Harry's Dilemma
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Harry's Dilemma
Chapter One


Ron Weasley leant slowly over the Gryffindor Common Room table with his head in 
his hands and sighed in utter defeat and frustration as the jeering voices faded 
away down the corridor. Presently, he looked up and met the sympathetic gaze of 
Neville Longbottom.
"You'd think," began Neville, tentatively, "That Malfoy would be positively 
encouraging her behaviour, rather than slagging you off for not keeping her 
under control. After all, it is Harry who's her main target - Malfoy ought to be 
cheering her on!"
"He's probably doing just that on the quiet," responded Ron, wearily closing his 
books and preparing to go down to supper, "He's probably feeding her all sorts 
of nasty little tricks she can play on Harry, and then coming straight down to 
me to whine about the standards of behaviour of the Gryffindor fifth-years. I 
may be her brother, but there are some tasks that are beyond even the wit of 
Godric Gryffindor himself, and this, I might add, is one of them."
"You've got to admit it though, Ron, she's becoming unbearable; really over the 
top." Seamus Finnegan pushed his recently vacated chair under the table with a 
scraping sound, "Yesterday, Harry not only found his Quidditch robes were bright 
green with yellow and blue spots (for the third time this term) but when 
challenged with the deed, she turned his hair the same colours! Not that Harry 
isn't capable of reversing the spells, but it takes time. He was late for 
Quidditch practice again and had five points deducted from Gryffindor - and it 
wasn't even his fault!" Ron, who had been about to leave the table, sank down 
again into his chair with a heartfelt groan.
"I take it no one told you about that last one until now." The voice was 
Hermione Granger's. Ron looked up as she moved over to him. The girl's face was 
serious, but her eyes twinkled slightly and her voice betrayed traces of 
amusement. Neville, Dean and Seamus finished putting away their books and 
sauntered out of the Common Room to go down to supper. Hermione waited, a slight 
smile on her lips.
"I have to say, Ron, she certainly has talent - that hair colouring looked 
extremely detailed and very effective - but why does she hate Harry so much? 
And, more to the point, how are we going to stop her tricks?" Ron shrugged 
wearily.
"The best I can get out of her is that she had a silly, childish crush on Harry 
the Hero when we first got to be friends. Now she's grown out of it, she feels 
thoroughly embarrassed and blames Harry. Illogical, I know, but when was Ginny 
ever anything else?"
"Hmm." Hermione frowned, "It's gone on for rather a long time, hasn't it? All 
through last summer, and the term before that. In fact, I think she started 
making his life a misery just after Christmas last year, didn't she?" Ron 
gestured helplessly.
"Oh, come on, 'Mione," he protested weakly, "All she did then was refuse to 
speak to him and play the occasional prank. It was really during the summer term 
that she started getting - well ..."
"Spiteful?" suggested Hermione, innocently. Ron shook his head.
"No, no!" he declared, loyally, "Just - concentrated. Goodness, if you 
considered what happened last term was bad, you should have been staying with us 
during the holidays! I think Harry even considered writing to his uncle, he was 
so hacked off - imagine Ginny driving him to run back to the Dursleys!" Hermione 
smiled.
"I wish I'd been there." she replied, wistfully, "I regret the fact that my 
parents decided to say in Australia for another two weeks even more now you've 
told me that. I was so disappointed when I had to cry off visiting you, Ron." He 
grinned.
"Aw, don't worry, 'Mione." He put out a hand and patted her arm, lowering his 
voice unnecessarily as they were by now quite alone, "You'll get plenty of 
chances to bat your eyelashes at Harry now we're back at school, I'll make sure 
of that. After all, we're together again - the Dream Team! Should be a piece of 
cake." Hermione blushed and her expression stiffened.
"I've told you before, Ron, I really have no feelings for Harry, beyond 
friendship." Unfortunately, her flushed cheeks and generally flustered demeanour 
appeared to give the lie to this simple statement. Ron's grin widened.
"Sure you don't, 'Mione, sure. After all, you never blush or get embarrassed 
when he's around, do you? Come on, we're old friends, you can tell me. I don't 
understand why you haven't given him some clue as to how you ... Oh, for 
goodness sake, we've been through this before and I just can't see why you keep 
denying it. This is me - Ron! I'm not going to laugh at you. You'd make a great 
couple ... Oh, I give up: come on: let's go and get some supper." He rose from 
the table decisively and strode from the room, hands in his pockets, whistling. 
Hermione stared after him, a bleak expression on her face.
"I keep denying it, Ron, because it just isn't true." She murmured then, 
shrugging her shoulders, she followed him out of the Common Room.

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

"Really, I'm not getting at you Ron, I'm just completely baffled as to why I'm 
getting so much grief from her!" Harry was making a mountain out of his mashed 
potato only to hack it down again roughly with his fork, as though his current 
difficulties could be solved by similar tactics: he was too preoccupied to eat. 
Ron looked at him sorrowfully.
"This is the Quidditch robes and hair thing yesterday, is it? I'm sorry Harry, 
why didn't you tell me? I only heard about it third-hand this evening." 
"I didn't want to seem as though I was nagging you. You've been getting enough 
aggravation from the likes of Malfoy, the last thing you need is for me to join 
in." Harry frowned, pushing stiffened fingers through his thick, wayward black 
hair.
"It's not the fact that she's obviously trying to make fun of me - I like a good 
joke as well as the next person - it's the consequences. I had five points 
deducted from Gryffindor because I was late for Quidditch practice. Now, I admit 
I'd been late twice on the trot, and this was the third time - but she was 
responsible for all of them!" Ron could only gaze mournfully at his friend and 
rue the day his parents had decided to have just one more little Weasley.
"Harry," he said pointedly, "Are you going to eat that mashed potato, or 
transform it into something more palatable? It must be cold by now." Hermione, 
her face in a set expression, removed the fork from Harry's hand and set it 
firmly on his plate.
"I'll get pudding - my treat." She said quietly, and muttered a brief 
incantation. Instantly the plates, cold mashed potato and dirty cutlery 
disappeared from the table, to be replaced with steaming bowls of fruit crumble 
with creamy custard. Students at Hogwarts were not strictly permitted to 
supplement the meals provided, but many saw creating a more palatable 
alternative to that offered by the kitchens as something of a challenge, and a 
number of the staff viewed it as good, harmless practice. Hermione was 
particularly good at puddings. Ginny's misdemeanours temporarily forgotten, the 
boys sniffed eagerly before piling into the hot sticky confection.
"I gotta hand it to you, 'Mione," commented Ron indistinctly, his mouth dripping 
berry juice, "You really know how to conjure puddings - this is first-rate!" 
Harry added a muffled agreement before scraping his bowl so meticulously that 
Neville accused him of trying to eat the glazed pattern. With an effort, 
Hermione managed to throw aside her abstracted mood to smile broadly and 
genuinely at the boys' sincere, if woolly, compliments.
"One day I might just make it for you the muggle way." She announced, fixing 
them both with a piercing gaze. "It's your turn to come and stay with me over 
the summer - I'll teach you to cook!" Ron choked over his last mouthful, and 
Harry stopped scraping long enough to stare at her in horror.
"Now, steady on, Hermione." He began, in genuine anguish, "My Aunt Petunia's a 
muggle, as you know, and she makes food in the muggle manner. Frankly, if that's 
"cooking", I want no part of it!" Ron, having recovered from his coughing fit, 
made urgent noises of agreement.
"I'll second that - it sounds terrifying." Hermione frowned mightily, although 
her eyes still twinkled.
"Are you telling me that you two - my very best friends, partners in crime, 
fellow members of The Dream Team, and, I might add, frequent beneficiaries of my 
meticulous studies with regard to homework," here the two boys squirmed 
uncomfortably, "You mean to say that you doubt my ability in muggle cookery?"
"Well," began Ron, nervously nudging Harry.
"Well," repeated Harry, without the faintest idea how to reply, "I - er - I 
can't imagine you being, er, unsuccessful at, well, anything you wanted to 
learn, Hermione."
"Except for muggle cookery?"
"Oh, 'Mione, it's not you I've got worries about!" exploded Ron, frowning in 
irritation at Harry's clumsy attempts to pacify her, "It's the whole idea of 
producing food without magic. My dear, sweet, beautiful, clever, intelligent, 
capable Hermione - how could you fail at anything you set out to achieve? It's 
not the artist that I doubt, it's the process!" Hermione's cheeks had flushed a 
bright pink at this fulsome praise. She quickly lowered her eyes and began the 
incantation to clear the dishes. Abruptly, a large yellow blancmange 
materialised in the middle of the table with an audible thump.
"Yeuch!" announced the two boys, in unison. Blushing even more furiously, 
Hermione rounded on them.
"Oh, for goodness sake: you two are enough to make any serious witch give up 
magic completely!" she exploded, "Now look what you've made me do?" Ron's 
expression was full of wounded innocence and hurt. He quickly dug out his wand 
to assist, but so angry was Hermione's expression that he backed off quickly.
"And do you think I'm incapable of clearing up after my own mistakes?" she 
hissed, indignantly. Just at that moment, Fred and George passed the table on 
their way out from supper.
"Hey, look: a blancmange!" yelled Fred, alerting his twin, "I wonder if it's as 
good as mother's." Without bothering to reply, George seized a spoon and started 
cramming the yellow, gelatinous mass into his mouth. A split second later, Fred 
did likewise. There was a short pause, then both boys coughed, gagged and 
sprayed the table. Fred continued spitting, covering chairs, floor and fellow 
students alike with yellow slime, while George shouted indignantly.
"Ach! Yellow blancmange is supposed to taste of banana - not mustard!" By this 
time, a crowd had gathered around their table, and Fred and George wasted no 
time in playing to their audience. Hermione bit her lip, observing the imminent 
approach of any one of a number of teachers, and got out her wand, intending to 
put the damage right before any more trouble could result, but unfortunately Ron 
beat her to it. Urgency made Ron slide and slither over the working of an 
admittedly complex charm and as he tapped the table with his wand, the whole 
thing rose several feet in the air and burst into bloom like some enormous 
floating garden.
"Can't you even get it right on the second try?" sneered George, hastily pulling 
pansies out of his hair and ears. Hermione flushed crimson to the roots of her 
hair and glared furiously at Ron, who was by now patting Fred on the back as he 
coughed up daisies, petunias and an interesting variety of crocuses. An 
open-mouthed Harry was physically trying to drag the table back down to earth by 
one of its legs.
"That is enough! Who is responsible for this outrage?" Professor McGonnagle was 
not amused in the least. She tapped the legs of the floating table twice with 
her wand, and it floated gently to the floor, while the array of flowering 
plants transformed themselves back into dirty crockery and cutlery. She then 
fixed each of the major participants with a piercing gaze while most of the 
onlookers melted away like snow.
"Mr. Fred Weasley, Mr. George Weasley." She rapped out sharply, "I dislike 
pranks, particularly when they are as public as this. Report to me for detention 
at 7.30 sharp this evening." Fred and George looked anything but repentant, 
however they bowed their heads in acceptance.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Ron Weasley," McGonnagle continued, swinging her glance 
around to land on them, "You will report to Madame Pomfrey for your detention, 
also at 7.30 sharp. Mr. Potter," Harry's jaw dropped and a derisive giggle was 
heard from one of the remaining onlookers. Professor McGonnagle wheeled sharply 
and homed in without missing a beat, "And Miss Ginny Weasley," There was a 
collective gasp at such rough justice. "Will report to Madame Pince in the 
library at the same time. Perhaps such heavy sentences will make you think twice 
before creating such a spectacle at mealtimes in future. You are dismissed."

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

Harry was totally and utterly fed up. Here they were, a mere half way through 
the winter term, and already he had lost ten points for Gryffindor, all of which 
were due to Ginny's ceaseless harassment, and now he had a detention for 
something of which he was totally innocent, a mere spectator. To add insult to 
injury, he would probably be lectured into mind-numbing boredom for several 
hours tonight - Madame Pince's detentions could be unbearably dull, and those 
who dozed off were invariably given a further punishment the following evening - 
alongside the very 
person who was responsible for a good deal of his misery. What on earth had 
possessed McGonnagle to pair him up with Ginny, of all people? Or Ron with 
Hermione even. Although detentions were not supposed to be pleasant, Harry 
figured a very real threat to the foundations of Hogwarts itself would have been 
lessened had Ron been kept away from Hermione (in his opinion, those two were 
the most combustible pair in the school) and he himself prevented from 
strangling Ginny. Harry could not concentrate during Charms, History of Magic 
was a complete blur, and Divination - well, he might just as well have been 
staring into a milk bottle for all the ... Wait a minute. Harry tensed suddenly 
and huddled over his crystal in astonishment. Professor Trelawney raised her 
head at the sudden movement.
"Potter, do you see something?" She moved away from Seamus Finnigan, who was 
trying to persuade her that he could see a dinosaur in his crystal, and 
approached Harry's table. Harry was shaking his head slowly - no, that was 
ridiculous. Professor Trelawney looked at him encouragingly.
"What is it Potter?" but Harry had wrenched his eyes away from the beguiling 
depths of the stone and was pretending to search for something among his papers.
"No, it was nothing." He muttered, "I'm sorry, Professor, I must have been 
mistaken." Trelawney glanced at him with an unusual spark in her eyes, and he 
felt himself redden.
"Divination is not an exact science, Harry, " she said in her irritating 
sing-song voice, "What is seen by those with only a moderate gift for divination 
is rarely explicit. However, if other more focussed minds can interpret the 
images, much useful information can be gathered." Harry nodded.
"Yes, Professor, but I really didn't see anything I can readily put into words." 
This was entirely true. Harry would rather have died than admit, even to 
himself, the image now etched into his brain from the depths of the bright 
scrying stone. He hid the memory carefully at the back of his mind where, he 
hoped, it would become buried in his subconscious, never to emerge into the 
light of day. He shook his head: this Divination was scary stuff, he'd never 
treat it so lightly again!
"Hey, what was the problem with Trelawney?" asked Ron, lightly as they trooped 
down to supper. Harry looked at his friend and shivered. Ron was the last person 
to whom he could confide this little piece of mystery. He managed to shrug 
carelessly.
"She thought I'd seen something in the stone." 
"Hadn't you? It certainly seemed as though you had from where I was sitting." 
Harry shook his head rather too firmly.
"I saw nothing at all - why all this interest in my divination skills? I've 
never shown any great aptitude before, so why would I change?" Ron held his 
hands up in surrender.
"Okay, okay." He said, in puzzlement, "No hassle. No need to tear out your hair 
or pull out our nails - unless you're using them for one of Snape's brews. Which 
reminds me - double potions first thing tomorrow. Eek!" Ron drew the edge of his 
hand expressively over his throat with an appropriate sound effect. Harry 
smiled. Recently, he had been getting quite good at the meticulous mixing and 
combining needed for really successful potions. Snape was still as disagreeable 
and his dungeon still as damp and cold as ever, but the man was an impressive 
teacher and really knew his craft. Harry was grateful for the lessons, but not 
nearly as grateful as he was to the present Defence Against the Dark Arts 
Professor, a most eminent witch by the name of Rosamund de Rochard. With such a 
seductive-sounding name, Ron had been convinced that the new professor would be 
young, blond, long-legged and beautiful and, of most importance, available to 
her students. On the morning of their first class, he had combed his hair four 
times, changed his clothes twice, and even borrowed Seamus's aftershave in 
preparation. Harry chuckled quietly at the recollection: Ron's reaction on being 
confronted with Madame Rosamund herself - small, wiry, in her late fifties, with 
a leathery, wrinkled face full of laughter lines - was a sight to behold. Harry, 
however, had been delighted with the plain-speaking, unflappable, highly skilled 
manner of his new teacher, and had learned more from her in this scant half-term 
than from any other member of staff. Which was just as well, really, as Harry 
could not afford any complacence with regard to Voldemort's regular assaults. 
Oddly enough, Ginny Weasley was also proving to be a formidable student of DADA; 
in fact, Harry vaguely recalled Ron telling him that she might well prove the 
most formidable of his whole family - including his parents.



Harry's Dilemma
Chapter Two



Harry added a final stroke to his commentary on Charms for the Curing of Warts: 
Arguments for and Against, looked at his watch and sighed. He carefully cleaned 
his quill, rolled the parchment containing his essay and began to close and pack 
up his books in preparation for detention. Ron looked up, glanced at the common 
room clock and grimaced sympathetically.
"See you later." He said. Save for a wry smile, Harry did not respond at all but 
quietly left the Common Room for the Library. One of the reasons Harry had made 
no comment to Ron regarding his detention was that it was virtually impossible 
for him to do so honestly and still remain friends. To be sure, there were far 
worse detentions than with Madame Pince in the Library - Fred and George would 
probably attest to that the following morning - but this evening Harry would 
have sooner followed Snape into the Forbidden Forest to hunt for werewolves.
"What is it with Ginny these days?" he muttered between his teeth as he made his 
reluctant way through the seemingly endless corridors. "She was so sweet when 
she was little - I used to really enjoy playing and reading with her during the 
holidays when I stayed with the Weasleys. Now - well, everyone thinks her 
practical joking has got seriously out of hand and something has got to be done. 
The trouble is, I'm the only one who believes that she's doing it not out of 
mischief but out of real dislike." He stopped suddenly and put his hands to his 
forehead.
"Oh Ginny!" he murmured, "What have I done to make you hate me so much?"
"Got a headache, Potter? Hope it's a bad one." The nasal drawl oozed down the 
corridor after Harry as a grinning Malfoy appeared.
"Evening Malfoy." responded Harry coldly. Malfoy's grin grew wider.
"On our way to detention with the delightful Miss Weasley, are we?" he 
continued, "Better hang a few counter-curses on the way - you might need them." 
Harry sighed and faced his enemy with a resigned expression.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy, I'm afraid I just don't have time for you at the moment. 
Come back at breakfast time and I'll play the game, but right now I've just got 
too much on my mind. Excuse me." And he turned his back on a gaping Malfoy to 
make his weary way to the library. It was only when Harry had nearly reached the 
carved oak doors that he realised exactly what he had done. His face creased 
into a small smile as he entered the library and squared his shoulders for the 
ordeal ahead - at least he'd silenced his enemy without the need for any of the 
usual abusive words or magic. Left him standing speechless, no less!

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

Ginny was already there being lectured by Madame Pince. On hearing his 
footsteps, she turned her head and her cold gaze swept indifferently over him 
before she turned her attention back to the librarian. Harry felt crushed, but 
continued into the room, having no other choice.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, so good of you to come." Harry was never sure whether Madame 
Pince was being sarcastic or not when she greeted him in this manner, 
particularly for a detention.
"As I was just explaining to Miss Weasley, there are twelve trolleys of books 
which need replacing on the shelves. Some of them are from the restricted 
section. These you may not replace: you will stack them together neatly on one 
of the empty trolleys when you have finished filing the non-restricted volumes. 
Afterwards," Madame Pince gave a ghost of a smile on seeing a panic-stricken 
look cross Harry's face, "You may go to your beds. However," and here she fixed 
them with a beady-eyed look, "I trust that the recent, ah, disagreements between 
the two of you will not spill over into this evening's work; in fact, I suggest 
you use this opportunity to try to resolve your differences. Good evening to you 
both." And with that final shot, she swept out of the library, leaving Harry 
open-mouthed. He shook his head helplessly and ran his fingers through his 
unruly hair; he should have guessed that Ginny's pranks would not go unnoticed 
by the teaching staff. Presently, he turned to her to suggest that they make a 
start, but to his annoyance she had already turned on her heel towards the great 
trolleys packed with books and was starting to drag one slowly into the centre 
of the room where both access and light would be better. Harry leaped towards 
her.
"Let me help." He offered. She scowled, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I can manage. Get your own trolley." Having no other option, Harry did as he 
was bid.
Their detention time passed in silence, occasionally broken by Harry's 
increasingly desperate attempts to initiate conversation, which always met with 
the same crushing sarcasm. As the trolleys grew steadily emptier, and the books 
were carefully replaced, Harry's determination to make some sort of 
communication with Ginny became stronger. Finally, having replaced several books 
on a very high shelf at the top of a library ladder, Harry decided to grab the 
bull by the horns. He slid down the ladder, marched over to Ginny's trolley and 
stepped around it.
"Ginny," he began, then stopped. She was deeply involved in a chapter of one of 
the books. Her head snapped up guiltily, and she quickly closed the volume, but 
not before Harry had seen the crucial "Restricted" inscription.
"Hey, you're not supposed to be reading that!" he exclaimed, and reached for the 
book. Ginny backed away, holding the book high in the air.
"And who are you to tell me what to do?" her eyes were bright with fury, both at 
his discovery and his protest. Harry made another grab for the book, but she 
eluded him. In the lamplight, he could just see the title "Countercurses: 
Resistance against the Major Attacks and the Art of Reversal".
"Ginny," he repeated, "You will be in serious trouble if anyone discovers you've 
been reading restricted material." She made a face at him.
"Going to stop me then, are you?" she sneered, "The great Harry Potter, so much 
stronger and more talented than any of the rest of us poor squibs." Harry felt 
anger rising.
"If you don't put that book back on the trolley, that's exactly what I'm going 
to do." He reached out a hand - and suddenly found he couldn't move it any 
further forward. Ginny grinned delightedly and pulled her wand out of her 
pocket.
"Any more of that and it'll be a full body bind." She announced. Harry's fury at 
her and all the grief she had caused him over the last few months suddenly 
overflowed. He didn't even stop to think how adept she must have become to cast 
that curse without using her wand. Hardly even feeling it, he broke her 
enchantment as easily as if it had been gossamer, and physically started towards 
her. Ginny's grin faded and an anxious look appeared in her eyes as she 
registered how angry he had to be to achieve that. Still clutching the book, she 
turned and ran swiftly from the library, her feet clattering down the corridor.
"Ginny, the book ..." Harry was left in a state of indecision. On the one hand, 
he could let her go, keep the book and take the ton of trouble which would 
descend very quickly upon her head once her actions became known. It was likely 
that her punishment would be enough to ensure that he did not suffer many more 
of her pranks this term. She might even be expelled - there his mind baulked. 
How could he explain to Ron that he had seen Ginny in a potentially explosive 
situation, and done nothing to help her? Besides, his own feelings ... he cut 
short that particular line of enquiry, and took off quickly in pursuit.

Once outside the library, Harry paused. He had no idea even of the direction 
Ginny had taken - she seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Perhaps she had, 
but Harry doubted it. There was no way Ginny could have mastered the advanced 
magic of a dematerialisation spell, even from a restricted book, at her young 
age, and besides, no one could disapparate or apparate in Hogwarts Castle - 
strong magical wards prevented this. Suddenly, his eyes fell upon an object on 
the floor of the corridor. He sprinted towards it and picked it up: it was a 
handkerchief, and it was lying outside the room known amongst Hogwarts students 
as the gym.
The Hogwarts gym was similar to rooms given the same name in muggle schools in 
that it was big and empty-seeming, and with a springy wooden floor. There, 
however, the resemblance ended. The ceiling was extremely high: so high, in 
fact, that had the floor area been larger, an entire Quidditch match could 
possibly be played solely within the confines of the room. In fact Quidditch was 
never played nor even practised in the Hogwarts gym, but broomstick practice for 
awkward manoeuvres, obstacle flying and broomstick aerobatics did take place 
here, and consequently the room was designed appropriately. There was nothing 
else in the room at present: during broomstick practice hoops, rings and ropes, 
fire, water, earth and air obstacles were conjured out of the walls, floor and 
ceiling to confuse the participants. Mists, fogs and rain could descend upon the 
hapless students, hail and lightening could frighten the unwary into an 
unplanned manoeuvre, or even unseat them at a critical moment. However, these 
impediments were always provided through the skill of the teacher, and were 
never solid physical bodies for long. When not in use, the room was as vast and 
empty as a cathedral.
Harry drew an unsteady breath, advanced firmly on the huge wooden doors and 
stepped into the cavernous darkness.
"Ginny." He whispered, "Ginny, are you there?" He was answered only by a faint 
mocking laugh, and suddenly the gym was flooded with light. Shielding his eyes 
against the glare, he could just make out a small, flame-haired figure standing 
in the centre of the huge room. Ginny was holding only her wand: there was no 
sign of the restricted book. Harry advanced on her angrily.
"Ginny, stop messing about." He commanded, "We're in enough trouble as it is. 
What have you done with that book?" She smirked knowingly.
"It's in my pocket, Harry." Her eyes dared him to challenge her. Harry paused. 
Shrinking objects was no big deal - Harry had mastered most of that art in his 
first year at Hogwarts - but a restricted book of that quality always had 
protective charms woven around it (one reason why Harry was so worried about 
Ginny removing it from the library), and interference with its size and shape 
would be very difficult indeed. Ginny would have to have grown considerably in 
stature as a sorceress since Harry had last spoken properly with her to achieve 
that level of expertise. But if she had not enchanted it, what had she done with 
it? He began walking towards her, but she twitched her wand slightly in his 
direction and he stopped. She shook her head, still smiling.
"No further, Harry Potter." Harry stopped.
"Ginny, look," he began, "We need to get back to the library to get finished 
before ..." She was shaking her head.
"Not yet." She said quietly, "First, we see if you can make me return the book." 
Harry stared in astonishment, then swallowed on a suddenly dry throat.
"Are you talking about a duel? Ginny, we're neither of us licensed wizards. 
That's strictly against the law - we wouldn't just be expelled if anyone found 
out, it'd be much worse!"
"But they won't - not unless you tell them." Harry fell silent debating his best 
course of action. Ginny's grin widened.
"Not scared of little old me, are you - Famous Harry Potter, wizard 
extraordinaire, the great white hope of Hogwarts and the magical world, the only 
one who can defeat Voldemort." Here, Harry gave a gasp. Years ago, Albus 
Dumbledore had advised him to call a spade a spade when it came to naming the 
unnameable, but to his knowledge, no-one else had ever followed suit. It shocked 
him to hear Ginny following the same path. Wait a minute. Ginny had once been 
possessed by a shadow of Voldemort inside a book - was she thus possessed again? 
Was this the reason ...
"No, Harry, I'm not working for Voldemort, not this time. This time I'm just 
working for me." He stared.
"How did you...?" She laughed.
"Perhaps I can read minds." She said flatly, "Or perhaps your thoughts were just 
as plain as daylight on your face. You choose." She raised her wand, "I'm 
getting impatient, Harry." Harry came to a decision. Ginny was in the year below 
him, had not yet started the extra tuition which was making such a difference to 
his own abilities, and was, after all, not - well, not special in the same way 
as he was. It was likely that he could take her on and win in reasonably short 
order, and then no-one need be any the wiser as to the enormity of their 
transgression. Removal of a restricted book from the library was an extremely 
serious offence, one of the lesser penalties for which was expulsion. Surely he 
would merely be protecting her from the consequences of her hasty action - after 
all, it wasn't as though he was likely to lose - was he? If he could get this 
settled quickly, replace the book in the library and retire gratefully to his 
bed, then no one would ever know what he had done - and he wouldn't have to 
explain anything to Ron either. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. He held 
it vertically before him, both hands around its base, and touched his forehead 
to the tip in the classic wizard's acceptance of challenge. Looking up, he saw 
that Ginny had mirrored his action and was standing, waiting passively for him 
to make first strike, as was his right. Taking a short time to organise his 
thoughts, Harry opted for a simple confusion spell to begin with. Ginny cottoned 
on to that one almost immediately and brushed it aside with contempt. Her 
response was a devastating wave of illusion that totally destroyed his sense of 
perspective. Distracted, he abandoned all pretence at gentlemanly conduct and 
unleashed a sneaky side attack using a little-known fire curse which affected 
only the soles of the feet. Ginny was at first puzzled, then screamed partly in 
pain, partly surprise. Taking advantage of her distraction, Harry immediately 
volleyed in with a disabling spell, but she was too fast for him. Ignoring the 
pain in her feet, Ginny drew a swift circle in front of her body and muttered 
quickly. The circle became a shining disc acting like a magical trampoline: 
Harry ducked just in time to avoid being hit by his own curse. Ginny's 
retaliatory thrust came directly on its heels - a nasty little lightening strike 
spell which partially caught Harry, immobilizing his right arm.
It was at this point that Harry's irritation with Ginny sharpened into real 
resentment, and he started working towards winning the duel for itself, rather 
than simply trying to curtail her maverick behaviour. His right arm quickly 
recovered - the spell had not been a powerful one, and most of it had been 
deflected by reflex action - and he suddenly unleashed a barrage of different 
fire attacks, each following closely on the previous. When the smoke cleared, to 
his amazement, she was still standing. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead 
and her breath was coming in slow gasps, but she was still very much a going 
concern - as Harry quickly found out when an arctic lake upended itself on top 
of him. The next few minutes were very busy indeed. Harry had a good idea that 
if he were to pause, even for a moment, he would drown - Ginny seemed to be 
determined on dousing any possibility of a renewal of his fire attacks with 
water in all imaginable forms. Harry concentrated on defence, a small part of 
his mind involved in strategy even as he fought for survival. Eventually Ginny 
had to make a small pause in her salvo to regroup, and it was then that Harry 
struck, hard and swiftly, ruthlessly clawing back lost ground. Lightening 
attacks followed by howling tornadoes, arrows of wind and helicopter gunships - 
all of these she managed to deflect, repel or neutralize before they did her any 
serious damage. Suddenly, to his astonishment, she not only bounced his final 
and most deadly air attack, a kind of electric tornado, right back at him, full 
speed, but also began another onslaught of quite different curses and spells.
"Good Lord!" he found himself thinking as he battled furiously for the upper 
hand, "My word, but she's good. No wonder Ron thinks she's going to be the best 
in his family. The question is, am I going to survive it?" He ceased that line 
of thought and directed all his energies into a sudden and very imaginative 
attack - he threw a surge of raw power directly at Ginny, together with a small 
camouflage charm which made it look like a muggle express train. If he expected 
to phase her, he was wrong. One startled glance was enough: she held up her 
wand, once again drawing her magic circle.
"Reversus!" Her voice rang out sharply, there was a sudden roaring noise, and 
the next moment he was crashing against the rear wall of the gym, fully ten feet 
distant. Harry blacked out briefly and came to with a whistling in his ears and 
stars revolving round his head. He lay, his eyes shut, unable to move, 
registering nothing - not even the humiliation of defeat. There was a deafening 
silence, then -
"Harry?" a small voice pierced his stupor.
"Harry?" the voice repeated, louder this time when he didn't reply. Then he 
heard running footsteps getting closer, and a cool hand rested on his head.
"Harry, are you alright?" the voice was breathless and worried, "Oh, what have I 
done? I didn't mean to ..." Ginny never finished her sentence. Harry, no longer 
unconscious and beginning to feel the faint stirrings of his previous anger, 
hooked his right leg around her ankles and pulled hard. Crying out sharply in 
surprise, Ginny lost her balance and fell heavily on to Harry. With an effort 
that set his ears whistling again, Harry heaved himself on top of her, the 
weight of his body pinning her to the floor, flung her wand arm above her head 
with his left hand and with his right forced the tip of his own wand under her 
chin. 
"Expelliamus!" he rasped, between clenched teeth. Ginny's wand flew out of her 
hand to land with a clatter on the floor ten feet distant. For a moment there 
was silence broken only by Harry's ragged gasps for breath. He began to speak, 
mouth almost touching her ear, his breath hot on her neck.
"Never relax your guard," he began in a low voice, pausing every few words to 
catch his breath, "Until your opponent - has conceded your victory. The Art of 
Sorcerous Duelling from the Fourteenth - Century to the Present Day by Rosamund 
Rochard. I recommend it." Ginny couldn't look at him.
"Capitulatus." She whispered almost inaudibly, without relaxing her expression 
of bitter chagrin.
Harry did not move away from her immediately. He felt extremely tired, 
disappointed and, in some peculiar way, guilty as if he himself had been at 
fault. She had, after all, issued the challenge and had all but obliged him to 
pick up the gauntlet despite the obvious law-breaking, but, looking now at her 
pretty face, miserable in defeat and humiliation, Harry could not but feel that 
he had won under false pretences. With an effort, he levered himself away from 
her and climbed wearily to his feet. She sat up, but paused before rising 
further. He extended a hand to help her; she shook her head, and got to her feet 
under her own steam.
"Where is it, Ginny?" she looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then 
gave a small, mirthless laugh.
"It never left the library, Harry." She told him, "I sent it back to the trolley 
before I even passed through the doors. A book like that would have a number of 
magical alarms attached to it - I wouldn't have got further than the corridor." 
Harry stared at her, incredulous.
"Then - then what was all this about?" he gestured to the now silent and empty 
gym, "Why this terrible risk, this ridiculous challenge?" She shook her head, 
then squared her shoulders and raised her eyes to his. Irrelevantly, Harry 
noticed that she was only an inch or so shorter than he was.
"I wanted to see how good I was - and you're the best, Harry Potter. Oh, I know 
Hermione gets better grades, and Parvati has the edge in divination, etc. etc. 
But in the things that really matter - the things one needs to defend oneself, 
to preserve ones life in the face of danger - well, no-one can touch you, 
everybody knows that." She gave him a small smile.
"And I nearly beat you, I really did." The smile faded, she dropped her eyes and 
turned on her heel, "Let's finish those books before sunrise, otherwise we'll be 
in even deeper trouble." Glancing at his watch, Harry was appalled to realise 
that it was 4.00am. He followed her back to the library where they finished 
replacing the books, tidied up and finally, wearily, went in search of their 
beds without exchanging another word.



Harry’s Dilemma
Chapter Three

 
From that day forward, Harry had no more harassment from Ginny Weasley.  His 
meals remained edible, his hair maintained its normal colour, his bed stayed 
obstinately free from slugs, slime and any other unpleasant surprises, and 
however hard he searched his Quidditch robes they stubbornly persisted in 
staying plain scarlet.  She had totally lost interest in him.  After the initial 
overwhelming relief, Harry was horrified to discover that he actually missed 
Ginny’s attentions.  Now, when he came down to breakfast, instead of having to 
duck the occasional flying missile, check that the bench was still present 
before sitting down and examine his porridge carefully in case it harboured some 
unexpected item of livestock, all he would see of Ginny was the occasional flash 
of red hair as she scuttled swiftly away in the opposite direction.  If he tried 
to speak or make contact with her in any way, she coloured deeper than her hair 
and escaped as quickly as possible.  On casual enquiry of Ron, Harry elicited 
the information that Ginny had not only retreated into herself socially, but her 
work was suffering too.  Ron was worried about her: so was Harry and he longed 
to confide in his friend, but to tell Ron about the duel was impossible.
One evening, while toying with his Potions homework, Harry heaved a deep sigh 
and threw down his quill.  Hermione, the only other occupant of the Gryffindor 
Common Room at the time, looked up from her own studies and raised a speculative 
eyebrow.  Harry caught her eye and winced.
“Sorry, Hermione.” He apologised, realising he was disturbing her, “I’ll just go 
and fidget somewhere else, shall I?”  Hermione smiled and laid down her quill.
“Harry, what’s wrong?  You’ve been like a cat on hot bricks for at least a 
fortnight.  You don’t seem to be able to settle – and what’s more, it’s 
affecting your studies, don’t think I haven’t noticed!”  Harry sighed again.
“I don’t know, Hermione.” He raked a hand through his hair and leaned back in 
the chair. “I just feel something’s – missing, that’s all.  Something I’m not 
sure was ever there in the first place, but I’m certain now that it’s absent.  
Does that make any sort of sense?”  Hermione sat back in her own chair, 
intrigued.
“What are we talking about here, Harry?  A book, a spell, some piece of 
equipment?  A skill you feel you ought to have, or that you might have lost at 
some time?”  Harry shook his head at all her suggestions. “Or is it a person?”  
He raised his head at this.
“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice cracked, something it rarely did these days.  
“Harry, is it Ginny who is the cause of your distraction?”  Harry considered, 
then nodded.
“I think it must be, you know.” He began, “I’m actually very worried about her.  
When all this persecution began, it was just irritating little bits of mischief 
– I didn’t really mind.  Even when the pranks became more serious, and when they 
actually caused me trouble, I certainly became angry, but I never really hated 
her or wished her any harm.  But now they’ve stopped, in a funny sort of way, I 
miss them.  I suppose I miss the attention I was getting from her, the 
indication that I, well, meant something to her in some way.  Now she won’t even 
speak to me: she goes out of her way to avoid me in the corridors, she won’t sit 
anywhere near me at mealtimes, if she sees me anywhere she simply turns around 
and runs in the opposite direction.  Ron tells me her studies are plummeting – 
which is absolutely tragic.  She is a really fine sorceress – I, of all people, 
should know - and quite likely to turn out to be the best in the Weasley family 
– including Percy!”  Hermione frowned.
“How do you know about Ginny’s prowess as a sorceress, Harry?”  He suddenly 
flushed beetroot-red.  Harry had told no-one about the duel with Ginny, least of 
all Hermione who would be extremely shocked at such a flagrant disregard of 
magical law.
“I, er, well – we used to talk about classes and stuff, and she’s, well, really 
hot on the theory, so I naturally assumed …”
“Total nonsense, Harry: there’s no way you could make that sort of judgment 
unless you’d seen her in action, you know that.”  Hermione paused. “Have you 
seen her in action?”  Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “The only way you could have 
witnessed Ginny being put through her paces is to have put her through them – 
yourself.”  Hermione’s face could have been graven in stone, and her voice sank 
to a whisper.
“Harry, you didn’t – you couldn’t have fought a duel with her, surely?” Harry 
looked down at his feet miserably.
“I had very little choice.” He admitted sourly, and, having no option, proceeded 
to give Hermione chapter and verse on the detention incident.  When he had 
finished, Hermione didn’t say anything: she seemed to be working something out.
“How long ago was it?  Oh, come on, Harry, this is important: how long!” she 
snapped, when he didn’t reply immediately.
“Three weeks, I think.  Yes, at least that.” Responded Harry, meekly.  Hermione 
finished her calculations and heaved a sigh of relief.
“You’re out of the woods by two or three days – and the weather’s been so good 
that all broomstick practice has been held outside.  Harry, don’t you realise 
how much magical residue a sorcerous duel leaves in the ether?”  Hermione’s tone 
was urgent. “If any of the teachers had set foot in the gym up to a fortnight 
afterwards, they would have immediately detected the traces.  It wouldn’t have 
been difficult to identify them either, although it gets harder as the residue 
fades.  What were you thinking of?”  Harry shook his head.
“I know, I know: we could both have been expelled.” She glared.
“At the very least!”  His knees felt weak at the thought.  There was a short 
pause.
“Well, now we know why her studies are shot to heck and back.”  
“Eh?” Harry was puzzled.  Hermione shook her head.
“Boys!” she muttered under her breath, “She challenged you because you’re the 
best, and also because you’re her big brother’s best friend – she told you as 
much.  But you beat her, Harry: you hammered her into the ground, and you rubbed 
her nose in it by being nice afterwards.  And what’s more, you only allowed 
yourself to be drawn into the situation in order to save her neck over the 
restricted book.  No wonder she’s depressed – I’m surprised she’s still here!  
No – I take that back: she’s a Weasley, they’ve all got plenty of backbone, 
especially Ron.”  Harry looked at Hermione in surprise.
“Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you say anything remotely 
approving about Ron or anyone connected with him.  I thought you only put up 
with him because, well, we’re the Dream Team and we work well together.  You’re 
always accusing him of being either too wet or too hot-headed – and now you tell 
me all the Weasleys, with special emphasis on Ron, are renowned for their 
backbone!  Honestly, Hermione, the way you two bicker and squabble over nothing, 
anyone could be forgiven for thinking you were an item.”  Harry laughed, but 
Hermione lowered her eyes.  Caught unprepared, for the first time, the girl 
blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair, and Harry whistled softly.
“Got it in one!” He said in low, wondering tones, “So I’m not the only one with 
a secret, eh?  Okay, Hermione: how long – and does he know?”  She stared at him 
in astonishment, opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish with no sound 
emerging.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” She finally managed to force 
out, gathering the shreds of her dignity around her like a ragged cloak.  Harry 
laughed.
“Oh, come on, Hermione!” he teased, “It had to be either Ron or me, and,” his 
tone turned wistful, “I knew it wasn’t me.”  He met her startled gaze without 
flinching, letting her see the truth in his eyes.  Hermione felt a sudden rush 
of emotion - gratitude and remorse in equal measures overlaid with an affection 
so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
“Oh, Harry!” she reached out and took his hand gently.  He smiled awkwardly but 
did not break the contact.
“Don’t worry about me.” He responded lightly, “My crush on you lasted about a 
year, and dates from the hug you gave me when I was about to tackle Ex-Professor 
Quirrell for the Philosopher’s Stone.”  Hermione shook her head in wonder.
“How could I have failed to notice?” she exclaimed.  Harry smiled gently.
“You failed to notice because you were too busy trying to boss Ron into some 
semblance of a reasonable being,” He told her, “And I held back – well, simply 
because I could see only too clearly that Ron was feeling the same symptoms as 
me, even if he didn’t realise it at the time.”  He ignored her startled 
exclamation, and continued doggedly.  “However, I suspect his feelings have 
lasted for the duration – the only problem might be getting him to recognise 
them for what they are.  I take it he hasn’t said anything?”  Hermione shook her 
head, blushing an even deeper shade by this time, but she bravely raised her 
eyes to his and squeezed his fingers in gratitude.
“No he hasn’t,” she said, “And thank you, Harry.”  He smiled and returned the 
pressure.
“You’re very welcome.”  In the slight pause that followed, there was a shuffling 
of feet and a light cough.  Harry dropped Hermione’s hand as if he’d been stung 
and swung round almost guiltily to see Ron standing in the doorway.
“I came to see if either of you were interested in a quick game of chess before 
we turn in,” he began, coldly, “But I see you’re not.  Sorry I interrupted – 
next time put a notice on the door.”  He stalked out of he Common Room and they 
heard his footsteps echoing down the spiral staircase of Gryffindor Tower.  
Harry’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile.
“Okay, Hermione.” He said, “Go on - go get him!”
“That’s all very well, but how?” murmured Hermione, far too quietly for Harry’s 
ears.
 



I forgot the usual disclaimer in the previous two chapters, so take this as 
applying to them too.  I don’t own any of this except the plot.  J.K. Rowling 
owns all characters, locations, etc. but I’m only using them for recreation – 
this fanfiction is to be used only for recreation, not for profit of any kind.
 
NB  I’ve put right the inaccuracies in the first three chapters.  Let’s hope I 
haven’t missed anything further!

 
 
Harry’s Dilemma
Chapter Four

 
Ginny Weasley had never felt worse in her life.  She had thought that the 
humiliation of being made the catspaw of Voldemort by way of a magical diary was 
the ultimate mortification a trainee witch could experience.  She had been 
wrong.  To have challenged Harry – here her flesh crawled with shame at the 
memory – and to have been defeated, when she had been so sure she could triumph! 
 To have fallen for the oldest trick in the book – for all her studies, all her 
vaunted prowess, she had learned precisely nothing.  Duped by Tom Riddle, she 
had been effectively duped by Harry Potter in the same manner and by the same 
weakness – her compassion.  With an audible groan, Ginny lay her head on the 
Fifth Year Girls’ Dorm table and wished for death.
“Oh Ginny.” Said a low sympathetic voice, and a gentle hand smoothed her shining 
red hair.  Ginny looked up briefly into the concerned face of her best friend 
Maryam, then let the darkness return.
“Ginny, you’ve got to pull yourself together.”  Maryam’s voice held a trace of 
panic. “Your studies have really gone downhill – I heard Professor McGonnagle 
say that she’s going to have to speak to your parents – and what’s more you’re 
not eating: you’ve got really thin.  At least come down to supper this evening.  
Please?”  Maryam shook her friend lightly on the shoulder and Ginny, more in 
response to the persistence than to any great need for sustenance, mechanically 
began to get up from her chair.
As they entered the Great Hall, Ginny noted with dull relief that neither Harry, 
Ron nor Hermione were present.  She sat down at the Gryffindor table and 
mentally began to perk up at the prospect of a good, hot meal.
“Steak and kidney pudding.” Announced Maryam, smiling, “Your favourite!”  Alarm 
bells started ringing quietly in Ginny’s head.  Harry was partial to steak and 
kidney: surely this was one meal he wouldn’t willingly miss?  She was right.
“Do you mind if I sit here, Ginny?” a well-recognised voice in her ear made her 
spine stiffen reflexively and her complexion colour.  She put both hands on the 
table, preparatory to legging it at high speed back to the dormitory, when 
another hand clamped tightly on her wrist.  Freezing, she stared unbelievingly 
at the contact, then at the owner of the hand.  Harry sat next to her, his 
cooling dinner untouched in front of him, a determined expression in his 
startlingly green eyes.
“Sit down.” He said quietly, “Everyone’s staring.”  Ginny did so automatically, 
then glanced about furtively to check the truth of Harry’s statement.  It was 
slightly exaggerated: the one or two heads that had changed direction at her 
escape attempt had now returned to their suppers.  Confused, embarrassed, 
horrified, Ginny sat numbly at the dinner table staring at nothing.  Harry’s 
hand retained its grasp on her arm for a moment, as if he were afraid she really 
would run away, then slowly he removed it and turned towards his supper.
“I’d eat that before it gets cold if I were you.” He began, conversationally, 
“It’s really very good, and I hear on the grapevine that you’re cutting too many 
meals.”  Ginny had lost what little appetite she’d had, and had completely 
forgotten about the plate of food steaming succulently under her nose.  She 
stared at it as though it had just escaped from the Forbidden Forest, then 
mechanically started to fork it into her mouth without really tasting it.
“Good girl.” Harry said approvingly, placing his own knife and fork down side by 
side on his empty plate. “Now, perhaps we can get this thing sorted out.”  With 
a mouthful of food, Ginny raised panic-stricken eyes to him and shook her head 
wildly.
“Relax,” he said, soothingly, “I don’t mean in here – that is, if you’re willing 
to come somewhere a little less public to talk to me.  But make no mistake, 
Ginny, we are going to sort this out one way or another this evening, and if you 
force me to air our private business in the Great Hall, with all the attendant 
risks of being overheard, then so be it.”  There was no mercy in his expression, 
and Ginny felt the food in her mouth turn to ashes.  She swallowed with 
difficulty, then placed her cutlery on her plate, the meal only half eaten.  
Defeated, she slowly started to rise from the table, only to have Harry’s hand 
grip hers warningly for the second time that evening.  Angrily, she stared at 
him.
“Do you think I want to talk to you here, in front of everyone?” she hissed, in 
mortification.  Surprised, he released her.
“Don’t you want any pudding?  It’s blackberry and apple crumble.”  Ginny could 
no more have eaten the sweet than fly without a broomstick.  Harry cast a 
wistful look at the dishes now just beginning to appear.
“Pity.” He muttered then squaring his shoulders, he gestured for Ginny to lead 
the way out of the dining hall.  Miraculously, no one commented or even seemed 
to notice their departure – not even Malfoy.
Once in the corridor, Ginny turned enquiringly to Harry.
“Where do you want to go?”  Harry considered: the Gryffindor Common Room was out 
of the question – too great a risk of being interrupted; Madame Pince would 
still be in the library; their respective dormitories were seriously out of 
bounds; it was too cold for walking in the grounds.  Suddenly, Harry had a 
brainwave.  He set off through the winding corridors of Hogwarts castle, past 
the library until he came to a halt in front of a pair of huge wooden doors.  
Ginny paled visibly.
“Are you deliberately trying to torture me, Harry?” she said, between her teeth 
as she recognised the Hogwarts gym, where she had all too recently met her 
Waterloo.  He shrugged.
“It’s the only place I could think of where we could depend upon complete 
privacy.  No-one will come within a mile of the place at this time in the 
evening.”
“I hope you’re right.” She responded, pushing open the doors in resignation.

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

“Ron, what on earth’s come over you?  All I said was ‘good evening’ for heavens 
sake!”  Hermione was practically running down the corridor, chasing after a 
furious Ron who had stormed out of the dining room.
“Leave me alone, Hermione!” he shouted back over his shoulder, “Go and finish 
your dinner, don’t mind about me.  Perhaps you and Harry could conjure up a 
couple of candles and a glass or two of wine from the kitchens.  What a laugh, 
what a great joke!”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?  Harry and me …?  Look, there’s 
nothing between us, nothing at all – and anyway, why should you care?  Only the 
other day you were trying to persuade me that it was a good idea – ‘you’d make a 
lovely couple’ were your exact words, I believe!”
“Oh, that’s right!  Throw my own words back into my face, why don’t you?  Just 
because he’s Harry the Hero, the Great Harry Potter, Voldemort’s nemesis, all 
that other claptrap, you fall over your own feet in the rush to get at him.  
Honestly, it makes me want to puke!”
“For goodness sake slow down – I can’t keep up with … Owwff!”  In trying to 
increase her speed, Hermione had caught her heel on an uneven flagstone and was 
sent crashing to the very hard floor.  Quick as lightening, Ron spun on his heel 
and ran back to her.
“’Mione, are you okay?”  She couldn’t speak or breathe, just kept waving her 
hands futilely in front of her.  He lifted her quickly to a sitting position and 
held her upright.
“’Mione!” Ron’s voice was urgent, “What’s the matter?”  Suddenly, she gave a 
huge ragged gasp and started to breathe again.  Moments later she could speak.
“I’m okay, Ron, the impact just winded me.” She managed to get out.
“You had me worried.” He exclaimed, helping her up. “Come on, let’s go up to the 
Common Room.  You’ll feel better for a sit down by the fire before prep.”  
Hardly registering what he was doing, Ron put a protective arm around her 
shoulders and led her carefully down the corridor.  As they made their way 
towards Gryffindor Tower, Hermione felt a smile spread itself over her face, and 
a strange warm feeling crept over her from the tips of her fingers to the ends 
of her toes.

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

“Lumos.” Muttered Ginny as she stepped into the gym.  Immediately the whole 
place blazed into light.  Harry winced.
“Perhaps a little less brilliance, Ginny.” He suggested tentatively.  She bit 
her lip and toned it down.
“Nothing seems to go right lately.” She said, in a despondent voice, “Even 
something as simple as this seems to backfire in one way or another.”  Harry 
looked around.
“Not very cosy, is it?” he said, beginning to wonder if this was a good idea, 
“I’ll see if – there!”  A comfortable-looking sofa appeared.  Harry sat at one 
end, then conjured a coffee table on which he promptly rested his feet.  Ginny, 
looking disapproving, tapped the table with her own wand and produced two 
steaming cups of cocoa.
“If you want a footstool, Harry, don’t summon a coffee table!”  Guiltily, Harry 
put his feet on the floor and reached for one of the cups.  They drank for a 
while in thoughtful silence.
“Okay, Ginny,” Harry began, “Let’s not beat about the bush.  I know you’re only 
here with me under duress, but please just answer me one question: what have I 
done to make you hate me so much?”  Ginny’s blank expression changed to one of 
horror.
“Hate you?” she repeated, disbelievingly, “Harry, I’ve never hated you.  I’ve 
been annoyed with you, angry with you and jealous of you, but I’ve never hated 
you.”  Saying just this much caused Ginny’s face to colour fiercely again.  She 
buried her confusion in her cocoa.
“Jealous of me? Angry with me?  Ginny, why?  I thought we were friends.”  Harry 
was completely at a loss.  She was silent for a moment, then she began to speak.
“Who wouldn’t be jealous of you, Harry Potter?” she sighed, her voice trembling 
slightly, “Your natural talent, your tremendous standing in the wizarding world 
– for nothing more than the accident of your birth, your ability to acquire the 
most amazing champions – Hagrid, my brothers, Professor Dumbledore.”
“But Ginny,” interrupted Harry, “All these things – they come with strings 
attached, you know.  The ‘accident of my birth’ means I have no family of any 
relevance; my natural talents seem to bring me as much grief as they do joy – 
particularly where enemies are concerned; and my champions are only there to 
protect me from that which would seek to harm me (and would probably succeed 
without their aid).”  She shrugged.
“I know.” She sighed, “I stopped being jealous of you the night of our duel, 
Harry Potter.  You showed me that whilst I was good, you would always be better, 
because you have to be in order to survive.  My secure family background means I 
have others I can rely on simply because they are my family.  You’ve always been 
hungry for that all your life, I know.  You’ve got it now, of course, with 
Hermione and with Ron and the rest of us, but all those years with the Dursleys 
must have made you very self-reliant.”  There was a pause while Harry sifted 
through all she had said.  It was remarkably astute for a fifteen-year-old, and 
he told her so.  Her reply was simple.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, Harry.”
“You said you were angry with me,” he continued, “Would you tell me why?”  Ginny 
buried her face in her hands and sighed, then she straightened.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll tell you because I owe it to you.  But it’s not going to 
be easy.”  There was a very long pause and, for a moment, Harry thought she had 
fallen asleep.
“When I first met you, I had a little-girl crush on you, Harry.”  She began, 
“You knew that.  I absolutely hero-worshipped you, and you were nice to me, you 
really were.  Then, suddenly, the girls in my year started to tease me about 
liking you, and it stopped being harmless fun.  I was suffering for you, Harry – 
and you never even noticed me.”  She stopped to gather her thoughts, and Harry 
suddenly found a number of puzzling little things falling into place.
“All I was to you was Ron’s pesky little sister, the kid with the crush, the 
embarrassing nuisance who sent valentines and hung around when she wasn’t 
wanted.  It was ruining my status as a witch with abilities.  People were 
beginning not to take me seriously, and I knew how talented I was by this time – 
so I did the only thing I could do.  Unfortunately, I took it all way too far 
and ended up deeply offending you.  I’m really sorry, Harry: I promise I won’t 
bother you, not ever again.”  By this time tears were leaking down her crimson 
cheeks and into her cocoa mug.  She made as if to get up from the sofa, but 
Harry once again took her hand, effectively restraining her.  In surprise, she 
looked up at him, her hair damp with tears, her nose and eyes all red and 
blotchy from crying.  Harry thought she looked adorable.
“Ginny,” he said softly, “When did you get over your crush on me?”  It was a 
leading question and one that no gentleman would ask, but Harry didn’t feel 
particularly gentlemanly at present.  Ginny gave him one startled look, then 
burst into sobs.
“Wh-why are you asking me that?” she protested.  Harry took her hands in his and 
forced her to turn to him.
“Look at me, Ginny,” he said, gently but firmly tilting her chin towards him, 
“Answer the question: when?”  She tried to squirm away, shaking her head 
furiously.
“No, Harry, please don’t make me.”  He transferred his hands to her shoulders
“Do I have to use a Disclosure charm on you?”
“Harry …” His grip became tighter, more insistent.
“Tell me!”  She cracked.
“I didn’t!  Okay, are you satisfied?  I never got over you.  The little girl 
crush never died, it just grew into a big girl crush, and I can’t cope with it 
any more.  Are you happy now?” She shouted angrily at him, wrenched herself away 
from his restraining hands, and ran sobbing out of the gym.  With her went the 
light.
“Oh, damn and blast!” exclaimed Harry, tripping over things.  By the time he had 
established some light of his own, neutralised their enchantments and wrestled 
with the huge oak doors, she was nowhere to be seen.  Grimly, he set off down 
the winding corridors once again in search of the elusive Miss Weasley.  
However, this time he had a pretty good idea what he was going to do with her 
when he caught her.
 


I forgot the usual disclaimer in the first two chapters, so take this as 
applying to them too.  I don’t own any of this except the plot.  J.K. Rowling 
owns all characters, locations, etc. but I’m only using them for recreation – 
this fanfiction is to be used only for recreation, not for profit of any kind.
 
 
 
Harry’s Dilemma
Chapter Five

 
 “Do you feel okay now, ‘Mione?” asked Ron for what seemed like the hundredth 
time.  Hermione’s smile became fondly amused.
“Yes, Ron, I really am fine.”  Ensconced in the best armchair in Gryffindor 
Common Room with her feet being warmed by a roaring fire and Ron Weasley dancing 
attendance on her, Hermione felt she had reached a peak of nirvana formerly 
unattained by wizard or muggle.  There was a short silence during which Ron 
appeared to be trying to nerve himself up to say something.
“’Mione,” he began, after clearing his throat awkwardly.  She looked up and 
smiled.
“Yes, Ron?”
“What you said earlier – you know, about not being involved with Harry.  Was it 
true?”
“Absolutely and totally true, Ron.” She replied, “And my answer would not change 
even if you used Veritaserum.”
“I wouldn’t insult you.” Replied Ron, uncharacteristically gallant.  Hermione 
decided to have her revenge.
“But why does the possibility bother you, Ron?” she asked, innocently, “After 
all, as I said earlier, you’ve been trying to matchmake us for quite some while 
– with no encouragement whatsoever, I might add.”  The tips of Ron’s ears 
reddened.
“To be honest, ‘Mione, I don’t know.” He began, honestly perplexed, “At first I 
thought it was a good idea.  Harry’s my best friend, you know – well, my best 
male friend – and I couldn’t think of anyone better to look after him, 
considering all he’s got to go through in the future.  But when I saw you 
holding his hand earlier,” Ron involuntarily clenched a fist, “I thought it was 
the worst idea in the world.”
“Why was that?”  He shook his head.
“I suddenly felt that – well, it just wasn’t right, if you know what I mean.”  
Hermione shook her head.
“I don’t understand, Ron.  You could hardly object to your own idea, unless you 
were suddenly – jealous?”  Ron’s head snapped up and he flushed to the roots of 
his hair.  Hermione abruptly felt that she might have gone too far.
“Of course, there could be a number of other reasons.” She began to backtrack.
“Jealous of whom?” demanded Ron, still red in the face.  She shrugged.
“Well,” she began, losing her nerve, “You could have been jealous of me, for 
seeming to be annexing your best friend.  If I had been going out with Harry, we 
would have had quite an exclusive relationship, and you might have felt left 
out.”  Ron considered.
“Go on.” He said, expressionlessly.  Hermione swallowed on a suddenly dry 
throat, but she was no coward.
“Or you could have been jealous of Harry.”  Now it was out.  Ron suddenly made 
eye contact.
“Which do you think it is?” he asked, in a low intense voice.  Hermione 
shrugged.
“That’s not really something I can answer, Ron: only you know your own heart.”  
The silence seemed to go on forever, then slowly Ron took her hand in his.
“You know,” he said, almost conversationally, as he began to stroke her fingers 
gently, “I’ve often thought that you were pretty, but I never realised before 
that you’re beautiful.”  He flushed suddenly scarlet: where did that come from?
“Really?” The word came out on a squeak.  Hermione was as embarrassed as Ron by 
this time.
“Is that it?” he muttered, “Was I jealous of Harry - over you?  Oh, ‘Mione, I 
never thought …”  
“Steady on, Ron.” Hermione cautioned, but she was smiling now and beginning to 
lean towards him, “Don’t say anything you don’t mean.”  Ron looked intently into 
her eyes.
“If you’re not involved with Harry,” he began, slowly, “Then your embarrassment 
and occasional blushes when you were around us – if they weren’t for him, then 
they must have been – for me?”
She was blushing furiously now, but all the discomfiture under the sun would not 
have prevented her from answering the question.
“Yes, Ron.” She said, calmly, “It was never Harry – always you, right from the 
start.”  With a wordless exclamation, Ron made as if to hug her but paused in 
trepidation.  Frantically, he looked over his shoulder, trying to gauge how long 
they had before they would be interrupted by returning Gryffindors.
“Please,” he whispered, as faint footsteps could be heard, “Please, can I – may 
I … kiss you?”  At the sight of her dear friend totally at sea, Hermione’s heart 
melted.  She had long dreamed about their first kiss happening in the most 
romantic setting with all the time in the world to relax and enjoy the 
sensation.  She was slightly thrown by the necessity of haste, but she 
understood what was motivating Ron.  It was not the experience itself he was 
wanting, but more to set some sort of seal on what his own heart had told him, 
to fix her so that she would not slip away from him, to Harry or to anyone else. 
 It was this knowledge that made Hermione answer him by leaning forward and 
pressing her warm, pliant mouth against his trembling lips.  She had meant it to 
be short and sweet, a taste of things to come when they were in less haste, but 
she was totally unprepared for Ron’s reaction – and so was he.  In her mind, 
Hermione had already made some of the adjustment from friend to something more, 
but the realisation had only just hit Ron in the last few minutes.  As he kissed 
her, he felt a complete emotional surrender, an opening of his mind and heart 
the like of which he had never even thought possible.  His arms snaked firmly 
around her, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss, and the rest of the world 
faded into insignificance.

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

“Ginny, are you in here?  Please come out.  You know I’ll find you eventually - 
you can’t avoid me forever, not in a place like Hogwarts.”  It was nearly 
midnight and Harry was still doggedly searching for Ginny.  She was not in her 
dorm – Maryam had verified that – and she was certainly not in the Gryffindor 
Common Room.  There had been some peculiar commotion going on in there the last 
time he had checked.  Something about Ron and Hermione – he’d find out tomorrow, 
it was essential that he find that elusive little girl before she … He put his 
head in his hands.  That was most of the trouble really, wasn’t it?  She wasn’t 
a little girl any more, nor could she be simply dismissed as Ron’s baby sister.  
Ginny Weasley was a formidable sorceress in her own right – Harry had been 
deeply impressed by her grasp of the arts, and by her sheer mental strength and 
willpower.  The last thing he needed was to make an enemy of a witch of her 
abilities – she had already been tricked into Voldemort’s clutches once, it made 
him tremble to think that he, Harry, could possibly drive her into the dark 
one’s arms simply by his own thoughtlessness.  But aside from the logical 
question, Harry was having to face up to his own guilt at the way he had treated 
her.  It was true: he had treated her like a child when she was desperately 
trying to be something more; he had been unwilling to expand The Dream Team to 
include her, even occasionally; he had failed to spot the changes in her 
feelings for him; and he had acted with a cavalier disregard for her dignity and 
self-esteem.  He had also bested her in a duel of sorcery, not by magical means, 
but by a trick learned in a first-year Hogwarts dormitory fight.  At that 
moment, Harry felt lower than a slug.

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

The first thing that penetrated Hermione’s stupefied senses was a vague 
impression of shouting.  It seemed very far away, but was getting closer by the 
instant.  Taking a firmer grip on Ron’s shoulders, she opened her eyes slightly, 
then as wide as they could be as she registered a whole room full of cheering 
Gryffindors.  Abruptly, she broke away from Ron (who was all set to continue 
with round two) and faced the cheers, blushing and smiling, midway between 
embarrassment and bliss.  Ron had gone redder than his hair, but stubbornly 
refused to release the arm he held around Hermione’s shoulders.  For a good 15 
minutes, they were feted and teased, and an impromptu party sprang up to 
celebrate.  No one even considered doing any homework, Seamus and Dean put their 
heads together and produced a music charm which kept the Gryffindors dancing 
well into the night, and Parvati managed to conjure some really quite acceptable 
punch.  Taking a breather in a quiet corner some time later, Ron was holding 
Hermione’s hand and gazing dreamily into her eyes when a thought occurred to 
him.
“’Mione, it’s a bit of an academic question now, but if you aren’t and never 
were involved with Harry, why were you holding his hand his afternoon?”  
Hermione blinked as if waking up from a trance.
“Harry’s hand, this afternoon? Oh, yes.” A slight frown chased its way across 
her face to be quickly supplanted by a secretive little smile. “Oh, yes, Ron: he 
was very worried – about his performance at Quidditch, you know.  He feels he’s 
reached a plateau, and was wondering how to progress further.”  Ron gave a snort 
of derision.
“That’s the trouble with Harry,” He replied, “Hasn’t grown up yet.  You know, I 
don’t believe he’s ever even looked at a girl except to judge her Quidditch 
abilities.”
“You’re forgetting Cho Chang.” Hermione reminded him.  Ron looked around the 
Common Room.
“Where is Harry anyway?”  She smiled and patted his cheek in order to bring his 
attention back to herself – something she had very little difficulty doing at 
present.
“Oh, he said he had to look for something.” She replied, getting up to dance 
again, “Or someone.” She added quietly, almost to herself.

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

Finally at 2.00am, Harry gave up the quest for Ginny Weasley and retraced his 
steps wearily back to Gryffindor Tower.  It was only by virtue of the 
invisibility cloak that he had been able to continue searching for so long.  
However, he had now run out of places to look, and Maryam had at last gone to 
get some sleep, still worried to death about Ginny’s empty bed.  Swaying with 
fatigue, Harry climbed the stairs towards his dormitory, stopping off at the 
Common Room in the hope of finding the warm embers of a fire.  He was in luck: 
someone must have been working late, because the ashes in the hearth were still 
red.  He approached eagerly, hungry for warmth, and had just knelt on the 
hearthrug to conjure the embers back into a blaze, when he became aware that he 
was not alone.  Turning swiftly, he observed a figure curled up in one of the 
armchairs.  This person must have been sleeping and had been disturbed by 
Harry’s entrance to the Common Room, for they stirred, straightened stiff limbs, 
opened their eyes – and gasped in horror at the sight of him.  Harry recognised 
both the gasp and the body language.  His arm shot out, grabbed and held 
whatever came into range, causing her to stumble and fall back into the 
armchair.  He then swiftly half-sat, half-knelt on her ankles, effectively 
immobilising her legs.  Ginny quickly realised she was caught and ceased 
struggling almost immediately.
“If I release you from this very uncomfortable position,” whispered Harry, “Will 
you promise on your honour not to run away from me again?  I’ve had a very tough 
time searching for you for the past four hours, and I don’t intend to lose you 
now.”  Ginny paused briefly, then nodded.  Harry rose to his feet and extended a 
hand to her.  Wonderingly, she took it and allowed herself to be led over to a 
large sofa at the other side of the fireplace.  Harry sat her down, then took 
the seat next to her.
“I can keep an eye on you better like this,” he explained, “And you’ll find it 
more difficult to slide away from me.”
“Harry,” she interrupted, “We’re both very tired.  Can’t we talk in the 
morning?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking for you all night.  I’ll be damned if I’ll 
sleep on it now.”  Ginny trembled at his tone of voice.
“Look, Harry, I’ve said I’m sorry for all those things I did to you, and the 
duel and everything.  Please, can’t you just leave me alone now?”  He recognized 
that she was really frightened of him, and he hated himself just a little more.
“Ginny,” he began, “I don’t want another apology from you, quite the opposite, 
in fact.  It’s me who should be apologising to you.”  Her eyes were wide with 
astonishment, but he forestalled her protests by placing a finger lightly over 
her lips.
“I really didn’t notice how much you had grown up.” He began, remorsefully, “I 
just didn’t want anything to disturb my friendship with Ron, you know?  I mean, 
Hermione didn’t count – or at least, I thought she didn’t count. I seem to have 
been spectacularly wrong on that subject too.  Anyway, I kept telling myself you 
had this childish thing about me but it would fade with the years.  It never 
occurred to me that perhaps it might just grow stronger, and I also never 
dreamed of looking within myself, at what I might feel, not for the little girl 
but for the young woman you had become.  Ginny,” he turned his disarmingly deep 
green gaze on her, “I would like to have the chance of getting to know you 
better.  If your feelings for me have not been totally destroyed by my crass 
insensitivity, do you think you could see your way to, well, taking me on as 
your - boyfriend, partner, whatever it is we call ourselves?”  Ginny’s eyes had 
been getting wider and wider throughout this little speech, now they were the 
size of dinner plates.  She swallowed nervously, but didn’t resist when Harry 
shyly took both of her hands in his.
“Harry,” she murmured, “I can’t believe … do you really mean it?”
“Yes.” he said simply, grasping her hands to his chest, then somewhat 
uncertainly, “Ginny, do you still care for me?”  She nodded frantically, unable 
to speak.  He let out a deep sigh of relief and a dreamy look spread across his 
face as he gazed at her in the firelight.  
“Thank you, Ginny,” he breathed, “And please promise me that you won’t take any 
more nonsense from me in the future.  I feel like three kinds of a fool – I 
could have lost you!”  The look on his face was so comically worried that she 
laughed and, overcoming her temporary paralysis, reached out timidly to brush 
the wayward black hair out of his eyes.  Her hand lingered on his cheek.
“Harry.” she whispered, loving the sound of his name in her own voice.  She 
shivered suddenly.  Noticing this, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and, 
leaning back into the corner of the sofa, he pulled her gently against his 
chest.  He covered them both with his cloak, kissed the top of her head as she 
snuggled happily, and closed his eyes for once totally at peace with the world.
“Just a few minutes.” He murmured sleepily.  It was impossible to even 
contemplate moving away from the incredible sensation of Ginny’s quiet breath 
against his neck.  And in that limbo period between sleep and wakefulness, when 
the mind roams free of logic and order, the vision in the scrying crystal 
surfaced in Harry’s mind and he smiled contentedly.
“Who knows?” a little part of his brain commented, “It may have been a true 
vision after all.”
“Wait and see.” replied most of Harry, as his consciousness finally relinquished 
control.
 
It was fortunate indeed that Maryam had a very sleepless night, on account of 
her worry over Ginny, otherwise who knows what trouble the new couple might have 
brought upon themselves.  The last thing Ginny could remember was Harry folding 
her lovingly into his cloak and lying back on the sofa by the Common Room fire, 
the next moment she was being urgently shaken awake by her best friend.
“Ginny. Ginny!”  Maryam’s voice was an urgent whisper. “You’ve got to wake up 
and get back to the dorm before anyone else sees you!  Harry, for goodness sake 
wake up!”  Ginny groaned, stretched and started to sit up before she remembered 
where she was.  She yawned, blinked then gave a startled glance at Harry next to 
her, already stirring, and memory flooded back.  She smiled dreamily and shyly, 
and leaned over to brush that irritating lock of hair away from his face.  His 
green eyes opened, misty with sleep, and smiled when they focussed on her.
“Good morning.” He said quietly, his voice husky.  He was just reaching to 
enfold her in his arms again, when Maryam made her presence known.
“For goodness sake!” she hissed, exasperated, “You can get on with that later – 
preferably in private, but for now, you have both got to get to your dorms!  
It’s 7.00am – you know Professor McGonnagle is an early riser.  If she makes a 
morning check on the Common Room, and that’s not unusual, you’re toast!”  
Reality descended upon them like a cold rain.  They struggled to their feet and, 
in response to Maryam’s almost hysterical urging, made their way quickly and 
quietly to their respective dormitories.  Harry only had time to briefly touch 
Ginny’s hand in farewell.
“See you at breakfast,” he yawned, “In a couple of hours.”
Amazingly, no-one woke up when Harry crept into the dormitory he shared with 
three other boys.  As Harry passed the end of his bed, Ron snorted loudly and 
turned over causing the other boy to freeze into immobility, but Ron was 
dreaming happily of Hermione and would not have chosen to wake up for all the 
gold in Gringotts.  Safely in his pyjamas, Harry slid between ice-cold sheets, 
involuntarily wishing Ginny was there to keep him warm.  Blushing at the 
thought, he lay quietly going over the events of the last 24 hours.  Ginny was 
the one woman who could put up with him and with his destiny, he realised.  She 
was special, a one-off.  Her amazing strength and talent as a sorceress made it 
more or less imperative for him to have her on his side rather than Voldemort’s, 
but in addition to that, he knew he wanted her for herself, now and in the years 
to come.  Still, he reflected, he was only 16: there was time enough to think of 
serious things once he had left Hogwarts.  Until then, he and Ginny could enjoy 
their time together in the protected environment of the wizarding school and let 
their relationship grow as it might.

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

It was a bleary-eyed troop of Gryffindors who staggered their way down to 
breakfast the following morning, all except for Ron and Hermione who, still in 
the grip of love’s young dream, descended the Tower stairs hand in hand, smiling 
blissfully at each other.  Their almost tangible happiness was not even shaken 
by Draco Malfoy pretending to be sick into his porridge.  Harry, with even less 
sleep to contend with, was very late in rising and sat with an oblivious Ron on 
one side of him and a panicking Neville on the other side.  Too late he realised 
with a groan that it was Double Potions first thing – and he knew nothing of the 
topics to be covered.
“Hey, Ron.” He began, nudging his friend.  When there was no response, he kicked 
him rather too hard under the table.
“Ouch!” shouted Ron, glaring at Harry, “What did you do that for?”
“I was trying to ask you if you’d done the potions homework.” Harry retorted in 
exasperation, “What’s wrong with the pair of you this morning anyway?  I can 
hardly get a civil word out of you.”  Hermione giggled and exchanged a very 
old-fashioned look with Ron.  Suddenly Harry caught on.
“Great Merlin, Ron, you’ve not finally made a move, have you?” he exclaimed, a 
delighted grin spreading across his face as Ron coloured with a mixture of 
pleasure and embarrassment, “And about time too!  Congratulations, you two – I 
couldn’t be more pleased.”  He wrung Ron’s hand and, to her great surprise, 
kissed Hermione on the cheek.
“Hey, geroff!” growled Ron in mock-menace, then pointed a finger at his friend.
“And by the way, where were you last night that you didn’t come to the party?”
“Party?” queried Harry, puzzled.  He had been so intent upon his search last 
night that the existence of the party in Gryffindor Tower had completely eluded 
him.  Suddenly, Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs and pointed towards the 
doorway.
“Hey,” she said, “Ginny’s finally made breakfast – that must be the first time 
in ages.” Her brow creased in a frown. “She’s looking pretty good, better than 
she has for weeks.  I wonder what’s happened to cheer her up.”  Ron shrugged, 
just as much in the dark as his girlfriend.  Hermione swivelled round.
“Do you know what’s got into her this morning, Harry?  Harry?” But she was 
talking to empty air.  As Ron and Hermione watched, Harry walked over to Ginny 
in the doorway with a beaming smile on his face.  As she caught sight of him, 
her eyes lit up and they exchanged a hesitant greeting.  Harry touched her arm 
briefly, then put a hand under her elbow and steered her over to the Gryffindor 
table.  They sat together, not quite touching, sharing their breakfast, totally 
oblivious to the stunned amazement of their fellow Gryffindors, and the whispers 
and craned necks from the other tables.  Harry Potter and his arch enemy, Ginny 
Weasley??  The genius and his best friend’s annoying little sister – surely not! 
 As the tables began to empty and the students wended their various ways towards 
their first lessons, Ron caught Harry by the arm.
“I think you’ve got a bit of explaining to do.” He said in a low voice.  Harry 
grinned.
“Don’t you approve?” he asked.  Ron shook his head.
“Don’t be silly!” he responded, “I just don’t recall having any warning that 
this was on the cards at all.”  Harry shrugged, still unable to wipe the smile 
off his mouth.  He slapped the other boy on the shoulder.
“You’re my best friend, Ron,” he began, “Apart from Hermione and now Ginny, of 
course, but there are some things that must remain personal between a man and a 
woman …Oof!” He didn’t get a chance to finish before Ron socked him playfully in 
the stomach.
“Come on, you daft git!” he said, “Let’s get to potions before I slug you in the 
head.  On second thoughts, that’s by far the softest and least useful part of 
you!”
“Why you –“ Harry took off after a sniggering Ron who had reached the doorway 
and was pounding towards the stairway of Gryffindor Tower.
“No running in the corridors!” shouted Cho Chang, now a Ravenclaw prefect, but 
she had a wide grin on her face, having seen the little display in the dining 
room, and didn’t have the heart to follow it up.
 
 
To all those who have hung in this far, well done, and don’t give up yet – 
there’s still the Epilogue to come.
 


I forgot the usual disclaimer in the first two chapters, so take this as 
applying to them too.  I don’t own any of this except the plot.  J.K. Rowling 
owns all characters, locations, etc. but I’m only using them for recreation – 
this fanfiction is to be used only for recreation, not for profit of any kind.
 

 
Harry’s Dilemma
Epilogue

 
Harry stood outside Professor Dumbledore’s office for one of the few times in 
his Hogwarts career, and stared apprehensively at the door.  He exchanged a 
glance with Ginny who was holding his right hand in both of hers.  She patted it 
gently.
“I’ll wait for you,” she said, with a nervous smile, ”Then we’ll go and do our 
homework together – you can help me with my Transfiguration!”  Harry grimaced.
“Oh, please!” she begged, “I really don’t understand it at all!”  He smiled.
“I think you should wait for me in the Common Room.” He said, “I have no idea 
what this is about, or how long I’ll be.”  Her face took on that obstinate 
expression Harry was learning to know very well indeed.
“Well, I’ll stay for as long as I can.” She said, stubbornly, “I’ve brought 
enough work with me – I’ll wait in this empty classroom here.”  Unwillingly, 
Harry nodded then with a final squeeze of her hand, he knocked on the 
Headmaster’s door.  Ginny melted into the background as Professor Dumbledore’s 
voice was heard to say “Come!”  As he entered, Harry closed the door behind him.
“Ah, Harry!” said Professor Dumbledore genially.  He was the only teacher who 
consistently used students’ first names.  Harry inclined his head respectfully.
“You wanted to see me, sir.” Professor Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing 
gaze.
“Yes, indeed I did, Harry – Oh, sit down, please.”  He indicated a chair in 
front of his desk.  It looked rather uncomfortable, but Harry could see that he 
had little choice in the matter: he sat down.  Professor Dumbledore paced about 
the room for a moment or two, then turned to Harry.
“This is rather awkward.” He confessed, “It has been brought to my attention 
that certain – magical residues have been detected in one of the training rooms. 
 Not to put too fine a point on it, in the gym.”  Harry’s eyes shot open, and 
his self-preservation instinct abruptly went into overdrive.
“Sir, I can explain.” He began, “It’s – somewhat embarrassing, but perfectly 
innocent, I assure you.”  He stopped a moment to work out a vague plan of 
action.
“I’m sorry to have to bring personal relationships into this, Sir, but it 
concerns, er, Ginny.  Miss Weasley, that is.”
“Ah, yes.” responded Dumbledore, “The unusually talented fifth-year.  Professor 
McGonnagle informed me of her sudden leap in abilities.  Please continue.”
“Well, “ Harry went on, “She and I had something of a misunderstanding – she had 
been avoiding me for some weeks – and eventually I decided that we really had to 
bury the hatchet, after all, Ron is my best friend,“ He smiled ruefully at 
Dumbledore and was slightly disconcerted at the lack of reaction, “Anyway,” he 
continued, “We met up in the gym – because it was pretty much deserted at that 
time in the evening – and had a, well, discussion.  The reason there was magical 
residue in the air was because I conjured a sofa.” He considered, “And a coffee 
table.  And some cocoa.” He added, then “Or, at least, I think Ginny did that - 
the cocoa, I mean.  I’m really sorry, sir, I know it was technically out of 
bounds, but we weren’t doing anything wrong, and we really needed some privacy, 
you know?  Somewhere – away from the others …”  Harry trailed off into silence 
and fixed his eyes on the floor.  He had never felt so exposed in his life.  
Dumbledore let him sweat for a while longer, then took a slightly deeper breath.
“Harry, I do not need to remind you, I am sure, that school rules are there for 
a purpose.” He began, “The gym, as a room, is perfectly empty – nothing within 
that could possibly be of any harm to any student who might unwarily venture in, 
don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, sir.” Replied Harry, hesitantly, not sure where this was leading.
“There you would be wrong, Harry.”  Dumbledore paused before continuing, “A 
large open space, which is used for broomstick manoeuvre practice when the 
weather is bad is a temptation for certain – forbidden – even illegal - 
activities.”  Harry looked puzzled.
“In the past at Hogwarts – the past, but nevertheless in my time here – the gym 
was used as the venue for a sorcerous duel.”  Harry felt the colour drain from 
his face.  Dumbledore nodded seriously.
“Yes, Harry, you may well look grim, for the outcome of this particular duel was 
not only unfortunate, it was tragic.  A young wizard died, due to simple 
inexperience and the over-enthusiasm of his rival.”  Silence fell.  Harry 
couldn’t meet Dumbledore’s eyes.  Eventually the Headmaster spoke again.
“Now you see, Harry, why members of staff were particularly alarmed on detecting 
traces of magical activities in the gym, and why you were very wrong in entering 
it out of school hours.  A precedent must not be set, unless we want a 
repetition of the earlier tragic accident.  In future, the gym will be locked 
outside school hours.”  Harry was still silent, pondering his narrow escape.
“That will be all Harry.” 
“Thank you, Sir.”  He got up and made his way towards the door.
“Oh, and Harry?” 
“Yes, sir?”  Harry turned back politely before opening the door.
“In confidence, and strictly off the record of course - who won?”  There was a 
sudden roaring in Harry’s ears, his knees turned to jelly, his cheeks stained 
red.  Dumbledore knew, he knew!  So why hadn’t he punished Harry accordingly?  
More to the point, how did he know?  These and many other questions flooded 
through Harry’s panic-stricken mind.  He could be expelled, so could Ginny!  The 
Weasleys would be horrified – they would never let him see her again.  Slow 
down, Harry.  The logical side of his brain started to cut in.  Dumbledore had 
asked the question off the record.  That meant that he didn’t want to punish 
either Harry or Ginny, nor did he want anyone else to know about their 
misdemeanour.  He merely wanted an answer to his question – and, perhaps, to 
remind Harry that there was very little going on within the walls of Hogwarts 
Castle that he, Dumbledore, didn’t know about.  Harry squared his shoulders and 
at last made eye-contact with his mentor.
“She did, sir.” he said, to his own everlasting surprise, “I’m afraid I cheated. 
 I underestimated her strength, and she very nearly got the better of me.  I 
won’t make that mistake again; she could one day be a great sorceress.”  
Dumbledore smiled.
“Indeed she will, Harry.” He replied, “Please endeavour to remain, er, friends 
with Miss Weasley: I would rather the foundations of Hogwarts remain intact for 
the present, and on a more serious note, in view of your present situation with 
regard to the problem of Voldemort, you need strong allies, like the Weasleys.”  
Harry nodded.
“That had occurred to me, sir.”  Dumbledore waved him away.
“Good luck, Harry.” He said quietly.  Harry was not sure whether he was speaking 
generally, or more specifically about Ginny, but he did not stop to worry about 
it; he almost ran from the room in his eagerness to leave.
 
Once in the corridor, reaction set in.  Harry leaned against the wall while the 
ceiling and the floor revolved prettily around his head, his ears rang and his 
face was alternately red and white as he pondered now near an escape he had had. 
 Cool hands pushed hair away from his face.
“Harry!  Harry, are you alright?” Ginny had been waiting in the empty classroom, 
too worried to work.  Harry sighed and stood upright.
“Yes,” he said, wearily, “I’m okay, really I am.  But I very nearly wasn’t.  Oh, 
Ginny!” he turned and took her by the shoulders, staring intently into her warm 
brown eyes.  She smiled.
“It’s alright, Harry,” she whispered, “You need to calm down.  Let’s go back to 
the Common Room, get warm by the fire and have a cup of cocoa – it was freezing 
in that classroom! – and then you can tell me all about it.”  Harry gazed at 
her, drinking in her strength, absorbing her warmth and support, knowing within 
at that moment how much she would mean to him throughout their lives.  Her face 
gradually lost its smiling expression under the intense scrutiny, and she raised 
her eyebrows questioningly as Harry drew closer.  Soft lips brushed hers, 
touched and held as his arms slowly encircled her back.  Ginny paused, savouring 
the incredibly delicate sensation of Harry’s mouth searching her own, then her 
arms twined lightly around his neck, holding his head, prolonging the kiss until 
they both broke apart gasping for air.  Harry at once pulled her back against 
his chest, stroking her hair, trembling with reaction.
“Oh Merlin!  I’ve wanted to do that for so long!” he breathed, hardly believing 
he’d had the nerve.  Muffled sounds of merriment greeted him as Ginny raised her 
head laughing delightedly.
“And I’ve waited so long for you to pluck up the courage!” she countered.  He 
stared in astonishment.
“You wanted this – as much as I did?”  She clenched her fists in exasperation.
“Harry!” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry.” He backtracked slightly in confusion, “I just – don’t know very 
much about girls.”
“That’s an understatement!” she responded rather too quickly, then more gently 
as she noted his despondent expression, “But you certainly can kiss!  I guess it 
must be – natural talent?”  Harry raised his eyes.
“Then – then you truly want me?“  His hesitant manner made her pause.  Her 
expression turning serious, she reached out to hold his face in her hands.
“Do I really need to answer that, Harry?  I thought I had already made my 
feelings on the subject quite clear over the years.  Oh, I know you have a 
dangerous future ahead – you’re a marked man, Harry Potter, and until 
Voldemort’s put in his place, you’ll never really be safe.  And I’m well aware 
that anyone closely associated with you runs a similar risk.  But Harry, my 
family all love you dearly and will risk their lives for you: why should I be 
any different?  Besides, you’re going to need all the help you can get, magical 
or otherwise, and you know how good I am – don’t you?”  He eyes glinted again 
with mischief.  Harry held a finger to her lips, his eyes wide.
“Okay, okay, I admit it.”  He looked around furtively, “Just don’t ever tell 
anyone how I know, alright?”
“Do you really think I can be such a good sorceress and have a defective brain?” 
Ginny protested hotly.  Emboldened by his previous behaviour, she stood on her 
toes and kissed his lips in a way that promptly made his pulse rate exit through 
the ceiling. “Harry,” she murmured in his ear, “The next time you want to do 
something like this, tell me – you never know, I might just want to do it too!”  
Giggling madly, she tickled him in the ribs where he was most sensitive.  With a 
squeak of surprise, Harry jumped quickly aside releasing the red-haired girl, 
who took off at the speed of light.
“You little minx!” he exclaimed, leaping after her.
“Last one in the Common Room’s a flobberworm!” her voice echoed mockingly 
through the corridors.  After making a token attempt to catch her, Harry slowed 
down and took the last few flights of stairs at a reasonable pace.  For some 
reason, that irritating Divination lesson had surfaced from layers of memory 
again, and he smiled, now fully aware of the reality of it.  True, he would have 
cheerfully swallowed glass shards rather than reveal its substance to anyone 
during that lesson, but now he could admit that there really did seem to be 
something in Divination after all.  For in the depths of the scrying crystal, he 
had seen a young woman with long, bright red hair.  He could not see her face, 
but he had identified her immediately.  She had been sitting at a desk signing a 
letter -  “Ginny Potter” - and it was that signature which had really freaked 
him.  Now he smiled contentedly at the recollection: he was sure Professor 
Dumbledore had been referring to a long-term relationship, rather than merely a 
friendship when he had spoken of Ginny that evening.  He didn’t know when any of 
this would happen, merely that he and Ginny were destined to spend their lives 
together and that, not least because she was such a formidable sorceress, he 
could not have chosen anyone better to share his life.
 
FINIS
 
 
Thanks to all who reviewed this series and enjoyed it – I enjoyed writing it.  
Keith Fraser – please don’t feel inadequate: although I type at 100 WPM, I don’t 
write the stuff anything like as quickly.  I’m pretty new at this fanfic thing – 
Dilemma has been in draft for quite a while now.  
GinnyPotter – sorry Draco only got a cameo and the odd reference, but I reckon 
that should I choose to write about him, he couldn’t be an also-ran: he’d have 
to be centre-stage, sarcastic and sassy.  Also, having read Cassandra Claire 
(Draco Dormiens and particularly Draco Sinister), the urge to put him in black 
leather would be almost irresistible!