Ginny and Hermione, 17 June 2007

To: Hermione Granger, her office, Hogwarts
From: Ginny Weasley, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

Hullo, Hermione --

N's place is about as secure as I can make it. In addition, he's had friends looking in (or moving in) on him all week, as well as most of Ottery St. Catchpole looking out for anything suspicious. Nev and Neah are doing well. Neah says "hullo".

[Arrow drawn to the word "Hullo" scrawled along the margin in bright teal ink]

I'm sorry I yelled. Although I became slightly less so when Nev told me about the Howler.

I'll be back at Hogwarts this afternoon (as soon as Mum is done feeding me). I've got some students to console over the horrors of standardized testing, but after that I'll be available if you'd like to compare notes on this... stimulating week.

-GMW

Carefully wrapped in paper inside the letter was a slightly squashed square of peanut butter fudge.

To: Ginny Weasley, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole
From: Hermione Granger, her office, Hogwarts

Thanks very much for freshening Nev's wards. Tell Neah Aunty Mi says that she is doing very well with her colors, and now she can use them to write invisibly if she tries very hard!

Don't hurry back if you don't want to; I can look in on sorrowing students if you tell me which ones need it most. Besides, I thought you were planning a pub night with Tonks?

Don't be sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. I apologized to Nev under separate cover.

You know you're welcome in my quarters any time. Just make enough noise so I can hear you through the lab door.

Hermione

Sometime mid-afternoon, Hermione heard a loud sing-song voice from outside her lab door:

"'Miiiiiione, it's Giiiiiny!"

...followed by the scrape of a chair and the thump of booted feet coming to rest on a desk.

Sunspot jumped down from the only free bookshelf space there was, shooting Ginny a dirty look before hopping onto the window-ledge across the book-crowded office.

"... inefficare mente -- Just a min -- ow, drat!" Something sizzled within, and a puff of greenish smoke wafted out the keyhole.

Hermione came out a moment later, nudging the door firmly shut behind her with the arm that wasn't swathed in a wet towel. Something had eaten the sleeve of her robe nearly to the elbow, leaving barely a ragged tassel or two behind. "Has Nev hybridized his spikenard without telling me?" she asked. "It really shouldn't have gone up like that. Say, I gave your fudge to that second-year boy, what's-his-name -- he was trying not to cry in the corridors. It did him good."

"Well, I'm glad it did somebody some good." Ginny set aside the newspaper she'd been scanning -- the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, from the look of it -- and frowned at Hermione's arm. "D'you need Pomfrey to take a look at that? Or perhaps the better question---" she gave Hermione a pointed look "---is if a student had just done that to herself, would you be sending her straight off to Pomfrey?"

Hermione grimaced. "I'll go in a bit. Just now I'm not braced for another lecture about lab safety. So no Bellatrix sightings yet, eh? I was seriously considering the chance that the Ministry'd brought her back as a screen for another power-grab, except if they did, they've botched it so."

"Well, and that would imply the Ministry exercised some control over her, the corollaries to which make my teeth hurt. Except the one that says Bellatrix is actually controllable; that one might give a little hope, except that I doubt it's true." Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Nev's had reports of dozens of 'sightings', most of which are completely ridiculous: milk-cows acting suspiciously witchy, that sort of thing. He's passing the most interesting on to Moody. Nothing obvious in the papers, though."

"Well, I wouldn't expect there to be. And no, I don't think Bellatrix is controllable exactly, but she can be goaded like any of us, and I wouldn't put that past one or two of the brighter lights in the Ministry. So how is the family? Your mum in fits, I daresay?"

Ginny smiled wryly. "You should've seen the spread she set out for lunch today, and it was just us and Dad. I think that qualifies as a 'tizzy'. She wanted to know when -- not if -- I'd be moving in for the summer."

"Er. About that. I was rather hoping you'd stay here. I know it's short notice, and you shouldn't if you really want to go, but I was thinking that we mustn't waste time recruiting new students, and we've a few that don't want to go home with Bellatrix hanging over their heads, and -- what about a Camp Hogwarts, Ginny? With games and exhibitions and Quidditch practice and such?"

Ginny sat up the tiniest bit straighter at the mention of Quidditch. "That... has potential, actually. Provided we could round up enough people to staff it. But I suppose we could have our older students helping out with the younger ones, couldn't we, as well as taking part in their own activities? Is McGonagall on board with this plan?"

"I didn't dare go to her without at least one other colleague backing me," Hermione confessed. She reached toward a notebook with the wrong hand and winced. "I've written it all up, though. That book, seventeenth leaf, recto. I was thinking, too... some of the less-competitive ones aren't Quidditch fodder, but they like their brooms. Could we create some sort of broom-dance? Oh, it'll need a better name than that -- broomnastics? No, that sounds dreadful, but there must be something."

Ginny took the book and began flipping pages. "Synchronized Sweep? Precision Aerials? Steeplechase? Something... ah, here it is." She scanned Hermione's write-up, occasionally nodding to herself.

"I'm impressed, Granger," she said after a moment. "Some of this actually sounds fun." She grinned in friendly teasing.

Hermione only hung her head, looking tired and peaky. "Don't let appearances deceive; it'll be an awful lot of work. But it solves the problem of what to do with Muggle-borns who don't want to go home, and it lets us introduce Hogwarts to the younger children, and it gives us a chance to show the children off to their parents, and it's good publicity for alumni, which we've been sadly scant of lately."

She looked up again. "Hm, you don't think we should put out a call for alumni to help, do you? Perhaps at that pickup Quidditch match?"

Ginny looked up from the notebook. "We could certainly spread the word around, see who's willing to pitch in time or expertise or resources. I'll bet Ron will help however he can. D'we want to have an outline of activities before then and recruit according to our needs, or wait to see who wants to help and then design the program based on our resources?"

"List of possibles on leaf nineteen verso. And speaking of Ron... I know I'm asking the wrong Weasley this, but can't you keep him out of that match? I can't, and he really shouldn't, Ginny."

Ginny flipped to the list and stared at it for a long time, silently.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I think he might think the risk is worth it. Would you give up the thing you loved most just because it might kill you?"

Sunspot stood up in the window to stretch. Hermione looked down at her burned arm. "I would seem to be at a considerable rhetorical disadvantage at this juncture," she said drily. "Will you at least help me convince him to take appropriate precautions?"

A careless movement of Hermione's arm moved a corner of the towel on the table; Sunspot glared and immediately pounced. Hermione doubled over her desk and went ghost-white, her good hand flying to her mouth to stifle a cry of pain.

With all the instincts of a Seeker, Ginny leapt to her feet and grabbed Sunspot, subduing the cat gently but firmly in the crook of her arm -- away from Hermione's injury -- despite his low growl of protest.

Ginny frowned. "All right, I'll talk to Ron about precautions... IF you go get that arm looked at NOW." She deposited Sunspot back on the windowledge with a stern warning look and turned back to Hermione, laying a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon," she said in a much gentler tone. "I'll walk with you."

"Right -- just --" Hermione fought for self-control and won it, though her colour was still ghastly. "Mustn't go looking like day-old death, or some flighty-headed first-year will panic the school. Better take the back way as it is. Whew, that hurt."

She stood up gingerly, holding her arm against her ribs. "Thanks, Ginny," she said, nodding for the other professor to lead them. "You don't have to bother your daft brother in advance. Just lend me your moral authority on Saturday, and all will be well."

"I'll do what I can," Ginny said with a small smile, "but as you say, this is my daft brother we're talking about. He may not listen to me any more than he listens to you. But I'll try."

She opened the door into the hallway, peeked out to make sure there were no prying student eyes looking in their direction, and gently ushered Hermione in the direction of the infirmary.