Searching for Love: Chapter One
(I don't own any copyrights to the Harry Potter series, or anything to do with it).
"Today I took Ginny to the park, and her little eyes got so wide when she saw the playground and the other kids," I say, passing the potatoes as I speak.
"Wish I could have been there, but some things came up--" Ginny responds, taking a spoon full of green beans.
"You'll get to go next time," I tell her, gripping her hand comfortingly over the table top, "there will be plenty of park trips."
"No I won't," she responds, and I see her frown; Slowly she seems to fade away, leaving her chair and plate of food behind. "Where are you going?" I shout, "wait! Don't leave me!" I surge to my feet, knocking my chair over; A blaring noise fills the room. "SHUT UP!" I shout.
"--going to get up?" A voice sounds jumbled in my head as I slowly wake up. I'm in bed, the alarm clock on my nightstand is blaring in my ear, Rachel is wailing in the background, and Hermione is bent over me, not an inch from my face, studying me worriedly. "Harry, are you well?" She asks, smiling a little amusedly.
"Never better," I lie as I sit up and grope for my glasses on the nightstand.
Ron enters the room, cradling Rachel in his arms. He coos to her, and rocks her gently, whispering tender words that only she can hear. He looks up, and I see the father he's going to be: a kind man, a man who can protect his family.
"We let ourselves in, and I took care of Rachel," he says, "I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," I reply. I turn to Hermione, "And how's your baby coming along?"
She smiles, and I see a motherly glow brightening her face. "He is exactly three months, four days, nine hours, and--"
"Okay Hermione," Ron breaks in, laughing, "she's designed this device that lets her keep track of the exact amount of time spent in pregnancy," he explains, "she's determined to know exactly how old he is, and be ready the moment that timer gets to a certain point."
"Sounds a bit to me like a timer on an oven," I tease, and Hermione waves her finger under my nose.
"For your information, I am planning to market these things someday. Just think of all the women out there who don't know how far along they are-- TO THE EXACT MINUTE-- I mean, really, doctors can only really give estimates in days and weeks and months. What if the baby is due--"
"Thank you Hermione," Ron butts in, before Hermione can go any farther along on her tangent, "We've got a lot to do today, and we'd better get started. Harry, we'll be in the living room, see you in ten?"
"I'll be right down," I reply.
Minutes later, I lock the front door and we are off to Ron's parents house. Today we plan on retracing our steps; We're going back to the castle to look for clues. In the course of events that followed the downfall of Voldemort, we managed to find Trelawney and Olivander, both of who were alive and unhurt, at least, not physically; Both have had to be kept at St. Mungo's for treatment, but things do not look promising. I have often visited them, to find them babbling like children and howling as though they were being physically assaulted. The nurses tell me that it is a by product of their mental torture, they now live in a world where no one and nothing can reach them, nothing that is, except their own hellish nightmares.
"Come in! Come in!" Mrs. Weasley cries out as she ushers up into the kitchen, "of course we've been expecting you! We have a room made up for the baby already; Harry, would you like to see it?"
"Of course I would," I reply, and she leads the way.
The room has large windows overlooking the garden. The white lace curtains are pink, and the wallpaper is pink and white; The crib is wicker, and looks like it has been passed down in the family. I don't mind this, because I know the Weasley's will take good care of her.
"Why don't we give them a few minutes alone?" Hermione suggests, and everyone leaves the room.
I sit down in a wicker rocking chair, and grab a toy from the basket next to it. Rachel gurgles and waves her tiny fists as I wind the little mechanism on it's back. A sad melody fills the room, and I begin to rock her. Gently, I sing a lullaby I used to hear Ginny sing, when she thought no one was around. Rachel's little eyes close, and her breathing slows.
"I'm going to find mommy," I tell her, "I'm going to find mommy, and than she'll be able to rock you to sleep too."
"Harry!"
I look up, and see Ginny standing in the doorway. "Ginny?" I ask uncertainly, "no-- your not real."
"Why do you always have to do things alone?" She asks me, and I rise to the bait.
"Because I can't get others involved things that aern't their problem."
"You always say that, and than you go and get them involved anyways. It's okay, I forgive you."
She spins around in the doorway, clasping her hands behind her back; Her long coppery-red hair is tumbling down her back, and I think she must be an angel.
"I forgive you," she repeats.
"Harry?" I look up, and the doorway is empty. Hermione is studying me worriedly, Rachel is sleeping with the toy curled to her breast and her little thumb in her mouth. "Ready to go?" I am grateful she chose not to push the issue, and I tuck Rachel in delicately, before kissing her on the brow and leaving the room.
"I'm ready," I reply, and I am, if it takes the next hundred years, I'll find Ginny, I swear it.