The Swarm, by Tara Anne
October 2011
Suitcases. An endless span of suitcases, crowding the hallway. A swarm of thrumming suitcases, humming with the spells and the edge of deadly secrets and silence from within their honeycomb cavern. They line up, black, brown, and tan, in a chaotic sprawl, forming the mottled back of some horrible beast—
And Harry can't understand it, not at first.
But then he sees them. Ginny's cheeks are red, and her eyes damp; little James clings tightly to her skirts, looking up at Harry with wide, bewildered eyes.
The bag falls to the floor. A blueberry muffin rolls out, skirting along the tile.
"What's going on?"
Ginny looks away—down, to Jamie. She speaks softly, as though, if she is quiet, their child will not understand her words or actions. As that red, red hair flows over her face, something shatters inside Harry.
"I'm leaving you Harry. I won't have this continue any longer in my household. If you want to conduct these affairs, then fine." A hitch, soft and quick, of doubt; and Harry thinks that maybe, just maybe, they can work this out. Then: "But not while I'm your wife. I won't have that."
Guilt, raggedly sharp like broken glass, chokes him. "W-what? Ginny?"
She does not meet his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Harry. I know you're seeing someone else."
James runs up to Harry and tugs on his trousers. Harry kneels, and a sticky palm clutches his collar. "Daddy?" James whispers into his ear, "Mummy said a bad word."
Harry chokes on a sob. "I know, Jamie."
"Do I get a Knut, then?"
"Later, Jamie. Not now. Later; I promise."
The little boy bobs his reddish head. His hair, when Harry runs his fingers through it, is soft and thick, like down. Harry sighs. Looks up at Ginny.
Flinches. Looks away, down, anywhere else.
He kisses James' forehead. "Go see Mummy now, alright?" he whispers, pushing Jamie towards Ginny. His son scampers off towards his mother and, wrapping his arms around her thigh, leans his head against her leg. He yawns.
"I'm sleepy."
Ginny pulls him into her arms. "I know. We're going to go see Nanny tonight. Alright, Jamie?"
He nods against her neck. "Okay," he whispers back.
And his son turns away, away from Harry, and squats down beside the monsterous sprawl of suitcases. Eyes fluttering, he leans his head against the nearest one.
Harry looks away, least he split apart into a hundred million pieces, like—like the crumpled muffin. His eye catches upon that. It's Ginny's favorite, filled with plump blueberries and a brown sugar crust. Jamie's doughnut is still in the bag, sprinkle-coated and saccharine. Blamelessly sweet.
"Jamie, let's go, darling. It's time to go see Nanny."
Involuntarily, Harry's eyes flash up to see Ginny picking up his son. His heart throbs.
But there is nothing he can say, nothing that he can do, to change what has already been done. Everything has already been said, screamed beneath blankets of silencing charms and clawed across each other's backs.
It happens too suddenly. One moment he's watching them, and in the next, they've disappeared in a flash of emerald. And Harry stares, contemplating his empty hallway and home. He almost prefers the mismatched trunks to this barren abode. It rings hollow, echoing the lonely start of this new beginning. In the Floo, embers singe and cool, closing a portal between their worlds forever.
FIN