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Author: St Margarets Story: Magic Within, Magic Without Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 27 Words: 82,984
The smell of sage and roasted chicken greeted them when they entered the kitchen. Ginny was so hungry she could have eaten a Hippogriff, but she saw that they would have to wait, since the table was covered in parcels and parchment and not dishes. "Looks like we might have a few answers," Harry said. Ginny was relieved to see her clothes, and not-so-relieved to see her spell books. Obviously Mum was thinking they would be staying here for a while… Harry was reading through his letters with a frown. "Hermione looked up possible potions Voldemort might use to strengthen himself using your blood." He looked up and grinned. "She says she only had three books at home to consult so she contacted Madam Pince for more." Ginny smiled back. Hermione was so reliable. "The closest thing she could find was the Unicorn Cure. In that one, you use unicorn hairs and dragon blood since it is an unforgivable thing to kill a unicorn." Harry put down the letter and snorted. "I don't think that's a big worry for Voldemort. The first time I ever encountered him was in the Forbidden Forest and he had just killed a unicorn and was drinking its blood." She was horrified. "When was this?" "My first year – after we got detention for sending Norbert to Charlie." Ginny knew about Norbert, but not about the detention. "So what happened?" "Voldemort was possessing Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. Hagrid said that drinking unicorn blood would keep you alive – but at a price." Harry shook his head and shuffled the letters in his hand. "That unicorn was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He looked straight into her eyes. "And he killed it." She could only stare back – feeling the horror of that moment with him – wondering if the same fate awaited her. He must have seen that in her eyes, because he said, "Obviously that isn't the cure is it? They were going to keep you alive." Then he frowned. "At least Malfoy's men were going to." Ginny remembered how the snake was going to kill her. She shuddered. "I'm sure it's some mad Dark Arts thing he's concocted," Harry added. "But he's not going to get what he wants." She knew by the tone of his voice that he was going to do his best to make that statement true, but as much as she believed in Harry's ability to fight Voldemort, she didn't feel the same about herself. And she couldn't rely on Harry to fight all of her battles. Harry sifted through his other replies. "I didn't get a response from Professor Lupin yet – but I didn't expect to. It's still full moon. Tonks says that they have lost track of Lucius Malfoy since he escaped from Azkaban. They believed he left the country – although his wife and child are still residing at Malfoy Manor." "I can't believe she told you all that," Ginny said. "It's old news now, isn't it?" he said grimly. "Whatever they thought – it isn't true any more." "No." Harry picked up Ron's letter. "Ron addressed this to both of us; sit next to me and you can read it too." Ginny moved her chair next to his and peered over his arm at Ron's untidy writing. The more she read, the more her anger increased. "I can't believe it," she sputtered. "Dad knew that I could be in danger!" "They knew Voldemort was interested in all of the seventh-born magical children in Britain," Harry murmured. "Why didn't Dad tell me?" she exploded. "Then I could have been on my guard not to open strange letters." The guilt from that moment had been niggling at her all day. "They should have told you," Harry said under his breath, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the letter. "You were the only girl on a very short list. I reckon that's why they thought you were safe." "What does my being a girl have to do with?" she hissed, trying to stay in control. "When does being a girl ever really matter?" "Voldemort's rebirthing was all male," Harry answered, pain in his voice. "He took blood from me, and bone from his father, and a hand from his 'devoted servant.'" "So they thought I would contaminate the all-mates club?" she asked fiercely. "That's a small comfort." "What's a comfort?" Aunt Martha asked as she stepped into the kitchen from the sitting room. "I don't know," Ginny snapped, "not much." The color in Aunt Martha's face increased as she said in a dangerous voice, "I'm not sure I like your tone, young lady." Ginny stared stormily back into Aunt Martha's flashing eyes. She had been rude – but she couldn't bring herself to apologize. She was too angry. "Ginny just found out that her parents knew about Voldemort's interest in her," Harry explained angrily, "and they didn't tell her." Aunt Martha sat down with a thump. "I will not have you speaking of your parents this way," she said severely. "Arthur and Molly certainly paid for that mistake when they realized you had vanished from the safe house. The agonies they must have felt…" Then she glared at Harry. "And you too, young man. You are as dear as a son to them." Harry shifted so that his chair squeaked. Aunt Martha took a deep breath. Ginny wondered with alarm if it was healthy for someone that old to be that red. "I don't suppose either one of you has ever made mistakes?" Ginny felt rubbed raw by this accusation. She had made too many mistakes to count. "Well, here's news for you, you don't ever stop making mistakes – even when you are an adult. In fact, those mistakes are even worse because they aren't the wrong answer on an exam or a missed goal in Quidditch. The stakes keep getting higher." An uneasy silence settled over the table. Ginny looked everywhere but at Aunt Martha. She felt terribly guilty, but still resentful. The anxiety clock chimed five times and said petulantly, "When will anyone ever understand me?" Suddenly Aunt Martha laughed. "When indeed? I think I've been too hard on you two." Ginny looked up in astonishment. "You both have a right to your anger, of course. But find it in your hearts to forgive – and soon. I think Molly and Arthur have learned their lesson – and I think you two have as well." Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said quietly. Ginny could feel him looking at her. That stupid clock, she thought, made us all sound like melodramatic idiots. She didn't bother hiding her sheepish smile. "Yeah, me too." Aunt Martha smiled her approval and then added in the way of her own apology. "I'm afraid this weather is affecting my mood. I wish it would storm and get it over with." Ginny could certainly understand since she had been cranky about her hair frizzing. "So, was your business with your solicitor er… successful?" "No," Aunt Martha sighed. "I'll spare you all the tedious details, but I'm trying to change the Hathaway will. Changing a magical contract can be deadly, you know, so we must proceed with caution." Ginny remembered Marietta's face after she broke the Dumbledore's Army contract; she had gotten off easy with a few pimples. "There are no Hathaways left and the will forbids the land to go to anyone but a Hathaway. When I die, the estate will be under ministry control. That is what I wish to change. I want to bequeath it to St. Mungo's. I started this process last spring when I saw what a first class fool Cornelius Fudge was. Removing Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts was the final straw." Harry shifted in his chair again. "Are you sure there are no Hathaways left?" Aunt Martha laughed without humor. "There is one London orphan, a girl named Harriet, who came to live on the estate during the war. We gave her the name Hathaway since she only knew her first name. But of course she is no relation. Now she is a secretary at the solicitors, coincidentally. But not a very good one, I'm afraid. She's always missing work. But they feel sorry for her since they think the war affected her emotionally even after all this time." Ginny wondered how many more people would be affected by this war, in ways they never could imagine. "This is all of utmost secrecy, you understand," Aunt Martha warned. "No one knows the terms of this will." They both nodded soberly, but Ginny couldn't see how their knowing could possibly affect anything. * Ginny strolled through the garden while waiting for dinner to be served. Lotty was not used to people being in her kitchen, so she knew it would be fruitless to offer to help. The vegetables really didn't interest her, so she walked further to the cutting garden where white daisies, red poppies, and pink and purple sweet peas were all in glorious bloom. Tomorrow she would ask Aunt Martha if she could gather a bouquet for the table. She continued along the path, the gravel crunching under her feet. There was still no breeze and the sun was hidden under the haze. The glare from the western sky was in her eyes so she didn't notice the graveyard until she practically stumbled into the iron gate. It was obviously the burial ground for all the Hathaways. Ginny looked back at the Dowager cottage. The window upstairs must be Aunt Martha's. This, she thought with a chill, was the widow's view. She shuddered at the peaceful green cemetery lined with yews. Off in the distance was a huge weeping willow and another ribbon of water. Between the tree trunks she could see a black barge… Squinting, not wanting to go through the burial yard to investigate, she stood on tiptoe to look at the waterway. Another flat boat went by. This one was blue and said Hathaway Estate. Then Ginny realized she was looking at one of the canals that linked this farm to the markets in London and beyond. A few more boats, in different colors, went by. She took a moment to imagine the contents of those boats: golden barley perhaps, or bales of wool, glossy fruit, or maybe jugs of milk. Now Ginny could understand why Aunt Martha was being so careful about the will. This estate would be a prize for the greedy – but it needed to be nurtured. Anyone could see that. The ministry could never manage it like Aunt Martha, Ginny thought with a hint of pride. "That cat is an Animagus!" The Jarvey was peering at her from behind a tombstone. She laughed, an idea forming in her mind. She would teach it a new phrase. "Draco Malfoy… " she sing-songed as the animal repeated it. Tomorrow she would teach it the next few words. Feeling more cheerful than she had all day, she headed toward the house. Just what I need, she thought happily, a project. * Once dinner was on the table, Aunt Martha pressed Harry into carving duties. He looked at Ginny in alarm, but she couldn't think of any way to help, short of not giggling as he hacked away at the bird. "Learning to carve is the skill of all gentlemen," Aunt Martha declared as a drumstick skidded across the table. "You must practice." Harry grimaced. "I need that sword you found, Ginny." She laughed. "Then it could sing for us too." "Sword?" Aunt Martha asked. "A singing sword?" Ginny nodded, not wanting to think about the snake she had killed. Harry must have noticed her distress because he jumped in and told Aunt Martha the entire story of their escape from the Burrow. "Where was this safe house?" she asked Harry. "I'm not sure exactly, although I know it was somewhere in Cornwall." Then Aunt Martha turned to Ginny. "This sword, what sort of metal was it?" Ginny looked at Harry helplessly. She had no idea. "Silver?" Harry surmised. "Bronze? I don't know. It was more silvery-white." "I see," Aunt Martha wheezed. "If it was tin – or was coated in tin, that may well explain it. The Weasleys are originally from Cornwall, you know. One of the oldest families in Britain – from before the Roman times, I believe. They magically mined tin for generations. When a block of Muggle tin is bent, it groans. When magical tin cuts, it sings." Aunt Martha paused. "Where is the sword?" "I dropped it after I beheaded that snake," Ginny said with a sinking heart. Hopefully she hadn't left anything important behind for the Death Eaters. "You beheaded a snake?" Aunt Martha asked sharply. Now what did I do wrong? Ginny thought. "Yes," she said, glancing at Harry who looked worried. "Nothing wrong, precisely. Except –" Aunt Martha took a deep breath. "Some snakes have tremendous powers of rejuvenation – especially if you dismember them. They will grow a body from the head." "But–" Harry interrupted her, "we never learned that at school – and when I killed the Basilisk –" He faltered. Ginny well knew that he had stabbed the Basilisk – he hadn't cut off his head. "In nature, what dies feeds the living." Aunt Martha pointed to the platter of chicken – now an untidy heap. "We will be rejuvenated by the food on the table." Ginny didn't think she needed such a vivid example of this concept. "Snakes, Phoenixes – other magical creatures – show us these incredible powers. Whereas this poor chicken – didn't get to keep her feathers." She chuckled. "You mustn't worry, Ginny. I'm sure those Death Eaters took it along. If it is still at the Burrow, they will have found it by now. Let us eat." Once Ginny stopped thinking about dead animals, she enjoyed the meal. It was delicious and tasted like something Mum would make. Aunt Martha was a lively conversationalist and kept them amused with stories from past Weasleys. Before the end of the meal she gave them some good news: "I've secured promises from all the laborers on the estate that your presence here will remain a secret. Tomorrow you can move freely about the grounds. "May we go up to the stone circle tomorrow?" Harry asked. "Oh – you walked that far?" Aunt Martha said. "Yes, you must see the view from there. It is one of the two most magical spots in Warwickshire – that and the well – although the well hasn't been seen for years." "Ginny found it," Harry said to Aunt Martha's astonishment, "today." "Well," she said speculatively as she stared at Ginny. "There's more to you than meets the eye, I see." * Ginny followed the little house-elf up the stairs. Harry had gone to bed while Aunt Martha was shaking the proverbial Weasley family tree to see if there was any record of Weasley being able to detect water. She finally gave up and declared that Ginny must have inherited that ability from her mother's side. Although she was sorry that Aunt Martha was so disappointed, Ginny couldn't help but feel glad that Mum was responsible for something worthy in Aunt Martha's eyes. Her eyes blurring with fatigue, Ginny couldn't wait to go to bed. Lotty opened the box room door with a flourish. The camp bed was made with snowy white sheets and a fluffy pillow, but Ginny hardly spared it a glance. The box room wasn't a room at all – just the narrow space under the eves. It looked, to her claustrophobic eyes, just like an extra-long coffin. Worse, the lid of the coffin was the underside of the thatched roof. And everyone knew that thatched roofs contained spiders. Ginny hated spiders. No one knew this about her, not even her family. It didn't do to show weakness in front of her brothers. They excluded her enough as it was – from playing Quidditch and all their other games. If they knew how girly she really was, deep down, Ginny would never have been included in anything. She gingerly crawled on top of the camp bed, noticing how unusually short it was. Her feet went all the way to end, but the pillow was soft under her cheek. She should be able to sleep since she was so tired. Besides, spiders weren't deadly, were they? Then she heard it. A faint rustling. It must be the wind, she told herself sternly. After such a sultry day, it would make sense that a thunderstorm would be brewing. All was quiet. Then her overactive ears picked up a faint clicking… "Lumos," she whispered. She held her wand up to the thatched ceiling, being careful not to set the dried grass on fire. Nothing. She was being paranoid. Then she saw it. A black spider dropped by a thin strand on to the foot of her bed. She sucked in a breath and watched it recover from the drop and start to move… That was enough. She tumbled out of the camp bed and went to the corridor, her wand still lit. There was no way she could sleep in there tonight. Even if she hexed the spider, she would just worry about another one coming. Didn't spiders lay about a thousand eggs at a time? She decided to sit in the doorway of the box room with her pillow behind her and her wand lit. Her eyes grew heavy. Maybe she could doze a bit… "Ginny?" Her eyes snapped open. It was Harry, dressed in a faded t-shirt and pajama bottoms. "I saw a light." "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." "I was awake," he said softly, sitting next to her on the hard wooden floor. "There's a storm brewing – lots of lightning." "Oh." There was no window in the box room. "You ok?" "Oh, yes," she answered in what she hoped was a confident whisper. Both hands were clutched on her lit wand. "Why are you sitting out here then?" She could see her reflection in his glasses. She looked about ten years old with her big eyes and her tumbled hair. She hated her silly reflection. "I don't want to talk about it." "Right then," he said, standing so swiftly he took Ginny by surprise. "Harry – wait." He stopped and turned, his hand on the doorknob to his room. "Sorry," she pleaded, feeling very tearful. "Don't go. I –" He sighed and stiffly sat down again. "I reckon you don't have to tell me – but – did you have a bad dream or something?" "No, it's – it's the spiders," she blurted. "Spiders? Ron hates spiders, not you." "You know why Ron hates spiders?" Now that the truth was out she thought she might as well tell him the whole story. "Because Fred and George turned his teddy bear into a spider." Then the light dawned in his eyes. "You were there – weren't you?" "I was. It was horrible – Ron was screaming and that big black thing came scuttling over towards me." Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh. "You're not laughing are you?" "No," he hastened to assure her. "I just think about what you lot must have been like when you were little and it makes me smile." "This is one of the darker chapters, Harry," she said a bit impatiently. "I know it sounds funny, but to a three-year-old, a giant spider is nothing to take lightly. And no one knows this; I let Ron take all the guff for being afraid of spiders." "Why? What difference does it make if your brothers know you're afraid of spiders?" "Because it's girly – and I was left out of enough for being a girl." "Like flying," he said softly. "How did you know that?" she asked surprised that Harry knew so much about her. "I was there when Hermione told Fred and George how you broke into the broom shed and stole their brooms," he said smiling. "But I couldn't open the broom shed the other night," Ginny said, feeling tears spring to her eyes. "It's not like I do that well in a crisis." "What are you talking about? You were brilliant the way you hexed that Malfoy servant and killed that snake." "I was afraid the entire time," she confessed, not looking at him. "You were never afraid." "How do you know that?" he asked with a queer catch in his voice. "You didn't scream at that snake, you thought of a way to get away, you chased off those Dementors and you remembered the Polyjuice potion." "Everybody shows fear differently." He shrugged. "You screamed twice and you didn't want to hex your own brother. Don't be so hard on yourself." She sighed, feeling a great weight fall from her shoulders. Maybe that's why she had been in such a foul mood all day – she was worried about what Harry thought of her. "So you didn't think I was too girly?" He frowned. "I don't know what that means exactly – and you are holding your wand and you can hex me at any given moment." She giggled at the thought Harry could ever be afraid of her. "I'd say that since you are a girl – you act like a girl – but not girly." Ginny hid a smile. He was trying so hard and he had no clue what he was saying since he never had a sister who wanted to prove herself. "That is a good enough answer – although it makes no sense. I will therefore let you go through another day without bat wings on your face." He chuckled. "Excellent. I passed the test." "Harry," she said seriously, "no one knows I'm afraid of spiders." "No one knows about the prophecy," he answered. She caught her breath as she realized the implications. He trusted her. Not just with that fact – but a host of others. Last night he had told her his weaknesses – he had dared her with them – dared her to still like him. That had taken more courage than she had given him credit for – she really had underestimated him. They heard a distant rumble of thunder. "Why don't we switch?" he asked impulsively. "I can sleep on the camp bed." "No! It's too short for you and there are spiders!" "I don't mind spiders. I had a cozy cupboard like this when I was younger. I really don't mind." He tried to assure her. She had heard about Harry's life with the Muggles of course, but to hear him talk about it so matter-of-factly made Ginny cold with rage. How could anyone be so mean to a little child? "You really aren't afraid of anything are you?" she finally asked. "That's not true," he answered in a hard voice. "Believe me, I remember when I'm around Dementors." Ginny couldn't imagine the horrors he must relive when he was around the Dementors. Her memories were bad enough – and Harry had been through so much worse; just the few things he had told her last night made her shudder with dread. Yet he had done the Patronus Charm with no problems. He really was brave. Ginny had given up listing all of his good qualities long ago – but courage was one that was undeniable and one she had always known about him. The idea that he could be understanding of her fears took her aback. And she didn't like being surprised, especially by him. "Do you think you could help me with the Patronus Charm while we're here?" she asked abruptly. "Sure," he answered, sounding a bit relieved. He was probably glad she hadn't asked him about his fears. Then he added, "I think you should go to bed now." "I feel terrible making you sleep out here," Ginny said, standing up. "You're not making me. I volunteered." He stood up too to let her pass. "I think I know your new fear," she stated. They were standing very close together in the doorway of the box room. "What's that?" he asked, his expression closed. "A leg of lamb you have to carve at the table," she teased. He laughed. "Watch her bring one out tomorrow." Ginny giggled. "It's grouse season coming up." "There's no limit to the horrors she can come up with, is there?" "We could introduce Lotty to vegetarian cookery." "She'd just mold it into a tofu pheasant or something," he said with a smile. "Then you could dismember it and tofu could take over the earth," she said wryly. "Don't feel bad about that – you didn't know. It may not even be true." "Right, when in doubt – stab. I think I'll stitch a sampler," Ginny said rolling her eyes. "Rules to live by," he agreed. "Thank you for taking the camp bed," she said earnestly looking up into his face. Something flashed in his eyes, or maybe it was way the light from her wand reflected off his glasses. "No problem," he answered softly. Ginny was suddenly aware of her bare feet on the smooth boards and the thin softness of the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. Even the heavy air around her seemed caressing… "Good night," she said hastily and hurried to the bedroom. * Ginny tossed and turned in the big comfortable bed. She pretended it was the storm keeping her awake, but she knew it was really her conscience bothering her. Because she was so cowardly, Harry had to spend another night in a cupboard. But he said he didn't mind… Then her thoughts ran to the way he had said 'no problem.' His voice had sounded almost… tender. She put a pillow over her head. She was not going to start thinking like that – seeing and hearing things that just weren't there. It was a brotherly thing to do – wasn't it? Although his tone of voice wasn't grudging and Harry hadn't said she owed him one like her brothers would have. No, she thought sardonically, when Harry said 'no problem,' he really meant anything for you, Ginny – because I worship the spider-free ground you walk on. She sighed and sat up. She was being an idiot – about Harry – about spiders. We should switch back, she thought, swinging her legs off the bed and promptly hitting her head on the steeply sloping ceiling. She sat back on the bed with a thump, rubbing her forehead. This is the limit, I really need to sleep and once my conscience is clear, I can. "Lumos," she murmured. This time she successfully navigated around the bed. The door opened noiselessly, but Ginny cringed when the wide board creaked in the same spot as the night before. She stole quietly to the open box room door. By the dim light of her wand she could see that Harry had shoved the camp bed away and was sleeping on the floor – with his arm flung out to the side. She smirked at her own foolishness. It was obviously 'no problem' for him to sleep anywhere.
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