Here we go – the next instalment! Hope you enjoy it! Have a great Christmas everyone and expect ch 21 before New Year! As ever, JKR's toybox, but it's fun to lift the lid. Thanks for the wonderful reviews!
Reality
"Here love ends,
Despair, Ambition ends…
In sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble."
~ Edward Thomas: "Lights Out"
The mood was sombre; low voices muttering as daylight drifted unobserved to dusk. The hazy shades of grey deepened, filtering softly through the circular room, bringing an awareness of truth as darkness surrounded them. Reality hit hard. Muffled sobbing rippling the stillness. Heads bowed, grieving together in little clusters of confused hurt.
Harry stared into space, eyes unseeing the present but reliving a vivid nightmare seared deep within his brain. Inhuman shrieks of anguish as pain slowly built at another's command, bubbling and scorching through every nerve and tissue, gathering pace and force, until it was erupting, exploding, blistering through the very skin. He knew. He wished he didn't. How could Colin be expected to withstand something like that? It was only a matter of time. Voldemort would come. And soon.
A warm hand crept into the coldness of his own, squeezing reassuringly and guiding him back to the present. Ginny's eyes met his, the dark brown pools staring right into him, drawing out his very thoughts. A barely perceptible shake of her head, and a vague attempt at a smile wrenched at his insides, contorting them painfully. He should have protected her better. He was a fool for not using a memory charm on Colin when he had the chance.
"Candles," Hermione's voice broke the silence, making the other three glance at her in surprise. "We need light," she explained, pushing her bushy brown hair back from her face. "I know. I know," she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. "I'm just feeling so… so… useless. I've got to do something." A flourish of her wand, and the sconces on the wall flickered into light, forcing back the shadows to the distant outreaches of the common room, for the interim, at least.
"Wonder how Dennis is," Ginny said quietly to no one in particular.
"I don't even want to imagine," Ron said, with a shake of his head. "Makes me wonder how I'd cope if anything happened to Bill, or Charlie, or Percy, or Fred and George, or…" His voice faltered. "Or…you."
"Don't think that. Don't ever think that," Ginny whispered, crossing to sit beside her brother. She hugged him tightly, the vibrant red of her hair blending with his. "We've never got to give up hope, not a single one of us. We can't."
"Gin," Ron tugged affectionately at her hair. "It's not as easy as that."
"Of course it is!" she exclaimed. "We've survived awful things before; we can do it again if we have to."
"Never like this," Harry said, sighing heavily. "Ginny, just think what he knows."
"Colin wouldn't say anything," Hermione blanched, eyes darting uneasily around the group. "Would he?" she whispered.
"He'd rather die," Ginny said with absolute conviction. There was a moment of dawning realisation, mingled with something more, and she buried her head in her hands, coppery hair spilling forwards, as her shoulders shook with barely suppressed emotion.
There was silence. Ron rubbed his hand reassuringly across his sister's back, glancing anxiously at Harry. The tension was almost unbearable, the truth aching to burst out of them and desperate understanding written on every face.
"We should have used that bloody memory charm," Ron burst out at last, arm still wrapped protectively around his little sister. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione. If Colin couldn't have remembered, then even Veratiserum wouldn't have worked if they'd used that on him. He couldn't have told anything, because he wouldn't have known there was anything to tell."
"You can't just go around altering someone's memory," Hermione hissed. "It's not right."
"It's not right what You Know Who's going to try and do to Ginny when he finds out," Ron shot back furiously. "Do you honestly think that letting Colin keep all that knowledge is the better option now?"
Silence fell like a stone plummeting into the lake, the ripples shattering the smooth illusion that had been maintained for so long. The words had been spoken. There was to be no hiding from the truth now.
"Yes," Ginny's muffled voice came from beneath her hair, and she slowly raised her head to look at them. She shivered, and her dark haunted eyes stared up at them, her chin set in determination. "You did the right thing."
"But Gin!" Ron protested.
"I should have protected you better," Harry knelt by her, and took her trembling hand in his. "I promised you that I would."
"And you have," she insisted. She looked at him, a flood of emotions washing through her eyes. "It's awful Harry, all of it, but I'd have hated it if you'd done that to him. Colin deserves better than that." She shook her head, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall.
Harry stared at her in amazement, wondering how she could possibly think that when she was in so much danger. A wisp of memory fluttered by, making him pause in his tracks before he could protest.
"Voldemort could have broken the memory charm," he said slowly, glancing at Ron and Hermione. "He did it to Bertha Jorkins to find out what she knew about the Crouch household. It wouldn't have done any good even if we had done it."
"So what now?" Ron asked, running his fingers restlessly along the chair arm.
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," Harry said decisively, squeezing Ginny's hand. "We've another seven weeks or so to get through, and I want to know what else can be done." He smiled gently at Ginny, holding her gaze with his eyes. "Do you want to come?"
"Not just now," she shook her head, fiery locks dancing in the candlelight. "Alana and the others are just sitting over there and I… I want to stay here… with them in case…news comes through or something. Please?"
Harry let out a long slow breath; he didn't want to leave her alone. Not now. Not like this.
"I'll stay too," Hermione said softly, catching his eye. "Go on."
Once through the portrait hole, Harry and Ron broke into a run, along twisting and deserted corridors, crashing down familiar flights of stairs and through narrow doorways, until they skidded to a halt at the grotesque stone gargoyle in the corner of a gently illuminated landing.
"Liquorice allsorts," Harry panted, clutching his sides as he filled his aching lungs completely, grateful for the release of tension through the exercise. He pulled a face at Ron as the statue slid back, revealing the darkness of the stairwell within. Without hesitation they stepped onto it, and were borne upwards to the very pinnacle of the tower and Dumbledore's office. The polished oak door shone in the candlelight, and Ron automatically reached a hand to knock, stopping abruptly as they heard voices within.
"I know we're not ready," and authoritative voice declared. "But what choice do we have? If we don't act now, it will quite simply be too late."
A murmur of agreement ebbed through the room at these words.
"I agree," a second voice declared staunchly. "This has been too long coming anyway. I say we do this tonight; strike when they are least expecting it."
"Tonight?" a rumbling male voice reverberated powerfully through the room. "Are you insane? We need everything prepared to stand a chance against the sort of power You Know Who has these days. We go into battle with a full plan and tactics, not just false heroics with no regard for the future. We won't do anyone any good by rushing in there and getting hit between the eyes by the first Killing Curse going."
The muttering grew louder, sounds of dissent slithering through the assembled crowd.
"They have our children," a familiar voice interjected. "We know what the Death Eaters are capable of doing to them, and, personally, I think we should do whatever it takes to get them out of there. I'd do that without hesitation if they were my own kids, and I'm sure the rest of you would too. The only way we can ever win is if we all work together, as a community. I say we go tonight."
"Dad." Ron identified the speaker in an undertone, exchanging worried glances with Harry.
"Shouldn't we at least wait to see what the Ministry says officially?" a fussy self-important voice could be heard through the babble that had broken out within.
"Shut up Perce," cheerful tones responded. Ron sank to the landing floor and ran a shaking hand through his hair. Harry felt his mouth turn dry, and glanced down at his clenched fists, noticing with surprise that he was trembling himself. He moved closer to the door, listening intently.
"Something must indeed be done, no question about it," Dumbledore's genial tones sounded far more sober than usual. "They will stop at nothing, and fear is a powerful tool in their war. Amos," he added gently. "Perhaps you could be good enough to inform everyone of the results of the surveillance operation this week. I will be back in a moment. Arthur, if I could have a quick word outside, please."
Harry backed away instantly from the door, as the scraping of chairs across the wooden floor indicated movement. Ron galvanised himself into action and scrambled to his feet, looking even paler than he had been earlier when the news of Colin's disappearance had been broken. Before they had a chance to flee, the voice of Amos Diggory began, muffled and masked to begin with, then slowly seeping into clearer focus, blaring more loudly as the door creaked open, allowing two figures onto the landing beyond.
"Sorry," Harry stammered nervously. "W-we didn't mean to…"
"Ron! Harry!" Mr Weasley exclaimed in surprise, closing the door behind him and looking from one to the other. "What are you doing up here?"
"I rather suspect they've come about events today," Dumbledore said gravely, the soft light of the landing casting shadows on his face, somehow making him look older and wearier than ever. "Colin Creevey is a good friend of Ginny's, I believe."
"Ginny," Mr Weasley became instantly anxious at the mention of his daughter's name. "How's she doing? The owls you've sent haven't been telling us enough."
"She's basically OK," Harry said quickly, exchanging glances with Ron. "Or she was until all this business with Colin."
"I can understand she'd be upset by that," Mr Weasley sighed. "It's a terrible thing to happen to anyone, let alone someone you care about."
"It's not just that," Ron burst out frantically. Harry felt his heart sinking unpleasantly within him as it did sometimes when he began to plummet sharply downwards on his Firebolt fearing that he had missed the Snitch. "Colin… he… Dad, he knows."
"He knows?" Mr Weasley echoed, looking faintly bewildered. He regarded them seriously through his spectacles, suddenly growing pale as he understood. "You mean, about the baby?" Harry nodded slowly. He glanced in Dumbledore's direction and saw the bright blue eyes darken, the genial expression replaced by one Harry had never seen before. The silence hung heavy over the landing.
"It is time," Dumbledore said. The calmness of his voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Harry. "And we must act, there can be no doubt about that." He rotated his hands in circular motions in the air, pausing as a silvery orb appeared, nestled in his gnarled right palm. He regarded the object carefully, muttering an incantation beneath his breath. Lilac flames began to lick to globe, slowly at first and then engulfing the entire object in a violent blaze. Cries of anger rang out, violent shouting and high-pitched piercing screams intermingled, chilling Harry to his core. Dumbledore's concentration never faltered as he waved his hand over the sphere once more and it glowed brightly, lifting itself slowly into the air and shimmering with a spectrum of colours as it revolved. The bubble vanished into thin air, and Dumbledore turned to Harry.
"Stay with Ginny tonight," he instructed firmly. "Don't leave her alone, not until we know for certain. Take her to Professor McGonagall or the hospital wing if you need to, but it is vital that she is not left alone. Keep the Portkey nearby at all times. Do you understand me, Harry?"
Harry nodded mutely, taken aback by Dumbledore's authoritative tone.
"Arthur," Dumbledore continued swiftly. "We need to strengthen the protection on the castle before we do anything else. That should keep them all safe, for now at least. The Death Eaters haven't yet built up sufficient strength to penetrate the castle walls, and we must see that they never can."
"We challenge them tonight, then?" a pale-faced Mr Weasley asked, sounding quite determined.
"We must," Dumbledore said gravely. He turned and walked back to the door of his office, where the meeting still sounded as if it were in full flow.
"Look after yourselves," Mr Weasley said urgently to Harry and Ron, "and Ginny. Tell her only what she needs to know, and try not to get her too upset. The last thing we need is this baby arriving tonight." He smiled wryly. He turned to follow Dumbledore back into his office but paused on the threshold, a real smile spreading over his features. "I'm proud of you both," he said, nodding at them. "Just hang on in there for now."
*****
Time dragged agonisingly slowly. Every second ticked past with excruciatingly painstaking precision, each beat of a minute making its presence felt and then mockingly loitering a little longer. Ginny slumbered restlessly beside him in the common room as the four of them watched silently through the night, waiting for the morning and news of those they loved.
As the first rays of sun peered tentatively over the horizon, the scar suddenly burnt painfully upon Harry's forehead, the sort of sharp stabbing pains he hadn't felt so clearly for quite some time now, building in their ferocity until they twisted like a knife. He flinched, wincing from the pain. Ginny woke suddenly with a yelp and rubbed her wrist fretfully, burrowing closer to Harry for comfort. The fear in her eyes was unmistakeable; worry for the lives of her father and brothers, and their child.
In the days that followed the conflict, life seemed to blur in a surreal haze, ebbing into clear focus for moments of horrific reality, and then they would be tossed on a sea of uncertainty, waiting for news once more. The Death Eaters had won the battle that fateful night, growing stronger in power and ever more threatening. Lives had been lost and other resistance fighters had simply disappeared without trace. Drawn and wan, people sat about listlessly in the common room waiting for confirmation of what had really happened, whether it was good news or bad.
The exams continued as planned, but they seemed to be a type of sadistic joke. None of them could concentrate. Harry glanced up from his written Transfiguration paper to find Hermione staring blankly out of the window. She shook herself and forcibly applied herself to the tasks once more, but with many more thoughtful pauses than was normally the case. Two seats across, Ron looked horrendous. There had still been no news of Bill after that fateful night, and Ron was as restless as a caged animal, penned in behind his desk. His quill was snatched up, a few words were scribbled before it was flung down again helplessly as he buried his head in his hands.
Ginny wasn't faring much better. She was quiet and withdrawn. Her evenings were spent in a corner the common room, with a poetry book open on her knee, staring at it with glazed eyes for hours on end without turning a single page. Harry's attempts to get her to talk were met with total refusal until he had sneaked up to her dormitory one evening and found her alone, sitting on her bed stroking Bill's tartan socks with her hand. The tears had flowed then. A gentle touch on her shoulder had led to her sobbing in his arms, unable to stem the tide of tears until everything had spilled out in half-choked shudders.
The wizards were regrouping with the intention of attacking Voldemort and the Death Eaters once again, many of the seventh years eager to be involved now that their time at Hogwarts was drawing to a close. The strategies were being drawn up with meticulous care, and in the meantime, they were being subjected to a set of practical lessons referred to by the staff as 'Wizarding Life Skills', and by the students as 'Waste of Life Skills.'
"But I know how to make a cup of tea," Ron moaned in protest, when the new timetable for the last two weeks of term was issued.
"Yes, but some of these household charms are going to be really useful," Hermione pointed out reasonably. "It's a lot easier than Muggle cleaning for a start, and you've both cleaned enough trophies in detention to know that."
"I suppose it's a good thing," Harry said without enthusiasm, his mind focused elsewhere. He rubbed his scar, which had been aching on and off all morning, wondering what was going on now.
They trooped gloomily down to the Potions dungeon for a session with Snape on basic medicinal potions, and took their places at their regular tables in silence.
"Having survived thus far," Snape said to the class with a sneer, "I presume you have at least fulfilled the basic criteria for brewing a potion. Even Longbottom has managed to perfect the art of putting his ingredients in the cauldron, rather than spilling them on the floor. Seven years of study have not been wasted." There were sniggers from the Slytherin end of the classroom, and Neville flushed bright red. "Today, we shall be learning a straightforward painkilling potion, useful for general aches and pains. I suspect Potter here, as our resident expert in dramatic headaches, will be more than happy to sample them for us."
Harry glared balefully at Snape, his scar throbbing in a most peculiar manner. Whatever Voldemort was up to at this moment in time was entirely unlike anything he'd felt before. The pain subsided as suddenly as it had occurred, leaving Harry's mind free to worry again. He glanced over at Hermione and Ron, wondering whether he should tell them about this, but Snape looking at him so scathingly when he leant forwards that he desisted, and listened.
As they gathered around their cauldrons to begin brewing the potion, the scar ached again, building up gradually and then fading to nothing. Harry frowned. This didn't make any sense. Usually his scar was painful for quite a length of time, with savage stabbing pains peaking from the general hurt. He reached for the midnight dew from the centre of the table, with the intention of measuring it into the potion. He paused for a second, wondering if Ginny was feeling this too and what she was making of it. This didn't feel like Voldemort, but if it wasn't, then there was only one other place the pain could come from and that was…
Suddenly the ache began again, and the bottle slipped through his fingers, smashing into smithereens on the cold stone flags of the dungeon floor.
"Potter!" Snape's cold tones rose ferociously above the hubbub of the room. Harry's breath shuddered out in panic. He fought to control himself. No. Please, no. Not that.
"Headache," he gasped, abandoning his bag and his work. He forced out the words, "Got to get to Madam Pomfrey. Now."
"Not until you've cleaned up this mess," Snape said icily, but Harry didn't wait to listen. Not even pausing to explain further, he fled out of the room, banging the door behind him in his haste. His footsteps echoed as he pelted up the narrow twisting underground passageways, heart pounding erratically in his chest as he skidded sideways across the marble floor of the entrance hall and up the great ornate staircase. At the top of the stairs he turned away from the corridor to the hospital wing, running along the sunlit hallway, and then upwards again towards Transfiguration.
He stopped outside the door, stomach leaping into his mouth in fear and tried to catch his breath to appear normal. His hand shook badly as he knocked at the classroom door.
"Come in," Professor McGonagall's crisp tones rang out. Steeling himself, Harry pushed the door open and stood on the threshold of the classroom, his eyes scanning frantically for signs of a small red-headed figure amongst the sixth years looking up at him from their desks.
"Potter?"
Harry bit his lip, and trembled. Where was she? Professor McGonagall walked over to him, peering anxiously through her black-rimmed glasses.
"What is it?" she asked with concern, stepping into the corridor and pulling the door shut behind her.
"Scar hurts," Harry explained briefly, stumbling over the words in his haste. "Where's Ginny? Where is she?" he demanded again, terror building inside him.
"Calm down," Professor McGonagall tried to reassure him. "She asked to be excused a few minutes ago, and she's just in the girls' bathroom on this corridor. She'll be back any moment, Potter. No need to worry."
"Right," Harry said, backing away slightly, not in the least bit convinced.
"If she's not back soon, I'll go down myself," Professor McGonagall smiled at him. "Get yourself back along to Potions. Go on." She nodded encouragingly before returning to her classroom.
Harry stood irresolutely for a moment, before the pain began again, stronger this time. He made his mind up, and pounded down the hallway, scanning unfamiliar doors to identify where Ginny might be. Finally finding the correct place, he swiftly checked up and down the corridor before pushing the door open and slipping inside.
Ginny was sitting on the floor, her hands gripping the sink before her so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Her forehead was pressed against the cool ceramic of the basin, and a small whimper of pain escaped from her.
"Gin!" he exclaimed, hurrying over, and kneeling beside her. She caught her breath, shaking as little shuddering cries burst from her lips. "Gin? What is it?"
"Harry," she gasped, clutching at his arm in relief. The pain in his forehead began to subside slowly. Her breathing was very unsteady, and she was trembling badly. "The baby… I think the baby's coming."