Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. Star Trek is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.
Many thanks to my beta, amazing Insanity-Red, for all the help with this chapter.
Chapter 14
Stardate 2258.50 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant
Everyone handled grief differently. Hermione had been right about that.
She and Harry had spent the remaining few days before the arrival of the escort ships (that were delayed on their way to rendezvous with the Enterprise) researching and helping where they could – one in the Medbay and the other in Engineering – and they had realized that most of those aboard the Enterprise had no idea what it felt like when the sky came crashing down on them. And so it fell to those who had at least some experience to watch over the others as everyone tried to piece themselves back together and heal, offering quiet support, a pat on the shoulder, or a smile.
Uhura often remained on duty, even when her shift was over. Attending to the ship's communications required nearly all of her attention, inundated as she was with the countless outgoing and incoming messages moving to and fro between crew members and their loved ones. Working overtime was both a way to help, and a useful method in regards to sorting out her thoughts and feeling. Unlike Spock, who almost religiously meditated, and had taught her the process, Nyota still felt like she couldn't quite get the hang of it – despite the many hours she had spent with him seated in a cross-legged position in front of his asenoi. Instead, she had found that she preferred to remain in the heart of the action; her quarters, which she currently shared with Tracey and Hermione, saw little of her because of the sheer amount of emotional upset that she had to work through.
"I hope you don't mind, but I've arranged with the quartermaster for you to be assigned with us," Nyota had told Hermione. "I thought that you might prefer to be placed with someone you know – at least a little bit – instead of with complete strangers."
Nyota was like Ginny in some ways – strong, bold, beautiful, intelligent, self-assured, and kind. The familiarity of the traits, as well as the fact that said traits were admirable in their own right, made it very easy for Hermione to see Uhura as a friend very quickly.
Spock was subdued and talked very little as he tried to sort through a welter of emotions that he wasn't quite accustomed to facing. He ate sporadically and did not sleep, spending what little free time he had meditating. He couldn't deny the fact that in addition to his Vulcan heritage, there was something unmistakably human in him, and he could not just shut away that part of him – regardless of how much he had tried. In addition to busying himself with organizing the crew rotation, coordinating the repairs, and reviewing the towing procedures to get the Enterprise safely to spacedock, he also met Vulcan Elders and other Vulcans aboard the ship, and set up communications protocols in order to contact all remaining survivors scattered across the galaxy and register them in a comprehensive database. He had remembered Hermione's advice about channeling the negative emotions into something constructive and, to his surprise, had found all these efforts oddly therapeutic.
Scotty – who with Harry's help was finally getting somewhere with the repairs despite their very limited resources – remained enthusiastic and loud. He made jokes and chatted with those around him, distracting everyone from the doom and gloom that had befallen them. He practically lived on the Engineering deck, returning to his quarters (which he currently shared with Harry) only to get changed and get a bit of sleep here and there.
Harry, unlike Hermione, couldn't spend prolonged amounts of time researching and studying. When he tried, he found his thoughts often drifting back home and the people he loved, which only invited an overwhelming sense of despair that threatened to consume him whole. That is why he welcomed the noisy environment of the Engineering deck. He needed a distraction and an escape from his own thoughts, and Scotty was more than happy to provide him that. As the two of them worked together on fixing this and that, the Scotsman would enthusiastically talk his ear off about a number of things – different pieces of equipment, or technology, or a scientific discovery, or what life was like in general in this universe and in this timeframe.
McCoy, whose barked orders and general grouchiness were a way of expressing worry and concern, remained tireless in his own work. He planned to sort through his own feelings and emotions later. Right now, he felt that the people in his care took priority.
Sulu had an air of confidence to him that was not false, but not entirely comfortable either. Whenever he was left with the conn on the Bridge, he wore the mantle of responsibility with more efficiency than ease. In order to maintain control of his emotions and reign in his inner turmoil, he needed to feel in control of his surroundings, to know his duties to the letter, and then fulfill them.
Chekov was mostly quiet as he considered everything that had happened, and how he had reacted to it all. He split his time between navigating the ship during his shift and volunteering to help with the repairs during some of his off-shift hours. It was as if he had realized the weight of his existence, his mind, his abilities – and seen them silhouetted against the world as he was tossed into a new perspective that mere intelligence and book-work couldn't have prepared him for.
Pike had finally been able to liberate himself from the Medical Bay and leave it on his own two feet, thanks to McCoy's and Hermione's efforts. Up and running once more, he refused to dwell on the lives consumed in the fires of Nero's insanity. Instead, having left his First Officer in charge, he spent most of his time in his ready room – going through reports and assembling his own, composing recommendations for Starfleet Command, and preparing to face the media at Starbase 1.
Kirk was everywhere: coordinating with the ship's departments to ensure they presented their best possible face upon arriving at spacedock, checking on the comfort of the Vulcan refugees, composing his own commendations for the men and women he'd been so briefly in charge of, and doing all the million and one things that elevated a true commander above the chaff that filled too many chairs in the fleet. One small part of Academy training had dealt with the ways in which a senior officer could personally comfort those who had lost a loved one in battle or on general duty. So Kirk, despite his own grief – or perhaps better equipped because of it, dusted off his old lessons and tried to offer support to those under his command.
He could recall nothing in the manuals, however, that dealt with how to console survivors on the loss of their entire world. It was left to the Vulcan Elders to mind-meld when possible with the other Vulcans currently on the Enterprise, and see to their treatment with appropriate medications when mind-to-mind contact proved insufficient. While it was clear to everyone that the Vulcans were handling the tragedy far better than a group of humans might under the same circumstances, there were still far too many cases of mind-shock.
Whenever Kirk wasn't on active duty, he sought out Hermione, who (apart from occasionally helping McCoy in the Medbay) had thrown herself into research with abandon. Jim had never seen anyone – not even his brother, whom he considered a bookworm with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge – so excited, even somewhat obsessed with studying. He could only see her habits as somewhat amusing and rather charming. He found himself often, and sometimes unintentionally, opening up to her. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to be around her, to talk to her, to tell her about himself and find out more about her in turn. This girl had witnessed his most vulnerable self, had allowed him to spill out his heart and mind, all the while providing support and understanding that no one – not even Bones or Pike – had ever been able to provide. She was like his personal counselor – attentive, insightful, non-judgmental. He could practically feel his burden getting lighter by just talking to her.
Kirk told her about his father, how the man had sacrificed himself in order to save the remaining crew of the Kelvin, and had, in the process, given Jim a larger-than-life hero to live up to. He told her about his childhood, his mother, his brother, and Frank. He spoke of his resentment towards his mother when she was distant, and his anger when she had married Frank, re-enlisted in Starfleet, and left him and his brother in care of a tyrant.
["Well, you could analyze the situation and try to understand how she was feeling and why she made certain choices. Maybe then you might be able to find some kind of resolution," Hermione told him.
When Jim had asked her to elaborate, she continued, "Well, she was obviously heartbroken and grieving over the loss of your father. I expect she was feeling confused because she had lost someone very important in her life, and it can be very difficult trying to figure out a way to continue with your life when that happens. It's possible that she was also going through some form of postpartum depression, which would have made things a lot worse. The process of having children comes with all sorts of hormones that can wreak emotional havoc. Then I imagine she was feeling guilty because she was alive and your father was dead. And she was most likely feeling lonely and powerless and abandoned. In addition, she was angry with Nero for taking away the love of her life and putting her in that situation. On top of all this, she most likely experienced fear – fear to face the world without your dad, to raise you and your brother alone, and fear that she might fail as a mother, as a person."
All Kirk could do at that moment was just stare at her in stunned silence for a few moments, before he could find his voice again and say, "Wow. I never even thought about it that way."
He considered something for a few moments and said, "But she loved my dad. Like, a lot. Everyone said so and I know so. I get it, I do, wanting to move on and all, but . . . Why did she marry Frank? How could she marry him? How could she even replace someone she loved so much with such a poor excuse of a person? I sure as hell couldn't."
"Have you ever loved someone so much? Like the love your mum and dad had?" she asked, her brown eyes penetrating. "It's all too easy to look at a situation from the outside and pass judgement. However, as a famous proverb says, 'Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes'."
"I'm not judging her," Jim tried to defend.
Hermione simply raised one eyebrow and he sighed, "Fine. Maybe I am. Argh!"
"James, all I'm trying to do is encourage you to at least try and empathize with her. You were a child. It is normal for children to want love, affection, and attention. That's what they know. That's what they understand. You couldn't have possibly understood her grief when you were little. But now that you're older, it's a different story. We all make mistakes. No one is perfect. No one. I can't tell you why she married Frank. Maybe she accepted him because she felt that's what she deserved. Maybe she felt like she wasn't good enough for anything more, because she felt so broken and brittle. Or I may be completely wrong and there's another reason entirely behind her decision. You can always ask her about it," she suggested.
They sat there silently for a moment, Kirk staring blankly into space, before he said, "I feel like an ass. I was a selfish, egotistical prick. And not just because of the way I behaved towards her, but also . . ." he trailed off.
She gave him a look that conveyed support. He felt grateful that there was no judgement in her eyes.
"Well then, you know the solution, don't you?" she asked gently, taking hold of one of his hands.
Jim merely stared at her in response.
"James, there is a really good chance that I might never see my parents again. And I just wish that I could at least tell them how much I love them. I never really told them that, you know? Not enough anyway. You don't have to make the same mistake that I did. You can fix this – whatever it is that's between you and your mum. James, you are the creator of your own life. If life is a canvas, then you are an artist: every day it's up to you to decide if you'd like to keep on painting the same old picture or create a new one."]
That conversation had given him a lot to consider. It was also the reason why, when Uhura informed him that he had a personal transmission from Lieutenant Commander Kirk, he didn't just ignore it as he might have otherwise.
Stardate 2258.50 – U.S.S. Valiant, Starbase 11 spacedock
Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk of the U.S.S. Valiant practically ran to her quarters from the science lab. The communications officer had informed her that he had finally been able to patch her through to Lieutenant James Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and that the personal transmission was now on standby in her quarters.
The Valiant had been exploring a system with a quasar-like formation, and the ionization was interfering with their instrumentation and comms. They'd been incommunicado for nearly a week. As they were en route to Starbase 11 for repairs and reprovisioning, they had received the latest news from Starfleet Command regarding Romulan attacks on the Klingons, the Federation, and the destruction of Vulcan. For two days now, Lieutenant Niebles had been trying to patch through a couple of members of the Valiant's crew to their family members on the Enterprise – with little to no success. Now that the transmission was finally there, Winona didn't quite know exactly what to do, what to feel, or what to expect. She was happy and terrified at the same time.
It was hard, so very hard to pull herself together for the sake of her sons and continue on with life after George had gone out in a blaze of glory on that dreadful day, and the birth of her youngest son had been tainted by loss. The last conversation she had with her husband would forever be ingrained in her memory . . .
["George? The shuttle's leaving," she said, breathing heavily in between very painful contractions. "Where are you?"
"Sweetheart, listen to me," he responded.
Her heart sank at his tone, and somehow, she already knew what he would say next.
"I'm not gonna be there."
"No," she said, refusing to believe it, new tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
"This is the only way you'll survive," said George, his voice firm, full of determination and sorrow.
"Are you still on the ship? You have to be here!" she exclaimed, desperation and panic clear in her voice.
"The shuttles will never make it if I don't fight them off."]
She'd tried. God knows, she'd tried her best to be a good mother. But it was evident to her that she had failed.
["George, I can't do this without you."]
The first few years had been especially difficult. If it hadn't been for the support of her mother-in-law and her close friend Louisa, she probably wouldn't have even found the will to get out of bed every day.
After the birth of their first child, George and Winona had spent two years apart – it was the maximum amount of time that she'd been able to stay away from Starfleet without resigning her commission. She had stayed on the farm and raised George Jr. with her in-laws. And when she was finally assigned to the Kelvin with George, she'd gotten pregnant again. She'd been prepared to resign her commission and go back to their farm house in Iowa to raise their children. She'd been prepared for virtual single-motherhood and everything it entailed. She'd been prepared for long-distance calls and a few weeks of leave every now and again – if they were fortunate – until he'd been able to reach the Admiralty and be closer to home. She'd been prepared for all that, because she loved him so much.
But she hadn't been prepared to face the universe without George in it. In some ways, even with all the years separating her from his loss, she still wasn't. The intense pain, that had originally felt like someone had cut out her heart with a knife and mercilessly stomped on it, was now reduced to a dull ache in her chest.
She had begun calling her oldest son by the nickname Sam, because it was unbearable to hear the echo of her husband's name. She had cried as often as she smiled, looking at her youngest son – a miniature carbon copy of George in his looks, especially the eyes.
["What is it?" asked George expectantly, hearing the cries of a newborn baby.
"It's a boy," responded Winona.
"A boy?" echoed her husband, longing and joy evident in his voice. "Tell me – tell me about him."
"He's beautiful," she said, sobbing and looking at the little bundle in her arms – startlingly bright blue eyes, his father's eyes, looking back at her. "He's so beautiful. He looks like you. He has your eyes, George."
"What are we gonna call him?" he asked, voice cracking.
"We can name him after your father," suggested Winona.
"Tiberius? Are you kidding me?" George asked and a strange sound – something between a choke and a chuckle – emerged from his throat. "No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim."
"Jim," she breathed and, in spite of everything, smiled at her newborn son. "Okay. Jim it is."]
She had endured the curious and pitying looks, the countless strangers whispering behind her back – Starfleet related or not. She had even accepted the fact that she forever would be the tragic widow of the Kelvin's hero – Acting Captain George Kirk . . .
He was not the first person she'd lost in her life, and she was afraid he wouldn't be the last. She had lost both of her parents several years prior to marrying George – and Tiberius, George's father, passed away shortly after Winona found out she was pregnant with Jim. It was always painful to lose someone you love, but George's death hurt worst of them all.
So many future prospects. So many plans unrealized, so many hopes and dreams unfulfilled. So many years unlived . . . Everything was shattered the moment she lost him. He was her other half, and she feared she would never be whole again. Never.
By the time Jimmy was three, the echoes of her fractured dreams (their dreams) had driven her out of the farmhouse in Iowa. The Federation research facilities located near the Riverside shipyards had been happy enough to hire her, with her qualifications as a biologist. Brunhilde, her mother-in-law, had looked after the children during the day, for as long as her health held. The steady, painstaking work had kept Winona going when she was still too numb to think of the future. It forced her to get up every morning and do something rather than spend most of her time in their bed, curled around the memory of an absent body.
And then she'd met Frank. He was no George – no one ever would or could be George. But Frank had seen something in her weary, fragile self that she'd forgotten. He'd given her back the ability to believe in herself again, to be the Winona Davis who'd looked up at the stars and seen only endless possibility rather than echoing emptiness. He'd been there for her after Brunhilde passed away.
In retrospect, of all the mistakes that Winona had made during her journey of parenting, marrying Frank and re-enlisting in Starfleet might have been the biggest one. Initially, she'd thought that he and the children got along well enough. However, as Winona re-enlisted in Starfleet and started accepting off-planet assignments again – just short ones initially – things got steadily worse.
She still doesn't know exactly where, when and how she had missed the line between natural rebellion and criminal mischief; between understandable resentment of a man who was seemingly there to replace their hero father – and who could never in a thousand years live up to him – and sheer stubborn hatefulness? Should she have found another way to heal, instead of going off-planet? Had there even been another way? Winona didn't know. She only knew that by the time Jim was twelve, Sam had run away from home, and Jim had nearly killed himself wrecking his father's antique Corvette to prevent Frank from selling it.
She had given it all up then – her Starfleet career, her dreams of deep space and exploration and finding new worlds and species – to be there for her children, physically as well as mentally this time. She'd divorced Frank and got herself a job at the local research facility. However, she'd never been able to reach her boys in heart and in mind again. She couldn't blame them. She could only blame herself. By the time she was healed enough to give them the love and the affection they wanted and deserved, it was too late.
Unfortunately, parenting didn't come with the instruction manual. If it did, she might not have found herself in this mess.
After Sam had gained early acceptance to the University of Chicago and left the house, Jim spent a lot of his time escaping the house, breaking the law, drinking, and working mysterious part-time jobs. Through the awkward conversations she'd had with her sons through the years, she knew that Sam had become a biologist, married another scientist like himself named Aurelan, and settled on Deneva. Sam was always smart, loved to read, and wanted to become a scientist. And Jim, having accepted a dare thrown at him in his father's name, had enrolled into Starfleet Academy. Although it was a good thing that Jim had finally found something to do with his life other than waste it away, it still stung that a stranger had been able to reach her son where she could not . . .
Reaching her quarters, Winona sat down on the edge of her chair. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, wiped her sweaty palms on the hem of her blue dress, and accepted the transmission. The screen fizzled and cleared, revealing the handsome face of her son.
For a moment there, looking at her son, she thought she had seen the ghost of George. He looked so much like his father. Tears came to her eyes. She stretched out her arm towards the screen of her terminal as if she could reach through space and touch him.
"Jim," she practically choked out.
"Hi, mom," he replied, smiling uncertainly.
He wasn't quite prepared to face her, he realized. She looked quite different from when he'd last seen her – she had lost some weight, the worry lines on her forehead had increased, her hair had a lot more grey in it.
"Oh, Jim. I was so worried, so scared. We received reports . . . about Vulcan . . . and the ships . . ."
"I'm fine, mom," his tone was serious and his smile disappeared. "I was fortunate enough to end up on the Enterprise when we launched, and then . . . it's kind of a long story . . ."
"I'm just happy that you're okay."
"Yeah," he responded.
An awkward silence settled between them. His curt responses and aloofness weren't that uncommon. For a moment, Winona even started worrying that he would just say his goodbyes and terminate the connection, as he had often done through the years.
Trying to fill the silence, she asked, "Did you talk to Sam yet?"
Jim nodded. "He was able to get a hold of me earlier. We had a little chat. He said he'd be on Earth for my graduation."
"Jim, that's wonderful!"
Jim nodded again, his mind obviously on something else, and said, "Listen, mom. I told Sam and . . . I think you should know as well. We got him. He's dead."
"Jim, who are you talking . . ." she started and then realization hit her – the lighting storm in space, forty seven Klingon warbirds destroyed near Rura Penthe, eleven Federation ships gone in a blink of an eye, a black hole that consumed Vulcan. She'd been so preoccupied with trying to reach her son that she hadn't put two and two together. How could she have missed this? Of course.
"Oh," was all she managed to say, letting out a shaky breath.
"Yeah, the sonofabitch is gone," said Jim darkly. "Along with his monstrosity of a ship. And he'll never kill or hurt anyone ever again."
"How did you manage to defeat him?" Winona choked out, trying to control the trembling of her body, as an image of the gargantuan ship that she had briefly seen through the view port of their medical shuttle – the image that haunted her nightmares – was brought to the forefront of her mind.
"Well, it's classified. I can't tell you much. Only that we had some help."
All Winona could do was nod numbly as long-stifled hatred and dread washed over her, only for it to be replaced by relief that the cruel Romulan bastard who'd killed her husband was dead. Whoever had helped the Enterprise crew defeat that monster had her eternal gratitude.
She took a deep breath to compose herself and remembered how the Valiant's communications officer referred to him.
"And you – you are the First Officer of the Enterprise now? You haven't even graduated yet!" she half-asked, half-exclaimed.
"Well, Acting First Officer, yes. That came later though. I was an unauthorized stowaway first. And then I also was Acting Captain for a while . . ."
Winona blanched and her blood ran cold. Not only did the history seem to be repeating itself, but it seemed to be repeating itself in exactly the same way. Her expression turned to a horrified one as she remembered another First Officer, another Lieutenant Kirk, taking up the mantle of the captain of the U.S.S. Kelvin, facing an enemy that was many times superior to them in order to save his crew.
Realizing that not only she almost lost her son, but she nearly lost him under the exact same circumstances that she had lost her husband, Winona couldn't stop a strangled sob from escaping her lips.
"I love you, Jim," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You do know that, right? I know that over the years I may not have been able to show you just how much I love you. And . . . and I am so sorry for everything – for the mistakes I've made, for not being a good enough mother to you and Sam, for not being there when you needed me –"
"Mom! Mom, please," he gently interrupted her. "I forgive you. I may not fully understand why you behaved a certain way and did the things that you did and all . . . It's just . . . the recent events have given me a different perspective."
That was putting it mildly, actually. Having seen what the mere thought of losing his mother did to Spock, having seen the look in the Vulcan's eyes after beaming up from the doomed planet, having seen people like Harry and Hermione who'd lost everything and everyone they knew – Kirk simply could not and did not want to continue ignoring his mother's attempts to reach him and be part of his life.
"And I must admit – someone also helped me open my eyes and understand you better. The point is, I want to begin again. I want to have you in my life. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I wasn't an angel either. I'm very sorry for being such a git . . ." he paused for a moment, lips pulling up in one corner in a thoughtful expression, and then continued, "for being an idiot and for saying all those horrible things about you, about your career, about –"
"Jim," she stopped him. "It's okay, I forgive you. I did a long time ago. I'm your mother, remember? No matter what happens, that's never going to change."
"Thank you," he smiled.
"And 'a git'?" she teased lightly. "Do you have British friends I don't know about?"
"You have no idea," his smile widened as he gave his head a shake. "Wait, what? You know about my friends?"
"Of course! What did you think, mister, that just because you refused to talk to me, I wasn't going to keep tabs on you? You're my son; I'll always want to know what's going on in your life."
"But how? I thought you spend almost all of your time on missions off-planet now . . ."
"Christopher Pike."
"Pike?" repeated Jim incredulously.
"Yes, I went to see him after I found out that he talked you into joining Starfleet. He had to endure some of my yelling. And . . . I may or may not have slapped him," she finished quietly, eyes cast downward in shame.
"What?"
"Yeah," Winona said, feeling embarrassed. "I do still feel bad about that, by the way. It was out of line. Not only did he outrank me, but it was also completely inappropriate. He'd given you this whole new life, and I . . . I was just – I don't know what came over me. I guess I was just scared. You can't really blame me after what happened to your father. And I know I was being a hypocrite, since here I am, working in space also. Pike is a good man though. He accepted my apology, and not only did he not report me or have me court-martialed for assaulting him, but he was quite understanding. He's been sending me updates about you every now and then, assuring me that you are okay."
She glanced at him nervously. "I'm sorry . . . about your friends Mitchell and Kelso. I heard they were on the Challenger."
Jim nodded sadly and looked down. "According to the latest updates we received from Starfleet Command, 78% of the senior cadets are dead. And those who were killed at Vulcan – there aren't even any bodies left to bury. Everything was sucked into that black hole along with the planet."
After a moment of silence, he said, "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
["Sweetheart? Sweetheart, can you hear me?" asked George desperately, as the countdown on the monitors shrank towards zero, counting out the last seconds of his life.
"Yes. Yes, I hear you!" replied Winona, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I love you so much. I love you. I love –"]
"I love you too, Jim . . . Just – don't scare me like this again, okay? I don't know if my poor heart can handle it."
"I can't promise that, mom. Pike said that he's going to make sure that the field promotions sticks. At least as far as a Commander. Probably won't be on the Enterprise, though," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And Admiral Barnett might scream bloody murder, since I'm technically on academic suspension . . ."
"Academic suspension?" Winona asked, raising both of her eyebrows.
"Er . . . yeah," says Jim uncertainly, a sheepish smile appearing on his lips. "It's kind of a –"
"Long story?" she finished for him, smiling fondly at her son, who nodded in confirmation. "How's Captain Pike?"
"He's fine now, thankfully. He was pretty badly beat up when we got him from that ship, but he's back on his feet."
For a moment, all Winona could do was stare at her son. Another aspect of history was repeating itself. But unlike the Kelvin's Richard Robau, Christopher Pike had survived it all. He had survived to see Jim do his job.
She nodded and decided to change the subject, "Listen. The Valiant was scheduled to return to Starbase 1 right before your graduation, but in the light of recent events, we've been called back early. . . So, I will see you soon, Jimmy?"
"Yeah," nodded Jim in confirmation. "And not 'Jimmy'. Please, don't call me that. I'm not a kid anymore."
She smiled gently at her son. He certainly had grown up. She could see it in his eyes.
"No, you are not," Winona confirmed, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "In the meantime, Jim, do try and stay out of trouble, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
"Maybe these British friends of yours can help you with that?"
"They just might, mom. They just might." He then reached for his screen, and with one last smile, he terminated the connection with a quiet, "Kirk out."
Fingers still touching her own screen, Winona whispered into the silence the words that she had repeated countless times over the years, "George, you should be here."
October 29th, 2001 – the Burrow, England
Daylight burst through the tiny window, illuminating the room and its sole occupant. It was clearly a boy's room, with nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper covered with the posters of the same seven witches and wizards – the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. The room was mostly devoid of any possessions, apart from a few items strewn here and there: a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards, chess pieces laying on the floor, a small pile of books stacked untidily in one corner, a few boxes in another, clothes scattered across the bed and the floor. "The Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age Killed in a Ministry Attack", "The Wizarding Britain Grieves for the Loss of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger", "The Golden Trio is Trio No Longer", "Memorial to Be Erected in Honour of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger" – those were some of the headlines from the newspapers that were cluttered in a heap on the desk along with a pile of unread letters. If one were to use a single word to describe the state of this room, that word would be 'a mess'.
That same word could be used to describe the mental and physical state of the room's current occupant. Ronald Weasley sat on his unmade bed holding two objects in his hands – a photograph of himself, his best friend, and his fiancée in one, and an intricate feminine bracelet in the other. He looked very disheveled. His ginger hair was unkempt and looked as though he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, his face bore several days worth of stubble, his blue eyes – usually bright and full of laughter – were blood-shot and lifeless; his face looked sunken, his cheeks hollow and covered in the traces of dried tears. Overall, he was the very image of a man deeply grieving.
He wondered, briefly, what Harry and Hermione would say if they were to see him right now.
"Get a grip, mate," Harry would probably say. "Life isn't over yet."
And Hermione would add, in that bossy tone of hers that he often found annoying, but almost always endearing in spite of that, "Honestly, Ronald, stop thinking only about yourself. Think of your family. It can't be easy on them either . . ."
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when someone sharply knocked on his door and yanked at the handle, having managed to break his silencing charm and the wards that he'd set up. However, they obviously couldn't unlock the door.
"Go away," Ron said, his voice hoarse and barely above whisper.
The person on the other side of the door either didn't hear him or didn't care, for they continued knocking incessantly.
"Go away!" he repeated, louder this time.
"Ronald Billius Weasley!" Ginny's angry voice filled the room. "You unlock this door right now, or I will Reducto it to pieces! I'm counting to three. One . . ."
Ron immediately set down the objects in his hands, picked up his wand, and unlocked the door. Ginny, just like Hermione, could be rather scary sometimes. His sister definitely wasn't someone to mess with – her threats were never empty and she would most likely not wait till 'three' to blow that door off its hinges. Knowing her, she'd also probably add her favorite Bat-Bogey Hex for good measure, and Ron didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.
The door opened with a bang, revealing a fuming Ginny. Even though her cheeks were flushed with anger, her blue eyes were just as dull and grief-stricken as Ron's.
"Just what do you think you are doing? Locking yourself up here for days on end! Ignoring everyone! I lost my fiancé and my friend too, but I don't spend all of my time barricading myself in my room! Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? You nearly gave mum a heart attack! She's scared out of her mind that you might try something stupid! We've lost enough loved ones already! Did you stop to think for a moment what this did to others? Have you even visited her parents? You're not the only one who's grieving!" She ended her rant, breathing heavily.
"I'm not as strong as you," Ron mumbled in response, looking away.
"Strong?" she repeated numbly. "Has the War taught you nothing? Strength is in unity! Or have you forgotten that we're a family? We share our joys and our sorrows. We share the grief, so that it is at least somewhat bearable. Isn't that what you said to George after Fred . . ." she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Even three years later, it was still hard for her to speak of their brother's death.
"Hermione said that. I only repeated . . ."
"Regardless, you must have believed it enough to repeat it. And here you are, locked up in your room and shutting everyone out. You barely left this place ever since that attack in the Department of Mys –"
"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THAT PLACE!" Ron bellowed, cutting her off, his face and ears turning red and his fingers clenching into fists.
"I – I . . ." Ginny seemed taken aback by the sudden outburst.
"What's going on there?" sounded George's alarmed voice. "Ah, ickle Ronniekins finally decided to show his face. How nice of you."
He took in Ron's appearance.
"You look like a right mess. Are you trying to become our very own greasy-haired git? I must say, Ronnie, you don't really need to try all that hard," George tried to joke.
After losing Fred, he'd never quite been himself again, and hadn't thought he would ever be able to make another joke. But Fred would want him to be happy. He'd want him to continue living life to the fullest, making jokes, smiling, and making other people smile. Even in the hardest of times.
"Shut it, George," muttered Ron, sinking back into his bed.
"George? Ron? Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley's concerned voice called from downstairs. "Is everything all right up there, dears?"
"It's all good, mum," George responded. "Nothing to worry about. We'll be down soon."
"Just give me a moment," Ron said quietly, taking a hold of his head with both hands and looking down at the floor. "I'll come down. I promise. Just give me a moment."
"You should probably take a shower first, though. You hair is clearly crying out for some shampoo," pointed out George, plopping himself on the bed next to Ron. "And shave off all that scruff. Wouldn't want dear old Merlin feeling threatened now, would we?"
A tiny grey owl burst through the window, struggling to carry the newest issue of the Daily Prophet. He zoomed in front of Ron and let go of his burden. At that exact moment, Ron pointed his wand at the paper and said, "Incendio." Pigwidgeon hooted shrilly, startled by the Prophet suddenly bursting into flames, and started zooming around the room, twittering madly with indignation.
"Careful there, Ron. You almost killed Pig," noted George.
"I wouldn't have," defended Ron. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" George challenged. "I wouldn't trust your judgement right now."
"Kingsley's here," Ginny said, changing the subject, as she closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. "He wanted to talk to you –"
"I'm not going back," Ron interrupted, and George and Ginny immediately understood what he meant.
"He also came to tell us that they think they've got all the Death Eaters," said Ginny. "Most of them were at the Ministry that day anyway. It was their desperate attempt to get to a Time-Turner."
"Time-Turner?" asked Ron in confusion. "I thought those bloody things were all destroyed five years ago?"
"They were," confirmed George. "And that's why Granger was invited to work in the Department of Mys . . ." he trailed off, as at the mention of the Department Ron turned to him sharply and gave him a glare that would kill.
George cleared his throat, "Erm – yes, that place. She was supposed to help create more Time-Turners. Brightest Witch and all that. And apparently she succeeded. As if she wouldn't," he scoffed. "It's our Granger we're talking about. There isn't a thing she can't do."
"If only she could come back from the dead," said Ron quietly.
"All of this because of a stupid Time-Turner," said Ginny bitterly. "I wish they had never been invented."
"How did they get in there?" demanded Ron. "With all the security measures and all?"
"Polyjuice Potion," answered George. "Those dunderheads at the Ministry apparently haven't learnt anything from your little stunt four years ago. All the other security measures were put into place, yes. But the loophole with the Polyjuice remained. Kingsley was furious. Herondale was supposed to take care of it, apparently."
"I take it Herondale has lost his job now?" asked Ron grumpily.
"Yeah, he has," Ginny confirmed. "Kingsley said the position of the Head Auror is yours, if you want it."
Ron let out a loud, almost insane-sounding laugh, making Ginny and George look at each other in alarm. He stopped just as suddenly as he started.
"You alright, little brother?" asked George.
"Fine," bit out Ron. "It's Kingsley you need to worry about. He's obviously lost his marbles."
Seeing George and Ginny's questioning looks, Ron elaborated, "Me? Head Auror? Seriously? Was he drunk?"
"What?" asked Ginny, clearly worried. "No, Ron –"
"Brain damage? Confundus Charm? Imperious curse?" Ron continued.
"No! Ron –"
"Then there is no proper explanation as to why Kingsley would say anything so damn stupid!" Ron exploded. "I can't be the Head Auror! I'm not that good at it! Now, Harry on the other hand . . ." he trailed off as a new wave of sadness overwhelmed him. His tears resurfaced, making his vision blurry.
"You're a good Auror, you know," stated George.
"Whatever," Ron muttered. "I said I'm not going back, and that's my final decision."
"Well then, why don't you help me with the shop, eh?" George said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "I could always use an extra pair of hands. Plus, you know, it's therapy. It'll keep you busy. Keep your mind off . . . things. After all, they say 'Laughter is the best medicine'."
"Laughter," Ron repeated numbly. "I don't know if I'll ever be cheerful enough to properly laugh again."
Ginny sat on the other side of Ron and gently embraced him, silently conveying her support. "Oh, you will. I know you will. And so will I. One day. You'll see."
At that moment, the door opened and an enormous ginger cat strolled into the room.
"Crooks?" asked Ron in disbelief. "How did you get here?"
Crookshanks gave him the best approximation of a glare that cats were capable of, and went on to settle himself on Ginny's lap.
"Forgot about him, didn't you, Ron?" said George. "I went and got him from your flat after . . . er, you know? Really smart cat. Right away knew there was something wrong."
"I'm sorry," said Ron to no one in particular. "I'm really sorry. I've been a right git, haven't I? I'm so sorry . . ." he kept on repeating those words as tears ran down his face.
"They wouldn't want this, Ron," said Ginny, her voice hitching, as she placed one hand on his arm. "They wouldn't want us to be upset. They'd want us to be strong."
Ron nodded, wiping the tears. "What would I do without the lot of you?" he croaked. "Thank you."
They didn't know exactly how long they all sat there, silently, sharing an embrace and their grief. But one thing, Ron realized, was for certain. Ginny was right: there was strength in unity.
A/N. Part of this chapter - the conversation between Kirk and his mother - was inspired by another story I read a while ago. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I can't remember the author or the name of the story any longer. I tried to find it - since I'd like to give credit to the author - but was unsuccessful. I've never been particularly good at remembering names. Unfortunately now, it's gotten even worse.
I also wanted to mention that according to "The Autobiography of James T. Kirk" (yes, imagine that!), Winona's maiden name really was 'Davis', and Kirk's grandmother's name really was 'Brunhilde'. I did not make those up.
As always, thank you for reading and for your feedback!