I know it's been a very long time since we've had an update, and I apologize. But there will be a chapter out by the end of November, so be watching for it! :D This is an excerpt from Chapter 7, and I hope you enjoy it until I get out the entirety of Chapter 7. :) And just as a heads up: I've also rearranged and grouped the chapters to match those at Schnoogle, so the reviews from the former chapters eight and nine are gone.
_________
Ginny slumped down in her chair and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "Again," she said firmly. "Swish and flick. You're not attacking the feather with your wand, Gareth."
He gave her a half-hearted glare before he eyed the feather narrowly. He raised his wand and twirled it, then pointed it dramatically at the feather before shouting, "Wingardium levio!"
The wand trembled for a moment, then exploded, leaving Gareth with a faceful of disintegrated feather. Ginny eyed the strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes again and plucked a piece of feather out of it; then she reached to the table beside her that was stacked with feathers, and gave another one to Gareth. He placed it on the table before him and regarded it warily before picking up his wand again.
He took a deep breath, but before he could shout out his incanation, Ginny stopped him. "Hold on a second, before we kill another feather. Why don't I show you?"
"I know how to do it!" he snarled at her, and she snarled back at him.
"Well obviously not, because with the feathers that you've already blown up you could very well feather a naked chicken!"
He glowered at her before irritably shoving his wand into her hands. She rolled her eyes at the obstinacy of men, then primly pointed her wand at the feather. "Wingardium leviosa," she said calmly, and the feather began to levitate, floating gently toward the ceiling.
She glanced over at Gareth, and saw he was glaring at the feather. She handed him back his wand. "Leviosa," she stressed. "You've got the first part right. Try it again."
He transferred his glare to her. "If I'd have known how much a pain in the arse you would be, I wouldn't have even gone to Diagon Alley," he mumbled, and she smacked him.
"Well you're not exactly a treat either! Now do it!" She pointed imperiously at the feather, and Gareth pointed his wand at it, his eyes irritated. "Wingardium leviosa!"
A moment later, the feather trembled for a breath, then shot straight up at the ceiling and hovered there, bumping against it impatiently, as if it wanted to break through the whole ceiling. Gareth stared up at it, gaping, and then glanced at Ginny as if to say, Well, what now?
Ginny frowned. In first year Charms she had never seen anyone's feather go absolutely ballistic as Gareth's seemed to be doing. Was that because Gareth wasn't an eleven-year old, or because something was wrong with his spell? Ginny nibbled anxiously on her lip, and when the feather started to zoom around the room, she pointed her wand at it and commanded, "Finite incantatum." Immediately the feather stilled, then floated peacefully to the floor.
"Why did it do that?" Gareth asked, baffled, staring at his wand. "Is something wrong with my wand?"
"I don't think so," Ginny said slowly. "I think that you're putting too much power into it."
"What does that mean?" Gareth asked her cautiously, seating himself in a chair. They had chosen the less-used parlor for Gareth's lessons, and Ginny was grateful they hadn't chosen a room that was used more often. Charred feathers littered the floor, and she reminded herself to clean them up before they left. No sense in giving the house-elves more work than necessary.
Ginny seated herself in a chair opposite him, and mulled over the problem for a moment. "Well, this is what my Magical Theory professor told me: magic is like this great big well inside of you. It's everywhere inside you-in your fingers, in your belly, your throat. When you use your wand and cast a spell, you're pulling that magic from yourself. That's why you get so tired when you're in battle-not only because it's physically draining running around, and emotionally draining to see your friends get hurt, but also because you're sucking out your magic a little bit at a time." She had to pause for a moment and bite her lip. She had felt that drain from battle-she had seen friends fall before her, had wept tears that slid through the dried blood on her face.
Viciously, Ginny shoved away those memories. They didn't fit with her life now. The war had gone on for two years before Harry had killed Voldemort. Two years of desperation and pain. She didn't want to think on them anymore. Involuntarily, her mind conjured up the image of Dean Thomas's face, and Michael Corner's. Michael's death had probably had hit her the hardest. He had died protecting her. He had harbored a silly crush on her from Hogwarts, and when they had been faced with a Death Eater, he had taken a curse meant for her.
Ginny shuddered as a cool wind brushed over her skin. She hadn't seen the ghosts of Malfoy Manor since she had first come here, but she felt their presence. Cool fingers on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched, and yet not at the same time. If she went back to that battlefield, would she see those who had fallen? Would she see Michael, blood still leaking from his mouth, a dazed look in his eyes before the spark faded from them?