Author's Note: Hi everyone, I wanted to say thanks for sticking around. I know it's been a while since there was an update. I absolutely plan on finishing this story (proof: I've never not finished a story, so here's to hoping my track record remains). This chapter features two of my favorite characters from Prelude. I hope that you just enjoy them , too. Let me know what you think! -- Miranda

Chapter 17

Mrs. Nott

Gertrude Wrightman’s funeral fulfilled all of the requirements of proper Pureblood tradition as if someone checked them off of a neatly written checklist: It took place outdoors on the Saturday following Wrightman’s death, near the estate where her parents had been laid to rest, her magic dispersing through the trees as was proper. Her children sat in the first row of chairs beside their father, small and confused and very, very sad. And the family processed out first, leading the guests to the luncheon.

But sorrow wasn’t the prevailing emotion of the day.

“Sadness wasn’t high on the list of emotions Wrightman admired, “ Theo said to Ginny when she mentioned it during the reception. A large, brightly lit room had been rented out at a nice club with caterers and flowers.

“I know, but--” Ginny shook her head, her long red hair hanging loose. “It feels like people are furious.”

Theo’s hand curled around his glass. “A well respected witch from a good family was murdered.”

“Ginny, Theo, I’d like to introduce you to Ian Tailer,” Mrs. Nott said as she walked up to them with a thin, handsome man with wire-rimmed glasses. The man shook Theo’s hand and kissed Ginny’s, making small talk as Mrs. Nott quietly looked on.

If Ginny were just meeting them, she would have to assume Theo’s personality came from his father, since his mother hadn’t said more than a few sentences and certainly nothing beyond dim-witted introductions.

The woman hid her intelligence well as she politely introduced a slew of people—Christian Knowles, Thaddeus Lelios, and a Russian aristocrat, among others—but Ginny had seen Mrs. Nott when her veneer of passive stupidity had been stripped away. Their conversation at Hogwarts (and the subsequent negotiations regarding Ginny’s attendance at this funeral) colored the rest of their interactions. It made Ginny think of something Luna had said to her once: “Half a thought isn’t very good for anything. Unless it’s better for people to think you’re stupid. But that usually takes a full thought and a lot of effort, too.”

After breaking the news of Wrightman’s death to Ginny, Mrs. Nott had insisted that Ginny attend with her since she was dating Theo. Mrs. Nott had been the one to give Ginny a Portkey and arrange for her to have the day off (though how she managed that with Snape, Ginny could only guess). She’d been the one to write Ginny with the instructions about what to wear, where to sit, and unspoken rules of interaction with her husband. Luckily, the last point hadn’t been an issue since Theo’s dad hadn’t deigned to join the ceremony. In fact, there was a complete dearth of recognizable Death Eaters.

“Ginny?” asked a melodic voice behind her, causing her to turn away from the conversation between Theo and Mr. Tailer, Mrs. Nott beside them.

“Mrs. Unger,” Ginny said, glad that she had such a sponge-like memory for faces and names. “How are you?”

“A little sad today,” the Frenchwoman said, shrugging a shoulder. “But otherwise better.”

Ginny nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

They had met at Wrightman’s house that summer, when guests and dinner parties were more common than gnomes in a garden.

“I am hearing many things about the state of your country, and a man who would be king,” Unger said quietly, a wine glass held in her stiff, tough fingers.

“More evil overlord than king,” Ginny murmured, thinking of the teenage Riddle who spoke of his great ambitions.

“Yes, most of the rumors tend to agree on that.”

There was a moment of tenseness when Ginny glanced across the room and Unger tapped her nail against the glass.

“I also heard that my friend’s death came about because of her resistance to such a notion.” Unger’s soft, precise words didn’t match her hard-lined face and steely eyes.

“I’ve heard similar rumors.” In fact, the rumors seeped through Hogwarts faster than a Firebolt in a dive. Students of all houses could be seen in corridors whispering quietly, urgently, nodding that yes, Professor Wrightman was killed. Yes, Gertrude Wrightman, head the Wrightmans. Yes, the Slytherin. And the biggest shock—the thing that had the Slytherins tense in their seats in the Great Hall, unwilling to relax—was the fact that Voldemort had apparently killed her himself, in one of her homes when she did nothing to provoke it.

Unger’s jaw twitched. “I never cared for Machiavellian tactics, but their efficiency cannot be doubted.”

Ginny’s eyes wandered over to the large portrait in the corner of the room as she remembered the way Wrightman yelled at the Ball about how this was the future Voldemort promised: a burning world with no respect. Her death seemed to support that.

“The other rumors that I have heard are intriguing as well,” the woman said even more quietly, “and Miss Delacour suggested you could verify them.”

Mrs. Unger, who was the French Minister of Finance, had mentioned knowing Bill and Fleur last time she spoke with Ginny.

“What’s the rumor?” Ginny asked as the older woman nodded at a couple walking past.

Her voice still quiet, but now trying to sound lighter, she said, “It has been suggested that your Ministry is relying not on the Aurors who have dwindled in numbers, and not on at fascinating secret society that no one can quite name, but rather on a child not much older than you.“

“I wouldn’t know what my Ministry’s plan are,” Ginny said, grief and anger creeping into her tone. “All I know is that good people in power keep dying.”

After hearing the news of Wrightman and Amelia Allen’s deaths, Ginny had violently rejected the new restrictions regarding her whereabouts and Flooed over to Ottery St. Chapel and practically run the whole way home, where her mum had wrapped her up in a big warm hug and let her cry into her shoulder. And when her dad came home, Ginny wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly, unable to ask him to quit his job just because she was scared, unable to vocalize the one thing she most wanted to say: Please don’t die; I don’t know how I’d keep going if you did.

So instead, she had stayed the night, dragging her warm squishy blanket down to the living room, where she curled up on the couch and talked to her parents until dawn, when her eyes slid shut. She’d gone back to school the following day, wishing she had been able to talk to Harry, too, because he probably needed a day like that himself, venting to someone he trusted.

She hoped the Trio was safe.

“Ginny,” said a voice, pulling her out of the memory with a soft touch to her lower back. She twisted to see Theo standing beside her. “I’m going to go speak with Monsieur de Boldieu. Join me.”

“Oh. Of course,” Ginny said, glancing at Madam Unger. “I have to go.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding. “My job offer still stands. We need smart people in my country.”

“Thank you, but so does mine,” Ginny said, and they parted ways.

“This way,” Theo said, guiding her through the crowd. There were so many people in this room that it felt like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, except full of adults and angst. The atmosphere felt like crest of a wave, tension building higher and higher until that moment when it would finally break and drench all of the people in its wake.

“I was going to wait to talk to him,” Ginny admitted as they passed a tall, good looking older man with a serious face talking to Theo’s mother.

Monsieur de Boldieu was in the corner of the room, where a line of people stood waiting to offer their support and talk for a moment about how lovely the funeral had been. He stood stiff and regal, grief practically drowning in his hard, dark eyes.

“I heard Lucius Malfoy sent a bouquet that De Boldieu refused to show,” a woman said quietly as they got stuck between two large groups looking over at the elaborate flowers on display

The woman’s husband didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I wouldn’t either. I heard he told Iago Nott to stay away.”

“I’m surprised he let Samantha attend,” the woman said, and Ginny took Theo’s hand to give small squeeze. It was hard to hear people talk about your parents, no matter your own issues with them.

“She was a childhood friend of Gertrude’s. We were all in the same year at Hogwarts,” he said, shaking his head. “She could have done much better than Iago; he was so much older.”

“She never claimed much for intelligence, Kevin.”

Theo weaved past the couple, and soon enough Ginny was looking into Monsieur’s sad, tired, angry eyes and telling him how sorry she was for his loss.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, his shoulders tight. “I’m glad you came.”

“Professor Wrightman was very good to me,” Ginny replied, trying to find the words to explain exactly how much she had liked her professor by the end of her internship.

“Yes, she was,” he said, his mouth pinched. “My daughter wanted to see you.”

“I tried to find her earlier,” Ginny said, thinking of Juliette in her fancy, formal robes who had kept glancing to her left during the funeral, where her mother should have been sitting.

“Demetrius and she did not need to be here for this,” he said, sounding tired, as if this entire affair of talking to people was nearly too much for him—a seasoned politician and ambassador—to handle. “They are in the sitting room with my mother and sister.”

“I’ll visit them now,” Ginny promised.

“Thank you.”

Before she would leave with Theo, who had already conveyed his condolences, she hesitated. “I know it might sound hollow, but if you need anything I can provide, let me know.”

The tall, dark-eyed man looked seriously at her for a moment. “I am glad you are not what I imagined when my wife first mentioned your visit.”

There didn’t seem to be an appropriate answer to that.

“Take care of yourself, Miss Weasley, in these darkening times,” he said, nodding at her as the line pressed forward and she side-stepped out.

Back in the crowd, Theo asked if she wanted to eat, but she declined.

“I’m going to go visit with Juliette and Demetrius,” Ginny said, nodding toward the exit.

“Then I am going to go speak to old friends,” he said, glancing around the room of beautiful, important people.

“Okay,” Ginny said, and they slipped apart as Ginny summoned her old house-elf Shenny to lead her in the right direction. The elf was uncharacteristically silent, eyes filled with tears, and that was just strange for Ginny, who let her mind wander to her earlier conversations with the Ramseys, who had come and gone already, and other old acquaintances. Andy’s family had sent a large bouquet of roses for display and a lovely card.

But thoughts of cards and guests and friends fled her mind when she pushed open the sliding door to the sitting room, where two small children sat on a large soft couch that dwarfed them, two lovely older women sitting beside them.

Juliette was the first to stand, and was soon crying pathetically, hugging the taller Ginny, and over the girl’s shoulder, she saw Demetrius’s lip tremble, and after a summer wishing she could make these two act like normal children, Ginny wished for nothing more than the ability to make them hurt less.

Ginny stayed in the room with Wrightman’s children, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law for a long time talking. Long enough that the group found reasons to smile, and a couple of reasons to laugh.

“Ginny,” called the soft, melodic voice of Mrs. Samantha Nott as she entered the room a long time later. “Most of the guests have left.”

“Oh, alright,” Ginny said, glancing at the women and children in the room, and hugging the kids tightly. “Write me often. I love your letters.”

“I liked the one you sent me that exploded into pink paper pieces for my birthday,” Juliette said with a smile.

“And mine with the little Snitches was brilliant,” Demetrius said with a grin.

“I’ll try to make sure all of my letters are that cool, then,” Ginny said with a smile, standing and conveying her thanks to the adults, who surprised her by holding her hands warmly and kissing both cheeks.

“Thank you for visiting my grandchildren, whose friends are too young to help,” the grandmother said, and the aunt nodded before they turned to Mrs. Nott. “And it was nice to see you again, Samantha. I would like to have tea with you soon.”

“I’ll send an owl in the morning,” Mrs. Nott said, inclining her head.

Ginny and Mrs. Nott passed through the house and, in their tightly wrapped coats, made their way outdoors. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the garden and already looking at the frozen lake, however, that Ginny began to wonder what was going on.

“Where are we going?” It seemed unlikely that the woman was leading her to an ambush or something, but Ginny stopped walking nonetheless.

“To the Portkey position,” Mrs. Nott said in that stupid tone of hers that grit on Ginny’s nerves, but her sure footsteps remained quick and purposeful as she put a hand on Ginny’s elbow and forced her to follow.

“Where’s Theo?”

“He went back to Hogwarts. To study for an exam, I think. I said I would show you out.”

As if he would trust her. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said, and didn’t slow her pace in her high heels even as they reached the edge of the frozen lake and stepped onto it, when suddenly her hand dropped from Ginny’s arm, and the façade of blank stupidity melted off her face, leaving a shrewd woman in her place.

“What are we doing on—” It took Ginny longer than it should have to piece it all together. “You’re being monitored?”

“Tracked, yes. I don’t know about listening spells, but I always assume so,” Mrs. Nott said, all the vapidness gone.

Half the reason her brothers and she enjoyed having the little pond behind their house so much was because tracking spells, such as the ones used to monitor underage magic, didn’t work on ice.

“We don’t have long to speak,” Nott said, her full lips pressed together. “He’ll wonder what happened, and I don’t want him to know I’m resisting.”

“Your husband?” Ginny guessed.

“Yes, and he has a tracking spell on Theo as well, so keep that in mind,” Mrs. Nott said, pulling a roll of parchment and a velvet jewelry box out of her pocket and enlarging them. “I need you to give this letter and necklace to Harry Potter.”

Ginny’s face froze and her hands remained at her side. “I don’t have contact with him.”

Mrs. Nott pushed the objects into Ginny’s hands. “You have a better chance of speaking with him than I, and he needs these. Let him know the locket is a replica of one I own. That’s very important.”

“You— you are the most confusing person I have ever met,” Ginny said honestly. “Barging into Hogwarts to force me to come here, acting like a moron in front of all of these people, and now dragging me out onto the ice to demand I do something for you.”

“I’m not demanding. I’m asking,” she said, her wide brown eyes so clear and honest that Ginny couldn’t help but trust her even as she wondered how many people this woman had fooled.

“Why?” Ginny asked, looking up from the strange gifts she was given. “Why do you act like you don’t understand anything?”

“People underestimate beautiful, stupid people,” Mrs. Nott said simply, and Ginny couldn’t even argue that point. How often today had she seen men (and women) watch Mrs. Nott was admiration for her looks, but never speak to her of anything of import? She was a pretty doll to watch but not interact with.

“Does Theo know this is an act?”

A brief look of resolve colored Mrs. Nott’s eyes. “I don’t know. I—We don’t have time to talk about that. You need to know that the parchment contains a list of names of people Harry can trust if he needs to.”

Unrolling the parchment, Ginny glanced over it and a few people stood out. “These are—”

“Later. Now the locket—”

“—is a fake, I know.”

“It’s more than that, but I think he knows that,” Mrs. Nott said, her eyes moving rapidly across the locket. “Alright?”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I expect you to tell him exactly what I told you, if you have the chance, because these things could save his life,” Mrs. Nott said firmly, brown eyes narrowed at the shorter girl.

“And why would you care about that?”

“Because he’s Harry Potter,” Mrs. Nott said entreatingly. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“No,” Ginny said.

Beautiful Samantha Nott’s hands fell to her side. “He’s a hero, Miss Weasley. How often do you meet one of those? How often do you have a chance to help them?”

Not enough.

“You’re married to a Death Eater,” Ginny said, noticing the way Samantha Nott failed to show any emotional reaction to the statement, her face stiff as if cut from stone. “A man who, in fact, recently tried to kidnap my friend. Presumably so that he could be tortured and probably killed.”

The silence was infuriating.

“I don’t trust you,” Ginny said plainly, holding up the parchment and necklace. “And I don’t trust these things.”

In the cold, bright day, the two Gryffindors locked gazes, and though she should have expected it, Ginny was surprised by the strength and resolve in the unflinching woman across from her.

“Consider this,” Samantha Nott said at last in her polished accent that floated above the wind. “The little I know about you is filled with half truths and secrets. Your house is Unplottable. Your family unreachable. And the only information I truly know about you is that the Dark Lord is terribly interested in your wellbeing for reasons no one knows.” She nodded at the objects in Ginny’s hand. “And yet I gave you two things that would be considered an outright betrayal of my husband and his beliefs. Things that could warrant my death.”

A necklace and simple piece of parchment? Ginny wondered without breaking eye contact.

“But I have faith that you will do the right thing with my gifts,” she said seriously. “After you check them for spells and curses.”

At that, Ginny couldn’t help but smile, however briefly. “Why would you trust me? I’m certainly not a hero.”

“Neither am I,” the dark-haired woman said, shrugging lightly and gracefully and looking fragile. “But I had a friend who was, and the people on that list owe her and her son a debt that he can collect, if you let him know it.”

“You’re avoiding answering me question about why you would trust me when I’m such an anomaly,” Ginny said bluntly, tapping the parchment against her leg.

“Because Gertrude told me I could,” Samantha said.

Ginny couldn’t accept that. “Theo told me the Nott family motto: if you’re doing something for just one reason, that’s the reason not to do it.”

Something in Mrs. Nott’s eyes lit up. “And that’s my second reason.”

“Being shady?”

“Because my son doesn’t let people in easily, and yet you’ve become his closest confidante in less than a year,” the dark-eyed woman said. “I trust his judgment and believe you wouldn’t do anything to harm him.”

The wind was steady and biting, and there was a thin layer of snow on the bank of the ice that glinted in the setting sunlight as Ginny slowly let herself nod.

“I don’t know where Harry is,” she said, “but if I see him again”—when I see him again, she promised herself—“I’ll let him know.”

Samantha Nott inclined her head before squaring her shoulders and walking off the ice, leaving Ginny to follow. “Here’s your Portkey. Have a safe trip.”

It was a small book titled Chasing the Chaser: the Greatest Quidditch Legends, which Ginny hesitated just a moment before finally taking.

That night, Ginny found herself back in the library at Hogwarts, flipping through the pages of the old yearbook she and Harry and Andy had found the year before. In the cold quiet room, she sat staring at the portrait of children whom war would bend and twist and sharpen into legends. She looked at Lily Evans laughing with her best mate Samantha Caldwell, and at Gertrude Wrightman, so confident even in photos that it practically jumped off the page. She saw Sirius Black’s sneaky grin and James Potter’s dancing eyes. She saw Peter Pettigrew whispering something to Remus Lupin, who smiled tiredly. She saw Severus Snape there, too, and Andy’s aunt Tracy.

But it was Mrs. Nott she kept returning to, this strange enigma of a woman, who was smart and hid it, beautiful and flaunted it, strong and pretending not to be. The young mother who had taken her son to Ballycat Quidditch matches every Saturday when he was a child and smiled brightly at his joy. The older, refined woman who stood on the ice in her black high heels, quiet and powerful and willing the world to change around her.

“How was the funeral?” Andy asked the next morning as they walked to breakfast through the nearly-empty corridor. Nadine shook her head at him as if to indicate how dumb the question was.

“Sad,” Ginny said honestly, shrugging.

“Moron,” Nadine muttered at Andy.

“Actually,” Ginny said, shrugging, “it was nice to see Juliette and Demetrius again.”

Andy nodded as Nadine took his hand and asked her, “And how’d you like Theo’s mum?”

The question took her by surprise. “What?”

“Meeting your boyfriend’s mother had to be stressful,” Nadine said, nodding for Ginny to spill the gossip. Andy looked just as interested, truth be told.

“Oh. Yeah. She… surprised me,” Ginny said carefully, fingering the necklace and list in her pocket.

“Were you expecting a Death Eater?” Andy asked as they descended the stairs, and Ginny shrugged.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.” But it wasn’t someone who stood on ice to tell the truth.

Nadine swung her hand in Andy’s as she said, “Mrs. Nott loves Theo, and Theo loves her, but you have to expect the lowest common denominator there.”

“What does that mean?” Ginny could guess, but she wanted it said plainly.

“It’s something my uncle Will always says. Muggle math or something,” Andy said. “It just means that you have to accept Mrs. Nott as she is, I think.”

“I guess,” Ginny said, and the subject was dropped as they entered the Great Hall. The student population had dwindled to about half of what it had been the year before, and most students sat in clumps at their house table having whispered conversations.

Oddly, neither Snape nor the female Carrow were in their usual seats glaring at the students. The male Carrow was there, though, eating eggs and ham and looking incredibly smug.

At the end of the meal, Theo showed up beside her and asked, “Where did you go yesterday?”

It took Ginny a moment to understand the question. “After the funeral? I went to talk to the children. You saw me.”

“Not that,” he said testily. “Why did you leave without me?”

“You left before me,” Ginny said obviously.

“I did not. I was waiting for you to finish talking with the family when my mother let me know that she had seen you leave,” he said, standing in front of her with his arms crossed. Devon stood quietly beside him, not appearing to care too much about the conversation.

In a flash, Ginny realized that Mrs. Nott must have lied to Ginny about everyone having left already in order to make sure they could talk alone. How sad that she hadn’t thought her own son should be a part of that conversation. Or how sad that she thought he wouldn’t listen or trust her.

“I was caught up talking to people, and I thought you had already left. I must have been mistaken,” Ginny said smoothly, but she noticed Devon’s disbelieving glance. “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Theo said, turning to Andy. “Ready to work with the cubs?”

“I’m not studying with you when you’re this cranky,” Andy said, standing.

“I will,” Nadine piped up with a smile as she stood, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

“Traitor,” Andy muttered.

Theo smiled one of his rare, genuine smiles. “It’s not her fault I’m better looking than you.”

“That’s doesn’t even make any sense within the context of this conversation,” Andy said as they began to walk away.

“And it’s a lie,” Nadine said, surprising both boys and inciting a good-natured round of jokes.

“I sometimes think I must have been a moron not to know how close they all were a year ago,” Ginny said to Devon as she stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“I’d have to agree,” Devon said. Ginny wondered if she had learned that superior smirk from Theo or he from her.

“Hey Ginny,” Neville said, rushing up to her only to hesitate once he saw Devon.

“Hey Neville. How are you?” Their escapades together had made the year bearable. Despite having been covered with dark cloths now, the hourglasses they had charmed could still be heard whenever anyone gave or took points, which made her grin like a fool.

“I heard something I want to tell you.”

When he didn’t go on to tell her the important thing, Ginny slowly prodded: “Yes?”

“It’s just something…” The tall bloke wasn’t normally this vague. In fact, over the coursed of the year, he’d become so assertive that Ginny had thought to check him for Confidence Potions. So she expected him to just say whatever it was, no matter who was listening, but then his eyes shifted to Devon and he shut his mouth tightly. Odd. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Alright.” Maybe it was about the Muggleborns he had sneaked out so secretly, or the plans Ginny and he had begun surrounding unseating Snape. Whatever it was, Neville clearly didn’t want Devon to know.

“Find me later.” He rushed off, a swirl of color and energy. The person he had become still surprised her.

“Well,” Ginny said, turning back to her Slyherin friend, prepared to ignore the strange interruption.

“My cousin tried to murder his parents. I wouldn’t trust me either,” Devon said easily, leading Ginny out of the large public room.

“You’re related to the Lestranges?” Ginny asked as her eyes adjusted to the darker corridors.

Devon nodded, her soft, shiny hair pushed away from her face. “Not the best side of my family.”

“Not the best in any family, hopefully,” Ginny said, trying to imagine Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband sitting at the family tale at Christmas.

“Actually, my favorite cousin Draco isn’t at breakfast today, much like Professors Snape and Carrow,” Devon said, keeping her eyes steadily in front of them while Ginny paused to think back over the room they had just left. “It makes you wonder what could have been so important, doesn’t it?”

“What do you think is going on?” Ginny asked, thinking of her parents and brothers all over the country and knowing that Devon never made idle conversation.

“I don’t know,” Devon said, shrugging and truly seeming not to care.

“Ginny!” a voice cried out so loudly that Ginny jumped.

“Are you okay?” Devon asked, looking very concerned as she stopped.

“Didn’t you hear that?” Ginny asked as the voice screamed her name again, so loudly that Ginny’s ears rang.

Devon looked unsettled. “Hear what?”

“My name. Someone’s—”

“Ginny, the mirror! Look at the mirror!”

Her hand flashed into her left robe pocket, where she always kept a little mirror that Harry had given her and she pulled it out only to see a bloody Harry Potter looking at her in the tiny space, a bruise on his cheek and trail of blood over one eye.

“Oh,” she whispered, her long fingers curled around the metal frame.

He brushed the back of his hand over his forehead and smeared the blood. “There’s been an attack and—“

“That’s an interesting mirror,” Devon said, eyeing the intricate frame.

“It is, isn’t it? Let’s me know when I should clean myself up,” Ginny said with a quick, fake grin. “I’m going to do something about my hair. I’ll see you later, okay?”

The smaller brown-haired girl nodded again, her light blue eyes amused. “We also have to plan for the next Dark Arts class.”

“Sure.” That’s probably what Neville wanted, Ginny thought as she walked calmly away, not anxious to ramp up suspicion in the eyes of those students milling around. So with purposeful steps she made her way to an empty classroom and sealed it with as many Charms as she could before she finally spoke to Harry.

“What happened?” Ginny asked, scanning his face.

Harry shook his head, calmer but constantly glancing to his right, his face still dirty with soot and blood and bruises. He didn’t even seem to notice. “Spinner’s End is gone.”

“What?” Harry’s home. The house that she had fixed up with her brother and Mundungus and the house elves. The house she had adored with her clean little room. The Quiddtch pitch. The stunning view down to the beach and steep white cliffs and the ocean breaking just close enough to hear. Gone. “How?”

“I don’t know. Death Eaters just attacked. Hermione thought it must have been one of the people invited to my birthday party because of the Fidelius Charm.” His voice was laced with guilt as he talked about his first real party, and Ginny mentally went through the guests; there wasn’t one she didn’t like. “I don’t think the Death Eaters expected to find us there, really. They burned the whole house, and we just barely escaped.”

“Where are you? Are you okay?” Ginny asked, pushing aside her other emotions.

“We’re at Snuffle’s place,” Harry said shortly, wiping the new trail of blood away from his forehead as a muscle in his jaw twitched. “We need a Healer. Hermione was hurt.”

Crap. Of course it was Hermione, the only one who had actually taken the time to learn Healing spells for their stupid, exclusive adventure.

“Okay,” Ginny said, nodding to herself as she began to think of a solution.

“I thought,” Harry said, “since you Healed my shoulder last Christmas— Well, you told me about your project with McGonagall to study Healing…”

A stab went through her. “I’m not trained to help with anything more than bones, really. I changed the project and—”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I’ll have to think of something else.”

“How badly hurt is she?” Ginny asked, images of torture victims coming unbidden to her mind.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Very.”

“Alright. I’ll figure something out. I’ll bring you a Healer,” Ginny said, turning off the little mirror and shoving it in her pocket. She needed time to think and plan. Luckily, pressure didn’t bother Ginny; it only made her sharper, more focused.

Where could she find a Healer? And one that she trusted, too. Charlie knew field medicine, but he was in Romania and international travel was being strictly monitored. She didn’t know where Bill was, and her mother, who was probably the best option since she was good at healing and knew about Grimmauld Place, had to be immediately discounted. Not only was she being watched, but she also wasn’t the best person in a tense situation, and her fury with the Trio for leaving hadn’t entirely abated. Once she saw them, Ginny didn’t know if she’d let them go again.

So who?

Well, Ginny knew one option, and quickly made her way to McGonagall’s office.

After the new portrait guarding the office begrudgingly let Ginny in (saying that her robes and age barely qualified her for time with the Head of Gryffindor), the older woman rose from her desk.

“How was your practice?” McGonagall asked, nodding significantly toward the entrance to the newly installed portrait that served as her door.

“I mastered the spell,” Ginny said, snatching a blank sheet of parchment from McGonagall’s desk and a spare quill. “Want to see?”

“Yes,” McGonagall said emphatically.

They need a Healer, Ginny wrote. Can Pomfrey be trusted?

She can’t leave the grounds. She’s being tracked for something like this, McGonagall wrote back quickly, surprising Ginny, who had been counting on being able to use the school nurse. Who else did she know with the right skills? Fleur had some training, but again she was an international Floo call, and with the current restrictions… The twins knew basic mending spells, but she had no idea where they were.

Our Healer at St. Mungo’s was taken in for questioning, too, McGonagall wrote. Severus knew all of our contacts. I’m the best option, and I can’t leave the school.

They can’t come here, Ginny wrote, trying to piece together the best way to help Hermione. Maybe she should have studied Healing more extensively, she thought, but quickly batted that train of thought away. It was no use to ponder what she should have done. She needed to focus.

As she was considering the possibility of finding the Polyjuice Potion she knew Professor Miercoles had stashed away somewhere and pretending to be McGonagall while she left to help Hermione, she shoved a hand in her pocket and encountered the parchment still there from yesterday, and had a flash of inspiration. Maybe it wasn’t the best plan, but at least it was feasible.

I know someone we can use, but I’ll have to leave the grounds for a while.

I’ll tell them you’re ill in your room. Miss Ryan will help, McGonagall wrote. Be safe.

“Well done with your silent spell work,” McGonagall said in her most aloof voice. “But you’re looking a little ill.”

“I am feeling a little sick. Maybe I’ll go lie down,” Ginny said, seething that her head of house had been turned into a sneak in her own castle. In Hogwarts.

“I hope you feel better by tomorrow. I wouldn’t want you to miss class,” McGonagall said, and Ginny left, pushing open the large, dark painting that spied on McGonagall with enough effort to make it really bang into the wall. Traitor.

Feigning illness as she made her way through the busiest corridors, the castle, Ginny kept scanning the students until she found the one she most needed standing outside the Trophy Room talking to a seventh year.

“Hey Devon,” Ginny said, when there was a break in the conversation. Both girls turned to her, but Ginny focused on her friend. “Can we work on Potions now?”

Devon took a moment before nodding and saying a polite goodbye.

It wasn’t until they were fairly isolated, that Ginny quietly asked, “What’s Theo’s Floo address?”

“Alabane’s Castle, password Ox,” Devon said just as quietly. “Why?”

“I just needed to know,” Ginny said, feeling like a jerk.

“Are you going to visit him or something?” Devon asked, looking dubious. “Because that would be a very bad idea.”

“Why?” Ginny asked sarcastically. “Just because his dad tried to attack my friend?”

“I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten.”

“I haven’t. But thanks,” Ginny said and kept on walking. After a quick detour to her room to collect a few things, she made her way toward the statue of the one-eyed witch that led her to the secret passage to Hogsmeade.

Once in the little town, where many shops had closed and most patrons had left, she Transfigured her hair a dark brown color, hid her school crest, and weaved through the streets to the nearest shady Floo, where they didn’t ask the normal questions, and bought passage one-way.

It was a stupid plan, she thought as she twisted through the green fire and smoke, elbows tucked neatly against her sides. She didn’t really know Mrs. Nott, but the woman had been a trained Healer, if Ginny had heard correctly, and she seemed to want to make amends and take care of Harry. At the very least she could know someone who could help.

Of course, that all could have been an elaborate ruse to trick Ginny into trusting her, but Ginny was already on her way and couldn’t change course now. Besides, Wrightman had trusted Mrs. Nott; she’d even told Ginny once that Mrs. Nott was a good woman trapped by decade old choices.

And Hermione needed help.

Ginny jumped out at a dark grey hearth and landed on a stone floor in a dark room, where the window showed the bright sky. They were clearly in the south.

It hadn’t occurred to Ginny to wonder whether anyone might be home, or if Mrs. Nott wouldn’t be there. If she wasn’t—

“Miss Weasley?” Mrs. Nott asked, sweeping into the room hurriedly. “You used my password.”

“Devon gave it to me,” Ginny said quietly, tracing fiery words through the air to ask, Where can we talk?

“Here. Monitoring spells can’t be used in this home,” Mrs. Nott said. “And my husband stripped the room of portraits for privacy.”

“My friend is hurt, and she needs a Healer.”

“She?”

“Please. She’s hurt, and you told me you wanted to help,” Ginny said, thinking of the many long minutes it had been since Harry first contacted her.

“I’m not qualified,” she said, shaking her head.

“I didn’t think you were,” Ginny said, pulling out the parchment form her pocket. “But one of these people must be.”

Sam’s eyes darted between the parchment and Ginny. “I can’t—”

“What’s the point of offering help yesterday if you won’t even—“

“Oh, Merlin.” Mrs. Nott’s pretty brown eyes widened as she pulled out an old fashioned pocket watch.

A jolt of worry coursed through Ginny. “What?”

“Hide!” Samantha whispered, hurrying to open a hidden panel in the wall and ushering Ginny inside, closing her in so that there was only a crack through which to watch the room.

“Samantha,” came the strong, low voice of Mr. Nott as he entered the room, full of pomp and confidence.

“I’m here, Iago,” Samantha said, sounding completely calm, maybe even bored.

“Are you planning to go somewhere?” he asked.

“No. Why?” She sounded vacant.

Her husband, an older man with dull eyes and a mean mouth, seemed to make a great effort not to roll his eyes. “The Floo is in here. I wanted to know if you were going anywhere.”

“Why would I want to go somewhere?”

“I don’t know. To shop?”

“But I have the house-elves to do that,” she said, sounding still confused. It was absolutely ridiculous how dumb she managed to sound, and her husband gave up the effort.

“Never mind.” He settled in at the desk across the room, and Ginny could feel the seconds passing. “Tell me about Wrightman’s funeral. You hardly said anything last night.”

“It was lovely,” Samantha said.

“I’m sure it was,” he said, eyes locked on the Floo as if waiting for someone. “I heard you brought the Weasley girl.”

“She’s nice,” Samantha said simply.

“You shouldn’t undermine Snape like that, taking her out of his care,” Mr. Nott said, his hands in his pockets, resting on his heels like Theo when he was bored.

Mrs. Nott flipped open a book she took off the shelf. “I asked him if I could take her.”

“Yes,” he said, twisting his head toward his much-younger wife, “but the fact that she was with him when you went to tell her the news suggests that you should have let the matter rest.”

“I didn’t go to tell her the news,” she said, closing the book. “I went to see Theo, and then I went to meet his girlfriend and a portrait told me she was in the Headmaster’s office and since I knew Severus from our time in school, I thought it would be okay.”

He turned back to the flames. “Don’t cross that man.”

“Alright,” Mrs. Nott said, settling into a chair just as the fire flared and a large, dark man stepped out, pulling off his hood to reveal Fenrir Greyback. Ginny stilled and silently cast a spell to block her smell. This could not be any worse.

“I have news,” the man growled.

“Come with me,” the older man said, motioning toward the doorway.

“Perhaps I will go out to shop,” Mrs. Nott said, and her husband waved a hand dismissively before both they turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She cast three spells at the closed door before opening the panel to let Ginny out.

“What was that about?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know. Something happened this morning, and we need to get you out of here before the house-elves see you.” Samantha grabbed a purse from the table, summoning two things that rushed into the room which she snatched out of the air.

Ginny shook her head. “I need a Healer.”

“I have one in mind,” she said, handing her a bowl of Floo powder. “Follow me to Astra’s House.”

Ginny grabbed her arm. “I’m taking a huge risk trusting you.”

“I know,” Samantha said sincerely, her eyes so full of confidence that Ginny nodded and surrendered herself to trusting this woman, despite having almost no reason to do so. Later, thinking back on this hectic day, Ginny would wonder what led her to the Nott home instead of anywhere else, and the only answer she could give was that she had no other options.

Spinning through the green Floo network for the second time that day, Ginny could only hope that she hadn’t done the wrong thing.

The fire spit her out into a comfortable, cozy living room with a large desk in the corner.

“Where are we?” Ginny asked, realizing that she should have asked it before.

“My private residence. My husband knows about it, so we can’t stay, but it’s better to contact the Healer from here,” Sam said, twisting to toss a puff of Floo powder into the fire. “The Fireside.”

“Who is he?” Ginny asked, uncomfortable already not being in control.

“My brother. The head of St. Mungo’s Children’s Ward,” Mrs. Nott said, looking unruffled despite the speed of their journey.

“Won’t he be at work?”

“It’s Sunday,” Mrs. Nott reminded her as a head poked out of the fire that Ginny instantly recognized as Theo’s Uncle Chad. How stupid that she hadn’t realized that it would be him.

“Sam?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Chad, I need your help,” Mrs. Nott said in her serious tone.

He glanced at Ginny, who imagined she looked pretty gross from all the travel. “Now?”

“Yes. Please.”

In Snape’s office, Ginny had wondered at her professor’s ability to deny this beautiful woman any request. Watching her brother struggle between curiosity and agreement, Ginny once again marveled at Mrs. Nott’s easy ability to control others with nothing more than a whispered ‘please.’

Then Chad Caldwell nodded. “What do you need?”

“Can we discuss it there?” Sam asked, glancing around. He nodded, and Ginny stepped through the fire for the third time that day, gnawing worry in her gut.

The house she stepped into was small and warm with dark colors and large pillows on the couch that looked well worn. Everything was very masculine.

“Welcome,” Chad said, standing in front of them like a solid wall. For such a slight man, Ginny was surprised that he reminded her of Alastor Moody right then. A strange comparison since this man had a boyish face with smooth skin and pretty brown eyes that looked just like Mrs. Nott’s. The resemblance between them was strong, and Ginny found herself absently thinking that it was no wonder that Theo was attractive.

“Chad, this is Ginny Weasley,” Samantha said, holding out her graceful hand toward Ginny.

Chad nodded. “We’ve met.”

“Hello again, Mr. Caldwell.”

“She has a friend in need of a Healer,” Samantha went on, and Chad’s eyes snapped to his sister and then Ginny.

“Is it Theo? Is he alright?” Mr. Caldwell asked, taking a step forward.

“No, no. Theo’s fine,” Ginny quickly assured him, hands up. “It’s someone else. Someone not at Hogwarts.”

The man’s intelligent eyes flashed before he turned to his sister. “I won’t be involved in something that aids the You-Know-Who.”

“I know,” Samantha said seriously. “Do you think this girl would?”

“I think she could be any number of people using any number of spells to conceal her true identity,” Caldwell said reasonably.

Ginny took a step. “Test me. Ask me something.”

“I know nothing about you.”

“Who came with you to the Quidditch game?” Ginny asked quickly, prompting him.

“Andy, Tracy, Colleen, Michael, and Matt,” Chad said, nodding to himself. “What was the story Matt told?”

“About Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s Polyjuice adventures,” Ginny said quickly, wishing she could prove herself and him more completely, but knowing there probably wasn’t time. “I know we don’t know a lot about each other, but Professor Wrightman told me that Samantha was a good person. So I’m trusting her, and now you; I know that I wouldn’t have been asked to find a Healer for my friend unless she really needed it, so I am willing to take a few chances on the mother of someone I respect and a man my best friend considers an uncle.”

Mr. Caldwell wasn’t a very tall man, but his confidence and air of authority made him seem bigger than he was. Everything about him seemed calm and controlled, so she was a little surprised when he suddenly flicked his wand and a bag of what Ginny assumed were Potions zoomed into the room.

Later, when this day was over and she really had time to think about her decision-making process, Ginny would have more than a few critiques about her own behavior. But trusting Chad Caldwell wasn’t really one of them.

“How can we go to your friend?” Chad Caldwell asked, holding his bag tightly.

“First I need both of you to take Unbreakable Vows that you wont reveal the location to anyone else, nor mention the people you find there.”

The Vow took some negotiation, but was eventually completed by Caldwell.

“It doesn’t matter if I make that promise,” Mrs. Nott said. “I’m not going with you.”

“Yes, you are,” Ginny said, pulling a piece of gum out of her pocket.

“I would compromise the location,” she said.

Ginny tossed her the gum, which she caught awkwardly in her cupped hands. “Did you really think that I would have come to you for help if I didn’t know how to nullify your tracking spell?”

Chad’s eyes narrowed. “Tracking spell?”

Samantha met his eyes, but did not answer.

“Chew that,” Ginny said, nodding at the candy. The older woman looked dubious. “My brothers invented them to throw off the underage magic trackers. Your husband’s isn’t stronger than that.”

“It’s impossible to throw off the underage—”

“My brothers are desperate geniuses, and it’s my risk to take,” Ginny said, and the woman chewed the gum and made the Vow. Then Ginny made them both touch the bronze coin that she had been given by Sirius in the case of an emergency and she said the password quietly: Safe Haven.

They landed in the study on the second floor, and Samantha grabbed Ginny’s elbow to steady her before Ginny rushed through the door and yelled for Harry and she raced across the hardwood floors, keeping Chad and Samantha in sight.

“Ginny?” His voice twisted up the dark stairs.

Harry tensed and drew his wand when he saw the three of them descend on the stairs. “Who are these people?”

Moving to stand in front of the adults, Ginny blocked his aim. “They’re here to help. You remember Chad Caldwell from the Quidditch game? He came with the McGraths?”

Harry did not lower his wand. “Ginny, what’s the word I associate with you?”

Word? She thought a moment until it dawned on her. “Domus.”

The nod was slight. “I don’t have a question for them.”

“I’ve tested them,” she assured him. “And they’ve taken a Vow of secrecy and aid. They can’t hurt anyone in this house without terrible consequences.”

That got a reaction: wide eyes filled with incredulity. “Why did you bring them?”

“You said you needed a Healer.” She pointed at Chad Caldwell. “He’s a Healer.”

Harry shook his head. “I won’t let someone I don’t know mess around with Hermione.”

“Harry, you can be there the whole time, but if your friend is hurt, I’d like to see her now,” Chad said calmly.

Seeing his hesitation, Ginny had to ask, “What other option do you have?”

It was like a damn of anger sprouted up. “Right. Fine. Let’s go. Ginny, watch them.”

She lifted her wand. “Always.”

Hermione was lying on the old couch Mrs. Weasley had cleaned so thoroughly two summers before. Oddly, Kreacher was standing guard over her with a wet towel in his bony fingers. His large eyes turned to the newcomers.

“It’s alright, Kreacher. They’re friends,” Harry said softly. When had this relationship changed?

“Master and Mistress Caldwell,” he said happily, his ears bouncing. “My mistress would be most pleased to see you.”

“I need to look at the girl’s injuries,” Chad said, stepping forward.

The elf waved a finger and a spell hit him. “Master Caldwell will protect her.”

“Kreacher, please go fix us some tea,” Harry said, and the elf popped out. At Ginny’s questioning look, Harry shook his head. “Turns out Hermione was right about just being nice to him.”

Then, for the first time, Ginny got a really good look at Hermione. Laying prone on the couch, pale and sweaty, she looked horrific. Her whole left arm was black, and the veins in her shoulder bore the same obsidian color, as if it were oozing through her veins toward her core. Her head tilted to the left as if to escaping the flow.

“What happened?” Chad asked, rushing to kneel beside where she lay on the couch.

“A Death Eater hit her with a spell, she blocked it partially but--“ Harry shook his head. “It was just to her elbow this morning, and then it started growing.”

“I can see that,” Chad said, running his wand along the length of her body. “She halted the growth tremendously.”

“Can you save her?” The raw emotion in Harry’s voice seeped into the room.

“I’m going to try,” Chad said, looking up at the Boy-Who-Lived. Ginny wondered for a moment what he saw in the seventeen-year-old who met his gaze.

“It’s Corinsillia,” Ginny said, and all three others turned to her. “That’s the spell they used on her. It’s designed to block magic.”

“And it’s spreading,” Sam said, turning back to the girl on the couch.

“If it is Corinsillia, I can redirect it,” Chad said, slowly dragging his eyes away from Ginny and to the patient. “I’ve seen a case done like that, but it was much smaller. This is going to take a lot of time, and it will take her an even longer time to heal.”

“That’s fine,” Harry declared. “As long as she gets better.”

Chad nodded and went to work, kneeling beside her and leaving Ginny to ask Harry, “Where’s Ron? Is he okay?”

Harry nodded. “He’s with your parents, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s a long story.” He sounded exhausted and drained. “I’ll tell you later.”

“We need something to channel the energy into,” Chad said, turning back to them. “Something with dark magic, and I’ll need you to watch her vitals, make sure her heart keeps beating. The stronger the better. It’ll help the process.”

Harry summoned a book from the locked cabinet that Ginny’s mother hadn’t known about when they were cleaning the room, and held it out to Chad, who took it with a quick glance and nod. And then he set to work.

--

Probably because of her focus wondering about Ron and Hermione and Kreacher, it took Ginny nearly a full minute to realize that Samantha Nott had left the room. It took her less than seven seconds to find her, however, standing in the entrance area by the silent portrait Mrs. Black, the tips of her manicured nails brushing against the frame. For the first time in Ginny’s memory, Mrs. Black wasn’t screaming (or trying to now that she made no sound).

“Mrs. Nott, what are you doing out here?” Ginny asked, keeping her eyes away from the figure on the wall.

Samantha calmly looked over. “Were you worried that I left?”

“Maybe,” Ginny admitted, not wanting to stand anywhere near this spot in the house.

“I remember this painting,” Samantha said. “My mother always said it was tactless to put up a portrait of yourself in your home, but Mrs. Black liked the idea of legacy.”

I’m your guide, Mrs. Black had whispered in the terrifying dreams that came to Ginny last year. You’re powerful. It wasn’t a memory Ginny wanted, and she tried not to think about it, but the last haunting question stayed with her: Didn’t you find it odd, Ginevra of the Light Weasleys, that you couldn’t manage the Patronus Charm for a year but the Unforgivables come as easily as breathing?

“She yelled a lot about Blood-traitors and other nasty things before the portrait was silenced,” Ginny said, speaking over her own crashing thoughts.

“Walburga Black was never the nicest woman.”

Understatement, Ginny thought as she remembered the Unforgivables she cast in her dream while the woman egged her on.

“Why did you insist that I join you here?” Mrs. Nott asked, turning her large brown eyes on Ginny.

“Because it’s smarter to keep potential threats in front of you instead of leaving them behind,” Ginny admitted exhaustedly, rubbing her arms to keep out the cold that still seemed to permeate the now-brighter house.

Fortunately, Mrs. Nott wasn’t exactly sensitive. “Clever.”

Ginny shrugged. “The gum only lasts seventy-seven minutes, by the way. Then you’ll have to leave.”

Ruefully shaking her head, Samantha asked lightly, “And where will I say I have been? Ice skating?”

Ginny smiled. “The gum doesn’t make you disappear, it makes the tracking stay wherever you first chewed it.”

“So my husband will think I spend nearly two hours at my brother’s home?” Samantha said, her eyebrows raised. “That will be more difficult to explain.”

That seemed hard to imagine. “Why?”

“Years of history,” Samantha said with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps he will have been too distracted by the news of this attack to have checked on me.”

The door to the study slid open, and they spun to face Chad Caldwell; he looked tired as he wiped his hand on a nice, white towel that he then gave back to Kreacher, who disappeared.

“The worst of it’s gone,” he said, “but as I told Harry, it’s going to take another couple of weeks for her to fully recover and I’m going to have to do more work, and I can’t do it here.”

“Why not?” Ginny asked.

He glanced around the entrance. “The Dark Magic in this house will tear at that wound.”

Despite having Winky and Dobby clean, Grimmauld Place still had that much Dark Magic? Ginny thought of the places they could go. Her brothers all had houses. They might have to go to one of them.

“Ideally,” Chad said, as if reading her thoughts, “she would recover in a non-magical setting. I heard her parents are Muggles, but Harry said that wasn’t an option, so I wanted to know if either of you had any ideas.”

“No,” Ginny said honestly, the emotional drain of the last two days catching up with her.

A quiet wind swept through the room, a remnant of the magic that would hurt Hermione the longer she stayed there. It wasn’t fair to lose another safe house so quickly.

“I have a place they can go,” Samantha said slowly.

“Where?” Ginny asked.

“An old friend of mine lives in the Muggle world now.”

“Someone else on your list?” She yanked the parchment out of her pocket as her friend’s mother nodded.

“Tracy Merton.”

That did nothing to endear Mrs. Nott to her. “That woman was vile.”

“You’ve met her?”

“She came to the Quidditch game.” Talked to Mr. McGrath and tried to convince him to keep Ginny’s best mate away from her. Ginny wouldn’t ever forget her.

“She can be trusted with this,” Samantha said confidently.

Ginny scoffed. “I saw her on your list. It was half the reason I doubted the rest of those names. Actually, now that we’re talking about it, I have to tell you that I think you’re a bit mad to imagine that all those people are undyingly loyal to Harry.”

“They owe him. They knew his mother,” Sam Nott said.

“Half the people on this list are in the most important families in the wizarding world,” Ginny said. “They aren’t the types to owe anyone favors.”

“They’re the types to repay old debts in full,” the older woman said, patient and straightforward, without a waver in her smooth voice. “Even if it must be to the son.”

Ginny decided not to argue the issue anymore. She could make her own decisions about these people later. Right now, Hermione needed a safe place to go, and a Muggle motel wasn’t going to cut it.

Chad surprised Ginny by asking his sister, “Why are you involved in all this?”

She failed in her attempt to give a sad smile. “Because I want to be.”

“What about—“ He shook his head, eyes steadily on his sister. “What about everything else?”

This ‘everything else’ sounded like the same kind of ‘years of history’ that Mrs. Nott mentioned earlier. Samantha’s eyes cut over to the doorway, through which they could see Harry sitting beside his friend.

“I grew tired of living in my self-made shadows,” she said, nodding to herself before turning back to her brother, “and he’s a good boy.”

Her brother smiled softly at her, tired and proud. They reminded Ginny of her and Percy during their fight two Christmases ago at the Ministry, not from when they were yelling, but the quiet aftermath. They had really heard and saw one another, and remembered that this was their family, their old best friend and hero.

“The gum’s magic is wearing off; I have to go home now,” Sam said at last, jolting all three out of the moment.

“No, you don’t,” Chad said, as if the reason why it was necessary weren’t perfectly obvious from the sparkling ring on her finger that tied her to a husband who had Fenrir Greyback over for tea.

“Chad,” Mrs. Nott said softly. “I need to.”

Sounding much younger, he asked, “Why? He’s evil.”

Samantha’s mouth closed for a moment, and she looked sad and thoughtful. “He’s been a good father, and a good husband. The best he could be, at least. I know that’s not enough to make him a good man, but he’ll protect his son.”

“Theo can take care of himself,” Ginny said.

“I know,” Sam replied, her brown eyes resting on the silent portrait. “I just don’t want him to have to.”

Well, that certainly was not what Ginny had expected her to say.

“Miss Weasley, could I talk to my brother for a moment?” Mrs. Nott asked.

“Sure,” Ginny said, walking past them and into the room with Harry and Hermione.

Harry looked up from his place beside his best friend. “You left them alone.”

She pulled a pair of Extendable Ears out of her pocket and tossed them to him. “Feel free to listen.”

He studied the Ears in his hands. “No. I think I have to trust them.”

“Just as well. Their Vows would kill them if they betrayed us,” Ginny said, sitting beside him and wrapping her arms around his middle as he embraced her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You, too.”

“You look better now.” She twisted around to look up at him, still firmly in his arms.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thank Kreacher for that. He fusses.”

“How inconsiderate of him,” she joked.

He held her a little tighter. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mrs. Nott and her brother left a short while later, the latter having explained how to contact him if Hermione’s state drastically changed.

“I can take care of her,” Harry said, standing like one of the stiff toy soldiers that Charlie and Bill used to own when they were children.

The Healer nodded. “And you’ll need to move her after tomorrow, when she wakes.”

“I’ll come by, then, with Miss Weasley,” Samantha said. “And help you hide somewhere else.”

Apparently, Harry didn’t like having been left out of the loop. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We took oaths to protect both your friend and you; You’d know it was a trick the moment we died in front of you,” Mr. Caldwell said reasonably, but the discussion still hadn’t gone very smoothly, and the siblings left shortly thereafter.

Ginny and Harry went back to sitting beside one another on the couch, too tired to talk about the plans to move that they both knew Harry wouldn’t go along with.

“Thank you for bringing help,” Harry said quietly after a few minutes, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

“I told you I would always help you,” Ginny said quietly, for the house felt too loud to her, and the room too small.

“I just—I can’t loose any more family,“ Harry said in his broken, tired voice as he watched the brown-haired girl lying on the adjacent couch.

Family, Ginny thought, his hands tightening over her stomach. Sister.

Not that long ago, Ginny had talked to Hermione about her career meeting, and the older girl said that it had been uninspiring because while she knew a thousand jobs that she would have liked, helping Harry in his war was the only thing she absolutely knew she was going to do.

For a brief, intense moment, Ginny was reminded of the loyalty in the Trio—the unwavering reliance and love—and pitied Tom Riddle for thinking he could defeat such a thing.