlfriend. It was such an awful thing to do, didn't even
understand why I did it, why I hated her so much," he shook his head ruefully.
"He was so angry when he found out. Came and kicked the ever-loving crap from
me on the Quidditch pitch, told me to stop using people to get at him, and just
get him, if that's what I was after. So I did."
Ginny was quiet a moment, digesting. "What happened?"
"Not much," he stared at his lap, old-pain blank. "Only happened a few times,
ended when he left school. We...it wasn't on, we knew it wasn't. So we don't
anymore," Charlie took her hand, palm-to-palm, so tenderly she knew what he
would say. "Just like we won't."
She'd known. She didn't want any different.
It still hurt.
"Yeah," she said, and sniffed gruffly, bit her lip to stop it from trembling.
After all, she had some dignity left. "I was getting sick of you, anyway."
He smiled, soft and warm and everything in him that she loved, and though her
heart still leapt when he pressed a kiss to her temple, it was all right. The
pang felt sort of good, in a way.
Bittersweet. "I love you, Pinky," he whispered into her hair.
The true quality of forgiveness meant ending pain, and letting go of it.
Sometimes love meant that, too. Ginny put her arms around his neck, closing her
eyes. "I love you, too."
Charlie would leave the next day. Dragons await no man.
Everyone got a hug, Dad telling him to visit again soon, Bill clasping him like
they'd never touched each other in the dark, and she did the same. Bill was
better at it, but he had more practice. She'd be as good at it someday. Mum
cried as always during the goodbye, part of her heart going with him as it did
all her children. Ginny remained dry-eyed, dry-mouthed, dragon scale hanging
from the mended cord and heavy again at her breast, blue-flashing green and
warm. It felt like there was a hole in the center of her body.
Afterward, Bill put his arm over her shoulders. "Nothing's ever really gone,
you know," he said, seemingly out of nowhere. "Matter can't be destroyed, it
just changes forms. Means that once something exists, it always does, in one
shape or another," there was meaning in the look he gave her that none of the
others would understand. She did, though.
Ginny slipped her own arm around his waist, and laid her head against his
chest. His heart beat faster than Charlie's, but slower than hers. She wondered
about the worlds inside all her brothers. "C'mon," she said. "Let's go inside
and lose at wizard chess to Ron."
They all spent the last days before Hogwarts mostly together, mucking around
London with Bill and visiting the twins at their shop. Once while she looked
through Muggle musical 'seedies', which were shiny little flat things (weird
but sort of fascinating), Ron and Bill disappeared. They returned about half an
hour later, looking far too pleased with themselves. "What?" asked Ginny,
eyeballing them with mistrust.
Ron didn't say anything, just grinned and yanked up his shirt. A rainbow-
swirled metal ring hung from his left nipple, which looked red and a little
swollen. "Isn't it wicked?"
Ginny shook her head and laughed. "Mum's going to kill you both," she said, but
smiled. It did look pretty brill.
The night before they left, she and Ron camped out together in his room,
talking for hours. At last she gave him an (edited) account of her strange,
harrowing summer. He yelled at her for being an idiot, and hugged her, then
yelled some more. "I swear, if you ever do anything so bloody stupid again
without me, I will spare them the effort and fucking kill you myself!"
In turn, he recounted their own escapades -- Bill getting called back to Egypt,
and tagging along with him, to see the pyramids and the desert. Of course, they
ended up being caught up in intrigue, fraught with danger. The last week had
been a terrible, exciting race against time, searching for a powerful scarab
talisman before it fell into the hands of an evil, long-dead pharaoh.
As usual, it was simple spells that saved the day; Bill had used 'Accio!' to
pluck the talisman from a minion's grasp. But it was Ron who had crashed
through a room full of mummified soldiers, and leapt through a magical
sandstorm to behead the pharaoh, before he could finish the Killing Curse meant
for Bill.
"Merlin's hairy arse," said Ginny. "Aren't any of us capable of avoiding mortal
peril?"
Ron had scratched his belly thoughtfully. "Dunno. Maybe Harry's contagious, and
we've all caught it from him."
"I didn't know that 'hopeless nutter' was an infectious condition," she said,
rolling her eyes.
They fell asleep curled around each other on his bed, comrades in a way that
hadn't been before. She and Ron were both veterans of their own misadventures
now.
The morning was absolute pandemonium -- Ron racing around, packing in a blind
panic, and Mum alternately roaring at and stuffing them with food. Fred and
George's 'bon voyage' Howlers were the perfect cherry on top. She muddled
through, not even approaching conscious, managing to drip porridge down her
sleeve, butter her hand, and nearly use Ron's cologne as mouthwash.
He snatched the bottle away from her just in time, staring at her like there
were badgers coming out her ears. "Bit knackered today, are we?" he cooed. She
flicked him the V.
It was absolutely normal, which left her with that displaced feeling in her
belly. As if 'normal' had shifted a few degrees to the left, and she hadn't
quite caught up yet. Or maybe it was the other way 'round. Maybe it was
'normal' that needed to catch up to her. She liked the sound of that better.
She'd be the one moving ahead, then.
Harry and Hermione would be meeting them at the station, so it was a much
smaller entourage to Kings Cross this year. Bill had come up with a practical
idea for once (involving no deadly stunts or potential raisings of inconvenient
zombies): miniaturizing their trunks.
Made the twenty minute walk a hell of a lot more pleasant, carrying their
luggage in their pockets. Ron was practically capering, frolicking around
though it made Pig twitter madly in his cage and chattering about their chances
for the Cup, poking Ginny 'til she had to discreetly sock him.
It was all right, though. He was only excited to be going back to real life at
Hogwarts (understandable; she'd had quite enough of summer limbo herself).
Ginny tried to feel it as well, which she recognized as a stupid idea from the
start. How could you try to feel something? You either did or you didn't.
No invisible magic barriers or Dementors or armies of rampaging Heliopaths
stopped them from entering platform nine and three-quarters, for a refreshing
change. Traveling sans Harry had its perks, that was sure.
Ginny released the breath she'd been holding, and took in her surrounding. The
people milling around, hundreds of owls in all shapes and sizes -- the First
Years looking smaller and more scared than ever. It was like slipping into
cool, dark water after an eternity of July.
Summer was really over.
A familiar cap of messy black hair wended through the crowd toward her. She
smiled. "Hello, Harry."
"Hi," he panted, dragging a gigantic trunk behind him with one hand and
gripping Hedwig's cage with the other. Sweat glistened on his face. "Ran out of
carts...had to lug everything through whole bloody station. Books weigh at
least one ton, maybe more. Death looking welcome. You?" Ginny wordlessly took
her trunk from her pocket to show him, which fit in the palm of her hand. Harry
glared death at her. "I hate you."
She laughed evilly.
Ron appeared with Bill in tow, and immediately pounced on Harry, bombarding him
with questions about his hols and almost nonsensically unconnected bits of his
own. Bill shook his head, and grinned. "Here, let me take care of your trunk,"
she set it on the ground, and in the blink of an eye, it was normal-sized
again. Ginny checked inside to make sure all her belongings had enlarged as
well.
Mum and Dad weren't far behind. Mum hugged them all, clucking over how skinny
Harry still was, and telling them to be good and not do anything foolish.
"You've got to admire her optimism," whispered Ron; she coughed to cover a
snicker.
Afterwards, Bill shoved a package into her hands. It was a tiny, violently
purple portable Wireless. "Happy belated birthday, sis," he said, cuffing her
ear. "Didn't think I'd forgot, did you?"
She shook her head, swallowing hard -- Bill never forgot. "Thank you," Ginny
threw her arms around him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. "Going to miss
you loads, you daft sod."
"Codswallop," he quipped, but hugged her tightly, pressing his face to her
hair. Mum was surely misty-eyed, looking on. "Keep Ron out of too much trouble,
all right?"
"Bill, they don't allow murder at school."
He laughed, rumbling under her cheek, then finally let her go. Lot of that
going around.
The warning whistle sounded, and then it was all rushing around, getting their
things aboard and last minute goodbyes. They ran into Hermione at the edge of
the platform, and she slipped into Ron and Harry's excited chatter without a
seam. Ginny was content to listen. It surprised her, how easily she was falling
back into the rhythm of things.
Time softens the edges.
"You'll never believe what happened in Greece," exclaimed Hermione as they were
climbing onto the Express. "There was a series of attacks around the Parthenon,
and they thought it was maybe Death Eaters. But actually this silly warlock had
woken Medusa, and I ended up having to nick Perseus's shield from a museum to
petrify her again --"
"Didn't anyone else spend all break bored off their nut, doing absolutely
nothing?" asked Harry desperately.
Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry, mate."
"There you are!" said Professor McGonagall, striding down the corridor toward
them. "I've been looking everywhere for you. There's something urgent I need to
speak with you about," she lowered her voice. "Since the beginning of summer,
we've been hearing more and more reports of occurrences, peculiar ones. We
have..." she glanced around quickly, to see if anyone was listening, then
satisfied they weren't, she continued. "We have reason to believe that at the
Department of Mysteries, you children might've stumbled across some type of
cursed artifact."
The four of them were momentarily stunned into silence. Then it sank in, and
everyone was talking all at once. "What do you mean, 'cursed'?" demanded Harry.
"What kind of curse?"
"We haven't been able to find out much yet," McGonagall's mouth was a hard,
thin line; this was obviously a sore point. "What we do know is that, whatever
the exact nature of this curse, it -- well, it seems to attract the bizarre."
Ron elbowed Ginny. "Told you it was contagious."
And as horrible as this all was, however dire it would doubtlessly end up
being, Ginny really couldn't help but laugh. A curse. Well, that certainly
explained a lot. She wondered what pure bollocks would find them next, now that
all of them would be together in one great, unlucky clump. It was a hilariously
awful thought.
There were, of course, loads of questions they wanted answered, but people were
beginning to notice something dodgy going on. Professor McGonagall ended the
discussion with orders to keep their eyes open, and a message that Dumbledore
wanted to see them directly after the feast.
Spirits had understandably been taken down a notch. Still half in shock, they
drifted off to claim a compartment for themselves. "You stay with us, Ginny,"
said Harry, looking grim. "I don't want you separated in case anything out of
the ordinary starts happening."
"Is it sad that getting cursed doesn't count as 'out of the ordinary' anymore?"
snorted Ron.
It took all of a minute to round up Neville and Luna, who'd found each other
early and had been searching them out as well. Both had grown taller, older
looking. But they all had over that summer, hadn't they? "Thank you for sending
me that hat, Ginny, it was really nice," said Neville as he'd sat down, and
there was long scar on one side of his face now, that missed his eye by only a
centimeter or so. "I wish I was that good at knitting."
Which was probably the most frightening thing she'd heard all day.
The entire ride to Hogwarts was spent trading tales of their respective,
apparently cursed summer hols. Luna's father had been stolen by the Queen of
the Faeries in Scotland, and she'd had to journey under the Green-Hill, into
the faerie court to rescue him with only her wits and a length of iron chain.
Meanwhile, Neville and his cousin had run afoul of a vampire cult, trying to
awaken some ancient alien being under the ocean, and had just barely stopped
them from raising the submerged city where it slept. "Then we spent three weeks
in St. Mungo's, reproducing most of our blood," he shuddered. "If I ever see a
Boggart again, it'll probably look like a bowl of their liver stew."
And true to his word, Harry had had exactly nothing interesting or awful happen
-- more awful than life with the Dursleys, that is. "Maybe that counts as
cursed enough," he grumbled. None of them would be surprised.
Listening, Ginny thought about her own story, the bits she'd left out, and
wondered if she was the only one. What were their secret histories? Twinge of
sadness there, because really, she'd never know. It was just the way of things.
Everyone was made up of the spaces between words.
Departure was familiar chaos. Hagrid shouting to the terrified First Years,
students racing around collecting stray pets and knocking into one another,
dragging trunks. Harry dropped his directly onto his foot, cursing a blue
streak until Hermione glared at him and pointed out the group of shocked
eleven-year-olds in earshot, gaping at the Boy Who Lived And Apparently Must
Have Been Raised By Longshoremen.
The six of them didn't stand out, dodging through the throngs as politely as
half a dozen teenagers with luggage could. There was nothing outwardly
remarkable about them, except for Harry's scar and that was hardly news.
It was all something internal that had changed, that set them apart now.
"Merlin," breathed Neville, as they stood peering around. "They all look so..."
"Young," finished Hermione.
"Totally unprepared," said Ron faintly, ashen.
Luna gave them one of her quiet, queerly profound looks. "Haven't they always
been?"
Was that true? Ginny looked into the laughing, unguarded faces of girls from
her year, and knew that Luna was right. It was genuinely scary, to think of
what could so easily happen to these sleepwalking children. Most of them
wouldn't stand a chance against the things she and the others had survived this
summer. No wonder Snape called them all idiots.
The carriages were lined up and waiting. In her head, she'd known what to
probably expect, what they'd be like -- but it still struck her like a spray of
ice to actually see the thestrals with her own eyes. She couldn't keep the
horror from her face, staring at their reptilian, skeletal bodies, screaming
fundamental wrongness.
Harry glanced at her, comprehension and sadness washing over his face. "You get
used to them after awhile," he murmured, and patted her arm, only a little
awkward. Neville had the same look she did, pale and shaky, and that made her
sick with aching.
A ripple of commotion distracted them, as a wedge of Slytherins shoved through
the crowd. Malfoy was at the head, sneering and snapping as always, but there
was a new edge to it, sharper. It dawned on her that this was the first trip he
hadn't stopped by to harass them, not even once. Evidently, they hadn't been
the only ones growing up over the break.
Everything was changing.
"Firs' Years! Firs' Years, this way!"
Ginny took the Wireless out of her pocket, and dialed it to one of the stations
from Jase's note, then switched it on. Punking music immediately blared out,
all buzzing guitar and drums and yelling, snarl-laughing voices going on about
something to do with saving a queen.
"What the hell is that?" asked Ron, halfway between appalled and intrigued.
Harry smiled, bewildered yet amused. "The Sex Pistols."
"The what?"
She didn't hear Harry's explanation or Ron's next outbursts, or Hermione
explaining Muggle government to Neville, or any of the sounds of the masses
around them. Ginny had turned inward, fading them all to background, everything
except her thoughts.
Voldemort was out there somewhere, gathering power and desperate to kill Harry,
and drown them all in the lightless black of his shadow. There was an untold
count of Death Eaters, sleepers hidden and working quietly, fervently; waiting
for just one moment, just one slip on their part. And now on top of it all,
there was a curse they knew nothing about, that would draw God only knew what
calamity to them next.
It'd be a miracle if they survived to Christmas.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny examined the others. Ron heroic and pierced
and easy with himself, talking Quidditch with Harry who laughed now, who wasn't
lost in seething, angry isolation. Hermione's eyes intense, ablaze thinking,
already working through what objects could've been the cursed one. Neville
showing Luna his new wand, flourishing it with an assurance she'd never seen in
him before.
None of them were okay. But they looked a bit of all right.
Sod it. She grinned wryly to herself, a giddy surge of unfounded, completely
demented certainty tingling all through her. In five minutes, she'd probably
come back to her senses and be scared again like a reasonable person, but until
then, she wasn't scared at all. She felt almost chuffed.
Screw whatever disaster du jour waited around the next corner -- they could
take it. They'd kick its arse. Dark Lords, scheming bastards, monsters and
creatures of all kinds...throw on the bloody kettle and bring them on. If she
made it through Romania, she could make it through anything.
Whatever was coming, she'd be ready.
"Come on, boys and girls," called Ginny cheerfully, hoisting her trunk. "Let's
go."
Ready and knitting.
 
o o o

                            From sorrow to serenity
                               it's on your head
                    (Killswitch Engage - "My Last Serenade"


                                Take my soul, I
                              break my heart, I'm
                              ready when you are
                  (Further Seems Forever- "Someone You Know")


                             I wonder what's next?
                       (Chevelle - "Wonder What's Next")
o o o
20 Românesc - Romanian (adj.)
21 Cthulu, the Great Old One of Lovecraftian fame
o o o
Originally written 7/17/05.
End notes: Decebalus and Sarmizegetusa did in fact exist, and yes, Emperor
Traianus really did have Apolodor of Damascus build him a bridge to cross the
Danube. Real historical facts have been slightly tweaked, in the grand
tradition of Harry Potter.
This has been quite a long ride. Thanks for coming along for it.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!