#one of my fics has 2100 reviews and this one has 16.... what has gone wrong in my life....

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AU: Ginny's memories of her First Year and her time with the diary horcrux are wiped. Things go a little differently because of this - especially as she resists the rule of Death Eaters in Hogwarts in her Sixth Year :) [WIP five chapters 30k words]

the second splinter 

chapter five: the condemned and the conspiring

o o o

silent knife, unholy knife

o o o

Ginny shared her room in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with Hermione, and for most of the summer that had been a perfectly fine arrangement.

It was less than ideal since their latest guest's arrival at the old house.

She stood outside her bedroom in a dark hallway and considered possible places to sleep that didn't also house her brother, Ron, and a very agitated Harry Potter.

From the other side of the door, Ginny could hear the three of them: Hermione trying to be placating, Ron attempting mumbled support, and Harry speaking quickly and lowly while he paced the room. He would hit the floorboard at the end of Ginny's bed and turn there, on the squeakiest spot, in his laps.

He was genuinely upset about You-Know-Who, and Ginny sympathised, really, she did, but she was also tired and frustrated. If the three of them couldn't bother to include her, then they should have at least had the decency to do their private conferences in Ron and Harry's room. She wanted her pyjamas and the squishy feather pillow with the soft cotton sheeting and she wanted to sleep.

She also wanted to be involved in their conversation but that wasn't going to happen.

Ginny gave the door a very perturbed look and turned for the staircase. There were lights on in the kitchen and she decided if she couldn't find a bed for the night, then company would have to suffice.

“Hey, Tonks,” she greeted the older woman as she dragged her feet into the kitchen.

“Wotcha!” Tonks grinned, her face pink and eyes a little glassy. Eying Ginny's frizzled state, she pointed out the obvious. “Sleep evading you?”

“Those three are holed up in my room. Didn't even invite me,” Ginny grouched.

Also at the table with Tonks was Sirius Black. Tonks had changed her hair to match his in colour, styled with one side long and the other buzzed, and the two could have been models on a rock album cover. Between them, furthering the rebel image, was the remaining third of a bottle of whiskey and a set of shot glasses.

Ginny took a seat with them and nodded to the alcohol. “Mum'll be after your heads for that.”

Sirius didn't often engage Ginny in conversation – they didn't ever have much reason to acknowledge the other in any specific manner – but he perked up at Ginny's warning. Smiling at her, he tapped his nose and winked. “Mum'll have to be awake to know any better.”

“Molly's finally worried herself to sleep,” Tonks said, shaking her head. “I haven't seen someone drop like that in a long time.”

Ginny was surprised. Her mother had been a ball of terrible energy for the entirety of the summer holiday and Ginny had sort of expected her to shun sleep until “the kids” were at least back at school.

“She really needed it,” Ginny murmured. Her gaze landed determinedly on the whiskey.

Sirius noticed and set his chair forward from where he had been sitting on its hind legs. Inclining his chin at the bottle, he asked, “interested?”

“No, no, not a good idea –” Tonks slapped away Sirius' sneaking hand. “Sorry, Gin.”

Ginny shared Sirius' devastated, open-mouthed stare of utter betrayal. She pointed out, aghast, “Tonks, you're supposed to be the fun one.”

“Don't the two of you team up. That's not fair!”

“Shit, what does a kid have to go through these days to earn a little whiskey.” Sirius was smiling, but it was a strange face he made. Bitter and disbelieving. “Fer cryin' out, Tonks, she's had just as much madness going on in her head as Harry –”

Ginny nodded, but didn't exactly understand his meaning. It sounded like a good argument.

“Totally mad,” she agreed.

Tonks' face went noticeably whiter and her eyes flickered, alarmed, over Ginny and back to Sirius. She said with a thin lip, “that's enough, Sirius.”

It took a moment for the warning to hit for Sirius. “Oh! Fuck – right. Shit, I meant – I meant –”

Understanding she was missing something important shared between the two, Ginny dropped her playful sadness and frowned. “What? What is it? What are you talking about?”

Because it usually went as such, Ginny thought they were talking about Harry. Another terrible thing had happened and he was worse off than before. Something more than the scar aches, perhaps?

“We're all dealing with the You-Know-Who stuff, innit?” She said. Insisting, “I could use whiskey. I've had it before. Charlie thinks he's good at hiding his stash.”

“Right, right,” Sirius said. He reached for the bottle and glasses again, tapped one with his wand so that it replicated itself, and handed one of the pair to Tonks and the third to Ginny. Easing his cousin's apprehension, he promised, “she'll just take a sip.”

Ginny held up two fingers close together. “Little sip.”

“She'll probably not even like it.”

“I'll hate it, I promise.”

Sirius whispered, quite audibly, “she's weak, now, Ginny. She's three under already.”

The two of them, a pair of tricksters, snickered as Tonks dragged a hand down her face and haggardly waved the other one for Sirius to pour a round. She grumbled about how they were very barbaric to strong arm her in such a way.

Ginny asked Sirius, who sat with easy composure, “have you really had three shots?”

He did whisper then, “actually this is her fifth and I've stopped at my first.”

“Cruel man.”

“I have a reputation to maintain, but hell, I'm not in my twenties any more.” He made a very big show of disappointment to hide his remorse.

“Stop your conspiring, the lot of you,” Tonks said, straightening her posture and becoming very determined. Lifting her glass, she solemnly called, “cheers,” and drained her shot.

Across from her, Sirius tipped his glass back, his mouth closed, and Ginny watched the whiskey reappear in the bottle. She swirled her own serving and put back the spoonful amount. Only enough to burn her lips and tongue and trickle down her throat in a hot, buzzing line. Ginny kept her features neutral; it really wasn't a taste she loved.

Tonks dropped her head to the table, groaning. “I've made so many bad decisions in my life to lead me to this moment.”

Sirius breathed out a shallow laugh.

“She'll be alright,” he assured Ginny. He held a finger to his mouth and poured another bit of whiskey into her glass. “Life is short.”

She didn't drink it right away, and instead slid the glass between her hands while trying to keep the drink from spilling over. She tucked a leg under her and rested her head on the other, raised tight to her chest. Sirius seemed content to sit and listen to Tonks' increasingly less coherent mumblings.

The kitchen was quiet but for the soft sound of snoring by the time Ginny got around to draining her second “shot.” More tingling at her lips.

“Don't care for it,” she said honestly. “When it's this hot out, the drink makes it worse.”

Sirius made a non-committal type of noise. He didn't seem to mind the warmth.

She asked then, because the question had been bugging her, and because she sensed a vulnerability in his front, “why would I be mad?”

They might have been talking about Harry earlier, but Sirius had said she, Ginny Weasley, had just as much madness in her head. Not just everyone was dealing with the resurgence of You-Know-Who, but her in particular.

Ginny watched Sirius tense slightly, a stiffness entering his shoulders and jaw. He liked to hold an aura of carefree fun – especially around Harry and her siblings – but he had tells and he hadn't quite remembered how to hide them. His shadowed eyes slid from watching Tonks to meet Ginny's patient, inquisitive stare. He winced at something he saw in her face.

“What?” She wondered, a little wounded by the reaction.

He didn't want to answer her – and he didn't answer her, not really.

“You said I was a cruel man?” The rhetorical statement hung between them, threatening to fall and end their odd and rare conversation. Then Sirius sighed and rubbed at his temples. Gravely, “I wouldn't have done that, though.”

She pinched her mouth at one corner, but let him talk at his own pace.

“Listen, Ginny, I'm all for keeping the whole of you informed. I've seen what happens when information is withheld from the right people. I know that,” he told her, his tone apologetic. Abstractly, “I don't like it. I don't.”

Shaking her head in confusion, she admitted she still didn't understand.

Sirius pushed his chair back, fidgeting, then pulled it again to the table to lean over to her. “They would prefer not to talk about what happened, Ginny. They would prefer it didn't happen at all.”

His closeness was unnerving, and his rambling meaningless to her, but Ginny felt an unexplained thrumming of excitement down her middle. She chewed her numb lip and waited with a breath trapped in her lungs for him to say something more.

“What happened?” She asked after Sirius considered her for too long a moment.

Her voice seemed to rouse him from his thoughts and the man retreated to his seat, went back to balancing on its legs. Looking away, all he he said was, “we've all seen it, Ginny.”

And she liked how he said her name, like he meant it. He said it like she wasn't a simple child fumbling around adults. But he also said it in a way that recognised a weariness in her she didn't see herself.

She watched his gaze become too distant for the tiny kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

“We've all been there,” Sirius said. “We've all seen the darkness. You're not alone.”

He might have been attempting to reassure her, but Ginny felt a hollow ache in her middle at his words.

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