"Acromantulas are giant, venomous spiders," Lockhart's voice rang from nowhere, arrogant and echoing. "But as long as I'm here, you'll be safe."
Harry ignored him and ran.
The forest moved around him. Branches whispered words he couldn't understand. The ground pulsed beneath his feet to the beat of his own heartbeat.
"Harry… they don' eat people unless they've got no choice," Hagrid's voice rumbled from everywhere at once. But he had to save her!
A shadow shifted ahead. Too many legs. Too many eyes. A spider the size of a carriage scuttled into view.
Its mandibles glistened, carrying Hermione's head. Pale, bloodless, eyes dull and lifeless.
The world spun. He tried to step forward. His legs were roots, his wand was gone.
"Help me, Harry…" the head pleaded, her voice trembling with terror. "Why didn't you save me?"
Two more spiders appeared, dragging shapes that flickered and blurred. Limbs swayed like smoke. He reached for her, but only caught shadows.
The first spider let out a piercing screech - and Harry's stomach twisted when he realized it sounded like Ron, screaming.
Blood ran like ink from Hermione's lips as her face twisted in sorrow. The trees leaned in. The wind whispered blame.
"I'm sorry!" he screamed, though the sound dissolved before it could reach her. The forest swallowed him whole.
Then, nothing.
When Harry woke, the nightmare still clung to him. He shot up in his bed, his heart pounding and his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Sweat soaked through his pyjamas and his hands trembled uncontrollably as he wiped at his face.
He could still see her - Hermione's bloodied face, her pleading eyes. The words echoed in his mind, haunting him: 'Why didn't you save me?'
He buried his face in his hands, willing himself to breathe. It was just a dream, he told himself. A horrible, twisted dream. But the sickening weight in his chest told him otherwise.
It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory warped into something far worse.
It was a normal peaceful day, just before the Halloween feast, when Ron and him visited Hagrid. The sun was weak but warm, the air crisp with the smell of autumn. Hagrid had seemed more nervous than usual, though. He kept glancing at the edge of the forest, his face pale and his hands unsteady as he poured them tea.
"I don' want ter worry yeh…" Hagrid had muttered "But there's bin talk... ever since tha' Lockhart feller blabbed about Aragog an' his family... there's bin folks comin' ter the forest."
Harry had exchanged a glance with Ron, uneasy. The Daily Prophet had recently published a sensational story about the colony of Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest.
"Aragog?" Harry asked, the name unfamiliar.
Hagrid hesitated for a moment, then leaned in as if sharing a secret. "He's a big'un," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "Raised 'im meself when he was just a wee thing. Smart as they come, Acromantulas are, but misunderstood."
"Misunderstood?" Ron's voice cracked, his face pale. "They're monsters, Hagrid! Giant spiders that eat people!"
"They don' eat people unless they've got no other choice," Hagrid replied defensively. "Most o' the time, they stick to their forest. Folk just like blamin' 'em fer things they don' understand. Hunters comin' in tryin' to kill 'em all - don' sit right with me."
"It'd sit fine with me," Ron muttered, glancing nervously at the forest.
"Aragog wouldn' hurt a fly," Hagrid said earnestly. "Well, maybe a fly. But he's a good lad, he is. All they need is a bit o' respect."
Before Harry could ask more, there was a sound - a faint rustling from the underbrush. Hagrid froze mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he peered toward the trees. The sound grew louder, accompanied by a faint clicking that made Harry's stomach churn. Then they emerged.
Three enormous spiders burst through the foliage - their legs as thick as tree trunks. Their fangs gleamed with something dark and wet, glistening even in the dimming light. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw what they carried. The first spider dragged… Hermione's severed head, her lifeless face pale and streaked with dirt. The second and third spiders carried the rest of her, the pieces swaying grotesquely as they moved.
Harry's heart stopped. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, everything slowing as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. Ron let out a blood-curdling scream, collapsing to the ground in hysterics. Hagrid roared in anger, his booming voice shaking the air, but Harry couldn't move. His wand hung uselessly at his side as his legs refused to obey.
The rest was a blur. Hagrid's roar of fury. The chaos of movement and noise. Harry's vision had gone dark and when he woke, he was in the infirmary.
The sterile smell of the hospital wing had been the first thing he noticed when he woke up. His head throbbed and his limbs felt like lead. He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings.
Nearby, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat by Ron's bed, their faces etched with worry. Ron lay pale and trembling, his eyes wide and unfocused.
"Poor boy," he heard Professor McGonagall say softly, not knowing Harry could hear them. "It's no wonder, after... after what he's seen. Perhaps it would be best if he spent some time at home."
Mrs. Weasley nodded, her lips trembling. "A mind healer," she said quietly, "yes, he needs help."
Then the reality hit him… Hermione.
She was dead. He couldn't breathe, his hands shaking.
After a while he manged to calm down. Thankfully he didn't scream, otherwise Professor McGonagall and Ron's parents would have realized he was awake.
And Ron was leaving Hogwarts, apparently. Well, he wouldn't leave Hogwarts. He didn't have anywhere worth leaving for - nobody who cared about his well-being.
The announcement came the next day. While he was still in the infirmary Dumbledore had told the whole school that Hermione Granger was gone.
Harry couldn't stand the looks that followed him after that. The whispers in the corridors, the pitying stares. It was as though he was on display, a tragic figure to be mourned from a distance.
He missed Hermione's presence, her intelligence and kindness… and bravery. Without her, Harry felt adrift, alone in a sea of guilt and unanswered questions. Especially now that even Ron wasn't here with him.
He should have done something. Anything. But what? His mind churned with half-formed ideas, everything too little, too late. The helplessness gnawed at him, leaving him raw and restless.
Unable to bear the silence of the dormitory any longer, Harry swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his robes. The darkness pressed in around him as he grabbed a book from his bag - something Hermione had recommended weeks ago, before everything fell apart. He clutched it tightly as he made his way down to the common room, hoping that somewhere in the quiet, he might find peace.
But deep down, he knew the nightmares weren't finished with him yet.
The Gryffindor common room was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the dying embers in the fireplace. Shadows flickered and stretched across the room, their movements oddly hypnotic. The faint warmth from the fire gave the illusion of comfort.
Harry stepped cautiously into the room, clutching a book against his chest like a lifeline. His steps faltered when he noticed a figure curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire. Ginny was wrapped in a thick blanket, her knees pulled to her chest, her bright red hair falling over her face like a curtain. Her eyes glanced up at him. She looked just as lost as he felt.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked, her voice soft and hoarse.
Harry nodded but didn't answer, unsure if he could trust his voice. He sank into the couch opposite her, his grip on the book tightening. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled only by the occasional pop of the fire.
Ginny broke the quiet first. "Hermione was… she was amazing, wasn't she?" Her voice trembled slightly. "Always helping everyone. She helped me so much this past week. I'd forgotten how kind she was until… until it was too late."
Her words hit him like a punch, sharp and unavoidable. Harry nodded, but he couldn't meet her eyes. It felt wrong to talk about Hermione like this - too raw, too close. And worse, it was another reminder that he'd failed her.
Ginny continued, her voice steadier now as if speaking would ease the ache in her chest. "She spent hours with me in the library last week, helping me. She didn't have to, you know. She had so much work to do herself, but she still made time. That's just who she was."
Her words hung in the air, stirring something inside Harry. He hadn't thought much about how Hermione's absence might have affected others. The sharp pain of his own loss had consumed him, leaving little room for anything else. But here was Ginny, quietly grieving, her memories of Hermione tinged with warmth instead of the relentless horror that filled Harry's nightmares.
"She's been there for me so many times," Harry finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, "and I… I couldn't save her."
Ginny's eyes softened as she looked at him. "Harry, you can't think like that. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."
He shook his head, tears threatening to spill. "You don't understand. I see her, every time I close my eyes. She's there, blaming me… asking why I didn't save her."
Ginny's blanket slipped from her shoulders as she sat down next to him, her hand on his arm. "It's not her, Harry. It's the guilt talking. Hermione wouldn't blame you. She'd never do that."
Her words were steady and sure, carrying a conviction that made Harry's chest ache. He looked up at her, surprised by the strength in her gaze. For the first time, he felt a small crack in the wall of his despair.
"You can't do this alone," Ginny added softly. "You don't have to."
He wanted to argue, to insist that he could manage on his own, but the weight of her kindness and the sincerity in her voice silenced him.
"Why don't you try to sleep here?" Ginny suggested after a moment. "The common room feels… safer somehow."
Harry hesitated, uncertain. "I don't think I can. The nightmares…"
"Then stay here," Ginny interrupted gently. She sat down next to him and shifted slightly, offering her lap. "Maybe it'll help. Just try."
His immediate reaction was to refuse, the awkwardness of the idea filling him with discomfort. But there was something in her tone - a quiet, determined warmth - that made him pause. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved, resting his head on her lap.
Her fingers wove gently through his hair, a motion that sent shivers down his spine - not unpleasant, but strange. Harry wasn't used to this, to being cared for like this. He lay stiff for a moment, his muscles locked in their usual tension, but her steady rhythm seemed to coax it out of him, bit by bit. For reasons he couldn't fully explain, he let himself stay.
"You're not alone, Harry," she murmured. "Not ever."
Her words, so simple and earnest, echoed in his mind as his eyelids grew heavy. The soft crackling of the fire and the faint, even sound of her breathing began to lull him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his thoughts quieted and the crushing weight in his chest lightened just enough for sleep to find him.
Dreamless, peaceful sleep.
Warmth cradled Harry as he drifted back to consciousness, a sensation so foreign it took him a few moments to realize where he was. His head rested on something soft and warm, the faint scent of lavender tickling his senses. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the common room. The dying embers in the fireplace cast a soft glow, painting the scene in muted oranges and reds.
He shifted slightly, his gaze landing on Ginny. She was fast asleep, her head tilted against the back of the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. Her face was peaceful and relaxed. For a fleeting moment, Harry thought she looked… cute. The thought surprised him and he quickly shook it away, a small flush creeping up his neck.
Still, as he stared at her, he couldn't help but feel the weight of her kindness. She had offered him comfort without hesitation, grounding him in a moment where he felt like he was drowning. The warmth of her lap beneath his head, her gentle presence.
Reluctantly, Harry shifted, careful not to disturb her. His head lifted from her lap and he moved to sit up. But Ginny stirred anyway, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked sleepily, her gaze unfocused for a moment before landing on him.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her voice soft and husky from sleep.
Harry nodded, his voice catching in his throat. "Yeah… I did. Thanks."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Good," she murmured, sitting up straighter and pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "That's what friends are for."
Her casual dismissal of his gratitude made Harry's chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way.
"It… helped," he added, awkwardly, unsure how to properly convey what her care had meant to him.
Ginny's smile widened just slightly as if she understood. "I'm glad," she said simply, her voice still tinged with sleep.
The two of them sat there for a moment, the silence comfortable, the fire still crackling softly in the hearth. For the first time in days, Harry felt a little less alone.
Hogwarts had fallen into an eerie stillness. With classes suspended, the castle seemed to exhale in grief, every corner heavy with the weight of Hermione's absence. The usual hum of student chatter in the corridors had been replaced by muted whispers. Even the portraits seemed quieter, their usual gossip subdued out of respect - or sorrow.
Harry spent his days in the Gryffindor common room, where the fire never seemed to fully die out. Ginny was his constant companion, always nearby with a book or a knitting project in hand, her presence both comforting and grounding. She didn't press him to talk unless he seemed ready, filling the silence with a steady rhythm of kindness that made the suffocating pity from others more bearable.
Occasionally, her roommates - Daisy, Mira and Emily - joined them. Their light, hesitant conversations about mundane things like classes and Quidditch matches provided brief, welcome distractions. Mira, in her characteristic prim tone, expressed frustration about cancelled classes, which prompted Emily to make a cheeky joke about free time being better spent sneaking into the kitchens. Even Daisy, shy as she was, managed a soft giggle.
The twins were less frequent visitors but impossible to ignore when they appeared. They would joke around, their presence a rare but welcome distraction. Harry appreciated their efforts. He wasn't ready to laugh yet, but their subdued attempts at humour were a nice distraction.
Ginny stayed close throughout, her quiet strength anchoring him. The days blurred together, but amidst the gloom, Harry found moments of solace, thanks to the small circle of people who refused to let him drown entirely in his grief.
But the nightmares, once sporadic, had turned into an everyday occurrence. Every time Harry managed to drift off in his own bed, the same horrific visions consumed him. Hermione's lifeless body being dragged away by monstrous spiders, her severed head staring at him with accusing eyes.
"Why didn't you save me?" her voice echoed, alternating between a pleading whisper and a venomous accusation. He'd wake drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps, too shaken to sleep again.
Yet somehow, in the Gryffindor common room, everything felt different. Harry slept with his head resting on Ginny's lap, her fingers absently combing through his messy hair or sometimes nestled beside her on the sofa, her quiet presence anchoring him. In those moments, the nightmares didn't come - just dreamless, quiet rest. It was as though the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of her breathing created a protective cocoon, keeping the darkness at bay. He didn't understand it, but he clung to it like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.
"Harry," Ginny said one evening as he stirred awake on the couch, rubbing his eyes. "You can't keep going like this."
"I'm fine," he muttered, though he knew it was a lie.
"You're not," she insisted, setting her knitting aside. "You need help. Madame Pomfrey could give you a Dreamless Sleep Potion."
"No," Harry snapped, sharper than he meant to. He turned away, staring into the fire. After a moment, he added more softly, "I don't want it."
Ginny was silent for a long moment, but he could feel her watching him. "Why not?" she finally asked.
He hesitated, clenching his fists. "Maybe I deserve it," he admitted in a whisper. "Maybe I deserve the nightmares for not being able to save her."
Ginny didn't respond and Harry didn't look at her. He couldn't bear to see pity in her eyes - not hers too.
A few nights later, the common room was unusually empty. Harry sat slumped in his usual chair by the fire, Ginny nearby with a book in hand. The quiet crackle of the flames was the only sound until the portrait hole creaked open.
"Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall's voice broke the stillness as she stepped into the room, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. "What are you two doing here at this hour?"
Harry stiffened, guilt twisting in his chest. Ginny spoke first, her voice steady. "Professor, Harry's been having terrible nightmares. He hasn't been able to sleep properly."
McGonagall's gaze softened as it shifted to Harry, her stern expression giving way to concern. "Is that true, Mr. Potter?"
Harry hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "I'm fine," he said, though he knew how unconvincing it sounded.
McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line before gesturing toward the portrait hole. "Come with me, Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley, you may return to your dormitory."
Harry stood, feeling a mix of relief and dread as he followed her through the castle. The hospital wing was quiet, its sterile scent oddly comforting as Madame Pomfrey bustled over with a vial of potion.
"This will help you sleep," McGonagall said, her tone soft but firm. "No one expects you to endure this alone, Mr. Potter."
Harry took the potion, the warmth of their concern settling over him like a blanket.
oOoOo
Why had she gotten closer to Harry Potter?
It certainly hadn't been part of any grand plan. The dangers of drawing Dumbledore's attention alone should have been enough to keep him at a safe distance. Sure, keeping him close meant she could ensure he wouldn't stumble upon the Chamber, but… that wasn't why she acted.
That night in the common room, when she found him - a lonely, traumatised boy, crushed under the weight of grief - she stayed. She didn't think about it at the time, just sat with him as though offering him someone to grieve alongside, even if it was a lie.
She still couldn't explain why…
Perhaps it was part of her act, maintaining the façade of the caring Ginny she needed people to see. Perhaps it was subconscious pity or guilt.
Or perhaps she had been influenced subconsciously by the original Ginny's memories and feelings – they were so bright and foreign and a part of her wondered if she could feel something similar. Or maybe the many fantasies in the void, where - like in the books - she as Ginny was Harry's girlfriend, had influenced her without her realizing.
"Um… Ginny, could you let me go now?" Daisy's soft voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling Ginny out of her musings. Daisy's cheeks were still tinged pink, though she seemed less flustered than when Ginny had unceremoniously grabbed her and declared her a hugging pillow.
"Pillows don't talk," Ginny said firmly, her tone so serious that it sent Emily, perched on the opposite bed, into a fit of giggles. Even Mira, who tried to keep up the appearance of being exasperated by her roommates' antics, had to cough to disguise her laughter.
Being close to Harry had its advantages. Mimicking the original Ginny's shy, distant behaviour - blushing, stammering and sneaking glances from afar - would not only feel unnatural but would likely come across as forced. Additionally, maintaining such an act would quickly grow tiresome. Instead, presenting her actions as a natural attempt to support Harry through his grief, provided a plausible explanation for the change. Regular proximity and daily interaction would naturally soften the awkwardness and eliminate the blushing, making her shift in demeanour seem like a gradual and believable evolution rather than a sudden anomaly.
Still, she might have inadvertently made him reliant on her presence. The first time Harry fell asleep on her lap and began to stir with nightmares, Ginny had reflexively cast Somnium Vinculum, an antiquated spell that suppressed bad dreams, to keep him quiet. Once widely used before the invention of Dreamless Sleep Potion, the spell had fallen out of favour due to its severe drawback: It exacerbated nightmares when not reapplied. Over time, Harry seemed to subconsciously link her presence with calm and safety. It wasn't planned, but the outcome was undeniable.
Ginny ran her fingers through Daisy's soft blonde hair, the girl's face flushed with mortified embarrassment. Yet, despite her clear discomfort, Daisy made no move to pull away. "Good girl," Ginny murmured approvingly, her voice laced with playful teasing.
It was strange how physical contact with girls was different from boys. She really didn't have any sexual desires for either Harry or Daisy, but it just felt different in a way she couldn't pinpoint. Having Harry on her lap – vulnerable and emotionally dependent – her hands playing with his hair felt… exciting? Like doing something forbidden - controlling the story's protagonist and future saviour of Britain, like he was her pet. While Daisy felt soft and fluffy, in a way that calmed her. Uncomplicated, yet still a novel experience in its own right.
But maybe this wasn't a good time for introspection.
"Don't you think you've embarrassed Daisy enough for one day, Ginny?" Emily teased as she perched on the edge of Ginny's bed.
"But an embarrassed Daisy is so cute, don't you agree, Emily?" Ginny replied with a mischievous smile, completely ignoring the muffled squeaks of protest from Daisy. Finally releasing her, Ginny watched as the flustered thirteen-year-old bolted to her own bed, diving under the blankets with a dramatic huff. Before disappearing, Daisy sent Ginny a glare that was meant to be angry but only managed to make her look like an adorably indignant squirrel - or perhaps a bunny?
"I might have gone a bit too far," Ginny admitted, glancing at Emily, who chuckled in agreement. Getting up, Ginny followed Daisy to her bed and knelt by her side, where the other girl still cowered under the blankets.
With a few soft-spoken apologies and promises not to embarrass her again, Ginny coaxed Daisy out of her hiding spot. Forgiveness came with a shy smile and a bashful nod and Ginny found herself oddly content. Spending time with her roommates was beginning to feel surprisingly enjoyable. What a strange and unexpected development.
Later that night, as she lay in her bed, Ginny's thoughts drifted back to Harry.
Maybe it was simpler than that… maybe she saw something of herself in Harry. She couldn't ignore how he tensed the first time she touched him, the way he seemed unused to any warmth or kindness. He was just as touch-starved as she had been, trapped in a dark cupboard for much of his childhood like she had been trapped in the void of the diary.
Whatever the reason, she found herself genuinely enjoying his company. Even if most of their interactions were calculated manipulations on her part, she didn't see why that should diminish her satisfaction. After all, what was the point of clawing her way back to a second life if she couldn't indulge in what she wanted?
For now, she'd keep Harry close, within her orbit. Perhaps he'd even prove useful one day.