One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three ten am.
It was late. The later it got, the more she worried. The more she worried, the more she paced, wearing down the fibers of the rug at her feet. The more she paced, the more often she ended up facing the clock, and the longer she watched the clock, the later it got.
The lateness of the hour probably had very little to do with her mood, she mused as she continued her measured steps across the small carpet. One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three eleven am. She wasn’t expecting anyone to appear, really, so she couldn’t explain her apprehension.
Not many customs seemed to hold at Hogwarts these days, she thought absently. That was why she was here, in the Room of Requirement, after all: to think. When I was younger, Hogwarts was where I wanted most to be, with my brothers. And after that dreadful first year, it was my domain. I was free from Mum here – well, for the most part. This is why I was happy here – it was my own special playground. And now it’s as if someone lit it on fire and it’s crumbled to ashes at my feet.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three twelve am.
“It’s just awful.” She didn’t realize she’s spoken aloud until her voice echoed back at her from the walls. The sound startled her, but she immediately recognized it as a comforting presence in the otherwise desolate room. “It’s almost as if everywhere I turn here at the school, I find these ghosts of myself. On every corner, little Ginny Weasleys popping their heads around at me mischievously, looking to see if Harry is with me and just as disappointed as I am that he isn’t,” she grumbled.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three thirteen am.
“Nothing makes sense anymore. Harry's dead and he has been for three years and Ron's married and Hermione's run back to the Muggle world and I'm just here, doing nothing. NOTHING!” she finished on a shout.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three fourteen am.
There was so much she just didn't understand about what was happening. This room, though, this room, had always been her sacred hideout. And now it, too, was haunted. Haunted by the lies of the adults around her, by the memories of the DA meetings, the searing jealousy she'd felt knowing that Cho was hanging around, waiting for Harry after the meetings.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three fifteen am.
Her brain was silent, for once, and she continued her pacing in the stillness.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three six – footsteps?
She turned suddenly – there was someone outside the door. And it – it was opening! A scream stifled in her throat.
“Ah, it's just you,” she sighed in relief as the figure in the doorway became clear. “Ollie, you scared me!”
“Sorry,” he said, coming in and closing the door. “I heard you walk past earlier and I thought I'd come check on you. You've not been yourself of late.”
“I didn't mean to wake you – I just couldn't sleep,” she whispered, suddenly realizing how very big Oliver Wood really was. They had both hired on as professors in the months after Voldemort's fall. With most of her family gone and the only remaining members off with their lives, the Burrow was cold and empty and lonely. Hogwarts had become her sanctuary. Though they'd been working together for nearly three years, she teaching Potions and he Defense, she still didn't know what brought him to Hogwarts. After all, he was a Wood, and the leagues had reopened almost immediately. He should have been off playing Quidditch.
“Why did you come back?” she asked suddenly. He looked at her for a moment as though reading her mind before answering.
“It just seemed like the thing to do – I was getting too old to play professionally anyway, and when old McGonagall asked me back as a special favour, I couldn't very well turn her down, now could I?”
As Ginny absorbed that, he fixed her with a glare that held just enough curiousity to let her know what was coming next. “Nightmares?”
“You've heard me.” It wasn't a question. If I only I could sit down, she thought before a plush velvet chair appeared in the corner of the room. She climbed into it, noting that it was large enough for her to tuck her knees up beside her. Another chair appeared next to her and Oliver joined her.
“At first I thought you were talking to yourself,” he admitted, settling his large frame into the chair companionably. “Then you started to scream. Your quarters are right next t' mine, lass. I dinna think anyone else could hear you, so I started to get up and go over there, but you stopped. It dinna take long to figure out what was going on.”
“I keep seeing the cave,” she whispered. He merely nodded, as though he'd been expecting this. She wanted to tell someone, anyone – but she just couldn't.
“I'll leave you to your thoughts, then, Ginevra,” he said, standing. It was a joke of the past three years that he got to call her Ginevra, but only if she called him Ollie first. Tonight she'd opened that doorway. As he crossed the room, she stood and began her troubled pacing, her thoughts chasing themselves around and around, as a dog chases its tail.
One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn, three - THUD!
She'd collided with a solid wall of male chest. This chest had two arms, which wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her in tighter. As she looked up at Oliver she was surprised to realize that he was actually quite good-looking. Well, of course you've never noticed before, you ninny – you're friends – after a fashion, her brain argued reasonably before her eyes closed of their own volition.
He brushed his lips across hers very softly and walked out, leaving her standing alone while the ghosts of her playground smiled and giggled like the schoolgirls they were.
