All for All

Summary:

In the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry will either gain everything – or lose everything. This is life – to gain all, one must first risk all.

Chapter Four – On a Personal Level

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is definitely not mine. Anything you don't may possibly be original.

"Family isn't about whose blood you have. It's about who you care about." - Trey Parker and Matt Stone

It was three o'clock in the morning as Arabella Figg stood wearily in the middle of the bustling airport. She had been travelling most of the night – returning from an overseas, undercover mission for the order. Unfortunately, she had had to travel the muggle way for security, exhausting though it was and so she was delighted to see a familiar red-head waiting to meet her by the doors.

"Bill! How lovely to see you!"

Bill Weasley grinned and strode over.

"Arabella."

He took one of her bags and they walked outside, towards the apparation spot. She gripped his arm tightly and they were whisked away, landing neatly on the tiled floor of her kitchen. She sighed. Home.

"Cup of tea?" she offered.

Bill shook his head reluctantly. "Sorry Arabella – I really should get back," he apologised. She nodded.

"Wait a moment while I hang my coat up, and I'll see you off." She went out into the hall and Bill waited, letting his gaze wander curiously. Mrs Figg's home was almost purely muggle – what his father wouldn't do for the chance to visit. Bill smiled at the thought. Now, that would be funny to see…

His thoughts were interrupted by a gasp of shock from the hall.

"Bill!"

He ran into the hall and saw Mrs Figg at the front door. Joining her he realised what had made her call. Pale and shivering and huddled up in a feeble attempt to shelter from the cold rain was –

"Harry…" Bill whispered, but shook himself.

"We need to get him inside."

Charlie Weasley woke up with a start to a quiet knocking on the door.

"Charlie!" Bill's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Charlie!" He pushed himself out of bed quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Come in," he called back quietly. Bill entered, not bothering to shut the door behind him, and speaking almost at once.

"Put something on, quickly. I need your help."

His older brother's tone was anxious and impatient, moving Charlie into obeying automatically. He opened his wardrobe, reaching for jeans and a t-shirt.

A minute or so later Charlie arrived downstairs, fully clothed and awake. He was surprised to see his mother and father, looking slightly flustered at the early hour, alongside Tonks and Remus Lupin, waiting for him. Bill was standing by the fireplace, tapping his foot worriedly, but stopped when Charlie entered.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked, his eyes flicking across their faces, searching for an answer.

"It'll take too long to explain," his brother replied tersely. "We need to get moving now. Got your healing stuff?" Charlie nodded, worried. When he had become a member of the Order, he had started a healing course on top of his other duties. He wasn't an expert, but he knew enough to make himself useful – and that was something. As he followed Tonks and his brother into the floo network the way he had done for the Order of the Phoenix so many times before, he saw his mother grasp his father's hand, seeking reassurance. He only wished someone could give it.

They had arrived back at Grimmauld place at around four o'clock that morning. Charlie and Tonks had gone straight to their rooms after helping Bill get Harry to his, but Bill had remained in the kitchen as the dawn grew clearer. He wondered the details of what had happened, but knew it was unlikely that he'd get much from Harry. He'd turned much more secretive this summer, and with him, Ron and Hermione – it was with them he would have to leave the task of persuading Harry to open up.

But at least Harry would be alright for now. When he had reached Mrs Figg's house, Charlie had gone straight to Harry's side…

"Hold him upright, Bill." Charlie said. Bill did so as Charlie raised his left hand and felt Harry's forehead, before taking his pulse and checking his breathing.

"Well?"

"Moderate hypothermia. Commonly the result of being exposed to cold and wet conditions for an extended amount of time." Bill looked sideways at him. His younger brother looked pale and nervous, and his voice was odd, as though he were reciting from memory.

Charlie took a deep breath. Ok, I can do this.

"We need a towel or something," he said over his shoulder, and heard Mrs Figg hurry to oblige. He placed the tip of his wand on Harry's chest. A warm light radiated out of it for a second, and then the spell was absorbed. Charlie gave a sigh of relief as he felt Harry's pulse slowly return to a normal rate and a little colour return to Harry's face. He pocketed his wand, and stood up.

"Come on; let's get him back to Headquarters."

As people began to stir upstairs, Bill got to his feet and started to make something for breakfast.

Harry sat in one of the many drawing rooms at Grimmauld Place, gazing absent-mindedly at his transfiguration text book. It had been several days since his departure from Number Four and the effects had nearly worn off – he had been so exhausted that he had slept through half the day, and when he woke up, his left wrist and the left side of his face had been sore and aching; they still were.

He hadn't explained much of what had happened to Bill and Charlie, despite all of their concerned curiosity, but Hermione and Ron deserved the full story. He had found it hard to talk about at first, but eventually it had all spilled out. They had been angry with him for not telling them, and furious with the way his Uncle had treated him. Harry hadn't dared explain some of the things that had happened when he was younger; he couldn't bring himself to make Hermione shout any louder. If that was actually possible…

Harry sighed. He didn't like keeping secrets from them, but what was he supposed to do? Pour out a 'tragic' childhood like the star-struck attention-seeker he reputably was? Fat chance. In fact, Dudley-sized chance, hah. Anyway, what could they do to change it? Not a thing. So there was no point in telling them. Right.

Although it was harder now. Old images and vivid memories flickered back to life as though he had unlocked a door in his mind. He could still hear his uncle's drunken shouts and curses echoing, could still see the beast of a man coming at him, distorted into a raging monster by the half-light of the kitchen…

Dinner was rather awkward, as it had been for the past few days – with Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione all remarkably silent, each for their own reasons, the mood at the table was stiff and the normally extensive conversations quick to fall into the silence. But it passed quickly enough and everyone trouped towards the sitting room – except Ginny. She slipped out, into the hall and up the stairs before her mother could call her back. Reaching her room, she opened the window and sat on the sill, her heels tapping the outside wall of the house with every swing of her legs. It was a clear night – a full moon. Ginny felt a flash of empathy for Remus, who had gone away to stay at some hostel or something, a place for werewolves to transform without harming others. Slowly, she drifted into reverie, but a soft knock on the door pulled her back to reality. She looked around.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." Harry. Oh, Merlin. She paused, but could not think up an excuse. Maybe it was time to talk.

"Come in."

He came in slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. She watched him shut the door, before moving along the windowsill so that there was space for two. He joined her. They sat in silence for several minutes, letting the cool summer air wash over them. Harry was the first to speak.

"What's wrong?"

Ginny sighed.

"It's not you." Ok, that's a big fat lie. "Alright, it is." Harry looked bewildered, and for a moment Ginny felt an irrational urge to burst out laughing. He was so cute when he was confused.

"I just…that day, when you told me we couldn't be…" she searched for the right word; 'together' seemed to insinuate far more permanence than she wanted to admit to thinking about – at least for the moment.

"Together." Harry spoke quietly, as if reading her thoughts. She swallowed and nodded, taking care not to look at him. She knew that if she did, she would forget what she wanted to say, and this was too important to be left unmentioned.

"Well, you said what you said, and I wanted you to be happy – I thought it was the right thing to do. Then I realized – what about me? I just –" she faltered, losing her thread, but rallied again.

"I realized that letting you go off and save the world, letting you leave me behind like some pathetic, soppy fairytale princess in her tower, was the wrong thing to do. Because I'm not a princess. Because this isn't a fairytale. And because – because –" she took a deep breath. This is it. "Because I really like you, Harry. And it's not some silly eleven-year-old crush any more. It's real." She faltered, not quite knowing what to say next, or even if she should say anything at all. Beside her, Harry found that his mouth had gone so dry he could barely speak. Thoughts suddenly spiralled into the forefront of his mind – possibilities, plans, futures. If she meant what she said...maybe things didn't have to be this way, maybe he didn't have to be lonely…

But before he could say any of this out loud, Ginny swung herself back inside the room, looking away.

"But if you don't feel the same way, it – it doesn't matter. Just don't go off and laugh about it with whoever." She spoke quickly, not wanting to be stopped, feeling as though her world was dangling by a thread about to break. She was going to cry, she knew it. The best thing she could do would be to get away. Next to her, Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry –" he started.

"Forget it."

"No! I meant - I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression." Ginny's world, about to be shattered forever, paused.

"What do you mean?" She looked around.

He coughed, went red, and said, nervously,

"I – I really like you too, Gin."

"Do you mean it?" She hardly dared to breathe.

"Yes." She could hear the strength in his voice; he looked at her and their eyes met, brown on green. "Yes. I was wrong to push you off like that. It was stupid. I'm sorry…" His voice faded away. Harry swallowed, and continued, "…I shouldn't have done that to you." He was aware that he was repeating himself and stopped. He realised that Ginny was biting her lip, trying not to laugh, and began to smile reluctantly.

"It's ok, Harry. Just …oh, never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What nothing?"

She looked at him sharply, and saw he was teasing her. She started to giggle. He laughed too – and she knew that she had made the right decision.

It seemed to have gotten late more quickly than normally possible. They had talked and talked; Harry had told her everything – the whole story of the Horcruxes and Voldemort, and his quest. The hardest thing to hear had been the prophecy. Ginny watched Harry's expression as he reached for words to express it.

"What is it?"

"I'm scared, Ginny," he whispered, suddenly seeming much younger. "Everyone thinks that I…they believe that it's going to be sorted out. No-one says it, but I can see it in their faces. Even Hermione and Ron…but what if I can't? What happens if I can't do what they expect me to?"

"I don't understand."

"There was a prophecy made just before I was born."

"What did it say?" Ginny licked her dry lips, terrified of the answer. Don't tell me, I don't want to know…

"I…I don't remember." Liar.

"Please, Harry. Please." Please don't…

"The…" he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes as he repeated the words that haunted his dreams.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is coming. Born to those who have thrice defied him; born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Silence.

"It's you." There was no question in Ginny's voice – it was a blank statement, almost emotionless. Harry replied, his voice cracking slightly on the singular word.

"Yes." The air seemed thick, heavy, unbearable.

"Oh, Harry." He looked around, startled by the tone of her voice. "Harry…" and he stared in confusion as she smiled softly at him. Didn't she understand? This was it. This was his life, his destiny. Murderer or murdered. Predator or prey. Kill or be killed.

"I know what you're thinking. But it doesn't change anything, Harry. Forget it." Harry couldn't help it; he gazed at her, stunned by her attitude.

"I mean it, Harry. Trust me."

There was only one answer to give. He gave it.

"I do."

Aww.

This isn't my best chapter, me thinks, but…FINALLY some H/Gness!!!!! Whoot!

Don't forget, I answer every review!

Hazel.