Chapter 1: Ginny and the Snitch

"Hey, Harry! I'm heading back to the castle. You coming?"

Above the Quidditch pitch, Harry looked around from his Firebolt and saw Ron flying towards him. He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "You go ahead. I want to stay out here a bit longer."

It was a beautiful evening late in May of their sixth year. The sun shone red on the horizon, and a cool breeze swept through Harry's hair. Ron grinned at him.

"Well, don't be too late. Or else I might have to give you a detention, you know," he smirked, indicating his Prefect badge.

"More like Hermione would give him detention, don't you think?" spoke up Ginny, smiling slightly as she pulled up next to Harry on her broom. "And then you could put her in detention, too." Ron looked flabbergasted.

"Give her a detention?" he sputtered, appearing shocked at the very idea. "What, for putting homework over Quidditch? I mean, I know she's mental about that stuff--"

"For abusing her authority," Ginny said, "in punishing Harry too harshly."

Harry snorted at this. It was true that he should have been in the common room revising for his exams, which were due to start in a few weeks. He was worried about Potions in particular, as Snape's NEWT-level class was far more difficult than any year previous. Snape himself had achieved an all-time level of vindictive unfairness, as he had been supremely annoyed that Harry had managed to place into the class, and it was only through extremely persistent and meticulous work that Harry had been able to keep up at all.

With the workload so overwhelming, he and Ron had decided to take the evening off completely, opting to play Quidditch instead, and Ginny had joined them. Hermione, of course, had elected to remain in the library.

"Yeah right," said Ron, shaking his head. "We really did need a night off. Honestly, you'd think we're throwing away our futures, just having fun for once . . ."

He trailed off, shrugging. "Well, I'm off. We've got a prefect meeting in half an hour. Hermione would probably curse me if I missed it," he said. "See you later, mate."

"Later," called Harry, as Ron descended to the ground and began to walk back towards the castle. Harry watched him go for a moment, then turned his broom in midair to face Ginny, who was still hovering next to him, her hair swaying gently in the wind. "How late do you want to stay out?" he asked.

"Not too late," Ginny replied with a small sigh. "I really should look at my Transfiguration notes before I go to bed, at least. What with the OWLs coming up, and all." Harry nodded, remembering all too clearly the craze that had been OWL revision.

They spent the next ten minutes playing with the Quaffle, flying about the pitch and tossing it around. Ginny seemed to enjoy throwing him exceptionally difficult passes, and he was having to work very hard to catch it each time.

"What was that?" demanded Harry, glaring at her as he returned from an especially steep dive after the Quaffle, which she had apparently hurled as far from him as she possibly could.

"Just making sure our star Seeker stays on his toes," Ginny said with a grin.

"Oh yeah? We'll see how you do catching the Snitch against me," Harry shot back, struggling to hide his own smile.

He was baiting her, not really expecting her to take him up on it, as they both knew who was the better Seeker, but to his surprise Ginny merely raised an eyebrow and said, "You're on. But you'd better give it your damnedest, because I know I will be!"

Harry laughed at that, and flew down to retrieve the Golden Snitch from the crate of Quidditch balls on the ground. He marvelled at how unfazed she was by his challenge. But then, nothing seemed to faze her anymore, he mused, as he returned the Quaffle to its place. Ginny had become quite a strong and capable girl in the time he had known her. He thought suddenly of how she had been when he had first seen her at the Burrow, back before his second year, and was amazed by how much she had changed since then.

But then, I barely knew her, he thought, and she never talked in front of me. Maybe she hasn't really changed at all. Harry found himself wishing she had talked in front of him earlier, for he had never really known what a fun person she was to be around until this year.

Then he remembered why it was that she had never talked in front of him, and his insides gave a sudden jolt.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are we going to do this, or are you going to sit there staring all day?" she asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

Harry flushed, realising that he had been staring at her with the Snitch clutched in his hand for some time. Mentally shaking himself, he mounted his broom and flew back up to her, casting her an appraising eye. "We're doing it--if you're sure you're up to facing the star Seeker," he told her with a cheeky grin. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Careful, Harry, or your broom won't be able to move with that fat head on it," she said coolly. Harry felt a stab of worry--surely she didn't think him arrogant?

Then she smiled, and immediately his fears were disarmed. He held up the Snitch. "We'll give it a ten-second head start, then," he said, and Ginny nodded. He released the Snitch, counted aloud to ten, and then they were off.

Harry had half-expected her to follow him, in hope of deflecting him from the Snitch once it had been spotted, but Ginny did no such thing. Instead she tore off in the opposite direction, circling the goalposts before soaring away to sweep the middle of the pitch. Clearly she was intent on finding it entirely on her own. Several times she darted by him with a grin, and Harry felt his heart beat faster. He wondered if she were trying deliberately to distract him.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, a sudden movement caught Harry's eye--he turned to see Ginny diving at high speed in a nearly vertical plunge towards the ground, her brilliant red hair trailing behind her as she went. She had seen the Snitch! Quickly he leaned low on his Firebolt and sped down after her, his fringe flattened back over his head.

He could just see a tiny shimmer of gold just over the ground. Ginny was closing in on the Snitch. He urged his Firebolt onward, and the wind rushed through his hair as he swept towards his quarry. Soon he was pulling even with her. The Snitch was right in front of his face--he reached out to grab it--

From out of nowhere, a hand reached in front of his face, and his own hand was knocked away. "What the--?" he started, swerving wildly to avoid a collision, nearly unseated from his broom. He turned his head to see Ginny alongside him--and she was firmly grasping the struggling Snitch.

Harry stared at her in shock. Ginny smirked at him. "If you want the Snitch, Harry, you'll have to come and get it!" she called cheerfully over her shoulder, as she zoomed away across the pitch at high speed.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare after her, completely floored by her audacity. Then a grin spread over his face. Well, two can play at this game, he thought. With his Firebolt's superior speed and manoeuvrability, he ought to be able catch her in seconds . . . He leaned forward and sped after her.

She saw him coming, of course, and must have known she couldn't match him. But a moment later he was surprised to see that she was leaving the Quidditch pitch entirely--and heading directly for the Forbidden Forest. Harry hesitated, then flew after her. What was she doing? Was she really willing to risk a detention, and possibly worse, just for the sake of their competition?

Suddenly he realised that she was no longer in his sight. Where had she disappeared to? He inhaled sharply, shivering with a rising sense of alarm and worry. It would be getting dark soon; it wasn't safe in the forest, and they had to be getting back to the castle. There was no sign of Ginny. Where was she?

There--he spotted her, weaving through the trees to his right. The look of challenge on her face drove all thoughts of worry from his mind, and he tore after her in pursuit. Ginny cut her altitude, dodging quickly between the large branches nearer the ground. The Firebolt's speed was becoming a disadvantage in the confined space of the forest--there was almost no manoeuvring room at all. Thought she'd play tricky, did she? Well, he could do that . . . he'd surprise her . . .

He angled his broom down and away from her to skim along the forest floor. Ginny slowed, looking around to see where he had gone. As her eyes found his, he aimed the Firebolt right towards her and sped upwards. They were going to collide--

Wide-eyed, Ginny tried to move out of the way, but Harry changed course to follow her with lightning speed. Soon he was right next to her, and he reached out to grab her, his arm encircling her waist. But in doing so he had overextended himself . . . and even as Ginny shrieked in surprise and tried to pull away, he slid too far, reflexively tightening his grip on her, and the two of them went plummeting from their brooms to the forest floor below.

It was not a long drop, fortunately, or they might have broken their necks. But even so, they hit the ground with a thud and went rolling, both of them laughing aloud at the sheer absurdity of it all--and coming painfully to a halt against the trunk of a large tree. He soon became aware that he was lying directly on top of Ginny, her hand clutched in his; he could feel the Snitch beating its wings uselessly against their grips. Harry found himself looking into her eyes. She was breathing rather heavily, and there was a small cut on the side of her face.

"You caught me," she whispered, gazing up at him, her brown eyes shining with a light he had not seen before. Her hair was dishevelled and tangled with leaves, and her face was smudged with dirt, yet Harry thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. His breath caught in his throat.

"Yeah," he said softly, his voice sounding odd in his ears. He continued to stare at her, increasingly aware of her breath fluttering lightly on his face, of her heart beating rapidly against his, of the way her lips were parted . . . A low murmur escaped him, and his head was slowly lowering towards hers . . .

"So, you just making yourself comfortable, then?" she asked. Her tone was teasing, but her voice was breathless and tinged with something else Harry could not identify. He started at her words.

"Oh, err, sorry," he mumbled, suddenly realising how awkward their position was. Slowly, and somewhat clumsily, he pushed himself up and off her, moving to sit with his back against the tree they had crashed into. Ginny groaned softly, getting unsteadily to her feet and perching tentatively on a tree root by his side.

"So, erm," Harry said uncomfortably, not really knowing what to say. He could not recall ever feeling so awkward around her before--not like this.

"Harry, I . . ." she trailed off, not meeting his gaze. A faint blush had appeared on her cheeks. Harry cleared his throat.

"Ginny, I shouldn't have--" he began, but she cut him off.

"It's all right, Harry," she said quietly, looking at him with a faint smile. "It's my fault, really; I wasn't thinking about what I was doing." Her smile widened slightly, and she put her hand in his; she was still holding the Snitch.

Harry smiled back at her. "So who won, then?" he asked, and Ginny laughed.

"I guess we'll call it a tie," she answered. "Since we both got it."

"What is it with you and catching the Snitch from under people's noses, anyway? I mean, you did it twice last year--"

Ginny giggled. "I guess I just see things that other people don't."

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you can't see things too well when they're under your nose, can you?"

He chuckled at this. "I guess not." He smiled, regarding her thoughtfully. Under your nose . . .

A silence descended over them, punctuated by the call of an animal somewhere in the forest. Ginny moved to sit closer to him. "Well, I'm exhausted from all this flying. I guess we can wait a bit to head back. It's not like Ron will miss us, anyway. Not when he's got Hermione to occupy him." She shook her head.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"The way those two argue sometimes, it drives me mad. I almost wish they'd just snog and have done--then maybe they'd shut up for a while."

"What?" Harry sputtered in surprise. What was she talking about? Hermione and Ron, snogging? The idea was crazy, but--

"Harry, don't tell me you've never seen the way they look at each other these days. In between the arguments, that is," she added, rolling her eyes.

"Hmm," he said vaguely, frowning. It was extremely odd, and more than a little disturbing, to think of his best friends in that context. But now that she mentioned it . . . they had seemed increasingly comfortable around each other all year, with Ron backing off some of the teasing about homework and Viktor Krum, and Hermione rarely calling him pathetic or insensitive. Their arguments had become less frequent, but tended to be all the more intense when they did occur. He supposed an attraction between them made sense, in a way, though if anything did happen it would certainly take some getting used to.

"So are they the topic for all the Gryffindor girl gossip?" Harry asked.

Ginny snorted. "Not really. Not that I would know--I'm not big on gossip."

"You've probably heard more than I have. I mean, well, you know more girls than I do," he finished, a bit awkwardly.

"Oh, so you want me to give you the low-down on all the gossip I've heard?" she asked with a wicked smile. "All the cute blokes, and all that?"

"Erm . . ."

"Well," she said brightly, ignoring his less-than-enthusiastic response, "lots of girls fancy Dean Thomas. Only he doesn't know it," she giggled. "Because they're all younger than he is, and they don't actually talk to him."

"Dean?" Harry gulped. He had seen her hanging out with Dean sometimes, but that had been a long time ago, and he wasn't sure what exactly had come of it, if anything.

A briefly raised eyebrow was the only sign that Ginny had noticed his discomfort. "And then there's Neville," she went on, not losing stride. "Luna told me she has a bit of a thing for him. But he doesn't have a clue--imagine what he'd do if he found out." Harry laughed slightly in spite of himself, for Neville's reaction would certainly be interesting. Luna was a bit, well . . . out there.

"And then," said Ginny in a conspiratorial whisper, pausing dramatically, "there's Professor Snape."

"WHAT!" Harry ejaculated, staring at her in utmost shock. "Snape? That's . . ." he trailed off.

"Horrible? I know," she laughed. "Katie Bell told me she had a dream about snogging him in detention last year. Just imagine," she said, adopting a lovesick voice, "'O Professor, that greasy hair is so sexy. Won't you let me run my fingers through it, Professor?'" She broke off in a peal of laughter, then added, "I bet he's even got grease on his--"

"Ginny!" Harry burst out, snorting in laughter himself. "I didn't need to hear that. I'll never be able to look at him the same way again."

Ginny grinned. "Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "You asked."

"Did not!"

She ignored this. "I doubt even the giant squid would want to kiss him in real life," she said with a shudder.

Harry shook his head at this, but then he paused. The giant squid . . .

He looked away. Suddenly it didn't seem so funny anymore.

A slight breeze swept over them, and he shifted, uncomfortably aware of how close they were sitting. A vague but unmistakable tension had come between them. Part of him felt a desire to be alone, but he didn't move.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Ginny asked uncertainly, breaking the awkward silence. When he did not reply, she went on, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable--"

"It's not that," he cut her off.

"What is it, then?" She was regarding him intently, a guarded look on her face.

"It's nothing," he told her brusquely, his irritation rising. Couldn't she see he didn't want to talk about it--?

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Rubbish," she said, her voice suddenly forceful. "Don't give me that. I'm only asking if I can help. But if you're going to be rude--" She made to get up from her seat next to him.

Harry let out a breath, holding up a hand to silence her. "I'm sorry," he said, and Ginny slowly sat back down, waiting for him to continue. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that . . ." He trailed off, frowning, wondering how much he should tell her.

"What?" she asked quietly, looking at him with concern, all trace of anger gone from her voice. Harry took a deep breath.

"Last year, during Occlumency lessons, I . . . found out some things," he began. "Things about Snape. He--he had a rough time of it when he was younger. My father--I've always known they hated each other, but until last year I didn't know just how much of it was my dad's fault. He and Sirius, they . . . pushed him around a lot. Just because they could. I mean, Snape was a berk back then, too, but . . ." He swallowed uncomfortably. It was difficult to talk about this.

Ginny's eyes widened in comprehension. "Is that why Snape doesn't like you? Because he hated your dad for . . . pushing him around?" Harry nodded.

She was silent for a moment. "Well, I didn't know any of that. I guess it makes it a bit easier to understand why he turned out how he did. But still, you can't deny he's ridiculous to hold a grudge against you for something that happened before you were even born."

"I know," sighed Harry. "I mean, they really gave him a hard time, and I know what it's like to be humiliated--but he's still the most horrible git I've ever met. Dunno how I'd have ever got through Potions this year if I didn't know Occlumency."

"It's weird, to find out that Sirius did that sort of thing as a kid," Ginny said pensively. "I knew he and Snape didn't like each other, but I never knew why." She paused a moment, then went on, "And it must have been hard for you, to find that out about your dad--"

"Yeah," Harry said, heavily. "But I guess . . . I don't know. Sirius always said how much I'm like my dad--that used to make me feel proud, but now . . . I don't know . . .

"But Sirius told me they were just being immature, normal really, for their age." He sighed again, glancing away from her. "I guess I can kind of see what he meant--I mean, I wasn't very mature last year, was I--"

"No," she smiled, laying a hand on his arm. "But you're still a good person. And you always have been," she added, and somehow he couldn't help but smile back. "So there's no reason why your dad and Sirius weren't good people too. They grew up, eventually."

"That's what he and Professor Lupin told me," Harry said thoughtfully. "I guess I didn't really understand--at least, not as well. I was really upset, then."

Ginny gave him a shrewd glance. "Was that when you wanted to talk to him so badly last year?" she asked, and he nodded. Suddenly he remembered.

"You helped me with that, last year. You told Fred and George that I needed help. I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

Ginny smiled slightly and looked him in the eye. "You don't need to thank me, Harry," she said softly. "I'll always be ready to help you."

For a few seconds she held his gaze, her eyes full of warmth and understanding. Then, moving to sit even closer, she gently laid her head on his shoulder, her long hair spilling onto his robes. Harry hesitated, then slowly put his arm around her. Ginny did not protest, and he relaxed, a feeling of peace and contentment running through him.

A comfortable silence fell. Around them it was quickly growing darker, but Harry barely noticed, for his thoughts were occupied entirely with the beautiful girl sitting next to him.

Part of him could scarcely believe he was here with her like this. Certainly he had not imagined, when he had first begun to see her as more than just Ron's sister, that he would come to feel this way about her. Due to the work and schedule conflicts of their respective OWL- and NEWT-level classes, and Harry's extra lessons with Dumbledore, they had not been able to be alone together very often; as a result, moments like this were all the more precious to him, for he had come to look forward to spending time with her. Their friendship was new and exciting; strong and yet so different from the way he felt about Ron and Hermione.

And so different, too, from the way he had felt about Cho.

The realisation that he had moved beyond considering her a friend and into something else entirely thrilled and excited him. Yet he was also filled with doubt and unease; for he had never broached the subject with her directly, and had no idea how to go about doing that. While he hadn't been paying much attention at the time, the memory of a conversation with Hermione in Hogsmeade last year had stayed with him: Ginny had been going out with that Michael Corner bloke, having given up on Harry ever being interested in her, which was why she no longer blushed or became mute in his presence. Never having been particularly close to her to begin with, he hadn't really noticed at first; and with other matters on his mind, had hardly given it a second thought.

Now, though . . .

He grimaced, his mind filled with the horrible clarity of hindsight. He'd been making such a fuss over Cho that until Ron's misguided attempt at matchmaking before the Yule Ball, he hadn't even considered going with Ginny--at which point it must have become obvious to her that he would never reciprocate her feelings. Of course she would have given up on him after that mess! While she'd certainly never showed any inclination to hold it against him, it seemed unlikely she would ever think of him in a romantic context again. She'd long since focused her attention elsewhere . . . and now here he was, two years later, starting to think of her as much more than just a friend? Brilliant, such brilliant timing I've got, he thought.

Beside him, Ginny stirred slightly as a breeze caught her hair; he could feel it tickling his face. She felt pleasantly warm against him. He took a deep breath, and thought he heard her give a soft sigh.

But did his timing really matter? Harry knew that she was not indifferent to him. If their current position was any indication, she enjoyed his company very much indeed . . .

As he recalled lying on top of her after they had fallen from their brooms, he was startled to realise just how much he was attracted to her. Ginny was so beautiful, and he had been about to kiss her . . . and he thought she had felt his presence, too. Her heart had been hammering against his, her voice low and breathless, her skin flushed with anticipation--she had definitely felt something. It was an exciting thought . . . and a frightening one.

He shifted slightly in discomfort, unconsciously hugging her closer; tried to relax as Ginny made a small noise in her throat. Had it merely been their proximity that caused her to respond to him earlier? Or was there more to it than that?

And if she did still have feelings for him--what then? He had to admit to himself that he had little idea what a real romance was supposed to involve. He thought of all the couples he had seen in Hogsmeade, recalled his own woefully inept efforts with Cho--was it really worth that sort of hassle? Did Hogsmeade dates and valentines even matter? Silently he cursed the expectations and rituals of the dating world. He didn't need that sort of thing to be happy with Ginny--the two of them could laugh and have fun no matter what they were doing, even if it was just sitting here in the forest. Wasn't that what really mattered? Harry thought it was; and yet, he thought he wanted more than that. Would it be worth the risk to tell her how he felt?

Was anything worth the risk, with Voldemort around, and the threat of death always looming over them?

"Harry!" A loud voice cut through the silence. He jumped, startled, and looked around for the source of the interruption. It was not hard to find.

"What do yeh think yer doin' out here?" boomed Hagrid, towering over them as he approached. Fang came trotting along beside him, making a beeline for Harry and licking his face affectionately. Harry tried to push him off. "An' you too, Ginny! The forest's not a safe place for yeh to be! What would yeh've done if a ruddy centaur'd found yeh here?"

"Er, sorry Hagrid," Harry said quickly. "We didn't mean to be here, we just--"

"All right, all right, hold yer thestrals! I'm not givin' yeh detention or nothin'. But yeh'd better get straight back ter the castle, it's after yer curfew."

Harry looked at his watch and was startled to realise that it was well after ten o'clock; he'd lost track of how much time they'd spent in the forest. He and Ginny reluctantly got to their feet, and, after retrieving their brooms with the Summoning Charm, followed Hagrid to the edge of the forest and to the castle.

"I don' fancy yer chances with that idiot Filch at this hour," said Hagrid, shaking his head as they came to the Entrance Hall, "so I'll be takin' yeh back ter the common room."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, sighing inwardly. He would probably not get to be alone with Ginny again until after exams, as they both had massive amounts of revising ahead of them. And then he would have only another week until he had to go back to the Dursleys--unless he could talk to her without interruption in the common room.

They were fortunate in that they did not encounter Filch on the way there, as Harry would not have put it past the increasingly spiteful caretaker to try to give them detention, even with Hagrid there to cover for them. But no sooner had they set foot in the common room than they were accosted by Hermione, who seemed particularly distressed that they had been out so late.

"Where have you been, playing Quidditch all this time?" she demanded. "I'm surprised Filch didn't give you detention--goodness knows you'd deserve it. It's not safe to be out so late. Ginny you have your OWLs to think of--"

"Hermione," Ron said, quietly interrupting Hermione's breakneck telling-off speech, "Give it a rest. They're back, and they're all right. It's not like they went wandering around in the forest or anything."

Ginny and Harry exchanged uncomfortable looks at this. Hermione was watching them, a shrewd expression on her face.

"Have you been in the forest?" she asked, eying Ginny's dishevelled and leaf-ridden hair. "What were you doing in there?"

"Just a short detour to chase after a Snitch that got away," said Ginny smoothly. She wasn't quite lying, Harry reflected, but stretching the truth considerably.

Hermione huffed in displeasure. Fortunately, however, she did not pursue the subject further.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to do any work tonight," Ginny said with a yawn. "Too tired. Think I'll head up to bed."

"Er, all right then," Harry said. "Have a good sleep. I'll see you later."

"Good night," said Ginny, smiling. She walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitories and out of sight; Harry watched her go.

Harry didn't think he'd be able to do any work tonight either, but not only because he was tired. He took a seat next to Ron, who looked at him curiously and asked, "What's going on with you and my sister, anyway?"

"What?" Harry said, startled. Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy chart to listen in. "Er, nothing, really. We just--"

"Find it romantic to go flying through the forest late at night?" interrupted Ron with a grin.

"Romantic?" cut in Hermione. "But Harry doesn't--" She paused, a rather keen look in her eye. "Do you?"

Harry grimaced in chagrin. Am I really so obvious? he wondered.

Deciding he didn't want to be questioned, Harry stood and said abruptly, "I'm going to bed, see you tomorrow," and walked swiftly to the stairs, trying to ignore the looks of disappointment on their faces. A part of him knew he should not have been short with his friends, but he didn't really want to discuss that sort of thing with them. He didn't need their advice! There weren't any details to give them, anyway. Nothing had happened . . . Unless you count lying on top of her and nearly kissing her, he thought.

He could hear Neville snoring faintly as he entered his dormitory. Feeling exhausted but somehow restless, Harry changed and got into bed, his mind still on Ginny and their evening together.

Though there hadn't been many of them, moments like he and Ginny had shared tonight, with just the two of them alone, had begun to assume a greater importance to him over the past months. When he was with her, he felt happy--exhilarated even--in a way that went far beyond mere swooping feelings in his stomach or absurd impulses to show off. Conversation with her, whether serious or light-hearted, was comfortable and engaging. As time had passed, and he'd become more at ease with her, he'd begun to tell her things, even some of his innermost thoughts and feelings, which until recently he would never have dreamed of sharing with anyone.

Strangely enough, their shared confidence had stemmed in part from something that isolated them both from everyone: their experiences with Lord Voldemort.

For some time after Sirius' death, Harry had been in no shape to confide in anyone. Despite the efforts of others to keep him from pulling away, he'd found himself becoming increasingly cold and withdrawn, still prone to outbursts of anger, but confused and infinitely tired. In the face of the knowledge that he was a marked man, many things that had once been important to him had seemed hollow and empty. His feelings of loneliness and isolation had become a constant companion, a cold, twisted comfort to which he'd clung, mired with an inescapable destiny he could share with no one.

Over the summer he had begun to notice Ginny a bit more; his attention driven, perhaps, by the fact that she had accompanied him and the others to the Department of Mysteries. The unexpected force with which she had argued for her inclusion in that group, and her statement that she cared what happened to Sirius as much as he did, were not something easily forgotten. Early in the school year he would talk to her sometimes--for reasons he didn't really understand at first--after Quidditch practice or in the common room when no one else was around. He found that he liked talking with her, discovering slowly that she was a good listener and that they could be comfortable alone with each other. He didn't always get to see her very often, but a shared smile in the corridors or a laugh over dinner could sometimes do wonders to improve his mood.

From his lessons with Dumbledore, Harry soon began to achieve success in learning Occlumency, the consistent practice of which helped him establish a level of control over his emotions. But the temptation to use this ability to permanantly block out his painful feelings was very great, and often in his early training he succumbed to it; only to find that it had the unpleasant effect of dulling his overall emotional state while disproportionately increasing his sense of isolation. It hadn't taken him long to recognise that something was wrong with this, but for a long time he had done nothing, stubbornly pretending that he was fine, to the point that he almost believed it. Such a state could not last forever, though, and in the weeks before Christmas he'd found himself talking with Ginny more often, and at length. Inevitably the subject of their trip to the Ministry of Magic had come up, and to his surprise talking about Sirius with her was much easier than he would have expected it to be.

Eventually, when his feelings of loneliness got to be too much, he had begun to seek her out.

Their newfound sense of connection made it possible for him to help her recover after the traumatic events that had taken place over the holidays . . . and it was in part because of this, because he had reached out to her and forced himself to think of her pain, her grief, and not only his own, that he had felt comfortable including her when he finally told his friends about the Prophecy a few weeks into the new term. Though clearly horrified, Ginny's reaction to the news had been surprisingly subdued; much later, in private, she'd told him that in a way she'd suspected this all along, ever since he'd saved her in her first year. It was then that the name of Tom Riddle was first spoken between them since they'd emerged from the Chamber of Secrets.

To hear her speak of the incident at length had been an astounding experience. The fact that she trusted him enough to talk about it was incredible to him, and her perspective on the events even more so. Looking back, he wondered why he hadn't seen it all along--Ginny too had been faced with a terrible evil at a young age. Lonely and misunderstood, she'd poured out her heart and her soul into Riddle's diary, and endured his torment and abuse for months. Her body and her mind had become totally and frightfully his, and she'd been forced to do terrible things against her will, but she had resisted, had fought Riddle with all her strength to the bitter end, even as she'd known she was going to die. Learning of her continued difficulty trusting people, and of the guilt that had long incapacitated her and made her doubt her own judgement, made it much easier to relate his feelings about what had happened at the Ministry of Magic the year before, and to see how similar his and Ginny's past experiences really were.

As the year went on, their unexpected friendship had grown. In Ginny, he found such warmth and caring as he had never known before, and it amazed him. She had helped him to open up with his emotions, and it gave him immense satisfaction that she was able to confide in him, as well. He had even taught her some of the basics of Occlumency, in order to help her cope with the lingering voice of Tom Riddle that could still sometimes haunt her dreams. Doing so had improved his own skills, and helped him to see that clearing one's mind was not such a violent concept as he'd imagined--that it was not so much about creating a wall or shield around the mind, but of quieting those parts of the mind that gave rise to unwanted thoughts.

Again he found himself recalling how beautiful she had been tonight, and how peaceful he'd felt as they sat together in the forest. He knew that what he felt for her was something very special; never in all his life could he recall being as happy, or longing to be with someone so badly as he did now. He cursed the upcoming exams, wishing they could have more time before he had to go back to the Dursleys. Then he remembered there was a Hogsmeade visit the last weekend of term. He could have all day with her then, and they could do anything they liked. The thought excited him, and he found himself thinking of what all the things he wanted to do with her . . . He reflected that Ginny would probably curse him into the next century if he even suggested taking her to Madam Puddifoot's, and he snorted aloud at the thought of it.

"What are you laughing at?" he heard Ron ask. Harry was startled; he had not heard Ron enter the room. He stuck his head out through the curtains of his four-poster.

"Er, just imagining force-feeding Snape some Puking Pastilles," he invented hastily. "That stupid essay on human blood use is going to kill me." He winced slightly in memory.

Ron chuckled grimly. "No kidding. The git deserves whatever we send his way for assigning that essay. Even Hermione's having trouble with it."

Harry shook his head at this, feeling suddenly rather contrite. "Um, Ron? Look, about earlier--I'm sorry I walked out on you--"

Ron cut him off. "S'all right, mate, don't worry about it. As long as you treat my sister right, that is," he added with a grin a moment later. Harry groaned softly.

"I'm serious, there's nothing going on to tell you about." Not yet, anyway.

Ron looked away from him. Harry thought he seemed uncomfortable.

"Do you want there to be?"

"Erm . . ." Harry faltered. What to say? he wondered.

"It's okay with me if you do," Ron said quietly, glancing back at him, though it was hard to see his face. Harry nodded his thanks.

"Do you mind discussing your love lives some place else?" came Dean's irritated voice from across the room. "I'm trying to sleep here."

"Sorry, mate," said Ron, moving to climb into his own bed.

"Night," said Harry, shutting the curtains. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

He was flying through the forest on his Firebolt, following something. But what it was, he could not make out. It was moving at high speed, weaving effortlessly through the trees, and it was emitting a brilliant red glow. He thought he could hear a faint music from up ahead, but it was indistinct.

It was getting colder . . . all around him was being swallowed up in blackness . . . he urged his Firebolt onwards, but he was slowing down . . . he was falling from his broom . . . the ground was rushing up to meet him . . .

The red glow was coming back towards him now, growing brighter and brighter, and Harry dared to feel hope. His descent was slowing . . . he could see something else approaching along the ground, a bright green light . . . it seemed to be hissing at him . . . the green light and the red light met him just as he hit the ground, and there was a brilliant flash of silvery-white . . .

He stood in a dimly lit room, illuminated only by a brace of candles along one wall. He looked down from his considerable height at the hooded man kneeling before him.

"You are sure of this?" he asked, his voice cold, but not entirely suppressing a growing excitement. Something he had long sought might soon be in reach again . . .

"Yes, My Lord," said the man, averting his eyes from Harry's face. "My son may be slightly biased where Potter is concerned, but his words were quite clear. He cannot abide their presence. Even one may cause him to faint almost immediately."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Surely the old fool will have told him by now. You have done well to tell me this, Lucius," he said, regarding his long, white fingers with some interest. "We will need to plan our attempt carefully. Your son may be of further use to us . . . Very well, you may go. Send Wormtail to me."

"Yes, Master," the man said. "I am glad to be of service to you." He stood, bowed low before Harry, and departed from the room.

Harry turned away and looked out the room's only window, a faint red glow reflecting on the glass. Finally, after years of waiting and foiled attempts, he had discovered a way. His plan would be foolproof--there would be no one to stop him. He threw back his head and laughed, a high, cold laugh filled with cruelty . . .

Harry awoke with a gasp, a sharp pain flaring along his scar. He held his head in his hands, struggling not to cry aloud at the pain of it. He blinked furiously, trying to run through the Occlumency techniques Dumbledore had taught him. The pain began to subside, though he was drenched in sweat and felt sick to his stomach. He was confused and upset--he had not had a dream like that for many months now. The Occlumency had helped to shut Voldemort out of his mind--but he'd forgotten to practice before going to bed today . . . Already the dream was fading from memory. He tried to recall what had been said--Voldemort had received some new information, he was planning something new . . . but Harry did not know what. He shook his head; should he tell Dumbledore? No, he thought, it was probably nothing . . . and it was so vague in his mind . . . Soon he was asleep once more.