o o o

silent knife, unholy knife

o o o

Ginny shared her room in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with Hermione, and for most of the summer that had been a fine arrangement.

It was less than ideal since their latest guest's arrival at the house.

She stood outside her bedroom in a dark hallway and considered possible places to sleep that didn't also house her brother, Ron, and a very agitated Harry Potter.

From the other side of the door, Ginny could hear the three of them: Hermione placating, Ron mumbling support, and Harry speaking quickly while he paced the room. He would hit the floorboard at the end of Ginny's bed and turn there, on the squeakiest spot, in his laps.

He was genuinely upset about You-Know-Who, and Ginny sympathized - really, she did - but she was also tired and frustrated. If the three of them couldn't bother to include her, then they should have at least had the decency to do their private conferences in Ron and Harry's room. She wanted her pyjamas and the squishy feather pillow with the soft cotton sheeting and she wanted to sleep.

She also wanted to be involved in their conversation but that wasn't going to happen.

Ginny gave the door a very perturbed look and turned for the staircase. There were lights on in the kitchen and she decided if she couldn't find a bed for the night, company would suffice.

"Hey, Tonks," she greeted the older woman as she dragged her feet into the room.

"Wotcha!" Tonks grinned, her face pink and eyes a little glassy. Eying Ginny's state, she pointed out the obvious. "Sleep evading you?"

"Those three are holed up in my room. Didn't even invite me," Ginny grouched.

Also at the table with Tonks was Sirius Black. Tonks had changed her hair to match his in colour, styled with one side long and the other buzzed, and the two could have been models on a rock album cover. Between them, furthering the rebel image, was the remaining third of a bottle of whiskey and a set of shot glasses.

Ginny took a seat with them and nodded to the alcohol. "Mum'll be after your heads for that."

Sirius didn't often engage Ginny in conversation – they didn't ever have much reason to acknowledge the other in any specific manner – but he perked up at Ginny's warning. Smiling at her, he tapped his nose and winked. "Mum'll have to be awake to know any better."

"Molly's finally worried herself to sleep," Tonks said, shaking her head. "I haven't seen someone drop like that in a long time."

Ginny was surprised. Her mother had been a ball of terrible energy for the entirety of the summer holiday and Ginny had sort of expected her to shun sleep until "the kids" were at least back at school.

"She really needed it," Ginny murmured. Her gaze landed determinedly on the whiskey.

Sirius noticed and set his chair forward from where he had been sitting on its hind legs. Inclining his chin at the bottle, he asked, "interested?"

"No, no, not a good idea –" Tonks slapped away Sirius' sneaking hand. "Sorry, Gin."

Ginny shared Sirius' devastated, open-mouthed stare of utter betrayal. She pointed out, aghast, "Tonks, you're supposed to be the cool one."

"Don't the two of you team up. That's not fair!"

"Shit, what does a kid have to go through these days to earn a little whiskey." Sirius was smiling, but it was a strange face he made. Bitter and disbelieving. "Fer cryin' out, Tonks, she's had just as much madness going on in her head as Harry –"

Ginny nodded, but didn't exactly understand his meaning. It sounded like a good argument.

"Totally mad," she agreed.

Tonks' face went noticeably whiter and her eyes flickered, alarmed, over Ginny and back to Sirius. She said with a thin lip, "that's enough, Sirius."

It took a moment for the warning to land for Sirius. "Oh! Fuck – right. Shite, I meant – I meant –"

Understanding she was missing something important shared between the two, Ginny dropped her playful sadness and frowned. "What? What is it? What are you talking about?"

Because it usually went as such, Ginny thought they were talking about Harry. Another horrible thing had happened and he was worse off than before. Something more than the scar aches, perhaps?

"We're all dealing with the You-Know-Who stuff, innit?" She said. Insisting, "I could use whiskey. I've had it before. Charlie thinks he's good at hiding his stash."

"Right, right," Sirius said. He reached for the bottle and glasses again, tapped one with his wand so that it replicated itself, and handed one of the pair to Tonks and the third to Ginny. Easing his cousin's apprehension, he promised, "she'll just take a sip."

Ginny held up two fingers close together. "Little sip."

"She'll probably not even like it."

"I'll hate it, I promise."

Sirius whispered, quite audibly, "she's weak, now, Ginny. She's three under already."

The two of them, a pair of tricksters, snickered as Tonks dragged a hand down her face and haggardly waved the other one for Sirius to pour a round. She grumbled about how they were very barbaric to strong arm her in such a way.

Ginny asked Sirius, who sat with easy composure, "have you really had three shots?"

He did whisper then, "actually this is her fifth and I've stopped at my first."

"Cruel man."

"I have a reputation to maintain, but hell, I'm not in my twenties any more." He made a very big show of disappointment to hide his actual remorse.

"Stop your conspiring, the lot of you," Tonks said, straightening her posture and becoming determined. Lifting her glass, she solemnly called, "cheers," and drained her shot.

Across from her, Sirius tipped his glass back, his mouth closed, and Ginny watched the whiskey reappear in the bottle. She swirled her own serving and put back the small amount. Only enough to burn her lips and tongue and trickle down her throat in a hot, buzzing line. Ginny kept her features neutral; it really wasn't a taste she loved.

Tonks dropped her head to the table, groaning. "I've made so many bad decisions in my life to lead me to this moment."

Sirius breathed out a shallow laugh.

"She'll be alright," he assured Ginny. He held a finger to his mouth and poured another bit of whiskey into her glass. "Life is short."

She didn't drink it right away, and instead slid the glass between her hands while trying to keep the drink from spilling over. She tucked a leg under her and rested her head on the other, raised tight to her chest. Sirius seemed content to sit and listen to Tonks' increasingly less coherent mumblings.

The kitchen was quiet but for the soft sound of snoring by the time Ginny got around to draining her second shot. More tingling at her lips.

She said honestly. "When it's this hot out, the drink makes it worse."

Sirius made a non-committal type of noise. He didn't seem to mind the warmth.

She asked then, because the question had been bugging her, and because she sensed a vulnerability in his front, "why would I be mad?"

They might have been talking about Harry earlier, but Sirius had said she, Ginny Weasley, had just as much madness in her head. Not just everyone was dealing with the resurgence of You-Know-Who, but her in particular.

Ginny watched Sirius tense slightly, a stiffness entering his shoulders and jaw. He liked to hold an aura of carefree fun – especially around Harry and her siblings – but he had tells and he hadn't quite remembered how to hide them. His shadowed eyes slid from watching Tonks to meet Ginny's patient, inquisitive stare. He winced at something he saw in her face.

"What?" She wondered, a little wounded by the visceral reaction.

He didn't want to answer her – and he didn't answer her, not really.

"You said I was a cruel man?" The rhetorical statement hung between them, threatening to fall and end their strange, private conversation. Then Sirius sighed and rubbed at his temples. Gravely, "I wouldn't have done that, though."

She pinched her mouth at one corner but let him talk at his own pace.

"Listen, Ginny, I'm all for keeping the whole of you informed. I've seen what happens when information is withheld from the right people. I know that," he told her, his tone apologetic. Abstractly, "I don't like it. I don't."

Shaking her head in confusion, she admitted she still didn't understand.

Sirius pushed his chair back, fidgeting, then pulled it again to the table to lean over to her. "They would prefer not to talk about what happened, Ginny. They would prefer it didn't happen at all."

His closeness was unnerving, and his rambling meaningless to her, but Ginny felt a thrumming of excitement up and down her chest. She chewed her numb lip and waited with a trapped breath for him to say something more.

"What happened?" She asked after Sirius considered her for too long a moment. His eyes, she noticed, like most men, went between her lips and her hair. He didn't glance any higher.

But her voice roused him from his thoughts and Sirius retreated to his seat, went back to balancing on its legs. Looking away, all he he said was, "we've all seen it, Ginny."

She liked how he said her name, like he meant it. He said it like she wasn't a simple child fumbling around adults. But he also said it in a way that recognised a weariness in her she didn't see herself.

Ginny watched his gaze become too distant for the tiny kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"We've all been there," Sirius said. "We've all seen the darkness. You're not alone."

He might have been attempting to reassure her, but Ginny felt a hollow ache in her middle at his words.

o o o

Chapter Five

The Condemned and The Conspiring

o o o

Inside the Hospital Wing there was a heated discussion about what to do with the "Problem" within the school.

Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall were hovering a few paces from Ginny's cot, their words rapid, jumping in pitch, and occasionally too loud for their attempt to maintain hushed voices.

It had been an uneasy effort, but something in their tone and urgency had dragged her from a manufactured slumber, and Ginny yanked herself back to wakefulness every few seconds. Her right eye was uncovered and she watched the blue and grey ceiling above her while she listened.

"The students are meant to be safe, Minerva!"

"Would you rather we send them to their homes and condemn them there to capture and torture?"

"We should have made certain all students came back to the school if we had any intention to offer them protection – "

"If you remember, none of us were informed of that 'restriction' until the train arrived."

Ginny's vision darkened, and she jerked her head to fight unconsciousness. It was an uncomfortable struggle and she tried not to let the urge to be sick overtake her as well. Her head pounded. The aching pain leaving the wound across her face was a constant stream of waves rocking down her body. Her eyes burned, eyelids feeling thick and crusted as she blinked, and she realised she must have been crying in her sleep.

But as sorry as she felt about herself – so pathetic – hearing the apprehension and frustration from her professors disturbed her more.

"Do the students stay?" Flitwick asked, his soft words were a heavy question filling the room. And then, more quietly, "it has been only one week since term began. He is out of control, Minerva. Half her face was left to be scraped from the stage..."

Flitwick wasn't finished speaking, she didn't think, but it was then that Ginny lost the battle for her stomach and pitched over the side of her bed, heaving. Immediately, her professors were at her side, one having gone to call for Madame Pomfrey, and having their attention, she tried to speak around her retching.

"Don't – don't close the school –"

If they closed the school and sent the students home, then how would she ever have a chance to fight back?

Her parents would lock her up rather than risk her getting involved in the war.

Her professors had to see that, surely.

Ginny couldn't be idle. Not anymore.

She still remembered the muggle family at the World Cup summers ago. She watched the masked mob beneath them toss and contort their listless, powerless bodies and she had fled. She had run from the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, and had danced around hexes and curses at the end of last term. She had stood by while her home burned. She could still smell the fire from The Burrow, feel its heat on her face, on her lips.

Or maybe the burning on her lips was from stomach bile?

"I need to be here, Professor," Ginny said. She was on her back again, having finished being sick, and Professor McGonagall was hovering at her side as someone pushed a potion to her mouth. Someone said something about her having a bad reaction to her medicine. "Don't close the school."

She couldn't go home and be smothered again.

She couldn't surrender to being numb and silenced, placed in the waiting dark.

She had to act. She had to fight.

She had to, she had to, she had to, she had to –

When Ginny next awoke, she was alone in the wing and half a day had passed.

Madame Pomfrey replaced the bandages on her face and told her to "focus on healing." The curse Snape had used on her required regular topical applications to keep the tissue from going bad, and she was orderer to stay in her bed as the rest of her body was not very happy with the medicine. Moving very much tended to make her lose her stomach.

The thought that at least the school was remaining open as yet comforted her, but only for so long. On her third morning in the wing, she came to the conclusion that she was probably going to die there. From boredom.

But at least she had transitioned to smaller bandages and then, finally, in the middle of the second week of term, she was able to go without any wrappings at all.

Madame Pomfrey handed Ginny a mirror after she had removed the bandages. She warned her that the injury was not fully healed, that there was redness, swelling, and bruising that would go away with time. After a gentle pat at her shoulder, she left Ginny alone to examine the progress.

Seeing her face again was…something.

Ginny had about a thousand scars – she had often bragged of them – and she was absolutely not about to make a fuss over her new one. Her brother and Katie Bell would never have cried over something so trivial. Skin was simply clothing for her bones and the rest of her organs.

What was one line of fresh thread stitched across her face?

She traced the puffy edge of scar tissue that ran from her hairline above her left eye down to its culmination at her right jawline. A fraction lower and Snape's curse would have taken her eye – popped it open like a split grape in its socket.

One more scar was fine.

Later in the afternoon, she was tracing doodles in the air above her with her wand, telling herself she was beyond any more weak feelings. Footsteps, steady and heavy, approached her bed, and Ginny had just enough time to erase her angry caricature of the Carrows being dangled over a herd of hungry Blast-Ended Skrewts before her privacy curtains were yanked back.

It had taken her face getting sliced open and a spot of medical observation, but at least she had finally learned Adrian Pucey's purpose at Hogwarts. He was "helping" Madame Pomfrey with medical care, but Ginny suspected he had been placed in the Hospital Wing as a spy.

The former Slytherin Quidditch Team member greeted her with a blank, unimpressed face. He said, "you have a visitor."

Ginny sat up from her dismal slouching and tentatively tried for a beaming smile – still too sore, nope – but her only visitors had been her professors on that first night. She said hopefully, "Luna?"

It wasn't.

"You're welcome, it's me."

"Noooo…" Ginny dragged the syllable out long enough for Pansy Parkinson to roll her eyes.

"Thank you, Adrian. You can go," Pansy said to Pucey. She perched on a neighbouring cot and smirked. She very obviously lingered her eyes over Ginny's face, following the new line that divided it. "Well, I came to confirm the rumours you were dead and the person being stowed away in here was actually a dog in a red wig. …But you have the face of a dog now, so that much is true."

Boredom and the treatments must have been messing with Ginny's head, because she was actually – almost – happy to see the other girl. Madame Pomfrey was too patient to engage in Ginny's banter and Pucey was a brick wall for talking.

"Uh-huh. You're saying I had a pretty face before this happened?" Ginny asked, immediately excited for the chance to volley snark.

"I might be saying the face of a dog is an improvement to a rat."

"You would know, being a rat yourself."

"If I'm a rat, that would make you a worm."

"A worm? Bettering the world around it by its mere existence? That does sound like me."

Pansy's nose scrunched and she seemed to be fighting her lips from making an expression. She turned her face away and exhaled harshly – a sound suspiciously like amusement covered by a little cough. She failed to put together a stinging reply and shook her head, asking, "how do you flip a comparison to a worm into a compliment with such a straight face, Weasley?"

"Haaa," Ginny sang in an awful key, a dimpling in her left cheek. "That's your comeback? You going soft, Parkinson?"

"Don't hold your breath." Pansy reached into a pocket in the folds of her skirt and tossed Ginny a small parcel. "Your locust friends aren't allowed to visit you, so I brought this for them."

Snatching the paper-wrapped bundle from its arc, Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I'm not allowed any visitors. How'd you even pull this off?"

"Adrian is a dear friend."

"So you are going soft."

Before the thought could be entertained for very long, Pansy sniffed. "As if. I made Longbottom give me his toad for this favour."

"What? He couldn't have – you didn't." Ginny dropped her mouth open, which hurt, but not enough to dampen her surprise.

Pansy hummed in assertion. Hopping to her feet again and pressing at the creases in her robes, she announced, "I'm going to feed that fat little dumpling to my cat."

Ginny was aghast. She said again, "noooo…"

Pansy played at being cruelly delighted for a moment, and then a nervous tapping of her foot travelled up her leg to her head. Her long blonde curls bounced as she shivered with revulsion. The taunting died and she relented, "eugh, no, I'm not. That's disgusting. It would probably give Sir Breunor warts."

Good news.

"Don't hurt Trevor, though," Ginny said, sounding a bit petulant rather than threatening.

"I'm not going to hurt a toad. I'm not that pathetic," Pansy said. And then, "it's only that I like seeing Longbottom cry."

"So…still rather pathetic."

Pansy clicked her tongue. "Enjoy your stack of homework or whatever it is they've sent you."

"Oh, you haven't opened it to snoop? Soft – you're so soft, Parkinson."

The joke didn't land and it seemed their volleying was over.

"I couldn't care less to get involved in your death walk, Weasley. Whatever it is you and all your little peons think you're up to…"

"Not up to anything –" but her denial was ignored.

Pansy held Ginny's gaze. She was bare in her disbelief and wariness. "Don't you realise? You're getting your name higher up on a list you really do not want to be on."

That was her farewell, and Pansy spun on her toes and left the Hospital Wing.

Ginny lifted a shoulder, alone again, in an act of cavalierness that no one could appreciate. What list did Pansy mean? The list of people Death Eaters found the most hostile? If so, then the higher Ginny's name was, the better.

She opened the package Pansy had delivered and was disappointed to find textbooks and assignments. Picking through everything, she scanned Luna's florid writing for a hidden message, and her miserable slouching returned when she deciphered a short status update on the map: no further progress on identifying people. There was no mention about the Room of Requirement.

A sensible thing, probably. They would do much better getting to the Room with the map.

But had they at least been tackling possible spells to perform once they did get to the Room?

What about creating a model to mimic the Room and its place in the castle? If they could solve it on a smaller scale, then it would be easier and faster once they were at the Room itself. Ginny had no way of conveying this to Neville and Luna, however, and so she tried to do as much on her own.

On her bed, she transfigured two of her books into boxes. One box acted as the seventh floor hallway and the other as the Room, which while flexible in its structure, always had a single point of anchoring contact with the hallway. After the doorway had been blasted open, the Room had been locked into one state. When occupied, it was also locked into one state.

Perhaps to fix the Room they only had to stabilise its door.

Ginny tried to establish the scenario with the boxes. Transfiguration spells for the shapeshifting of the "Room" and a charm that linked the two spaces, with a specific interaction triggered by her wand in the "hallway" to change the configuration of the "Room."

The setup was more difficult than she wanted and she spent hours merely getting the boxes to behave how she intended, let alone sabotaging and then restoring them.

At some point, Pucey came back with her evening meal and she put aside her tinkering to eat.

It was soup. Again. Miserable and pouting, Ginny twirled her spoon in the warm broth and then ladled some up only to tip it back into the bowl. Easy to eat but not nearly so enticing as the meal she was certain the other students would be enjoying in the Great Hall while she was trapped in the Hospital Wing. They all had company, at least, and they would be enjoying pears and cured meats and that soft cheese that cut like warm butter.

But it was still not as good as the food her family grew and prepared at The Burrow…

Ginny froze. An idea had seized her, sudden and brilliant, and she smiled. Forget trying to recreate and fix the Room of Requirement – and screw being stuck in the Hospital Wing – she had a new approach to their predicament to pursue. One that was much more suited to her talents.

-o-

The Death Eaters were infesting Hogwarts and had infiltrated the faculty and position as headmaster, but the ultimate goal remained to keep the castle from falling completely to You-Know-Who. If the self-styled Dark Lord were to walk into the Great Hall tomorrow morning, then he would be met with resistance. There were plenty within the faculty and student body who would fight and Ginny had the goal to make sure the right side would win.

She needed a route for supplies and communication that would not be intercepted by the Carrows and Snape. The Room of Requirement was the likely answer and the most secure option.

Having a Plan B wasn't bad, though.

It was an hour before sunrise when she slid from her bed, stuffed a blanket under the sheets. and transfigured a pillow to look like a ruffled head of long, red hair. She charmed the mane to snore every few minutes and decided the decoy was convincing enough.

Sneaking in the castle was best accomplished with a Muffling Spell on the bottom of one's shoes and a Concealment Charm on one's robes. Another charm for her eyes to adjust as best as possible in the dark. Hallways were blocked off into segments, with ideal points for concealment every few paces. Shadows were an issue, as was any lingering scent that Mrs. Norris might notice. Obfuscation was best for scents: something strong and that fit the environment, like a cleaning agent that matched the one used by the House Elves on the castle floors.

Every night of sneaking out to steal a broomstick from The Burrow's shed had taught Ginny the best methods for getting around undetected. The thrill was just as strong as a Sixth Year as it had been for a six year old.

It was a literal pain to grin, but Ginny couldn't stop herself as she pressed her body to the back of a suit of armour and waited, breath held in her chest, as Filch ambled past her in the Entry Hall. She kept her eyes on the Founders Portrait and didn't dare move a muscle until he had been gone a good minute or two.

She had half an hour to do reconnaissance and get back to her bed before she was due for another round of topical treatments.

Time enough.

Down in the dungeons, Ginny stopped at a familiar painting of fruit. Holding the frame, she tickled the pear and eased the door to the passageway open. She flinched when the hinges squeaked, prepared to dash, but didn't when nothing went amiss. Inside, the kitchens for the castle were quiet and empty.

She was careful as she let herself in.

The facility providing food for Hogwarts was large – it had to be – and it was thinking about the homegrown food of The Burrow that had got her then thinking about the logistics of providing meals for hundreds of students. As powerful as House Elves could be in how they circumvented magical rules imposed on the grounds, Ginny knew they were unable to create food from nothing. The raw materials had to get into the castle somehow.

The large stone ovens, as tall as she was and lining an entire wall of the kitchens, gave her validation.

Snape and the Carrows and any other Death Eater would be keeping an eye on the floo network usage in the school, but the deliveries to the kitchens would have to be expected and accounted for already. Nothing suspicious, simply a necessary and regular part of operations.

And Ginny was going to use that to her advantage.

The kitchens had an attached living quarters for the House Elves and Ginny made her way to the door. If she could find either Dubby or Blinky, the only two elves she knew to some extent, then she would be able to secure a chance for her to use the floo.

She knocked out of courtesy and waited for a response. None came. She was opening the door when the flames in each of the fireplaces ignited. Set on a schedule she guessed, but it was an innate sense that made her hurry back to the kitchens' entrance.

Through the opening and shutting the painting back in place, she kept the door just enough ajar to spy. She could barely see the end of one the fireplaces, but the kitchens were glowing green as someone used the floo. A tall shadow went across the far wall and Ginny watched as a witch, and then another, and then more and more people came into the kitchens.

The sound of a work place coming to life filled the room and she quietly shut the door before anyone caught onto her presence.

It took her a moment to piece together that the House Elves had been replaced with a new staff.

She had a thought as to who had made that decision and to whom, ultimately, the new hires reported.

There wouldn't be any help from the kitchens, but she told herself the route wasn't completely void. The option was simply...a little less ideal.

She made her way out of the dungeons feeling hopeless and adamantly trying to ignore as much. The Entry Hall seemed so much less thrilling than it had a moment ago.

What was the saying? A door shut only meant a window opened. Something like that. Eventually she would figure out how to get to Hogsmeade.

In the hallway that led to the door of the Hospital Wing at the far end, Ginny realized she was distracted and careless in her return trip as she didn't immediately see the two figures lurking by the door. She had been staring at their shapes and not processing the Carrows at all until she heard their muffled voices. She snapped against the wall like a bent branch going back to place.

With a whisper, she reset her spell for camouflage and flattened herself to the stones. She was between torches and lanterns, in enough shadows, and between her and the Carrows were windows, curtains, statues, a number of things to serve as proper coverage; she felt comfortable staying in place to listen in to their conversation.

They were huddled together and arguing.

"What do…you're going…?" Said the sister to her brother, but most of her words were lost or indiscernible.

From the brother, Ginny clearly heard the word, "pay."

Another innate sense in her gut told Ginny they were talking about her and that one was looking for revenge. The effort to discredit the pair had been a school wide affair, but Ginny made a nice proxy.

"We could…he would be willing…to avoid…" from Alecto again.

Curious, Ginny peered around a marble carving and watched them. An unwise decision.

Her heart seized as someone very near her cleared their throat. The cut across her face bloomed in a renewed searing of pain as she looked into the cool, beady eyes of Severus Snape.

Every muscle in her body tensed and Ginny thought for certain Snape was going to slice her open again. Slowly. Permanently.

He was like a wraith in the hall, warping the light around him and he could have been Death come to collect her.

Snape hadn't turned to fully face her and his hands were empty and at his sides. Speechless and unable to move, Ginny waited for a hex or a curse – for the inevitable boiling of his temper. His eyes on hers, he minutely shook his head and moved his gaze back to the Carrows. Subtly setting his shoulders, he strode down the hallway towards them.

"Masters of your own actions yet again? Are we?" His voice was commanding as he approached the siblings.

But Ginny couldn't focus on Snape's reprimand.

The Carrows started like scolded children and didn't have the ability between the two of them to form a coherent response.

"This impudent, treacherous child needs to learn her place, Severus!"

"She needs to learn!"

Ginny waited for Snape to rat her out. 'The girl in question is not ten metres from you – hiding right there!'

Strangely, he said something different. Her stomach turned nonetheless.

"Weasley is none of your concern. I will be the one to do any honours."

The male Carrow was most offended. "Are you calling a dibs on her?"

"Only to keep you blundering idiots from making anything more of a martyr out of her." A short pause, long enough for the siblings to exchange a questioning glance, and then, "make yourselves scarce. Now."

Ginny was still as the Carrows scuttled by her, grumbling to themselves, and left the hallway. In the light of predawn, from the warmth of the castle torches, she was more visible than was really safe, but they were too busy being disgruntled to notice her.

She heard the toad say, "that weasel's not going to last the month!"

The promise was still looping in her mind when Snape's shadow loomed over her again and it was only the two of them in the hallway.

Ginny forgot her panic and worry and asked, honestly curious, "why'd you help me?"

Because he had! Snape had just helped her!

It was hard to fathom.

"Next time you feel the urge to wander the castle, Miss Weasley, don't."

Snape grabbed her arm and pulled her to the Hospital Wing.

"Why?" She asked again, not bothering to fight his lead. He hadn't done it to help her, not really. He must have miscalculated. "Are you really so scared of me becoming some sort of martyr?"

Because if that were the case, then he shouldn't have been so quick to cut her face. Whether he wanted it or not – something like that was ripe for creating symbols. ...Especially when Ginny herself was fine with using whatever means necessary to galvanize a resistance.

Snape pushed her through the door and marched her down to her bed. He was stoic and so she repeated "why?"

There was no conceivable reason for him to not allow them to do anything to her. She had already suffered a crucio. What worse could they do?

"Were you scared they were going to do a better job of making a warning out of me or something?" And as nothing else she tried elicited a response, she sneered, "maybe they're showing you up to dear Voldemort?"

Snape had scared her in the past. He had been a clear figure of danger.

Ginny, at times, however, lacked sense for self-preservation.

There was a new intensity to Snape when he heard her casually toss out the name Voldemort.

She yelped as the grip around her arm was joined with a yanking hold at the back of her neck, craning her head back with a tangle of her hair.

"Do not speak His name," he hissed at her with a venomous anger.

And for all the beats her heart had skipped since Snape had spotted her in the hallway, it seemed to be beating painfully fast against her ribs as he held her.

He was cold and hot with anger and staring at her with a deep, simmering hatred. Every part of her shook with fear and fight but he seemed to be inflexible stone as his studied her.

"You stupid child," Snape finally said. And he shoved her into her bed. Holding a hand and finger to her, "do not try me again, Miss Weasley. I have only so much patience for your foolishness."

He left without another word and the only sound she heard for a long while was her storming pulse.

-o-

Author's Note: Please review!