Harry crouched down carefully, steadying himself with one hand against the floor. The wet stone was sharp and cold against his palm.

He glanced back at Snape, who stood poised and intense, but the man’s expression didn’t flicker. Turning back around, Harry stared at the small girl. Her rigidness was almost frightening. The palm that rested on Harry’s trousers itched to reach out and touch Ginny’s shoulder to make her stop twitching.

Be careful… Snape’s words echoed in Harry’s head like the dull chime of a clock.

Mustering up all of his control, Harry dug his fingertips into his kneecap to keep his hand from making an instinctual mistake.

“Ginny?” Harry squeaked, shocked at how high and hollow his voice sounded in the vaulted lavatory.

No response.

“It’s Harry...” the boy whispered. He felt stupid and awkward, as if he were talking to a newborn baby amongst a group on onlookers.

His throat convulsed in a clumsy swallow.

“You’re all right, Ginny,” Harry said, his voice cracking, remembering the words that Snape had once spoken to him when the fear of the voice in the walls threatened to consume him.

Ginny continued to shiver; however, Harry caught the flash of her eyes as they barely shifted to meet his own.

Stunned, he licked his dry lips. He didn’t know what else to say, so he settled for the clichéd, comforting question.

“What’s the matter, Ginny?”

Again, the girl was silent. She lifted her face just far enough for Harry to see the several strands of vivid, red hair plastered to her damp and shiny cheeks.

Harry listened to the steady slosh of approaching footsteps. He knew Snape was gingerly edging towards the two of them, but the boy locked his eyes with Ginny’s, determined to ease her out of this coiled, terrified state.

Snape remained close enough to reside in the girls’ peripheral vision.

And the looming nearness of another person provided Harry with the strength to scoot forward the tiniest bit. His shoes squeaked noisily against the sopping floor, but Ginny hardly stirred.

“Professor Snape is here too, Ginny,” Harry softly informed the girl. She seemed to blink every time he repeated her name, so Harry kept it up. He glanced quickly over in Snape’s direction. The man hadn’t moved. “He wants to help you…we both do.”

As soon as the words left Harry’s throat, an agonized wail rebounded off of the walls again.

“If you’ve come to throw something else at me you can just go away!”

Harry cringed at the vocalization, shivers running up and down his arms as he looked around wildly for the source. He glanced back at Ginny. She had pressed her face firmly into her knees, her hair spilled over her ears onto her tights once more.

“Professor…what—“ Harry began weakly, his heart thudding. But Snape wasn’t listening.

“Myrtle, you will leave at once,” the man commanded firmly.

A miserable shriek. And the wailing slowly trailed away.

Moaning Myrtle…Harry thought.

It was slowly coming back to him. He’d met her briefly at the Death Day party nearly two months ago. And Hermione had mentioned something about a haunted girl’s bathroom when they’d begun planning the Polyjuice potion. But seeing as they’d never actually made it that far, and with everything else that had happened, Harry had nearly forgotten about the despondent ghost. The sounds she had been producing over the past fifteen minutes were blood-curdling. Harry had no idea what could have happened to cause her such unnerving melancholy…

Suddenly, Harry felt Snape move in closer and crouch down. Harry looked over at him, but now, the man was focusing on Ginny.

Oh, god, please don’t scare her…Harry silently pleaded.

“Miss Weasley,” Snape said quietly.

She shifted.

Harry mentally scrutinized the professor’s every move. As he did so, the boy relaxed back on his heel, ignoring the cold water that was seeping uncomfortably into the fabric of his trousers.

“Miss Weasley,” Snape tried again, “If you can hear my voice, I need you to look at me.”

Blood still hammering against his ear drums, Harry studied Ginny’s face, intently watching the movement of her eyes. After a while, she glanced over at Snape. However, Harry could tell she was hesitant.

His stomach clenched.

“Very good,” the professor commented softly. Abruptly frowning, he tilted his head to the side as if he’d discovered something behind her.

Harry sat up a bit, leaning over to try and see what Snape was scowling at, but the man held his arm across Harry’s shoulders, barricading him from the site. Reaching out slowly, allowing his open palm to hover only a couple inches from the ground, Snape plucked a dripping wet object from the dark corner of lavatory.

It was the diary. Harry squirmed on his foot, lifting up a bit to get a better look. The yellowed pages were soaked and swollen between the leather coverings. But the gold stamp on the front was clearly visible. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.

So that’s what it was… Riddle, Harry mused, feeling his palms tingle from the sudden innovation. What a weird last name…

Snape was staring at the ruined volume, turning it over in his hands, fingering the binding.

Without knowing what he was doing, Harry reached out toward the diary, bowing his head slightly to try and get a good look at the back for more lettering.

But in a flash, Snape swatted at Harry’s outstretched fingers, scowling sternly at the boy.

Ginny averted her puffy eyes over to Harry who had quickly pulled back, tucking his fingers into a fist and biting his lip in surprise and shame. In normal circumstances, Harry would have thrown forth a hefty complaint over his stinging fingers, but at the moment, it wasn’t worth it. Besides, he had a feeling Snape wouldn’t stand for it. Harry noticed Ginny looking at him and was torn between relief and embarrassment—relieved that her eyes had lost the glassy, blank look…embarrassed of what she had just witnessed.

The diary made a strange squishing noise as Snape tucked it inside of his robes.

Turning his attention back to Ginny, Snape wordlessly handed Harry his sloppily folded robes.

“Come along, Miss Weasley, we need to get you to the infirmary.”

Ginny hugged her knees tightly, clutching at the stretchy material of her dirt-stained tights.

“It’s okay, Ginny,” Harry added, glancing back and forth between the small girl and the potions master. He twisted his fingers into the wrinkled folds of his moderately soggy robes that still lay in a large wad on his lap. “Madame Pomfrey will help you feel better.”

She sniffled lightly, but remained cemented.

Suddenly, Snape stretched his hands out in front of him and slowly slid them underneath the girl’s armpits.

Harry’s mouth hung open as he gawked at the strange display, waiting to see what Snape planned on doing. Was he helping her stand? What if she was frozen in place? Harry had heard about people becoming so frightened that they stiffened up completely.

But after stilling his hands for a brief moment, Snape delicately lifted the slender girl, pulling her up to his shoulder as he stood. Astounded at what he was seeing, Harry pushed himself off of the ground and stood awkwardly next to the man.

Snape waited a few more seconds before settling Ginny on his hip and securing his arms around her as if she were an infant. Still quaking, the girl simply buried face against the professor’s robes.

“Come,” Snape said to Harry, and without further comment, he swept out of the chilled, dim room.

****************

They moved down the corridor at a swift pace. Harry knew that this wasn’t the way to the infirmary, but judging by the grave, determined look on Snape’s face, Harry had decided that this would not be the best time to ask questions. Jogging along, he glanced over every few paces to check on Ginny, but she kept her face hidden.

He couldn’t believe that Snape of all people had lifted Ginny and was carrying her along the second floor corridor as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Ginny had clung to him without a fight.

Clearly, she was still out of it.

A moment later, Snape came to an abrupt halt outside of Professor Lockhart’s office.

“I thought we were going to the infirmary…” Harry spoke up, peering up at Snape with a confused look that the man couldn’t see. He frowned, scratching at his forehead.

“Quiet, Potter,” Snape said simply. Without even knocking, the professor withdrew his wand from the inside of his robes and tapped it against the iron doorknob.

It opened instantly with a subtle click. Pocketing his wand in a swift motion, Snape pushed the door open with his foot.

Still clutching Ginny with his left arm, Snape reached back and placed his free hand on the back of Harry’s neck, guiding the mildly scowling boy inside.

The office was empty, but the potions master did not seem alarmed at the vacancy.

Harry, on the other hand, was thrilled. He hated Lockhart’s office, even more when the man was actually in it. And if it weren’t for all of the sickening, grinning portraits of the tosspot, Harry might have been able to rid his face of its sour expression. What were they doing in here anyway?

“Potter,” Snape began, spinning around and speaking very seriously, “You will use—wipe that expression off of your face this instant—“

Shoulders jerking from the severe, unexpected rebuke, Harry widened his eyes considerably and did as he was told.

“You will go directly to Professor Dumbledore’s office through the floo,” Snape continued.

“Why? Where are you going?” Harry asked, trailing his forefinger along the edge of the stone mantle above the fireplace.

“You know exactly where I am going, Mr. Potter. Do not waste my time on petty concerns.”

Snape shifted the eleven-year-old bundle in his arms.

“Inform the headmaster that I have taken Miss Weasley to Madame Pomfrey and that the diary is in my possession,” Snape spouted importantly. “Go now. Take your handful of floo powder.” The man nodded brusquely at the lavender clay pot a few inches above Harry’s head.

The boy hesitated. “Can’t we wait until we get Ginny to the hospital? I want to make sure she’s all right…”

“You are testing my patience, young man,” Snape replied automatically. He shifted Ginny higher up on his shoulder again.

The glare Snape was pinning Harry with made the boy’s insides squirm in apprehension.

Inching his fingers toward the ceramic jar, Harry paused for only a second longer.

“I promise I’ll only stay a minute—“

Snape growled in frustration. Cutting the child off, he moved forward and reached for the mantle.

However, the moment Harry caught sight of Snape’s hand moving briskly through the air, he tensed up. Gripping the edge of the stone ridge, Harry arched up on his toes as he swung his bottom out of harm’s way.

But the smack didn’t come. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes.

Snape was giving him an odd look.

It only took a second for the boy to realize that the broad hand had been heading a different direction. And when Harry did, the heat spread quickly throughout his face, turning his cheeks and ears a rosy shade of pink.

Unspeakably mortified, Harry didn’t know where to look.

“Potter…” Snape began quietly. He paused, exhaling deeply, biting back a grimace as he hoisted up the child in his arms for the third time. “I know you are concerned about Miss Weasley. But you need to trust me when I say she will be fine. As of now—if you truly want to be of help—I need you to go to the headmaster for me and inform him of everything that has just taken place. I would do it myself, except at the moment, I cannot.”

Harry, you great sodding, selfish baby, the boy scorned himself. Hugging his bundled robes tightly in the crook of his arm, Harry barely nodded, his chin nearly touching his chest.

As quickly as possible, Harry grabbed a handful of gritty floo powder, apathetic of the grains of sand that had lodged into his fingernails. Sparing one last glance at Ginny, Harry threw the powder in the fireplace before he could do anything else to embarrass himself…

***************

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter if you’re a prefect or not?” Ron exclaimed angrily.

Although at the moment he was sitting two seats away from Harry and Hermione, the two could plainly hear the conversation taking place between Ron and his brother Percy. Grimacing from the squeal in their friend’s voice Harry and Hermione glanced at each other with a knowing look. Yes, Ron was at it again.

“The curfew applies to everyone, Ron, even prefects,” Percy explained more quietly, yet much more firmly. “I know you want to see Ginny—we all do—but…”

“You all got to see her and I didn’t!” Ron complained, gripping the edge of the thick tabletop. “She’s my sister too.” The hurt was evident in the boy’s voice.

“Fred and George haven’t seen her, and you know it!” Percy hissed, glancing around in embarrassment. “Now, Penelope is on her way over and you’re causing a scene. Go back to your friends.”

“No…”

“Ron, come on,” Hermione suddenly spoke up, reaching a hand across several plates of pudding, “Your brother’s right. And Ginny is with Madame Pomfrey. So we know she’ll be fine.” The girl had pursed her lips in desperation. She wiggled her fingers toward Ron.

“Yes, go,” Percy added, scowling for all he was worth as he shoved over and made room for his Ravenclaw girlfriend.

“Git…” Ron mumbled under his breath, but immediately threw his leg over the bench, pushing himself up angrily. Moving only a few steps to the left, the boy plopped down in a huff. His face was red and mutinous—daring just one person to mess with him.

“This is the biggest load of shite I’ve ever heard,” Ron growled.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded in a gruff whisper, swiveling around in a manner much like Percy. The dining hall was abnormally quiet due to the recent news.

“Well, it is! A bloody curfew just when my sister is penned up in the hospital wing. We shouldn’t have even gone down there this afternoon…I knew Madame Pomfrey would be just as much of a pain as she always is…the old—“

“Just calm down, Ron!” Hermione interrupted. “There’s no need to get worked up over this…”

Harry didn’t know what to think. He agreed with both of them. They all desperately wanted to see Ginny, but of course, Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t let them. Snape had been nowhere in sight. And the minute they arrived back at the common room, McGonagall ordered them to find a seat among the crowded carpet. It always seemed that in moments like these, Harry and his friends were the stragglers and ended up having to wriggle about awkwardly as they found a free spot, trying not to step on fingers or knee anyone in the back. All of the teachers were somber and strict. And in McGonagall’s case, even more than usual.

The headmaster had sworn Harry to secrecy over the diary, assuring him that he didn’t want false information to be related to anyone, especially Ginny’s siblings. Harry knew he would eventually tell his friends about Tom Marvolo Riddle and Ginny’s trembling and Moaning Myrtle…but not tonight.

“No need to cause unnecessary havoc, my boy,” Dumbledore had said gently.

And Harry figured that maybe he was right. Besides, Harry hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask Snape or Dumbledore or anybody about what was going on. From the moment he’d informed the headmaster, all of the adults seemed to have stepped into some sort of fast-moving, oblivious demension. Even Dumbledore.

But even without the knowledge of the diary, unnecessary havoc seemed to be happening right now…

Smashing his treacle tart with a fork, Harry tried to focus on the sugar melting into the custard, just so he wouldn’t have to listen to his friends’ endless bickering.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, addressing him suddenly. Harry snapped his head up. “What about your cloak? We could use it couldn’t we?”

“No, we can’t…” Hermione insisted.

“Sure, we could!”

“It’s against the rules—“

“Sod the rules!”

Harry clenched his fork so hard it cut into his palm. “I don’t have it,” he said quickly.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Ron asked, worry creasing his face. “Where is it?”

“Snape’s got it.”

Ron scoffed in incredulity, “Who does he think he is? Get it back from him!”

“I can’t,” Harry said, clenching his teeth against the frustration that was boiling in his stomach.

“We could go look for it if he’s hidden it. Snape’s at dinner isn’t he?” Ron continued, his breath quickening in anticipation of a plan, “You’ve been in his chambers enough to know where he keeps things…I’ll help you, mate!”

Hermione was hiding her face in her hands.

Glancing down at his fist, Harry eased up the pressure on the fork. It was starting to ache. “I can’t, Ron…” the boy repeated quietly, staring hard at his ruined pudding.

A tense moment of silence passed.

“Yeah, right, mate,” Ron commented under his breath. The mocking in the redhead’s tone made Harry’s stomach hurt. Ron stabbed at his carrots. “Wouldn’t want to get your botty smacked…”

Hermione snapped her head up.

Harry’s stomach churned as if he’d drunk acid. His face flamed quickly. It hurt to lift his head and look at Ron, who was now cutting a small round carrot into bits with his fork. But Harry did it anyway.

“Go to hell.”

Harry swallowed roughly, waiting for the inevitable retort. But it didn’t come.

Hermione was glaring at Ron, her chest rising and falling at impressive speed.

“I didn’t mean that,” Ron mumbled after awhile. He stared at his plate, continuing to slice up his impossibly small carrot. “I just really want to see my sister.” His voice was growing thick and messy. The fork clinked forlornly against the boy’s plate.

Hermione glanced over at Harry with a painful, pleading look in her watery eyes.

Forcing himself to ignore the hot shame and anger that still pulsed through his cheeks, Harry set down his own fork. “I know,” he muttered.

Ron stopped fussing with his carrot. But none of them spoke for a long moment.

Harry knew Ron hadn’t meant to make fun of him. But it still hurt. Not to mention, it made him feel weak and babyish to realize that in a sense, Ron was right. Harry didn’t want to go looking for his invisibility cloak, because he knew exactly what would result from that escapade. But it was more…Snape expected him to think about the consequences. And this time, Harry had. The boy couldn’t explain it, but currently, that meant more to him than the prospect of feeling the supple, smooth material of his cloak again. Harry was torn.

But Ron also had a right to be worried about Ginny…he had a right to see her, too.

“Maybe I could talk Snape into taking us to see Ginny tonight,” Harry croaked. He knew it wasn’t daring or thrilling, but it was the best offer he could make.

“It’s twenty minutes until curfew,” Hermione reminded him. “Professor Snape left about five minutes ago…did you notice?”

“No…”

Harry glanced over at the clean, empty space at the head table.

“But it’s all right. He’s probably just in his office. I can hurry,” Harry assured her. And by hurry he meant sprint.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” Hermione prodded. Ron simply stared at Harry with wide eyes and a hopeful expression.

Smiling lightly, Harry shrugged. “He’s not really that bad…I’ve got twenty minutes to get there.”

“Nineteen,” Ron spoke up in a crackly voice. He grinned mirthfully at Harry.

“You wanna come?” Harry asked his friend.

Ron’s face fell instantly.

“Er…no…thanks, mate.”

Harry sniffed in amusement and rolled his eyes. Ron was all talk.

“All right, then,” Harry exclaimed, sliding out from his spot at the table. “I’ll be back soon.”