aibhinn_fics

Title: Heal The Pain
Chapter 5 - "Tis Better To Give' (Part 1)
Rating: Teens
Length: 11, 207 (Both Parts)

The hospital wing at Hogwarts was just as Ginny remembered it: surprisingly bright, lots of windows, and rows of beds neatly made and ready for the next magical accident or student mischief. She'd lost count of the times she'd had to be in here--all of them, with the exception of last March, to visit Harry. Some things never change, she thought, smiling down at her boyfriend.

Madam Pomfrey let her wand hand fall back to her side, apparently through with the last of her diagnostic charms. "Well, Potter," she said, "I'd say this has healed enough for us to take care of this scarring." She nodded at the Healer who stood on the far side of Harry's bed. He was a shortish, intense man of indeterminate age, but the very fact that Madam Pomfrey had allowed him in her hospital wing told Ginny that he must be someone to be reckoned with.

The nurse had introduced him as "Healer Stone, from the Ministry." Ginny and Harry had exchanged glances, and she'd read between the lines to come to the conclusion that he was probably from the Department of Mysteries. I'm sure they want to be certain anything done to their recruit is acceptable, since he's to go for training in a month. She felt a small twinge at that--she'd be back here at school then, and he'd be off in training, separated not only by distance, but by "security concerns." Wonder if they'll even let us owl each other?

"Indeed," said Healer Stone. "After reading the reports from Madam Pomfrey here, and from your examination last month, I wasn't sure you'd be ready for this so soon. But it seems you have remarkable powers of recuperation, even without magical assistance." He smiled slightly at Ginny. "Not to mention a very effective reason to be certain you do recover completely."

Ginny blushed and squeezed Harry's hand. He smiled up at her, squeezing back. She'd insisted on accompanying him back to Hogwarts, partly because she wanted to be with him when he got his scar removed, but mostly because she didn't want him to face Hogwarts--and his memories--alone.

"I warn you, though, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, drawing Harry's and Ginny's gazes, "this is not likely to be a pleasant experience. Are you certain you want to go through with it?"

"Can't be worse than getting it in the first place, can it?" Harry said, shifting on the bed slightly to get into a better position and looking between the nurse and the doctor.

Madam Pomfrey's face softened. "Given the circumstances of the time," she said, "I suppose not." She looked pensive for a moment, and for the first time, Ginny saw indications of grief on her face. She'd never shown it before where Ginny could see, and it had been easy to forget, in Ginny's own grief and pain, that she had been affected too.

But the pensiveness passed, replaced by the nurse's usual severe expression. "Miss Weasley," she said crisply, "I advise very strongly that you not be present for this procedure. It will be--unpleasant."

Ginny's hands tightened again on Harry's and her jaw set. She'd known they would try to separate her from Harry, and she wasn't going to let them. "I want to be here," she said mutinously. Harry rubbed his thumbs across the back of her hands reassuringly, but she was in no mood to be reassured.

"Miss Weasley, the circumstances surrounding Potter's injury were quite injurious to yourself as well, if you recall," the nurse said patiently. "There is a very real chance that some of your own limits will be sorely taxed by proximity to this spell."

Healer Stone broke in. His tenor voice was surprisingly compassionate. "There is really nothing you can do but watch Harry suffer even more, Miss Weasley," he said kindly, "and I doubt that such an experience would be conducive to your own recovery. I must agree with Madam Pomfrey: it would be much better for you both if you were not present."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue some more, but Harry stopped her.

"Ginny," he said, drawing her gaze as he raised himself up on his right elbow, "if Madam Pomfrey and Healer Stone say you should go, I think we should listen to them."

Harry, too. I had a feeling. Ginny shook her head stubbornly, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't want to leave you," she said in a tight voice. He's not facing this alone. He's not. I won't let him.

"I know, love. But if this is going to be as--er--uncomfortable as it sounds--" He raised an eyebrow at Madam Pomfrey, who nodded soberly. "--then I don't think you should watch." He touched a finger to her cheek. "I've watched you suffer more than once," he said softly, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "It nearly broke me to see it and be utterly helpless to stop it. I couldn't bear knowing you were going through that, watching me."

Ginny met his gaze, and knew the memories to which he was referring. The night of the Battle, when he'd had to leave her there in his dormitory. Watching her after she'd come down to Hogsmeade as she'd tried to fight Voldemort's control, but couldn't. Holding her as she'd wept on his shoulder after she'd told him about the baby. The pain in his eyes twisted her heart, and she felt the budding irritation flow out of her, replaced by guilt. She was causing him pain herself by insisting on staying--creating the very pain she had come here to prevent. She hung her head and bit her lip. "All right, Harry," she said. "I'll go."

Another voice sounded from the direction of the door. "An excellent choice, Miss Weasley."

All four of them jumped. Professor McGonagall had come into the room so quietly, Ginny was tempted to believe she had been in her Animagus form.

"For heaven's sake, Headmistress," Madam Pomfrey said in a breathless voice, her hand pressed to her chest, "don't sneak up on me like that in my own infirmary!"

"Forgive me, Poppy. I didn't mean to startle you." McGonagall looked at Ginny again. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to accompany me to my office, Miss Weasley," the headmistress said in a tone of voice that made it clear she was not precisely asking. "I have something I would like to show you, in regard to your studies this next year."

Ginny turned back to Harry, who kissed each of her hands, then released them. "Go on," he said. "I'm sure they'll let you know when I'm finished."

I really don't want to leave him. But she didn't want to put him through any more pain because she insisted on watching, either. With a wan smile, she dropped a small kiss on his forehead and said, "I'll be waiting."

Professor McGonagall nodded in that abrupt manner of hers--though Ginny thought she might have seen the flicker of a tiny smile beneath that stern exterior--and turned, leading the way out of the hospital wing. Ginny forced herself not to look back. It wasn't going to do any good--and besides, she would be seeing him very shortly, anyway. And of course she trusted Madam Pomfrey--and Madam Pomfrey apparently trusted Healer Stone.

"All right, Potter," she heard Madame Pomfrey saying, then, just as the hospital wing door closed, a sudden hush fell over them.

Ginny halted, startled at the abrupt silence. "What happened?" she asked, hesitating on the threshold, ready to turn around and go back in if Harry needed her.

"I expect Madame Pomfrey has cast a Silencing Charm. Really quite sensible of her. Now do come along, Miss Weasley. We only have an hour and a half or so until Potter will be ready to go, and I want to give you your basic grounding before then. It will give you a chance to do some research on your own."

"Research? For what?"

McGonagall started walking again; Ginny, perforce, followed. "I shall be happy to explain when we reach my office. I would much rather wait until that time, as it will make things easier on both of us if I am able to start at the beginning."

Ginny was at a complete loss to understand what it was McGonagall could possibly want with her. She knew she'd performed well on her end-of-year exams--had scored top of her class, as she'd told Harry the day he'd got his N.E.W.T. scores--so it couldn't be anything to do with her marks.

I wonder if it's to do with the Death Eaters' attack on the Burrow.

Since they had come home from school, there had been a handful of Death Eater attacks around the country. Surprisingly, though, they seemed to be almost random in their targets. The worst by far had been the horrific one the day Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become official members of the Department of Mysteries, where two Muggles and their two small children had been apparently tortured to death--but not with the Cruciatus Curse. She didn't know exactly what had happened, of course, but the Daily Prophet and the WWN had both reported a lot of blood at the scene. Ginny rather suspected both the paper and the wireless had been kept from the entire truth, though, or else had toned down the story for the general public. The way Bill and Charlie had each spent what seemed like hours in the shower afterward, as though trying to wash themselves clean of what they had presumably seen, spoke volumes to her. A line from Shakespeare, her favourite Muggle author, surfaced briefly in her brain.

Out, damned spot! Out, I sayï¿½

But despite the widespread fear that bloody and horrifying attack had raised, the ones following had seemed half-hearted, at best. In fact, some had been downright bizarre. In one of them, two men who had been positively identified as Death Eaters but remained unnamed to the general public, had been found dead. They had apparently been killed with Avada Kedavra, and then left suspended in midair outside a small woodsman's cottage that had reportedly been vacant for some years. In another, several Dementors had converged on an old, run-down estate house outside a small town in Derbyshire and were seen by a few Muggles, who had needed both Memory Charms and a good deal of time in a Muggle hospital for mental injuries after the fact.

And an event that the wizarding press had completely ignored had got the close attention of her father, brothers, Hermione, and Harry: a huge pile of rat carcasses, drained of blood, had been discovered near a Muggle garbage dump. The story had been followed closely in the Weasley household, even to the point that Harry had gone out among the Muggles, searching for clues from those at the Ministry of Health who had dealt with it, but he had returned frustrated.

She and McGonagall reached the stone gargoyle. Ginny faintly heard the password--it sounded something like "tartan boxes," but that couldn't be right; why would anyone paint a box in a tartan plaid?--and she and McGonagall stepped onto the moving staircase together. She barely even noticed; she was too caught up in her thoughts.

She knew that Harry, along with the rest of the family and Hermione, assumed that the rat carcasses had something to do with Wormtail. But what? If Wormtail had died, surely he would have transformed back into his human form, as Sirius had done. But had someone purposely gone out looking for him, trying to kill him? And if so, why just start randomly targeting rats? There were millions of rats out there, all looking exactly alike. Someone would have to be daft to think just killing all the rats he could get his hands on was a reasonable way of flushing out Peter Pettigrew.

Unless, she thought suddenly, it wasn't meant to find him. Maybe it was meant as a warning.

But most puzzling of all, in many of these cases the Dark Mark had been nowhere to be seen.

There were two attacks where it had, indeed, been conjured. It had been seething ominously in the air in full view of the Muggle police (who had been called by a neighbour) when they had arrived at the house where the children had been killed--the Ministry'd had a time Obliviating that lot--and it had been glowing in all its sickly green strength when Susan Bones' parents' house had been targeted, though, thankfully, they had been out of town at the time. Susan was still pretty shaken about it.

But it had not been in evidence for any of the other attacks--including those odd ones.

The moving staircase reached the top, and Ginny stepped out into Dumble--no, not Dumbledore's office, she reminded herself firmly, though her heart gave a small twitch of pain at the thought. McGonagall's office. Headmistress McGonagall's office.

The interior was much different from the last time she'd been here. It was still covered in portraits of former Headmasters--not Dumbledore's yet, she noticed, though all the others remained--but the walls were now a restful bluish-green, and many of the fascinating bits and baubles from Dumbledore's tenure had been removed. It looks so bare, Ginny thought. But of course, there had been a great deal too much for McGonagall to do in the months since Dumbledore's death for her to have worried too badly about decorating her office.

"Sit down, please, Miss Weasley," the headmistress said as she took her seat behind the great desk. Ginny sat in a plush velvet chair and tried to focus on McGonagall, not on memories or on her thoughts of Harry, enduring who-knew-what a few floors down.

"I must confess I had been hoping that you would be accompanying Harry to the hospital wing today," McGonagall said, resting her elbows on her desk and steepling her fingers. "There is something that I wished to discuss with you before the start of term, as I believe the extra time will be beneficial to you."

"Discuss with me, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Weasley." A small smile crooked a corner of her mouth. "I believe we should make some changes to your classes for your final year."

Ginny frowned. "I don't understand." And she didn't. What on earth was McGonagall on about?

"Miss Weasley, after the events of last March, it occurs to me that your skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts have been clearly displayed, and that putting you through a year dedicated to that class would be a foolish waste of time. In addition, I believe I have mentioned to you that your skills at Transfiguration have been rather above average as well--in fact, and I have no concern with telling you this now, since I am no longer teaching that class, you are the most skilled student in your year. I believe, had Hermione Granger not been only a year ahead of you, you would have been the most skilled student in the school last year. You certainly will be this year."

Ginny felt herself blushing. McGonagall didn't give out compliments like this lightly. If she said you were good, you were good.

"With those two facts in mind," the headmistress went on, "I have decided to offer you a considerably advanced course of study for this year." She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a large, old textbook. Ginny took it. Embossed in gold on the front cover was the title A Beginner's Guide to the Animagus Transformation.

Ginny looked up, stunned. Does she mean what I think she means?

McGonagall smiled, a true smile this time. "Yes, Miss Weasley," she answered the unspoken question. "If you would like, I would be happy to help you to become an Animagus yourself."

Ginny's breath caught in her throat and she stared at the headmistress, excitement building in her chest. It was a moment before she could speak. "I--" she finally managed to get out. "I--thank you, Professor! I'd love to!"

McGonagall chuckled. "I rather thought you might," she said. "I had thought about offering the subject to Miss Granger last year, but circumstances being what they were--" She sighed and looked down, and Ginny thought she saw the glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye. "Still," the headmistress said, a bit more briskly, "this course of study will take the place of your Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration courses.

"I will not hide from you, Miss Weasley, that this will be a very demanding course of study. You will find yourself working harder for this than you have in the past for the other two lessons combined. It is physically and mentally draining, and you will not be able to succeed if you do not put forth every ounce of effort you can. In fact, it can be very, very dangerous if you are not fully prepared." Her dark eyes glittered over her square spectacles. "Do you think you can do all that, Miss Weasley? Can you devote yourself to something that demanding? If you do not believe you can, tell me, and we will go back to your original timetable and no harm done. But do not indulge in wishful thinking or an attempt to impress me--or anyone else," she added. "Think about it carefully before you give me your answer."

Ginny looked down at the book in her hands. "May I have a few moments to look this through first?" she asked tentatively. Transfiguration had, indeed, been her best subject since her first year, but she had heard all her life how terribly difficult the Animagus transformation was, and wanted to be certain it wasn't beyond her reach. Though, if McGonagall thinks I can do it, I must be able to, she thought--but the small seed of doubt was there, all the same.

"Take all the time you need. As I said earlier, Harry will likely be--indisposed--for the better part of another hour at the least." McGonagall rose and moved toward a door on the far wall, beckoning Ginny to follow her. It opened, and Ginny could see comfortable overstuffed chairs and a sofa inside, with a large window behind the sofa, letting in a great deal of light. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in here," the headmistress said. "You can read through the book and make your decision when you're ready. I was going to send for some sandwiches. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Ginny said, suddenly realising she was. She hadn't been this morning; she'd been too nervous and excited for Harry. "Thank you, Professor."

"I'll have the house-elves bring you something as well, then. When you're ready to make your decision, you will find me in here. If for some reason I am not, touch this plate--" McGonagall indicated a rectangular brass plate on the wall next to the doorway "--and a house elf will answer. Now, is there anything further you need, besides your lunch?"

"No, thank you, Professor." Ginny stepped inside the room. It looked incredibly wonderful, the kind of sitting room she had always dreamed of having. "I'll do quite well, I think."

She closed the door carefully behind her and looked the room over, deciding where to sit. On the sofa, she thought finally. The light's good there, and I can get comfortable. Suiting action to thought, she walked over toward the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and curled up against one of the big, soft arms, tucking her robes around her feet (which were encased in a pair of Harry's sport socks she'd nicked while he'd been showering that morning). Propping the book on her knees, she opened it and began to read.

She was barely aware of the house-elf bringing a tray of sandwiches and pumpkin juice. She must have eaten automatically, because when she was finally brought back to herself by a light, sharp rapping on the door, the tray was empty and she was nearly three-quarters of the way through perhaps the most fascinating book she had ever read. "Yes?" she called.

Professor McGonagall stepped in the door. "Mr. Potter is ready to leave, Miss Weasley," she said.

"Oh!" Ginny turned and glanced out the window. The sun was more than halfway down the western sky; it had to be close to five o'clock. "That took rather longer than it should, didn't it?" she said, a sudden stab of worry lancing through her. "Nothing's wrong?"

"No, he's perfectly fine," McGonagall reassured her as Ginny stood up, sliding her feet back into her shoes. "I do wonder, though, Miss Weasley, whether you've made your decision." Ginny saw the older woman's eyes flicker toward the book still in her hands, and a small smile quirk the side of her mouth when she saw that Ginny's finger held a page nearly at the end. "Though I believe I know what your answer will be."

Ginny smiled back. "My answer is yes," she said, holding out the book for McGonagall to take. "I believe you when you say it will be terribly difficult, Professor, but I also think it's the most fascinating subject I've studied in a long time."

"And so it is, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said, obviously pleased at her reaction. "And the book is yours to take for the summer. One read-through won't be enough to get the concepts fully into your head. This is more of a theory book, of course, as you've realised; the practical application of method will be the more difficult--and draining--part of your studies, so I'd prefer you get the theory learnt before term begins. The more time I have to help you with your actual transformation, the better off you'll be."

"I understand." Ginny tucked the book in the crook of her arm, after making sure she remembered which page she'd been on. "You said Harry's ready?"

"Yes. He's waiting at the foot of the moving staircase." A look of sadness overcame her features. "I don't believe he felt--comfortable--coming back up here so soon after...." Her voice trailed off.

After the Battle. Ginny nodded as she stepped onto the moving staircase. "Thank you, Professor," she said as she began to descend. "I'll see you at the start of term, then."

"Indeed, Miss Weasley. I look forward to it."

Harry was waiting, as the headmistress had said, when she stepped off the staircase. He looked a little bit tired, but smiled at her, one eyebrow rising. "McGonagall had you up to your eyeballs in work already?" he teased. "She's getting worse. Used to be she just gave us homework on the first day of classes."

Ginny laughed. "Actually, she's offered me an alternative to what the rest of the seventh years will be doing." As they headed back toward the kitchens, where they'd Flooed in, Ginny showed Harry the book and told him about McGonagall's offer.

"Wow," Harry said as they stopped in front of the painting of the bowl of fruit. "An Animagus! That sounds incredible, Ginny." He reached up and tickled the pear, grinning as it began to wriggle and chortle before turning into the green door handle. "I always get such a kick out of watching a piece of fruit giggle," he said in a confidential tone of voice as he hauled the portrait open. He gestured her through ahead of him before adding, "It sounds so very like someone else I know when I tickle her."

She felt him give a quick pinch to her bum and giggled before she could stop herself, skittering forward out of his reach. "Now you stop that!" she said, turning to face him with a mock frown.

He laughed, shutting the portrait hole behind him. "See?" he said. "You sounded just like that pear."

"Harry Potter!" said a familiar voice in an unusually-severe tone. They both turned to see Dobby the house-elf standing there glaring--glaring?--at Harry, his fists on his hips. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" Dobby said.

Harry gaped. "I--ashamed?" he managed finally.

Ginny rather felt like gaping herself. Dobby was the last person either of them would have expected to have chided Harry.

"Yes, sir!" Dobby said. He pointed at Ginny. "Your Miss Wheezy doesn't not at all resemble a pear, Harry Potter!"

They both stared at him for a moment, then dissolved into helpless laughter. They had to lean against each other, they were laughing so hard. "I--know--Dobby," Harry gasped at last, raising his head from where he'd leaned it against the top of Ginny's, while she'd rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I was--just teasing. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll apologise." He pushed back from Ginny slightly, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I think Harry Potter should apologise to his Miss Wheezy," Dobby agreed firmly, watching Harry with narrowed eyes. Clearly, Harry was supposed to do it right then and there.

Harry shook his head as he replaced his glasses on his face and grinned down at Ginny. "All right," he said.

She grinned back up at him. She loved the way his eyes sparkled when he was in a mischievous mood, like now. She'd seen that expression on his face far too rarely of late.

He captured her hand and pressed it to his heart in a melodramatic manner. "Prithee, fair maiden," he said, obviously struggling to keep his countenance, "I pledge that I am most heartily sorry that ever I likened any portion of thine angelic self to any inanimate object, let alone a piece of fruit. Verily do I deserve to be put out for my decidedly ungallant behaviour. But I would worship the ground thou dost walk upon, if thou couldst find it in thy heart to forgive this poor, humble man and give him one more chance to show thee how very marvellous thou art."

Oh, very nice, Harry! Impressive!

But despite her appreciation for his delivery, she couldn't resist. Tilting her head to the side, she widened her eyes in a parody of innocence and said, "But, Harry, I thought you already did worship the ground I walk on!"

Harry's face twitched, and suddenly they fell into each other's arms yet again, howling with laughter. Dobby watched with a perplexed look on his face, until finally, apparently deciding that the two of them holding each other was good enough, he left to continue with his work. At last they sobered enough to pull apart again.

"Poor, humble man?" Ginny repeated, incredulously and unable to contain a last snort of amusement.

"Oh, all right," Harry conceded magnanimously, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Well-off, humble man. Is that any better?"

"Oh, much." Ginny rolled her eyes, dragging the sleeves of her robes over her cheeks to wipe away the tear-tracks from her laughter. "Come on, Harry," she said. "Let's go home before anything else happens to us. Besides," she added, looking at him sidelong with amusement in her voice, "you wouldn't want to be late for your own birthday party, would you?"

"Anything but that," Harry said vaguely, as a house-elf came running up to them, a container of Floo Powder in its hands. He took a pinch and tossed it into the huge fireplace in front of them. The flames flared green, and he stepped into them. "The Burrow!" he said, and as he started to whirl, she threw a last comment at him in a wicked voice:

"Oh? Anything?"