A Cannon's Harpy

V

Ginny Apparated to the pitch early Monday morning. She still felt slightly wary, but these training sessions were her key to a career as a professional Quidditch player. If there was ever a time to fight her demons then now was it. She pulled her Harpies jacket tight against an unseen cold. Despite the fears she'd felt since Saturday, if the lessons learned in the past week were anything to go by then she was nowhere near good enough for the league.

The field all around felt eerie in its emptiness. Harry was not sitting in the stands or waiting on the pitch to welcome her. Wanting the day to just get going, but with nothing to do, she ambled towards the main stand and sat.

Eight slowly became nine and nine eventually turned to ten and still there was no sign of Harry. Deciding that she'd spent enough time in the cold grandstand, Ginny trudged unenthusiastically to the changing room.

Her kit lay in a neat pile like it had been every day the previous week. The only difference being a small note on top of her robes. A growl of pure frustration roared out from her throat as she snatched up the piece of parchment.

Miss Weasley,

Mr Harry James Potter lives at 15 Pikington Avenue, Essex.

She stared at the note. She'd never known Harry's second name was James. The surprise faded quickly. The changing room felt empty and small as fears kept bubbling to the surface.

"What to do?" she mumbled, her eyes once again drifting down towards the parchment, which was now partly crumpled in her palm. If she went to his house then she'd be near Harry, tempted to touch him. Her body trembled, not in excitement, but fear. How much would she be able to cope with?

If she ignored the letter then she could go home and relax. "What will he think of me then?" she cried out in frustration. Ginny sank down onto the bench and tried to reread the crumpled words on the parchment. It proved difficult when her hands began to shake.

Dark images of the Chamber shifted in and out of focus. A ghost like image had risen out of the diary. Tom Riddle, the man who'd taken over her mind. Even after all the years, she still felt used. The all too familiar nausea began to rise in her throat. He'd been looming over her, a broad smile on his lips, a filthy pale hand touched her cheek. Life had slowly been sucked out of her. The cold, even after all the years the coldness of life seeping out of her made Ginny shiver. The last memory was of Tom Riddle looking surprised. Perhaps that thought had only been a trick of her dying mind.

But Harry was different. His eyes were soft, if sad. Nothing like the dark demented eyes of Tom Riddle. His hands were gentle and caring, not cold and hard. He'd seen things in his past that haunted him, she could tell. At times those same eyes stared back at Ginny in the mirror. Less now, but they were there, like this weekend at the Burrow.

"I need to move passed this," she whispered to herself. Her lips kept moving as she rocked back and forth. After a while the words changed to, "I can let someone close." And eventually she was saying in her mind. "I can be near Harry." Those last words she dared not utter aloud.

Ginny felt every piece of her body and mind resisting, but she needed to do this. She could do this. With the decision made, she focused on the address on the parchment, closed her eyes and Apparated away.

Only when the world steadied did she allow her eyelids to flutter open. Her hand still clutched her wand tightly. She had emerged in the middle of a rather spacious room. Without daring to breathe, she tried to take in her surroundings. To her left was a neat kitchen and to the right a single door led into a room. Before her stood a single couch, which faced a fireplace. Two photographs hanging over the fireplace were the signs of life in the entire room.