"Falling Slowly, Part Three" by irislock
To:
i_autumnheart
Title: Falling Slowly
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione and other canon pairings
Rating: R for this part
Word Count: 3932 for this part
Summary: The laws of motion wreak havoc in Ginny's life.
Author Notes: As always, thanks to pocketfullof , lyras , and antoshevu for their help and to
r_becca for running the fest.
Sorry about the odd beta marks in the last part - entirely my fault, and I think I've gotten them all out this time. If not, any remaining errors are mine.
Thanks so much to everyone who's commented! I appreciate it more than I can say. I will warn you that this part ranks high on the Richter scale of angst, but try not to be alarmed - it will get better, I promise.
I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters created by J.K. Rowling. I'm grateful that I get to play with them. Reviews and concrit are always welcome.
The gates of Hogwarts are much more imposing in person than she thought they would be, and the castle beyond them is vast and impressive.
"Wow," she whispers as she and Harry stand outside the great iron gates.
"That's what I thought, too, the first time I saw it," Harry says. He performs a complex set of wand manoeuvres and incantations, and the gates open before them.
He gestures for her to go ahead. She hesitates, thinking that Hermione was probably right; how can this possibly work? But she'd promised that she'd try.
As they walk up the hill, Harry tries to reassure her. "You can still change your mind," he says. "Even after we start, if you want to stop, just tell me."
"Are you sure I won't drown? I don't even know if I can swim."
"No," he chuckles. "That won't be a problem."
Once inside the castle, he pauses to show her the Great Hall and the giant hourglasses that track house points and then navigates them through a Byzantine array of corridors and staircases until they arrive at a gargoyle statue.
He says, "Glenlivet" - and the gargoyle slides sideways to reveal a spiral staircase. None of this is unexpected; Harry has thoroughly prepared her for this experiment.
Even if she hadn't seen pictures of Professor McGonagall, she would recognize her based on the descriptions she's heard and read. The square glasses, tartan robes and stern expression are all there. The Professor is seated at her desk, but stands as they walk into the office.
"Ah, Mr Potter, Miss Weasley," says the professor in a serious but not unfriendly tone. "Right on time. Please sit. Would you like a biscuit?"
"No, thank you." She's still full from last night's impromptu picnic, and she feels a bit queasy.
Harry also declines and Professor McGonagall puts the tin of biscuits away. "Very well. It seems that you are not to be distracted from the purpose of your visit. The Pensieve is in the cabinet, as usual. However, I have never found it to be as useful as my predecessor did. And I must advise you, Miss Weasley, that trespassing in others' minds can be a very disorienting and confusing experience, even for those of us whose memories are intact, and I'm afraid there's very little chance that it will do anything to restore your own memories."
"Thank you, Professor, but - how can it be trespassing if I've been invited? I - I know it may not work, but I'm willing to try. I've tried everything else anyone can think of - unless you have another idea."
The Professor's lips press tightly together for a moment, as if she's making an effort not to offer a suggestion. Turning to Harry, she says, "Very well, then, Mr Potter, do you have a vial?"
"Yes," he replies, retrieving a blue bottle from his robes. "We decided to start with just two memories. They're both in here."
"Alright. I'll leave you to it. I need to speak with Hagrid about the unicorns, but I shall return in half an hour. Unless you'd rather I stay?"
"No, thank you. I don't think that will be necessary." Professor McGonagall clears her desk with a wave of her wand and leaves the office, taking care to close the door.
Alone now, Harry takes the Pensive and places it on the desk. It's rather small, she thinks, to fit both of them in there. Harry uncorks the vial and pours the silvery-white contents into the basin. "Ready?" he asks.
She's too nervous to speak, but she nods. He goes first, touching his nose to the swirling substance, and at once, he is gone, disappeared into the depths of the basin where she can't see him. Leaning closer, she sees the refracted image of him in his robes and glasses, but it's very indistinct. Holding her breath, she plunges her whole head into the basin. She has the sensation of falling, briefly, and then she lands solidly on both feet, on a train platform. The sign above her says Platform 9. She looks to her right and can see the sign for Platform 10; there's the large barrier between the platforms.
They'd spent a good bit of time the previous night discussing which memories to start with. Harry thought a happy memory would be best and suggested her Hogwarts graduation party because it was the same day she found out she'd made the Harpies' Reserve team. She didn't think anything related to Quidditch was going to help. He flatly refused her request to see the Chamber of Secrets on the grounds that, in addition to not being the least bit happy, Ginny didn't remember much of that anyway - she'd been unconscious until after Tom Riddle was gone. Finally, they agreed to revisit the first time they'd seen each other. She figured this was safe because there would be no romantic overtones and unrelated to Quidditch. He told her it was indeed a happy memory and as good a place as any to start.
The station is quite crowded, and there's more young people pulling large traveling trunks and clutching cages holding cats or owls than most people would expect on an ordinary day. She sees Ginny, asking to go with her brothers, and they watch silently as an eleven-year-old Harry, clad in ill-fitting, dingy clothes and wearing glasses that are taped together, asks Molly how to get to Platform nine and three quarters.
Unnoticed, they follow Harry and Ron through the barrier. She's surprised at just how young they all look. She doesn't recognize Neville until Harry - the grown Harry next to her - points him out. Very different to the Neville she's met, he is a plump, uncoordinated boy who's complaining about a lost toad. She recognizes Percy, of course, and George, who still has both ears in this memory, but it's a shock to see Fred moving and talking as if he is alive. She can tell them apart easily, and she feels a lump in her throat at a loss that she knows runs deep even if she can't recall it. From the platform, she watches her brothers and Harry board the train; then her brothers get off again. She hears herself beg to be let on the train so that she can see Harry Potter, and then, the train is moving, and her family is waving and she can see Harry, too, watching her from the window until the train disappears.
This memory dissolves into the second, and now they are in a dank room lit by the fire in the fireplace and occupied by her and Ron, who are both seated on one of the beds. She'd argued at length with Harry to show her this memory. He didn't want to show her a memory in which he'd acted like a prat, and he proposed that Grimmauld Place was just a little too creepy for her to see at this point in her recovery. She'd countered by saying that a memory in which he was feeling troublesome, irritated and misunderstood was completely appropriate because that was just how she felt now. In the end, she wouldn't agree to try the Pensieve at all if he wouldn't show her this memory, and he'd relented.
Harry and Hermione enter the room, and it's clear that Harry is disgruntled.
Hermione sits down on the bed next to Ginny and asks Harry, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Oh, don't lie, Harry. Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."
"They do, do they?" Harry glares at Ron and Ginny. His hair is more erratic than usual, and he's very pale. Truthfully, he looks a little menacing, and she's both surprised and proud that Ginny doesn't look the least bit disturbed.
"Well, you have!" she hears herself say. "And you won't look at any of us!"
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" She's never seen him angry like this, and it wouldn't surprise her at all if steam started to come out of his ears.
Hermione chooses this moment to intervene. "Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other."
"Very funny," replies Harry, who is not at all amused. He turns away from the others, giving her a perfect view of the scowl on his face. He's looking right through her to the window.
"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," says Hermione. "Look, the others told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears -"
"Yeah?" Harry growls back. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it..."
She watches herself confront him. "We wanted to talk to you, Harry, but as you've been hiding ever since you got back -"
"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry replies, still clearly annoyed.
"Well, that was a bit stupid of you, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels" she says, and she hears a note of rising anger in her voice.
No one moves for a beat, and then Harry wheels around to look at her. "I forgot."
"Lucky you, " she responds, and there's no mistaking her icy tone.
"I'm sorry," Harry says. His anger has vanished, and she can tell he's sincere. He also sounds hopeful that his friends might have evidence that he isn't possessed.
"You're right," she says to the present day Harry next to her. "You were a prat."
"Told you."
"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you," she reassures him. He looks away, but she knows he's not really annoyed.
He walks over to the fireplace and takes a small picture from the mantle while she watches the rest of the conversation among the four friends in the memory. "My parents," he whispers, but she hardly pays any attention.
"That dream I had about your dad and the snake though -" Harry is saying to Ginny.
Hermione interjects "Harry, you've had these dreams before...."
She's not crying so she doesn't understand why the image before her becomes blurry. She can't see Ginny or the others well anymore, and their voices are fading. Confused, she looks over toward the fireplace.
What she sees is completely unexpected. Harry is still standing by the fireplace, but his head is surrounded by a cloud of silvery white fog. She can't see his face at all, and she notices that the light in the room has changed. Looking up, she discovers why; dozens of lit candles are suspended in midair adding their glow to that coming from the fireplace. In spite of the extra light sources, the room is dim. There are still people on the bed, but she can only see two silhouettes, and they are laying down.
She can hear them talking in soft, anxious voices.
"Are you sure, Ginny?"
"Yes, Harry, I'm sure. I've wanted this for a long time. Don't you?"
"You know I do. But I - I - just don't want to hurt you. I've never done this before."
"And you think I have?" Ginny retorts.
She watches, dumbstruck, as Ginny reaches up and takes Harry's glasses off.
"It'll be fine, Harry. I promise." Ginny kisses him as the glasses fall to the floor, and then he is on top of her and -
Oh, no. This can't be happening.
She flings open the door and tears down the hallway, seeking refuge in the first room she finds. It's a loo, and as soon as she goes in, she knows it's a mistake.
She sees herself sitting on the edge of the sink, completely naked. Her head is thrown back, and her hair, much longer than it is now, appears to be disappearing down the drain. Her legs are slightly spread, and Harry, also naked, is standing in front of her, his head bent low sucking on one of her breasts. They both appear to be enjoying themselves immensely.
White hot ripples of shame parch her insides and make it difficult to breathe. She does the only thing she can think of and flees further down the corridor until she finds a staircase.
Oh, thank god, maybe I can get out of here.
As she nears the second landing on her way down, she can see two cloaked figures against the heavy stone wall.
"Help me," she cries, but they take no notice of her. And then she realizes that it's them, again. She's wearing Quidditch robes, and Harry is in his Auror uniform. Locked in an embrace, they break their kiss and she can hear their words spoken in low, urgent whispers.
"Merlin, I thought that match would never end. I couldn't wait to get here. I want you so much." Ginny throws his cloak to the floor and begins unbuttoning his shirt.
"Me, too. Dawlish had us training in some godforsaken bog today, and I kept thinking about what a bloody good kisser you are and how wonderful you feel and -"
He kisses her hard as his hands work feverishly at something before he lifts her up and presses her against the wall.
Are they really - ? She can't believe this. How - how brazen.
"Ginevra! Where are you?" It's Harry's voice coming from up above. He must have finally realized that she was gone and is looking for her. She can't face him now, not after what she's just seen.
Descending another flight of stairs, she spills into a sort of parlour. Burning wood perfumes the air, though she can't see it because there's a comfortable looking sofa in front of the fireplace. Thankfully, the room appears unoccupied and she considers hiding here. After a few tentative steps forward, she hears a couple of moans, and her stomach feels like lead. She can see the fireplace now, and in front of it she sees herself, again, sprawled on a blanket, hair radiating around her head in imitation of the flames in the fireplace. She's wearing not one stitch of clothing, and Harry's there too, bent down, arse in the air with his head between her legs.
She claps a hand over her mouth. Oh, bloody hell. Did we have sex in every single room of this place?
She can hear Harry's rapid, heavy footfalls on the stairs; he will catch up to her soon. She runs out the side of the room only to find another staircase leading who knows where. Acting on impulse, she follows it down into a kitchen, where she sees yet another fireplace, cauldrons and pots, shelves and cupboards, long wooden benches and a table - a table that she is leaning over, clad only in a dressing gown that is thrown up to her waist while Harry thrusts into her from behind.
Apparently, we did. On the verge of hyperventilating, she leans against the wall to try and collect herself, but it's just too much. She sinks down the wall and buries her head between her knees.
"Stop it!" she shrieks. "Make it stop!"
Harry enters the room and draws her attention from the ecstatic cries of the couple in the kitchen.
"Make it stop," she begs.
"Okay, okay," he says. "I -I think I can do that." The uncertainty in his voice unnerves her, and she's half tempted to take one of the kitchen knives and run him through. But that would require getting up, and walking past that table....
A light rush of air sweeps past her head, interrupting her thoughts. The room is quiet.
"They're gone, now. You can look. It's just an empty kitchen." He leans down to where she is still sitting on the floor and touches her elbow. "Ginevra, please, I -"
She jerks her elbow away and looks up at him feeling unparalleled rage and humiliation. "GET ME," she hisses through tightly clenched teeth, "OUT OF HERE. NOW."
"Okay. I will," he says in a much more assured voice. He moves a little closer, but she holds a hand out in warning. "No. Don't you dare touch me!"
"But I can't get you out of here without touching you," he says, in a calm voice that seems wholly inappropriate to the situation. "I only have to touch your elbow, and I'll let go as soon as we're out. I swear."
She stands on shaky legs and holds her elbow well out from the rest of her body. Eyes closed against imminent tears, she feels a tug followed by the curious sensation of falling upward, and then her feet hit solid ground. Opening her eyes, she sees that they are back in Professor McGonagall's office. Instantly, she breaks away from Harry and runs out of the office; the only thought in her head is to put as much space between them as possible. Bounding down the stairs as they turn, she reaches the bottom of the spiral staircase - and crashes right into Professor McGonagall.
"Oof! I'm sorry, Professor, I just -"
She must look half mad because Professor McGonagall is alarmed at the sight of her. "Miss Weasley! What on earth has happened? And where is Mr Potter?"
"Back there, I guess. I don't know, and I don't care. I don't ever want to see him - oh, it was just awful!" She buries her face in her hands and begins to sob.
"There there, Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall soothes. "We'll get this sorted, I'm sure." Supporting her by the shoulders, the Professor guides her into a nearby classroom.
"I want you to wait right here, Miss Weasley," the Professor instructs. She sits in one of the empty desks and accepts a tissue that has materialized at the end of the Professor's wand. "Please don't leave this room. I'll find Mr Potter, and we'll -"
Just then, a flushed and breathless Harry appears in the doorway. "There -"
"Get away from me! Professor, please! Make him -"
Professor McGonagall claps her hands together. "Enough -
Mr Potter, please return to my office and wait for me there." Harry looks mutinous but leaves the room. She and the Professor watch him go.
"And, as I was saying, Miss Weasley, I want you to stay right here until I come back for you. The last thing we need is for you to get lost in the castle." She flicks her wand, and a steaming cup of tea appears. "Please," she says on her way out, "have some tea while I'm gone."
Ginevra ignores the tea. Elbows propped on the desk, she folds her hands together and rests her chin on her interlaced fingers.
How could he? How could he be thinking of those things? I thought he wanted me to get my memory back. I thought I wanted it back - but, but I don't want to remember those things.
She feels nothing but shame and mortification that she could have done that with Harry - given herself to him so wantonly. And not just once. What was she thinking? Could he have tricked her into it?
Her tears have dried when the Professor returns, but she still hasn't touched the tea. Professor McGonagall pushes the cup a little closer to her. "Please drink this, Miss Weasley. You'll feel better."
Dubious, she takes a sip and is surprised that it's still warm. She does feel slightly better and wonders if it's a disguised Calming Draught.
The Professor has turned a desk to face her and is sitting in it, watching her drink and considering - something.
"Better?"
"Yes, thank you" she says.
"It seems you've had a bit of a - shock."
Oh, Merlin, did he tell her?
"Um, yeah, I guess you could call it that. What did he tell you?"
"Only that you saw some memories that he didn't mean for you to see. He got distracted while you were in the Pensieve and other memories seeped out. I gather that these memories were of a - private nature based on how you are both behaving."
She nods.
Professor McGonagall continues, "It seems that, for all of his preparation, Mr Potter didn't take the precaution of empyting his mind of all other memories before taking you into the Pensieve."
"Are you supposed to do that?"
"Well, there are no hard and fast rules, Miss Weasley. Don't forget that Pensieves are quite rare and very few witches or wizards have the opportunity to use one. I'm certain that Mr Potter's oversight wasn't intentional. He feels terrible about what happened and asked me to extend his deepest apologies."
"Hmmph. He should feel terrible. I can't believe...." She doesn't finish the sentence; there are so many things she can't believe that it's hard to know where to begin. And what is she going to do now that she's out of that nightmare? She can't see him again, can't bear the thought of traveling back to The Burrow with him. But she can't stay here, either.
As if reading her thoughts, Professor McGonagall says, "Mr Potter has gone back to London. I've written to your parents and told them that you will be a guest at the castle tonight. You can stay in the Visitors' Quarters. It's a bit small but should be quite sufficient. Now, please finish your tea and follow me."
Relieved at not having to think about anything, not having to plan anything, she does as she's told. She is led down staircases and through more corridors, some of which look familiar, but she can't be sure. Professor McGonagall stops at an oak door and turns the ornate cast iron knob.
She looks briefly around the room. It seems adequate, but she doesn't see a clock and the darkness of the castle seems permanent, not giving her any clues as to how long she's been here.
"What time is it?"
"Half five. Your dinner will be served up here in an hour, unless you'd prefer to eat in the Great Hall."
"No, but thank you."
"As you wish. Until then, feel free to enjoy the accommodation. There's a large selection of bubble baths, and I think you'll find everything you need in a logical place. I won't lock you in, but I must ask you not to wander outside your quarters. I will send for you in the morning and we can discuss things after you've had a good night's sleep."
She's too overwhelmed to do much more than nod.
The Professor was quite right; the Visitors' quarters are very comfortable, particularly for someone with no baggage. It's one large room with a single bed and a wardrobe, and there's a sitting area that includes a small sofa, a plush armchair, and a writing table. The room is decorated in rich scarlet tones accented with gold because, as Professor McGonagall told her, "you are still a Gryffindor." The attached bathroom has a rather inviting tub, and she easily finds towels and a dressing gown.
She emerges from a hot bath to find a delicious looking supper waiting for her on the writing table. She takes a few bites, and it is indeed far superior to hospital fare, but she doesn't have much appetite. Images from the day keep replaying themselves in her head - talking to Harry on the way to the castle, seeing a young Harry and her brothers on the train platform, seeing an older Harry consumed with lust...
It's early, she knows, but she's exhausted. There's a cup of something steaming and fruity-smelling by the bed. She feels sure it is some kind of Sleeping Potion, but she doesn't care. She downs the whole thing in one gulp and settles in under the covers.
Part Two Part Four
i_autumnheart
Title: Falling Slowly
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione and other canon pairings
Rating: R for this part
Word Count: 3932 for this part
Summary: The laws of motion wreak havoc in Ginny's life.
Author Notes: As always, thanks to pocketfullof , lyras , and antoshevu for their help and to
r_becca for running the fest.
Sorry about the odd beta marks in the last part - entirely my fault, and I think I've gotten them all out this time. If not, any remaining errors are mine.
Thanks so much to everyone who's commented! I appreciate it more than I can say. I will warn you that this part ranks high on the Richter scale of angst, but try not to be alarmed - it will get better, I promise.
I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters created by J.K. Rowling. I'm grateful that I get to play with them. Reviews and concrit are always welcome.
The gates of Hogwarts are much more imposing in person than she thought they would be, and the castle beyond them is vast and impressive.
"Wow," she whispers as she and Harry stand outside the great iron gates.
"That's what I thought, too, the first time I saw it," Harry says. He performs a complex set of wand manoeuvres and incantations, and the gates open before them.
He gestures for her to go ahead. She hesitates, thinking that Hermione was probably right; how can this possibly work? But she'd promised that she'd try.
As they walk up the hill, Harry tries to reassure her. "You can still change your mind," he says. "Even after we start, if you want to stop, just tell me."
"Are you sure I won't drown? I don't even know if I can swim."
"No," he chuckles. "That won't be a problem."
Once inside the castle, he pauses to show her the Great Hall and the giant hourglasses that track house points and then navigates them through a Byzantine array of corridors and staircases until they arrive at a gargoyle statue.
He says, "Glenlivet" - and the gargoyle slides sideways to reveal a spiral staircase. None of this is unexpected; Harry has thoroughly prepared her for this experiment.
Even if she hadn't seen pictures of Professor McGonagall, she would recognize her based on the descriptions she's heard and read. The square glasses, tartan robes and stern expression are all there. The Professor is seated at her desk, but stands as they walk into the office.
"Ah, Mr Potter, Miss Weasley," says the professor in a serious but not unfriendly tone. "Right on time. Please sit. Would you like a biscuit?"
"No, thank you." She's still full from last night's impromptu picnic, and she feels a bit queasy.
Harry also declines and Professor McGonagall puts the tin of biscuits away. "Very well. It seems that you are not to be distracted from the purpose of your visit. The Pensieve is in the cabinet, as usual. However, I have never found it to be as useful as my predecessor did. And I must advise you, Miss Weasley, that trespassing in others' minds can be a very disorienting and confusing experience, even for those of us whose memories are intact, and I'm afraid there's very little chance that it will do anything to restore your own memories."
"Thank you, Professor, but - how can it be trespassing if I've been invited? I - I know it may not work, but I'm willing to try. I've tried everything else anyone can think of - unless you have another idea."
The Professor's lips press tightly together for a moment, as if she's making an effort not to offer a suggestion. Turning to Harry, she says, "Very well, then, Mr Potter, do you have a vial?"
"Yes," he replies, retrieving a blue bottle from his robes. "We decided to start with just two memories. They're both in here."
"Alright. I'll leave you to it. I need to speak with Hagrid about the unicorns, but I shall return in half an hour. Unless you'd rather I stay?"
"No, thank you. I don't think that will be necessary." Professor McGonagall clears her desk with a wave of her wand and leaves the office, taking care to close the door.
Alone now, Harry takes the Pensive and places it on the desk. It's rather small, she thinks, to fit both of them in there. Harry uncorks the vial and pours the silvery-white contents into the basin. "Ready?" he asks.
She's too nervous to speak, but she nods. He goes first, touching his nose to the swirling substance, and at once, he is gone, disappeared into the depths of the basin where she can't see him. Leaning closer, she sees the refracted image of him in his robes and glasses, but it's very indistinct. Holding her breath, she plunges her whole head into the basin. She has the sensation of falling, briefly, and then she lands solidly on both feet, on a train platform. The sign above her says Platform 9. She looks to her right and can see the sign for Platform 10; there's the large barrier between the platforms.
They'd spent a good bit of time the previous night discussing which memories to start with. Harry thought a happy memory would be best and suggested her Hogwarts graduation party because it was the same day she found out she'd made the Harpies' Reserve team. She didn't think anything related to Quidditch was going to help. He flatly refused her request to see the Chamber of Secrets on the grounds that, in addition to not being the least bit happy, Ginny didn't remember much of that anyway - she'd been unconscious until after Tom Riddle was gone. Finally, they agreed to revisit the first time they'd seen each other. She figured this was safe because there would be no romantic overtones and unrelated to Quidditch. He told her it was indeed a happy memory and as good a place as any to start.
The station is quite crowded, and there's more young people pulling large traveling trunks and clutching cages holding cats or owls than most people would expect on an ordinary day. She sees Ginny, asking to go with her brothers, and they watch silently as an eleven-year-old Harry, clad in ill-fitting, dingy clothes and wearing glasses that are taped together, asks Molly how to get to Platform nine and three quarters.
Unnoticed, they follow Harry and Ron through the barrier. She's surprised at just how young they all look. She doesn't recognize Neville until Harry - the grown Harry next to her - points him out. Very different to the Neville she's met, he is a plump, uncoordinated boy who's complaining about a lost toad. She recognizes Percy, of course, and George, who still has both ears in this memory, but it's a shock to see Fred moving and talking as if he is alive. She can tell them apart easily, and she feels a lump in her throat at a loss that she knows runs deep even if she can't recall it. From the platform, she watches her brothers and Harry board the train; then her brothers get off again. She hears herself beg to be let on the train so that she can see Harry Potter, and then, the train is moving, and her family is waving and she can see Harry, too, watching her from the window until the train disappears.
This memory dissolves into the second, and now they are in a dank room lit by the fire in the fireplace and occupied by her and Ron, who are both seated on one of the beds. She'd argued at length with Harry to show her this memory. He didn't want to show her a memory in which he'd acted like a prat, and he proposed that Grimmauld Place was just a little too creepy for her to see at this point in her recovery. She'd countered by saying that a memory in which he was feeling troublesome, irritated and misunderstood was completely appropriate because that was just how she felt now. In the end, she wouldn't agree to try the Pensieve at all if he wouldn't show her this memory, and he'd relented.
Harry and Hermione enter the room, and it's clear that Harry is disgruntled.
Hermione sits down on the bed next to Ginny and asks Harry, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Oh, don't lie, Harry. Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."
"They do, do they?" Harry glares at Ron and Ginny. His hair is more erratic than usual, and he's very pale. Truthfully, he looks a little menacing, and she's both surprised and proud that Ginny doesn't look the least bit disturbed.
"Well, you have!" she hears herself say. "And you won't look at any of us!"
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" She's never seen him angry like this, and it wouldn't surprise her at all if steam started to come out of his ears.
Hermione chooses this moment to intervene. "Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other."
"Very funny," replies Harry, who is not at all amused. He turns away from the others, giving her a perfect view of the scowl on his face. He's looking right through her to the window.
"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," says Hermione. "Look, the others told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears -"
"Yeah?" Harry growls back. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it..."
She watches herself confront him. "We wanted to talk to you, Harry, but as you've been hiding ever since you got back -"
"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry replies, still clearly annoyed.
"Well, that was a bit stupid of you, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels" she says, and she hears a note of rising anger in her voice.
No one moves for a beat, and then Harry wheels around to look at her. "I forgot."
"Lucky you, " she responds, and there's no mistaking her icy tone.
"I'm sorry," Harry says. His anger has vanished, and she can tell he's sincere. He also sounds hopeful that his friends might have evidence that he isn't possessed.
"You're right," she says to the present day Harry next to her. "You were a prat."
"Told you."
"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you," she reassures him. He looks away, but she knows he's not really annoyed.
He walks over to the fireplace and takes a small picture from the mantle while she watches the rest of the conversation among the four friends in the memory. "My parents," he whispers, but she hardly pays any attention.
"That dream I had about your dad and the snake though -" Harry is saying to Ginny.
Hermione interjects "Harry, you've had these dreams before...."
She's not crying so she doesn't understand why the image before her becomes blurry. She can't see Ginny or the others well anymore, and their voices are fading. Confused, she looks over toward the fireplace.
What she sees is completely unexpected. Harry is still standing by the fireplace, but his head is surrounded by a cloud of silvery white fog. She can't see his face at all, and she notices that the light in the room has changed. Looking up, she discovers why; dozens of lit candles are suspended in midair adding their glow to that coming from the fireplace. In spite of the extra light sources, the room is dim. There are still people on the bed, but she can only see two silhouettes, and they are laying down.
She can hear them talking in soft, anxious voices.
"Are you sure, Ginny?"
"Yes, Harry, I'm sure. I've wanted this for a long time. Don't you?"
"You know I do. But I - I - just don't want to hurt you. I've never done this before."
"And you think I have?" Ginny retorts.
She watches, dumbstruck, as Ginny reaches up and takes Harry's glasses off.
"It'll be fine, Harry. I promise." Ginny kisses him as the glasses fall to the floor, and then he is on top of her and -
Oh, no. This can't be happening.
She flings open the door and tears down the hallway, seeking refuge in the first room she finds. It's a loo, and as soon as she goes in, she knows it's a mistake.
She sees herself sitting on the edge of the sink, completely naked. Her head is thrown back, and her hair, much longer than it is now, appears to be disappearing down the drain. Her legs are slightly spread, and Harry, also naked, is standing in front of her, his head bent low sucking on one of her breasts. They both appear to be enjoying themselves immensely.
White hot ripples of shame parch her insides and make it difficult to breathe. She does the only thing she can think of and flees further down the corridor until she finds a staircase.
Oh, thank god, maybe I can get out of here.
As she nears the second landing on her way down, she can see two cloaked figures against the heavy stone wall.
"Help me," she cries, but they take no notice of her. And then she realizes that it's them, again. She's wearing Quidditch robes, and Harry is in his Auror uniform. Locked in an embrace, they break their kiss and she can hear their words spoken in low, urgent whispers.
"Merlin, I thought that match would never end. I couldn't wait to get here. I want you so much." Ginny throws his cloak to the floor and begins unbuttoning his shirt.
"Me, too. Dawlish had us training in some godforsaken bog today, and I kept thinking about what a bloody good kisser you are and how wonderful you feel and -"
He kisses her hard as his hands work feverishly at something before he lifts her up and presses her against the wall.
Are they really - ? She can't believe this. How - how brazen.
"Ginevra! Where are you?" It's Harry's voice coming from up above. He must have finally realized that she was gone and is looking for her. She can't face him now, not after what she's just seen.
Descending another flight of stairs, she spills into a sort of parlour. Burning wood perfumes the air, though she can't see it because there's a comfortable looking sofa in front of the fireplace. Thankfully, the room appears unoccupied and she considers hiding here. After a few tentative steps forward, she hears a couple of moans, and her stomach feels like lead. She can see the fireplace now, and in front of it she sees herself, again, sprawled on a blanket, hair radiating around her head in imitation of the flames in the fireplace. She's wearing not one stitch of clothing, and Harry's there too, bent down, arse in the air with his head between her legs.
She claps a hand over her mouth. Oh, bloody hell. Did we have sex in every single room of this place?
She can hear Harry's rapid, heavy footfalls on the stairs; he will catch up to her soon. She runs out the side of the room only to find another staircase leading who knows where. Acting on impulse, she follows it down into a kitchen, where she sees yet another fireplace, cauldrons and pots, shelves and cupboards, long wooden benches and a table - a table that she is leaning over, clad only in a dressing gown that is thrown up to her waist while Harry thrusts into her from behind.
Apparently, we did. On the verge of hyperventilating, she leans against the wall to try and collect herself, but it's just too much. She sinks down the wall and buries her head between her knees.
"Stop it!" she shrieks. "Make it stop!"
Harry enters the room and draws her attention from the ecstatic cries of the couple in the kitchen.
"Make it stop," she begs.
"Okay, okay," he says. "I -I think I can do that." The uncertainty in his voice unnerves her, and she's half tempted to take one of the kitchen knives and run him through. But that would require getting up, and walking past that table....
A light rush of air sweeps past her head, interrupting her thoughts. The room is quiet.
"They're gone, now. You can look. It's just an empty kitchen." He leans down to where she is still sitting on the floor and touches her elbow. "Ginevra, please, I -"
She jerks her elbow away and looks up at him feeling unparalleled rage and humiliation. "GET ME," she hisses through tightly clenched teeth, "OUT OF HERE. NOW."
"Okay. I will," he says in a much more assured voice. He moves a little closer, but she holds a hand out in warning. "No. Don't you dare touch me!"
"But I can't get you out of here without touching you," he says, in a calm voice that seems wholly inappropriate to the situation. "I only have to touch your elbow, and I'll let go as soon as we're out. I swear."
She stands on shaky legs and holds her elbow well out from the rest of her body. Eyes closed against imminent tears, she feels a tug followed by the curious sensation of falling upward, and then her feet hit solid ground. Opening her eyes, she sees that they are back in Professor McGonagall's office. Instantly, she breaks away from Harry and runs out of the office; the only thought in her head is to put as much space between them as possible. Bounding down the stairs as they turn, she reaches the bottom of the spiral staircase - and crashes right into Professor McGonagall.
"Oof! I'm sorry, Professor, I just -"
She must look half mad because Professor McGonagall is alarmed at the sight of her. "Miss Weasley! What on earth has happened? And where is Mr Potter?"
"Back there, I guess. I don't know, and I don't care. I don't ever want to see him - oh, it was just awful!" She buries her face in her hands and begins to sob.
"There there, Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall soothes. "We'll get this sorted, I'm sure." Supporting her by the shoulders, the Professor guides her into a nearby classroom.
"I want you to wait right here, Miss Weasley," the Professor instructs. She sits in one of the empty desks and accepts a tissue that has materialized at the end of the Professor's wand. "Please don't leave this room. I'll find Mr Potter, and we'll -"
Just then, a flushed and breathless Harry appears in the doorway. "There -"
"Get away from me! Professor, please! Make him -"
Professor McGonagall claps her hands together. "Enough -
Mr Potter, please return to my office and wait for me there." Harry looks mutinous but leaves the room. She and the Professor watch him go.
"And, as I was saying, Miss Weasley, I want you to stay right here until I come back for you. The last thing we need is for you to get lost in the castle." She flicks her wand, and a steaming cup of tea appears. "Please," she says on her way out, "have some tea while I'm gone."
Ginevra ignores the tea. Elbows propped on the desk, she folds her hands together and rests her chin on her interlaced fingers.
How could he? How could he be thinking of those things? I thought he wanted me to get my memory back. I thought I wanted it back - but, but I don't want to remember those things.
She feels nothing but shame and mortification that she could have done that with Harry - given herself to him so wantonly. And not just once. What was she thinking? Could he have tricked her into it?
Her tears have dried when the Professor returns, but she still hasn't touched the tea. Professor McGonagall pushes the cup a little closer to her. "Please drink this, Miss Weasley. You'll feel better."
Dubious, she takes a sip and is surprised that it's still warm. She does feel slightly better and wonders if it's a disguised Calming Draught.
The Professor has turned a desk to face her and is sitting in it, watching her drink and considering - something.
"Better?"
"Yes, thank you" she says.
"It seems you've had a bit of a - shock."
Oh, Merlin, did he tell her?
"Um, yeah, I guess you could call it that. What did he tell you?"
"Only that you saw some memories that he didn't mean for you to see. He got distracted while you were in the Pensieve and other memories seeped out. I gather that these memories were of a - private nature based on how you are both behaving."
She nods.
Professor McGonagall continues, "It seems that, for all of his preparation, Mr Potter didn't take the precaution of empyting his mind of all other memories before taking you into the Pensieve."
"Are you supposed to do that?"
"Well, there are no hard and fast rules, Miss Weasley. Don't forget that Pensieves are quite rare and very few witches or wizards have the opportunity to use one. I'm certain that Mr Potter's oversight wasn't intentional. He feels terrible about what happened and asked me to extend his deepest apologies."
"Hmmph. He should feel terrible. I can't believe...." She doesn't finish the sentence; there are so many things she can't believe that it's hard to know where to begin. And what is she going to do now that she's out of that nightmare? She can't see him again, can't bear the thought of traveling back to The Burrow with him. But she can't stay here, either.
As if reading her thoughts, Professor McGonagall says, "Mr Potter has gone back to London. I've written to your parents and told them that you will be a guest at the castle tonight. You can stay in the Visitors' Quarters. It's a bit small but should be quite sufficient. Now, please finish your tea and follow me."
Relieved at not having to think about anything, not having to plan anything, she does as she's told. She is led down staircases and through more corridors, some of which look familiar, but she can't be sure. Professor McGonagall stops at an oak door and turns the ornate cast iron knob.
She looks briefly around the room. It seems adequate, but she doesn't see a clock and the darkness of the castle seems permanent, not giving her any clues as to how long she's been here.
"What time is it?"
"Half five. Your dinner will be served up here in an hour, unless you'd prefer to eat in the Great Hall."
"No, but thank you."
"As you wish. Until then, feel free to enjoy the accommodation. There's a large selection of bubble baths, and I think you'll find everything you need in a logical place. I won't lock you in, but I must ask you not to wander outside your quarters. I will send for you in the morning and we can discuss things after you've had a good night's sleep."
She's too overwhelmed to do much more than nod.
The Professor was quite right; the Visitors' quarters are very comfortable, particularly for someone with no baggage. It's one large room with a single bed and a wardrobe, and there's a sitting area that includes a small sofa, a plush armchair, and a writing table. The room is decorated in rich scarlet tones accented with gold because, as Professor McGonagall told her, "you are still a Gryffindor." The attached bathroom has a rather inviting tub, and she easily finds towels and a dressing gown.
She emerges from a hot bath to find a delicious looking supper waiting for her on the writing table. She takes a few bites, and it is indeed far superior to hospital fare, but she doesn't have much appetite. Images from the day keep replaying themselves in her head - talking to Harry on the way to the castle, seeing a young Harry and her brothers on the train platform, seeing an older Harry consumed with lust...
It's early, she knows, but she's exhausted. There's a cup of something steaming and fruity-smelling by the bed. She feels sure it is some kind of Sleeping Potion, but she doesn't care. She downs the whole thing in one gulp and settles in under the covers.
Part Two Part Four