Ginny?

[He heard that noise, and it had to have come from her, because who else would it come from? It sounded awful, guttural, sharp and ugly, and he's immediately concerned for her. If something's wrong, he wants to do something to help her.

And then, after a moment that's dragged out just a little too long, she speaks, and he's too stunned to reply for a moment. He finally manages to gather his shattered composure to speak:]

...2011? How is that possible? And when - when are you from? If not May 1998?

[Wouldn't you like to know? leaps to the tip of her tongue but she bites it back almost literally, swallowing against the lump in her throat and trying to reach for calm and rationality. It's a good thing, perhaps, that this isn't the first time she's seeing or hearing Percy since she's been here. The viciousness isn't nearly as potent as it had been that one weekend, drained away to leave something colder and emptier but less acidic. Maybe in time, that missing piece in her heart and their family will be filled again, maybe the City is giving the Weasleys a second chance altogether—but for now, she's tired. And she doesn't feel like hurting her older brother because she doesn't know what to feel.]

Doesn't matter. I know the same things you do.

[Maybe not everything, but enough.]

How— [A bit stiffly,] How are you, then?

I'm fine, thank you.

[It's amazing, how even now, even when he's reeling from the revelation that it's 2011, that his dead younger brother is here and apparently alive which isn't possible, that he's trapped here - even now, the lie springs easily, smoothly to his lips, and under other circumstances, might even be believable.

He breathes in, amends.]

That is. I'm - thrown by these circumstances. Understandably so, I would think.

Everyone is when they arrive. Why wouldn't you be? New world, bloody awful deities, mad laws about time, that sodding ticking.

[Ginny stops herself, realising she keeps throwing things in his face and never giving answers back. She closes her eyes, tries to make her way through this somehow.]

Right, I—yeah, it's 2011. Doesn't make a difference to our lot, though, Muggle technology's about as odd as ever. You'll have to get used to it, but you won't have to hide being a wizard, either. Not really.

[She pauses.]

I'm doing a rubbish job at this introduction thing. I've done so many of them. What've you heard?

[He doesn't understand her vindictiveness, her anger - but she's said she knows what he knows but wouldn't tell him when she was from - his head hurts and he feels hollow, and he wishes he could just get some straight bloody answers about something for once that didn't involve so much yelling.]

I've heard the Ministry doesn't - have authority here. I've heard that people - people who are -

[He grits his teeth and continues.]

- dead. Are here as well. I've heard there's a welcome center off the fountain courtyard. I've heard I can't escape.

[He's heard that the dead are here. The shift in his tone tells her that he's probably heard a name—Fred—and if there's something darker and sharper colouring his tone, it's because she's not telling him a damn thing. Not about their brother, about herself, about the City beyond snippets that are useless when taken from the whole. She closes her eyes, opens them, cuts her gaze to the bracelet on her wrist that Fred had gifted to her for turning nineteen.

Nineteen.

Barely younger than Percy, now. Barely younger than the twins, and despite the history between them, is it fair of her to hold back on Fred? For what reasons? She can't think of any.]

Yeah, Percy. The dead are here, too.

[His breath catches, and for a moment he's silent, unable to put words around the horror sparking bright inside his brain, the icy-cold fist tightening around his gut, the odd prickling at his scalp and the nape of his neck, and he has to fight to catch his breath.

The dead walk here.

But it's -

- how is it -

- they can't - ]

This place, the sort of magic it has ... it must be incredibly powerful. Unthinkably so.

To bring us all here? Inflict the curses? Break all the laws we know about magic?

[Her voice is quiet, her agreement working past the grudge she holds against him in this united disbelief at the world that traps them.]

Yeah.

Does anyone understand how it works? These - these 'deities' you mentioned. Do they have anything to do with this?

[Be sensible, be clever, get to the bottom of things. If you can understand the laws you can use them to your advantage. Push away the pain and the grief and the fear and crumple it all into a ball, kick it under the rug and deal with it later. Deal with the now, with the here, with what's in front of you.

Figure it out. Breathe.]

Maybe. I've heard theories that it's the deities or the City itself. The guides only say so much, you're probably better off asking the people who've lived here.

[She's one of the longer residents, but she isn't about to admit that to Percy. Not when he's clearly grappling with the City as a whole and potentially the news that their dead brother is here with them. Merlin, she wants to ask him if someone's said as much. But then what? Get caught keeping it quiet herself?]

Though probably not until you've let it all sink in. You sound like you're about ready to explode.

I will, then. And honestly, I'm fine; I just need some time to let it all sink in.

[...and possibly go throw up several times and also scream. Because that's what people who are fine do.]

Is there somewhere I can stay, in the time being?

The cabin.

[She says it without hesitation, despite all she feels about him and the situation they're all in. To a Weasley, home is home, and the cabin is the closest thing to The Burrow they've got here. More than enough room, company, food, the safest place in the City for their kind. There's no other option in her mind, and the thought of Percy holing himself up in a flat away from the rest of them reminds her far too much of the first time he left them. Not here. Not now. Not when she can try to prevent it, hope that this is maybe that second chance she's been looking for with him (third, really, given the visitor's weekend and how she bungled that).]

We've got a cabin in the forest, magically protected, loads of bedrooms. The rest of our lot live there.

I don't - know if that's the best idea, Ginny. It sounds nice, of course, but -

[dead men live there the dead walk here]

- it's been some time since I lived with other people.

So you're just going to bugger off again?

[She can't help the edge creeping back into her voice. She has no right, not really, not when she left the cabin too. Not for the same reasons, perhaps, but she hasn't come back, either. It emptied on her once, she's afraid to wake up one morning and find it the same again.]

[I'm too big of a coward to live with the brother I killed. I don't want you to know about my nightmares. I'm panicing just thinking about it.

I'm scared.

There's that Gryffindor courage right there, huh?]

I simply feel it would be the wisest course of action.

No, it's idiotic.

[Not pulling any punches here, is she? If they were closer, if she allowed herself to be more honest, if she knew what Percy felt or what he was thinking—she'd tell him her Gryffindor courage slinks away when it shouldn't, too. What else would she call keeping secrets from everyone she loves and trusts? What else would she call being haunted by the fear that she'll be left alone again, so she keeps that distance? No one can be Gryffindor all the time. Not even Weasleys.]

Being alone in the City's a stupid idea. You've got family here, Percy, and a place as safe as Hogwarts. The ticking'll drive you mad and I'm not about to lend my owl to you so you can have some company.

[He's glad that she can only hear his voice, so she can't see him wince at the harsh edge to her voice, at her calling him idiotic even though he knows she's probably right. Well, no, she is right, he is being stupid, but he's petrified.

Still, he takes in a deep breath, clenches his free hand tightly into a fist, and manages to reply, evenly:]

If you feel it would be best, then.

[The pause sends something cold clutching at her stomach and belatedly, Ginny realises that she's being more than unfair. She remembers how he reacted the last time he was here, when he found out about Fred, and one might think that would be enough warning to be more gentle this time. But she never thinks, does she, not even when it comes to family when her emotions get the better of her.

Should she backtrack now? Should she tell him it's his decision, not hers? Would he listen? Softly, now.]

Where else would you go?