Putting The 'M' in Mystery~ Hinny/Jily

Facing the Past Head On

The atmosphere was heavy with the distinctive smell of glamour spells, and it was impossible to hear anything above the combination of chatter and Sirius and James doing their rendition of 'Night Fever' over on the stage, complete with John Travolta style dancing.

Ginny was hunched in a corner, a butterbeer loosely grasped in her hands. She knew she looked like some kind of junkie, but she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly cared.

She felt awful for flying off the handle at Harry. He shouldn't have said what he did, but she couldn't spend the rest of her life expecting people to be tiptoeing on eggshells round her just because of the chamber.

She was interrupted from her musings at the sight of Lily Evans dancing with a Ravenclaw seventh year. She knew the boy; Joseph Hallburn, and frankly, she didn't think much of him.

"Great," she muttered, "I'm an emotional wreck over one sentence and Harry's mother is getting off with another boy."

"Tell me about it," said a low voice from behind her. She turned to see Harry, looking as out of sorts as she felt. He plopped uninvited into the seat next to her and touched her arm briefly.

"I'm sorry."

Ginny looked at the hand on her arm, and cradled her Butterbeer, staring into the swirling amber liquid as it foamed inside its bottle.

"Gin?"

A few bubbles fizzed to the surface and burst.

"Ginny, are you even listening?"

Ginny's hand loosened, and the bottle fell to the floor with an almighty crash, startling her out of her daze. A tear slid down her cheek.

"I wanted to finish that." She muttered, staring helplessly at the shattered glass on the marble floor. Harry gave an impatient wave of his hand, and the pieces disappeared. Another wave and a fresh Butterbeer came zooming across the hall toward them.

Another tear fell from Ginny's cheek.

"No use crying over spilt Butterbeer," she whispered. Where did that come from?

It was one of those things her mum used to say. Used to. After Percy died, she had stopped saying those meaningless proverbs, and only spoke when she needed to.

"My mum. Not since Percy. She used to say..."

She knew she was making very little sense, but Harry gripped her arm firmly and steered her into a back chamber that contained a few chintzy armchairs and a low fire. The disco beat of Night Fever was still throbbing steadily in the background.

"Ginny, what's going on?" asked Harry gently.

Ginny shrugged.

"It was nothing. I overreacted about the innocence thing, and I was sulking. Hey, there's no use crying over spilt Butterbeer."

She snorted, but it turned into a sort of high-pitched, tearless sob. Turning her face toward Harry, she whispered, "He won't leave me alone. I've barely thought about him for months, but now..."

She trailed off, and looked into Harry's concerned green eyes. "It was okay after you defeated him, I could keep telling myself 'He's gone,' I could feel safe. But now...here, I know that he isn't gone. That-that monster's still down there. I can feel him around me. I keep hearing Tom."

She shook violently, as though she really were hearing his voice, and her brown eyes darted around the room, searching for whatever could be waiting.

"He said that to me, once." She said, her voice haunted and softer than a whisper.

Harry frowned. "He said what?"

Ginny bit her lip. "That, things weren't as innocent as they seem. When he came out of the diary. He said it kind of sadly, as if he were regretting something. But then he gave this awful smile. He said I was sweet, naïve. I was innocent."

She broke down again into sobs, and Harry pulled her close to him, rocking her gently. Ginny huddled closer to him, her voice muffled but still audible.

"He kept caressing me. My shoulders...my neck...my face. It made me feel sick, and his hands were so thin and cold."

Harry was revolted by Voldemort laying as much as a finger on a weak eleven year old girl. He pulled her close.

"Ginny," he spoke softly, brushing her hair from her tearstained face, "Have you ever talked to anyone about the chamber?"

Ginny choked back a sob, and pulled her face back from his shoulder. Her eyes looked lost, like the vulnerable eleven year old that still hid somewhere deep inside them.

"No."

The one word was spoken so quietly that if it had not been for the look on her face, Harry wouldn't have known her reply.

"I...I tried. To talk to mum once or twice. But I just felt... dirty ...like Tom had contaminated me. I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. I used to spend hours in the shower; I desperately wanted to just cleanse my soul."

She lay back limply on Harry's chest, and murmured; "That was why, at Christmas in your fifth year, I wouldn't let you mope about that vision. I know how it felt, truly I did, but you couldn't just slip away from reality. Like I did. I didn't really have any friends in my second year. I was always moping around."

Harry felt that she was closing the conversation, and gave her a light dig in the back,

"Well, you're hardly mopy now. Everyone likes you because you're brave and smart and funny, and everyone hates Tom because he's a cowardly git who snogs his reflection for fun."

Ginny snorted, and straightened her jacket, before standing up and extending a hand toward Harry. He took it and he smiled.

"Right. Now let's go and see what damage those rowdy teenagers have done without us responsible adults to keep them in line."

Harry smiled; glad to recognize the old Ginny.

He had noticed that since their little excursion through time, she had slipped into habitual melancholy, but then realized with a start that she wasn't the only one. He had taken to going on long walks by the lake or in the Forbidden Forest, or going on long gallops in his horse form, one of his favourite of all his Animagus transformations. He missed flying, but James Potter practiced Quidditch with his team almost every evening, and it was impossible to get a spot.

Tomorrow night, I'll go for a long fly when everyone else is asleep he silently promised himself. Before Voldemort's defeat, he had often done this, as he spent every waking minute studying or training. It was hard to get into his old habits.

Ginny smiled at him, leading him back into the hall, where the music swelled into their eardrums, clearing Ginny's head of the tears and Harry's of the thoughts that raced about inside his brain. He was looking forward to that fly.

And Ginny will come with me when I go

They both had their past demons, pushed back after the downfall of Voldemort, but they'd face them now, head-on with their swords in their hands.

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Firefly15💗💗