Chapter 4. Ginny Potter.
To wait and to hope.
To Ginny, these words had long imprinted on her soul like a non-verbal spell, full of love and concern. Yet, never had she clung to them as much as during the last few days. Her astute female intuition, far better than her mind registered the danger that emanated from Harry every time he returned home from work.
Ginny put the tea cups and a cookie bowl on the tray and, as an afterthought, added some candy. With the tray in her hands, she walked into the living room where Ron and Albus were playing chess on the floor. A black cat with a missing ear - bitten off by someone somewhere – who Lily named Lackear because of it – was paying close attention to the chess pieces from his vantage point on the couch.
"Tea is served, gentlemen," Ginny put the tray down next to Ron, who was making a move just then. He momentarily glanced at his sister with an encouraging smile and then returned his attention to the game. Albus would not get distracted even by candy – so engrossed he was in the game. In another moment his piece was dragging Uncle Ron's struggling knight off the board.
Ginny sat down next to them on the floor, leaning her back on the couch and absently watched Albus and Ron. Then, as had become her habit, she looked at the clock. Half past ten. Ron brought them home three hours ago. Ginny was grateful to her brother for company, although she knew that he too did not want to stay in an empty house without Hermione and the kids.
"Check mate!" Albus exclaimed triumphantly, jumping to his feet and clapping his hands. Ginny laughed at the shock on Ron's face, as he stared down at the board and tried to figure out how this could have happened. "I won!"
"Good for you, I told you that you had a talent," Ginny pulled her son close and kissed his cheek, noticing the mischievous look in his eyes. "You won against a man who many years ago managed to win brilliantly against a great Hogwarts professor. I am proud of you."
Ron looked crestfallen as he silently gazed down at his defeated army.
"And now, my champion, off to bed with you; it is late."
"Mum, may I wait for Daddy?"
"You may, but only in your bed," Ginny said sternly, nudging Al toward the stairs. "As soon as he arrives, I will send him to you directly. Ok?"
Albus nodded, took a piece of candy from the tray and, saying "Don't be upset, Uncle Ron, you will win next time," disappeared up the stairs.
"Listen, I still can't figure out how he pulled it off," Ron mumbled, chasing Lackear away from the chess board. The cat was trying to grab a piece for himself. "It seemed as though it was magic…"
Ginny grinned, pouring tea for herself and her brother:
"It wasn't magic, it was cheating."
"Meaning?" Ron eyed his sister suspiciously.
"While you were looking at me, Albus moved two pieces on the board," Ginny smiled, watching Ron's face redden and eyes blaze.
"Why didn't you say something?! That little sneak!" Then Ron finally smiled and started picking up the scattered pieces. Lackear trudged off, disappointed. "Cheat… I hope that he will be sorted into Slytherin, much to his family's disgrace. That's the right place for him with ways like that."
"Ron!" Ginny cried indignantly. "Don't you dare tell him that! Albus is upset as it is. James said once that if Al were sorted into Slytherin, he would turn him into a ferret, so that he would be a disgrace to his family."
"Sounds like James. But then again, he himself is friends with a Slytherin," Ron's face assumed a disgusted expression, just like during his school days, when the three friends spoke of Draco Malfoy. "I still don't understand how you allowed this to happen."
"Stop it Ron; the fact that the boy is Malfoy's son does not make him branded for life," Ginny remarked, more for argument's sake than out of the desire to defend the young Malfoy."
"Oh, yeah. A great friend to get sloshed with to the point of squealing like a pig," Ron chuckled, setting aside his unfinished tea cup. "And to do seven detentions with as many professors in one week." Ginny looked mockingly at her brother. "Rose told me about McGonagall reprimanding the Heads of the Houses for not being able to get a hold on that duo."
"Yes, she told me too," Ginny nodded. "'I am having a déjà vu of James Potter and Sirius Black returning to Hogwarts.' Was this how McGonagall put it?"
Ron nodded, recalling his daughter's words.
"I think that Sirius wouldn't have approved of being compared to a Slytherin," he said, looking up at the clock. Almost eleven.
Brother and sister fell silent, but Ginny was certain that their thoughts ran in similar veins.
"I don't understand how you don't go insane waiting for Harry like this every time." Ron forced out finally, looking pityingly at his sister. "I don't think I could do it."
"You could. And don't tell me that you aren't doing the same thing." Ginny moved closer to her brother and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did you ever think about suggesting that Hermione take a safer job?"
"Are you kidding?" Ron ran his fingers through his sister's red hair, staring down at the top of her head. "She lives to do it! If I even open my mouth to say it, she'll glare at me so I wither and die. I know that this really is the right thing for her, she always wanted to do something like this."
They fell silent again, listening to the clock ticking away time.
"Do you know what's going on?" Ginny sat up straight. "Well, besides the fact of the particularly dangerous prisoners escaping of from Azkaban. There is nothing else useful in the newspapers. Did Hermione say anything?"
"No, you know Hermione," responded her brother lovingly. Ron looked at Ginny's anxious face and she knew that he shared her feelings. "She never breaks the rules. Well, except in an emergency."
Ginny grinned, and her brother returned her grin.
"Harry does not say anything either. I think that it is top secret Ministry information again. Although I am sure that Lupin knows everything."
"Why?" Ron frowned slightly.
"Because Harry doesn't hide anything from him. I am even a little jealous sometimes," Ginny smiled sadly. She looked up at Ron who was staring down at his hands, upset. Ginny knew why. A long time ago his part in the school trio became insignificant. If during the school years Ron was always an equal participant in all their adventures, now Hermione and Harry shared secrets and a job that he could be no part of. Of course, he understood, but he was still upset – Ginny was sure of it. It must have been harder for Ron to take than for his sister – she was never part of the group. Not to count the summer vacations and trips to the Department of Mysteries. Ron, however, had been with Harry always. Yet, everything changed in the last few years.
The clock struck eleven and with the tolling of the clock the familiar footsteps came from the fireplace hallway. Hermione was the first to walk in; Harry followed. Both appeared safe and sound, but tired.
"I though I would find you here," Hermione said to Ron, coming over and lightly touching her lips to his. Ron hugged her tight and was still for a few moments, his face buried in her bushy hair.
"Hello," Harry said quietly into her ear so that that only Ginny could hear him, smiling tiredly. "Sorry that I left you guys."
"It's ok," Ginny stroked his cheek, feeling relief from the nervous tension of the last few hours. "Everything all right?"
He nodded – she didn't expect a different reply. Harry almost never told his family of the rigors of his job. There was no need, really, for Ginny guessed it – by the expression on his face, his cold hands, tired eyes, cold shivers that wracked her husband's body after particularly long hours on call. Harry never brought home anything that would speak about the dark side of his job. It was as if he intentionally shielded this quiet world – the world of his family, his home – from the other world, where there was evil, betrayal, exposures, and, perhaps, death.
"Will you stay for dinner?" Ginny turned to look at Hermione and Ron. Both shook their heads.
"I just want to lie down and not do any…" Hermione said, then broke off, staring at something behind Ginny. Her friend's eyes widened in fear just as Ron blanched. Full of foreboding, Ginny turned sharply toward her husband. He stood, perplexed at their reaction, clasping the robes he had just taken off.
"Harry…" Ginny's voice caught in her throat when she saw what had so scared Ron and Hermione. Harry also looked down and cursed: the entire right side of his shirt – from his shoulder to his cuff – was covered in dried blood stains.
"Dammit, I forgot," he mumbled, quickly unwrapping his robes and trying to put them on. But Ginny wouldn't let him – she stepped toward him, ripped the robes out of his hands, and began unbuttoning her husband's shirt with trembling fingers. He froze for a moment, but then caught Ginny's hands and said evenly:
"Ginny, calm down, I was not hurt. Really. It's not mine." He saw that she didn't believe him, but didn't know how else to prove it to her. If he took off his shirt, his arm would probably also show the stains. He was horrified of his forgetfullness, of scaring his wife, of violating the invisible boundary between work and home. "Trust me, everything is all right."
Harry could no longer bear the looks on his friends' faces; therefore, he turned and went into his bedroom, peeling off the proof of today's horror as he walked. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at his whitened face and at his shoulder covered with bloody, and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cold surface. That helped a little.
"Harry."
He opened his eyes and saw the reflection of anxious Ginny standing in the doorway. He shook his head, reached over and turned on the water in the sink. His wife picked up his bloody shirt off the floor. Her hands trembled noticeably.
Harry washed his face and then picked up a sponge and began to rub away the dried blood from his arm and shoulder.
"Whose blood is it?" Ginny demanded, still not moving from her spot.
"Not mine," was all that Harry could manage. He couldn't really tell her about arriving to the scene of yet another attack and finding a boy who survived by some miracle. About catching the thin body in his arms and Apparating to St. Mungo's, praying all the while that the boy would not die. Blood on Harry's shirt and skin was that boy's blood. However, Harry couldn't tell Ginny about all that. Nor did he want to. "Forgive me, I was too exhausted. I didn't mean to scare you."
She was silent for a moment. Then she rolled up his shirt and walked out. Harry sighed deeply and began to undress so that he could take a shower and wash away the reminders of this long day.
Ginny, who stood still outside the bathroom door, started when she heard the sound of the water. She was still clasping Harry's shirt in her hands. She opened her eyes, wiping off the unbidden tears, and rushed into the hallway. She didn't want to do this in their bedroom. Instead, she lit the fire in the hallway fireplace with her wand and threw in the shirt, in an attempt to destroy the traces of blood that Harry brought into their home. She watched with a kind of relish as the shirt burned, as both the white and the red colours faded to black.
When she returned to the bedroom, Harry stood still by the window, his wet hair glistening in the light of the fire he had started in the fireplace. No traces of human suffering remained on his bare arms and shoulders. Ginny came up quietly behind him and embraced him, pressing her face against his warm back. He covered her clasped hands with his – they were cool, but so familiar and beloved.
Ginny looked up and over her husband's shoulder; she saw at what he was staring: a waxing moon, bright-yellow against the dark night sky. Until now, she could easily guess at his thoughts when he was looking at the moon. Harry would remember Remus Lupin, which also meant thinking of Sirius Black, his parents, and Albus Dumbledore. She once asked him whether he ever thought of Snape, but he merely shrugged. She hoped that he did though – after all, he insisted that the portrait of this complicated but incredibly brave man be hung on the wall of the Hogwarts Headmaster's study.
However, all that was before. Now she felt as if she didn't know one percent of what her husband was thinking while looking at the moon and the dark sky. He wouldn't let her know it.
Ginny rubbed her cheek against Harry's back, then unclasped her hands from around him and went to the bathroom, leaving her husband alone with his sad thoughts.
"I promised Al that you would kiss him goodnight when you came back," she said quietly, pausing in the doorway. He started and then slowly turned toward her and nodded, trying to conceal, unsuccessfully, the misery in his eyes. This look made her want to run away. Or to run to him, hug him, comfort him, help him somehow. This too he wouldn't allow her to do.
Ginny disappeared into the bathroom again, leaving her husband alone in the darkened room. Even she – loving and beloved – could not heal the despair and the pain, mellowed over time, but never extinguished. He was happy with her and with the kids, she was sure of it. He loved – albeit in an odd way – his job. However, at certain moments, like today, it seemed to her that he still felt lonely. As lonely as he felt as a child, locked in the closet under the stairs. As lonely as he was on the night when he was found at Godric's Hollow, in the ruins of his home, next to the body of his mother who save his life by sacrificing hers. Sometimes Ginny heard distinctly – however impossible that was – the cries of that little black-haired boy in the ruins, cries that tore at her heart. And she guessed that those cries were still there in his soul, joined by Sirius' scream as he fell through the arc, and the silent yet no less heartwrenching scream over the murdered Dumbledore.
Standing under the steaming hot shower jets, Ginny prayed silently to the invisible forces that led her beloved through his life. She prayed that Harry's heart would never again scream at the deaths of his loved ones.
With this thought swirling inside her head, she walked into the bedroom, lit only by the fire in the fireplace, and saw Harry standing in the moonlight. Her heart tightening painfully, she dashed across the room and clung to him.
"What's wrong?" he gently separated her desperately clutched hands and turned. The look in his eyes was soft and tender as he looked into her face. "Everything is all right."
She nodded – mostly to acknowledge her momentary weakness. He smiled, kissed the tip of her freckled nose, and pulled her toward the bed. He pressed her body against him under the covers, rested his chin on top of her head, and closed his eyes; just as he had done many times over their years together. And Ginny always felt calmer when he did that. Always, but not today. Because today, for the first time, he brought home blood.