Disclaimer: Yes we all must confront our worst fears. Many writers in this community share common fears, such as spiders… the dark… small spaces… not owning Harry Potter… –screams-
Hiding in the Shadows
Chapter 11 – The Aftermath
The silence drifting across the kitchen of the Burrow was disturbed for a moment. Just a small moment that lasted only a few seconds. The effects of that moment would last a life time. With the inhabitants of the Burrow sound asleep, only the kitchen utensils jangling in the slight draft would have noticed the Clock. One hand bearing the label of the only Weasley girl ticked from Travelling back to Mortal Peril.
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The weak sun attempted to shoot its strongest rays far and wide across the world in the early hours of daylight, though Ginny's share of the sunlight was nowhere to be seen. The state of her appearance did not even bother her – she looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Well, considering her nightly activities, she probably had been under tress, over bushes, through flowerbeds to emerge into a clearing.
Cursing under her breath that heavy rain had prohibited her from flying over the final forest between her and Malfoy's latest hideout, she pushed her way up to a stone path. The stones were worn and grey, rounded at the edges from centuries of use. They built up a cobbled street, mingling with weeds forcing their way through the crevices between the old stones. The path weaved around the ruins of what could have once been the entrance to a house… or indeed a mansion.
She hardly expected Draco Malfoy to be keeping company with his poor mother in these perilous days, though it would be predictable that he would acquire an abode suited to his prestigious Malfoy name. The flowerbeds either side of the pathway were crying out for attention, their brown and shrivelled leaves drooping sadly on the ground, whilst their roots were covered in thick layers of fudge-coloured sludge.
Dead leaves were strewn across the stone, making them slippery, whilst more leaves that had lost hope fluttered around her to land and became trapped in the mess on the floor. The surrounding trees were devoid of wildlife expect a large, ugly crow that was cawing loudly at her. Its harsh cry grated on her ears before the bird took off as she approached and stared it down.
Summoning much needed Gryffindor courage, Ginny left behind the sorrowful garden and hid her broomstick amongst its concealing growth along with a charm that Tonks had taught her to camouflage it further. Turning back to the foreboding mansion, Ginny shoved the ominous thunder out of her mind as she bravely stepped up the pathway.
She came to a large archway, entangled plants weaving around its frame, a few tendrils draped down like fingers waiting to catch an unsuspecting victim. Silvery spider webs dangled and webbed themselves between stray tendrils of curling plant-life. How ironic the term, as these guards seemed to be the only plants most succeeding with their will to live. The large canopy of over-sized branches obscured all light and rain form the inferior vegetation below them. In the torrential rain, a few drips slid down a drooping tree bough to mock the lower flora, falling onto the archway.
Ducking her head and squeezing through the arch, avoiding the branching tendrils that grabbed at her head, the light available dimmed further as she passed into a smaller entrance garden. She realised that the tall trees were quite incubating as a gust of wind echoed around her. Trees still surrounded her, though left more gaps in between themselves, upper limbs still webbing together to obstruct the wavering light.
Ginny shivered as she walked past an old well, clearly out of use, its broken bucket swinging aimlessly in the wind, whilst it's handle rocked and squeaked. This place seemed to be calling out to her for care, though screaming at her to leave in the same instant. The great Manor house loomed before her, dreary windows concealing shadows behind the grime as vines of ivy competed with them to reach the roof.
Her footsteps were muffled on the stone steps by the coating of slime built up over years of misuse. She vaguely wondered how Malfoy could have made this place habitable inside. As a heavy silver snake door knocker, tarnished from years of misery and rain eating away at it came into view, a small smile flickered across her face. A brief moment of amusement chased away the sinister sense of ominous warning that had pervaded her spirit. She almost rolled her eye at the cliché scene, though her mind turned to the task at hand.
Shaking her hand to still it of its nervous spasms, she picked up the silver knocker, grimacing at the icy sensation of chilled tree-sap sticking to her hand. Ginny pounded it on the door twice before waiting at the uppermost stony step.
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Assorted members of the Weasley family collaborated in the kitchen, time adding to their number as they succumbed to the reasoning that none of them would be able to lie in bed once they had woken up.
Ron collapsed at his usual wooden chair and crossed his elbows on the table, sinking his head onto them. Not even the smell of sizzling bacon wafting around the Burrow roused him from his depression which diffused around the family.
Mrs. Weasley attempted to bustle about in her usual manner, tightening her dressing gown against the rain that battered determinedly against the shutters over the back door and dripped down the kitchen windows dejectedly as the glass denied the water entrance. However, her slippers scuffed slightly on the floor as she focused her mind upon the stove before her, flicking her wand about here and there as she cooked breakfast.
Her husband slouched at the head of the table, The Daily Prophet spread out on the table. He stared at it vaguely, not reading the print, nor even seeing the words and pictures of the weeping relatives of recently deceased loved ones or determined young sons joining the Ministry Defence Squad. Molly Weasley spotted the reading material and shooed it out of her kitchen into the fire, the flames immediately licking the fuel. Her actions jolted Arthur out of his stupor as he turned around to apologise and set the table.
George attempted to bound down the stairs, but gave up halfway down as Fred followed him into the kitchen, sensing glorious food.
"Cooked breakfast, boys?" Molly asked, sounding falsely cheery as she turned to the twins.
"Thanks, Mum," and "That'd be great," sounded simultaneously from them as they joined their father and youngest brother at the kitchen table. A silence hung oppressively in the air, damping what little warmth there could be in the atmosphere.
Another set of faint footsteps echoed on the stairs as Hermione entered, covering a yawn with one hand. She gave a wan smile to Mrs. Weasley, who handed her three cups of tea. Hermione immediately recognized Ron's favourite mug. The glaring orange of the Chudley Cannons was the only brightness in the room as dark clouds covered the sky. She set it down beside him and ruffled his hair slightly once Mrs. Weasley was handing out mugs to the others. Everyone else was far more interested in their own woes to pay attention to what others were doing.
Hermione set her own mug down next to Ron and then looked around for Ginny. "She hasn't come down yet, Hermione, dear." Mrs. Weasley seemed to have read her mind, "Would you mind taking it up to her?"
Hermione replied that of course she wouldn't mind, and began to ascend the uneven steps once more, the tea of the mug warming her hands. She walked slowly not to spill it on the long journey to Ginny's room.
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The massive door creaked open, its pointed arch at the top slip straight down the centre. Ginny peered cautiously around the door, before she noticed a tiny house elf pushing the giant door open. Despite its height, it glared at her haughtily and welcomed inside, "Miss Wheezly?" it squeaked as though to check that she wasn't impersonating anyone. Ginny couldn't see why anyone would want to come all this way just for a chat, but she clarified her identity to the elf all the same.
"I'm here to see Malfoy." She told the elf in clipped tones. Surrounding her was a once grand entrance hall, weeping with even more old spider webs tangled with dead insects. The curtains were probably filled with doxies, and there was what looked to be a moke basking in the warmth of a torch above it. The torch also illuminated a slimy trail of venomous streeler slime. How Malfoy had managed to keep such creatures evaded her.
She quickly looked back at the elf before she saw anything else. It grimaced and sneered at her back,
"Well of course you are. Master Malfoy is in his study." And without another word, the house elf set of at a fast pace through the twisting halls and staircases, Ginny hurrying behind it.
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Bill was laid out on the sofa facing the facing away from the kitchen table towards the rain-splattered windows, staring moodily out at the drenched garden. Fleur came back from her mother-in-law's tea making spree with two steaming mugs. Placing her own on a table beside Bill's sofa, she handed one to him. He smiled thanks up at her before sipping it and handing it back to her. She placed it next to hers to cool down as he shifted further into the sofa back so she could fit onto the sofa with him.
With her back facing his chest, she closed her eyes as his chin rested in the hollow of her slim neck. Mrs. Weasley glanced indulgently at them before returning to the breakfast. Admittedly, at first, she did not like her eldest son's choice of a bride. Though now she knew the girl behind the beautiful exterior, Molly could see exactly why he chose her. It wasn't about beauty, jobs or family name. It wasn't true love at first sight, attained only after life's obstacles thrown at them for years.
The couple had combined life's obstacles into their strong relationship, taking falls in their stride, ready to catch and comfort the other when they fell down. Molly knew that those two would have their moments of hatred of each other. Most likely it would be hatred because of a love so strong that would to anything to prevent the other from emotional harm.
Physical harm would not faze them, as the quarter veela had proved most admirably. She would heal his scars of life to make him complete, whilst he would give to her what she never really had – a family, someone to see her for who she was inside, and someone to hear her tantrums and laugh with her unreasonable commands. She would soothingly assure him that she really did prefer rare steaks, and that his tentative lycanthropy did not stop her need for him any more that her Veela heritage deterred him.
Pausing in her thoughts, Molly reflected how just recently, it seems she had misjudged the efforts and motives of the younger generation. Perhaps she really was getting older?
Hermione returned down the stairs, an ashen expression on her already pale face and a steaming mug still in her hand. "Ginny's gone." She croaked.
There we are. A lovely long update for you – I hope I get reviews!
Note:Moke – a silver-green lizard up to ten inches long able to shrink at will (so muggles cannot detect them). Its skin is highly prized among wizards for money bags and purses as Moke-skin shrinks at the approach of a stranger, making it difficult to thieve.
Streeler – A giant snail that changes colour every hour and has a venomous trail so dangerous that it shrivels and burns all vegetation over which it passes.
Definitions misquoted from Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them by JKR for comic relief. Oh, and I haven't just chosen those creatures because I think they sound good, by the way.