Chapter 2: In Through the Ashes
Ginny froze; she was helpless to do anything else. Harry staggered away from the fireplace, glancing wildly about him. He looked more than anything, Ginny thought, like the injured fox she had found several years ago in the glade near the Burrow – ready to fight with a desperate ferocity anything that came too near, but at the same time achingly vulnerable. He clutched his right arm against him, and Ginny flinched to see the strips of rust-spotted cloth peeking out beneath the sleeve of his torn Muggle flannel shirt.
"Oh, HARRY!" Mrs. Weasley cried, abandoning the snapping salad bowl and rushing towards the shaking figure. Harry seemed to recognize Mrs. Weasley and allowed himself to be caught up in her arms without protest. "Oh, you poor dear," she said, her voice catching slightly. "Ginny, could you hand me my wand and fetch some bandages?" She turned her attentions back to the black-haired boy as Ginny hurried out of the room.
Ginny trembled as she grabbed the bandages. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. She hadn't been allowed in the hospital wing after the end of the Third Task – she had instead sat curled up on her bed in Gryffindor Tower, trying desperately to muffle the harsh sobs that seemed determined to come. The same sickening pressure from that horrible day was settling on her chest now. Harry Potter was many things – ordinary boy, extraordinary wizard, her brother's best friend, her long-time crush – but most of all, he was safety, protection. The idea that everything was going to be all right. And the same boy who had defeated Voldemort as an infant and dueled with him again two months ago, who had also saved her life nearly three years before, was now trembling in the kitchen, unable to say a word.
Ginny hastened back to find her mother kneeling over Harry, who was now stretched out prone on the kitchen floor. She handed her mother the items. "Do me a favor, Ginny? Bring a chair over and prop his legs up on it-- bit of a Muggle trick, but it does help," she said, examining his injured arm. "Poor dear passed out..." Ginny bit back a gasp as Mrs. Weasley carefully removed the old bandage from Harry's arm. Her mother seemed likewise appalled. "My stars-- she said brokenly, "Why they even considered sending him by Floo powder-- the very idea-- in his condition? He could have gotten off anywhere--" She looked at the horrible gash. A few bandages would hardly do anything for a cut like-- like that. "Wait here. I need to fetch my medispells book," Mrs. Weasley said, handing the bandages to Ginny as she ran out of the room. "Hold those against his arm, Ginny, in case it starts to bleed again."
Ginny pressed the bandages against the crook of Harry's right arm, examining the unconscious figure in front of her. Harry was always pale, but now his face was drained of any faint flush and was replaced by a frightening translucence, made even more evident by the smudges of ash and soot from traveling by Floo. Ginny reached with her free hand to wipe the soot from his forehead, but the smudge settled in the faint line of Harry's scar, making it even more striking: soot-black edged in a sort of vivid scarlet. Ginny shivered; the scar which had always just been there-- albeit through horrible circumstances-- suddenly seemed much more malevolent. Like a brand, Ginny's mind supplied. She took his glasses off his face-- the left lens was cracked-- and set them on the floor. Although she was terrified, Ginny couldn't help but brush Harry's fringe back from his forehead, just to know the feel of his hair twined around her fingers.
Ginny withdrew her hand suddenly as another loud Whoosh! came from the hearth, the flames parting this time to reveal Albus Dumbledore, followed shortly by Professor Lupin and a large black dog, and, to Ginny's further surprise, her brother Charlie. They looked grim and haggard to a man, even Professor Dumbledore. Ginny shivered at the blue eyes behind Dumbledore's spectacles; they were intensely focused, devoid of their usual light and warmth.
"Thank goodness he made it all right," said Lupin, obviously relieved, as the dog whined and rushed over to Harry's side. Ginny instinctively threw her arm out to bar its access to Harry, and the dog growled threateningly. Ginny glared at it, daring it to come any nearer.
"It's all right, Miss Weasley," said Professor Dumbledore, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "the dog is quite well trained. He won't harm him." Ginny lowered her arm and the dog lay down beside Harry, peering anxiously at him. Mrs. Weasley returned at that moment, scanning the pages of a large brown volume entitled Emergency Spells of the Desperate Medical Sort.
"Oh-- thank heavens you're here, Professor," Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly. "Harry-- I had no idea it was so very bad, and I wasn't sure it was safe to send for the healer, considering...." Her voice trailed off, as she finally saw her second-eldest son standing by the hearth, still. "CHARLIE-- what are you-- oh, you weren't there, were you?" she said, staring at his torn robes and the dark bruise coming out under his left eye. "Are you all right, love? Oh, dear. Sit down and let me get you some ice," she said, fluttering about the kitchen. Ginny looked up to see her older brother wink at her, as though to say, I'm all right-- you know how she gets. Ginny gave a half-hearted smile, still dazed at the whirlpool of activity. She started suddenly, looking back down at Harry, who had just stirred gently under her hand.
"I think he's coming round," she said to Professor Lupin, who was standing at her elbow, "shouldn't we-- ?" She wasn't quite sure what they should do, in all honesty, but really-- shouldn't Harry be in a bed? The floor was terribly hard. And it wouldn't hurt to have someone qualified look at the gash on his arm. Professor Lupin seemed to understand Ginny's train of thought, and cleared his throat.
"Professor, I think it best we get Harry to bed," he said, addressing the Headmaster. Dumbledore nodded. "Molly, is there a spare bed where we can let him rest?" Mrs. Weasley dropped the ice pack she was bringing over for Charlie.
"Of course. How thoughtless of me-- just leaving him on the floor... what was I thinking?" She shook her head, as though trying to clear it. "All the way up the stairs and to the left-- he can have Ron's bed, and Ron can move in with the twins." She paused. "That-- cut-- on his arm needs to be healed. I don't think I can do the job properly... is it safe to call the local healer?" she asked, looking at Dumbledore. "She's very discrete," Mrs. Weasley added.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I am certain she is," Dumbledore said slowly, "but we cannot take the risk. I will contact Madam Pomfrey; she can be trusted. May I use the fire in the living room?" he queried. Mrs. Weasley nodded and Dumbledore exited the room. Ginny watched him go, feeling foolishly like crying. She looked down at Harry to try to force back the stinging in her eyes.
Harry's eyes blinked open, and Ginny felt him tense under her grip. "Wha--?" he croaked out, trying to lift his head to look around. Dazed and without his glasses, he looked about blindly, unable to recognize anything around him. His eyes landed on Ginny's face, hovering just above him. "Ginny-- where're the others?" he asked, his green eyes searching hers desperately. Ginny tried to sooth his worries as best she could. "Dumbledore and everyone are right here. It'll be okay," she said in what she hoped was a comforting voice, not really sure if she believed it, but hoping that Harry would. He seemed to relax a little at her words.
"Let's get him up to bed," Lupin said, looking at the large dog, which was nuzzling his nose in Harry's undamaged hand. "Harry," he said, crouching down near the injured boy, "do you think you can make it upstairs?" Harry responded by taking his feet off the kitchen chair, and easing himself into an upright position. Ginny felt rather than saw him wince. "'M okay," he said through gritted teeth, seeing her face go pale. "Just gotta get up--." Lupin helped Harry to stand, and the two of them, followed closely by the dog, inched their way upstairs. Harry looked unsteady, and Ginny hoped that he would make it to bed without fainting again.
Left suddenly alone in the kitchen with her mother and Charlie, the terrifying strangeness of the last twenty minutes finally hit Ginny full force. She got up from the floor on shaky legs and looked to her mother for answers. "Mum, is-- why-- what happened?" Her mother stopped fussing over Charlie, who was fighting off Mrs. Weasley's mother hen tendencies tooth and nail ("Honestly, Mum, I'm fine! I promise-- it's just a black eye, not a dragon bite!"), and turned to look at her daughter. Ginny swayed slightly on her feet, but her white face was unnaturally serious; she wanted answers. "What happened to Harry? I though Dumbledore said he'd be safer with the Muggles." Her mother stayed silent. "Why are Professor Lupin and Dumbledore here?" Ginny looked at her older brother, hoping for a response. None came. "And you," Ginny said, looking at Charlie when she realized that answers would not be forthcoming, her voice rising slightly, "I thought you were in Romania." Charlie shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
"Sorry, Gin," he said, twisting the ice pack in his big hands, "I couldn't exactly say anything."
Her mother nodded behind him. "Don't blame your brother, dear. I didn't know where he was, either," she said, glancing back at the stove. "Oh!" Mrs. Weasley cried, "Supper! It will have been ruined by now.... Oh, just my luck." Mrs. Weasely turned back the pots rattling away on the stove, and muttered a frantic "Retroago!"
Ginny sighed. With her mother trying to undo the damage done to her potatoes during the past twenty minutes of neglect, she knew there wouldn't be any offered answers in the near future. Charlie smiled sympathetically at her. "Hang in there, Gin," he said, patting her shoulder in what Ginny had come to recognize as the patented Big Brother Comfort Gesture. "We're not trying to keep things from you, you know."
Ginny laughed emptily. "I know. That's why no one will tell me anything. Not you, not Mum, not Dad – even Ron watches what he says around me-- because goodness knows I can't handle it." She shook off Charlie's hand. "I'm not exactly made of glass, you know." Although I do feel a bit shattered right now. And Ginny, hoping to find answers elsewhere, marched out of the kitchen, leaving a very shame-faced Charlie in her wake.
***
Intending to go and see if Harry was any better, Ginny started up the stairs-- and nearly ran into Ron on the second flight, who was taking the steps three at a time. "How's Harry?" she asked, judging from his demeanor that he was aware of the recent arrivals. "Dunno," Ron said, frustrated, "They wouldn't let me see him. Won't even tell me what happened." Ginny snorted. "That makes two of us," she muttered, heading back down the stairs.
"Four of us, actually." Fred and George poked out of their room, now crowded with cots. "Want to fill us in on the details, Gin? Aside from 'Harry's here, and something's rotten in the state of Denmark,' preferably, because we've already figured that much out." Fred motioned for them to come in, and George looked uncharacteristically solemn. Ginny made herself comfortable on one of the beds, related what she knew, which, admittedly, wasn't much. Ron and the twins sat silently for most her description-- Ron started at the mention of the black dog, and Ginny made a note to ask him about it later.
"What was the matter with his arm, Gin?" Ron asked. "You said it was pretty gruesome."
Ginny shuddered and nodded. "Did Professor Moody cover curse wounds in your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes last year?" she asked her brothers.
George assented. "We only brushed up on them in sixth year – Lupin covered 'em pretty thoroughly with us the year before, but the pictures he showed were pretty horrible." Fred nodded in agreement with his twin.
"It must have been a curse wound," Ginny said quietly. "And a powerful one at that. I don't know what else it could have been. But how he got it – I mean, a curse like that would have been highly localized...so why on earth would whoever cast it focus on his arm? Why not just aim for his head, or chest? It would have done the job, if they were trying to... kill... him...." Ginny's voice trailed off into the silent room. Ron seemed to be miles away, as though he were working out an extremely difficult Potions essay. His face blanched suddenly.
"Which arm, did you say?" Ron asked, in a strange, sort of tightly-wound voice. "His right, I think," Ginny answered, picturing the scene in the kitchen. "Yes, his right arm. At the elbow." Ginny watched in amazement as Ron leapt to his feet and rushed out the door. "Since Ronniekins seems to have something he doesn't want to share with the rest of the class," Fred said dryly, "maybe we should adjourn this meeting and go try to figure out what the blazes is going on."
"Hear, hear," seconded George, getting up to follow his younger brother's example.
Leaving the room, Ginny and the twins nearly crashed into a distracted Professor Lupin coming down the staircase. George and Fred collided with a mutual "Ufgh!" in an effort not to run over their former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
"Professor, how is Harry?" Ginny asked apprehensively; Lupin looked so tired and grim that she was almost afraid of the answer.
"Madam Pomfrey just Disapparated," he answered, his face softening at the sight of her worried expression. Ginny found his even voice strangely comforting. "She worked on healing his arm and replacing some of the blood he lost, and gave him a draught for a dreamless sleep." Lupin chuckled to himself. "He's as bad a patient as James used to be-- really doesn't like that dreamless sleep stuff, although I can't say I blame him. It does taste horrible."
Ginny let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "He'll be all right, then?" she asked, not caring if her concern gave Fred and George new teasing material. Lupin smiled, and Ginny felt warm for the first time during the whole horrible evening.
"He'll be fine," Lupin said, starting back down the stairs, "I'm sure of it." Her former professor sniffed the air delicately. "If I'm not mistaken, I think it's time for supper."
***
It was an odd meal. Mr. Weasley and Percy arrived just as they sat down at the table, seemingly not at all surprised to see Charlie, Albus Dumbledore, and Professor Lupin sitting at the extra spots Ginny had set. But there are two spots still empty, Ginny thought. I suppose one was for Harry, but that still leaves one. I wonder who it's for? Not that dog, obviously.
There was very little conversation at the table, which was strange for a meal at the Weasley's. Usually one had to fight to be heard, but tonight all was silent except for the Dumbledore's occasional "Pass the peas, please," or "Excellent potatoes, Molly-- reminds me of a fine meal I had in Ireland about seventy years ago."
Ginny felt she was going mad. Something was obviously wrong-- rather earth-shatteringly wrong, if it had managed to tear Charlie away from his beloved dragons-- and they were having a dinner party? Ginny's thoughts were interrupted by the Headmaster's voice.
"The others should be here soon," Dumbledore announced, looking at the clock, which was pointing to Almost Time. "When they arrive, we can begin." Ginny's mother and father nodded, as did the other adults at the table.
"What others?" Ginny asked, looking to Dumbledore. He smiled, and a little of the missing warmth crept back into his eyes. "Curiosity, Miss Weasley--" he began. "Killed the little sister," finished Fred, smirking. Mrs. Weasley glared at him. "Aw, Mum, it's just whistling in the dark," he exclaimed, trying to squirm away from her gaze.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Curiosity, as I was saying, Miss Weasley, is an admirable trait. Patience is another." Ginny's shoulders drooped at Dumbledore's gentle recrimination.
Dumbledore stood up at his place. "Arthur, Molly – I need a word with you, Percy, and Charlie before the others arrive." Ginny scowled slightly as Mrs. Weasley asked, "Will you four clear the table and work on the dishes, please?" motioning to Ginny, Ron, George, and Fred. The twins and Ron groaned; dish duty in the Weasley family-- especially when one couldn't use magic-- was a task of epic proportions.
***
"Wish Mum wouldn't cook so much when's she's upset," George moaned, as he picked the first of many, many pots out from the pile by the sink and began to scrub. Ginny was still working on clearing the table, and picked up the two unused plates to put back into the cupboard. "Wish she'd let us know why she's upset," Ginny said through clenched teeth, still smarting from Dumbledore's reproach. Ron, overhearing his sister, agreed. "Yeah," he said. "It's not like we're still in diapers. We can handle it."
Pot calling the cauldron black, Ginny thought, angrily. It's not like you've ever left me in the dark about something, Ronald Weasley. "Ron," she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, "Why'd you run out of the room earlier?"
Ron looked up, startled. "What'dya mean?" he asked, putting the now-dry dishes into the cupboard and avoiding her eye. You're a horrible liar, you know that, Ron?
"After you asked about Harry's arm, you ran out of the room," Ginny prompted her brother. "Why?" Ron's face showed a struggle.
"Just wanted to go check on Harry, I guess. Make sure he was okay. All that talk about his arm made me worried about him." Ginny wanted both to strangle and hug her brother at the same time. She didn't doubt for a moment that Ron was really worried about Harry, but there was something else undoubtedly going on. Ginny let it pass, and the four youngest Weasleys worked on in silence.
***
"Done, thank God," Fred announced as the last serving spoon was shoved into its drawer. "No kidding," said George, sourly, nursing his hand. "Don't see why Mum had to get that ruddy salad bowl." His twin clucked, and pretended to kiss the miniscule scratch. "There. All better. Besides, it's not the bowl's fault that your hand looks like a giant crouton." George regained the use of his hand in time to punch Fred as he walked by.
"Where are you going, Fred?" Ginny called, as her older brother headed for the door to the Burrow garden. "Outside," came the response, "Got to keep in shape for Quidditch next year. Besides," he said quietly, "it'll help clear my head."
"Mind if we join you?" asked his twin, looking at Ron and Ginny, who were also eyeing the door. "We could play some two-on-two, I suppose, if Ginny's up for it."
"What do you mean, if I'm up for it?" Ginny asked haughtily, tossing the hair out of her face. "You all know the only reason I'm not on the House team is because I'd run you boys into the ground." Falling into a comforting banter over Quidditch with her brothers, Ginny, the twins, and Ron headed out to the broomshed.
But just as they emerged with their brooms in hand, Professor Lupin appeared, worried lines crossing his forehead. "There you are," he said, relief etching itself over his drawn features. "I came back down from checking on Harry, and you all were gone. Come," he said, motioning to the Burrow, "please, go back inside. It's not safe to be out tonight." Ginny refrained from voicing the Why? that immediately rose in her mind, and put her broom back in the shed, as did her brothers. They walked in silence with Lupin back to the Burrow, where a cacophony of strange voices assaulted Ginny's ears.
"Ah," Lupin smiled as he opened the door to the kitchen, "the others are here."