In Print

Everyone had always found Luna Lovegood to be a bit… off, so the day she finally went crazy, no one much noticed. It was even later before anyone cared.

Had her father been alive to witness his daughter’s descent into madness, it surely would’ve been front page news. An entire issue of The Quibbler, and every issue thereafter, would have been devoted to photos and rememberances. Even concrete proof of the existance of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks would’nt’ve delayed Luna’s story going to press.

As it stood, The Daily Prophet had printed a dubious effort on Luna’s behalf, labeling a four-year-old photograph ‘Lana Loveturn’ and citing her St. Mungo’s status as ‘questionable.’ Ginny Weasley had snorted with contempt upon its publication and tucked the clipping into the trash bin where she’d figured it rightly belonged.

When Luna’s former classmates connected the Lana Loveturn in the article to the girl they’d once gone to school with, they usually gave a nod of approval, like the article was comfirmation of something they’d been expecting. Henceforth, Luna became useful gossip fodder for impromptu reunions among distant aquaintances, none of whom thought to visit her.

Ginny visited her. She tried to smile, and she smoothed Luna’s hair into place, and she wondered what Luna could be thinking about. Luna couldn’t tell her, couldn’t even acknowledge her. She could only stare just past Ginny, eyes wide and startling, dreamy smile fixed on face.

Here is what Luna thought while Ginny visited her:

“……..”

It was the same thing Luna thought when Ginny wasn’t there at all.

Ginny thought about Luna during their visits together. It was the same thing Ginny thought about when she wasn’t visiting Luna, but she wouldn’t believe Luna was never there at all.

Here is what Ginny thought about :

CHAPTER ONE

"The way to see by faith is to shut the eye of reason." - Benjamin Franklin

“What makes you so sure of all this, anyway?”

Luna Lovegood slid her upside-down copy of The Quibbler under her eyes to meet Cathy Towden’s slightly mocking expression. The question had been prompted by said newspaper and its feature article, in which Luna was currently engrossed – “Disparaître la Femme Fatale, CARRIERS OF DISEASE: What the Ministry is breeding behind closed doors!”

“It’s the truth,” Luna said, and for a moment Ginny thought that would be that, but then the smaller girl continued dreamily, “And the Femme Fatales aren’t even the worst of it. The next issue’s going to have some very revealing facts about Skim-Limpid Chucktooths.”

Cathy, along with Liz Bowman and Kitty Soloman, promptly burst into laughter. Luna merely shrugged and returned to her reading, but Ginny leaned forward angrily, intending to give the girls a piece of her mind. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall chose that moment to enter the classroom. She immediately began the day’s lesson, leaving Ginny little opportunity to voice her irritation.

“Why do you have to hang around that nutter anyways?” Ron grumbled at dinner that night when Ginny recounted the incident.

“She’s not a nutter,” Ginny snapped back. “She’s just a little strange – her strangest quality being her evident interest in you.” Ron reddened slightly as Harry and Hermione snickered. “And if it hadn’t been for her, neither of us would’ve gotten out of the Department of Mysteries alive, so maybe you could stand to act a little nicer to her.”

Ron avoided Ginny’s eyes and rapidly spooned potatoes onto his plate. “Well, can’t you at least tell her to, I don’t know, tone it down a little? She’s a bit much, you’ve got to admit.”

“Is ickle Ron afraid of a girl?” Hermione teased. “She can’t help it if she’s irresistibly drawn to you.” Ron turned to scowl at her, and Hermione chose that moment to re-immerse herself in her Ancient Runes textbook.

In the few months since their return to Hogwarts, Luna had taken to striking up conversations with Ron whenever he was in the vicinity. These ‘conversations’ consisted mainly of Ron trying to ignore her, and Luna staring at him openly and making statements such as, “You belched slugs one year. Colin Creevey told me about it.”

“She just finds you so fascinating,” Harry added. “And funny. And – oof!” Harry was cut off by a sharp jab to his ribs. He gave Hermione a wounded look, and she deliberately inclined her head to the left, from which approached the object of their conversation.

“I thought you might like to see this,” Luna said by way of opening, sliding her copy of The Quibbler next to Ron’s plate.

Ginny leaned forward to read the headline: “Doris Feller Declares: Ginger-Haired Males Live Longer than Brunettes!” She coughed loudly, then stared steadily at her roast beef, mouth twitching. Harry and Hermione had similarly occupied themselves; Hermione’s book was covering her face in a way that she resembled Luna herself.

“Uh,” Ron muttered unenthusiastically. Ginny gave him a stony glare, silently willing him to recall her affinity for curses. “Thanks, Luna!” he amended with feigned interest. Luna smiled happily and moved away. “Hypocrite,” Ron hissed at Ginny once Luna was out of earshot. “You could barely contain your laughter.”

“I was laughing at your discomfort, not at Luna,” Ginny said breezily. “I happen to like her.” She pointedly opened her own copy of The Quibbler and began scratching at the crossword puzzle. It might be a paper full of mostly rubbish, she mused, but it was interesting rubbish. The creativity of its writers was truly impressive.

Dean Thomas broke off his conversation with Seamus and leaned closer to read over Ginny’s shoulder. Ginny ignored the sour look Ron threw them. “Frackling Whatzbat,” Dean told her, gesturing to number 26 across. Ginny inked in the answer, then turned the paper upside down to check it.

“How’d you know that?” Ginny frowned. She’d never even heard of a Frackling Whatzbat.

“My mum’s been subscribing since Harry’s interview last year,” Dean explained. “Number 26 across is always ‘Frackling Whatzbat’. You’d think they’d bother to switch it up every once in a while.”

“Well they don’t get paid,” Hermione reminded him. “Which is actually really admirable, when you think about it.”

Ginny smirked. Hermione’s attitude towards The Quibbler had changed drastically ever since their article on house elf enslavement had been published in late August. Hermione didn’t subscribe, but Ginny had made sure to send her the clipping – an act she regretted after Hermione began following Luna around to ask about possible follow-ups and offer various quotes and statistics. “Tell your father if he needs an interview – “

Luna had politely declined, but Hermione would’ve persisted had Harry not spoken up one afternoon and said quite seriously that he never wanted to hear another word about the hardships of house elves. Much to Ron’s (and secretly, Ginny’s) delight, Hermione had since clammed up on the subject.

“Thanks. I’ve only got three more to go now,” she told Dean, who merely gave a half shrug and smiled.

“If you need help with the others – “

“She’s got five older brothers who are more than happy to lend their knowledge,” Ron said meaningfully, and let out a small whimper when Hermione kicked him in the shin.

+ + +

The Gryffindor common room that night was a picture of chaos, courtesy Fred and George Weasley. Students everywhere were periodically exploding into piles of ash, only to reappear moments later, fully intact.

“Looks like the Phoenix Feigns are a hit,” Harry observed to her in passing. “Although I still don’t really get the point of them, exactly.”

She grinned back. “I think maybe the point is to drive Hermione insane.” She nodded towards the older girl, who was running back and forth between piles of ash, making certain that students did in fact reappear. Ron was halfheartedly mimicking her efforts, though the grin on his face belied his admonitions.

Fred and George’s business was more popular than any of them had dreamed. Fudge’s statement the previous year, accompanied by one or two highly publicized attacks, had lent credibility to the story Harry and Dumbledore had told all along. The threat of darkness now permeating the wizarding community had proved to be a great launching pad for a joke shop, as wizards and witches of all ages struggled to find a release from the constant tension and worry.

“And we’re more than happy to provide that release,” Fred had told her. “For mere galleons a shot.”

“Galleons?” she’d asked incredulously. “What happened to ‘Affordable jokes for thrifty blokes’?” She was referring to the slogan painted on the sign for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“Guy’s gotta eat, doesn’t he?” George had shrugged.

“Besides, we only overcharge people who can afford it,” Fred added.

“Or who irk us,” George finished.

Ginny had rolled her eyes, but truth be told, she was proud of her brothers. They were doing well for themselves; not even her mother should have been able to complain. It didn’t stop her, of course. Rarely a summer dinner had gone by without a reference to Molly’s “eternal shame and suffering” because the twins hadn’t finished school. It didn’t have much of an effect on Fred and George, but the speeches became so frequent that by August Ginny and Ron had begged their brothers to return to Hogwarts.

The twins dismissed their pleas. “Aw, our two Prefects are trying to straighten out their delinquent brothers,” they would say sweetly. “It’s positively disgusting.”

Presently, Ginny ran a finger over her Prefect’s badge, contemplating whether or not to lend Ron and Hermione a hand, then decided against it. They were older and more experienced, after all. They could handle it. She glanced over at Tristan Locke, her class’s other Prefect, and saw that he seemed to have the same idea. He caught her eye and grinned a little, then they both resumed watch over the festivities.

At her right, Dean burst into flames. Ginny waited for him to reappear, then invited him to study with her in the library. Though it was only the second week of term, teachers were already piling on homework in preparation for the O.W.L.s. Dean declined, and they agreed to meet up later instead.

When Ginny got to the library, she spotted Luna at a corner table, in the midst of various reading materials. Some of them were clearly school assignments, and some bore titles like Mythological Creatures and Where to Find Them. Her wand was tucked behind her ear as per usual, and she was so immersed in her reading that Ginny had to send off sparks with her own wand before Luna seemed to notice her.

“Oh, hello,” Luna said in her cheery, distracted manner. “I was just thinking about you.”

“You were?” Ginny asked, surprised.

“I was wondering if you still had the picture of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack I sent you this summer,” Luna explained.

“Er, yes…” The photograph was on Ginny’s dresser at home. It was mostly black and completely still but for the occasional swish of something extremely blurry in the top right corner. “Why?”

“All of our other copies were stolen,” Luna told her sadly, and her eyes, impossibly, became even larger. “Someone obviously doesn’t want the truth to be spoken.”

“Are you sure they’re not just lost?” Ginny asked, but Luna shook her head emphatically, her dangling dragon earrings clinking against her head.

“Lost things always turn up. These won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said with sympathy. In truth, she thought the picture she had was as likely to be a Crumple-Horned Snorkack as a stray tabby cat, but she knew Luna must be devastated. “I’ll owl my mum and ask her to send you mine.”

“Oh, no!” Luna said quickly. “Don’t send it here; they’ll be expecting that.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow and fought very hard to keep her tone free of skepticism. “They?”

“Daddy figures it’s probably the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures who nicked them,” Luna said. She sighed. “He blames himself; he was keeping them in his office while he worked on the accompanying article. It was supposed to be in our last August issue, but we had to replace it at the last minute with that scrap of writing on house elves.”

“I take it you’re not in favor of house elf rights?” Ginny guessed from her tone, filing the information in the ‘never to be mentioned in front of Hermione’ part of her brain.

“It’s not that I don’t think they’re entitled to freedom,” Luna confided. “It’s more that – “ She lowered her voice to a whisper, and Ginny leaned in to hear. “I don’t really believe in house elves.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped slightly; she cleared her throat quickly to hide her reaction. “But you – er, that is, you’ve seen one. Remember? Last year, in the DA meeting?”

“No,” Luna said thoughtfully, tilting her head upwards and to the side. “I heard an unfamiliar voice, and then Harry told us all to run, so I did. But I never actually saw who the voice belonged to – I was thinking about Daddy’s article on Blue-Toed Lizard People, and then I – “

“I get the picture,” Ginny interrupted her. She was half-tempted to just take Luna to the kitchens, but she settled for hiding a grin behind her palm and sitting back to study.

The month of September passed uneventfully. School became usual routine, just with harder classes and added hours of studying, which Ginny usually passed with Luna, and sometimes with the 6th years. Hermione had enthusiastically offered Ginny assistance in preparing for the O.W.L.s, and dragged Ron and Harry along when they couldn’t think quickly enough to get out of it. Ginny was grateful for the help. Hermione could be a bit overzealous, but it obviously worked -- she’d OWL’d in every single subject the previous year.

The tedium was broken up by “dates” with Dean that mainly consisted of snogging in the Gryffindor common room, and by Quidditch practices. Ginny wasn’t too worried about tryouts – she’d been playing with four past and present members of the team all summer. Fred and George had actually given her their nods of approval, and expressed delight that there would be more than one Weasley in the air again.

She spent the Saturday before tryouts avoiding Harry and Ron, who, despite her protests (“I have made the team before, you know.”), had been pitching tips to her for days. She hung around Dean for part of the morning, which was a rather… formidable distraction, and then Hermione, who was distracting in an entirely different way.

“I can’t believe someone’s checked out Thursger’s Guide to Glamouring. It’s a reference book; it’s not supposed to leave the library… This is impossible. I’ll have to special order a copy of my own. Oh, and of Hasger’s Advanced Runes text, and…”

Her class would be following up the previous year’s career advice by selecting three specific jobs and writing essays about their inner workings. The best of the three essays would be chosen by the student and his or her advisor, and in 7th year that path would be physically explored, with students acting as assistants to workers in their desired field.

“Narrowed it down yet?” Ginny asked, glancing curiously at Aids for Magickal Maladies.

“What?” Hermione asked distractedly, pausing in mid-note. “Oh, that. I’ve already handed in my three selections. This is something else.” She glanced around and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’m exploring theories for treatments of incurable magic-related illnesses.”

Ginny nodded understandingly. The Longbottoms had been a frequent topic of conversation between them that summer. They’d both been deeply affected by what they’d seen in St. Mungo’s. It made sense that Hermione would channel her emotions into something productive. Ginny just hoped she wasn’t wasting her time. Witches and wizards had been attempting for centuries what Hermione hoped to accomplish in a semester.

She didn’t bother voicing her concerns aloud. Most likely, Hermione knew as well as she did that the chances of success at this particular project were slim at best. And they both knew that it wouldn’t deter her.

“Do you want some help?” Ginny offered.

Hermione shook her head. “Thanks, but I want to do this completely on my own,” she said determinedly. “Have you seen Ron and Harry, by the way? I don’t think they’ve even started researching their topics, and we’re sure to get a ton of Potions homework next week.”

“They’d better get moving then, hadn’t they?” a third voice interjected.

Ginny and Hermione jumped; neither had heard Professor McGonagall approach. Hermione immediately stammered a weak defense of her best friends’ study skills, but thankfully, Professor McGonagall cut her off with a terse nod.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Granger, but I must ask Miss Weasley to accompany me to the Gryffindor common room,” Professor McGonagall eyed Ginny over her spectacles, and Ginny detected a note of weariness in her gaze. Panic rose within her, and she jumped up. Minerva took a half-step back, startled by the sudden movement. Ginny didn’t notice.

“Has something happened? Is everyone all right?” she demanded. Was it her parents – or perhaps a brother -- ?

“Everything is fine, Miss Weasley,” Professor McGonagall responded quickly, perhaps only then realizing how her statement would be taken. When she next spoke, it was in a gentler tone than either girl was used to hearing. “I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

Ginny let out a long breath of relief. She started to ask what was going on, then, but Professor McGonagall had already turned and was walking swiftly towards the library’s exit. Ginny and Hermione exchanged curious looks before Ginny shrugged and followed her Head of House.

“You have a visitor, Miss Weasley,” Professor McGonagall explained when Ginny had caught up to her. “Under normal protocol you’d be greeted in the Headmaster’s office, but… considering the terms of his last visit, he asked if the common room could serve as a substitute.”

Ginny thought she had a fair idea of who would be waiting for her. She didn’t have time to reflect on it; they’d reached the Fat Lady, and with McGonagall’s rather clipped recitation of the password (“Frilly pink bloomers”), the portrait swung open.

Ginny stepped inside and found herself looking at the figure of a person she’d been almost certain had permanently exited her life. He was facing the opposite direction; just beyond him, she glimpsed Ron’s defiant glare and Harry’s cold appraisal.

She felt her own face tighten, and walked to where the trio stood.

Percy Weasley turned at the sound of her footsteps and offered her a tentative smile. “Hello, Ginny.”

Ginny hit him.

Several things happened at once. Percy reeled back in shock, his hand flying to his rapidly reddening cheek. Ron muttered an approving, “Yes!” and moved forward as if to strike Percy himself. Harry grabbed his arm, warningly motioning to Professor McGonagall, who had shouted, “Miss Weasley!” at her act, but, it should be mentioned, took her time in asking Percy if he required medical assistance.

Ginny, meanwhile, was glaring at her estranged brother with undisguised venom. Words were bubbling forth from her mouth so rapidly that she couldn’t quite distinguish one thought from another. “… scumsucking piece of dung …how could you… how dare you… didn’t even visit your own father when he was inches from death…” were all expressed at some point or another during her tirade.

Percy’s eyes were cast to the floor. He said nothing in his own defense, but Ginny noticed him stiffen almost imperceptibly when she began railing at the “good-for-nothing Ministry and that incompetent buffoon who runs it.”

But as quickly as her anger had risen, it deflated and was replaced by a certain calm. It left Ginny feeling equal parts vindicated and curious, the latter which she attempted to remedy. “What are you doing here?” she demanded coolly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’d like to know that as well,” Ron put in darkly. “I thought you’d run off to Siberia to hide under your precious Minister’s robes.”

“Before I’ll allow this meeting to continue at all,” Professor McGonagall broke in sternly, “I’ll have your solemn promises that all parties will be civil to each other, and no more violent outbursts will occur.”

Ron and Ginny both muttered half-hearted agreements. Professor McGonagall eyed them both. “Good. Because if not, you can each look forward to losing 100 points for Gryffindor.”

This got their attention more effectively, and they repeated their concurrence sincerely. McGonagall gave them all a last look, then left the room.

Ginny, Percy, and Ron stared at each other. Percy was attempting to match their angry expressions with equanimity, but had only succeeded thus far in looking contrite.

Finally he cleared his throat. “Ron… Ginny…” he began in an attempt at cheerfulness. “Good to see you.”

“Is it now,” Ginny said evenly.

Percy swallowed. “Well… yes.” Then he looked at Harry. “Er… if you wouldn’t mind excusing us for a moment, Harry?”

“What?” Ron demanded, outraged. “You don’t think you’ve got something to apologize to him for?”

Harry, however, shook his head, obviously not wanting to come between the siblings. “I’ll see you upstairs,” he said to Ron, and threw a somewhat disgusted look at Percy before leaving.

As soon as he’d gone, Percy looked like he regretted ever asking him to leave. Now faced solely with his brother and sister, he looked more ill at ease than before. Ron and Ginny scowled at him unforgivingly.

Suddenly Percy sank onto the couch behind him and let his head drop into his hands, sighing slightly. Ginny glanced at Ron, who didn’t take his eyes off their brother. The unspoken message was clear: Don’t trust him.

“I…” Percy began, then faltered.

“Screwed up? Betrayed your family? Put your own selfishness and anal-retentive need for order and control above the words of your own parents, your brothers and sister, and the Headmaster of the school that taught you everything you know about magic?”

“And who,” Ron added, “at your request, wrote the letter of recommendation that got you your cushy little job as that oaf Fudge’s lapdog?”

Percy winced again at this unflattering description of his mentor, then simply said, “Yes.”

Ron and Ginny looked at each other. She could tell he was as surprised at Percy’s admission of guilt as she was. What now? she mouthed to him. Ron shrugged helplessly. They’d both been expecting to meet with Percy eventually, but now the time had come, Ginny didn’t know what to do.

Percy had begun his campaign to make amends shortly after the Ministry’s declaration of Voldemort’s return. He’d sent the occasional letter from where he’d been stationed in Siberia – for what purpose, Ginny no had idea – with the clear intention of pretending the whole thing had never happened.

When that plan had failed quite spectacularly, he’d Apparated home. (He’d first attempted to use the Floo Network, but Arthur had charmed it somehow, and Percy was stuck in the wall for two hours before he figured out how to free himself. Fred and George had had a grand time at that, making a wondrous racket and yelling insults at their older brother.)

Arthur regarded him as a lost cause and wouldn’t speak to him, but Ginny thought he might’ve gotten somewhere with Molly if he hadn’t appended his apology with, “Although, you have to admit, the Ministry has been doing this a long time, and if they’ve made one mistake, well, just look at all the good they’ve done…” and so on.

Bill had accepted Percy’s apology, at least on the surface, but their relationship, never strong to begin with, was reduced to the formality of passing acquaintances. Charlie flat-out refused to see Percy, as did Fred and George.

Ginny supposed she and Ron were his last efforts. She wondered if she should wish him good luck with that, but instead walked past him silently, up the girls’ staircase. She turned around once, expecting to see Ron doing the same, and stopped short in shock.

Ron hadn’t left; instead he’d taken a seat on the opposite end of the couch Percy occupied.

She felt herself hesitate slightly, but determinedly willed her legs to keep moving, leaving her two brothers behind, each of them staring silently straight ahead.