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Author: hairy_hen Story: To Save a Life Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 12 Words: 39,733
The entirety of Gryffindor house sat in silence together in the common room. No one spoke, but they all knew why they were there--to remember, and to try to heal after what had happened that morning. At least twenty students had died in the attack, many of them Muggle-borns, and more had been seriously injured. Colin Creevey and his brother Dennis were both dead, killed as they fled from the giants, and Ginny's friend Jeanne had been sent to St. Mungo's with severe nerve damage. Several younger students had received the Dementor's Kiss. Almost no one had been able to do the Patronus, paralyzed with fear by the cloaked spectres of darkness. As she looked around the common room at her housemates, Ginny reflected that being here ought to have made her feel closer to everyone, since they were all suffering in some way from what had happened. But instead, she felt so far removed that she might well have belonged to a different species. She shook her head angrily. It was no good; she had to get out of here. No one protested as Ginny got up and made to leave the common room through the portrait hole, despite it being already after curfew. She passed Dean, who was to have had his first date with Jeanne today, and saw Ron and Hermione sitting together near the fire, holding each other close. Were they thinking of Harry, their best friend of six years, now gone forever? Had even they been affected by his loss as much as her? Probably--but right now she didn't much care. With sudden violence, Ginny pushed open the portrait hole and began to wander off down the corridor. She didn't have any clear idea where she was going, but knew only that she could not bear to remain there with everyone else any longer. A wave of hot, sickening anger was coursing through her. How many of the people sitting there really cared that Harry was gone forever? The useless Order certainly didn't . . . and who among those who did care could possibly fathom what she was feeling right now? On some level she knew it was ridiculous to think that way, but at the moment Ginny didn't give a damn whether she was being rational or not. Harry was gone; she would never see him again--and it was all her fault. Despite Hermione's words to the contrary, she knew it was true. She hadn't been able to do the Patronus, and because of her weakness, he had been doomed to drown in his own despair . . . the Dementors affected him so strongly . . . Ginny knew that she had been a source of comfort for Harry over the past year. She had helped him overcome his guilt and grief over Sirius' death, and gradually they had become close friends. Very close friends . . . Ginny thought she had never seen Harry happier than he had been in the past few months. The way his face seemed to come alive every time he looked at her, lit up by a brilliant smile of a kind she'd only ever imagined, years earlier-- How had she never seen it before? It was painfully obvious now, now that he was no longer here, how he had felt about her. She remembered how he had pursued her into the Forbidden Forest on his Firebolt, and how they had plummeted to the ground from their brooms. It had been one of the strangest moments of Ginny's life, to be lying there in the forest of all places, with Harry directly on top of her, crushing her to the ground and staring at her with those brilliant green eyes of his, eyes that could pull her in and never let her out again . . . and she wouldn't have objected . . . Indeed, some part of her, a part she'd buried so deeply she hadn't even known it was there, had wanted nothing more than to pull him down to her and kiss him right then and there, kiss him until he could not remember who he was, until all thoughts had failed them and they were swept away in a heated storm of passion . . . Ginny drew in a series of gasping breaths as the full weight of her thoughts slammed into her. She'd put it down to hormones, rationalized and explained the incident away, trying to put the memory out of her head--why? She had never felt that strongly about anyone before. Dating had been a fun thing in the past, a pleasant diversion of sorts, a way to feel that she was growing up and in control of her own life. But she had never let herself get really emotionally involved with another person that way--her experience with Tom Riddle's diary had prevented her from entrusting anyone with her heart. She blinked furiously, fighting tears at the thought of how he had violated her, and the things she had been forced to do without remembering, until the Dementors had brought them to the surface today . . . But in talking with Harry, she had found someone who could understand her, in a way no one else ever had. Harry wasn't like Riddle, he would never abuse her trust . . . She and Harry had grown so close over the year--but she'd been so convinced he would never have romantic feelings for her that she'd blinded herself to what was happening between them, until it was too late-- How could she have failed to see how much she truly cared for him? Ginny felt something breaking inside her, something she knew could never be repaired. She stumbled slightly, leaning up against a nearby wall, and sank slowly to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Her body was racked with sobs as the tears she'd been holding back for the last hour began to flow. Hearing the clanking of a nearby suit of armour, Ginny looked for the first time at her surroundings, finding that she was near the same girls' toilet where she and Harry had cursed Malfoy--had it really only been yesterday? It seemed impossible that so little time could have passed. She and Harry had been arguing not ten feet from where she now sat . . . and they'd been arguing this morning too . . . it seemed so pointless now . . . And she remembered that Harry had been about to kiss her just before his scar had flared up . . . she'd been utterly astonished at the look of desire on his face, but she'd wanted so badly for him to finish what the look asked . . . She'd felt something else then, too, something at once horribly familiar and completely alien. It was as if some great, almost snakelike force, foreign and yet inextricably a part of her, had been rising inside her mind. It had frightened her--and yet it had felt so right, as if part of her were being completed just by looking into Harry's eyes, that she'd wanted nothing more than to give into it entirely. At that instant she had known, somehow, exactly what Harry had been feeling--how much he had wanted to kiss her, how their arguing had been tearing him up inside, how jealous he'd been when she mentioned her plans for Hogsmeade that day. But how could she possibly have known that? Was her imagination simply conjuring up wild hopes and fantasies, trying to deny the finality of Harry's death? No, that couldn't be; she had felt what he felt, for an instant, and he had surely known what she was feeling, as well-- The irony was almost laughable. Ginny let out a strangled cry, hugging her knees close to her chest. She had tried so hard to get over him, to put all thought of romance with Harry out of her head, and she had succeeded--only to have him become a greater part of her life than ever before. Try as she might, she could never be indifferent to Harry. But now he was gone . . . now she would never know the taste of his lips on hers, would never again hear him murmur her name with such reverence, would never look into those beautiful eyes again . . . Her chest heaving with emotion, Ginny wondered if she would have been able to do the Patronus if they had kissed before his scar attack. She had fancied herself a sort of guardian for Harry, emotionally, but at the moment it mattered most, she had failed him utterly, letting him succumb to his greatest fear. The mewing of a cat interrupted her thoughts. Startled, Ginny looked up, and saw Mrs. Norris glaring at her from a way down the corridor. The cat meowed again, and she heard a faint wheezing and a shuffling of feet--Filch. Damn. "What's this, my sweet?" said the caretaker as he approached. "A student out of bed? Well, we'll see about that, won't we--" Ginny was seized by a sudden surge of anger. Filch wanted to give her detention, no doubt. How could he even think about giving punishments after what had happened? Harry was gone, nothing else mattered--she ought to curse the smug look off his slimy face-- She drew her wand, prepared to let loose the most vicious Bat-Bogey Hex in all of history--when some rational part of her mind, pleading for common sense, made itself heard. "Confundo," she whispered instead, waving her wand towards the caretaker and his cat. A glazed look came over Filch's face, his eyes seeming to become unfocused for a second. "Move along," he muttered, and shambled off in the opposite direction, Mrs. Norris at his heels. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, the anger still pulsing through her veins. She decided to return to the common room, lest she run into a teacher--she didn't think she'd be able to use her wand to get out of trouble with them. She began to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, hiding herself in the shadows to avoid being seen by anyone who might be passing by. It would have been easier with Harry's Invisibility Cloak, she reflected, but she was quite good at sneaking about unseen even without it--she'd had loads of practice during her time here, and even before she had come to Hogwarts. Hanging out with the twins from a young age had been very beneficial. The common room was almost deserted when she arrived. As she was about to go up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, she heard a voice behind her, softly calling her name. "Ginny?" Ginny was strongly tempted to ignore the voice, for it belonged to someone she had no wish to speak to at the moment--but she turned around, and found herself looking at her friend John Reynolds, the boy with whom she had planned to go to Hogsmeade today. It seemed unbelievable that she could have been concerned with a Hogsmeade date just that morning. "What do you want?" she asked, more sharply than she had intended. "Well, I--I just wanted to see how you were doing," said John, seemingly taken aback at her tone. He swallowed nervously, running a hand through his short brown hair, not quite meeting her eyes. "How do you think I'm doing?" Ginny snapped. She knew it wasn't right, but she couldn't get the thought of their argument that morning out of her mind. He had been angry with her for caring about Harry. She ought to curse him for it-- Seeing the hurt look on his face, Ginny paused, abruptly realising that she had been about to reach for her wand. She was doing it again--taking out her anger on people who didn't deserve it. She took a deep breath, running through some of the basic Occlumency techniques Harry had taught her a few months before, and felt herself begin to calm down somewhat. The only people who deserved to be cursed were Malfoy and Wormtail, for taking Harry away from her. "I'm sorry," said Ginny, shaking her head. "I'm pretty upset right now." Isn't that the understatement of the century, she thought. "Yeah," said John. Neither of them of spoke for a moment. "I wanted to apologize," he continued after a while, looking very nervous, "for being a git this morning. I didn't have any right to say those things I said." No, you didn't have any right, Ginny thought, but said nothing, waiting for him to keep going. When he didn't, she said quietly, "Forget it. It--doesn't really matter anymore. Pretend it never happened." Her voice caught in her throat as she said this, and she looked down at the floor. The whole thing might well have never happened. Everything seemed that way now--nothing that had been important before mattered at all, now that Harry was gone . . . "You really care for him, don't you?" Startled, Ginny looked back at John again, and saw that he was watching her closely. "Yes," she whispered, wiping a hand at her face in agitation. She did not have to ask who he was talking about. "Well, I just wanted you to know, Ginny, that if he gets back from wherever he is, I won't--I want you to be happy. I wouldn't get in the way." It looked like it was costing him great effort to say this, but the sincerity of his words was obvious. Ginny looked away. "What do you mean, if he gets back?" she asked, drawing in a shaky breath. "Harry's gone. The Dementors took him away. You-Know-Who must have killed him by now, he's been after him since he was a baby--" "But they don't know that he's dead yet, do they? I'm sure the Ministry will go looking for him, I mean he's Harry Potter, isn't he? Someone's got to go after him; they can't just sit around and do nothing." Not likely, Ginny thought, feeling a savage anger at the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix for doing nothing to save Harry. But she said nothing of this. "Don't give up yet," John continued quietly. "He might still be alive. And if he is, do you think he's just going to roll over and let You-Know-Who kill him just like that, without giving him the fight of his life first? I read that Quibbler article last year--Harry didn't give up then, what makes you think he's going to give up now? We just don't know yet what happened." Ginny attempted a smile and nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, and John smiled slightly back at her in return. Quickly he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Ginny," he said, and departed up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Ginny blinked, her thoughts and feelings in turmoil as she walked slowly up the stairs to her own dormitory. She didn't see how Harry could possibly be alive, but hearing John's words had had a startling effect on her. He was right, they didn't know what had happened . . . but why would You-Know-Who have kept him alive, rather than killing him outright? You-Know-Who had sent the Dementors to capture him . . . he'd even had Wormtail there to disarm him, to make sure he couldn't do the Patronus . . . Malfoy had been in on it too . . . Malfoy had taunted Harry about his reaction to the Dementors back in his third year . . . what if he'd told his father, a Death Eater, about that? The Dementors affected Harry so strongly, he couldn't resist them . . . Harry had been learning Occlumency all year, to stop You-Know-Who from invading his mind . . . what if You-Know-Who were using the Dementors to try to prevent Harry from using Occlumency? But why would he do that? What would he want to find out from Harry? Abruptly, the answer came to her, and Ginny felt her eyes go wide with horror at the thought of it. Of course--he wanted the same thing he had spent an entire year trying for last year: to find out the exact wording of the Prophecy. Had he guessed that Harry now knew what it said, and decided to try to find out before he killed him? And if so, how long would Harry be able to hold out? It was a long shot, she knew, but she couldn't ignore it. Not if there was the faintest, wildest chance that Harry could still be alive. Ginny knew what she had to do. * * * As the screaming died away into silence, Harry struggled to draw breath, feeling his limbs begin to collapse under the strain. He shuddered as a blast of cold air swept over him. It was accompanied by a sound--he'd heard it somewhere before. What was it called? Wind--yes, that was it. Was he outside, then? It didn't matter, really. Nothing mattered much anymore. Nothing except fighting . . . he couldn't give in to the pain, despite the cold and the screaming, and the taunting voice . . . The screaming was growing louder again. But this was a different screaming; it was someone else's voice, not his own. He had heard it before . . . he wanted to hear it again, because it was someone he knew, though he could not remember her face. Who was she? She was pleading with the voice, trying desperately to save him, and the voice was telling her to stand aside--no! He'd heard this before, he couldn't let himself listen to it again . . . but he so wanted to hear her, it was the only time he'd ever heard her speak-- The cold was overpowering him . . . Harry felt himself sinking deeper into the black chasm . . . Was there ever a time he had known anything other than fear and terror, this cold and icy despair? It seemed impossible that he could have ever known anything else. But surely he had gotten here somehow, from another place. He tried to think, to clear the screaming out of his head. What was the word? Occlumency, yes, that was the key, he could keep holding on if he remembered that word. It wasn't a happy thought, it had never been happy . . . what did that mean, happy? It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was so far off he couldn't reach it. All that mattered was Occlumency. The screaming voices were fading away again; he was making them go away. But why was he doing it? Why did he keep fighting? Either way he would die, and if he stopped fighting, he could let the pain end so much sooner. What was he trying to accomplish by resisting? Harry didn't know anymore. Had he ever known, really? He didn't think so . . . The image of a dark-haired man floated across his field of vision--a man who was falling backwards through an archway. That man had been a victim just as Harry was. He had fought on for a long time, just as Harry was now doing. But what had it gained him? He had died, Harry had seen him die. He was free now . . . how Harry would like to be free . . . he wanted to join that man, who had meant so much to him, he wanted so badly to see him again . . . all he had to do was give in to the screaming and the voice, give it what it wanted, and the pain would be gone . . . he would be able see the man again, and the man's friend, whom Harry had killed, and the woman . . . he didn't know who they were, but he knew they had been important to him-- He could see something else now, another person. It looked like . . . yes, it was a girl, a girl with bright red hair. She had been important to him as well . . . and now she was gone too . . . if he let go he would be able to see her again . . . or would he? Was she really dead? He had never seen her die--he had pleaded with her not to be dead, in spite of the awful voice. The wind swept over Harry, and he tried to focus on the sound of it, instead of the awful rattling breaths coming from nearby. Both were cold, but one of them was worse than the other. The wind was familiar--he could not remember why, but it seemed he must have felt it before, somewhere. It reminded him of being free . . . it reminded him of the girl in red. Who was she? What was her name? Virginia? No, that wasn't it . . . He could not see her face, or remember who she was, but Harry tried hard to think of her anyway. She was elusive, mysterious, but she was important, he knew that . . . She had something to do with Occlumency, the thing that was keeping him alive, keeping him from giving up completely. If he kept thinking of her, surely he would be able to see her face eventually . . . And Harry knew that he had to hold on, no matter what. If only for her sake, he had to keep fighting. * * * With the stealth of a cat prowling in utter darkness, Ginny silently climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitories, looking around to see that she wasn't being watched. Approaching the sixth year boys' room, she pulled out her wand, pointing it at the door. "Alohomora," she whispered, and the door opened without a sound. She listened intently for a few seconds before slipping inside. Faint snoring could be heard from one of the beds--probably Neville. Heavy breathing was coming from direction of the other beds as well. Good, Ginny thought, slowly padding her way forward, taking extra care not to make a sound. They're all asleep. The fact that anyone could sleep after what they'd seen that day amazed her, but she wasn't complaining. It made her task much easier. She'd been thinking it over for nearly twenty minutes now, and the more she thought, the more obvious it became that this was the only way. The Order was preoccupied, confused and leaderless in Dumbledore's absence, and the teachers were concerned primarily with protecting the school in the event of further attacks. No, there was no one to do this but her. No one else would even be willing to listen to her. By the faint moonlight from the window, Ginny could just make out Harry's trunk at the side of his bed. She didn't dare rummage through it, for fear of waking everyone up, which would lead to a lot of awkward questions. A memory came to mind, of the last time she'd been in here, searching desperately for something. Impatiently she put the thought aside. She didn't need to dwell on that right now. "Accio," she whispered, aiming her wand at the trunk, concentrating hard on what she wanted. In complete silence, the trunk opened, and two objects emerged, sailing through the air towards her: an aged parchment, and a fluid, shimmering bundle of fabric. Ginny caught them and made her way back to the door. A sudden thought struck. What if she were caught, and the map fell into the wrong hands? Wormtail would know how to work it . . . he had helped write it, after all . . . No, she thought, her mind made up. For the Marauder's Map to come into You-Know-Who's possession . . . the effects could be devastating. Best to leave it here, then. She didn't really need it, anyway--the cloak would be enough. With a flick of her wand, Ginny sent the map back into the trunk and closed the lid. A faint coughing was coming from one of the beds. With a pang, Ginny recognised it as Ron's. This might be the last time she ever heard his voice-- With a tremendous effort, Ginny silenced the thought, feeling a lump rising in her throat. I'll be back soon, she told herself, not entirely sure whether she believed it or not. She knew Ron would probably try to stop her if he knew what she was planning to do . . . Quickly she wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around herself and departed from the dormitory, shutting the door behind her. She descended the stairs to the common room as fast as she could without causing a racket. She didn't want the whole house waking up and coming after her. The common room appeared to be deserted. Ginny made her way to the portrait hole, an odd feeling rising in her stomach as she went. She was nearly to the portrait hole when she felt herself step on something soft. That something let out a loud croaking sound and scampered off across the room as Ginny jumped back in surprise, nearly losing her balance. "Trevor!" she exclaimed involuntarily, then cursed herself, looking around to see if she had been heard. If she were caught-- "Who's there?" came a voice from the far end of the common room. Damn! Ginny thought. Of all the people who could have heard that-- There was Hermione, all right, emerging from behind a chair where she'd been sitting, apparently concealed from Ginny's view. She was coming right towards her. Ginny shrank back to the wall, wrapping the cloak more tightly around herself. Maybe Hermione would just leave . . . But no, of course she wouldn't. "Ginny? Is that you? I heard your voice." With a sigh of resignation, Ginny pulled off the cloak and turned to face Hermione, who was now standing a few feet away, looking at her strangely. "Ginny, what are you doing?" Hermione asked. "I can't sleep," Ginny bluffed, praying desperately that Hermione would let her go without too much hassle. "I fancied a walk. Thinking about--about this morning, you know . . ." Something in Hermione's gaze softened, for an instant, but Ginny could tell she wasn't satisfied. "But you're still in your clothes," Hermione said, regarding her intently. "And you already went out before. McGonagall told everyone not to go wandering around. It isn't safe right now. They still don't know how the Dementors got into the school, and until they find out, we're not supposed to go around by ourselves--especially the younger students." "Hermione, I don't think any Dementors are going to be coming into the castle tonight," Ginny said, trying to sound patient, when in reality she was feeling anything but. "They got what they wanted this morning, and the castle's all locked up, anyway. Now if you'll excuse me--" She turned away hastily and made to leave, but Hermione's hand on her arm stopped her. The look of wariness on her face had now become full-blown suspicion. "Ginny, what are you up to that's so important?" she asked. Ginny let out her breath in a rush. They were wasting time . . . "I'm going after Harry," she blurted, almost before she realised what she was saying. Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "But Harry . . . Harry's dead," said Hermione, her voice shaking. Ginny cursed herself for the slip. "We don't know that," she said unsteadily. "No one saw him die, and there hasn't been any news . . . he might still be alive . . ." "And you're going after him, all by yourself?" demanded Hermione, her voice suddenly harsh. "Even if he is still alive--which he probably isn't, considering V-Voldemort's wanted to kill him for years--you don't even know where he is! How do you expect you'll find him, if even the Order doesn't know where to look?" "What do you say we should do then?" Ginny shot back, her tone equally hard. "Sit around and do nothing? I thought Harry meant more to you than that." Hermione flinched. "Don't you dare say that!" she cried, appearing close to tears. "I've been Harry's friend longer than you've even known him! I'd do anything to get him back. But Harry's dead! There's no way V-Voldemort wouldn't have killed him by now." She was breathing heavily, and her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Ginny opened her mouth to reply scathingly, then closed it again. Her reasoning suddenly seemed much less certain than it had minutes before. Hermione was right--Harry couldn't possibly be alive, it was useless to even think that he could be . . . Would You-Know-Who really care about the Prophecy at all, once he had Harry in his grasp? Wouldn't he just kill him and be done with it, rather than risk his escape if someone came to save him? Was it really worth getting herself killed chasing after false hopes and phantom dreams? Unbidden, words spoken only the day before flashed suddenly through her memory. I suppose next you'll be telling me I should just sit idly by if another basilisk comes along, so you can deal with that by yourself too . . . Harry's words had been spoken in anger, but his real meaning could not have been plainer. He had gone alone to save her from the Chamber of Secrets, when everyone thought she was dead, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. Now it was only right that she should do the same for him . . . Ginny felt her resolve hardening. She had to go after Harry. There was no excuse for not trying to find him. She would do whatever it took--if she had to curse her way through every last Death Eater, even if she had to duel with Voldemort himself. She rounded on Hermione. "Everyone thought I was dead in the Chamber of Secrets," Ginny said fiercely. "But Harry came after me. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead now. So if you think for one minute that I'm going to sit by and do nothing while he's out there--even if all I have is a dead body to show for it--" "So what are you saying?" cried Hermione. "You're trying to fulfil some kind of life debt? This isn't some game--don't you remember what happened last year? We tried to save Sirius, and we ended up getting him killed! What if you get yourself killed?" Her voice broke, and she turned away, trembling. "I couldn't stand to--to lose another friend. I could never live with myself if you died, and I'd let you do it," Hermione finished, trailing off into silence. She appeared to be making a valiant effort not to cry. Ginny took a deep breath. "I know," she said, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a surge of sympathy for the other girl. "And believe me, I--I know it sounds crazy. But if there's any chance at all he's still alive, I have to take it. Because I--" She paused, not sure what exactly she'd been about to say. Because what? She loved him? Was that a good enough excuse for going off on a suicide mission? Did she love Harry? Did he love her? She shook her head. No matter what reason she gave, Ginny knew she could never live with herself if she did nothing. "I have to go," she finished. But Hermione was shaking her head urgently. "I can't let you do this, Ginny," she said, her voice strengthening. "I'm a prefect, it's my job to uphold the rules--we're supposed to keep the younger students safe--" She seemed to be trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. Ginny saw with a sinking feeling that Hermione had drawn her wand. They were wasting time . . . if Harry were still alive, every moment of delay brought him closer to his end . . . she had to save him . . . But she'd never be able to get past Hermione--there was no way she could defeat the DA's best student in a duel. But there might be another way . . . Ginny let her shoulders slump in a posture of defeat. "All right," she said dejectedly. She began to walk slowly back towards the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Hermione was lowering her wand--good. Ginny surreptitiously reached into her robe pocket, trying to find something that she always carried in case of emergency. Her hand closed around one of Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes, and she raised her hand to her mouth, taking in the chewy substance. She hadn't been able to look at it--she'd have to take her chances on what kind it was-- And without warning, Ginny felt her vision begin to fade away as the blood rushed out of her head. She staggered, her knees buckling, and hit the floor. A Fainting Fancy, then. Quickly, before she lost consciousness, she put the other end in her mouth and chewed, as Hermione cried, "Ginny!" and began to move towards her. Ginny's head began to clear at once as the Snackbox's counter took effect. She reached inside her robes again, using her position on the floor to cover the movement. Taking hold of her wand, she flicked it towards a point at the far end of the common room. A loud banging sound was heard as a chair flew suddenly into the far wall. Hermione looked wildly towards the source of the commotion-- It was all the distraction Ginny needed. With a speed that startled even her, she was on her feet, her wand drawn and ready. Hermione turned back towards her in surprise as Ginny cried, "Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione's arms and legs sprang suddenly together, and she fell backwards, completely unable to move. Ginny gazed down at her handiwork, feeling a pang of guilt at the look of shock and horror on Hermione's face. Think of Harry, she told herself firmly. Whatever it takes . . . we'll be back soon . . . "I'm sorry, Hermione," she said softly, as her friend stared back at her, wide-eyed. "This is something I have to do." Maybe you'll understand someday, she added silently. Pulling the Invisibility Cloak around her once more, Ginny made her way back to the portrait hole and out into the corridor. She had to hurry, as she had made far too much noise in the common room not to have woken someone up. Sooner or later, Hermione would be found, and she would tell them what had happened. And she had left the map behind--they could use it to see where she had gone-- Ginny quickened her pace, not really caring how much noise she was making. Speed, not stealth, was essential now. The cloak would hide her if she ran into anyone. There was a tense moment when she nearly ran into Snape prowling the sixth floor corridor, but Ginny was able to slip past him undetected. She breathed a sigh of relief as she climbed the next flight of stairs, making her way to the seventh floor, where her destination awaited. As she entered the seventh floor corridor, Ginny felt her muscles beginning to tense up again. She slowed, seeing the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy with the trolls on the wall up ahead. Taking a deep breath, willing herself to be calm, she tried to focus hard on what she needed. I need to save Harry, she thought as she paced the corridor. I need to find him and bring him back here alive . . . give me what I need to save him . . . Ginny stopped, turning slowly around, afraid of what she would see there . . . or what she wouldn't see. If it hadn't worked--if the room hadn't appeared-- It had. Ginny inhaled sharply at the sight of the door, looming ominously where there had only been a blank wall moments before. She'd been afraid it wouldn't work, as there were surely limits on what the Room of Requirement could do. But it was her only hope of saving Harry. Briefly she'd considered thestrals, but it could take hours for them to get her where she needed to go, if they knew how to get there at all--and then she would have to infiltrate Voldemort's lair from the outside, which would present all kinds of problems. No, this was the only way. She walked towards the door, her hand poised to open it--and paused, uncertain. What would she find in here? Did she really have the courage to see this through? Last chance to back out, said a sly voice in her head. Ginny took a deep breath, remembering her earlier resolve. She had to do this. Ginny opened the door. The room, she found, now had a very Spartan appearance. It had taken the form of a small chamber with plain white walls, with a single table in the middle. On the table were a number of objects. Closing and locking the door behind her, Ginny crossed over to examine them. She found a wand and a pair of glasses first, both of which she recognised as Harry's. He had lost his wand in the forest, she remembered, and apparently his glasses as well. She took them and put them in her pocket, then turned back to the table. Next she found a knife containing a number of blades and attachments. With a shock of recognition, Ginny realised that it was the same knife Harry had used on the trip to the Department of Mysteries last year--the one Sirius had given him. She remembered that one of the blades had been melted by that strange locked door . . . but examining it closely, Ginny found to her surprise that it had been completely repaired. She gave a silent thanks to Sirius for his gift to Harry and pocketed it. The next object appeared to be a large box of matches. It was unmarked, but upon opening it, Ginny realised that its contents, while appearing to be matches, were actually something far more valuable. The last thing she found on the table was the most incongruous of them all. It was an old sock, looking remarkably like the ones from Uncle Vernon that Harry had given to Dobby. Ginny stared at it in confusion for a second. As she watched, the sock began to glow with a pale blue light. Realising, she reached out to grab it, feeling a thrill of anticipation and dread. Would it really work? Did the room really know that Harry was, in fact, still alive? There was only one way to find out. Wrapping the Invisibility Cloak securely around herself, Ginny tapped the sock with her wand. "Take me to Harry," she whispered. She felt a sudden jerk behind her navel, and then she was gone from the room, rushing forward in a whirlwind of colour and sound, heading towards the unknown. There could be no turning back now.
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