Chapter 40

Valentine's Day

Neville knows you're not supposed to spend Valentine's Day visiting your parents, but he can't help himself. Tomorrow he'll be leaving to spend a week in an intensive Hit Wizard training camp, and he wants to tell them all about it. He comforts himself by thinking he'll bring roses to his mother, along with the usual chocolates, and anyway Elisia and Aminta – the nurses who usually look after his parents – aren't that much older than he is. So he buys a bouquet of roses from a shop in Muggle London – his mother is allergic to the magical, scent-enhanced kind and neither of them can stand the clean smell anything from the hospital shop has – and goes to their room, feeling perfectly satisfied.

When he knocks on the door, neither Elisia or Aminta opens, though both are in the room when he enters. Instead, a girl – scarcely a woman, he thinks – with long, pale hair and small dark eyes lets him in almost reflexively. When she meets his gaze, she starts in recognition.

"Hannah?"

Last year, when Neville found his old Dumbledore's Army coin and suggested they restart the group, Hannah Abbott was one of the first to eagerly jump in. She is a Hufflepuff, loyal and firm. Neville knew he could count on her. She has changed so much in just a few months; her hair has grown longer and her face thinner. But when she smiles at him, he recognises the Hufflepuff who once freed him from a Full Body-Bind Curse in third year, the girl he helped in Herbology once in fifth year, the girl who only last year spread Dittany on the cuts the Carrows had given him, the girl whose smile was worth every single one of those curses.

"Hi, Neville," she says, somewhat shyly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't face... going back," she says. "To Hogwarts. I mean, I tried. I went back in September, but it was too much. After three weeks I applied for an internship here, and I was accepted."

He smiles. "I told you you'd make a good Healer. But you wouldn't listen to me."

"I was trying to heal those cuts on your neck!" she protests. "You kept moving around and talking. That's why I told you to shut up."

"You've met my parents, then?" he says, looking at them.

"They're lovely," Hannah replies. She looks uncomfortable. "I am so sorry, Neville."

"Please, don't be. It isn't your fault."

"You're training to be an Auror now, aren't you?"

He nods.

"I never thought of you as an Auror," she admits. "But you'll be good at it. Because you're very brave."

"Hannah –"

"I never knew, about your parents. And during the Battle, killing You-Know-Who's snake – that was really brave. And last year, the DA –"

"We did it together," he interrupts.

She smiles softly. "I'm glad we did. I'm glad you asked me to join."

So is Neville.

He stops between the bookshelves, cocks his head, and looks at her. "Don't you believe in love?"

Startled, she stares at him. "Don't I what?"

"It's Valentine's Day," Draco says. "The one day where you're allowed to make a fool of yourself and be overly romantic, and you're holed up here, in the library, just like any other day."

"Hardly 'holed up.'"

"You might at least have gone to Hogsmeade with Greg Skippins," he adds. "He seemed crushed when you refused. The guy's got it big for you."

She flushes. "He's fourteen! He's a kid!"

"He ought to be chaperoned," Draco agrees. "No reason why you couldn't do that while he paid you all the Butterbeers you wanted." He makes a face. "Though I've a feeling he'd have brought you to Madam Puddifoot's, not the Hog's Head."

"Oh, shut up about Greg Skippins already," Hermione says. "How he ever made Ravenclaw is a mystery."

He smiles. "That's harsh."

"It's true."

"I suppose so."

He steps forward, leans against the table. She is sitting, cross-legged, on the table – Madam Pince would have a fit –, angled so that she is looking at him but can see, out of the corner of her eye, the lake outside the window.

"Even so," he says. "Why didn't you go to Hogsmeade? You didn't have to go with Skippins, necessarily; you might have been with anyone. Weasley, maybe."

"Ginny's on a date."

He arches an eyebrow. "What happened to Potter?"

She looks at him flatly, and he drops the subject.

"Well, Lovegood, then. Don't tell me she's on a date, too? And even if she was," he adds hurriedly, "you could have gone alone. You love Hogsmeade."

"Not when it's infested with couples making gooey eyes at each other."

"So you choose to stay here, alone."

She turns slightly so she's looking directly at him, her back to the window. "Hardly 'alone.'"

"In not exactly desirable company, then."

She watches him, wondering just how blind he is. "Hardly 'undesirable,'" she whispers.

This time (finally!), he understands. His eyes shoot to hers and he looks, for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

"What –"

"I have been to Hogsmeade, you know," she interrupts. "Just long enough to get this." She holds it up. "I might share if you stop teasing me about Skippins."

His eyes travel from the box of chocolates to her face and back again.

"Deal," he says finally.

Peter Daniels sits across from her, his glass of Butterbeer untouched in front of him as he stares almost avidly into her eyes. Ginny has never felt this wanted; Dean was tender, Harry was loving, but this is needy. She has been feeling oddly detached since this morning, as though she were watching with mild interest another girl on an awkward date. She looked on, almost amused, as the boy worked up the nerve to hold her hand. Bored, then, when they sat down at the Hog's Head for a drink. It isn't Peter's fault; he's not a bad sort, really. But it's becoming obvious that what seemed like a good idea last week was probably a very bad idea. She thought to change her thoughts a little; all she can seem to do is sink further into them.

She has never felt so lonely. What was it Hermione said the other day, the day she caught her vomiting in the girls' room? Amidst the It'll be all right, she said... It's better to have loved and lost than never known love at all. Something along those lines. Ginny let herself believe her friend that time, let her sobs and retches be soothed by Hermione's tone and words. But now... Loved and lost. Loved and lost. The words are still ringing in her ears. Is it better? Is it better to ache like this, to have to be the strong one, the one who says no when the other can't stay away? Or would it have been less painful to simply never have attracted Harry's attention? And always, always that question: why did she let him go? Deep inside, she knows it was the right choice. That small part of her wars with the rest of her heart, struggles to stay alive; it's fighting a losing battle and it knows it. She regrets it too much.

Hence Peter Daniels. A change of air to change my thoughts, she told herself. Peter Daniels has had a crush on her since his third year. She knows, of course. It was obvious in his eyes when he saw her with another boy – Michael (worst mistake ever), Dean (sweet, too sweet Dean), Harry. She hadn't taken advantage of it. She wasn't interested in boys younger than her; they were too quick to get the L-word out. But Peter has grown now, into a rather fit, strong-jawed young man. He is taller than her now. So when he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, she said yes.

It isn't really a date, she reasons. He only said, If you haven't already got plans, maybe we could go to Hogsmeade together. Just... hang out. But in his eyes she sees the truth. They are good eyes, hazel with more green than brown, but not enough green to make her think of Harry every time she looks at him. They never leave her own eyes, until she finds herself wondering what he finds so fascinating about brown.

"I'm glad you accepted," Peter is saying, finally deciding to take a sip of his Butterbeer. "Ginny, I –"

She stands up abruptly. "I have to leave."

He looks confused. Hurt. "What?"

"It's not about you," she says truthfully. "I – I can't do this."

She walks out of the pub.

They spend Valentine's Day in her house. She's invited him over, or maybe dragged him over; it's that impossible to get him to get some fresh air. Some days, she can hardly recognise him. Lee has gone from bad to worse in the space of a couple of months. When she woke up from her coma, she was almost frightened of him, of the change that had occurred in the space of a few weeks' unconsciousness. But it's even more frightening to be awake and see the slow transformation, bit by bit, as her friend – and more – slowly drowns himself in work.

"Lee," she said one day. "Maybe you should take a few days off."

If looks could kill, then Katie would have died just then, because the glare that Lee gave her was worth any venom.

It's Sunday today, otherwise she wouldn't have caught a glimpse of him, she's sure. But it's Sunday and he can't go to work, so he's agreed to come. He's forgotten what day it is; or maybe he knows and doesn't want to celebrate. After all, they aren't together... Not anymore. If they ever were, really.

Merlin it hurts to think back to those times. She had thought, for a while, that they were happy. Lee wasn't the sort of guy who would just use a girl, and he didn't do that with her. He did something kind, as always; was attentive and loving with her for months. But kind wasn't what Katie wanted then, and so he moulded himself to her expectations with ease. She knows he loves her, knows he would give his life for her, knows he was sick with worry over her when she was comatose; but he isn't in love with her the way she is with him. She can't remember the exact day she realised that, but she can remember the pain.

She should thank him, really, for not continuing that mockery of a relationship.

She can't find it in herself to be grateful.

Valentine's Day is a joke.

So thought Narcissa when Lucius bought her a ring, a necklace, diamonds, perfume or anything ridiculously expensive. When she married Lucius, she loved jewellery. She still thinks it's beautiful, but now wearing the long rope of Chinese pearls she received as a wedding gift, or the dangling platinum and emerald earrings that only date back three years, or the thick silver bracelet worked into the likeness of a coiled snake she loved at first sight makes her feel more dowdy than elegant, more fragile than precious; in short, old and heavy instead of young, rich and beautiful (because she was beautiful, once). Nowadays the only jewellery she wears consists of two rings she has never never taken off and never will: the sober ring of platinum engraved with the Black coat of arms, and her gold wedding band. Even Andromeda still has her Black ring; Narcissa has seen it on her right hand. And Bellatrix said, sneeringly – these things put her into a rage, because she had disowned Andromeda and Sirius – that Sirius was wearing his when he died. Narcissa wouldn't have believed it if it had been anyone other than Bella to say this; Sirius had fully abandoned his family. But Bellatrix wouldn't have lied about this.

Lucius loved seeing her shine, with gold at her throat, diamonds swinging from her ears, rubies on her hands. Or maybe he just enjoyed spending their fortune on his wife. She knew when she married him that he loved her, and that he would be free with his money when it came to showering his wife with gifts. He won't be having that pleasure again, not for some time – if ever. The exorbitant fine they had to pay took such a chunk out of their fortunes that their expenses have been greatly reduced. It shows in the cheaper wine they drink, in the fewer purchases they make, but also in the stoop of Lucius' shoulders. He thinks she blames him for their turn of fortunes, but she doesn't; it was their fault, not just his.

They still have enough to live. They could probably keep on living just as they used to for years, except then there wouldn't be anything left for Draco. That's the worst thing about the situation, really – they were hoping to leave something sizeable to Draco, as their parents did for them. Lucius received the entirety of the Malfoy fortune; Narcissa brought a smaller portion of the Black inheritance. They both used to think that their son would be a very rich man, but as it is, he might only end up with a few thousand Galleons. Narcissa doesn't think she could bear leaving this world knowing she hasn't provided for her son as well as she should have, and that's why she's lain a claim on the Lestrange fortunes, both Rabastan's and Rodolphus'.

Bella, her sister, was married to Rodolphus, and she was their closest family member. Rabastan and Rodolphus are on the run; Narcissa has no doubt that soon they will either be dead or imprisoned. Even if they aren't caught, they will never enter a bank again. The money is Narcissa's by right – she thinks – but Death Eater rights aren't the same as other people's. The Ministry could decide to take the money for itself, since Rabastan and Rodolphus and Bella – and Lucius – were all Death Eaters. If she does receive the money, the Ministry won't be happy about it. Narcissa has dipped into their meagre savings to hire someone to defend her claim, and she hopes to win. If her estimations are correct, the money – astronomical sums – will be enough to fade her worries about Draco away.

Lucius knows of her initiative, and disapproves – Calling attention to ourselves is hardly necessary now, Narcissa –, but he hasn't fired the man she employed or really argued with her about it, because he knows she's right. Because what counts the most in their eyes is their son.

She doesn't miss the money. She knows that if she does receive it, she will save every Knut for Draco, because she has realised she has no need of it. So if she does feel odd when Lucius wakes her up on Valentine's Day with a kiss and empty hands, she doesn't feel the least bit sad or wistful. It seems right, somehow.

Molly's Valentine's Days have been blissfully happy for years, ever since she first started dating Arthur. She thinks this is the hardest one she has ever known. Molly has fought in the wars and knows how to deal with hardships, but her weak point has always been – and she knows it – her children. Right now, she can't stop thinking and worrying about her children.

Bill has a beautiful wife who loves her and he's the one who causes her the least worry; he has always been an exemplary older brother. Charlie is alone but solid and old enough to take care of himself. It starts going wrong with Percy. Percy, she thinks, is responsible for at least half of the lines on her forehead. Percy who left them when he was only just out of childhood, Percy who ignored his father at work, Percy who always hated being poor... Percy is married now too, but his wife is almost still a child herself and they barely know each other. Molly worries.

There's George, and it's so hard not to say Fred and George that she still catches herself making the mistake, and George's eyes will cloud up and there will be a dreadful silence in the entire room. Molly misses Fred so much she doesn't understand how it's possible, but most of all she misses George because George is alive and she feels like she should keep him close but she can't, he's slipping from her grasp and away from her. And Molly worries.

Then there's Ron, who is a big boy now, working at the Ministry. She's proud of him, so glad to see him again after his year on the run, but at the same time she misses the little boy she saw grow up. She never wanted him to be an Auror, because life is dangerous enough as it is and she knows Ron isn't made for that kind of work. He'll be good at it, of course he will, but he won't love it like a person should enjoy their job. She can't shake the feeling that her youngest son is miserable. And Molly worries.

Harry has always held a special place in her heart, because the boy is an orphan and he needs and deserves to be loved, but why is it that he and Ginny can no longer speak to each other? They love each other, they are made for each other. Molly saw her baby girl at Christmas, and Ginny was miserable, too. She put on a good act but a mother knows these things and Molly knows her daughter isn't happy anymore, even though she's Quidditch Captain at school and her grades are as good as ever. And Molly worries.

There is one person she never worries about, because it's the other way around with him. He worries about her. When Arthur hands her the flowers and kisses her fingertips on Valentine's Day, she knows all their worries are worth it. She loves her family too much to regret any of it.

Petunia has never liked Valentine's Day. Vernon knows this, and though he insists on giving her flowers every February 14th, it usually stops there. Today, however – maybe because they missed this day last year, while they were in hiding – he took her out to eat at a fancy, white linen tablecloth restaurant. She wore a soft green dress which Vernon assured her looked lovely on her, and the perfume he gave her this morning.

When they get home, she remembers why she has never worn this dress before. Lily looked stunning in green. Not lovely, as Vernon says Petunia does, but eye-catching, arresting. She remembers, too, why she doesn't like Valentine's Day. When they were children, Lily loved it. The year Lily was nine, what seems like ages before the Hogwarts letter, her class had to make cards for Valentine's Day. She made a lovely one with a bouquet of petunias on it, painstakingly copied from a gardening book and covered in glitter, and wrote in her best print, Be my Valentine. She gave it to her sister that evening, and was very worried because thirteen of the sixteen boys in her class had given her their card and she had nothing to give back. Petunia said, "Don't worry, I'll help you," and the two sisters had spent the night mass-producing cards. None of them were as lovely as Lily's original.

Vernon is in the shower; she can hear the water running. She opens her drawer, rummages inside, finds her jewellery box. There, at the bottom, lies a glittery, yellow-and-white card, slightly wrinkled from having been held one too many times.

Be my Valentine, Petunia.

Angelina loved Fred. Maybe it wasn't the sort of love that would ever have led to marriage. She didn't know then, and now she'll never know. But it was enough for them, both of them, because they were only in their twenties and it was the war and they weren't looking for commitment. They were looking for familiarity and comfort. They kissed and laughed and held on to each other like a lifeline because it gave them a feeling of normalcy when their entire world flipped around on its axis. When he died, her heart shattered.

She wasn't the only one. She feels selfish sometimes, embarrassed that she could even think she lost something when she sees George every week and every time he looks a little worse. She knows his family took the loss hard, but George is the worst, and who can blame him? She can, that's who. She understands him, but at the same time she feels angry at him. Angry for making her feel guilty. Angry for slowly slipping from her grasp when she knows the one thing Fred would have wanted was for her to hold on to him, to keep him from fading away into nothingness. George has to stay. George has to live.

That is why she is here today, even though there has never been anything even vaguely romantic between her and George. She couldn't ask Lee to stay, because he's spending so much time at work nowadays she would feel guilty dragging him away from Katie on Valentine's Day. And she couldn't leave George alone; he hasn't been alone for a second since the Battle and she still doesn't trust him enough. So she is spending Valentine's Day in the flat above the twins' shop.

"I'm not a child, Ange," George says when she shows up at the door that morning, knowing very well what she's here for. "I don't need a baby-sitter."

"I'm not your baby-sitter," she says. "I'm your friend."

"Valentine's Day is not a day for friends to spend together."

"Then I'll be your Valentine," she says recklessly. "If that's what it takes. But like it or not, George, I'm staying."

He looks at her, a soft smile on his lips. "Like," he says finally.

"What?"

"Like it or not, you're staying," he repeats. "So I've decided to like it."

Angelina loves George, too. George is a mess, a broken soul, a half of something that was once whole and never again will be. She loves him because he needs her like he needs oxygen. She loves him because he has lost the same thing as her, and maybe, if they just try, the broken pieces of their hearts will fit together. Not perfectly, because some chips are lost to them forever, but well enough to provide comfort and warmth. And maybe that will be enough for them, one day.

For Valentine's Day, I wanted to do something a little different. Hence the format of the chapter, the present tense and the constant POV switching. Everything will be back to normal for the next chapter. Whose drabble did you like best? I have a soft spot for Narcissa's.