BOOK I: Into Exile

CHAPTER ONE: The Fall

Hot, thick late spring sunlight spilled through the windows of the hospital wing and over the large chamber's sole patient, a small figure who was almost lost under the thick blankets. The only visible part of Ginny Weasley was her thatch of thick red hair that glinted like burnished copper in the late morning light.

A gentle hand on her shoulder awakened Ginny from her sleep, perhaps the first undisturbed night's sleep she had known since she had first written in that horrible diary, almost a year before, and it had begun writing back. She stirred, moaned softly, and opened her eyes and looked bewilderedly around. This was not her ornately furnished dormitory in Gryffindor, nor was it her cozy little room at the Burrow. As she finished awakening, the memory of the previous night's horrible events returned, washing over her like an icy wave and completely negating the sun's glorious warmth.

She looked over and saw her mother sitting next to her, and that sight should have made her feel better, but the look on her mother's face... it was not the look that Molly Weasley used to tell her children that everything was all right. This look was one of concern, of worry. Ginny felt her heart shrivel in her chest and sink toward the floor.

Madame Pomfrey was not present, but three others were. In the middle was Albus Dumbledore, the school's ancient and beloved headmaster. To one side was Professor McGonagall, head of Ginny's house and deputy headmistress. And on the other side was greasy-haired, black-robed Severus Snape, who bore no official rank other than professor, but had Dumbledore's confidence. None of the trio looked happy.

Dumbledore spoke first. "Good morning, Miss Weasley," he said. "I trust you have recovered from your ordeal."

"I guess," Ginny said, not really knowing if she had or not. The violations inflicted on her by Tom Riddle, or whoever or whatever that thing had been, did not fade quickly.

Dumbledore did not beat around the bush any more. "Miss Weasley, I'm afraid I have some difficult news for you."

Ginny looked around, taking in the whole scene, and realized with a surge of horror that her Hogwarts robes were not present. Normally, if a person was in the infirmary, their Hogwarts school uniform sat folded on the table next to the bed. Her mother held a bundle of clothing in her lap, but it consisted of one of the dresses that she had brought from home. But that meant...

"But I... but you said... you said I wouldn't be..." Ginny sputtered, then halted as she realized that there was no point in quibbling. She had known that she deserved this. True, the attacks on the Muggle-borns had not been carried out by her, not really, but she had been aware of them after the fact. She had known from the night Mrs. Norris was attacked. But she had done nothing. Perhaps if she had told someone, told Dumbledore, the subsequent attacks on the humans could have been avoided.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Dumbledore's clear blue eyes, which normally twinkled but weren't today. Instead, anger flared in them like boiling magma.

"I know, and I'm truly sorry. But the school governors involved themselves. They've never done that before; I expect it was Lucius Malfoy’s doing. They insisted that you be expelled. I sent an owl to Fudge, protesting their actions, but he agreed that they were right and I was wrong."

Molly chimed in. "They're saying that they will remove Dumbledore from his post if he opposes them in this matter."

The look in Dumbledore's eyes made it very clear that he would have opposed them nonetheless, but his next statement explained: "They also informed me that if I go against them, they will bring charges against you, as an accessory to the attacks."

Snape chimed in. "Since you knew about them, you would likely be found guilty." The potions master's tone actually held a faint hint of bitterness. He had disliked all six of Ginny's brothers and had been prepared to dislike her as well, but after teaching her for a year, he had been surprised to find a bit of a soft spot for the girl. Ginny Weasley was a hard person to hate. Of course, he would have stapled his tongue to the Astronomy Tower and then jumped off before admitting his sentiments, but Dumbledore (who know him best) wasn't fooled.

“And even if you did get off, the publicity of your trial would most likely torpedo your father’s career at the Ministry, and his Muggle Protection Act,” Dumbledore added.

"But why are they doing this?" Ginny asked, feeling her eyes moisten. "You said there wasn't any harm done."

"And I told them the exact same thing," the headmaster said sadly. "But Hogwarts very nearly had to close. They insist that someone has to pay the price for what happened."

"You're just a convenient target," McGonagall said, anger smoldering in her eyes as well. Despite her characteristic sternness, she was as fiercely protective of her first-years as a she-bear, and doubly so with Ginny, about whom she had been concerned for a long time.

"None of us wanted this to happen," Dumbledore said heavily. "Believe me that we didn't."

Before anyone else could say anything, the door opened with a thud that reverberated through the room, and a man in black and red robes entered the hospital wing. He strode to the bed. "Ginevra Weasley?"

Ginny recognized the uniform of a Wandbreaker, a Ministry member whose job it was to expel people from the magical community. "So I guess you'll be wanting my wand," Ginny said. She felt like she was going to throw up.

"Correct," the man said crisply.

Dumbledore glared at the new arrival in disgust. He had instructed him in his Hogwarts days. He was a bully and a sadist, and had escaped being recruited as a death-eater only because his mother was a Muggle. He liked to look at his victims as he snapped their wand, liked to see the look in their eyes as all their hopes and dreams evaporated. "She doesn't have it," Dumbledore said. "I already destroyed it."

"That's a violation of the rules," the Wandbreaker said. "I have to witness the wand's neutralization."

Dumbledore reached into one of his many pockets and produced a short maple wand, now in two sections. "There. The pieces. Ollivander can verify their length and composition."

The Wandbreaker, who already knew that Ginny had an 8-inch maple wand, eyed the pieces disinterestedly. "Very well." He made a notation in his log.

"Now please leave my school," Dumbledore said, rising to his full height and eyes still alight with anger. The Wandbreaker walked out, but everyone could see that he would have preferred to run. No sane person wanted Albus Dumbledore angry with him.

"If you are able, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said gently. "It would probably be best for you to get up and go home now. Transportation has been arranged."

Ginny nodded, but asked, "Is it all right if I say good-bye to my brothers? And Harry, and Hermione, and..."

"Of course," said the DH. "Go on up. The portrait will let you in."

Ginny tried to thank her, but the words stuck in her throat. She could only nod and hope Minerva understood.

And she did. "I'm sorry," McGonagall concluded, sorrow in her eyes, and then turned to go.

"Best of luck, Miss Weasley," Snape said. To Ginny's surprise, he appeared to mean it.

The two of them headed for the door, but Dumbledore remained, and laid a gentle hand on Ginny's head. "Miss Weasley," he said. "This is not over. If there is ever a way to get you reinstated, I intend to find it." He stared out the window. "I told you that there would be no punishment. These people made a liar of me. I will not forget that. Not ever."

Ginny and her mother sat in silence as he strode from the room, his white hair shining silver in the morning sunlight.

Molly sighed and rose, leaving Ginny's clothes on the chair. "You'd better get dressed if you're going to have time for good-byes," she suggested. "The Knight Bus picks us up in an hour."

Listlessly, Ginny closed the curtain around the bed, peeled off her pajamas, and began to dress. She managed to avoid crying out loud, but tears trickled silently down her face.

Chapter 2 - Squibbed

Time passed. Ginny recovered from her ordeal, slowly but surely.

Her parents helped her as well as they could, though it was plain that everything was different. Oh, they didn't love her any less, nor did they doubt her innocence. But the Weasley clan had always lived in the core of the wizarding world. Since Ginny could no longer be a part of that world, there was the endlessly hovering question of what she was going to do with what remained of her life. No matter what she did, she couldn't help thinking of herself as a failure.

She tried to keep to herself as much as possible. What little human contact she had was with her parents, with whom she had grown very close since Ron had gone to school, leaving her a de facto only child. But even though they always had a hug or a kiss or a few kind words for her, they could not undo what had been done to her. She had been Squibbed, which was the latest term for when a person had the inherent ability to do magic, but was forbidden to do so by the Ministry. Many wizards considered it to be a fate worse than death.

However, there appeared to be hope. When the Knight Bus had deposited Ginny and her parents at the Burrow, there had been a bulky package waiting for her, and two hefty school owls flying off, making a beeline for Hogwarts. The parcel consisted of an assortment of books and other supplies. Included was a note. It read:

Dear Miss Weasley,

I am doing my very best to find a way to bring you back. So are a number of others. Don't lose heart. I would appreciate it if you would continue with your studies as well as you can.

Prof. Dumbledore

Ginny did as asked, though she often wondered if there was any point. Studying without a professor to aid her or a wand to practice with was not a very productive use of her time. And in any case, the Ministry was not noted for giving second chances.

Arthur Weasley knew that better than she did. In addition to being incompetent, Cornelius Fudge had a nasty sadistic streak. When the school governors refused to reconsider Ginny's case, when the headmaster of Durmstrang and the board of governors at Beauxbatons declined to consider allowing her to transfer, and when the smaller schools followed suit; he made sure Arthur knew about it. Dumbledore even sent a letter to schools across the Pond, in Quebec and Maine, but to no avail.

Arthur, of course, did not pass these nasty little messages on to Ginny, because it would have hurt her, or to his wife, because she would have hurt Fudge. But somehow, Ginny knew that whatever her former mentor was doing, it wasn't working. She was destined to live out her days as a Squib, initiated to the wizarding world but unable to do magic herself. Whether one was forbidden by lack of ability or act of law, a Squib was a Squib, a second-class citizen. Argus Filch had known such treatment for many years, and it had turned him bitter and nasty. And he was one of the luckier ones; at least he had work. Many Squibs had to either live with family all their lives or turn to the Muggle world for work.

"Maybe you could work for Uncle Edmond," Fred had suggested that first summer, referring to the Weasley cousin who was a Squib by inability. He was an accountant, wore a suit and tie, dated Muggles, and never attended family reunions.

"Or you could talk to Hermione's parents," suggested George. "I heard dentists make pretty good money."

Ginny was not amused. Sensing this, the twins laid off.

Since even Squibs had to be able to get from place to place, wizarding law grudgingly permitted them to use wizarding transportation, including Floo powder, the Knight Bus, and broomsticks. This was one thing that helped get her through those long and difficult months. She would often grab her mother's battered Bluebottle and take it out for a flight, late at night when she was unlikely to be seen. If Molly was worried that she would break her neck (and, being a mother, she probably was), she chose to say nothing.

High in the night sky, where no bird flew, Ginny would take the old broom to its maximum speed, then make it go even faster, and faster yet, and then do curves, swoops, twists, and dives from the sky like a stooping falcon until she was low enough to count grass blades. She did it again and again, night after night, month after month. For some reason, flying kept her sane.

But not happy. When she was not studying or helping her mother or flying around, she was often up in her room, staring out the window and crying quietly and wondering what she could have done to deserve this.

Sixteen long months dragged by. Her brothers went back to school, returned for Christmas, went back again. More books arrived, and she studied them dutifully, but as the summer before what should have been her third year approached its end, she often found herself wondering if there was any point.

Indeed, there were times when she wondered if there was any point to anything at all.

Chapter 3 - The Letter

The house was disconcertingly quiet, Ginny thought.

Of course, that really wasn’t much of a surprise. Bill had returned to Egypt, Charlie was on his way back to his dragons in Romania, and her dad was still working overtime at the Ministry of Magic. Ginny didn't know what he was doing there, but figured he was most likely trying to deal with the repercussions from the disastrous Quidditch Cup. Percy was there as well, trying to impress his boss, the high and mighty Bartimaeus Crouch, by finding new ways to kiss his bum. Her remaining brothers, Harry, and Hermione had reboarded the Hogwarts Express several days ago. Ginny had gone to the station to see them off, and just seeing the old red steam engine had been like reopening old wounds. Finally, although Mrs. Weasley was usually at home, she was in Diagon Alley on this particular morning, on one of her infrequent shopping trips.

So, what with one thing and another, the Burrow’s population had dwindled from eleven to one. Because of the flurry of cleaning that had taken place before the guests arrived, there was little to no now. Nothing to do, Ginny thought bitterly, but think.

The Quidditch Cup had been rough. It had been Ginny’s first time back in wizarding society in sixteen months, and it had seemed like everyone was either staring at her from a distance and avoiding her eyes, or just plain avoiding contact with her altogether. Ginny had studied enough history to know that it was very similar to the way lepers had been treated in olden times, by wizards as well as Muggles, at least until Helga Hufflepuff had discovered the cure, shortly before she and the others founded Hogwarts.

And, Ginny thought wryly, she hadn’t even had to ring a bell and shout “Unclean!” every few steps.

She had not known at the time, but Ludo Bagman, who had given her father the tickets, had initially refused to provide one for her, and only relented when Arthur had expressed his intent to let Ginny have his. And, back at home afterward, he had admitted that he had probably made a mistake doing so.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he had said. “I truly am. I knew that you loved Quidditch, and I was afraid that leaving you behind would make you feel bad. I never once thought about how they would treat you, and I should have."

Ginny had known that her father would never even consider hurting her. And in truth, the thrill of the game had more than compensated for the treatment she had received before and after. But it had also brought back memories of her days at Hogwarts, and watching the house teams duke it out. Especially Harry Potter, the boy who lived, and the object of her silly crush. She wondered if he had felt anything for her, or if he had just come to her rescue because it was the right thing to do. Given Harry’s principled nature, it could have been either.

Ginny sighed, then rose. It was daytime, but it was also overcast. As long as she didn’t go too low, she could take the broom out for another spin. It would give her something to do, maybe take her eyes off the memories that her recent experiences had brought to the surface. Flying seemed to do that. Sooner or later, she supposed that she would push the Bluebottle beyond its limits, and wind up losing control and splattering herself all over some remote hillside somewhere.

As she headed for the door to get the broom, something struck her in the back of the head. It was a letter, a very light one, probably no more than one piece of parchment in it. And (Ginny’s heart froze up in her chest for a moment) it was on Hogwarts stationery and written in the emerald-green ink that was a Hogwarts trademark. Two years ago, she had read and reread her letter from the school fifty times, relishing every detail of it. Hands trembling, she unfolded the parchment and read it. It was very short and to the point, but it still gave her a wild surge of hope.

The note read:

Dear Miss Weasley,

Be at the Leaky Cauldron at 9:00 PM tonight. Your parents are welcome to join you; this concerns them as well.

A. Dumbledore

* * * * * * *
The day passed with agonizing slowness, as though time itself had been slowed down. Each minute seemed like two, each hour like three. Ginny spent a long time trying to decide which of her few nice robes to wear, and what to do with her hair. She knew that Dumbledore was a man who cared less than nothing for appearances, but she wanted to look decent anyway. Or, at least, look like someone who had weathered a year of exile without breaking.

As the clock downstairs (not the grandfather clock that indicated the location of each family member, the small one on the mantel that gave the time) struck 8:30, there was a knock on her bedroom door. She opened it, and her father was there, also neatly dressed and carefully groomed. “Are you ready?”

Ginny nodded.

"You look good," he added. And it was true, she did. Her hair was carefully brushed and braided, and she wore the dark purple robes she had worn at her cousin Natalie's wedding.

Resolutely, the two of them headed downstairs. Molly fell in beside them as they passed through the kitchen. Arthur had used his influence to get a ministry car for them, he seemed to understand that using Floo Powder would cause them to arrive dirty and mussed up, which would not be a good thing. The car had no magical modifications, but it was late and traffic was light, and they made good time, arriving with a few minutes to spare.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was as warm and inviting as Ginny remembered, plus it was dark. If anyone knew who she was, no one seemed to care. As the family seated themselves at a handy table and Arthur ordered cakes and Butterbeer for the three of them, a landmass in a moleskin overcoat seperated itself from the crowd of drinkers and proceeded to approach them. “Evenin’ folks,” it said cheerily.

Ginny smiled. “Hello, Mr. Hagrid.”

“Hello, Ginny,” the huge man said softly. “You’ve been missed.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it was the first nice thing anyone outside the family had said to her since she had left Hogwarts that terrible morning. She couldn’t help feeling choked up. “Thanks,” she managed.

“Are you the one we’re here to meet?” Arthur queried.

Hagrid shook his head. “No. I jus' had the day off. Dumbledore’s on his way. He jus' went to pick up somebody at the Portkey station.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. Their order arrived. He selected a large cake and took a bite of it.

Hagrid returned his attention to Ginny, who was sipping her butterbeer. “I know how you feel,” he whispered. “I got tossed out on my ear when I didn’ do anything wrong, jus’ like you. And Dumbledore stood up fer me. Jus' as he stood up fer you.”

With that, he patted her head gently and returned to the bar, presumably to refill the huge tankard in his hand. As Ginny watched him go, the clock above the bar struck nine. Seconds later, two figures materialized in front of the fireplace. One of them was unfamiliar to her, but the other. . . she’d have recognized the flowing silver hair and beard, and those kind blue eyes, anywhere. Albus Dumbledore had arrived. He looked around, saw the Weasleys, and led the way to their table, “Good evening, Miss Weasley,” he said.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you have read the previously posted version of this story, you are undoubtedly aware that I have made some changes. This is because my initial history was way off, according to the HP Lexicon, which I only recently discovered. The history presented here is consistent with canon.

Also, according to OotP, Professor McGonagall has been at Hogwarts for 39 years. Since Dumbledore became Headmaster about 24 years before OotP (about the same year as when Lupin started), one of them had to be teaching a different subject for the intervening 15 years.

Chapter 4 - Professor Grayson

Dumbledore didn’t say anything about why had summoned them until he and his guest had taken their seats at the table. The waiter, having seen them arrive, scurried over. “Hello, gentlemen. May I take your orders?”

“Hot chocolate for me,” Dumbledore said without hesitation.

“I’ll have a Ferret Punch,” the stranger, a large man in a hooded cloak, said. He obviously spoke good English, but his accent was a little odd.

“Ferret Punch?” Arthur asked as the waiter hurried off.

“It’s what they drink instead of butterbeer where he comes from,” Dumbledore explained. “It’s really not bad. And it isn’t made from ferrets, despite the name.”

“It used to be,” the stranger said. “But they changed the recipe. No one really liked finding little bits of ferret in their drink, tradition or no.” He thrust off his cloak. “Hi. Ulysses Grayson. Are you Ginny Weasley?” Ginny nodded. “Pleased to meet you. Dumbledore’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you.”

Ginny took a closer look at the newcomer. He was average-sized, powerfully built, and about ten or fifteen years younger than her parents. His most startling feature was visible at a glance. His hair was long, spilling down over his shoulders. This was hardly out of the ordinary; long hair was commonplace among wizards of both sexes. However, this fellow’s hair was a startling shade of fuschia.

“A pleasure, Mr. Grayson,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Where do you know Dumbledore from?”

“He attended Hogwarts,” Dumbledore explained. “One of Hufflepuff’s most impressive students.”

“Did you play Quidditch?” Arthur queried.

“I was Keeper, but I wasn’t much good,” Grayson said. “They only kept me on the team because I was a decent strategist.”

“More than decent,” Dumbledore said. “His team was dead-last ten seasons in a row before he joined the team. Once he did, they were quite good. Had Gryffindor not been such a powerhouse at the time, they might have taken the cup a time or two.”

“I believe it,” Arthur said. “Charlie’s letters home often mentioned moves that bore your name: the Grayson Ploy, the Grayson Surge, the Grayson Defense, and a few others.”

“They were even more effective when I was playing,” Grayson said. “Before the other house teams learned how to counter them.”

“When were you at Hogwarts?” Ginny asked.

“I arrived in 1970," Graytson said. "Dumbledore became headmaster in my second year.” He addressed the man in question. “I still remember your Defense lessons. You were the one who made me really want to be an Auror.”

Dumbledore laughed. “No, you were intent on becoming an Auror before you even started at Hogwarts.”

“William Shacklebolt, Kingsley’s granddad, took your place,” Grayson said. “He was good, but not as good as you were.”

“I remember hearing that you had been made headmaster,” Arthur told Dumbledore. “It was about five years after we left school. The year before Bill was born, if I remember right.”

“We were about twelve years apart, sounds like. That explains why I didn’t see you around,” Mr. Grayson said. “Your red hair would have made you hard to miss.”

“Speaking of hair. . . .”

The man laughed. “Yeah, it was brown when I was in school. Right after I left, I was quarreling with my soon to be ex-girlfriend, and she lost her temper and zapped me with Pili Puniceus.”

“Pili what?” Ginny queried.

“The Pink Hair hex,” Mr. Weasley said. “But it’s easily reversed, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.” Professor Grayson shrugged. “Fact is, I looked a lot better this way. So I just never bothered to change it back.”

Everyone laughed at that, even Ginny, who was growing more nervous by the minute. Perhaps her mother sensed that; she quickly got down to business. “So, Mr. Grayson, what brings you here?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Grayson now,” Dumbledore stated. “He’s the Defense teacher at Silver Grove Academy.” He tossed a half-affectionate, half irritated look at the man in question. “I’ve been trying to get him to come over here for the past five years.”

“Six years,” Professor Grayson corrected. “Since ‘88, when Quirrel turned up missing.”

“And where’s your school?” Mrs. Weasley wanted to know.

“Somewhere in America,” her husband enlightened her. “A place called Wide Homing, I think.”

“Actually, it’s called Wyoming,” Professor Grayson said. Seeing Arthur’s abashed look, he laughed and added, “Don’t worry. I was born and educated in Britain, but most of us Yanks couldn’t even find our country on a map.”

“What are the schools like in America?” Ginny wanted to know. “Are they anything like Hogwarts?”

“You will have the opportunity to find out, if you wish,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “Mr. Professor Grayson is here to bear an invitation to you, to attend Silver Grove Academy.”

A long silence at the table as the three Weasleys digested this information. “There’s no way she could return to. . .” Mrs. Weasley began.

Dumbledore sharply interrupted her. “Molly, I have devoted over a year to exploring that option. If there was a way, you may be certain that I would have found it by now.”

Professor Grayson nodded. “I’ll be in town for a week. Our school term starts on the fifteenth, not the first. So you’ll have plenty of time to decide.” He produced a letter, which he handed to Ginny, then stood. “I’ll be visiting with various friends and relatives, but I’m staying here at the Cauldron. Room 9. Let me know what you decide.”

* * * * * * *
Back at home, Ginny read the letter twice, then handed it to her parents. The first page was almost identical to the one she had received from Hogwarts, save the name of the school and the color of the ink (silver, not green). The second consisted of the list of required supplies.


TEXTBOOKS:
Potion-Brewing Fundamentals, by Alison Acyd
Transformation Made Simple by Erasmus Skinner
1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllidia Spore
Magical Combat for Beginners by Honor Gray
Charming by Casey and Meredith Love
Contemporary Magical History by Tyler Thyme
The Silver Grove Student Handbook by Estella Chance

SUPPLIES:
1 Cauldron, Size 2 or 3, copper or pewter
3 Sets of Everyday Robes, black, navy, or charcoal
1 Set of Gloves, Dragon Hide or equivalent
1 Set of Potion-brewing Scales and Phials
1 Standard Assortment of Potion Ingredients
1 Telescope, 10-power or stronger
Recommended: 1 Set of Dress Robes, any color

DRESS CODE:
Silver Grove has no set school uniform, other than robes of approved colors, which shall be in good repair and fit properly. However, blue jeans, fatigues, shorts, T-shirts, muscle shirts, sweats, and other casual wear are not to be worn in class. Male students are expected to wear slacks and a shirt with a collar. Female students may also wear skirts or dresses, no shorter than 3" above the knees.

ANIMAL POLICY:
Students may bring one animal, their choice, but must weigh less than 25 pounds and be RELIABLY housebroken.


“Looks like you won’t need all that much new stuff,” Molly commented. “Good thing, our budget’s tight these days.”

“Looks like they’re less strict about some things,” Arthur added. “Typical, given their reputation.”

“Reputation?” Molly queried.

Arthur sighed. “Hogwarts, as I’m sure you know, is the best-rated school in the world today, though Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have also held the title at various times in the past century. No one comes close to those three, but Silver Grove. . . well, .et’s just say it’s far closer to the bottom of the list than it is to the top.”

Ginny piped up: “Then why is Professor Dumbledore trying to hire their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

“Well, maybe he’s better than most of the others. After all, he was Hogwarts-educated,” Molly supplied.

“I expect Dumbledore only went to them after you got turned down by a lot of others,” Arthur confessed. “There are a total of five schools in North America, seven if you count Mexico. None of them are up to our standards, but Silver Grove is the one that American Ministry officials don’t like to talk about.”

“Why?” Ginny wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “They don’t like to talk about it. I’m afraid I know very little about the place, other than its reputation.”

“Hmmm,” Molly said. “Ginny, dear, maybe you should. . . .”

Ginny interrupted her. “Mum, if you’re going to tell me that I should say no, you can forget it.” Molly tried to reply, but Ginny wasn’t done. “I’ve been trapped in this house, living like a Squib, for a year. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like that.”

“But to go there,” Molly protested. “There’s no telling how dangerous it could be.”

“Is there any way I could get to be a witch unless I go here?” Ginny held up the Silver Grove letter. “Any way at all?”

Arthur didn’t hesitate; he knew how many brick walls Dumbledore had already hit in seeking other options. “No.”

“I don’t want to live the way I have since I left Hogwarts,” Ginny said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’d rather die. Don’t you understand that?”

A long, portentious silence as Molly stood ataring at her daughter. Then, the older woman seemed to wilt, as she realized that, given that Ginny had no options, and that she could never be happy living the life of a second-class citizen, there was truly nothing more to be said. “All right.”

Unable to say more, she hurried from the room, strangling back tears. Arthur moved to go after her, but paused just for a moment to address his daughter. “She’ll be all right,” he said. “She knows that it has to be like this. Otherwise, she’d never have given in so easily.”

Ginny stood alone in the room, letter in hand. For the second time in less than two years, her world had changed overnight. She wondered what new surprises were in store.

Chapter 5 - The Flying Badger

Dear Ginny,

I hear you’re finally going back to school. I wish you were back with us, but congratulations anyway.

Things are pretty good at Hogwarts. The Dementors are gone, anyway. Unfortunately, so is Professor Lupin. Everybody here in Gryffindor misses him, but his replacement is also pretty cool. Malfoy tried to curse Harry from behind one time and Professor Moody turned him into a ferret and bounced him all over the place. Served him right, the rotten little git.

Classes are pretty much the same. Snape’s still creepy, McGonagall still doesn’t cut us any slack, and Trelawney’s just as clueless as she was before. And Hagrid’s still teaching Care of Magical Creatures. He has us caring for something he calls blast-ended Skrewts. They’re still babies and they’re already horrid. Hermione says we should stomp on them and be done with it, and for once, I agree with her. Yes, that's right, Hermione and I agree on something. Never thought that'd happen.

There’s also supposed to be something called the Triwizard Tournament here at school. Students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang will be competing for a 1000-galleon prize. I wish we could win it, but none of us are old enough to enter, not even Fred and George. But it should be really cool to watch. I’ll tell you more about that as it happens.

Harry’s here, and I’m sure he misses you too, though he’d never admit it. I’ll try to get him to drop you a line himself some time.

Your loving brother,
Ron
...................................................................

Dear Ginny,

We heard you’re headed off to school again. Wish you were coming here, but at least you’ll get to learn magic. I expect Ickle Ronniekins has already told you about all the stuff going on here, the tournament, and our new teacher, and Malfoy’s ferret dance. So I won’t go over it all again. But we’ll try to keep you up to speed on our end.

One thing, though. Could you us a big favor. When you get to the States, find out what kind of magical gag items they have. We’re always looking for ideas for new Weasley Wizard Wheezes. And don’t tell Mum about it. She’ll have a cow. She still thinks we should join the Ministry, don’t ask us why.

We enclose a package with this, and it has a few special items in it. Might come in handy if those Yanks give you trouble. We hear they can be an unruly lot. Whatever you do, don’t show the package to Mum.

Good luck and have fun,
Fred and George
.................................................................

Dear Ginny,

Ron told me that you’ve finally managed to get reinstated as a witch-in-training. I’m glad to hear that. I know you were really upset about being expelled. I got a peek at his letter, so I know the part about me missing you. Well, all right, I’ll admit it: I do miss you. So does Hermione, and all your brothers, and a lot of other Gryffindors as well. Please keep us up to date on what’s going on with you.

Your friend,
Harry Potter
................................................................

Professor Grayson had insisted on finishing his visits before taking Ginny back, and that had been fine with all of the Weasleys. It had given them time to scour Diagon Alley and the surrounding area for the few supplies that Ginny still needed, other than the books. Hogwarts and Silver Grove used the same Herbology text, as it was considered the definitive work on the subject. It was the same with Honor Gray’s text on magical combat: there were several copies of it in Hogwarts’ restricted section, but it seemed like they were always checked out. The other five books on the list were only available in America.

The extra time also gave Ginny the opportunity to write her brothers at Hogwarts, and allowed them enough time to send letters back (using Hedwig; Errol and Pig were not the speediest birds in the owlery). Even Harry had written a brief note, wishing her luck and asking her to write again. Reading the last, Ginny had felt her heart leap at the prospect, even though it was silly. Harry hadn’t even been interested in her when they were together, and they would soon be an ocean agart.

In addition to preparing, the delay gave them the opportunity to just spend time together. Molly especially needed that. She was still afraid for her daughter. Sending her children to Hogwarts had been one thing; she had been there herself. Only a fool would say that her alma mater was always entirely safe, but at least she had been able to tell Ginny what to watch out for at Hogwarts. She had heard that unknown dangers are always scarier than known ones, now she knew it to be true. And Ginny’s destination was not only unfamiliar, it was less than highly regarded.

But in her heart of hearts, Molly did know that Ginny had to seek her place in the world, and she could not do that by hiding in the Burrow. The big day had finally come, and Ginny and her parents were at the Portkey station with Professor Grayson, awaiting their turn. For the journey west, they had to use alternate transportation: Apparition was unreliable over long distances, and Ginny couldn’t do it anyway. And, no one wanted to ride a broom across the Atlantic.

“So, you’re not going to be taking a transatlantic portkey,” Arthur said. “Why is that?”

“Too expensive, and they run too infrequently,” Professor Grayson explained. “The amount of power needed to produce a portkey is a fourth-power function of the distance covered, modified by. . . .” He stopped as he saw Arthur’s look of confusion. “Look, it takes a lot of magical power and time to enchant long-distance keys, so they charge a lot of Galleons for the privilege of using one. Given the amount of travelling I do, it’s more economical to just use the Nexi.”

“What are Nexi?” Ginny asked.

“It’s something the Americans set up back during the war against Grindelwald,” Arthur explained. “And they rarely allow anyone who isn’t American to use it. It’s kind of a system of gateways in midair,” Arthur explained. “Like portkeys, but they don’t just work at one time. You can fly a broom through the one over near Scotland, and reappear in, oh, I don’t know, let’s say. . . Germany. Instantly.”

“Not quite,” Professor Grayson explained. “You have to travel through the Hebridian Island Nexus, which takes you to the central Nexus Hub in Florida. Then, you pass through another one, which will send you to Germany, or Canada, or wherever else you want to go.”

“I’ve heard the Nexi are quite dangerous,” Arthur said.

“For those who aren’t authorized to use them, they’re a deathtrap, pure and simple,” Professor Grayson said. “An unauthorized traveler is diverted automatically to a point 1,000 miles below the earth’s surface, where he winds up in the earth’s mantle, which is a sea of seething-hot magma under millions of tons of pressure. He gets quickly sizzled up like a sausage. That’s happened to Muggle ships and aircraft as well, more times than we would have liked. Even they’ve noticed the phenomenon; that’s why they have their own name for the hub area.” He smoothed his hair, which was even more startling in the early morning sunlight. “They call it the Bermuda Triangle.”

“Portkey to Hebridian Island Nexus, departing in thirty seconds,” the attendant said. Professor Grayson and the Weasleys, dragging Ginny’s trunk, hurried over to the Departure pad.

“But you’re authorized, right?” Ginny said as she gripped the old wine bottle that was their transportation.

“Yeah, and it cost me a fortune to get that way. Especially since I don’t use a broom. Haven’t even owned one since my Quidditch days.”

“What do you use to fl. . . ?” Ginny began to ask, but before she could even finish (let alone get an answer), she was jerked through space and knocked sprawling in the middle of a grassy field. Looking around to regain her bearings, she saw that the others were still standing. She was still a bit unaccustomed to Portkeys.

As Ginny rose to her feet and the two Weasleys looked around, Professor Grayson resolutely strode about fifteen paces northward, made a few calculations, and then waved his wand. “Apparecio!”

And something appeared where there had been nothing but flowers and weeds a moment before, a bizarre contraption that could only have been designed by a Muggle (and not a sane one, Ginny thought): a mad conglomeration of wheels on the bottom, flattish table-like structures on the sides, a glass bubble on the top, and what looked like fan blades on the front. And it was painted yellow and black all over.

Arthur was so ecstatic, he could barely avoid jumping up and down. “This. . . is this one of those Muggle things? An arrow planie?”

“We call it an airplane,” Professor Grayson said. “And not just an airplane, but a P-51 Mustang. The finest warplane of the 1940's.”

“Mustang, huh? American-built, right?” Arthur was eagerly examining the odd flying machine.

“Actually, it was a collaboration between our two countries. A corporation called North American developed the plane, but the Allison engine they put in it was crap. I took a British engine, the supercharged Rolls-Royce Merlin, to make it the legend that it was.” He patted the thing affectionately. “This one has a few modifications, most notably the passenger seat and the cargo hold.”

"Any magical enhancements?" Arthur wanted to know.

"No. I regularly fly it in Muggle-controlled areas. You know the rules."

Ginny noticed the picture near the nose of the flying machine, a stylized badger with blood-red eyes and much larger and sharper claws and teeth than the actual animal undoubtedly had. She read what was written above it. “The Flying Badger? Is that what you call this thing?”

Professor Grayson grinned. “Yup. Once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff.” Without bothering to resort to magic, he hoisted Ginny’s trunk into the cargo compartment. He did it nearly without effort, which was unusual, considering that the thing weighed almost as much as she did. Physical strength was not a common attrbute among wizards. There was just little need for it: why lift an object when you could levitate it?

The time had finally come. Ginny turned to her parents. “Mum, Dad,” she said. Her voice quavered, and she could say no more.

Molly gathered her youngest child to her and fiercely hugged her. “I know, dear, I know. You take care of yourself, child. You hear me?”

“By, honey,” Arthur said, giving her a kiss. “I love you. And I want you to write to me. Tell me what it was like, riding in that. . . hare-plane?”

“Airplane,” the professor said patiently. Despite the sadness of the moment, Ginny couldn’t help giggling.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Arthur said. “Dumbledore sent this over last night when heard you had decided to go. Said you might have use for it.” He handed her a small, long parcel.

Ginny opened it, and her eyes went wide. “My wand! But how. . . .”

Professor Grayson smirked. “I can tell you that; Dumbledore told me. He substituted your wand for one that was already snapped in two. Old broken wands are not hard to find.”

“I know, my youngest son broke one last year,” Molly commented. “If we hadn’t won the Ministry sweepstakes that summer, we’d never have managed to afford a replacement.”

Ginny gave each of her parents a last hug, promised to write as soon as she could, and then darted up the ladder and sat in the passenger comprtment. Professor Grayson explained to her how to strap herself in. Then, he did something with the controls, and the thing on the front (a propeller, the professor called it) began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, and then it was a blur. The Flying Badger rolled bumpily along the ground, faster, faster, and then (just as Ginny was sure it was going to flip over and scatter bits of itself and its passengers across the landscape) shot skyward.

Ginny looked back and saw her parents dwindling behind her. They were standing together, her father’s arm around her mother, both of them waving with their free hands. Tears sprang into her eyes despite her resolve. If Professor Grayson saw, he pretended not to notice, and she was grateful for that.

As the plane leveled out, Professor Grayson spoke. “We hit the Nexus in two minutes. You may want to close your eyes when we get there. Keeping them open may make you violently nauseous, and I really don’t think you want to arrive at your new school with puke on your clothes.”

“I don’t suppose we could’ve taken brooms instead,” said Ginny,

“I could,” Professor Grayson said. “You, on the other hand, are not American, and do not have permission to use the Nexi. The only way you can pass through is to be inside a completely enclosed vehicle, like this one, that does have permission. Unless you want to take a swim in the world’s biggest lava lamp.”

“So you’re an American citizen now?”

“Well, actually, I hold what’s called dual citizenship. That I’m still British, but American, too.”

“Ah,” Ginny said. Ahead, she saw what looked like a ring of unearthly purplish light in the sky, pulsating alternately brighter and dimmer and coming up fast. “Is that it?”

“That’s the target!” The professor did something, and the airplane tilted and headed directly for the luminescent ring. “Five seconds! Hang on!”

Ginny had meant to close her eyes, but wasn’t quick enough, so she saw the universe stretch, distort, and itself turn inside out. Her breakfast did violent acrobatics in her stomach, but thankfully stayed where it belonged. She risked another peek a few seconds later, but there was only darkness ahead. “Are we still inside it?”

“Nope. We’re in the Hub, just off the coast of Florida.”

Ginny looked closer. The darkness was interspersed with glowing rings of a wide spectrum of colors: yellow, tan, dark red, yellow-orange, the fuschia of Professor Grayson’s hair, and at least fifty others. All were pulsating brighter and dimmer in the exact same rhythm. “Oh. But it’s so dark.”

The professor laughed. “Local time is 3:45 AM; that’s why it’s dark. Doesn’t your watch have a Timekeeping spell on it?”

“Of course.” Ginny checked her watch. Sure enough, it had adjusted itself automatically.

“Now we just find the Nexus for the Midwest,” muttered Professor Grayson. “There it is. The aqua one up ahead.” Expertly, he whipped the plane around and pointed its nose squarely at the glowing fissure in space. “Fifteen seconds, stand by.”

Ch. 6 - The Grand Tour

This time, Ginny closed her eyes and kept them closed until she was sure they were through. As she looked out the back, she saw the bright bluish-green ring recede behind her. “How do we stop Muggles from. . . .”

“They can’t see the Nexi,” Professor Grayson explained. “And we place them in areas where Muggle aircraft rarely go. It’s not foolproof, but most of the Nexi have never had a Muggle boat or plane through ‘em. Wizard fatalities, however, are far more common. One of my best students died that way, a few years back. He was a really nice kid, not stupid at all. But his parents gave him a broomstick without bothering to teach him where not to fly it.”

Ginny shivered at the thought. “My parents were always lecturing my brothers and me on flying safely. We got so sick of it sometimes.”

“Now you know why.” He banked the plane and turned it. “We’re about 300 miles from our destination.”

“How fast can this thing go?” Ginny asked.

“Well, we cruise at a little under 400 miles per hour,” Grayson said. “But I’ve had her up to 470 before.”

“Without magic?” Ginny found it hard to believe that something muggle-built could go so fast.

“Well, I did do some spell work on her. I reversed a few decades worth of metal fatigue, so it’s like she’s right off the assembly line. And I also transformed some of the metal parts into plastic, which made her lighter, faster, and more fuel-efficient. But those were permanent, one-time alterations. There's no magic actually operating.” He looked at his watch. “We should arrive about half past two, local time. You might want to try to grab a quick nap; you have a long day ahead.”

Ginny did as he suggested, but could only drowse for most of the trip. Just as she was starting to drift off into a proper sleep, she was started awake by a change in the way the Badger was flying, and a worrisome downward tilt. “What. . . what’s wrong?” she asked her pink-haired chauffer.

“Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?”

“We’re tilting. Toward the ground.”

“That’s supposed to happen,” Professor Grayson reassured her. “Airplanes always tilt downward before they land.”

Sure enough, they went lower and lower, and in the cloudy moonlight, Ginny could just barely make out a desolate, sandy landscape below them. “Are we close to the school?”

“Right up ahead. Here, this’ll help you see it better.” Professor Grayson pulled out his wand, a rather large one, and pointed it at her. “Oculus Nox,” he said.

Ginny looked out, and it was as if the sun had risen in the last ten seconds. “What. . . what did you. . . .”

“Night Eyes spell. You can see in the dark for the next half hour or so. I'm using one too, so there's no need for landing lights." He pointed, ahead and to the right. "There it is. Right down there.”

Ginny looked, and gasped in horror. The “school” was nothing but a small cluster of very dilapidated buildings. Broken walls, missing roofs, and random debris were everywhere, and there was no sign of human habitation. “That’s my new school?!”

“That’s it,” the professor said, and a chuckle let Ginny know she’d been duped. Professor Grayson quickly let her off the hook. “Don’t worry. Do you know why first-years always came to Hogwarts across the water, even in unsafe conditions?”

“No.” The weather had been fine the night her class had arrived at Hogwarts; she had not even known that the lake crossing was made in any weather.

“It’s because of the school’s magical safeguards,” Grayson explained. “If you don’t enter a certain way the first time, you’ll only see the place as an old, moldering pile of rubble. Once you’ve entered the school by crossing the lake, you can always see it afterward, regardless of how you arrive.”

Ginny had a feeling that she was not the first person who had been fooled thus. Determined to be a good sport, she simply said, “Oh.”

Professor Grayson levelled out the Badger right above the ground and made an easy landing. “OK, we’re here.” He opened the cockpit and helped Ginny unstrap and climb out. “Well, time to hide the plane.”

“How do you do that?”

“I’ll show you.” The professor stood back from the flying machine, raised his wand. “Evanesco!” he barked.

And the plane was gone: not just invisible, but gone. Ginny’s trunk, suddenly suspended in midair, fell and hit the desert sand with a dull thud.

Ginny gasped. “But. . . you vanished it!”

“Yes. But vanished objects can be brought back, if you know how to do it. And in the meantime, the Badger doesn’t exist. It can’t rust, can’t get sand in its gears, or even deteriorate from age. When I need it next, it’ll be like it just finished its last flight. And, of course, no Muggle can see it in the meantime.”

“I guess you have a point,” Ginny said, grasping her trunk. She hoped she wouldn’t have to take it far.

“You can leave your trunk here, kid. We don’t know which hall you’re going to be in. A hall is our equivalent of a house.” At Ginny’s dubious look, Grayson added: “Relax, there’s no one within fifty miles, save coyotes, rattlesnakes, and cacti. And none of them are likely to have any interest in your school supplies.”

They were about a quarter-mile from the old cluster of buildings (known as a “ghost town”, Ginny would later find out). The professor led the way toward it, then turned away from the wide street between the structures. “Don’t go that way. You enter the town the obvious way, and you won’t be able to see the school, even if you use the right entrance afterward. And disenchanting you won’t be an easy business.” He led the way to a refuse-clogged passageway between two other buildings, pointed his wand at the heaped garbage. “Evanesco.”

The trash vanished. Professor Grayson walked through, then motioned for Ginny to follow. “Apparecio,” he added, and the trash rematerialized. Ginny, who had been watching him, turned again, and her jaw made a beeline for the ground.

It was as though she had journeyed back in time by at least a century: the decaying old buildings were tall and sound and freshly painted a pale blue. The trim and doors were white, and the doors had a stylized silver logo on them. Ginny recognized it as this school’s equivalent of the Hogwarts crest. Where there had been only empty desert between the structures, there were now wrought-iron benches, colorful flower gardens, even a fountain.

The professor was grinning as Ginny looked back at him in amazement. “Welcome to Silver Grove, kid.”

Ginny noticed another great difference between Hogwarts and Silver Grove almost immediately, but even after they entered the closest and second-largest building, it took her several seconds to put her finger on it. Not a big surprise, unaccustomed as she was to being in Muggle-dominated areas. Ultimately, though, she figured out what it was: the light level.

At night, Hogwarts had always been lit with flickering torches, hovering candles, or oil lamps. The reason, her father had explained, was that the school’s magical safeguards interfered with the electricity that Muggles used to power their lights. Silver Grove did not appear to have that problem: the hallway was lit by a long line of incandescent light fixtures. Ginny blinked painfully several times, but then the Night Eyes spell dissipated, and she could see normally again. But it was still far brighter than Hogwarts had been, though less atmospheric.

Also, Ginny noticed with surprise, a small, black, vaguely cubical object was sitting on the table. Ginny recognized it; her father had brought one home once: he called it a "baboon box" or some such thing. Music was quietly emanating from it, something else that shouldn’t have been possible. She quickly asked Professor Grayson about this.

“We have fewer and less powerful safeguards than Hogwarts does,” he explained. “The ones we do have interfere with delicate electronics, like cel-phones, computers, calculators, CD’s, or television. But electricity still functions, and so do land-line telephones, as long as we shield the wires properly. Muggle radios and audio tape players can be made to work as well. We can modify them to pick up wizard radio, of course, but a lot of our half-blood and Muggle-born students still prefer their own music. We have one young lady who incessantly listens to something called ‘The Backstreet Boys’.”

“What did you mean by less powerful safeguards?” Ginny asked.

“Well, the most notable one concerns Apparition. In Hogwarts, if you travel that way, you have to materialize outside the grounds and walk the rest of the way. Here, we rely more on the masking spells. If someone wants to Apparate in the middle of the school, or from place to place within the grounds, nothing stops them,”

“But what if someone. . . I don’t know, attacks the place?” Ginny blushed. “I know, it sounds paranoid. But. . . .”

“No, you’re not paranoid; schools have been attacked in the past. That’s why we monitor arrivals and departures. If someone bad does show up, we have our ways of dealing with them,” the professor said, and a nasty gleam in his eye flared as he said that. “But I’ll get into that later. Hey, Bryan, how’s it going?”

The latter was directed at a friendly-looking black man in a blue jumpsuit, who was sitting on a chair and using his wand to direct the efforts of roughly a dozen cleaning implements, including mops, brooms, and dusting rags. All were doing their job industriously, considering that no human hand was within ten feet of them. “Hi yourself, Mr. G. Another new student?”

“Yeah,” Professor Grayson said. “Ginny, meet Bryan Buffins, our school caretaker. We have no house-elves, so he’s responsible for keeping the place neat and tidy.”

“Well, I don’t do it all myself.” The caretaker offered his hand. “Welcome, young lady. What’s your name?”

Ginny returned the gesture. “I’m Ginny Weasley. Pleased to meet you.”

“Same here. Forgive me for saying it, but you sure don’t sound like no Californian I ever met,” Bryan said.

“She’s not,” Professor Grayson said. “Actually, she’s from my neck of the woods. And I’ll explain later. I need to get her sorted and settled in first.” He led Ginny down the hall.

“Why did Mr. Buffins think I was. . . uh, Callie-forian?” Ginny queried.

“Californian,” the professor explained. “Look, kid. I don’t know how familiar you are with American geography, but one of our westernmost states, and our most populous, is called California. Now, most of the state is located in what we call an MDZ or Magic-Dead Zone. Magic either doesn’t work at all or is much harder in there.”

“I know about MDZ’s,” Ginny said. “Dad told us about the one in the Swiss Alps. Professor Binns talked about them too.”

“Well, then you probably know about the problems they present. One of the big ones is that our recording quill, similar to the one at Hogwarts, can’t detect the birth of a child with magical powers inside an MDZ. Most of them, including the Swiss one, have fewer than a thousand people living in them. However, there are well over twenty million people in California. Sixteen million are inside the MDZ’s borders.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about California,” Ginny cut in. “It’s supposed to be kind of a wacky place, even for America.”

“Nah, France is wackier. Anyway, in the Zone, there are thousands of young wizards there, and hundreds more born every year, who have no clue what they are, and have just assimilated into Muggle society. That’s probably why the place is so odd, by Muggle standards. Our kind try to fit in, but somehow they never quite do.”

“But why did he think I was from there?” Ginny queried, more confused than ever. Like many other teachers she had known, Professor Grayson seemed to like to talk.

“I was getting to that. Sometimes, a magical child born in California leaves the state, and then we detect their presence before they go home. Other times, a young wizard is so powerful that his abilities manifest themselves despite the MDZ’s effects. Either way, when a wizardling is found, it falls to me to search for them, find them, and bring them over if they want to come. That’s another reason why I don’t use a broom: if I flew it into the MDZ, it might stop functioning in midair.”

“But the Badger isn’t magical,” Ginny said. “So it won’t crash.”

“Well, it could. It may be brand new, for all intents, but the technology is still half a century old, and it was built by Muggles. But it won’t be affected by the Zone.” Grayson opened a small door. “This is the Charms classroom. Professor Miyazaki teaches here.”

Another door led to the Transformation classroom. “I know that they call it Transfiguration in Britain,” Grayson explained, “But it’s the same thing: turning something into something else. Professor Chance, she’s our headmistress, teaches that herself in addition to her other duties. She likes to stay busy.”

They started to leave when Grayson remembered something else. “Oh, right. Another thing. Don’t call yourself a witch here. On our side of the ocean, ‘witch’ and ‘warlock’ are terms that describe someone who practices the dark arts. We use the terms ‘wizard’ and ‘wizardess’. Also, junior wizards are sometimes called ‘wizardlings’. It’s generally a term of endearment, don’t take it personally.”

Ginny nodded. “I won’t.”

Herbology was taught in a greenhouse atop the same building. Potions was in a regular classroom, above ground. Ginny knew that she would not miss Snape’s chilly dungeon at all. And Ginny was surprised to hear that History of Magic here was taught by a ghost as well.

“It’s a younger school, so we have far fewer ghosts here,” Professor Grayson explained. “But Professor Nacht is one of our oldest. Unlike Binns, he was already dead when we hired him on.”

“Why’d you hire a ghost?” Ginny wanted to know.

“Because he didn’t read about the events he’s discussing,” Professor Grayson explained. “He was actually there.”

They changed buildings, heading to a smaller structure that consisted of only two rooms. One was obviously the hospital wing, which was empty except for a man in a shirt that appeared to be made of some kind of pale leather, and with beads sewn on it. His glossy hair was carefully parted in the middle, with two thick black braids hanging down his chest. A closer look indicated to Ginny that his skin was startlingly red. She had heard of American Indians, but this was her first actual encounter with one. “This would be Red Cloud,” Grayson explained. “He teaches potions, and doubles as our healer.”

“I still prefer the term ‘medicine man’,” Red Cloud stated. He did not say anything else as they explored the chamber. He did not seem to notice them at all. It was rather disconcerting.

“Is he always up this late?” Ginny asked as they left.

“He never sleeps,” Professor Grayson returned. “Don’t ask me how he manages that, I don’t know. Wish I did, though. Gonna take me days to readjust to Mountain time.”

The other room was long and high-ceilinged like the hospital, but about three times wider, and dominated by a draped platform about forty feet in length. Ginny recognized it as a dueling floor, from the short-lived Dueling Club that had started up at Hogwarts the one year she was there. “Is this the Defense Against the Dark Arts room?”

Grayson nodded. “It’s our multipurpose room, but yes, I teach here. It’s also used for assemblies, school dances, and church services.”

Ginny turned to the professor in surprise. “Church services? Really?”

“Yes, really. Many of our kids come from what the Americans call the Bible Belt. Some are from towns where everything still closes on Sunday. Just because they find out that there's such a thing as magic doesn’t mean they’ll stop believing in God.” Grayson grinned. “They still had similar services at Hogwarts when I was there. The Fat Friar conducted them.” They left the chamber, and then Professor Grayson led the way to another building, a two-story house painted in the same blue and white as all the others. “This is the staff housing and offices. If you behave yourself, you’ll rarely see it. But we’ll assign you to your hall here.”

“Where are the halls? And how many are there?”

“Second question: four. First question: student housing is all one building, that really big one over there. It’s divided into four halls, each of which holds up to 128 students, which gives us roughly half the capacity of Hogwarts. As with houses, each hall contains students with certain abilities and attributes. And each one has a teacher in charge of it. I’m head of Bear Hall. They’re all named after animals.”

Ginny found herself hoping she’d be sent there, but in her heart, she doubted it. If the divisions were anything like they were at Hogwarts. . . well, she was a Gryffindor, and he had been in Hufflepuff.

“How do you sort students, exactly?” Ginny asked as he led her to a small room. “I guess you don’t have a Sorting Hat.”

“Actually, we do.” Ginny halted in amazement, and he shook his head. “It was just too good an idea to pass up. Ever since Gryffindor invented the Sorting Hat, most schools that have houses or halls or whatever have come up with some inanimate object for the same purpose. And hats are handiest.” He smiled gently as Ginny shook her head in amazement. “You look like someone who’s just had too many curveballs thrown to them.”

“What are curveballs?”

Professor Grayson laughed. “Never mind.”

Chapter 7 - The Snotty Hat

Grayson led the way into a small chamber and opened up a cabinet, which along with a small chair were the only furnishings. In it sat a hat very similar to the one Ginny remembered, but about 900 years newer. It yawned, the rip in its brim opening wide. “Morning, Professor Gleason. It’s not time to Sort already, is it? It’s three in the morning for crying out loud.”

“Hat, I’ve told you before, it’s Grayson. And Miss Weasley wants to get an early start.”

“Weeeasley?” The hat scrunched itself up. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that name. Anyway, I’m busy. Come back in a few hours.”

Grayson sighed and shook his head. “Hat, just how can you be busy? You have one function and that is to sort students.”

“I’m working on my song for this year.”

“Oh, right.” To Ginny, Professor Grayson explained: “Our hat doesn’t sing. We don’t have an official Sorting ceremony here. Kids are sorted in private, as they arrive.”

“And anyway, you don’t even pay me,” the hat said cheekily. “Maybe I should go on strike. Try for a raise. Maybe even dental benefits.”

“Dental benefits?! You’re a hat, for crying out loud! You don’t even have teeth!”

“Then a dental plan for me shouldn’t cost much, should it?” The hat snickered. “By the way, I came up with a song to sing this year. Want to hear it?”

“No.”

The hat began singing anyway, in a really obnoxious voice:

“There once was a girl named Jill,
Who used dynamite sticks for a thrill.
They found her. . . .”

“HAT!” Grayson shouted. He knew that rude little limerick already.

A voice from behind them: “Welcome back, Ulysses. How was Merry England?”

Ginny turned to behold a woman who was somehow a dead ringer for Professor McGonagall even though she looked almost nothing like her. Unlike Ginny’s former head of house, this woman was blond-haired with dark green eyes, and was dressed in pale blue robes trimmed with silver. However, she had the exact same look in her eyes: you knew immediately that you didn’t want to be on this woman’s bad side.

Seeing Ginny, however, she allowed herself a smile. “So, you’re the one that Professor Dumbledore was bombarding me with letters about. Let’s have a look at you.” She eyed Ginny from top to toe. Ginny was glad she had worn her nice robes. “Professor Dumbledore has told us to expect great things from you, Miss Weasley.”

“Ginny, this is Estella Chance, our esteemed headmistress,” Professor Grayson said. “Estella, may I present Miss Ginevra Weasley.”

“It’s Ginny,” said ‘Miss Ginevra Weasley’ as she shook hands with Professor Chance. “I’m happy to be here.”

“Good. Have you been sorted yet?”

“Well, the Hat is up to its old tricks again,” Professor Grayson said, a bit shamefacedly.

Professor Chance sighed and then grabbed the hat by its tip and proceeded to shake it awake. “Hat!”

The hat opened one of the two smaller slits above its mouth, which presumably served as eyes. “Yeeees?”

“Time to do your job. This young lady needs a place to live.”

“Well, there’s a nice abandoned barn a few miles from here.”

“I do not house my students in barns, abandoned or otherwise. Now sort Miss Weasley, or I’ll turn you into a pair of underwear.”

Perhaps not surprisingly, Professor Chance’s threat seemed to have the desired effect on the hat. “Oh fine,” it growled. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Ginny stepped forward, addressing the hat. “Sounds like you have a bit of an attitude.”

“Probably picked it up from the minds of all the little twits who’ve put me on over the last hundred years,” the hat sassed.

“Not a welcome change,” Professor Chance said cooly.

“Well, learn to deal with it, unless you want to do your own sorting,” growled the hat. “Hey, brat. Why don’t you put me on? I can't see into your little bird brain from here, you know."

"Don't worry," Grayson said as Ginny picked up the hat, a little nervously, as if she thought it might bite her. "Once you put it on, it'll behave."

"Correct," Professor Chance confirmed. "That's the deal. It does its job once it's on, and we put up with its. . . quirks the rest of the time."

"Well, get on with it," the hat said to Ginny. "Unless you’d like me to just flip a coin. Which might be a little tough, seeing as how I don’t have hands.”

Ginny put the hat on, and felt a familiar sensation, that someone else was in her head. But before she could say anything, before she could think anything, a little voice spoke to her.

“Hmmm. . . yes, you’ve been here before. And my counterpart also had difficulty with you, didn’t he? Yes, you remember it all, even his exact words: ‘Courage, yes, but such kindness and loyalty. And intelligence too, yes indeed, but a strange darkness growing within you. . .’ well, at least the latter’s gone now.”

Ginny was amazed. That was almost exactly what the Hogwarts Sorting Hat had said to her, two years before.

“I see inside your head, and that includes your memories,” the hat said, answering the question before she could ask it. “But don’t worry, I’m also forbidden to reveal anything I see to anyone else, even the headmistress. Anyway, to business. You already know we have four halls. And you know that one is the Hall of the Bear. Only those who possess great inner strength can join them. A Bear can face the unthinkable and still go on. We also have the Hall of the Wolf. Wolves are brave and loyal to their own. And then there’s the Hall of the Dolphin, where those who are cleverest go. When a Dolphin faces a problem, they think carefully before they act. And last, there’s the Goose. Those of that hall are fond of working together, sharing their burdens, and aiding one another in word and deed.”

Ginny began to think something, but once again, the hat knew her thought before she could even generate the words in her head.

“No, Ginny, no Slytherin here. All four of our noble halls have produced fine citizens of the magical world, men and women who will never be forgotten. And all four have produced wizards and wizardesses whom they would as soon forget. At this learning institution, it is the decisions you make, not the hall you are sorted into, that determines what you become.”

Another twitch in Ginny’s mind as she came up with a question. As before, it was answered instantly.

“Good, they told you not to use the term ‘witch’ to describe your fellow female students. Don’t forget that; if you call yourself a witch here, you’re likely to get some funny looks. And if you use it on someone else, you might find yourself in a duel.”

A pause as the hat seemed to gather itself. Ginny’s mind generated more questions, but they went unanswered. Perhaps the hat only responded to relevant lines of questioning.

“Ooo-kay,” the hat finally said. “There’s intelligence there, indeed there is, the Dolphins might well accept you as one of their own. But you don’t think your way out of trouble, do you? No, you prefer to take action, even if it’s the wrong action. Admirable in its own way, yes, but not a Dolphin trait. . . you believe in team work, you’re helpful, you love to aid and comfort your friends. You’d make a Goose, yes indeed. But look here, your courage and loyalty. . . you are a paragon of both. Yes, you could be a Wolf as well. But what is this?” A pause, as the hat looked deeper. “Oh my, yes, how interesting. There’s iron in here, Miss Weasley, iron inside you. You watched your very life crumble around you, through no fault of your own. And yet you endured.”

Yet another thought of Ginny’s was intercepted at the source.

“Yes, I know. You did so little for so long. You read, you helped your mother, you flew, you stayed out of sight. You felt like you were spinning your wheels and going nowhere, and you were, but there was nowhere you could go. So it was all you could do. But when you were tempted to give up, to let despair claim you, you fought it off. Most admirable. Hmmmm. . . so hard to decide. Not Dolphin, not for you. Certainly Wolf would suit you, maybe Goose, but your strength, the way it resonates deep within you, permeates your soul. . . no, there can only be one proper place for you, especially since you want to be there anyway. I, the Silver Grove Sorting Hat, sort you into BEAR!!”

The last word was thunderous in the tiny chamber, and Ginny knew that it had been heard by all. Lifting the hat from her head, she looked at her two new teachers. She didn’t know what to say. “Bear,” she said, and immediately felt silly.

“All right,” Professor Grayson said, smiling at her. “Let’s show you around.”

“Just a second,” Professor Chance said. “I want to talk with her in my office first.” She turned toward the door. “Come along, Ginny.”

Special thanks to Mellowdrama. Your kind words are greatly appreciated. Wish there were more like you.

Chapter 8 - A Conversation

There was a red plastic device on the headmistress’s desk, a vaguely hourglass-shaped unit, a curly wire, and a vaguely trapezoidal base with a sort of dial on it. Professor Chance picked it up and spun the dial a couple of times, then held the hourglass thingy up to her ear. “Yes, Miranda? Can I get some coffee and sweets up here.” She covered up one end of the thing. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Uh, could I get a butterbeer? Do you have it over here?”

“I’m afraid we only stock butterbeer in wintertime. I know you drink it cold and hot over there, but Americans pretty much only drink it hot. We have Ferret Punch, though.”

Ginny declined politely, then pointed to the odd device. “Is that a fellytone?”

“No, it’s a telephone.” As she was speaking, a pot of coffee and a platter covered with frosted doughnuts and sticky buns materialized on her desk. “Thank you, Miranda,” Professor Chance said into the thing, then put the handset back on the base. “Miranda’s our head cook. Hungry?”

“Not right now, thank you,” Ginny said.

“Very well. First of all,” Professor Chance got down to business, “I would like to know one thing. What have you heard about my school? Good things or bad things?”

Ginny tried to make the proper, diplomatic reply, but it stuck in her throat. She tried again, and again, nothing came out of her mouth. She looked confusedly at her new headmistress.

The blond woman chuckled. “It’s all right, Miss Weasley. I already knew the answer to that question. I’m aware of our reputation, especially in Europe. I merely asked you that to illustrate something to you, and it’s this. I have a permanant Veritas charm on this office. No one, not even me, can tell a lie while in here. Not even a white lie, like you were attempting. So if I ask you something here, it is best to be completely honest. Saves us both a lot of time and trouble. Fair enough?”

Ginny nodded.

“Good. Have you read the student handbook yet?”

Ginny nodded. Upon hearing that she would be going with him, Grayson had kindly provided her with a copy.

“And you understand our system of discipline?”

Ginny nodded a third time. “They had something like it at Hogwarts, but they’d also take points away from houses.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that from Professor Grayson. I’d like to get a similar point system going here, but we haven’t gotten around to it. In any case, you earn a detention, you spend a few hours helping the teachers or support staff with their scutwork. If detention proves inadequate or ineffective, then you come see me. And I’ll warn you now, it won't be fun. You know that Hogwarts outlawed Transformation as a punishment back in 1919, right?”

"I knew it wasn't allowed, but I didn't know when."

"Well, we still use it, when necessary." The headmistress took a generous swig of coffee before continuing. “Now, Albus Dumbledore’s a wonderful man, and I’d do just about anything he asked. But I really do need to know the circumstances of how you got here, and firsthand knowledge is always preferable to secondhand. So please tell me about what happened last year.”

Ginny did as asked, starting with the confrontation with the Malfoys in Flourish and Blotts, continuing through her discovery of the diary that wrote back, the strange blackouts that increased in frequency and intensity. Growing steadily weaker and less able to fight the vampiric power of Riddle’s deadly book. And finally, dreamily, entering the Chamber of secrets and going under for the last time. Being awakened by a bloodied, filthy Harry Potter. The flight up the shaft, reuniting with her parents, falling asleep in the infirmary with her mother at her side. And finally, the denoument the next day.

Professor Chance listened impassively to most of the tale, occasionally interjecting a question. On two occasions, Ginny broke down, and when that happened, she was handed a tissue and allowed to pause until she regained her composure. Finally, after Ginny had finished, Professor Chance leaned back. “I see.” A pause. “I know that was hard for you, Ginny. Have a sticky bun, it’ll make you feel better.”

Ginny had one. It was delicious: sweet, sticky, and melting in the mouth. She did begin to feel better.

Professor Chance spoke. “Well, I never met any of the Malfoys, but Ulysses encountered Lucius when they were at school. He sounds like a thoroughly nasty piece of work.”

“Well, you saw what he did to me,” Ginny said through a mouthful of pastry.

“Yes. And I’ll tell you this, I think Dumbledore was way too easy on the man. I’d have challenged him on the spot.” She sighed. “All right. Let’s get down to academics. What subjects did you study at Hogwarts?”

“Transfig. . . ahh, Transformation, Potions, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“And what did you cover in each of those areas?”

Ginny went over it, in the process consuming the bun she had, and another one. Partway through, her voice began to tire, and she changed her mind about a drink and asked to try a Ferret Punch. It had an intriguing flavor, tangier than butterbeer, strangely spicy, and nothing like ferrets. Nothing on earth beat butterbeer when it was hot, but this was definitely better for drinking cold.

When she finished, the headmistress nodded acceptance. “All right. Since we’re a six-year school, not a seven-year, I’m going to have you start with the seventh-graders, which is our equivalent of first-year, even though you’ll be a year older than them. If your teachers tell me that you’re qualified to move up, we’ll let you advance to eighth, or second. Most subjects, that shouldn’t be a problem. It sounds like your history teacher was no great shakes, and your Defense teacher was a joke.”

Ginny nodded agreement. Professor Lockhart had not taught his first-year class even one useful defensive spell, and Binns had just been too boring to pay attention to.

“I assure you, that will not be the case here. I will have you know that whatever shortcomings my school has, quality of education is not one of them. Unlike any other school on the planet, we are educationally on a level with Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and. . . well, that Bulgarian one, whatever its name is. And in defensive skill, our students have no equal. People dislike us because we do things our own way, and we get results.” The headmistress leaned back in her chair. “Do you have any questions?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

“Very well. Then I will conclude by saying welcome aboard, and good luck.” Professor Chance picked up the telephone. “I’ll give Professor Grayson a ring and let him know that you’re ready to tour your hall now.”

Please review! Kind words or constructive criticism are welcome. Flaming will tell me nothing about my writing and more than I want to know about you.

Chapter 9 - Esmerelda

The four halls each had a three-dimensional bronze sculpture of their respective name jutting out from them. The large, realistic-looking bear on the door to Ginny’s new hall growled terrifyingly at her, but once Grayson introduced her as a new resident, it merely sniffed her, then swung open on silent hinges. “Never try to enter the wrong Hall,” the professor warned. “The guardians always warn you first, but they’ll get nastier if you don’t get the message. About ten years ago, the goose nipped off a recalcitrant boy’s finger.”

“Yeek,” Ginny said, giving the doors in question a dubious look.

Ginny took an immediate liking to Bear Hall. Like Gryffindor Tower, it had a common room, complete with fireplace and squashy armchairs, though it was decorated with paintings of rustic woodland scenes and mountains (moving, of course) and polished wood paneling rather than tapestries and stone. Not to mention that it was lit with track lighting instead of torches or oil lamps. There was no fire at the moment, because the heat of summer had yet to dissipate.

They were not alone there. A tall, athletic-looking teen was asleep on one of the couches. Ginny had to look closer to determine that it was a girl; she was slenderly built, with short dark hair. And cool gray eyes, she realized as the girl awakened. “What the. . . oh, Professor, good morning. Sorry, I was working late, and I guess I never made it back to my room.”

“Don’t worry about it, Esmerelda. Sorry to wake you up so early, but this is the new kid I was telling you about.”

“Oh, right, the one that Dumbledore from Hogwarts recommended,” Esmerelda said. “Hello. . . uhh, is it Ginerva or Ginevra?”

“It’s Ginevra, but I go by Ginny.”

“Well, hello, Ginny. And welcome.”

“Esmerelda’s our prefect,” Professor Grayson explained. “We only have one per hall, and always the opposite sex of the Head of Hall. Inside the Girls’ side of the hall, where I cannot go, her word is law.”

“And if that’s not good enough reason, I’m also the captain of the school dueling team,” Esmerelda said with a smile. “Do you duel?”

Ginny shook her head. “No. We had a dueling club at Hogwarts, but it was disbanded after the first meeting. The teachers in charge were both gits.”

“What’s a git?” Esmerelda asked.

“Schmucks. Idiots. Doofuses,” Professor Grayson rattled off.

“Ah. Well, our team’s been around for the past 112 years,” Esmerelda said, not without a glimmer of pride. “Professor Grayson manages it. He takes our best duelers, and then he makes them better.”

“Do you have a house Quidditch team?”

“We have one team, for the whole school. As with our dueling team, we go against the other major schools in North America. There are six, in case you didn’t know. Ours, unfortunately, is the one that’s been in seventh place eight of the last ten seasons. I was the Keeper last year, but I gave it up when I made prefect. Couldn’t handle classes, two sports, and bossing the younger kids around.”

“Are you in sixth-year?”

“Yeah. The terminology here is a bit different. Seventh-grade is first year, eighth is second, Third years are called freshmen, fourths are sophomores, fifth junior, sixth senior. That’s what I am.” Esmerelda led the way to a door, one of two leading out of the common room. “Make sure you go through the right door. We had a problem with boys sneaking into the girls’ dormitories, and vice versa, so Professor Grayson and I rigged up a little charm on each door.”

“What does it do?”

Esmerelda whispered the answer to Ginny, who shrank further away from the door with BOYS ONLY on it. Professor Grayson covered his mouth to hide a chuckle.

A loud pop sounded to Ginny’s left, as another person materialized. Ginny was used to Apparition, most of the grown-ups she knew used it. But this person did not look very grown-up. She was plump, with leaf-brown hair, and was wearing torn blue jeans and a black T-shirt with “Nine Inch Nails” scrawled on it.

“Hello, Ashley,” Esmerelda said. “How was your summer? I see you learned to Apparate.”

“Yeah, my dad taught me. It was an interesting experience, especially getting splinched. Oh, and also, my mom took me to a muggle rodeo last week. These guys were trying to ride these crazy horses, and roping baby cows and tying them up. This one poor sap had a bull gore him with its horns and they had to take him away in an ambulance. Those muggles have some strange sports.”

“That they do,” Esmerelda said. “But I think golf has to be the most pointless of them all. This is Ginny, our first new Bear cub. Ginny, this is Ashley Grimsby. She’s a sophomore.”

“Is she over seventeen?”

“No,” Professor Grayson said. “You only have to be fifteen here. We normally teach it in fourth year, but it’s not uncommon for kids to pick it up early. The nice thing is that we have apparition license reciprocity with Britain. Once you earn your license here, they have to let you do it over there, too.”

Ginny pondered the thought of being able to pop in and out of places a full year before Ron or Harry could, and felt a grin split her face.

“You have to be seventeen to Apparate in England?” Esmerelda sounded amazed. When Ginny nodded, she added, “My gosh, that would suck!”

“You’re from England?” Ashley said. “But I thought kids from there had to go to. . . What’s your old school’s name again, Professor? Dog Warts?”

“Hogwarts. Normally, they do. It’s complicated.”

Two or three older students popped into existence in the chamber, greeted Esmerelda and each other. Ginny watched for more, but none came. “This isn’t everybody, is it?”

“Oh, not even close. Everyone who can comes in on the Silver Wind,” Esmerelda said. “It’s a longtime tradition.”

“Like the Hogwarts Express,” added Professor Grayson.

“What is the Silver Wind?” Ginny asked.

“You’ll find that out later,” the professor said. “Right now, I think we should assign you a room.”

“Where should I put her, though,” Esmerelda mused. “What’s her ancestry? She’s not muggle-born, is she?”

“I thought that didn’t matter to you,” Grayson said sharply.

“It doesn’t matter to me. But I don’t want to stick her with girls who’ll mistreat her, either. And I don’t know how you feel. Ginny, do you have any objection to rooming with muggle-borns?”

“Of course not! Why would I mind?” asked a genuinely mystified Ginny. Hermione and Colin, two of her friends at school, had both been born to and raised by muggles.

“Some kids do, unfortunately,” Esmerelda said. “Professor Grayson said they still have the same problem at Hogwarts, too.” She considered. “All right, let’s see, why don’t I put you in B6. You’ll be with Irma Reeves and Ashley here. Ashley, you up to keeping her out of trouble?”

“Of course. After Irma, anyone’ll be easy.”

“Irma’s in eighth,” explained Esmerelda. “She hadn’t a clue about the wizarding world until the school owl plopped her letter on her doorstep.”

“Well, she’s made good progress since then,” Professor Grayson said, a little sharply. “Shall we get to getting settled in? The Silver Wind comes in just a few hours, and we’ll be expected to go out and meet it.”

Ashley led Ginny through the door and down the hallway which was done in wood paneling and wine-red carpet, and lit with what looked like old-style oil lamps but were electric. “So, they’re still dealing with the whole blood thing at Hogwarts, are they?”

“I suppose so,” Ginny said. “Most of the people who care about bloodlines wind up in Slytherin. Do you know what. . . ?”

“Yeah, I’ve talked with Grayson. Trust me, kid, it’s even worse here. Here’s our room.” She indicated a wooden door with B6 on a bronze plate. “How long has Hogwarts been accepting muggle-borns?”

“It always has,” Ginny said, entering the room. It was a snug little chamber, with three stacked bunks, a large chest with six drawers, and a storage closet. “Is there a loo?”

“A bathroom, you mean? Yeah, down the hall. I’ll show you in a bit.” Ashley got back to the subject at hand. “So, about a thousand years. We didn’t accept Muggle-borns until about fifteen years ago, right after Professor Chance took over. And we haven’t graduated one since then, either.”

Although Britishers did not use the term “graduate”, Ginny knew what she meant. She did some math. There had been time for nine. . . maybe, ten classes to graduate since then. And not one person had. . . “But why?” she asked. “Are they that rare?”

“No, we’ve had a bunch of ‘em get invited and most choose to come. But the way they get treated, none of ‘em want to stay. We had nine of ‘em show up last year, and only one’s still around for second. Our roommate, Irma. She’s a tough little kid.” Ashley’s voice grew serious. “Listen, Ginny. I’m half and half, and I’ve had to put up with an awful lot of crap. Irma’s gotten worse. If you’re going to room with us, you could get pulled into it. You’re a pure-blood, right?”

Ginny nodded. “Yup.”

“If you want to room with someone else, I’ll understand. But best to speak now, before more rooms get taken.”

Ginny didn’t hesitate. She was a Weasley, and the Weasley way was to stand up for what one knew to be right. “Are you going to want the top bunk, or can I have it?”

Ashley smiled. “It’s all yours, kid.”

Chapter 10 - The Silver Wind

Professor Grayson had not been kidding about jet lag, Ginny reflected upon looking at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven, but she felt like the sun should have already set.

Still, she had accomplished plenty in that time. Her trunk was unpacked and stowed. Her clothes and things were put away, in the closet and in two of the chest’s six drawers. She had visited the student store and bought used copies of all the textbooks she didn’t have. And, she, Esmerelda, and Ashley had gone to the dining hall for breakfast. Ginny had had only a light meal at the Burrow, and a couple of sticky buns, and her excitement and fear had caused her to burn copious amounts of calories. The food was excellent: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, waffles, and more of those delightful sticky buns.

She had also gotten her robes to the laundry. They had actually once been her Hogwarts robes: since they belonged to her, they had to be returned to her. Someone had magically excised the Gryffindor house crest before doing so, leaving them plain black. Now, the wizardess in charge of the laundry waved her wand over them, and the Silver Grove crest appeared on them. Ginny was also issued a small bronze bear for one side of her collar, and a single silver pip for the other. Since Ashley had four such pips, and Esmerelda six, Ginny figured it was safe to assume that the pips indicated what year (grade, whatever) the wearer was.

After they were settled in and fed, Esmerelda went off to tend to her prefect duties, which left Ginny and Ashley to sit in the common room and talk. Ashley explained that the school had three non-teaching support staff. Miranda Stover cooked and managed the kitchen, Bryan Buffins looked after the indoor cleaning, and Lena Lathering handled the laundry. “None of them go in the halls, though. We have to see to that ourselves.”

“Why aren’t there any house-elves?” Ginny asked.

“I’m not even sure what house-elves are, so I don't know," Ashley said. "It may be mentioned in the history text. You could go get it if. . . .”

“Or she could just ask me,” a German-accented voice cut in. Ginny turned to behold the ghost of a very young man, maybe twenty-two or three when he died. “Professor Gunter Nacht,” the spectre said. “I teach History. And the answer to your question is that the American wizarding community outlawed all slavery in 1865, following the example of the muggle president, Abraham Lincoln, who was greatly admired by the wizards of the time. House elves, since they were classified as Beings, could not be owned or compelled to work without compensation. You’re the British student we were expecting, ja?”

Ginny nodded.

“Very good. When your ministry abolished slavery, they made a special allowance for house-elves. That explains why you can still have them. Does your family own any elves?”

Ginny shook her head. “Couldn’t afford one.”

Professor Nacht started to reply, but before he could, Esmerelda and Professor Grayson entered the room. “It’s 10:50, you two. Time to go meet the Silver Wind.”

When the four of them arrived, an assortment of other people were already present. Professor Chance was there, as was Red Cloud, and the support staff. Professor Nacht had followed them out and was glaring at the cloud-filtered sun. Ghosts were not fond of sunlight. There were a few other adults; Ashley pointed them out as elective teachers. Once Ginny reached the sophomore level, she would be allowed to enroll in their courses. “All four heads of hall normally ride in on the Silver Wind with the students,” she explained further. “Professor Grayson usually joins them, but I guess he was off getting you.”

Ginny checked her watch. It was 10:57, and still no sign of anything that might be called either silver or wind. “So where is it?”

“Coming. It’s never late,” Miranda the cook said serenely. A few moments, then: “There!”

Ginny looked, and saw a flare of silver far on the horizon. It grew, though, it grew fast. Soon it was a dot, then it was a lump, and then it was another bizarre contraption, obviously from the mind of another slightly demented muggle. It resembled nothing more than a blue and white ferry boat, mounted atop a huge inflatable silver rubber cushion, with a set of immense and powerful fans mounted on the back.

Professor Grayson moved over next to Ginny. “It’s called a hovercraft. It can pass over water, grass, roads, or desert sands easily. Unlike the Badger, it’s engine is magically powered. We have no railroad line out here, and no roads either. So, before the Wind was built for us, we had to use portkeys, enough for up to 512 kids, and make sure none of them led to the same place at the same time. Talk about your logistical nightmares.”

“The Wind is sooo awesome. It also takes us on school trips,” Ashley said excitedly. “It’s so cool. Got the best snack shop, and sandsurfing, and the Zip Floor, and especially the Moon Disco. I was so bummed when I found out I was going to miss it this year.”

Ginny started to ask about the activities she had described, but was interrupted by the sight of the thing stopping to put off passengers, right at the little gap where Ginny had entered the ghost town. She sidled over to Grayson. “Those are the first-ye. . . I mean, seventh-graders, right?”

“That’s right, Ginny.” The group watched at the group of nervous-looking youngsters climbed carefully down a flight of steps that emerged from the huge craft , and followed a tiny, dainty-looking Oriental wizardess through the inconspicuous little alleyway. Professor Grayson added: “The person they’re with is Professor Miyazaki, our Charms teacher. She’s also head of Wolf Hall.”

“Do they know that there’s a school here, or do they think this place is just an old. . . what’s it called again?” Ginny queried.

“Ghost town. Some undoubtedly know. Most of the older students won’t tell them, but a few do, and it gets around. In any case, once they’re inside, they’ll see the light. And once they’re sorted, their respective heads of house will take them around. You’ll see them around, but we won’t meet them properly until dinner is served.”

“What do the rest of us do during the Sorting?”

“Whatever you want,” Esmerelda explained. “Mostly, it’s a time for us to renew old acquaintences. We haven’t seen each other for almost three months, after all.”

The titanic hovercraft had finished deploying its younger cargo, and it eased itself forward, stopping in front of the school, and opened its doors a second time. Immediately, a tide of young people surged out. A few wore robes, black or dark blue or dark gray; most were in everyday clothes. Esmerelda greeted a group of older kids, and Professor Grayson headed over to a tall, stylish-looking wizardess who wore a beret instead of the more traditional pointed hat. Most of the newcomers went past them. Trainilg the group was a squat, slightly chubby wizard in rumpled yellow robes. He was dragging two students by the arms. Both were in uniform, which indicated that one was a fourth year, the other a second.

Ashley hurried over to the trio and addressed the second-year, a tall and slender girl with chin-length light brown hair and clear light green eyes. “Irma! You’re not in trouble already, are you?”

“What’s going on?” Professor Chance asked, striding up.

“I found these two dueling with each other,” the rumpled teacher said. “They were with another kid, a first year. He was crying. Said she. . .” (he shook the fourth-year) “. . . was hassling him.”

“What about Miss Reeves here?”

“She poked her nose in, I guess. Not a surprise, she took enough of the same last year. But you know the rules.”

“Yes, I do.” Professor Chance addressed the two students. “All right. What happened? And if I think either of you are lying, we’ll go straight to my office.”

The other student said nothing, knowing that one way or another, a lie would ultimately be detected and would get her into even more hot water. Irma spoke for both of them. “I saw her with this first-year. She was threatening him with her wand, calling him mudblood, muggle scum, and some other things. I told her to pick on someone who could fight back. She tried to hex me, I evaded it and disarmed her. She ran and grabbed up her wand again. That was when Professor Stephanovich caught us.”

Professor Chance turned to the other student. “Is this true.”

A long silence, then the older girl nodded, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Very well. First, Miss Reeves. Normally, duelling without permission is at least three hours worth of detention. But you were obviously acting in self-defense, and you fought to disarm only, so I’ll let it slide. Nettlebank, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?” Professor Chance added, now addressing the other student, and in a much colder tone. “Care to explain why you’re still engaging in this disgusting behavior?”

Nettlebank squared her shoulders. “My dad said I shouldn’t put up with scum like that. He said I needed to help the other kids drive them all out before they could get a footho. . . .”

“Well, after your punishment is ended, you can write him a letter and ask him to give you better advice in the future,” Professor Chance said, her sweet tone in no way disguising her anger. Her wand had already been in her hand. Now, she raised it. “CANIMORPHEUS!”

Nettlebank screamed, then blurred and shrank and fell to all fours. And then she was gone, and there was only a mangy-looking dog, staring bewilderedly up at the group.

Professor Chance addressed the animal. “Next time, Nettlebank, it’ll be a slug. Now SCAT!” She send a tiny burst of electricity from her wand, and the dog yipped and scuttled off.

Casually, apparently oblivious to the stares of Ginny and several stragglers, the Silver Grove headmistress sheathed her wand and headed for her office. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be sorting the seventh-graders.”

* * * * * * *

“What’s up, Ginny?” Ashley asked as the two of them headed down the hall to their room. “You look. . . I dunno. Kind of bummed.”

“I just saw our headmistress punish a kid by turning her into a dog,” Ginny said flatly. “How should I feel?”

Amanda made a disgusted sound. “You don’t know Nettlebank. She was one of the worst last year. I think we’d all be better off if Chance just let her stay that way for good. Unfortunately, she’ll turn her back in a couple of days, most likely.”

“It won’t harm her, will it?”

“Nah, not permanently. But it’s no picnic. She turned me into a duck last year when I got out of line. And trust me, being a duck’s no fun.”

Ginny shook her head as she vaulted up to her bunk and got out her Defense text. She was beginning to see why Silver Grove’s reputation was as bad as it was.

There was a knock on their door. “Enter,” Ashley said.

Esmerelda entered the room, flanked by Irma. Both of them looked grim. “It’s started already,” Esmerelda said flatly.

“What’s started?”

“A little girl in the opening class. Muggle-born. Some of the older kids got her alone on the Wind and started tormenting her, and this time, no one came around to help. She was in hysterics before they arrived here. She wants to go home. Refuses to change her mind, even after we got her calmed down.”

“What’s gonna happen to her?” Ginny asked.

Esmerelda sighed. “She’s been obliviated. Her parents will be too, and their memories will be carefully modified. None of them will ever know that the wizarding community exists.”

Ginny stared at the floor. She remembered how excited she had been on her first trip to Hogwarts. She tried to imagine what it would have been like to be terrorized on her very first trip there, to see her hopes and dreams turn rancid and ugly, to be hurt so deeply that the only way out was to run away without even learning a spell.

“Still think Chance was too hard on Nettlebank?” Ashley asked. Ginny had no answer to that.

Chapter 11 - Classes Start

Although the welcoming feast at Silver Grove was not on a level with the one at Hogwarts (one wizardess, no matter how talented, could not exceed the efforts of a platoon of house-elves), the food was good and plentiful. When Ginny, Irma, and Ashley returned from it together, they found that three class schedules had been dropped through their room’s mail slot. Ginny unfolded hers and read it.

WEASLEY, GINEVRA M.
SEVENTH GRADER

Potions: 8:00 - 8:55 AM : Red Cloud
Transformation: 9:00 - 9:55 AM : Chance
Herbology: T &W 11:00 - 11:55 AM: Root
Charms: 1:00 - 1:55 PM: Miyazaki
History of Magic: M & W 3:00 - 3:55 PM: Nacht
Defensive Magic: 5:00 - 5:55 PM: Grayson
Astronomy: Th & F 9:30 - 11:00 PM : Stephanovich
All classes are M-F unless otherwise indicated.

Breakfast Served: 6:45 - 8:30 AM
Lunch Served: 11:30 AM - 1:00 PM
Dinner Served: 6:00 - 7:30 PM
Snacks available in Dining Hall 6:00 AM - 10:30 PM

Quidditch Team Tryouts Th, 7:30 PM
Dueling Team Tryouts Fri. 7:30 PM (invitation only)


Ginny gave the schedule a quick read, then rummaged in her trunk for her nightgown. It was only a little past seven, but that translated to 2 AM in the time zone she had awakened in. She changed, brushed her teeth, then crawled wearily into her bunk and fell fast asleep.

A good ten hours’ sack time remedied her tiredness. Even after washing up and braiding her hair, it was early, too early for breakfast. Ginny entered the common room. One older girl was there, studying her history text. She smiled and said good morning, then resumed her studies. The boy and girl in the opposite side of the chamber were too busy trying to suck each other’s lips off to be so friendly. Ginny mentally gagged as she left the hall. She knew that snogging took place at Hogwarts as well, but the couples were usually more discreet about it.

Outside, she watched the sun rise on the desert, then had a hearty breakfast while she watched the other students arrive. All were in their uniform robes now, in all three colors permitted by the dress code. Most of the girls wore pants underneath, but enough wore dresses that she didn’t feel out of place. Before too long, Irma and Ashley arrived together. Ginny joined them, and they talked while they ate. Despite being of three different years, three different bloodlines, and from three different parts of the world, they had a great deal in common. Before they knew it, the 7:55 bell had rung, and they had to race off to their respective early classes.

The potions room was very much unlike Snape’s. It was a reasonably comfortable temperature, and it was well-lit, and there were no vials and beakers full of slimy things to make one’s breakfast do acrobatics in her stomach. Just neat racks of diverse potion additives along all the walls. Although students were expected to provide their own basic ingredients (which were readily available at the student store), they were not expected to have every single thing they would need. The school provided the more exotic stuff.

Potions master and healer Red Cloud stood at the front of the chamber. “Welcome to Grade 7 Potions,” he said. “My name is Red Cloud, and you may call me exactly that, no ‘professor’ nonsense. I expect you to pay close attention to the instructions I give you. If you make a mistake while brewing a potion, you can produce deadly acids, toxic gases, even explosions powerful enough to level buildings. Even a slight error in your judgment can easily cost you and those around you your lives.” A pause. “The potions we will start with are more forgiving. But you must still pay close attention, and do exactly as you are instructed. If you fail to do so, regardless of whether you survive, you will not pass this class.

“As most of you know,” he continued. “I am what is known as a Squib.” (Ginny had known this, courtesy of her conversations with Ashley, but was surprised that he would admit it so brazenly) “But I have specialized in this branch of magic. I can produce over 7,000 different mixtures without needing a book, and have developed over 1,200 new ones myself. With your cooperation, I will pass this knowledge on to you.”

Ginny suppressed a gasp, and she wasn’t the only one. Developing thirty new potions was considered to be a satisfying life’s work for a wizard. This man had created forty times as many, and he wasn’t all that old!

However, that was about all he said, and he quickly put them to work. Once the brewing got started, Ginny quickly became bored. She had already produced the very straightforward wart-curing potion in Snape’s class, and she had done it under far harsher conditions, both environmental and emotional (Snape had not really stopped disliking her until well into winter term). She did it again without effort, received an E (equivalent to ten out of ten, she had been told), and watched as all the other first-years sweated their way through the project.

She observed Red Cloud as he walked among the students, monitoring them. He showed about as much emotion as a wall, but he at least seemed to understand that he was in the business of helping his class succeed, as opposed to bullying them. And there was no favoritism present. Of course, there was no point for him; he was not head of any hall.

8:55 came, and the bell rang. All of Ginny’s class moved on to the Transformation room, and found the headmistress waiting for them. She obviously knew her business as well. Upon learning that Ginny could already turn a blueberry into a marble, she presented her with twelve other somewhat larger objects and a list of what she wanted each of them turned into. Ginny had a little trouble turning the largest object, a turnip, into a teacup, but by the end of the period, she had finished the assignment.

Professor Chance examined each item. “Very well done,” she murmured. “You just completed last year’s final examination for seventh-graders in this subject. And with a perfect score, I might add. I see that Professor McGonagall’s reputation as a teacher was not exaggerated.”

Ginny’s first Herbology class was not until next day, so she had three hours free. The weather was nice, so she spent it outside by the fountain, composing letters home. As she worked on a letter to her parents, she saw the school’s Herbology teacher cruise by in the distance, on his way up to the rooftop greenhouses. Professor Root was one of Irma’s favorites (Ashley, needling her friend, had suggested that she had a crush on him; Irma of course denied it). He was mild-tempered, chunky around the middle and bald on top, and his robes (brown today) were always wrinkled. He was the head of Goose hall, and it was rumored that he sometimes had trouble managing the more difficult students. Fortunately, Geese were rarely troublemakers.

Lunch came next, followed by Charms. Professor Miyazaki was shorter than most of her students were, but she was a formidable presence nonetheless. She spent most of the period demonstrating charms far more complex than any first-year was likely to learn, then instructed her class to read the chapter on Basic Wand Technique for the next day. Ginny scanned the chapter and realized she already knew everything it was demonstrating. She looked through the rest of the thick tome (it was the sole text for three years of charms) and discovered that she knew at least a quarter of it.

Professor Miyazaki dismissed the class early, but as Ginny was packing up, she said, “Not you, Miss Weasley. Please remain.”

Ginny waited until the other children had left. “Am I in trouble?”

“Have you done anything wrong?” Ginny shook her head. “Then you’re not.” The professor lay a blackboard eraser on Ginny’s desk. “Please perform a Hovering charm on this.”

Ginny drew her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The eraser rose into the air, swiftly and smoothly. Ginny deftly maneuvered it around the room, then eased it back down.

“Very good, Miss Weasley.” The professor presented her with a cup of water. “Please perform a Chilling charm.”

“Frigidaria,” Ginny said, tapping the glass. The water instantly froze.

“Fine. Wand-light spell, quickly.”

“Lumos,” and red-gold light blazed from the tip of Ginny’s wand.

They went through maybe a dozen more charms, until the bell sounded. Professor Miyazaki nodded. “You are too advanced to benefit from my class. Until the headmistress decides what to do with you, I would like you to follow the prescribed course of study for eighth grade. Please read pages 327 to 339 tonight, and be able to execute a Sweetening Spell by this time tomorrow.” She bowed to her student. “That’s all, you may go.”

Ginny had felt a bit of trepidation about History of Magic. Professor Binns, her previous ghost teacher, had been about as fun as a muggle dentist’s appointment, and far less exciting. Furthermore, she had heard that Nacht had ways of dealing with students who didn’t pay attention: he was known to jab a finger into one’s shoulder. Irma had gotten that treatment once, and had said that it was like getting jabbed with an icicle. Ashley said that for extreme cases, he would just walk through you, which was like getting doused with ice water. He had supposedly taught at Durmstrang for 450 years before being ousted by a headmaster who distrusted ghosts.

Much of what she had heard was true, but it wasn’t at all what she had expected, simply because Professor Nacht was almost impossible to ignore: not only was he a natural storyteller, but he had experienced many of the events he was describing. When he described the disastrous muggle witch hunts of 1692, which had killed zero wizards, zero devil worshippers, and twenty innocent muggles, he made the hearer feel almost like they were there. Binns had spent decades, perhaps centuries doing the same thing over and over. Nacht had spent his post-mortem years evolving and improving his teaching skills. When the 3:55 bell rang, Ginny found herself wondering where the time had gone.

That left only Defense. And there, for the second time in as many classes, Ginny found herself learning new things. Gilderoy Lockhart had spent his time telling the students about his marvellous exploits. He was a gifted author, but not much of a teacher. Comparatively, Ulysses Grayson couldn’t have successfully authored a coloring book. But, by the time the class session was half over, Ginny had a good idea as to how to carry a wand ready for battle, draw it rapidly, and evade an unfriendly hex. Professor Grayson warned her, however, that the latter skill would take them a long time to perfect.

And he then proceeded to prove it, putting them on the dueling floor and casting the harmless but silly Pili Puniceus hex at them. It was bright-colored with a narrow area of effect, comparably easy to avoid. Ginny, her reflexes honed by years of Quidditch with her brothers, finished the exercise as a redhead, but she was one of only a half-dozen or so lucky ones. Happily, the spell was as simple to reverse as Professor Grayson had said it was. He was the only one who actually left the room with pink hair.

Ginny was tired as the day drew to a close, but it was a good kind of tired. Some things had gone as expected, and there had been some surprises. But she had good teachers, and she was starting to make friends. The only downside was that she was a bit concerned about the brewing conflict over bloodlines. And it was brewing, no doubt; Nettlebank had indeed been restored to normal form, and she had a coterie of about a dozen students around her. Eating with her two roommates that night, Ginny had seen their malevolent glares. But she knew that she would have to face that when it came. There was no point in brooding about it beforehand.

Chapter 12 - Letter Exchange

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I have made some effort to have Ginny use English spelling and expressions whenever possible, in the letters she writes. Please excuse any errors in that regard. Also, occasional misspellings and errors do occur in Ron and Ginny's letters: most of these are deliberate. I am, after all, trying to recreate the sort of letters a young teen-ager would write. Hermione's letter, of course, is grammatically perfect.


Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m in the middle of my first day of classes, but let me tell you what’s gone on so far. We made it through the Nexi well enough. If you ever fly through them close your eyes. I was nearly sick when we went. And when we arrived, the school looked like a dusty old ruin. But once I went in the right way, it looked like a school. It’s not as grand a place as Hogwarts, but it’s not as bad as you’ve probably heard.

First, they have a Sorting Hat just like Hogwarts, and four houses, but they call them halls here. The hat put me in the Hall of the Bear. I room with two other girls. One is a fourth-year named Ashley who’s been looking after me. Esmerelda, our prefect, likes to assign first-years to older students. Ashley’s really nice, but the other students have been really hard on her, because her mum’s a muggle. And Irma, the other one, is the first muggle-born student to reach her second year. All of the others quit in their first. She’s nice too, but she has a hard time trusting people.

The work is very easy. I’m still in first-year (they’re calling it seventh grade) so they can find out how much I know. Our potions teacher doesn’t teach in a dungeon. And, he is a Squib. But he says he’s invented over 1,200 different potions, don’t know if it’s true. And the headmisstress also teaches transfiguration, but they call it Transformation here. I already knew both their lessons from Hogwarts.

So I hope I’ll get to move up. But I haven’t had Defence or History yet, and those will most likely be my weakest subjects. And I can’t move up in just some classes, because I’d have to be in two places at once.

In answer to your question, Daddy, flying in that aeroplane was a little like flying on a broom, except it was faster and less windy. And it was noisier, too. Professor Grayson says it’s because the engine is powered by ordnary fuel, not magic.

Your loving daughter,
Ginny Weasley
.......................................................................

Dear Ginny,

We’re glad to hear that things seem to be going your way at last. We were worried that they never would.

I did some checking on the school’s staff. The Potions teacher you spoke of is a Native American named Red Cloud. And what he says is true. He may be a Squib, but he is the greatest potion maker in the world. He has, at last count, a total of 1,208 potions to his credit, more than four times more than any other wizard in history has invented. Also, he knows more different mixtures than any two wizards living today. The old Order of the Phoenix enlisted his aid some years ago, before the fall of You-Know-Who.

On a darker note, I made the mistake of telling your mother about the conflict over bloodlines that’s going on at the school. She’s very concerned, and is planning to send an owl to Dumbledore tonight. And she should be worried. Hogwarts has always been open-admission, but I did some checking on other schools that started admitting Muggle-borns. The newcomers have been regarded with fear and suspicion, and violence has almost always erupted. Of the three schools in the States, one has always admitted everyone, one (yours) just changed its policies, and the third still rejects any student without two witch/wizard parents.

I hope you won’t be swept up in this conflict, but I suppose that’s an unrealistic hope, knowing you. And I won’t tell you not to stand up for what you know to be right, but please, honey, be careful. We don’t want anything to happen to you.

Love you so much,
Dad
.........................................................................

To Fred, George, and Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter

Dear Brothers & Friends,

I’ve been back in school for 4 days now. It’s very different here, especially without all of you. But here’s what’s happened so far:

[The ensuing part of the MS more or less duplicates the first three paragraphs of Ginny’s letter to her parents. It has therefore been omitted]

I’m also way ahead in Charms, Herbology, and Astronomy. All of the teachers there have me working on eighth-grade stuff. And Prof. Chance is doing the same. Red Cloud doesn’t seem to notice, he just keeps giving me E’s, which is full marks over here.

We have a ghost teaching us History too, but unlike Binns, he’s GREAT! I’m learning a lot from him. And our Defence teacher’s showing us how to duel, and teaching us some good hexes. Have you read “Magical Combat for Beginners? It’s by this witch (they call them wizardesses over here, don’t ask me why) named Honor Gray. If you can find it, it’s a delightful book.

The bad news is that it doesn’t look like I’ll get to move up. I’m high in five of seven basic subjects but I’m right on in the other two. And I can’t move up in just those five without having to take two classes in the same time period. And no, they won’t let me have a Time-turner. They were banned here centuries ago.

Our headmistress, Professor Chance, is a good teacher, but she can be nasty if you get on her bad side. She turned a girl into a dog for making trouble on the way to school. And I heard she turned a boy into a raccoon yesterday for passing notes. The other kids say she does this all the time. Don’t tell Mum or Dad, they’d probably make me come home if they knew.

So many things are different here. We have halls instead of houses, and we can wear robes in three different colours. And we don’t have to wear ties, which is a relief. And instead of a train, students arrive on something called a hovercraft. It may look huge and slow, but they say it can go over 100 mph, faster than many of the older racing brooms. Oh, and they even have church services on Sundays. They don’t at Hogwarts, do they?

Oh, and they have something called a Quidditch league here. Instead of playing other halls, we travel to other schools and play them. There’s six other schools in the league. And the league rules allow what’s called in-game subsitution. That means if someone gets hurt, they can leave the game and be replaced by a reserve player. I wasn’t quite good enough to make the main team, but they’ve offered me a post as subsitute Seeker. They carry eight extra players, that’s one reserve for each position except Seeker; they need two because the Seeker is the primary target for the enemy Beaters. We all have nicknames. Mine is Red. They call Ashley “Pudge”, but she doesn’t mind.

Harry, you’re the best Seeker there ever was. Do you have any advice on how I can work on my game?

Love to you all,
Ginny

..................................................................................

Dear Ginny,

We’re glad things are going so well for you. Not much happening here. The Triwizard Tournament will be starting in about a month and a half. I’ve heard Durmstrang is one of the schools involved. It’s supposed to be a dodgy place; they teach students to use the dark arts instead of merely defending against them. Other school’s called Beauxbatons. Sounds like it’s French.

Professor Moody’s been teaching us about the Unforgiveable Curses. Have you learned about them over there? There’s Imperius, you know about that one. Then there’s Cruciatus, which causes pain, and then there’s the Death Curse, which is what gave Harry his scar. It’s really fasinating stuff.

I read your story about that girl. Professor McGonagall says they never use transfiguration as a punishment here. But Hagrid did threaten Malfoy once, he said he’d take a leaf from Moody’s book. Anyway I’ll let Hermione tell you about that.

Harry sends his love. No, not really. But he did send you a book he got from Hermione on playing Seeker. He said it taught him some good moves. It’s in the care package that comes with this letter. Oh, and Harry did tell me to say he misses you and he looks forward to seeing you. And Fred and George have some more WWW stuff for you. It’s in the care package, too. Not a word about it to Mum or Dad, all right?

Your loving brother,
Ron
...........................................................................

Dear Ginny,

I spent some time in the library, reading up on American wizarding traditions. According to my research, American society is far less secularized than European society. This is true both among our kind and among the Muggles. The Roman Catholic church regards the term “witch” as synonymous with “devil worshiper”. Female wizards generally don’t like being described as such. Also, “Transfiguration” is a term with sacred meaning to them, so wizardkind opted to modify it.

Also, according to Fred and George (who have been pretty much everywhere), there is a chapel located in one of the towers: pews, stained glass windows, the lot. I spoke to the Fat Friar, who spends considerable time there. It seems that he presides over informal services there on Sundays. Most Christian students tend to be sorted into Hufflepuff, so it works out well. As for the few Muslim students we get, they receive weekly portkey passage to a mosque in Hogsmeade.

Good luck and study hard,
Hermione
..................................................................................

Dear Miss Weasley,

My correspondance with Professor Chance states that you are doing extremely well. I am glad to hear that. Despite my sorrow at not being able to preside over your education as I did with your parents and brothers, I think that you and Silver Grove will be good for one another.

Your mother wrote me recently, expressing concern about the conflicts occurring among your fellow students. I have done my utmost to reassure her, but I do think she is going to take some action on your behalf. I don’t know what that will be.

You were right, by the way, not to mention the fact that Ms. Chance uses transfiguration as punishment. While it was a commonplace practice for wizarding schools a century ago, it is rare today. I helped convince Headmaster Dippet to abolish it here back in 1919. However, you need not worry about the spells being permanent. It’s quite safe when done by an expert, which Professor Chance most assuredly is.

I hope you are studying hard in potions. You have the rare privilege of being instructed by a man whose knowledge in the field dwarfs even my own. His knowledge was invaluable to us in the first war against Voldemort and his supporters. Should war erupt again, we will attempt to enlist him again.

Finally, I have been informed that you are friends and roommates with two students whose bloodline makes them a target for trouble. It pleases me to see that you are continuing Gryffindor’s fine tradition of choosing what is right over what is easy.

Kind regards,
A. P. W. B. Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School

Chapter 13 - Battle Lines

It was Ginny’s second week at Silver Grove, on a Thursday night. September still had a few days left to run, but the weather had changed, and the temperature had dropped to within spitting distance of freezing. So, there was a fire blazing merrily in the fireplace. Ginny, having returned directly from dinner, had secured one of the armchairs directly in front of it, and was trying to concentrate on her Charms homework. Professor Miyazaki was still having her do eighth-grade work, and she was having to do it without actually attending the class. And that was especially tough on this occasion, since Freshening charms were a bit tricky.

She fixed her eyes on the rotten orange in front of her, then tapped it with her wand. “Fructus compositus,” she said for the tenth time. A scatter of sparks touched the fruit, and the brown and white spots faded from it. Ginny gave it a sniff. It no longer smelled funny. The real proof would be in the taste, but she was far too full from dinner to. . . .

Something tapped her on top of the head. “Hey. You.”

Ginny turned, angry; that knock had hurt. The culprit was Kayla Anderson, one of the girls in Nettlebank’s little group. Most of them were Wolves, but there were a few from other halls, including two Bears. The other one, Steven Smith, was behind her. Ginny glared at them both. “What do you want?”

Kayla’s voice was ice. “Where’s your friend? That mudblood, I mean.”

Ginny knew where both Irma and Ashley had gone. Irma needed to give something to Professor Root; Ashley had accompanied her. One of the lessons that Irma’s brutal first year had taught her was that unpopular students were wise to travel in pairs, or even trios. Ginny disliked lying, and she certainly wasn't going to tell these clowns the truth, so she chose the third option. “Bugger off.”

“Why don’t you try and make me?” When Ginny didn’t grace that remark with a response, Kayla persisted: “What’s it like, sleeping with a couple of mudbloods? Does the stink keep you awake?”

“The only stink I can smell is you,” Ginny spat back.

“You talk mighty tough for a muggle-loving foreigner,” Kayla said. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

“And I’ll bet you wouldn’t talk as tough without your boyfriend there,” Ginny said. Steven Smith could have given a wart-hog ugly lessons.

A nasty light flared to life in the depths of Kayla’s eyes. “You want to have me one on one? Is that it, you little brat?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, too angry to sense the danger. “You want a fight, I’ll give you one.”

Kayla grinned savagely. “Wait here.”

As she exited the room, Steven laughed, a hollow rattling sound that held very little humor. “You’re in for it now, carrot top.”

“Don’t you have something you need to be doing right now?” Ginny asked.

Steven started to reply, but fell silent when Kayla emerged with Esmerelda in tow. The latter had a slight look of concern on her face, which deepened when she saw Ginny. She turned on Kayla, contempt in her voice. “What is this? Trying to make easy odds for yourself, Anderson?”

“I challenged her. She accepted. If you want to talk sense into her, you’re free to try,” Kayla snapped back.

“Ginny, this is a bad idea,” Esmerelda said. “You’re asking to get hurt.”

Ginny greatly admired Esmerelda, but she knew that she could not let the teasing that had just happened pass; if she did, she would be seen as a safe target for other tormenters. She said nothing.

“Very well,” Esmerelda said, dry and businesslike now. “Do you have a second?”

“A what?” Ginny asked, momentarily confused. “Yes, I have time.”

“No, a second! You’ve been challenged to a duel, idiot! You need someone to back you up. And it can’t be me, I’m the referee. If you don’t have a second, you can’t fight.”

“She’s got a second,” Ashley said. She and Irma had entered the room unnoticed, joining the small crowd present.

“So be it,” Esmerelda said, sighing. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

There were about fifteen people in the room, and nearly all followed her out: Ginny and her two friends first, then Kayla and Steven, then their audience. Ginny wondered how so many people could march across the garden unnoticed, but no teacher came out to challenge them.

Irma and Ashley were muttering back and forth. Irma was saying, “Ashley, it should be you. Steven’s a sophomore. I’m just in eighth.”

“Maybe, but you’re a better duelist than me,” Ashley hissed back. “You’re already down for the Dueling team next year. I never even got an invite.”

“But you taught me most of what I know!”

“Maybe, but you’re faster and more accurate. Trust me, OK? I’ve seconded for you enough times.”

“All right,” Irma said resignedly, then muttered something else Ginny couldn’t hear.

They entered the building that housed the infirmary and the Defense room. It was never locked, Ashley had said, and it wasn’t now. Esmerelda flipped the switch, and the overhead lights in the defense chamber came on. “Duelists, assume your stations.”

Without hesitating, almost like dance participants, each person made for their respective places. Esmerelda stationed herself on an elevated platform, located on one side of the dueling platform, so that she was equidistant from the endpoints, but more or less out of harm’s way. The two seconds mounted platforms as well, located on the opposite side as the referee’s, and at each end. Kayla vaulted nimbly up to the stage, then looked mockingly at Ginny. “Well, co’mon up, mudblood-lover.”

Esmerelda’s voice was cold enough to frost over an ocean. “Anderson, you will not use that term in my presence. If you do so again, then regardless of what happens here, you will fight me tonight. Is that very clear?”

Kayla nodded, fear in her eyes at the thought. Ginny mounted the stage at the other end, keeping her eyes on Kayla. The letter did the same with her.

“Draw your wands,” Esmerelda said, her voice harsh.

Ginny palmed her wand and raised it. She noticed that all four of the others had their wands out, and that the smallest of them was fifteen inches in length and at least half again the thickness of hers. She knew that twelve inches was on the long side for a wand and idly wondered why that was.

Steven answered for her. “Look! She doesn’t even have a dueling wand! Stupid little. . . .” At Esmerelda’s glare, he quickly fell silent.

“This is a one-on-one duel,” the prefect intoned. “As per standing rules, no physical contact or outside interference will be tolerated. No potentially lethal spells may be used. Failure to observe these rules will result in forfeiture of the duel, and use of the Disruption curse on my part. The duel will be over when. . . .”

“When your skinny butt hits the floor, Weasley!” snapped Kayla. “So if you lose your wand, better let your second get it, or you lose. Got it?”

As Ginny nodded, she heard the door outside door open. Relief and disappointment conflicted within her. She knew by the shock of pink hair that it was Professor Grayson. He would, of course, stop the fight. So honor would be satisfied, but they would still tease her about needing a teacher to save her. She lowered her wand and relaxed.

And then, Esmerelda spoke. “Professor, do you want to take over here?”

Professor Grayson’s voice was stony. “No.” A long silence. “Proceed.”

Ginny stared at the professor in horror, but he said nothing more. He simply crossed his arms and leaned back to watch the duel.

Chapter 14 - Shockwave

“Yeah, that’s right, Weasley, welcome to America,” taunted Kayla. “Dueling’s legal here, didn’t you know? The way you were creeping along out there, you must’ve thought you were breaking some rule, huh? Well, surprise, surprise. You gonna put up now, or run off?”

Silently, glaring poisonously at her rival, Ginny resumed her stance and raised her wand.

Esmerelda produced a black handkerchief from somewhere (might have conjured it up) and held it up. “When this drops from my hand, the duel will begin.”

A long, portentious silence as sixteen pairs of eyes watched the fragment of black cloth. Then, it fluttered downward, and both duelists reacted.

“Stupefy!” screamed Kayla.

“Expelliarmus!” Ginny barked.

A flare of scarlet light shot straight toward Ginny, who spun sideways. The Stunner missed, but Ginny felt it fan her robes. Thankfully, Kayla had been concentrating on speed, not accuracy. Ginny’s disarming spell, darker red and not as bright, was accurately placed, but Kayla deftly spun aside as well. The latter’s face darkened with anger as she realized that she would not be able to end the duel with one hit. “Dodge this! Concussiunda!”

“Expelliarmus!” Ginny yelled again. But it was already too late.

A brilliant golden shockwave exploded from the wand tip,hemispherical and rapidly expanding. It swept Ginny up like a windstorm taking a leaf and flung her backward, past the edge of the table, over the four feet of space between it and the wall, and into the wall itself. Had it not been for the cushioning charm placed there, she might have been seriously hurt. As it was, she bounced off and forward, striking the edge of the platform. Winded, head in agony, she clung there, dimly aware that no part of her had touched the floor. She could feel something warm gushing down over her lips and had a bad feeling that it wasn’t water.

Steven was going to fetch Kayla’s wand; Ginny’s second Disarming charm had winged her, just enough to send the weapon flying. Kayla accepted it, then turned to Esmerelda. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Declare the duel ov. . . .”

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

It was barely a croak; since Ginny was stunned, had a badly broken nose, and barely had any air in her lungs; but it was good enough. An unseen hand plucked Kayla off her feet and pulled her irresistably skyward. With a shriek of rage, she whipped her wand in front of her,shearing through the invisible force that bound her to Ginny’s wand. But she was a good twelve feet above the platform by then, and gravity took its inev itable toll. She tried to cast a spell as she fell, but a human body only requires .87 seconds to fall twelve feet, and that wasn’t enough time. She struck the edge of the platform with her arm, and the horrible CRACK of breaking bone seemed to shake the walls.

“You little cheat!” Steven Smith raised his own wand and began shouting something, but before he could, Esmerelda almost idly jabbed her own wand at him and a lance of brilliant blue light hit him in the chest and blew him from the platform. A second hex, a the scarlet flare of a Stunning Spell launched by Irma, was too late to hit anything but the wall.

That was the last thing Ginny saw before she blacked out.

* * * * * * * * *
She rose slowly from blackness to darkness, and then from darkness to dimness, and then looked around. The room was unfamiliar, and lit only by a small lamp. She was lying in a bed. Twenty feet away, in the pool of sallow light cast by the low-wattage lamp (she had heard enough Mugglespeak to know that meant dim, though she had no idea why), there were shadowed figures. She could hear muffled cursing.

“Oww. Damn it, that hurts! When’s that potion gonna kick in?”

“Soon,” said a serene voice she recognized as Red Cloud’s. “And watch your language.”

“That stinking Weasley brat cheated! I had her beaten and she. . . .” Before Kayla could finish her sentence, Red Cloud grasped her arm and did something with it. “YEEEE-OUCH!! Why’d you do that?!”

“You had a compound fracture,” Red Cloud explained. “I either set it, or just let you spend the rest of your life with your arm bent like a question mark.” He took out a beaker of Skele-Gro, poured her a spoonful. “Now take this and quit whining.”

Kayla downed the medicine, her face contorting horribly in disgust. For a moment, Ginny thought she was going to throw up, but she managed to keep it down. “Ugh,” she said.

The healer dumped water in a pot and added something from an emerald green bottle. “Now put your arm in this solution here.”

Kayla did as told, and when her arm came out, it was encased in something resembling green glass. “What is this?”

“Cast potion, something I developed. It will take about six hours for your arm to completely heal, and until then, it must be immobilized. Come in tomorrow, and I’ll remove it.”

“Thanks,” Kayla said, if a little grudgingly. As she headed for the exit, she saw that Ginny was now awake. “Next time I see you, Weasley, I’ll. . . .”

“Be silent,” an icy voice said from the shadows. “You’re in the infirmary, Miss Anderson. Many behaviors permitted on the dueling floor are not tolerated here. This includes threatening remarks.”

Ginny turned to look. Professor Grayson was there. Either he had been present all along, or he had just apparated in.

Kayla was not silent. “Yeah, because this little brat put me there by cheating. Or didn’t you happen to notice that she attacked me after I’d already beat her. She passed completely over the plane of. . . .”

“Esmerelda already informed me of what transpired, just prior to my arrival,” Professor Grayson said, his voice still dangerously soft. “She said that you told Miss Weasley that ‘the duel ends when your butt hits the floor’, am I right?”

“Yeah, but. . . you know the rules!”

“Yes, but she didn’t. Esmerelda was trying to make her aware of them, but you interrupted her, didn’t you? Even though you were quite aware that she didn’t even know dueling was permitted, never mind the rules.”

“But. . . .”

Inexorably, Professor Grayson went on. “Enough. You picked a fight with a seventh-grader. You altered the rules, albeit inadvertantly. She followed the rules that you set. She is blameless; your injuries were your fault. Good night.”

It was a dismissal, and Kayla knew it. She stormed out.

“Is Ginny free to leave as well?” Professor Grayson asked the healer, who had watched the discussion unblinkingly.

“She hit her head, rather hard,” Red Cloud said. “I’d like to hold her overnight, for observation.” He tossed Professor Grayson a pale blue flannel nightshirt with the Silver Grove crest on it. “She can put this on, at her convenience.” He indicated the curtain that could be pulled around the bed, allowing privacy. “And I’ll be giving you some Counterconcussion Serum as well, Miss Weasley.”

“Potions, yuk,” Ginny said, wrinkling her nose.

“Serves you right for dueling with a student two years above you. I’m surprised she didn’t flatten you with the first hit.” Professor Grayson patted her shoulder. “I suggest staying out of duels for awhile. Defensive magic isn’t your strong suit yet.”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny said, starting to sit up in bed, then changing her mind and laying back down. “I feel awful.”

“Be glad you weren’t awake for when I fixed your nose,” Red Cloud commented. “You wouldn’t have enjoyed that much.”

“You’ll be better by tomorrow.” Professor Grayson sat down next to her, in a chair that had been provided for that purpose. “And for your information, under standard dueling rules, a duel is over when one combatant falls or is propelled from the rear of the dueling table, whether they actually hit the floor or not. That’s why Miss Anderson was so upset with you.”

“Oh. What did she hit me with, anyway? I’ve never seen that spell before.”

“That was the Shockwave spell. I normally cover it at the freshman level, but it’s not uncommon for older students to teach it to younger ones.”

Ginny remembered the expanding circle of golden light, smashing into her like a tidal wave. “Is there any way to stop it?”

“Shield spell. It’s very simple; if you’ve been studying our text, you probably already know it.” Grayson turned to go, then started. “Oh, I almost forgot the reason I was looking for you in the first place.”

Despite her misery, Ginny felt a surge of interest. “Why were you?”

“Professor Chance had a long chat with myself and the other teachers. They all agreed that you should be moved up.” He withdrew a folded up class schedule from his pocket and lay it on the nightstand next to her bed. “Congratulations, kid.”

Ginny grinned, then became serious as something occurred to her. “What about History? And Defense?”

“Professor Nacht says that most of what he teaches in seventh is American history. You’ll be returning to Britain after your schooling, so we’re not really concerned about you missing that. And as for Defense. . . well, you can read it on your schedule.” While speaking, the professor took a small silver object from his pocket and lay it next to the class schedule. Ginny saw that it was a rank pip, a twin to the one she already wore. Grayson gently patted her shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Get a good night’s sleep, all right?”

Ginny nodded, then rose laboriously and flicked her wand at the curtains. They slid swiftly shut. There was a mirror within the area they enclosed. Ginny looked at herself and shuddered. She had been wearing her usual school clothes, consisting of simple skirt, white blouse, and the required robe. The front of her blouse was now a damp crimson. Worse, her nose was just a teensy bit crooked. A muggle doctor would have considered it a fine fix, considering the severity of the damage, but Ginny was used to magical healing, which left no signs. Well, she supposed, she could visit a healer on her next trip home.

She changed into the nightgown and flopped on the bed. Red Cloud, hearing the springs jounce, spoke from outside. “Are you decent, Miss Weasley?” he asked. Upon Ginny’s affirmative answer, he opened the curtains, a vial in his hand. “Here. I’ve mixed it with a mild sleeping draft.”

Ginny accepted the vial and drank. It was orange-flavored, but still had a nasty bitter aftertaste. But it was swift; she felt her head beginning to swim. Immediately, she lay back in bed, and her next-to-last thought before oblivion hit was that it would be a good idea for her to avoid any more duels in the near future. Her last thought was that it would also be a good idea to practice her shield charms, just in case.

THIS ENDS BOOK ONE OF “GINNY’S JOURNEY”. DUE TO THE PROHIBITIVE TIME INVOLVED IN SUBMITTING CHAPTERS PIECEMEAL, I AM OPTING ONLY TO POST BOOK ONE.

TO READ THE REMAINING CHAPTERS, GO HERE.

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