The shadow by my finger cast
Divides the future from the past:
Before it, sleeps the unborn hour,
In darkness, and beyond thy power:
Behind its unreturning line,
The vanished hour, no longer thine:
One hour alone is in thy hands,
The now on which the shadow stands.
--The Sun-Dial At Wells, Henry van Dyke.

Prologue:
Shadows and Beginnings

"Uh," said Neville.

"Mmm-hmm?" Ginny gave him a vaguely encouraging look from across the little table.

The light from the tiny lantern flickered on his face. It was hopelessly flustered and growing redder by the moment.

"Do you, uh..."

Ginny fancied that his big brown puppy-dog eyes were pleading with her. If they could have spoken, their words seemed likely have been something along the lines of, Can't you see that I've completely forgotten the English language?

"Would you like to, er..." The words trailed off, and there was an unbearably long pause.

Ginny wondered if there were any way of putting Neville out of his misery. A Stupefying charm would work, although some might argue that it would be less than kind. Of course, her feet might pipe up with another point of view, since they were throbbing from dozens of separate little bruises under their thin green leather slippers. If only she didn't know exactly what he was going to ask.

All evening long, she'd been watching him slowly screw up the courage to say what he so longed to say, making little bets with herself regarding at what point in the endless purgatory of the Yule Ball his bravery would finally overflow into words. She'd known it wasn't going to be during the dancing, since all his energy was going towards the losing battle of standing up straight and not stepping on her feet. (More than once, she'd devoutly wished that she'd actually worn those steel-toed boots, as Hermione had recommended.) It probably wouldn't be when they were standing around the punch bowl, slurping cup after cut-glass cup of fruit juice with a gradually increasing proportion of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. (Ginny wondered if the evening might be improved by grabbing the bottle from Goyle's hand and swigging it down as he sniggered with Crabbe behind the refreshment table.) And it certainly wasn't going to take place while a stream of Gryffindor fifth and sixth years sat at their table and the shrill giggles of the girls pierced Ginny's head. But almost everyone else had cleared out of the Great Hall by now. The Bavarian dwarf band was playing accordion and flugelhorn slowly and dreamily for the few remaining couples circling round the dance floor. So it was bound to be now.

"D'you want to, uh, uh, er, go outside, Ginny?"

Poor Neville.

She sipped from her glass of punch, buying a moment's time. A group of caroling Rhine fairies chose that moment to hover in the air between them.

"O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, wie grun sind deinen Blatter!" they chirped in trilling little voices, their blurring wings beating faster than sight.

"Go away," Neville said irritably.

"St. Niklaus vill put coal in your stocking, naughty boy," said the smallest fairy, wrapped from head to toe in a blue and white striped scarf with purple tassels. She waved a miniscule finger threateningly.

"Oh, you-- I'll chance it. Shoo." Neville flapped a hand at the fairy choir.

The fairies stuck their tongues out as one and flew off through his hair, leaving each strand sticking out in a different direction. He blushed an extraordinarily violent shade of red, which clashed rather badly with his dark purple dress robes. Ginny couldn't help smiling. The look on his face tore her with guilt. She knew it was the first time she'd smiled at him all night long.

"Well? We could, ah, go for a walk in the rose garden, it's not really all that cold, and anyway I'll keep you warm, I mean, uh-" Obviously horrified at his own boldness, Neville backpedaled quickly. "I think I've got an extra scarf somewhere, my Gran sent me two for Christmas and there's this green one and it would really look good on you, I mean with your hair and the dress and all, and-"

Neville did look so like a Golden Retriever puppy hunting for an owner. Ginny wondered in a detached sort of way if he'd actually grow a tail and start wagging it next.

"I saw a really pretty rose bush last week, I'm sure it's blooming this week, I've been watching the buds start to open, I'd love to show it to you," he was saying. Ginny smiled again, vaguely. Neville moved forward a little, his brown eyes wide and adoring. "It's called 'Maiden's Blush.' The pink roses remind me of your cheeks," he added in a rush. She felt his clammy hand pressing hers under the table. How sweet he was. His eager, simple heart was in his face. He was as plain and good as bread and water.

And he made her want to scream.

What would happen, Ginny wondered, if she simply leaped on top of the table, opened her mouth as wide as it would go, and began screaming?

But it wasn't his fault. None of it was Neville's fault.

Then she looked up and saw the one of the people on her ever-increasing list of those she would have given her right arm not to see. Another was Neville, of course. But that was rather a tall order, since he was her date. Colin Creevey was advancing on them with a fixedly bright smile and a camera. "Say cheese!" he chirped through gritted teeth, raising his new Hasselblad.

"Oh, no, Colin, please, I'm--" Ginny threw her hands up. A horribly bright flash of light went off directly in front of her face.

"Ooh! Sorry! That was too close, wasn't it? It'll be all out of focus. Here, let me get another! If you don't mind!"

"Colin--"

"I know! Let's have a picture of the two lovebirds together!" Colin plopped down between Neville and Ginny, turning the lense attachment back and forth with exaggerated sweeps of his elbow.

Neville's chair scraped against the stone flags of the floor as he rose to his feet. "Skive off, Creevey," he growled.

"Well, I think that's for Ginny to decide, isn't it?" said Colin.

"This table isn't big enough for the three of us."

Colin rose as well. "Then someone'll have to leave, won't they?" The two boys glared at each other, and Ginny stifled a groan. They might as well be wearing tigerskin loincloths and carrying clubs!

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking out the front doors of the entrance hall into the gardens outside, their heads together. Ginny put a hand on Neville's arm.

"I would like to see that rosebush," she said firmly. "Won't you show it to me?"

Colin glared at Neville. Neville sneered at Colin. The expression was very odd on his pleasant face. Looks like he's trying out his best Draco Malfoy imitation, thought Ginny. She shuddered. That was the crowning touch to this miserable evening-- thinking about Malfoy.

It was much warmer than it should have been in late December; the air had an almost springlike feeling, but maybe that was because of the enchantments needed to force the rosebushes to bloom. The scent of roses was in the mildly chilled air, and Ginny sniffed it as Neville arranged her cloak around her shoulders. His hands lingered on her bare neck in an almost-caress. Well, this was the price of getting away from Colin Creevey, she supposed. They walked down one of the winding gravel paths. She searched for something to say.

"You shouldn't let Colin get to you like that. He lives for people's reactions, you know."

Ginny immediately decided that that had been the wrong subject to bring up. She should have known better. After all, Neville remembered every bit as well as she did that Colin had been her date for the Yule Ball last year. His face darkened.

"Oh-- I don't want to talk about Colin Creevey right now-- can we not?"

"All right."

Unfortunately, no alternate topics of conversation presented themselves.

"Nice night," was Neville's profound observation after several minutes of walking.

"Mm-hm."

More silence, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel and the light tinkling of a faraway fountain.

"You look-- pretty," he said awkwardly.

"Thanks." Ginny sighed almost unconsciously, spreading out the skirt of her fitted green dress robes with their darker green ribbon threaded through the bodice and waist. She remembered what she'd been thinking when she'd picked them out at Madam Malkin's dress shop, and who she thought would be admiring them tonight-- no, it was better not to think of that.

"There's the rosebush." Neville pointed. It had dark green foliage and was covered with pink roses in all stages of rose life, from buds to full-blown. They sat on the granite bench in front of it. He looked from side to side and then picked the largest rose, handing it to her. She smiled and brought it to her nose.

"Oh really, Neville, you shouldn't have done that."

"I'd do anything for you." The words were undoubtedly meant to be casual, but came out as a rather choked and high-pitched declaration. Ginny sat silent, still smelling the rose. Well, there it was, yet another thing to be added on the credit side of the Neville Longbottom list. She pictured herself scratching away with a quill on a long parchment, grimacing horribly as she did so. Put it right under nice, sweet, sensitive, carries my books for me, likes the dreadfully bad poetry I write, tried to beat up Draco Malfoy the time he sneered at me for dancing with Harry on May Day... knows I have a hopeless crush on Harry and waits patiently, sure I'll eventually figure out what's in my heart... Ginny examined her heart. What was in it at this moment mostly seemed to be a desperate panicky desire to run out off the cliff and into the lake rather than let Neville kiss her. His face was very earnest in the moonlight, and he was leaning closer to her. She really shouldn't be thinking that he resembled a sheep more than a puppy.

I do wish his lips weren't quite so... rubbery. A lot of fumbling followed. Ginny couldn't quite understand; she wanted desperately for someone to kiss her. She'd been practicing her best kisses on the back of her hand for weeks now. So why was it that all she could feel was a vague distaste? A counter was whirring in her head. All right, if I let him kiss me for five minutes, does that make up for half the list... a quarter of the list? Three-sixteenths of the list? If I let him put his hand down the front of my dress-- erggh, feels sort of-- slimy-- could I say that equals the time I made him read that awful sonnet I wrote for Harry, My Deepest, Darkest Secrets of the Soul-- wait a minute-- that's Harry's voice, I'm sure it is! She sat bolt upright, trapping Neville's hand between her chest and the tight bodice of the dress.

"I reckon you've got to draw another cone at the bottom if you expect it to work," Harry was saying on the other side of the hedge.

"I don't see why." That was Ron, speaking in his most stubborn voice.

"Don't you remember what Feynman said?" That was Hermione, speaking in her bossiest voice.

"Ginny, if you could just lean forward a bit--" said Neville.

"Shh!" Ginny said.

"Who?" asked Ron.

"Honestly," sighed Hermione. "How did you managed to pass Magiphysics class? Richard Feynman. The Nobel Prize winner? The CalTech physicist?"

"Oh. The Muggle."

"Ron, you're so thick sometimes it's a wonder you don't walk into walls."

"I'm sorry we can't all be as brilliant as you, 'Mione."

"I hate that nickname and you know it!"

"Stop it," said Harry. "We're wasting time."

Ginny scrambled onto the bench. Neville was yanked up with her.

"Ow! Ginny, my hand's caught in your--"

She looked down on three heads pressed together, one bushy brown, one black, one fiery red, all mulling over a piece of parchment in Hermione's hand. Trust her to bring homework to the Yule Ball. Or was it? Ginny stood on tiptoe, trying to see more clearly. Yes, it was Harry; she'd know him anywhere even without seeing his face. His dark hair was messy as always, and there was that little mannerism he had of jerking his neck slightly when he was arguing with Hermione. Unobserved, she looked her fill. Just as she'd thought. He didn't have a date. It wasn't that he wanted anyone else; he just didn't want her. The old familiar pang of pain rushed into her chest. She'd been so sure, so sure that this time--

Ginny felt a pinch in a very uncomfortable place. "Neville!" she hissed.

"Ginny, I'm not trying to, my hand's stuck!" he hissed back.

"So it would have to be a wormhole?" said Harry.

"Some of us are paying attention, apparently." Hermione spoke to Harry, but glared at Ron.

Ginny leaned closer, her brows knitting. Their words meant nothing to her. But then, so much of what they'd been talking about all fall long was a mystery. There had been so many snippets of conversation, hurried whispered conferences that had ended the moment any of them saw her, and carefully blank faces turned towards her when she interrupted them. They were pondering how to most discreetly have her hauled off to the booby hatch at St. Mungo's, for all she knew. Harry's head was bent over the parchment, and she could almost see what was on it. If she could just get a bit closer...

Ouch!

"Neville, this really is going too far!" She turned on him. "If Ron saw you doing that--"

Neville's answer was not terribly articulate. With a whimper, he pitched headlong into Colin Creevey, who was lurking about the hedge in an attempt to get candid photos of Harry.

"What on earth?" screeched Hermione, jumping backwards and dropping the parchment.

"Mmph--mpph-phh!" explained Neville as he rolled over and over the gravel with Colin.

"Maybe I should have agreed to pose for that calendar he wanted," Harry said in a stricken voice.

"Who cares about that stupid git and his stupid camera-- Neville!" Ron growled. He leaned down and spoke directly into his right ear as Colin boxed the left one. "I told you to keep her away from us."

Neville turned his head towards Ron. "Just a sec, Colin, I need to explain-- how was I to know that you'd end up behind that rosebush! I told you I'd be taking her there and I told you where it was and--"

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ginny. "You mean that you discussed our date with my brother?"

"Gin, I had to have an itemized list of everything he planned to do tonight before I was going to let you out of my sight," Ron said impatiently. "We spent hours negotiating it and hammering out terms. I tried putting him under a Nolo Meus Soror Tangere charm so he'd have to stay six inches away from you at all times, but McGonagall caught me at it and took ten points from Gryffindor." He looked at Ginny suspiciously. "Only one kiss, right? On the forehead?"

"Well, actually, he had his hand stuck down my dress, but that wasn't altogether his fault--"

"Right then," said Ron. "Out of the way, Colin. It's my turn."

"Stop it!" Ginny pulled at her brother's arm.

"I ask you to do a simple little thing like keeping my sister away from here, and as usual you manage to bollocks it up," said Ron, between blows, only slightly hampered by Ginny, who was dragged slightly forward with each punch.

"What do you mean, keeping me away from here?" Ginny demanded.

Ron's fist froze in mid-punch, and he exchanged looks with Harry, Hermione, and at last, reluctantly, with Neville. A secret understanding seemed to pass between them all. Colin stomped off, sniffling slightly. In the silence that followed, Ginny's hands grew colder and colder. The little comedy of errors was over.

"Ginny, we just-- we needed to have a private conversation, that's all," said Hermione.

"You mean, like the ones you've been having all term long? The ones I've been excluded from?"

"Look, sis, there are things you can't understand," Ron said awkwardly. He helped Neville to his feet.

"How do you know? You haven't told me. None of you have," said Ginny.

"Maybe someday we can, but not now."

"Why not?"

"You're a child," said Ron.

"That's ridiculous. I'm almost sixteen!" Ginny could hear the slight whine in her voice and knew that she should shut up, but something was driving her on, pushing her to say words she might later regret.

"Ginny. Be reasonable. You don't tell us everything, now do you?" Hermione's voice was coaxing and firm, and her face was fixed in a smile. Ginny could feel the anger bubbling and rising in her; oh, how she needed to keep it down and under control. The best thing to do would be to turn and leave. Graciously. Silently. Elegantly. Instead, she turned to Harry.

"And what do you think, Harry?" she asked. "Do you think I should know?" Her eyes couldn't help going over him, just once, his lean muscular body in his gray dress robes, his lanky graceful hands, his handsome face; scanning all of him and taking in another image to turn over and over in her mind later, in privacy.

"I-- I suppose I think," he said haltingly, "that it's safer if you don't know. It really is, Ginny. It's best." He looked soberly back at her, and she saw herself mirrored in the edge of his glasses. She winced at the eager hunger on her face.

All four of them looked back at her in a united front. All of their faces were closed and distant, waiting for her to be quiet and go away-- yes, even Neville's. He'd been happy enough to grope at her five minutes before but now he was standing with them, in whatever plan they were hatching. Without her. When it came to anything important, it was always without her. She heard herself yelling before she even realized that she'd opened her mouth.

"Who wants to know what your stupid secret is anyway! I don't! Keep it from me, if you want!"

Hermione was coming towards her now, her smile more fixed than ever. "Ginny, you shouldn't be getting so upset over--"

That was the final straw.

"I hate you! I hate you all!" She sounded juvenile and stupid and laughable; she knew her face was turning the red that so clashed with her hair and dumb tears were pouring down her face, and before she could do anything to make herself look an even greater fool than she had already, she turned and ran down the gravel path in the opposite direction. Something rustled around Ginny's feet. It was the parchment Hermione had been holding; she must have dropped it. In one swift motion, Ginny picked it up and kept running.

She stopped to catch her breath. There were footsteps coming after her. She turned down one path, then another. "Ginny!" she heard Neville's voice calling. "Please come back, do! I'm sorry-- I didn't mean--" She ran faster and he followed her, tracking her with uncanny accuracy. "Ginny, please, if you just stop acting like a child we'll--" That was Hermione. Ginny put on an extra burst of speed. She headed away from the center of the garden maze, back towards Hogwarts. She slipped through a side door and stood, breathing so hard that she was sure they could hear her. All four of them went by, yelling her name. Then they were gone.

But she didn't dare go back outside; they might still be waiting for her. She slowly climbed the winding staircase that led up to the high north tower. It was exposed to the wind and would be horribly cold. She'd be sure to be alone there. She reached the top of the stairs and stood on the balcony, looking out over the grounds. She could see the faint twinkling lights far below in the garden, the movement of students strollling with each other, holding hands, kissing. There were Ron and Hermione, by themselves now. She leaned her head on his shoulder; he said something, and she threw back her head and laughed. Probably at me, Ginny thought. She shivered. She was alone with her tangled thoughts. Alone with the anger that tore through her veins, setting her teeth, clenching her hands into fists. She no longer knew what she was angry at, if she ever had known; she no longer could have said when the anger began, or even if it really could be called anger at all. But it was something that pulsed through her at random times, always when she least expected it, a feeling more intense than anyone else seemed to know.

Her brother and Hermione were kissing now, his hands in her hair, her head turned up to his. Watching them, Ginny felt something very close to envy. They both seemed so... uncomplicated. If only she could be like that. Sometimes, this term, she would cry into her pillow late at night, muffling her sobs with a Silencing charm so her roommates wouldn't hear them. Sometimes she tossed and turned in her bed when the moonlight spilled through the window, turning her sheets to a sea of bleached blood. She didn't have the grace or coordination to play on the Quidditch team, but some mornings she rose before dawn and slipped silently out, taking one of the school brooms up over the pitch to fly, fly, fly for hours through the coldest part of the morning. She would bend low over the broomstick of a Shooting Star or Clean Sweep, feeling the icy wind whistle past her ears, the tension in her head dissolving for a few moments. When she eased back to earth, her fingers numb, scarcely able to feel her feet, the restless thing in her would be quieted for a little while.

Ginny felt a dull pain in her hand and realized that she was pounding her fist against the stone balustrade. She swore softly. If Ron even suspected I knew words like that... The thought made her smile. She was really starting to grow cold now, she realized. She turned to go back down.

But then she heard a faint rustling. Someone else was coming up the steps. Probably Neville! Ginny groaned and slipped behind a large potted bush. With any luck, he wouldn't even see her.

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