New Chapter Progress: [ 50% ]

Progress Notes: I will be on vacation for 20 days starting tomorrow, and where I'm going, there is zero internet service. Please stick around! I've sent chapter 12 (the corrected and ready-to-go version) to my beta. She hasn't responded yet, but hopefully she'll post it soon.

Keep reading! I'll be back soon!

Ginny sat moodily amongst piles and piles of paperwork. Ironically, this was her punishment for destroying the British and African treaty. Dealing with more important paperwork. What got into the head of the Ministry these days? Ginny winced. With her father as the Minister, she probably should not think like that. She was lucky this was all she had to suffer for her actions earlier in the week. She rolled her shoulder around slightly, stretching it. It felt a little better now, but it still stung occasionally and was always aching. Ginny frowned at the bandages around her arm. She hated being weak.

The sparse rays of light flickered in and out of the filthy windows high above her confined area. Ginny squinted up into the sunlight. Its beams illuminated the particles of dust floating peacefully above her auburn head, looking like hundreds of miniature fairies. The ceiling was high, at least as tall as a house. It reminded Ginny of the cathedrals in Italy she had visited when her father had met with the Italian Presidente de Magia—with ceilings so tall that you had to crane your neck to see them. Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with files of papers. Ginny groaned and sat crossed-legged on the floor in a rather undignified manner and breathed deeply, leaning her head back against a pile of books taller than Ron.

She could not stop thinking about him. He seemed to constantly invade her thoughts, pushing memories to the front of her mind. She was used to grief—there had been so many deaths during the second war that she had learned to cope. She could handle pain. She had been in enough of it after being stabbed in the stomach with a knife by Draco Malfoy. She was used to unwanted attention from those who disliked her. What she could not seem to handle was the feeling of being absolutely and utterly alone. She felt as if there was a part of her missing, torn from her without her consent. She longed for Harry so much it hurt her to think about it. It was like a slap in the face every time she saw old friends of hers together and knowing that she might never be with him again.

She could continue on with her life. She could date other people if she wanted. But for some reason, to do that would make Ginny feel as if she were abandoning him. As if she were throwing away a piece of her own soul that she did not want to get rid of. She wanted to be able to move on with her life, but she still clung to the tatters of her past, wishing that she could sew them back together and bring back all those missed moments. Sometimes she would sit in her room and just try to remember what it had been like in her fifth year, holding tightly onto his hand. But every time she began to get soaked back into those memories, the faces in her reminisces would blur. She could not remember it.

Her tears poured down her cheeks like boiling reminders of how weak she was. What hurt the most was how close they had been. Ginny knew that it had not been just a simple school crush. She had seen it in Harry’s eyes. She remembered staggering up to him on that mound of stones, back in the Chamber of Secrets. He was staring down at Voldemort’s corpse in horrified silence. She had held his hand, like she had done so many times before. He had turned to her and the relief that she was still alive had spilled from his eyes. 

They had been given so little time. She had so much to say to him that day on the train. She wanted to tell him that she loved him more than life itself. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She wanted to tell him that if he got himself killed, she would bring him back from the dead and kill him herself. But there had been no time. There had been nothing but that kiss. A promise of a future.

Ginny sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks rather angrily. She hid it most of the time. She tried to make it seem like she was indifferent to the fact that he was still locked in a castle full of Death Eaters. She tried to tell herself that she missed her brother and best friend just as much she did Harry, but she knew she was lying to herself. She had grown up with Ron and loved him. She loved Hermione like a sister and was her confidant. But she had barely been able to reach into the depths of Harry. She did not know what could have been. She did not know what held in store for her and Harry in the future. If Harry was even in the future.

Ginny gritted her teeth and shook her head. Harry was alive.

Suddenly, there was a loud rap on the door, which was pushed open without granted entry. Through the stacks of files, Ginny could not see who had entered.

“Hello?” Ginny asked into the silence. She hastily cleaned her face of any evidence of crying. “Hello?” She called again. There was nothing, no response. Ginny’s hand inched towards her pocket where her wand lay. Attacks from Death Eaters at the Ministry these days were unlikely, but one should still be careful. Especially as a Weasley, both as the daughter of the minister and known blood traitor, Harry Potter’s girlfriend, a member of the Order. Yes, Ginny though wryly. Those were plenty of reasons to attack her. She silently stood up, her wand outstretched.

Ginny cast her eyes around for lingering shadows or approaching footsteps. There was nothing. Ginny cocked her head. That was odd. She was quite an acclaimed eavesdropper at the Weasley house and was known to be capable of hearing anything. Her eyes narrowed. Someone in the room knew she was in here and did not want to be discovered.

It was barely anything, but Ginny suddenly heard it: the ruffling of papers. Someone had brushed against a stack of files directly behind her. Ginny gripped her wand tighter, staring straight ahead. The shadow slowly approaching was just inches from her. Ginny’s heart was beating a resounding thrum throughout her whole body. Adrenalin pumping through her veins made her eyes dilate, taking in every movement.

Ginny spun around, aiming her wand. “Stupefy!” she shouted.

“Protego!”

Ginny ducked as her spell rebounded and hit the stack of books behind her.

There was a loud crash. Papers went flying everywhere. There was a muffled yell and Ginny’s ‘attacker’ fell hard on their backside.

“Did I mention that I nearly failed Stealth and Tracking?” Nymphadora Tonks asked, wincing as another file of papers crashed around her blue and purple-spiked hair.

Ginny exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

“Merlin, Tonks,” Ginny said, shaking her head. She gave the young woman her hand and pulled her fellow auror upright. “I was about to attack you,”

Tonks winked, “Wotcher, Gin,” she said, eyeing Ginny’s wand. “You did attack me. My own fault, trying to sneak up and surprise you. I should have realized you’d be a bit…jumpy.” Tonks brushed off a layer of imaginary dirt. “I suppose I’m just too quick for you, eh?” Ginny laughed and shook her head again, looking down at the mess of papers.

“Great,” the Weasley girl muttered. She began picking up the papers and was about to put them back in a pile when she realized Tonks had already accomplished the task by using her wand for all the other papers. Ginny blushed, having forgotten that she could have just used magic.

“So,” Tonks smiled, promptly sitting on the floor. “This is your sentence? Organizing more papers?”

Ginny groaned and sat beside her friend. “So you heard about the treaty?”

Tonks laughed uproariously, “Gin, everyone’s heard about the treaty. I was curious though…why didn’t you repair it?”

Ginny shook her head, “The parchment was enchanted against any kind of restoring spell. I even tried some of the healer charms that knit bones back together and such, but nothing worked. It was made like that so that if the treaty was ripped or destroyed, it would signify the end of the alliance between England and Africa.”

Tonks raised a curved eyebrow, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, no, it doesn’t,” Ginny winced. “Luckily the African Minister of Magic wasn’t offended, he took it as a general mistake of a bumbling British secretary. They’re signing a second treaty right now. Mum was furious with me.” Ginny looked around at the papers. She still had four more stacks to organize, and then she was done. She checked her watch; it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. She had hoped she could finish by four so that she could visit Bill… She looked up at Tonks. “Is Elbert Miller still on sick leave?” She asked. Tonks’ face broke into a wide smile.

“They say he’s hiding from you,” she commented evasively. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“He’d better be,” She muttered. Ginny stood up. “Look, Tonks, why don’t you and Remus stop by tonight for dinner tonight? I’m sure Mum won’t mind—”

“I can’t Gin-Gin,” Tonks said, screwing up her face again in a pained expression, turning her hair bright orange and giving herself a tan. “Remy and I have a date tonight.”           

“‘Remy’?” Ginny smirked. “Does he like that name?”

“No, quite the contrary,” Tonks winked, her eyes turning dark blue.

“Are you going on your date like that?” Ginny scrutinized Tonks’ new appearance. “I like the tan, but your hair looks a little…eccentric.”

“You think so?” Tonks frowned. The next moment her previously mousy brown locks were dark and curly, falling onto her shoulders. The auror inspected herself with a mirror from her pocket. “I think this’ll do, eh?”

“It’s great Tonks,” Ginny grinned. Tonks beamed and sprung up, clapping Ginny on the shoulder. Ginny cringed as a flash of pain flared up her right arm, but Tonks did not seem to notice.

“Keep up the good work, Ginny,” she said, bouncing excitedly towards the door. On her way, she knocked two more books onto the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?”

Tonks did not wait for an answer. She bounded out the door, crashing into someone who was passing by in the hallway. Ginny heard their yells from behind the many stacks of papers.

“Bye, Tonks,” She said, shaking her head with a smile and turning back to her work.

~*~

For Harry, recovery came slowly and painfully; but gradually, it did come. The Death Eaters asked no questions about where he had been while he was in Godric’s Hollow. They remained completely silent, in fact, on the entire subject. Harry found it oddly disconcerting that he was not being punished for his actions, however the silence did have its advantages. Without the constant interruptions of being brought to Bellatrix’s office, Harry began to formulate a plan. Usually, it was Hermione who did the thinking, but Harry was the only one who held all the aces in the deck. Informing Hermione of his entire plan would be endangering her. If he had not been the instigator of this escape, he would know too much himself already.

As his mind twisted and turned, Harry began to take mental notes of every day running of the Hogwarts Prison. He timed how long it took until there was a change of guard for him, Ron, and Hermione. He watched the Death Eaters patrol the hallways. He listened to the other Houses talking; remembering every fight, every tension between two friends, and every rivalry. He needed to know everything about everyone in order to save the students. It was a lesson he had learned from Ron in chess: play on each other’s strengths. And that was exactly what he planned to do. 

~*~

The days passed and the horrors of Halloween slowly shrunk away from the castle walls. Most of the students forgot about the screams and the fire of that night, save a few. Harry was among them; Hermione had admitted to the fact that he would have troubles with his shoulder as he grew older because of the injury. His memory was as fresh as ever each time his arm twanged painfully. And the unmarked graves of the sacrificed students, now dug up by forest creatures to be devoured, were constant reminders to their friends of those that they had lost.

The air grew even colder than before and at night, most of the prisoners would huddle together for warmth as they slept; for there were no roaring hearths, fuzzy blankets, or new jackets and sweaters. They had to make do with what they had, which was not much.

By the end of November, however, Harry found himself still locked in and without a firm plan as to how to escape. And the Death Eaters were becoming more and more violent as their patience wore thin.

“Move it, scumbag,” snarled a Death Eater close to Harry’s side. Harry sent the man an appraising glance as he walked carefully down the staircase, which was soaked with rainwater that had been dragged inside by a few guards. The marble squeaked beneath Harry’s ragged and ancient shoes that were already too small for him. He had been wearing these same shoes since his sixth year. He had meant to buy new ones the first Hogsmeade weekend, but there had never been a chance, as the Hogwarts Express was already chugging down its doomed tracks towards imprisonment. The soles of the shoes were worn out and easily let in the water and Harry had no desire to slip and fall. He continued at his wary pace as the guards escorted him and Ron down to the Great Hall for the meager portion of food they called dinner.

“I said move it!” roared the Death Eater guard, who obviously did not want to get reprimanded by one of his betters for being late. Harry ignored him, even though he knew that it would cost him. With a growl, the man cuffed him on the side of his head, sending Harry spinning. He landed exactly where he had not wanted to: his head slamming against the frozen stone floor, water soaking the only clothes he had. A warm trickle of blood snuck down the nape of his neck and Harry put his fingers to the back of his head, then brought the bright red color in front of his face and frowned. Blood?

Above him, Ron struggled against Dolohov, trying to reach his friend. Harry’s guard heaved him to his feet and shook him roughly.

“Get up, ye useless whelp,” the Death Eater said in a gruff voice. “Back in the old days, a boy got injured and couldn’t take care of himself, and the tribe would kill him. No good having a person who can’t provide for himself. Now. Are you alright? Or do we have to get rid of ye?”

Harry gritted his teeth, wiping the cut on his head with the edge of his sleeve. “I’m fine.” He snapped. He tore his arm out of the man’s grasp and strode purposely down the stairs and into the Great Hall. Something fell out of his pocket with a soft clatter, but he disregarded it. His guard wordlessly followed, while behind him, Dolohov was dragging Ron as his friend spouted out a few chosen words to the Death Eaters.

Harry sat down tiredly at his usual seat at the Gryffindor table, across from Hermione. Ron was shoved down beside him and the other Gryffindors inched away discreetly, attempting to avoid attention from the trio’s personal guards that took their standard posts behind them.

Hermione smiled sadly at the two of them. Ron scowled and sent a glare over his shoulder towards Dolohov.

“Prat,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Weasley?”

“Nothing, sir,” Ron said through gritted teeth. “Just commenting on how nice the weather is.”

Harry glanced up at the Great Hall’s artificial sky. It was gloomy and congested with heavy clouds that emitted downpours of imaginary rain onto the students. The guard must have recognized the sarcasm and gave Ron another shove.

“Next time you comment on the weather, I’ll be commenting at your funeral. Understand?” He chuckled to himself and Ron stared fixedly at his plate of bread and cheese.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. Harry recognized this strange show of submission as something to be reckoned with, for Ron rarely gave in to the Death Eaters. Hermione’s eyes hardened.

“Ron,” she whispered into the dull murmuring of the other students. “Ron, look at me.” Ron slowly raised his eyes to meet Hermione’s. “I love you,” She whispered. “I love you, all right?”

Harry turned away from this open show of affection. Ron’s cheeks burned red with pleasure and he smiled. Although Harry approved of Hermione’s method of soothing Ron’s temper, it made him uncomfortable thinking that he was intruding on a special piece of their lives that he was not a part of.

There was suddenly a loud crash and a roar from outside the Great Hall. Immediately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s guards rushed towards the sound, leaving the entire Hall unsupervised. Harry shared a look with Ron before leaping to his feet and quickly making his way towards the Hufflepuff table. He crashed into a spot beside Ernie MacMillan, giving him a vague smile.

“Harry,” Ernie said in a subdued voice. Harry could hear a layer of panic beneath his usual boisterous tone. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Harry whispered, glancing around to make sure not too many people were listening. The commotion outside the doors continued. “This is important, Ernie, listen—”

“Merlin’s beard, Harry,” Ernie gasped. “What happened to your head?”

Harry put a hand to the back of his head again, feeling the slick dripping of blood and grimaced. “It’s nothing, never mind about that. Ernie, I need your help.”

“My help?” Ernie repeated incredulously. His eyes were slightly glazed with fear. “Harry, you shouldn’t be here. The guards will be back at any moment.”

“Ernie!” Harry insisted urgently. “Listen to me and focus: I’m doing it. I’m going to get us out of here.”

“What?” Ernie exclaimed in a loud voice. Harry grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him down so that he was close to Harry’s face. A few Hufflepuff’s looked curiously over at the pair, but then ignored them. Staying out of trouble was a talent many students had acquired in the recent months.

“Shut it,” Harry hissed. “Listen, all right? When the time comes, I’m going to need your help. I’m going to need the DA to reform, with everyone in your house.”

“Harry,” Ernie said weakly. “My house, they don’t like to fight—”

“They either fight and escape, or sit out and die,” Harry said rather coldly. “I assure you that once the rest of us escape, the Death Eaters won’t wait here and bide their time. They’ll kill the rest of you and move off before the Ministry can break through the defenses they’ve built.”

“But Harry,” Ernie whispered, glancing around again. Harry did the same. The guards were still dealing with the distraction outside the Hall. “How do you expect to break out? We don’t even have our wands and the wards have never been broken before. That’s Dark magic out there—”

“Never mind how,” Harry said impatiently. “The important thing is when. Will you help me?”

Ernie stared helplessly at his friend, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. The doors to the Great Hall began to open and Harry jumped out of his temporary seat, hurrying back to the Gryffindor table. He would rather not get an answer than be caught talking to another House.

“Yes, Harry!” Ernie suddenly burst out from behind him. “Yes!”

Satisfied, Harry slid into the bench just as his guard came around the corner with a furious blaze in his eyes.

“All right, Potter,” he roared. “Out with it! What did you do?”

“What?” Harry asked, pasting a mixture of innocence and confusion onto his face. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that look!” the Death Eater bellowed. “How’d you do it?” The Gryffindors beside Harry looked positively alarmed. The rest of the Hall craned their necks to discover the cause for the shouting. On his left, Ron began to snicker and Hermione’s eyebrows were arched like a cat’s with apprehension.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry said calmly. With a snarl that rang throughout the entire Hall, the Death Eater grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to the wide doors—which he thrust open wide.

“THAT!” howled the guard. “HOW IN MERLIN’S NAME DID THAT HAPPEN?”

His shaking finger pointed towards the large swamp that had crept along the edges of the Entrance Hall. The murky waters had trapped several Death Eaters and held a rank smell that clogged up Harry’s nose. Behind him, he could hear the soft laughing of all the other students in the Great Hall.

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry said with a grin. He glanced over at the discarded metal canister of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes that had dropped out of his pocket moments ago (it would banish itself ten minutes after activation). “But apparently there’s a leak.”

~**~

Chapter Navigation:

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0. Prologue1. Living with the Enemy2. The Truth Hurts3: Brewing Plots4: Festival of Horror5: Mixed Emotions6: Painful Healing7: Death's Favourite Victim8. Reforming the D.A.9. Airshafts10. Visitors11. Close Shaves

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