1. The Wedding

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"Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed." ~ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, U.S. Hardcover edition: A Place to Hide, pg. 160

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Molly Weasley had not taken her eyes off Harry, Ron, and Hermione throughout the reception—Ginny knew because she'd been watching the disguised Harry as well, though for completely different reasons. Luckily for Molly the three had chosen to sit at a table together, making it easier to keep track of them; but then Ron and Hermione had split off to dance and Harry had wandered away towards Elphias Doge, forcing Mrs. Weasley to swivel back and forth between them like a frenzied spectator at the Quidditch World Cup.

Her mother had been trying to force details out of Ron and Hermione for weeks, even starting in on Harry over the last few days. The other Order members had recognized a lost cause instantly; Ron and the others had the power of Dumbledore's orders to support them, and Ginny knew firsthand how reluctant Harry was to involve anyone besides himself in what he seemed to consider his personal mission against the Dark Lord.

She'd been jealous at first, seeing him turn to Ron and Hermione for help, knowing that even if she wasn't underage and didn't still have the Trace on her, she still wouldn't have been included. Those three had been through so much together that she was only just beginning to understand, knowing Harry's stories could never fully do justice to events that often seemed more like storybook tales than a real life. There was an unbreakable bond created by saving one another's life, and while she and Harry were linked by single threads, he and Ron and Hermione had woven a complex tapestry of friendship and loyalty and even fear, strong enough to support them through whatever was to come.

But kissing Harry yesterday she'd realized that she had to stay away from the battle, because that was her role to play. He needed someone safe to return to, whose eyes wouldn't hold the shadows of the deaths they'd just witnessed together. Someone who could be a momentary haven in the darkness rather than a reminder of how far there was left to go. The others needed it too, her family and the members of the Order who didn't have families of their own to fight for, who looked at her as a daughter to protect and shield from the truth. And she was willing to do it, because she loved Harry and understood that it was what he needed, maybe even more so than Ron and Hermione; they would be his confidants, his coconspirators, the ones who fought at his back, but she would always be his sun, blazing light and the memory of what the world could be into the most hopeless of moments.

It took a tremendous courage to fight back against someone like Voldemort, who seemed undefeatable, not bound by the rules of life and death that confined other mere mortals. But only Ginny knew how much it cost to be the one left behind, the symbol of the better future that all the others were fighting for.

Her mother thought she was doing the right thing; she thought she was protecting her son and his friends, little more than children in her mind despite everything they'd accomplished, everything they'd seen. Molly knew they were leaving and knew she wouldn't let them, despite what the other members of the Order believed and regardless of Dumbledore's last requests. She thought that they were foolhardy, taking on something bigger than themselves, bigger than they could handle, but she hadn't seen the look in Harry's eyes when he had let it slip that he really was going after Voldemort. Ginny had, and she knew that this ran deeper than all of them; it hadn't been the glitter of fierce determination or stubborn acceptance that convinced her in the end, but the flash of understanding. Harry's mind had gone somewhere that she couldn't follow, somewhere dark and deep until she couldn't recognize him anymore, only the deaths and evil and a knowledge so powerful and frightening that it took her breath away.

Molly thought that this was a war that would be won by the Order. But she was wrong, and Ginny knew it.

Now the wedding was over. They'd waited this long out of respect for Bill and Fleur, and perhaps to have one more happy memory to keep with them, lighting their way. But Ginny could tell as she watched the three of them, from their fidgets and sharp glances, that the time for waiting was over. She might wake up tomorrow and find them gone, or the next day, or the next, but it wouldn't be long. Provided her mother didn't stop them, as Molly so clearly intended to.

It was instant chaos when Kingsley's Patronus appeared suddenly in the form of a silver lynx. The world seemed suspended for a single moment, and as Ginny hurried to raise her wand against an unseen enemy she caught the look that shot between Harry and Hermione. It cut through the panic, a look just as charged as the silence that had fallen over the stunned guests. This was the moment, when the world had gone from bad to worse and suddenly even the Ministry was no protection; they needed to leave. But Molly was there, just over Hermione's shoulder, her wand pointed not at the sky awaiting the inevitable masked enemies but straight at Harry.

Ginny could picture it in her mind—the body-bind curse on Molly's lips, the hand reaching out to Disapparate him to safety, to Aunt Muriel's maybe, or the new house that had been prepared for Bill and Fleur. Safety in her mind, somewhere he couldn't leave from. Her mother knew enough to realize that it was Harry she needed to stop; Ron and Hermione would follow. Most wouldn't have seen what was about to happen, or believed that Molly would go through with it, but Ginny had grown up knowing the limitless power of her mother's concern for the family's well-being, sometimes so strong that it became overpowering, blurring all her other senses. Harry had long since become part of the family, and Mrs. Weasley would consider this the ultimate act of love.

The ultimate act of love might destroy all their hopes for the future. If Harry and the others didn't get away now, they might never have another chance. Molly was determined, and convinced without a doubt that she was right; there was no telling how far she'd go to keep them safe, even against their will, driven on by this unwavering belief.

It was in that single moment of charged stillness that Ginny made her choice. She hated always being the baby of the family, shadowed by overprotective brothers and her mother's constant worrying, the one who was forever being saved. All she'd accomplished over the last few years made her proud—fighting with the D.A., dueling alongside members of the Order; some of her family, at least, was beginning to recognize that she could defend herself like the rest of them when need be. What she was about to do would take away everything that she'd been working so hard to prove. Back to being left safely at home while the others fought, back to sleepless nights of wondering and praying, unable to assist. But Ginny knew what sacrifice was, and she was brave enough to sentence herself once more to not knowing, if only to give the others a chance. This was their war, just as it had always been, but that didn't mean that she couldn't fight, and when you're underage you have to fight dirty.

Ginny lowered her wand and screamed until her lungs gave out and her throat burned with dry fire.

It was enough. Molly had spun around quickly at the first sign of trouble, her maternal instinct overriding her head as she lost sight of her target to protect her daughter. Harry and Hermione disappeared into the crowd, darting and weaving between the rush of bodies; it seemed as if the scream had broken a spell of sorts, and everyone was spurred to sudden action, racing for safety or raising wands to fight.

Then the masked figures appeared and it was all that she could do to avoid the spells that streaked the air; Fred was at her back, shielding her so she didn't have to risk using magic, then George was there, and Charlie, blocking her view.

Finally it was over and the air was clear, though the light of the flying spells seemed burned forever into her memory, flaming across the darkness when she closed her eyes. Maybe that was the reason that her vision was slightly clouded by the sting of unshed tears. Their family was safe, and Hagrid and Tonks and Lupin and the others, already beginning to clear away the wreckage of the tent; and Ginny allowed herself a small smile, because Ron, Hermione, and Harry were nowhere to be seen.

2. The Headmaster's Office

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"'In — in return?' Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, 'Anything.'" ~ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, U.S. Hardcover Edition: The Prince's Tale, pg. 678

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"'But this is touching, Severus,' said Dumbledore seriously.

'Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?'

'For him?" shouted Snape. "Expecto Patronum!'

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed onthe office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out ofthe window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silveryglow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

'After all this time?'

'Always,' said Snape." ~ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, U.S. Hardcover Edition: The Prince's Tale, pg. 687-688

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The office around him seemed dark and silent and above all incomplete, as if something was missing that he couldn't quite place. Snape sat at his desk as the last rays of afternoon sun filtered through the narrow tower window, doing little to dispel the gloom. Soon he'd be expected to attend the Halloween feast and sit among the other professors, pretending not to see the looks of deepest loathing that were thrown at him. Minerva McGonagall's expression was the worst; it was as if he could see the shards of broken trust floating in the depths of her gaze, waiting to pierce him in the heart for his disloyalty. Only once before had someone given him a look which displayed so clearly the cost of his betrayal, and that had been the day his life had ended. Snape couldn't see how he would be able to wile away the hours in silence, walking the precarious balance between traitor and savior—not today, not the day that she'd died.

The guilt hung over him like a cloud, obscuring all else. He had to attend the feast; the Carrows were liable to take their holiday cheer a bit too far, and students would get hurt. It was one of the last promises that he'd made to Dumbledore—that he would keep them safe, keep Hogwarts from falling.

But what if Dumbledore had been wrong? He had planned so thoroughly, pulling the strings even after his death, with seemingly complete faith in what he was asking others to sacrifice for him. Even as he asked Snape to take his life; even as he asked him to lead Lily's son to his death. But Dumbledore wasn't infallible. He made mistakes. He had tried to wear that ring, though even a first-year would have expected a curse. And now that he was dead, everything seemed to be falling apart. The carefully-detailed plans seemed to leave so much up to chance, and the only reward if they did miraculously succeed was the death of the boy Snape had given up his life to protect.

He didn't want to do this anymore. His orders had been all that kept him going, that last loyalty and promise to Dumbledore, but since he'd learned the truth it was harder and harder to keep his faith. Snape waved his wand in anger, yelling the words first inside his head, then out loud—EXPECTO PATRONUM. A few thin wisps of white smoke emerged and hung lankly in the air, serving only to further highlight his failure. For the past week he had found it more and more difficult to produce the silver doe that was his lifeline. Since Dumbledore's death and his subsequent promotion, Snape had taken to casting the Patronus in his office late at night, when the door was locked tight and he knew he couldn't be disturbed, running the late Headmaster's vague instructions through his mind by the glow of the pearly light. Now it had failed to appear altogether, as his trust in Dumbledore faltered and died.

He had cast a silencing spell on the room's portraits yesterday, unable to listen to their constant suggestions mingled with accusations of cowardice, Phineas Nigellus his most vocal supporter. The unnatural silence, combined with the loss of his Patronus and the deeply buried memories that this day could always unearth, made Snape feel like he had nothing left in the world. He was supposed to be helping Harry, providing him with the sword, but he had no idea where the boy was and no hopes of finding him; why should he succeed when the near-hundred Death Eaters and Ministry officials and "concerned citizens" who had made Potter’s capture their sole mission continued to follow empty leads…

A sharp rap on the door cut through his musings—Ginny Weasley. He'd forgotten that he requested she come, as soon as the Carrows saw fit to release her.

Snape sighed. It was hard enough trying to protect them from the Carrows without having to worry about saving students from themselves as well.

He supposed that from some perspective, continuing Dumbledore's Army under the noses of two confirmed Death Eaters and his own presumed evil rule was admirable, but it wasn't a perspective that he could appreciate at the moment; every way he looked at it, the rebel students were simply a headache. They were drawing even more attention to themselves with their stupid stunts, achieving nothing tangible but increased anger from the Carrows. And they got caught, more often than not.

What did it matter that they were inspiring the other students? They were still only children; children arrogant enough to operate under the false assumption that they could defeat the Dark Lord with their secret meetings and schoolboy pranks. Potter and his little friends, of course, were the glaring exception, but their hands were being held along the entire journey by Dumbledore, more than they would ever know, and Snape was sure that members of the Order were helping them at every turn. Dumbledore would probably have told him that he was missing the larger point—that Voldemort could only be defeated by stubborn resistance and every person who refused to allow their hearts to be taken by his fear and darkness played a role in weakening his defenses, however large or small their action—but Dumbledore was dead. He'd left behind only some vague instructions and the impossible task of keeping the students of Hogwarts safe. Snape wished for the thousandth time he could bang enough sense into their skulls that they'd shut up and lie low and just let him do his damned job.

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Ginny was just able to register her surprise as she stepped into the Headmaster's office, beneath the layers of passionate rage which made the blood beat loudly at her temples and clouded the edges of her vision—this man was the reason that George was forever maimed; this man had killed Dumbledore. She had expected him to be glorying in his newfound power, assumed that Dumbledore's office—it would forever be Dumbledore's office, at least in her mind—would be transformed by glass jars and dark cauldrons into the disgusting mix of curio shop and embalmer's paradise that had characterized Snape's dungeon office. Instead, it was strangely empty, as if even Snape himself was unwilling to admit Dumbledore was gone and lay claim to role that no one, not even the other professors, thought he rightly deserved.

This wasn't the first time Ginny had seen the office—it had been just yesterday that she'd entered secretly with Neville and Luna to steal the sword of Gryffindor—but it was the first time that she was afforded the luxury of actually getting to examine the contents of the room, while trying to get her temper in check. It wouldn't do to lash out at Snape, no matter how much she wanted to grab hold of his greasy hair and pound his face with her fist, without magic, over and over until he was just as bruised as Neville or Seamus and she had the more drawn-out pleasure of feeling his pain come slowly. No, that wouldn't do at all; she was clearly in enough trouble as it was.

She had known their plan would fail before they even began. Maybe Luna and Neville had as well, she couldn't be sure; any hopefulness in their gazes had long ago been replaced by sheer determination. She knew they all did what they did—reviving Dumbledore's Army, standing up to Snape and the Carrows—for different reasons, though the ultimate goal was unchanging: Resist Voldemort. Keep Hogwarts safe.

Neville did it because he wanted to. For the first time he had found something that came naturally, something important that he could contribute without thinking. He might not have been the best with spells or the quickest with excuses, but Neville was the heart of their group without question. He was the one who brought them together and offered encouragement, who tended bruises and applied bandages and raised spirits. He had always been a fighter at heart, but trapped by his insecurities and limited by the scope of his abilities he had constantly been left in the shadows, taking orders from others who were quicker, stronger, more confidant. Now it was his turn to take charge, and he had stepped into the role more smoothly than anyone had expected, driven to new heights by his pride at finally living up to his parent's memories and his passion to protect the castle and friends that he loved.

Luna did it because she had to. She wasn't so much a reluctant leader as an accidental one; she never seemed truly comfortable coordinating and organizing the other students, and Ginny could tell that while Luna enjoyed knowing she had others to fight with her as friends, truly she was more of a loner at heart. She needed her time apart to daydream and stargaze and do the things that made her so uniquely Luna, but she had sacrificed that to help them, because they were her true friends. It might not have seemed like much, but Ginny for one knew what it had cost her and appreciated Luna's sacrifice all the more each time her absentminded gaze was forced to become hard and calculating as she outlined the newest plan.

But all along, Ginny was fighting for Hermione, Ron, and most of all, Harry. She didn't know where they were but she could imagine them, hidden together, trying to outline their next move. She liked to imagine that they sometimes thought of Hogwarts, not as it was now but as it had been, a haven of safety and happy memories even as Voldemort gained strength. The Carrows may have entered Hogwarts, but they never really controlled it, not while there were still students who remembered Dumbledore and continued to fight in his memory. Hogwarts had become a home to all of them, but especially to Harry, Ginny knew; it was somewhere that he could look to for hope, when everything seemed lost. And she secretly wished he was thinking about Hogwarts, and maybe even thinking of her, praying she was safe in the dead of night when sleep proved most elusive and fears hung closest to the surface. It was what she did every night, watching the images of masked figures and green eyes dancing across her closed lids as she tried to clear her mind and just concentrate only on what the morning would bring, another day to fight her way through before the unbidden memories resurfaced. While Hogwarts stood, Harry would know there were still things left worth fighting for. If the castle truly fell, that small glimmer of hope would be lost, and Ginny was going to do everything in her power to prevent it from happening—Harry had lost enough already.

So she'd agreed to try to steal the sword, knowing how unlikely it was that they would actually make it out of Snape's office undetected. Either way, they would succeed. Harry clearly needed the sword for reasons unknown, and she would love to be the one to provide it for him; it would make her a part of the larger battle, not the one fought in the school or even by the Order, but that which had been tasked to Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone—the one she had guessed long ago was the most dangerous and important of them all. But even if she failed, even if she was caught and tortured, she hoped that the story would get out somehow, to let Harry and the others know that they were not alone in the fight. Attempting to take the sword would be a sign that she trusted Harry to succeed, that she believed he really could defeat Voldemort and was going to continue trying to fight to help him in any way. And she really did believe that he could.

Now that she'd been caught, she could only hope that Harry would hear what she'd done and remember the people who still believed in him, despite all the rubbish that the Daily Prophet and the radios reported and the lies spread by the Ministry. The Carrows had interrogated her together, trying to make her reveal Dumbledore's secret plan for the sword, but her fierce hatred for them had lessened the pain and the undeniable truth of her ignorance had gotten her off with only some bad bruises; she'd expected worse.

It was time to face Snape, the first time that she'd been alone with him since he'd taken George's ear, since he'd killed Dumbledore. He could punish her, but she wasn't about to make it easy. None of the taking punishments silently with lowered eyes and muffled screams that she saw among most of the other students—she was going to stare right back at him and let him see her defiance. Ginny ran through insults in her head, trying to prepare them ahead of time so she'd be able to squeeze in as many as possible before he forced her silence. She knew some pretty good ones from Fred and George, and had a few of her own invention that she'd been waiting to try out.

Ginny only wished that there was some way what she was planning on saying to Snape could be included in the story that was certain to be told of their attempted robbery; Harry sure as hell deserved a good laugh.

People are dying. She wanted to scream it, for all the castle to hear. She wanted to scream it so loud that Harry heard, wherever he was hiding, loud enough that Voldemort could hear her and know that Snape’s rule was being challenged and Hogwarts was ready to fight. First years are being tortured, children who have never been away from home before and now wake up screaming every night, plagued by thoughts of pain and death. This is Hogwarts to them, a place of evil, a place of fear. And still it’s safer than outside, where schoolchildren are being thrown in Azkaban for the crime of being born and parents slaughtered for trying to protect them. Not that you care, evil greasy ear-cursing git, I thought you would at least have better aim than that, being a murderous Dark wizard and all, I know you enjoy abusing your power and frightening students but I know you’re nothing but a coward, playing the spy, too scared to even acknowledge the master you’ve been serving for years, at least the Death Eaters stand up for their beliefs, however perverted and wrong. You won’t even admit to yourself that you’re evil, and this might come as a surprise but guess what, I’m not scared of you…

But the words died on her lips, screamingly silently only in her mind. However much she tried to tell herself that she wasn’t frightened, that she had nothing to lose, it just wasn’t true. Even now, when she’d committed the worst crime imaginable—breaking into the Headmaster’s office itself, as much a direct challenge to his authority as it was an insult to his security measures—there were worse things he could do then torture her, or even kill her. He could go after her family. Ginny didn’t think that Snape was planning to kill her; she was a pure-blood after all, and a woman. It seemed as if Snape and the Carrows had been instructed to avoid doing any permanent damage to female pure-bloods. They would be necessary after the war was won to help rebuild the wizarding population. In that case it would probably be better to die now, rather than be faced with the humiliation of having someone like Malfoy forced upon her.

Truthfully, Ginny was scared of Snape and what he could do to her. She would have to take the punishment dealt to her, her only regret that if she was going to make Snape this angry anyways, she hadn’t at least done so by killing one of the Carrows instead, or gotten away with the sword successfully. But she couldn’t lose her head, and she wasn’t ready to die. Mostly, she worried about her family, not knowing the extent to which Snape’s anger would carry; her own fate was already sealed, whatever Snape’s decision, but maybe if she listened quietly and obeyed orders, he wouldn’t go after the rest of them as well.

Ginny was brave but she wasn’t stupid. It was one of the things that the last year had taught her—there was a difference between standing up for what was right and taking foolish risks; while rescuing the sword had been considered necessary to help Harry, though they didn’t know why, and rescuing students from detention saved the innocent from being punished, insulting Snape would be a reckless and selfish act, putting her family in danger just to help herself pretend she wasn’t completely powerless. As Neville constantly reminded them, the small amount of hope that they’d managed to reinstall in the student body through their rebellious messages and successful rescues would be destroyed tenfold if one of them were killed. It would be like her first year all over again, or third year when Harry returned with Cedric’s body—they all knew that the moment a student died, the memory of Hogwarts that they were trying so hard to preserve would be lost forever. They’d been walking a fine line that fall, refusing to give up the fight but aware at the same time that their actions could have far-reaching consequences, and every one of them had someone they weren’t willing to lose, someone who could be used to force them into submission.

Maybe this time, they’d finally crossed the line. Had they gone too far? Standing in the doorway, Ginny looked up and met the Headmaster’s eyes. He scowled back at her, sheer loathing broadcast in every line of his face, mouth set, dark eyes unreadable—the same way he’d always looked at her, whether because she was a Weasley or a Gryffindor or friends with Harry she had no idea, though the force of his hatred had seemed to triple last year when it had become common knowledge that they were dating. She willed herself not to shrink before him, though she couldn’t quite control the tremors that ran through her body and made her hand sweat against the smooth wood of her wand.

Ginny was afraid for her family, who were too proud to go into hiding, insisting on continuing to go to work each day like the world hadn’t fallen to pieces; they had made themselves easy targets, though she knew her family was not to be underestimated. Ginny was afraid for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who had been missing for weeks without a word to the Order, and had dozens of Snatchers on their trail. And she was afraid for herself, because Snape had killed Dumbledore and he might kill her as well, and though she knew in her heart that there were some things worth dying for and this fight was one of them, however willing she was in theory, she still wished it didn’t have to be right now; sixteen was too young to die.

But Snape didn’t need to know how she felt, and the lives of her family depended on her ability to keep her temper in check. So though she cursed and she fumed and she screamed inside her head, Ginny held her tongue as she approached the Headmaster and prepared to fight for her life.

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Snape studied the young woman illuminated in his office doorway as he inclined his head ever so slightly towards the chair set in front of his desk. He had already met with the other two, bumbling Longbottom and the infuriating Lovegood girl, but the Carrows had insisted on keeping one for themselves first. They must have thought Ginny the most likely to talk, though staring back at her fierce, determined face, now mottled with bruises, Snape couldn't imagine why. She was more like a dragon than a young woman, preparing to burn him to death with the fire of her rage. Her look was so full of anger that his hand actually moved to his wand, just in case; he doubted that even the Weasley girl would be thick enough to attack him outright, but there was no telling what unconscious damage might come of so pure and intense a hatred, and it wouldn't do to be unprepared if the room went up in flames.

The Carrows must have been hard on her—face bruises were a bad sign, he had learned. They still tried to maintain a modicum of subtlety, particularly when dealing with pure-blood students, and most of the physical marks of their various torture methods were confined to areas hidden by clothing. If Snape could see marks, he knew that they'd been truly enraged. Ginny looked anything but cowed as she took her seat, however; it seemed as if she took extra strength from having survived the first round of interrogations, knowing now how far she was truly willing to go to protect those around her.

"I'm sure you realize why you are here, Miss Weasley?" His voice slid over her but she didn't flinch, and Snape was surprised despite himself. He'd taken little notice of the youngest Weasley before, except as a pawn in one of the Dark Lord's first attempts to regain power, and more recently as the unfortunate object of Potter's affections.

"For being stupid enough to get caught while stealing the sword of Gryffindor."

"Yes, that plan of yours was most unwise. I have always known that Longbottom was quite dim but I expected more sense from you, especially with your family in such a precarious position as it is, mother and father in the Order, brother traipsing around the country with Undesirable Number One."

"You have no right to talk about my family! You nearly killed my brother!� Ginny’s voice was getting louder, her face nearly as red as her hair. “And Ron's at home with Spattergroit, ask the Ministry if you don't believe me, they confirmed it…�

"Very well," he cut in sharply, letting the characteristic mix of irritation, contempt, and boredom flow into his tone. Their discussion had to end quickly, before the girl could get herself worked up further; she was clearly preparing to throw all manner of insults his way, however much she tried to restrain herself. Her knuckles were white from where she gripped the edge of her chair in anger, and a small drop of blood appeared at the corner of her lip—it seemed that she’d bitten through it, in an effort to rein in her fury and regain some semblance of composure. Snape was in no mood for talking on today of all days, and all he could picture as she screamed was the cloud of flying red hair; it was almost too much to take. Besides, if she did lose control of her magic and lashed out at him without meaning to, which continued to be a distinct possibility, it would be hard to save her from an even worse torture than she'd already endured. "You make an interesting claim. I would have said that you were here because you attempted to steal the sword."

"If we hadn't been caught, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

The conversation was an act, for Ginny's sake and for that of the Carrows; he already knew what her punishment would be. The same punishment that he'd just given Neville and Luna—a night in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. It was his fallback position; Hagrid would see to it that the students stayed as safe as possible, but the idea still seemed dangerous enough, particularly after Dolores Umbridge's unfortunate experience, to warrant being a proper punishment and to please the Carrows.

"Why did you attempt to steal the sword of Gryffindor?"

"It was left to Harry Potter in Dumbledore's will."

"So you wanted to help fulfil Dumbledore's last wishes?" This was the reason that Longbottom and Lovegood had given a few hours before. Snape hadn't been surprised by their loyalty to Dumbledore's memory or the extents to which they'd gone to show it, not after everything he'd done himself at Dumbledore's request over the years; but any respect he might have had for them as others caught in a deadly game with only a handful of the rules and unwavering trust to go upon was lost in his anger that they couldn't at least have come up with a better plan.

"I wanted to help Harry Potter, and Dumbledore seemed to consider the sword necessary to Harry's success." Ginny's eyes flashed and she stared off out the window, searching for something in the darkness.

"You were willing to risk capture and torture to steal something that may possibly have helped Potter complete some mission that is unknown to you, in some way that you don't understand? Miss Weasley, are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you were willing?"

"I am willing to do anything for Harry Potter. And I always will be. Anything." Her voice was even, her mind was set. She really meant it.

The words reverberated in Snape's ears. Always. Anything. He knew what to do. It was dangerous and demanding and perhaps impossible, but it had always been straightforward. He had given his word. Anything. Always.

The conversation had stopped abruptly, and he rushed to assign Ginny her detention and dismiss her back to her common room. Finally, he heard the heavy door close and knew that he was alone in the office once more. Glancing towards Dumbledore's portrait, Snape removed the silencing spells that had kept the former Headmasters unable to speak. It was time to find Potter.

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A few days later, when the portrait of Phineas Nigellus asked whether it should obey Hermione's summons, and Dumbledore's whole mess of a plan sprang back into action, it was Ginny's answer, and his own answer so long ago, that Snape thought of as he gave his consent. Though he'd been almost too afraid to admit it, even to himself, her unwavering dedication had reminded Snape of his own feelings, talking to Dumbledore so many years ago. And he thought of two red-haired girls, so different yet so alike, one whose heart he’d broken and one who still kept a spark of determined hope alive, even as others were beginning to admit defeat. He imagined the light in those eyes extinguished as Dumbledore's final plan was revealed, imagined history repeating itself. Yet she would never go back on her word. Maybe he couldn't save the boy forever, but he could at least help him hold on for as long as possible, help all of them hold on. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make sure the fiery girl whose words were so very like his own, and whose spirit was so very like the one he'd loved, never lost her unwavering faith.

As much as he hated Potter, a constant reminder of the man who’d taken everything Snape had wanted without a backward glance, as much as he hated all the students sometimes, looking forward to bright futures and better times, he wouldn’t wish his life on any of them. Not even a Weasley. Students could be insulted and mocked and thrown in detention, but to be forced to continue living when all chance of happiness has been washed away with tears of regret—the girl sitting before him didn't deserve to feel the same pain from which he could never escape. No one deserved that. He'd failed Lily twice before and a million times in between, but Ginny was stronger than he’d ever been and she hadn't yet broken; and for Ginny, for Lily, for Dumbledore who trusted him and for Harry who had reached through the darkness inside him to find the love Snape had always dreamed of, he would make sure she never did.

The sword was waiting—he just needed to locate Harry, and wherever Miss Granger was seemed a good place to start. Plus, Snape realized with a smirk, he had the perfect plan to lure Potter in when he did find them.

The silver doe seemed to erupt from his wand unconsciously, without effort, as soon as the spell had left his lips; he had only to think of Ginny's fierce words with their implicit challenge, almost begging for a fight just so she could prove him wrong, and how much it would cost if he refused her challenge. His Patronus brought no feeling of peace or protection as he watched it glide softly across the office, but then again it never had. Instead, Snape remembered what he was fighting for, and that was a comfort in itself.

3. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes

xxx

The radio’s dial twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic; Harry had become so used to their isolation he had nearly forgotten that other people were resisting Voldemort. It was like waking from a long sleep. DH: The Deathly Hallows, pg. 235

xxx

Ginny shivered at the cold touch of the windowpane against her flushed skin. The icy flowers of frost that had become more beautifully intricate with each breath dissolved into nothingness beneath her fingers, granting her a clear vision of the street and storefronts opposite Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It was a view which provided no comfort--just recognizable enough for her to realize that something was wrong, but at the same time so different that it was a struggle to pick out the familiar sights among the abandoned sidewalks and boarded-up storefronts.

Whatever she was looking for, it wasn’t here. That much was instantly clear. In her memories Diagon Alley was always bustling--slightly intimidating, even, with everyone hurrying and pushing about their business--full of promise, the beginning of a new school year, the return of old friends from the summer holidays. The annual late August journey to purchase new school supplies was one of her favorite days each summer. Or it had been. Even the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to do anything more than stare longingly at the bright, glittering storefronts of the main street had done little to curb her excitement; and when she walked out of the darker, dustier second-hand stores with a few small parcels, Ginny always felt like she was the luckiest girl in the world.

At least that’s how everything looked in her memories, when she was able to summon up the strength to replay them. Remembering was a dangerous business, best served for late nights and quiet corners; that was one of the few lessons that she’d learned at Hogwarts this year. As she stared out the window, images of the near-deserted storefronts swam before her eyes; they threatening to drown out the crowded streets of the past, and Ginny had to force back the ache of another bit of happiness lost to the war.

Now was not the time for tears. It was a bright, clear day, the sun strong despite the crisp temperature--a perfect day for flying. This was her favorite part of the year to be outside, before the snow fell but late enough in the season to drive all but the most dedicated back indoors. When you had to always be moving to keep your hands from going numb.

Last year I would’ve been out flying right now, taking advantage of the beautiful weather. And Harry and Ron would have been there, and maybe Hermione. But now they’re gone, and the streets are empty, and we’re losing the fight. As much as she tried to stop herself from thinking of the past, the memories seemed to swell up when she least expected it. Sometimes she felt like an old woman on her deathbed, half-blind and barely able to stand, forced to relive time and again bygone golden years of joy and contentment because she knew the future could hold nothing but pain. Every time Ginny thought she had a handle on things again, at least to the point that she could pretend to be okay for everyone else’s sake, another change appeared to catch her off-guard. Today it was the fact that she was here, in Diagon Alley, when she should have been at Hogwarts, caught up in schoolwork and excited for the Halloween feast. Tomorrow it would be something different, and the next day; and one day soon the illusion would crumble, and she wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

It had been hard returning to Hogwarts this year, the many familiar faces she’d see each day in the halls and common room serving only to emphasize those she wouldn’t find, the faces that were missing. The ones that she wanted to see the most, that she’d give anything for just a glimpse of. But there was a solidarity among the remaining students, too, a sense of united purpose and shared sorrow that reminded her she wasn’t alone. In September, Ginny had barely been able to handle the combined pain of so many suffering together, feeling each death and disappearance so much more acutely because it wasn’t just a name in a newspaper anymore; no, now it was an aunt or a friend or a neighbor, and that made it all the more real and all the more excruciating to experience. But now, two months later, she realized how much she needed that feeling, that fellowship, because what was happening was too big for her, and she couldn’t deal with it on her own.

So surprisingly enough, she missed Hogwarts, even the sick, twisted version of the school that had been introduced this fall and barely warranted being called by the same name. The only reason she wasn’t there now was because Snape and the Carrows had introduced a mandatory fall break, sending all the students home for the last week of October. Neville had claimed that they were trying to force so-called “traitors� who supported the resistance out of hiding by making them come to pick up their children. It was either that or risk leaving their sons and daughters to some unknown form of punishment. Secretly Ginny agreed with Neville’s opinion on the matter, though she’d tried to keep spirits up among the D.A. members by reminding everyone that they should be celebrating a week of freedom from the Carrows, whatever the cause.....

…“You okay?� Fred’s voice startled her as he opened the door to the back stockroom. Ginny turned guiltily away from the window; the twins were paying her to help with inventory this week while they manned the registers and helped customers. But it had been clear within the first fifteen minutes that they didn’t really need the additional set of hands--even with students out on break, business was down throughout Wizarding London, and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was no exception. Though she didn’t know for sure, Ginny could only imagine most people felt like the small mundane actions that constituted daily life just didn’t matter as much anymore. And people were scared, regardless of whether or not they admitted it. Husbands made their wives promise to stay at home, to leave the shopping for next week, and mothers called out to their children, asking them to come back inside and play in the house instead. The twins must’ve noticed her hanging on by a thread at home, just waiting for that last spark before the big explosion, and decided she needed a change of scenery. They had always had a knack for understanding her silences, listening not only to the words she spoke but also to those she could only leave unsaid.

“No need to worry about it, we just closed,� Fred spoke softly into the silence of the shadowy storeroom. He didn’t seem angry as he came to sit next to her; instead he just dropped a long arm around her shoulders and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, looking as if he was on the verge of saying something more before turning away with a quiet sigh. They sat in silence for a moment before George entered the back room as well, looking around for them. The silence wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t quite comfortable either, for some reason she couldn’t explain. This was Fred and George, who were always ready with a laugh or joke or snide remark, even at the most inopportune moment. Sitting without speaking to the twins was something different than what she was used to; and she felt the room begin to swim before her as her eyes filled with unshed tears one more, because at the moment she’d give almost anything just to feel something familiar. Everything was changing, and she couldn’t stop it even if she was rash enough to try.

It was strange seeing this new side of the twins; they weren’t subdued so much as older, a bit more mature. Now when they played jokes it was for the others, to keep everyone laughing, rather than simply to amuse themselves. The change could be seen in the shop as well; they still had bright, eye-catching banners and silly trick sweets, but they seemed to know that a line had been drawn and weren’t stupid enough to see what happened if they crossed it.

“Do you think they know what’s been going on?� asked George quietly as he joined them at the window. “Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I mean. Do you think they heard about you being sent home for the week, or about the Dementors searching Hogwarts, or that that Muggle tour bus exploded yesterday?�

“Probably not,� said Ginny practically. “No one at school knows anything, though there’s been crazy rumors flying everywhere. It’s hard to tell whether the students or the Prophet start them sometimes, but no one seems to be getting the truth, that’s for sure. The only reason we know half of what’s going on is because of Dad, what he tells us, and we all know the only reason he says anything is to try and keep us from doing something reckless to find out on our own.�

“And Lupin,� added Fred. Luckily Lupin was not of the same opinion as Molly, that they were too young to be kept in the dark, and while he hadn’t been going out of his way to provide the twins with information, he had seemed willing enough to answer honestly when they questioned him directly. Probably figured it was for the best, like their father. “Doesn’t know anything about Ron and Harry and Hermione, though,� Fred continued. “We always ask. He said he saw them after the wedding really quickly, but when he went back a few days later to apologize--guess something happened between him and Harry that didn’t sit right with him--they were already gone, and the place was swarming with Death Eaters. Lupin barely got away, Kingsley chewed him out about it. No one’s supposed to go back there now.�

Ginny appreciated what Fred and George were doing, knowing that they were asking for her as much as for themselves, despite the tension it was causing with their mother. Ginny would know absolutely nothing if Molly had her way, and the twins were sure to get an earful later if it came out that they had shared any news at all. She hoped that Molly never found out, for the twins’ sake; while they were usually the ones who instigated trouble, deep down Fred and George were also among the least confrontational of her brothers. They held their own under Molly’s yells and often yelled right back, but they didn’t take it as far as the others. Charlie was quiet but he could be harsh when angry, with an uncanny ability to know the one thing to say that would cut the other person deepest. If she was being honest with herself, Ginny knew she was the same way, and often her sarcasm crossed the line into cruelty that she quickly regretted. Percy and Ron could stay angry for months if you let them, and she and Bill could definitely hold a grudge as well.

But the twins were almost as quick to forgive as they were to cause trouble, and they were always the first to apologize if an argument went too far. They hated to see any of the family fighting, and when they were very young some of their most memorable jokes had been ill-conceived attempts to ease the tension in a room and get everyone laughing again. It was a very different reaction than the rest of the family and she’d often wondered if it was something they’d developed out of necessity, because there was two of them. She couldn’t imagine Fred and George in a fight, but she also couldn’t imagine spending that much time with someone each day without wanting to tell them to bugger off occasionally.

The bell over the door tinkled, cutting sharply through the silence and interrupting Ginny’s train of thought. She felt Fred jump a bit beside her, startled, before he yelled out over his shoulder that the store was closed, voice just a shade too casual. He was nervous, and probably had a right to be; they were in a war, after all, and not all unexpected visitors were friendly.

Luckily, these ones were.

“We know,� said a woman’s familiar voice, a second before Angelina appeared in the doorway. A second later, Alicia materialized as well, breaking into a small half-smile when she caught sight of the three Weasleys huddled together in the center of the room.

“Did you hear about Oliver?� Angelina called out as the two girls started across the room towards the others, her voice ringing out sharply down the rows of shelves and boxes.

“He’s fine,� she added quickly, catching sight of their stricken faces. “Not all news is bad news, you know.� She laughed quietly at the identical sighs of relief that broke out across the room, then instantly regretted it. Her laughter sounded forced and out of place among the quiet room, and she was hit with an odd sensation of grief--she never would have imagined laughter to wrong in the company of the Weasley twins. “But there was an attack last night, at the Puddlemere-Cannons game. Katy stopped by this morning to let us know what happened, she and Oliver have been sharing a flat and I can only imagine how nervous she was when he didn’t make it home. She told us he got back just before dawn, half-frozen and looking scared out of his bloody wits.�

Ginny settled her head back against the rough brick behind her, closing her eyes as she listened to Angelina and Alicia take turns speaking, slowly telling their story. Everyone except George, who was now making a half-hearted attempt to inventory the latest shipment of potion ingredients, had unconsciously positioned themselves with their backs to the wall, leaving the front of the shop and the only entrance in full view. Or the only visible entrance--Ginny was sure that Fred and George had a hidden escape route of some kind, given their penchant for secret passageways at Hogwarts. It gave the room a strange atmosphere, as if they were all waiting for something to happen but no one was quite sure what. The anticipation hung so heavy on the air that Ginny could almost taste it.

“I guess they just couldn’t resist,� Angelina continued, “what with all those fans packed together in one place. Hard to tell who was muggle-born, of course, and most everyone’s in hiding at this point anyways. But the Death Eaters can never resist a crowd, and the setup of the stadium made them easy pickings once the exit was blocked off. Oliver was there, of course, and not as conspicuous as some of his other teammates because he was watching the game from the sidelines when the attack started. Said he was nearly trampled by a family running for what they thought was safety, though he knew that they were heading right for a group of Death Eaters. He had a broom, he could have just taken off at the first sign of trouble, but instead he piled the children on and flew them to safety, then came back for the parents.�

“He saved so many lives,� Alicia said softly, her voice filled with awe. “Once he’d gotten the first family out, he just kept going back for as many as he could, right under the Death Eater’s noses.�

“If he’d been caught…� Angelina started, but her voice broke before she could even finish the thought. She didn’t have to; they all knew what would have happened, the consequence of resistance. She struggled to find the right words, forcing herself to continue. “No one’s talking about it, obviously, but Oliver said he nearly collided mid-air with the Cannons beater, who looked as if he was doing the same thing. And most of his Puddlemere teammates were helping as well, or looking out for their muggle-born mates.�

“It could have been a disaster,� Alicia added. “So many people trapped in such a confined space, everyone in a panic and trampling over one another to try to get away. Like the World Cup all over again, but ten times worse because they out to kill this time. But the players stepped up and saved as many as they could. Not everyone, but more than anyone dared to hope.�

“It’s still a tragedy, of course, but it’s a little but inspirational at the same time, don’t you think? Shows that something can be achieved if there are people who aren’t afraid to stand up and make the right choice.�

“Oliver told Katy he felt like the bloody Hogwarts Express, shuttling all the muggle-born fans to safety, but she could tell he was proud he’d done it.�

“He should be,� George chimed in from where he had moved to in the far corner of the room, distractedly banishing brightly-wrapped toffees into various cardboard boxes with restless abandon; they seemed to miss their targets more often than not, and when they did land in a box it was anyone’s guess whether it was the one for which they’d been intended. There was already a growing number of the metallic sweets glittering haphazardly up from where they had been scattered across the stockroom floor.

“It’s the kind of stories you never hear anymore, the happy ones where everything just goes right,� Fred said with a tired sigh.

“Except for the fact that the game was attacked in the first place,� Ginny added sarcastically, forcing her eyes open. Fred was staring down at his lap, where he held one of Alicia’s hands intertwined within his own; Angelina’s head rested on his far shoulder, and she looked just as tired as Ginny felt.

“Well yeah, that wasn’t good, but it could have been much worse,� Fred shot back.

“I wish someone would report them,� Alicia cut in, before Ginny could respond. “The happy stories I mean. Or at least the ones that might give people some hope, encourage them to try doing the right thing. We get enough stories like this out, it might convince those who have already given up that it’s worth it to try to resist, even if they can’t save everyone. That even one less death means something.�

Ginny looked up again at that statement, taking in the other’s far-away eyes. For a brief second she could see them all imagining it, dreaming of waking up each morning to read about the lives that were saved along with all of those that were lost. To hear about the victories, however small, in the midst of so much tragedy. And one by one, she saw each of the others lower their heads, the light in their eyes extinguishing, because they knew it was nothing but a careless dream, a fragile fantasy world that would be shattered instantly by the harshness of reality. But Alicia’s words had struck a chord in the back of her mind, and she could hear them echoing over and over again, relentless. And though she knew the others were considering the bigger picture, how much this could mean to the wizarding world as a whole, Ginny was only thinking of one person, the one boy she knew needed hope and happiness more than anyone else in the world, as she felt the beginnings of a plan taking shape in her mind.

Somewhere Harry was preparing for the biggest battle of his life. He needed to know how many people stood behind him.

“What if we could?� Ginny said suddenly, breaking the brief silence that had fallen over the group. The echo in her head wouldn’t go away; if anything, it was just growing louder and louder, but she wasn’t sure how to put her new idea into words. When Fred turned to look at his sister, she stared back at him with a strong, calculating look; it was one that he recognized well as belonging to someone who had just come up with an idea that would be both very awesome and very illegal.

The wizarding world needed hope, Ginny thought to herself. Harry and the others were doing what needed to be done, she was sure of it, and no news was always good news. But many people were losing faith, without Dumbledore or Harry to stand behind. It seemed like no one was taming the flow of evil, but that was just because the good things never got reported.

But the small things could make a difference. She had noticed it today, looking out the window of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George had insisted on keeping up a bright, colorful display at their storefront, even as the other more and more of the surrounding shops put locks on their doors and hid their merchandise behind heavy dark curtains. People stopped for just a second in their hurried walk by, lifted their heads for a moment and actually smiled. It wasn’t much, of course. But even still, it was a touch of lightness in their day. And maybe it left them with one more spark of hope, just enough to get through another long night, never knowing what the morning would bring.

Harry needed that spark, to remember what he was fighting for. They all needed it, now more than ever.

“How, though?� Fred questioned, bringing Ginny back down to earth. “Even if we get a hold of stories to share, whose going to report them? It can’t be the Prophet, no one with half a head on their shoulders believes that nonsense anymore.�

“Dad said he’d have canceled our subscription if it didn’t give such an important look into what the Ministry wants us to think,� George agreed as he walked back across the room to rejoin the group, dodging boxes and stacks of order forms. He slid to the ground next to Angelina, putting an arm over her shoulder.

“You can do it,� said Ginny, turning to look her brothers in the eye. “Over the radio. We all can. We can report what’s really happening--the good stuff. And the bad stuff too. It will be hard to hear, but it’s so much worse not to know. We’ll have to report only the facts, build up our credibility until people begin to trust us. Do it in secret, so they can’t prove anything, but make it recognizable at the same time. Think if Kingsley was on the radio; his voice is so deep, you’d recognize him, even if he was never called by name. Who do we know who’s good at speaking to a crowd?�

“How about Lee?� Fred chimed in, starting to look excited once again. Ginny could almost hear the wheels beginning to turn in his brain as he latched on to the idea, mulling over the different possibilities. “The younger people would recognize him from announcing. And I bet he’d be willing to do it. But we’d need some way to keep it exclusive, otherwise the Death Eaters might be able to identify who’s speaking just as easily.�

“How about a password?� questioned George with a sideways glance at his twin. Fred caught the look and grinned, knowing what George was thinking of. They had both seen how well a password could keep something protected.

“Potter.� Ginny’s voice held a quiet fire, slow-burning and intense. “That will be the first password.�

Something about the way Ginny spoke, the passion and determination ringing clearly through her words, slashed through the other’s doubts and allowed them to consider the possibility of her words. All of them had spent too many weeks feeling powerless, unable to stop the rush of terrible things that seemed to be waiting around every corner, and now to have the chance to believe in something, anything, again was an addictive feeling. It was like the D.A.--maybe not too important in the big picture, but it made them feel as if they mattered. They talked for what seemed like hours, plotting and planning, energized by the idea that they might be able to make the world a little bit lighter, just by doing something as small as sharing the whole truth, the good and the bad.

Alicia and Angelina eventually stood to leave as the shadows lengthened and twisted, shaking out stiff knees and flashing smiles that for once were not forced. They walked away with promises to spread the news of the new broadcast, discreetly of course and only to those they knew they could trust. It would take some time to get the word out and even longer to establish credibility, but it was something. Ginny could hear Fred and George whispering in the corner about the best way to get in contact with Lee--the twins in particular had seemed to come alive again at the mere idea of resistance, laughing like old times.

“We should probably head back as well,� George sighed. “You know how upset mum gets when we we’re later than she expects.� He was staring at the door his friends had just left through while he spoke, as if trying to burn the image into his mind. Ginny wondered if he was trying to take it all in, how they’d had looked, what they’d said, in case something terrible happened and this was the last time he got to see them. She wondered, but she was afraid to ask; it wasn’t a thought that she wanted to put into words, though she’d caught herself doing the same thing over the past few months.

“And it’s past our baby sister’s bedtime,� Fred added with a grin, his old wicked smile making a welcome appearance.

Suddenly Fred and George each seized one of her arms and turned on the spot, leaving any retort Ginny might’ve had swallowed by the overwhelming feeling that she was about to vomit. And she did, right on George’s shoes as they landed in the paddock beside the Burrow, which served him right for Apparating her without warning. She only regretted that her aim had been slightly off; a few inches to the left and she would have hit the side of Fred’s pants as well.

xxx

Late that night, long after the kitchen had emptied and the rest of the family had headed to bed, Ginny still sat at the table, starring at the scarred wood and watching as her tears left dark stains across its surface. She jumped slightly as she felt a hand press down lightly on her shoulder, only calming again when she recognized the voice that whispered out a greeting. Lupin had walked up so quietly behind her that she didn’t notice his presence until he was already right there, didn’t have time to feel ashamed or mask her pain.

He’d caught her, the first day of the break, standing at the window and staring out into the yard with silent tears running down her face. It was right there, beneath the spreading branches of an old oak where the otherwise lush grass grew sparse and yellowed from lack of sun, that she’d seen Harry for the last time. He hadn’t even looked like Harry, still disguised as that red-haired boy from town; and he hadn’t even seen her, as he held tightly to Hermione’s hand and scanned the panicked crowd for Ron. But she treasured the moment all the same. When sleep broke through the walls she’d built to keep all the memories at bay, it replayed again and again amid her dreams, a bittersweet lullaby to occupy the long lonely hours of the night. Being at home again, she could almost feel the shadows of the past hovering at the edges of her vision, just out of reach.

At first Ginny had thought she was being strong for everyone else; it seemed like such a noble idea, to suffer in silence because the rest of the world had troubles enough already, and she didn’t want to add to the burden. In truth, though, she did it for herself, because she hated the look of pity that she got from anyone who noticed her tears. It made her feel weak, and powerless, and inexplicably angry, for some reason that she couldn’t quite explain. They wanted to sympathize with her, let her know that they understood what she was feeling. But they didn’t; no one could understand. And it scared her, the force of the frustration that bubbled up uncontrollably and spilled out in harsh words she instantly regretted, so she’d quickly learned to hide her tears and save herself the inevitable guilt.

“I just wish I could say thank you.� Lupin had taken the seat next to her, his declaration barely carrying across the small space between them even in the silence of the sleeping house. She could sense his presence but he never met her eyes; his focus was on something far away, something only he could see. He didn’t say anything more, but Ginny understood. He was talking about Harry, about whatever had been left unresolved between them, regretting that it was likely to be left that way forever.

“What if you could?� she asked, her own voice scarcely louder than a whisper. It seemed almost too much to hope for, like her Quidditch daydreams, a precious ray of hope so tenuously grasped that even to speak it aloud might make it shatter into a million gleaming shards of what might have been. But she had something to work on now, a new project, and it gave her the courage to keep speaking. She didn’t know if Harry would ever hear what they were going to say, she didn’t even know if they would really be able to say anything at all, but so many people had things that they wished they could tell him and she was determined to try, at the very least. And others might hear, others who could use a little more courage in their lives.

That was all she could ask for, really. She would have to return to school, back to her own, albeit smaller-scale, battle, but Fred and George would help, and Lee, and now maybe even some of the Order members could be recruited. It wouldn’t win any battles, but at the very least it would help convince the rest of the wizarding world that the war wasn’t already lost. And if she’d learned anything from the D.A., it was when all hope was lost that the enemy truly prevailed.

Lupin felt himself smile for the first time in days, though he didn’t know why. What Ginny was suggesting, the idea that he would be able to talk to Harry again, to explain and apologize and say everything that should have been said long ago, how proud he was of the man Harry was becoming and how proud James would have been, was near impossible; they both knew that. There was little chance that they would both survive the war, and that knowledge hung heavily in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Yet Lupin could almost feel the exhilaration rolling off the girl next to him; there was an infectious energy spilling out from her eyes, a fire burning low but fierce within them like she was afraid to hope but just couldn’t help herself. Ginny was definitely excited about something. Knowing her, it was something completely unexpected. And completely illegal. He had always had a soft spot for the youngest Weasley, just as devious as the twins in many ways, but less flashy. He knew what it was like to be underestimated, left in the shadow of more boisterous friends, and she had an entire family to contend with. That said, the girl seemed to have no trouble holding her own. Even now, when most of the world had given up, she was still thinking of new ways to fight. And he wanted to help her, however he could; maybe she was just a child, but so were Harry, Ron, and Hermione in his mind, and that hadn’t prevented the three of them from having the fate of the war thrust upon their shoulders. Maybe this was no longer his fight. Maybe it was the children who would win this war. Maybe he just needed something, anything, to believe in.

He didn’t know what Ginny was thinking, whether it would turn the tide of the war or just get her killed. But he was willing to find out, because she had as much of a right as any of them to fight for her future, even if she was only 16.

“All right,� Lupin said softly, turning to look directly into Ginny’s eyes for the first time, letting the ferocity of her gaze burn away the last of his doubts. “Let’s hear your plan.�