Author's Notes: I'm sorry it's been so long. Summer's been crazy for me! goingbacktosquareone, my wonderful fantastic beta has been sick and my kids ... ugh my kids have been on holidays and at hoe fighting instead of leaving me lovely time to do stuff.

But here we are, and may it not be so long between drinks next time!

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The second floor bathroom looked exactly as they had last seen it with the addition of a few haphazardly-placed stone blocks just barely blocking the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

“I don’t think anyone’s been here,” Ron said, kicking at the blocks with his foot.

“Not for a while anyway,” Hermione said as she turned slowly, scanning the room.

“Good,” Harry whispered, unable to stop shuddering at the thought of Ginny being dragged into this particular room in the castle. They both avoided going anywhere near it although they’d never said it aloud, both Harry and Ginny knew why other routes were preferable.

“Let’s go,” Ron said shortly. A sudden splash from one of the stalls made the three of them turn around.

“I haven’t seen any students in months,” Myrtle said as she flew through the walls of the stall and hovered in front of Harry. “But Sir Nicholas says Glenda has; a number of people thundering through, disturbing her.” She peered at Harry myopically and Harry shuddered again, taking a step back.

“We’re kind of busy right now,” Harry said, “if you’ll excuse us.”

“Looking for … something?” Myrtle asked as Harry made for the door.

“Yes,” snapped Harry. “I am looking for my girlfriend who has disappeared and NOBODY KNOWS WHERE SHE IS!” His hand curled into a fist and he turned towards the nearest wall. Ron reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him towards the door.

“So, if you don’t mind, we’ll be going now,” Ron said, leaning on the door to open it.

“Sorry,” whispered Hermione, hurrying after them.

“Oh, you will be!” Myrtle shrieked as she swooped over to the door. “Nobody wants to listen to Myrtle. Oh no! Why would Myrtle know anything, she’s just a stupid, stupid girl … stupid, stupid Moaning Myrtle. Too bad if I ever knew something important like where that girl is … the one you were with in the prefect’s bathroom.”

“Where is she?” Harry demanded, spinning around, trying not to let Ron’s disgusted look bother him.

“If you were listening, you might have figured it out,” Myrtle said snippily and vanished back through the solid door of the bathroom. Harry stormed after her but was greeted only by an echoing splash.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ron raged. “Figured it out; I’ll give her figured it out!”

“Wait!” Hermione exclaimed. “What did she say about Glenda?”

“She’s seen people,” Harry said dully.

“That’s it!” Hermione shouted and bolted from the room. Harry and Ron thundered out the door after her, easily catching up to her at the end of the corridor.

“Where are we going?” Ron asked her.

“The Gryffindor room!” Hermione shouted as she rounded the corner. “Come on!”

Harry thought over what Hermione said. The only time he’d ever seen Glenda’s portrait awake was that one time he’d gone into the room on the fifth floor. How could Glenda have seen people, she was always asleep? It made no sense, only Harry and Neville could get in. Had he been in the Gryffindor room today? Maybe he and Luna were using it for the same purpose as Ginny and Harry frequently did. Harry shook his head impatiently; the last person who would harm Ginny was Neville. Besides he didn’t work for, or employ, European thugs.

“Quickly Harry,” Hermione urged, pulling him bodily through the portrait concealing the staircase that led to the room.

“How could she be in there?” Ron protested as he clambered through. “Nobody except Harry can get in!”

“And Neville,” Harry said shortly as he made his way up the stairs as fast as he could.

“Limuson did say she vanished into a wall …” Hermione trailed off, puffing slightly.

Harry ignored them, concentrating on finding the place where he could go into the wall. Grabbing hold of both Ron and Hermione’s robes he pulled them through. The cavernous room was empty, and the portraits sleeping. Harry scanned it quickly before hurrying to the little door that he knew would lead to the smaller room.

“Oh, it’s about time,” Ginny said peevishly from the midst of a pile of blankets in front of the fireplace. There was no fire and she shivered slightly despite the layers. Harry raced over and dropped to his knees next to her.

“What happened? Are you all right? How did you get in here?” Harry asked rapidly, pulling her to him. She winced horribly.

“I’m fine,” Ginny said.

“We’ve been looking for you for ages,” Ron said from behind Harry. “Why didn’t you come out again?”

“Well … I’m not really sure,” Ginny admitted. “I just sort of found myself in here and I couldn’t get out again. I honestly don’t know why.”

“You couldn’t send a Patronus?” Ron demanded. “I thought Dad taught you how?”

“I didn’t have my wand, Ronald,” Ginny said pointedly. She turned to Harry. “I think we should keep some Floo powder in here.”

“What happened to your wand?” Hermione asked.

“Dropped it,” Ginny answered shortly. She turned away and Harry knew she wasn’t telling them everything.

“How’d you conjure the blankets if you had no wand?” Ron asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“I think I need to see Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny said, ignoring his question.

“What?” Harry asked frantically. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s just a cut,” Ginny said dismissively but she was shivering and pale, “on my leg.”

“Can you walk?” Harry asked. Ginny shook her head slightly and Ron suddenly pushed past Harry and scooped his sister up, blankets and all.

“Don’t argue,” Ron said, looking at Harry. “Your arm …”

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Ginny asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said shortly, glaring at Ron who stared back unabashed.

The four of them made their way back to the Hospital Wing as fast as they could. Ginny was in obvious pain and started shivering violently shortly before they arrived. Madam Pomfrey greeted them with a cry of surprise and motioned for Ron to put Ginny on one of the beds. Harry barely noticed Ron withdraw silently to notify the search party that Ginny had been found. He stood protectively by the side of Ginny’s bed, her hand clasped in his.

“Miss Weasley?” Madam Pomfrey asked gently, peeling back the blankets. “Where are you injured?”

“Left leg,” Ginny whispered. “Some sort of slashing hex.” Madam Pomfrey made a tutting sound as she pulled the blankets away from Ginny’s legs. She winced as the blankets came away. Hermione gasped.

“Goodness,” Madam Pomfrey muttered. Ginny’s left leg was wrapped in the sodden, torn remains of her Quidditch robe and the red of the surrounding blankets betrayed the extent of her wound.

Ginny clung to Harry’s hand tightly as Madam Pomfrey unwound the robe from her leg. Her Quidditch boot was shredded and her trousers scorched. A large cut ran almost the length of Ginny’s entire leg. Ginny breathed in short shallow breaths as Madam Pomfrey examined the wound before summoning a large vial of blood replenishing potion and thrusting it under Ginny’s nose. Harry watched as Ginny drank the entire thing before handing her a glass of water.

“So, what happened to your arm?” Ginny asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on Harry as the matron began work on her leg.

“Trapped under a pile of rubble,” Harry answered. He dismissed his own ordeal quickly, bringing one shaking hand up to brush the hair from her face. “What happened?”

“Rubble?” Ginny arched one eyebrow delicately.

“They disintegrated a whole plinth on top of me,” Harry grunted. “I’m fine.” At that moment the doors to the hospital wing flew open and Ron strode back in, followed by George, Kingsley and Professor McGonagall.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the professor said, hurrying over to Ginny’s bedside. “How is she, Poppy?”

“I’m fine,” Ginny said pointedly.

“Look, they’re starting to talk alike,” George said languidly, leaning on the end of the bed.

“It’s just a bit of a cut,” Ginny protested, sitting up a little.

“You will lie down,” Madam Pomfrey said to Ginny, pushing at her shoulder until her head rested on the pillow again. “Mr Weasley, do you think you might give me a little room to work here?” Everyone but Harry shuffled a few steps back from the bed.

There was a tense silence as Madam Pomfrey muttered spells over Ginny’s leg and up her torso. The matron frowned.

“And when were you planning to tell me about the Cruciatus?” asked Madam Pomfrey. Ginny sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

“I dodged it … mostly.”

The silence following Ginny’s admission was palpable. Madam Pomfrey began work on Ginny’s leg again, muttering under her breath as she went and summoning several vials and rolls of bandages.

“I have to take those fellows to Azkaban,” Kingsley said, breaking the tension. “Mr Potter, you’re an Auror, take her statement.”

“He can’t do that,” Hermione said, scandalised.

“I’m short handed, Hermione,” Kingsley said with a sigh. “I can’t spare anyone to take statements right now. Harry’s here, she’s here — it works for me.”

“But he’s involved, with her,” Hermione protested.

“It’s a statement, not a security detail,” Kingsley said shortly. “Owl it to me, Potter. I’m glad to see you’ll be fine, Ginny.” Kingsley turned and left.

“Isn’t he leaving anyone to … guard the castle or something?” Ron asked.

“I think he just left Harry to do that,” George said, smirking. Harry scowled. Ginny laughed suddenly before grimacing in pain.

“Broken ribs?” Madam Pomfrey asked, raising an eyebrow and prodding Ginny’s left side.

“I’d better call Molly,” Professor McGonagall said, sounding very old.

“No one has to say anything to Mum,” Ginny said wearily. “I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” Professor McGonagall said curtly. “She’ll want to know-”

“Then I’ll write to her in the morning,” Ginny said with a sigh.

“Miss Weasley-”

“I said, I’m fine!”

“She’ll want to know, Ginny,” Ron said.

“I’m an adult,” Ginny countered.”I don’t have to tell her and I don’t want her to know tonight. It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

“Now really, Ginny,” Professor McGonagall tried again. “She is your mother-”

“And she hovers,” Ginny snapped. “She’s been writing to me twice a week and asking if I’ve eaten enough vegetables. Last week she asked me if my socks were warm enough and reminded me to wear two pairs! She offered to knit me a scarf — she sent me back from the Christmas holidays with three new ones and an old one of Bill’s she found in the attic!”

“She has been driving Angelina nuts lately,” George offered. “Yesterday when Angie complained of heartburn Mum started going on about having twins. She started knitting another set of booties right then and there. There was a near riot the day Mum heard her sneeze. Had Angie tucked in bed with a bowl of soup within ten minutes; wouldn’t listen to a word about the dust in the flat.”

“See!” Ginny cried. “That’s what I mean! She won’t give me a moment’s peace if you tell her. I thought I was supposed to rest?” She crossed her arms over her chest triumphantly and smirked.

“You are her daughter,” Professor McGonagall said in a tone so final Harry knew it would be useless to argue further with the professor. “It wouldn’t be fair not to tell her.”

“No one told her last year,” Ginny muttered mutinously. Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned considerably.

“I notified her every single time, Miss Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said softly. “She just couldn’t risk coming here.”

“Every single time, what?” Ron asked pointedly. Ginny was silent.

“Every single time Mr Longbottom dragged her in here,” the matron replied in the same soft tone.

“And how many times did you talk Neville out of it?” Ron asked his sister. Ginny didn’t answer. Harry felt a distinct sinking feeling in his chest.

“Why did he have to drag you in here?” Harry asked her slowly. “Why wouldn’t you come by yourself?”

“There were people hurt worse than me,” Ginny replied quietly. “I was fine.”

“None so frequent,” Madam Pomfrey said, peeling off Ginny’s ruined Quidditch boot.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Ginny said defiantly. “I couldn’t exactly come running to the hospital wing every time. They were watching me.”

“They were watching all of us,” Professor McGonagall sighed.

“Yes, but I was the only one they were blocking from the hospital wing,” Ginny blurted. Madam Pomfrey looked horrified. Harry felt ill, somehow knowing Ginny had been specifically targeted — because of him.

“They did what?” the Headmistress asked blankly.

“They didn’t usually argue much with Neville,” Ginny said with a trace of bitterness. “Not after the time he pinned Crabbe to the wall with a cauldron shard.”

“You didn’t think to tell me this?” Professor McGonagall demanded.

“Not when they said that if we did they’d block every single Gryffindor from the hospital wing,” Ginny replied quietly, turning away. “You know how frequently we were all in detention.”

The room was silent, the only noise was the dripping of water as Madam Pomfrey squeezed a cloth out over her bowl and resumed cleansing Ginny’s leg, pulling the tattered remnants of her sock away from the wound as she went. Harry watched the progress of Madam Pomfrey’s washcloth with morbid fascination, imagining the terrified cries of countless Gryffindors, trapped in detention with no hope of going to the hospital wing afterwards.

“Mum and Dad don’t need this stress,” Ginny said into the stillness. “They have enough to worry about and I’m fine. It’s just a cut.”

“Very well, Miss Weasley,” the Headmistress said eventually, her lips pressed tightly together.

“All of you, off you go,” Madam Pomfrey added. “I’ll need to do a thorough examination once this is cleaned up.” She held up a hand at the collective protest mounted by Harry, Ron and George.

“Go,” Ginny said to Harry. “I’m okay, go eat.” Harry shook his head mutely.

“Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly, “out. I am sure you can find something to eat in the Great Hall. You can come back in an hour.”

“But-”

“Please,” Ginny pleaded with him. “Go get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry insisted.

“I am,” Ginny whispered as the matron turned away to tidy up some of her supplies. “Can you get me some treacle tart?” Harry stared at her for a moment before shaking his head ruefully.

“Come on,” Ginny continued to plead. “You know what the food is like in here.”

“I just … I don’t want to leave,” Harry said, his voice cracked alarmingly but he didn’t really care. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m fine,” Ginny said firmly, “really. I’ll still be here when you get back, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Absolutely not,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly and Ginny hissed as the matron prodded a tender area. “You won’t be going anywhere tonight Miss Weasley this is a nasty cut and I want to properly check those ribs. Now, Mr Potter, out!”

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said gently laying a hand on his arm. “You can come right back.”

“I have to go, sis,” George said quietly, stepping forward to give her a brief hug. “Are you really all right?” Ginny nodded firmly.

“I am, now go, all of you,” she said. Only Harry heard her voice wobble but she shook her head at his questioning gaze and turned resolutely to Ron who gave her the same brief hug George had.

“I have to go too,” he said. “I can tell Mum if you want?” Ginny shook her head resolutely, a frown on her face. Ron shrugged and he, George and Hermione left the hospital wing.

“I was so worried,” Harry whispered, leaning his face close to hers. He closed his eyes as Ginny reached up a small hand to caress his face.

“I’m fine.”

Harry left reluctantly, absently waving goodbye to Ron and George before he made his way into the Great Hall and ate quickly, not even tasting his food. Harry ignored the stares and whispers that were directed his way while Hermione and Neville held a whispered conversation about where Ginny had been found.

“How d’you think she got in there?” Neville asked as the pudding materialised. He spooned some trifle into his bowl and passed the spoon to Hermione who glanced at Harry before filling both his and her own.

“Well, she was in peril …” Hermione mused, twirling her spoon in her bowl and making a murky mess of custard and jelly.

“It never turned up before now,” Neville said harshly. “It never turned up last year.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione said. “Do you think it needed both you and Harry to discover it — after you had summoned the sword? Maybe that’s all the inscription means. Maybe we don’t have to do anything now maybe it’s been done?”

“So, what … now that Neville and I have both managed to stumble onto it,” said Harry, “it turns up if a Gryffindor needs it? Ginny couldn’t get in there before.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said thoughtfully as she ate her trifle absently. “But do you really think you stumbled on it?”

“You think it sort of … called to us or something?” Neville asked curiously, his spoon suspended mid-air and dripping custard back into his bowl.

“That’s happened before,” Hermione said, shrugging. “I bet we don’t know half of what this castle is capable of.”

“Only Ginny can tell us what happened,” Harry said, viciously stabbing at the wobbly dessert. “And we’re not allowed in there.”

“Oh hush,” Hermione said briskly. “You’ve seen her, she’s fine and you can go back in another twenty minutes. Eat your pudding.” Harry glowered at Hermione.

The wait was interminable. Ginny had looked fine but that did not negate the fact that she’d been in danger and missing. Nothing would quite satisfy him until he had been able to really check that she was okay. His need to be near her and hold her was absolutely undeniable and Harry just wanted to touch her and reassure himself that she was still there and in one piece. He needed to feel her silky hair between his fingers and touch the pulse beating in her neck. He wanted to count every freckle and entwine his fingers with hers. Harry didn’t really care how Ginny had gotten into the room, he cared only to make sure that she was safe and in his arms. He squashed the sickening feeling that everything was all his fault and concentrated on not letting his hands shake.

The moment his hour was up Harry bolted from the Great Hall and took the stairs two at a time to the hospital wing. Ginny was sitting upright in a bed near the window, crisp sheets tucked tightly around her and a bandage on her left arm.

“Right on time, Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey as she swished away from Ginny’s bed and went to her office.

The door clicked shut behind the matron and Harry and Ginny were alone in the hospital wing. Harry set the bowl he carried on her bedside table.

“There wasn’t any treacle tart,” he whispered, “I brought trifle.”

“It’s not your fault,” was all Ginny said in reply. Harry groaned and sank into a nearby chair, his head in his hands.

“They knew what they were after,” Harry said. He looked up and gazed at Ginny steadily.

“Yeah, I know,” she said softly. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

“But-”

“If they choose to get their kicks getting beaten up by me …” Ginny shrugged lightly.

“They wouldn’t go after you if-”

“No,” Ginny said forcefully. “They’d go after someone else and you’d feel just as guilty about that. These guys are just … they’re stupid. You can’t stop people being stupid or greedy or bad.”

“If you weren’t going out with me-”

“They’d still be stupid,” Ginny cut him off. “No one’s in danger because of you. If something happens it’s only because those guys are stupid, not because you’re Harry Potter.”

“You could have died!” Harry hissed vehemently, aware they were in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey would throw him out if she so much as suspected a row. “They know how to get to me. They go after my weaknesses-”

“I am not weak,” Ginny growled through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t say that!”

“For you information, Potter,” Ginny snapped, “I left them both writhing in agony.”

“I’m aware you know how to hurt a bloke-”

“So why am I suddenly weak?”

“You aren’t!” Harry said exasperatedly. “I said my weaknesses! You’re my weakness!”

“Anybody is your weakness!” Ginny flung at him.

“That’s not true,” Harry said weakly, knowing it was. He sat back in the chair and groaned. “How am I supposed to live like this?”

“Like what?” Ginny asked as she reached for the trifle, wincing at the pull on her left side.

“I thought …” Harry concentrated on passing her the bowl and attempted to gather his thoughts. “I thought when Voldemort was gone … I thought I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“I don’t think there’s a person alive who doesn’t have worries,” Ginny said, licking the spoon delicately.

“Not just any worry,” Harry said, running his hands through his hair and turning to pace underneath the window, “the sort where I wonder if everyone’s all right. The sort where I worry that one by one, the people who mean something to me will …” Harry stopped pacing and turned to look at Ginny intently. She stared back at him impassively.

“What was all that about, before,” Harry asked abruptly, changing the subject. “How often did you need the hospital wing and couldn’t get here?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Ginny said firmly. A loud clatter from the direction of Madam Pomfrey’s office reminded them that they weren’t really alone and Harry quickly drew his wand and cast Muffliato.

“You do it all the time,” Harry pointed out. “What happened last year? What are you still not telling us?”

“I’m pretty sure you know it all now,” Ginny said bitterly.

“You had it the worst, didn’t you?” Harry asked her bluntly.

“Until they went after Neville,” she allowed with a delicate shrug.

“They went after you because we’d been going out,” Harry stated flatly. Ginny just stared at him. “And Neville … we’re friends-”

“Neville was leading the fight against them,” Ginny said. “He stood up to them; he saved countless first years, countless girls from humiliating detentions, probably from death.” She continued more forcefully. “When people opposed Voldemort and his farce of a Ministry they weren’t targeted for anything except that.”

“Sirius-”

“Anybody would have lured you to the Ministry that night!”

“But he died!” Harry shouted, trembling.

“Not because of you!” Ginny retorted.

“If I didn’t go-”

“If, if, if,” Ginny spat. “If your parents made Sirius their Secret Keeper in the first place, if Ron decided not to sit with you in the train, if Sirius never broke out of Azkaban, if Dumbledore didn’t put that ring on, if Fred didn’t come that night.” Ginny’s voice cracked at the last and she fell silent.

“I told Cedric to take the Cup,” Harry said eventually.

“Are you going to list everyone you’ve ever met who died?”

“A lot of people are dead,” Harry said quietly. “How would you feel?”

“Same as I feel now,” Ginny retorted.

“But they’re not dead because of you,” Harry insisted.

“They’re not dead because of you either.”

“They are-”

“Oh, and you’re so important that it all leads back to you, is that it?”

“No-”

“Why do you want to own all this?” Ginny demanded, sitting up straighter in the bed, her left arm clenched to her side. “Why would you want to take on yourself the fault of every Death Eater; of every action Voldemort took?”

“I’m not!”

“You are!” Ginny insisted. “Every time you think … every time you say it’s because of you, you’re taking the blame for other people! You didn’t do it! They did! It’s not your fault that some opportunistic, sadistic, son of a motherless … wrackspurt decided to use me as a hostage.”

“Wrackspurts aren’t real,” Harry mumbled, staring out of the window and into the night. Ginny sat silently for several minutes after her outburst and Harry resolutely stared out of the window.

“If you keep taking the blame for everything and everyone, you’re just going to end up wearing yourself out,” Ginny said eventually. “I can almost see the burden sitting on your shoulders.”

“They wanted to get to me,” Harry said, “and they used you.” He knew he sounded desperate but he didn’t care. The thought that she could be harmed because someone wanted to hurt him was physically painful.

“People do that,” was all Ginny said. “They use whoever they come across to get whatever they want. The only things that are your fault are the things you do.”

Harry sighed heavily and leaned his forehead on the cold window pane and gazed out at the frozen landscape.

“When I was five,” he began, “I started school. Dudley had already been to Nursery School but they didn’t send me. It wasn’t compulsory so …” Harry shrugged. “I didn’t wear glasses then. The teacher made Aunt Petunia take me the optician. She wasn’t very happy about it.”

Harry turned to face Ginny, his voice caught in his throat. Now that he’d started his story he knew he had to finish it. Ginny was sitting still, listening intently. Harry swallowed heavily.

“Apparently,” Harry continued, “it took precious time away from … dusting her vases or something.” Ginny snorted inelegantly and Harry smiled wryly.

“Heavens, we wouldn’t want dust on the vases,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I had to dust the vases after school every day for a month,” Harry said, “and the bookcases; and the photographs and all the little teeny tiny ornaments. Dudley had to go without his afternoon snack because Aunt Petunia had to drag me to the optician — twice. Once to get my eyes tested and then once to have the glasses fitted.

“I think maybe Dudley was feeling sugar deprived. He smashed several of the vases and I had to clean them up. I got a cut on my hand. Uncle Vernon refused to let me bandage it. It was my fault for getting glasses. If I didn’t get them, none of this would have happened and dear, little Dudders would have had his precious snack.” Harry looked up at Ginny helplessly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

“Everything was,” Harry said simply. “If Dudley tripped me it was because I wasn’t looking where I was going. If Uncle Vernon hit me it was because I made him mad …” Harry shrugged. Ginny looked at him, horrified and Harry couldn’t bear it and turned away.

“Harry …”

“Bad things happen,” Harry said simply. “They happen just -”

“What a pathetic pity party,” Ginny snapped. “What is up with you?”

“Nothing is up with me,” Harry replied, stung. “I know how the world works-” He was cut off by a flurry of activity near the hospital wing doors. They swung open to reveal the frantic and harried figure of Molly Weasley. Ginny groaned audibly and Harry hastily cancelled the Muffliato he had cast earlier.

“Ginny!” Molly called as she hurried over. Ginny’s face was stormy as her mother fussed over her relentlessly. Harry stood by helplessly as Arthur followed his wife more sedately.

“Harry?”

“I’m really sorry-” Harry began but Arthur gripped his shoulders firmly.

“Are you all right, son? Madam Pomfrey said you’d been injured.”

“It was her?” Ginny shrieked suddenly. She hurled the bowl of trifle to the floor and it clattered heavily on the flagstones, the mess of custard and jelly oozed across the floor, soaking into the floor rug by the next bed. The commotion brought Madam Pomfrey hurrying out of her office to stare disapprovingly at her patient.

“You Flooed them!” Ginny accused the matron. “I told you not to!”

“Whyever not?” Molly asked, looking hurt as she reached out to smooth the hair away from Ginny’s forehead. Ginny shrank away from her touch and it was then, in the way she moved that Harry realised she was still suffering from the effects of a Cruciatus curse.

“How bad did that curse get you?” he asked abruptly and Ginny turned to him, fury etched on her features.

“I’m FINE!” she shouted. “I am a grown woman and I can take care of myself! I just fell into that bloody room and couldn’t get out again, that’s all.”

“Ginny, dear-”

“You’re all hovering!” Ginny cried. “Because you know … you figured out that I had it the worst last year in this bloody nightmare of a castle! You’ve all finally figured it out and now you won’t leave me alone. Well, you know what? I survived. I was here last year and no one came rushing over every time I had a bloody nose.”

“Cruciatus is a damn sight more than a bloody nose!” Harry yelled.

“I told you,” Ginny ground out, “it barely hit me.”

“If it didn’t affect you,” Harry said fiercely, “you would be out of that bed and out of here so fast-”

“Madam Pomfrey fixed the damage, I’m just sore,” Ginny fumed. “You of all people should understand that-”

“You’ve got permanent damage!”

“That’s irrelevant!”

“Like hell!”

“Children-”

“We’re not children!” Ginny screeched at the matron.

“You won’t tell us about last year,” Arthur said quietly, ignoring the fight brewing between Harry and his daughter. “We know it was bad but that’s all we know. We worry. All of us.” He gestured around at Molly, Madam Pomfrey and Harry.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Ginny said softly as she turned her head away to stare out the window.

“It nearly killed us to send you to school,” Arthur continued. “But we didn’t have a choice. We had to send you, they knew who you were, they knew your blood status … they knew your relationship to Harry.” Harry felt his chest constrict tightly.

“I worried every day,” Molly said. “I would have been here every time Madam Pomfrey called me, if I could have. When I did see you … at Christmas you looked so thin and pale and I wanted nothing more than to keep you home but …”

“You could have told us,” Arthur said. He looked tortured. “You were so silent about the whole thing. Madam Pomfrey told us you weren’t her most frequent visitor but … by Easter … I knew we rescued you from some kind of hell. We still only know half of it.” Arthur took the risk of approaching his daughter. He perched on the edge of her bed and laid a hand on her leg.

“Smothering me isn’t going to help,” Ginny answered. “Okay, last year was hell. I got cornered in the girls bathrooms the first day by a group of Slytherins and Neville stole some dittany to heal my split lip when the Carrows wouldn’t let me go to the hospital wing. Every day I practically ran between classes in case I got cornered and I had more than one split lip and more than one bloody nose.

“Seamus taught me how to really hurt a bloke, if you know what I mean, and I used that technique roughly once a week. Neville dragged me bleeding out of more than one detention and ripped more than one set of sheets into strips to bandage me up. He started taking detentions for me and spent more time in detention than he ever spent in classes.”

“Oh, my little Firesprite,” Arthur murmured, looking stricken.

“Does knowing this make it better for you?” Ginny demanded suddenly. “I couldn’t tell you all this and see the looks on your faces. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want you to think about it.” She turned to Harry. “I don’t want you to feel guilty, because it’s not your fault.”

Harry felt nothing but guilt. Having Ginny lay the facts out before them all and seeing the tortured, stricken look on her parents’ faces cut his soul so deeply he didn’t know how he was still standing upright, almost as if nothing had just happened. He watched as Ginny let Molly fold her into a hug and finally let tears slide down her cheeks.

“My poor, sweet, beautiful baby,” Molly crooned.

“But I grew up,” Ginny sobbed. “I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I know,” Molly allowed, her own eyes sparkling with tears, “but you’ll always be my baby. I can’t help it. I wish you hadn’t gone through that. I wish I could have protected you more.”

“But I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t,” Ginny shrugged, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, smiling as her father handed her a handkerchief. “I just … I can’t be her anymore. I can’t be the girl you put on the train that September. I’m not a child anymore and I can deal with things and make my own decisions. They might not always be the right ones but I can deal with my own mistakes. I know when I need help.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I … Minerva and I thought …”

“She was here,” Ginny muttered rebelliously. “She should know; she was the one who actually saw me grow up. She was the one who helped protect the children.”

“She didn’t know you were being targeted,” the matron said quietly. “She would have helped.”

“The little ones needed her,” Ginny said. “I had Neville.”

“It was hard on her,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Knowing …”

“I know,” Ginny sighed. “It was hard on everyone and we’re all still hurting, just doing a good job of hiding it most days, but I won’t be treated like a child any longer. I’m going to try out for the Harpies at Easter and … I guess I’m just asking …”

“You’re asking us to let you fly,” Arthur said finally. “Because what we’re dong is clipping your wings as surely as if we were the Death Eaters who had you running last year.” Ginny nodded.

“I can’t promise I won’t worry,” Molly said. “Quidditch is so dangerous-”

“You’re allowed to worry,” Ginny said. “Just … let us breathe. Fred’s gone but … you can’t bring him back by hovering over the rest of us. We’re not going anywhere. We’re grown up and we still need you, but in a different way. For instance George might need a few tips on contraception charms.”

“Young lady!” Molly blushed and Ginny shrugged, unrepentant.

“War changed us all,” Ginny said. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“I know,” Molly said softly. “I just wish we all had that year back.”

“It made us who we are,” Ginny said simply.

Harry could bear it no longer. The thought that he had put Ginny through such terror and fear sickened him. He heard Molly saying the Death Eaters knew about Ginny’s relationship to him. He heard Madam Pomfrey say they were targeting her. Harry felt physically ill and turned blindly searching for the sick bowls that were always kept on the night stands.

Losing the contents of his stomach did nothing to ease the horrible, terrible choking feeling high in his chest. He shook his head wearily as Molly cried out in alarm and Arthur hurried over to his side, vanishing the vomit and pushing a chair under his legs.

“I’m fine,” Harry said weakly, turning away from Molly’s soothing touch, wanting nothing more than to let her mother him but feeling so utterly wretched that he couldn’t bear it.

“This is why I didn’t say anything,” Ginny whispered.

“Why would you hide from me the sort of pain and misery I caused?” Harry demanded. He struggled to his feet, shaking off Arthur’s hand on his arm. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Harry, you didn’t do this,” Arthur said urgently.

“It’s not that.” Harry shook his head. They still didn’t see, still didn’t realise that sooner or later they would all see what Harry could see so clearly. He could save them all the trouble and just back away now. He had plenty of opportunities, he could go straight to Auror training — there was plenty to do there. It would save them the problem of getting rid of him when they all realised, and he could get on with not relying on people so much.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, backing away and stumbling his way out of the hospital wing. He wandered blindly at first, not sure what he should do next, trying desperately to order his thoughts.

Harry barely noticed where he was when suddenly he felt irresistibly drawn to a painting of a fat man holding a chicken leg in one hand and a bunch of grapes in the other.

“Stop staring,” the fat man said irritably.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered.

“Lean on the wall,” said the painting.

“What?” Harry asked blankly.

“I said lean on the wall,” the fat man said impatiently. “Are you an imbecile?”

“Maybe,” Harry muttered rebelliously.

“Just do it,” said the painting, “young people today … so disobedient. In my day …” Harry, used to the strangeness of the magical world sighed and put a hand on the wall, not surprised when it vanished into the wall. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his way through the wall to step into the Gryffindor room. Glenda was wide awake and staring straight at him.

“I see thee hath returned,” said the portrait. Harry just nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. Glenda continued. “Hast thee a wife yet?”

“Why are you so concerned with me having a wife, anyway?”

“It is unseemly to shirk responsibility,” Glenda said, sniffing haughtily.

“I’ll work on it,” Harry said mutinously.

“I saw a maiden in here earlier,” Glenda continued, settling back in her painted chair. “She was … dishevelled; most unbecoming.”

“She was in trouble,” Harry said.

“Didst the room open for her?” Glenda asked eagerly, leaning forward.

“I think it must have,” Harry answered. “We’re not really sure how she got in here.”

“She must be a person of great courage and sacrifice,” Glenda said, nodding.

“Well, she is, she’s brilliant-”

“You carry a torch for this maiden,” Glenda interrupted. “I canst see it in thine eyes when thou speakest of her.”

“She is the most beautiful, the most courageous, the most fun … she’s strong, she’s everything,” Harry answered.

“And yet, thou hast not made her thy wife,” Glenda said disapprovingly.

“She’s only seventeen!” Harry protested. The portrait gasped.

“Why hast thou left her on the shelf?” she said. “She is many years past her marriageable age.”

“No offence,” said Harry, “but I think times have changed a bit.”

“You do her no service,” sniffed Glenda.

“Look, that’s all changed now anyway,” Harry said. “I don’t think I’ll be getting married. I don’t think I’ll be doing anything much.” Glenda looked at him critically.

“Thou wouldst die old and alone?”

“I think that’s a bit of a leap,” Harry said indignantly.

“I knew a young man once,” Glenda said. “He didst say the same.”

“Yeah, well I’m not him, am I?” Harry grumbled, beginning to pace.

“No,” Glenda agreed. “He wast charming and inclined to converse.” Harry grunted at her and continued to pace.

In his haste to flee the hospital wing he’d forgotten that he still had to take Ginny’s statement. Harry sighed heavily. He couldn’t very well turn up to Kingsley, telling him he was ready to be a full-time Auror if he didn’t do the first task requested of him. He’d have to steel himself and do it. It likely wouldn’t be hard, Harry reflected. By morning Ginny would have had time to think and realise that Harry just brought trouble. They’d been lulled into a false sense of security these last few months but it was time to face facts. She’d understand that, Harry thought.

“You are thinking madness,” Glenda said abruptly. “I canst see it in thine eyes.” Harry just glared at her. “What has happened to thee, that thou hast the visage of a haunted man?” Glenda’s voice was softer now and Harry felt compelled to answer her.

“The … maiden, she’s … her name is Ginny,” Harry said, swallowing heavily. “She … she’s everything and I’ve put her in danger. What you were saying about sacrifice — that other time I was here — you were right I did sacrifice. It’s not enough though. There are still people who just … people who are hurting the people I love.”

“Love?” Glenda asked. “Thou lovest her? Why then canst thou not be with her? Surely thy place is by her side and in her heart and warming her bed?”

“It’s not that simple,” Harry said.

“Didst thou not sacrifice for her?” Glenda’s painted eyebrows drew together in confusion. “If thou lovest her then surely thy sacrifice was in her name?”

“Well … it was more for everyone really,” Harry said uncomfortably.

“Thou hast not done this for the greater good?” Glenda asked sharply. Harry nodded, feeling that was close enough to what he had done. “The ramblings hast made it to the young and virile! What travesty hast been wrought!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked her, confused.

“Thou knowest Albus,” Glenda said, pointing a fat, stubby finger at him menacingly. Harry nodded again, slowly, wondering how she knew Dumbledore. “That knave was foolish!”

“Look, Dumbledore was a great wizard,” Harry protested hotly.

“He forsook love,” Glenda said ominously. “He made mistakes, grave mistakes.”

“Everybody makes mistakes,” Harry countered.

“To be old and alone is not always the wisest course,” Glenda said cryptically.

“Look,” Harry said in exasperation. “Do you mind terribly much if you could cut to the facts without all this flowery rubbish. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, or how you know Dumbledore and what my getting married has to do with anything at all. So if you don’t mind, either say what you have to say — in plain English — or leave me in peace so I can think things over.”

“He had the amulet,” Glenda said. “He must have been one of great courage to use it thus but he wast no romantic. He forsook love.” Harry began to try and decipher what the portrait as saying. He called on every bit of knowledge he had about his former Headmaster to try and make sense of what Glenda was saying.

“He had the amulet?” Harry asked, “the one around your neck?” Glenda nodded, her painted jowls wobbling ominously. “And in order to use it, he had great courage?”

“None canst use it lest they have shown great courage,” Glenda confirmed.

“How do you use it?”

“If gives you sanctuary,” Glenda replied. “For those who exercise courage are often in great peril. The amulet opens many doors closed to others. Your maiden, she hast the amulet?” Harry nodded slowly.

He tried to think, to piece the thoughts together. Dumbledore had the amulet and he’d been in here, he’d spoken to Glenda. Maybe he’d used her as some sort of sounding board; Glenda seemed to know an awful lot about the former Headmaster.

“The last time Albus came he wast weakened,” Glenda said, breaking into Harry’s thoughts. “He appeared close to death. A Bird of Fire bore him away. I fear he left the amulet. He never returned.”

“I found it in here,” Harry confirmed. “I … gave it to Ginny.”

“She ist a Gryffindor?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. Glenda looked thoughtful. Harry continued. “What … what did Dumbledore sacrifice?”

“Twas not his sacrifice that unlocked the doors,” Glenda said. “His courage was his greater power. He possessed not the greatest of all; that was his sacrifice.”

“He always said it was love,” Harry said, struggling to understand. He felt as though his feelings and the past were tied in knots. “Dumbledore didn’t sacrifice love … he loved me, I know he did!”

“Do not try to understand others,” Glenda said in that same soft voice she used earlier, the one that made Harry want to talk, to unburden everything to her. “Seek only to understand yourself. Your sacrifice hast made the room available to thee, but I fear thou lack the courage thou needest.”

“I’m a Gryffindor,” Harry said stubbornly. “I have courage in spades.”

“Then why hast thou hidden thyself here?” Glenda asked, leaning forward, her eyes suddenly piercing his soul. “Life dost not end with thy sacrifice!”

“What has all this got to do with courage?” Harry asked, thoroughly exasperated.

“I do not think thou knowest what courage is,” Glenda said slowly. “Art thou not a Gryffindor?”

“I know what courage is!” Harry scoffed. “Courage is willing to sacrifice yourself. It’s willingly walking to your death, that’s what it is!”

“Indeed, that too, is what Albus believed,” Glenda said, nodding slowly. “This is but half of courage. What is thy greatest fear, knave? And thy deepest wish?”

Harry stopped pacing, his thoughts swirling in a jumble, confused at the abrupt change of subject. How could one be more courageous than to walk to one’s death? Harry knew what courage was, the very idea that he didn’t was as ridiculous to him as believing that Uncle Vernon would accept magic. He decided to answer Glenda’s questions, so he could get back to the discussion about courage.

“Remus always said that I feared … fear,” Harry said. “I … don’t want to be afraid. I don’t like feeling afraid.”

“And thy desire? The one held closest to thy heart?” Glenda prompted softly.

“A family,” Harry whispered.

“Thou hast the keys needed,” Glenda said as she settled back into her painted chair. “Courage means more than what thou knowest.” And with that she was suddenly asleep. Harry stared at her in utter frustration, his desire to hurl one of the nearby busts through her frame was overwhelming and he growled. She was worse than Dumbledore, with her blasted riddles and insistence on making Harry figure things out.

“Just once, someone is going to simply tell me what I want to know,” Harry grumbled as he stomped his foot petulantly and then felt rather foolish as a cloud of dust wafted up and made him sneeze.

Harry sighed, feeling tired and overwhelmed. He made his way to the little door that housed the armoury and went through. A discarded Quidditch glove and half of Ginny’s torn robes lay in a little pile by the fireplace. Harry lit a fire with his wand before gathering up the items and sinking down onto the rug he and Ginny had conjured. Harry ran his hands over the soft leather of the glove, imagining Ginny’s hand gripping the Quaffle, writing painstakingly to her mother and gleefully flipping chocolate frog cards at his chest. The same hand traced soft lines across his cheek and down his jaw and ghosted down his back to rest delicately on his waist. It gripped his hand in hers, the fingers intertwined.

Harry sighed and gathered the robes to him. Ginny’s scent lingered on the fabric and Harry felt an ache in his heart at the thought that he might never again hold her. He wanted Glenda’s words to mean something, to tell him how he didn’t have to give Ginny up and he began to turn the thoughts over and over in his mind.

His greatest fear was fear itself, being afraid, and yet he had felt nothing but fear since the moment he and George had encountered those men on the stairs. Harry fingered the torn ends of the robes and thought. That wasn’t quite true he realised. There had been a moment when he’d felt love. The moment suddenly washed over him like a wave and Harry wondered that he’d not paid it attention before. The image of George standing fiercely in front of him, urging him to get to safety, loomed before him.

He’d seen that look before. It was the look Ron wore, right after Fred had died and he wanted to avenge his brother’s death. It was the look on Molly’s face when she stepped between Bellatrix and her daughter and refused to lose another of her children. It was the look on Andromeda’s face as she stood between Moses Brown and her grandson. It was a look of fierce familial love and when Harry realised that he realised he saw it on Molly’s face, the day he’d come to the Burrow. It was on Arthur’s face every time Harry sought his counsel and the way Hermione had looked at him for years.

Years. They had been there for years. The one thing he desperately wanted, had always craved, had been there the whole time. And now his deepest desire and his darkest fear were colliding. Harry saw it clearly. He had the family he wanted and he was afraid of losing them. But if he was so afraid then where had his courage gone?

“Probably hiding under all the worry,” Harry said into the still room. “That’d be a sight to see, someone’s courage, cowering in fear under all the worry.” And suddenly Harry realised what Glenda meant.

Courage to stand up to your enemies was only half the battle. Courage to stand up to your fears was another matter entirely. Harry sighed, realising his work wasn’t over with the end of Voldemort. It was just beginning and now that he’d found the courage to face his enemy he had to find the courage to truly face his fears.

Harry sat on the rug most of the night, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace, trying to figure out how he was going to overcome his fears instead of living with them as he had been. It was shortly before dawn when he recalled something Ginny had said.

Harry scrambled to his feet, doused the fire and raced from the armoury through the larger chamber and back out into the castle. He had to get to the hospital wing and talk to Ginny before it was too late.