A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! If you have a minute, please leave me a review to let me know what you think :) For judging purposes, the final word count for this story is 1,277, and I, as keeper of the Caerphilly Catapults, was tasked to write about a character acting chivalrous. For reference, I used Merriam-Webster's definition of chivalrous: "marked by honor, generosity, and courtesy."

If It Helps

Monday, May 31, 1993

It was quiet in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Ginny couldn't decide whether or not she preferred it to the dull din of conversation that had filled it just an hour prior. It had been a busy night in the Tower, with some students studying for exams and others asking Harry and Ron for another recap of their time in the Chamber of Secrets. The boys, while sensitive to the subject—as sensitive as boys can be, Ginny supposed—loved telling their respective stories, especially when it came to the parts about Professor Lockhart or Fawkes the phoenix, and their fellow Gryffindors loved to hear them.

However, thus far no one had asked Ginny about her role in the venture, and she was glad for it. It had only been a couple of days since the incident and a mere twelve hours since Ginny was released from the Hospital Wing with strict orders from Madame Pomfrey and a tight hug from her mother. She had hardly had time to evaluate her role on her own, and she really didn't want the help of her classmates as she did so.

Ginny had gone up to bed a few hours earlier, claiming exhaustion and a desire for her own four-poster. She had honestly intended to fall asleep once she was there, but after resituating herself underneath her blanket a dozen times, she decided to allow sleep its elusiveness and return to the hearth on the lower floor.

"Ginny?"

Ginny couldn't mask her flinch as Neville's voice stumbled its way across the silence. The boy stood at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in a dressing gown and rubbing the fringe from his eyes.

"Hi, Neville," Ginny said with a soft smile. "Don't tell me Ron's snoring keeps you up, too. I can hear him all the time at home, and we aren't even on the same floor." She gave a small roll of her eyes, and Neville chuckled as he moved to join her on the sofa.

"No, it's not him tonight." He tucked his feet beneath him as he settled in. "But that doesn't mean he hasn't kept me up before," he added with a chuckle. "I just figured you'd be down here, honestly. I mean, I haven't seen you much this term, but it must be difficult to sleep after what you've been through. At least, I would assume so—"

The boy cut himself off there, apparently recognizing his rambling. When silence settled once more and it was apparent that Ginny wasn't going to respond, he looked down to his hands. He opened his mouth to continue, but a shiver from beside him brought him up short.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and Ginny almost chuckled from the strangeness of hearing the question used for something as trivial as being cold. She had heard it dozens of times over the past two days, sometimes about her state of mind and others about her health or emotions. She had almost forgotten that it could be used in a normal conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she nodded after a moment, realizing she had lost herself to her thoughts again. She'd done that quite a bit since she left the Chamber. "Just a bit cold, is all. I'll get a blanket when I go back upstairs."

Neville was quiet a moment before offering Ginny a smile and climbing up from his place on the sofa. He took the steps slowly as he left the Common Room, careful to avoid the more noisy steps along the way.

Ginny allowed her brow to crease at the suddenness of the exit, but she didn't have long to dwell on it as Neville came back down the stairs with a thick blanket in his arms. He held it out as he approached the cough, and Ginny accepted it with a grin.

"Thank you," she said softly as she pulled it over her legs. "You didn't have to do that."

Neville just offered her a small smile in return. "I don't mind."

The two were quiet once more, and Ginny took a moment to study the fabric across her lap. It wasn't necessarily soft, especially compared to other blankets, but it was warm, and Ginny couldn't help but think that it was well-loved, if that made any sense. It did to her, at least, so she allowed it.

"Where did you get this?" she asked after a while. She could feel Neville's eyes on her as she studied, and she hoped that making conversation would soften the tension that had settled on her shoulders.

"My Gran made it. It's actually just a few of my dad's old cloaks sewn together," he admitted, and Ginny could see his ears go a bit red in the dim light. "When I was younger, I was afraid of everything, even more afraid than I am now," he said with a laugh. "So Gran made me that blanket and told me that my dad was really brave. She told me that even though he wasn't always there to protect me, I could still have his bravery with me."

Ginny smiled, and the obvious question came to her tongue, but she didn't allow it to go any farther. What happened to him? She wanted to ask, but she wouldn't. She didn't feel like talking, so she could hardly expect Neville to.

"It's nice," she said softly, and she meant it. The cloaks felt personal, familiar, despite the fact that Ginny had never met Neville's father. Her earlier assumptions about the blanket made more sense now.

"Ginny," Neville offered, and the girl let out a soft sigh. She should have known the questions would start sooner or later. With a fortifying breath, Ginny gave him a nod.

"I—" Neville stopped himself short before continuing. "I don't know your part of the story of course, but I know that nothing that's happened this past year has been your fault. That diary wasn't you, Ginny, any more than that blanket is me. They're both just things. They make us feel things, and sometimes those feelings make us do things that we wouldn't have done otherwise, but that doesn't mean that we're different. We get to choose who we are, not the things around us."

Ginny was quiet for a moment as she mulled over Neville's words. He was right—he didn't quite understand what happened with Ginny and the diary and Tom, but she still appreciated the encouragement, and as she pulled the blanket up and over her shoulders, she realized that she felt quite a bit calmer than she had in a long time.

"Thank you, Neville," she said finally. "That means a lot."

Neville nudged her with his own shoulder and stood to his feet, turning to head back to the stairwell.

"I should get back to bed—something tells me that no matter what's happened lately, there's no way we're getting out of our exams," he said with a laugh. "Goodnight, Ginny."

"Goodnight," Ginny smiled. "Oh, here—" she pulled the quilt from her lap and held it out. "You should take this back upstairs. I think I'm going to head up, too."

Neville shook his head with a small blush and made his way toward the stairs. "You keep it. I know things will probably get worse before they get better, but hopefully that will help a bit when the memories get to be too much."

"But it's your dad's," Ginny insisted. "Won't you miss it?"

Neville shook his head once more before disappearing up this stairs. "I'll be fine, he called back softly. "It's just a thing."