Coercion of Skies: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction
Chapter Two: Things Unseen, Things Unsent
A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! It brings me joy to get such positive feedback for my first Harry Potter fic! For everyone who has already reviewed the first chapter, please see the end of this chapter for personal responses!
"There's something in the bushes."
Ron looked up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. "What?"
Ginny gave him an exasperated look. "I said, Ronnie-kins, that there's something in the bushes." Shading her face from the blazing sun, she turned and pointed to the far end of the yard. "Over there."
Ron grunted, leaning over to yank a grasper-weed out of the flowerbed. "So go see what it is."
She brushed her ginger hair back from her face, freckled nose wrinkling. "It's not my day to weed the garden," she replied.
"Honestly, Ginny!" Ron stripped off his gloves and threw them down in a huff, then stalked past her. "Why don't you go help Mum instead of standing around in the yard like a useless git?"
She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm supervising," she said, then flounced back into the house.
Ron rolled his eyes and walked across the yard. Ginny had been absolutely insufferable ever since they'd come home for the summer; what had just passed between them was a typical example of how they were getting on these days. For as long as Ron could remember, he and Ginny had gotten along perfectly well together. But it seemed like after school's end, maybe even as far back as the Yule Ball during the term, she had gotten something prickly under her skin. And it felt like her favorite way to make herself feel better was to take it out on him.
His face was flushed more than usual as he crossed the yard in the sweltering heat. He'd tried to ignore her and be peaceful, but she was really starting to annoy him. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out what her problem was.
As he approached the bushes, he recalled talking to Mum about it a few weeks back. The entire family had gone into the village for an uncharacteristic night of dining out. He and Ginny wound up fighting over ice cream and pretty much spoiling the rest of the evening for everyone else. That night, Mum had asked him what exactly that was all about.
He had no answer to give her. Ginny was just acting differently. Like she was upset. Or confused. Or mentally ill. Ron personally adhered to the last theory; he had no hope of ever understanding any woman, much less a Weasley woman.
Girls are just nutters, Ron thought. They're nutters, and that's all there is to it. Take it in, write it down, put it on a t-shirt. Completely bonkers, the lot of them. Especially Hermione . . .
Ron stopped dead in his tracks. He was only halfway across the yard; the far hedges where Ginny said she saw something were several feet farther on. He could see the green veins of the hedge leaves shimmering behind a curtain of humidity. Yet something compelled him to be still for a moment; something triggered surprise and puzzlement in his brain that he couldn't move and deal with at the same time.
Hermione. The Yule Ball . . .
Shaking his head, he put a lid on those thoughts. Dangerous place to go, Ronnie boy, he warned himself. You'd be better off just to stick with your philosophy. Nutters. All of them.
The bushes ahead of him rustled, but it had nothing to do with the heat.
Muscles, speckled with freckles, suddenly tensed, and Ron started to move forward cautiously. There was something in the bushes, and it looked way too big to be a gnome. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had his wand and resenting the way his mum constantly berated him for never having it handy when he needed it.
The rustling stopped as he started moving toward it, but Ron could tell that something was there; something beyond his scope of vision, something obscured by a green wall of leaves. All he had to do was pull the branches back and look. But he was worried it might be some kind of nasty creature or garden pest; without his wand, he felt vulnerable.
Still, he approached the hedge.
He was standing right next to the spot from which the rustling had come. He clenched his fists, working up his determination. Come on, Weasley, no big deal. Just a hedge-rat or a noisgua or some harmless thing like that. Come on, just pull the branches back and scare the thing out of the hedges.
Hesitantly, Ron reached forward to pull aside the bushes. A commotion from the house startled him, and he spun. His mother was waving madly at him from the kitchen window.
"Ron!" she bellowed. "Get inside! Your father and I have to talk to you!"
He swallowed. Those were never good words in the Weasley house.
"I'm coming!" he bellowed back. His mother gave him the tiger's eye for a moment, then withdrew back inside the window. Exhaling heavily, Ron counted to five . . .then jumped around and yanked the hedges back, yelling loudly as he did so.
There was nothing there. He had waited too long.
As he wandered back to the house, Ron wondered if there had even been anything there to begin with.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Ginny heard her mother yelling for her, she ignored it at first. She was trying to write in her diary, and she hated being interrupted. But Mrs. Weasley was an implacable force, so finally Ginny was forced to mark her place and poke her head outside her door. "I'll be right there!" she yelled with a little more vehemence than was necessary, than flung herself back on her bed and took up the journal again.
Despite her traumatic experience with the diary of Tom Riddle, Ginny had been keeping a diary ever since. She found that she felt uncomfortable or unable to bring up things that concerned or confused her with her parents; she thought that raising six boys before her might have beat any girl-rearing capabilities right out of them. She didn't blame them for that, but all the same . . . it felt odd to talk about things with them, even her mother. Seeing as she had no friends that lived nearby and that there was a constant contest for the use of the family owls, Ginny's only outlet for her turmoil was the blank page. It was an escape that had almost cost her dearly once in her life; but she felt wiser and more experienced now, able to handle any challenges or questionable circumstances that might be thrown at her. She wasn't a kid anymore.
Ginny sighed, chewing furtively on a tattered quill. If I'm not a kid anymore, then why do I feel so stupid around . . .around him? He's no-one special; just another guy, just another older guy.
Which of course, he wasn't. He was Harry Potter. And if she hadn't given in to sympathy and said yes to Neville, she would have been Harry's date to the Yule Ball.
The injustice of it made her florid face go crimson.
Her brothers would tell her she was being childish. Her father would tell her it was a phase. Her mother would say it was girlish infatuation. So certain was she of what they would say if they knew (if?) of her feelings for Harry that she could almost imagine the entire conversation, word for word, inflection for inflection, with all eight members of her family. Only a blank page understood; only a blank page didn't judge.
But sometimes, blank pages can turn what you tell them against you.
Ginny shuddered, despite the heat of the day. For a moment, she felt a peculiar disorientation; once again, she was a wide-eyed first year student at Hogwarts, confronted with monumental academic challenges, judged and measured by boys she didn't know, befriended and dismissed by girls she never recognized. Her only friend was her diary; her only touchstone was her "hero worship" of a boy who barely spoke to her. Then the moment passed, and she was thirteen again, and a little older and wiser than she had been.
Looking up, Ginny put the journal down and went to the small nightstand tucked into a dusty corner. First looking to make sure that no one was clanging around outside in the hall, she bent over and pulled the creaky drawer open. She had to rummage for a moment to find what she was looking for.
It was a letter, carefully written in scarlet ink, on an ancient piece of parchment. It was addressed to Harry Potter; signed, Ginny Weasley.
Ginny bit her lip slightly as she sat on the edge of her bed and read it silently to herself. She had written it out more than a year ago, then shoved it in the nightstand and forgotten about it. It wasn't long, or eloquently written, and her penmanship left a lot to be desired.
But it was the truth. The truth, for some reason, seemed very appealing to her at the moment.
Her bedroom door banged upon, and Ginny dropped the letter in shock.
"Ginny Weasley!" Her mother was scowling in high bad temper. "When I call you, I expect you to behave like I raised you to and get downstairs post haste. Now let's go, young lady!"
Ginny sighed. "Coming, Mum." She followed her mother out of the room.
The letter came to rest lightly on the worn floorboards underneath Ginny's bed.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Ron and Ginny sat at opposite ends of the battered breakfast table, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley situated between them. It was a reverse of the usual order of such conferences; the irony wasn't lost on any of them. However, it seemed of little importance; both adults appeared on the verge of terrific excitement, even Mrs. Weasley, who five seconds earlier had been scolding both her youngest children like a banshee.
Mr. Weasley was grinning broadly. "Well, Molly dear, do you want to tell them, or shall I?"
"Tell us what?" Ron asked rudely, slouching in his chair.
"Mind your manners," Mrs. Weasley retorted, smoothing her hair. "And sit up straight." Turning to Mr. Weasley, she matched him smile for smile. "Oh, let's don't keep them in suspense, Arthur. It's just too exciting!" Both of them faced Ginny. The girl blanched slightly in surprise, but waited quietly.
"Ginny," Mr. Weasley, "we've just had a conversation with Professor Dumbledore himself. Now, we're supposed to be getting a formal letter in the mail, but he wanted to go ahead and let us know," and he beamed at his daughter, "that you've been chosen to attend the Summer Session at Beauxbatons!"
Ginny blinked. "I . . .I don't understand. Isn't Beauxbatons in France?"
Mrs. Weasley waved a hand. "Of course it is, dear. This is a kind of exchange program, a summer camp, if you will. Students from wizarding schools the world over will be attending; it's such an honor to be invited! You take all these seminars on advanced magic and practical spell application, and you also get to meet all these wonderful people and learn from these renowned professors!" Mrs. Weasley got up and came to sit beside Ginny. "And Professor Dumbledore wanted to let us know in person that you had been selected because of your excellent grades at Hogwarts. And also to . . .let us know how proud he is that you've done as well in school as you have. You've had an unusually difficult time of it, you know."
"She's not the only one, you know," Ron said somewhat bitterly from the other end of the table. "So, I'm going to this Beauxbatons thingy, too?"
"Not exactly," Mr. Weasley replied, frowning slightly. "It seems that Professor Lupin . . you remember Professor Lupin, don't you, Ron? It seems that he will be teaching several seminars during the session, and has asked Professor Dumbledore for student assistants to help him. Professor Dumbledore has requested that you be one of the assistants."
Ron was silent for a moment. "Oh," he said finally.
Mrs. Weasley rose from her place beside Ginny and began fluttering nervously back and forth. "Oh, now, Ron, I know that you might be nervous about working with Professor Lupin . . .I mean, he is a werewolf and all . . .but Professor Dumbledore has assured us that his lycanthropy is perfectly under control and of no danger to anyone . . ."
"I'm not worried about that," Ron said. "Lupin was a bloody great teacher, it'll be fun helping him out . . ."
"Don't say 'bloody,' Ronald," Mrs. Weasley interjected.
" . . .but I don't want to go if no one else I know is going to be there. Where's the fun in that?"
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said huffily, "honestly, Ron. The point is to make new friends and have new experiences, isn't it? And your own sister will be there . . ."
"I haven't said I'll go yet," Ginny said rather indignantly.
Mrs. Weasley made a noise of tremendous exasperation. "Well, of course you're both going! Neither of you two ungrateful children seem to realize what a marvelous opportunity this is. And I'll tell you one thing more, Professor Dumbledore is paying for both of your expenses out of the Hogwarts treasury, and I'll be a mug-footed wickernap if I let you put Albus Dumbledore's charity and goodwill to waste!"
"Now, Molly, calm down," Mr. Weasley said, attempting to placate her. He turned to Ron. "Professor Dumbledore told us that Hermione has also been invited to attend the session. And Harry is to be Professor Lupin's second assistant. What do you say to that?"
Ron smiled broadly. "I say bloody brilliant." A sharp look from his mother. "I mean, brilliant. I'm in, then. At least if Harry's there, it won't be a total loss."
"Count me in as well," Ginny added quietly.
Ron smirked at her. "Awww, you only want to go 'cause Harry is going to be there. You know, Ginny, why don't you just tell him you like him? Are you too afraid? I promise I won't let him make fun of you too badly."
"Ron, that is enough!" Mrs. Weasley spluttered. But she needn't have bothered; Ginny was coming to her own defense.
"Fine, Ron," she said, standing up. "But I'll make you a deal. I'll tell Harry how I feel about him when you tell Hermione how you feel about her."
She stomped upstairs without saying another word. Ron grumbled for a moment, looking bewildered, then went back out to the yard, muttering something about bushes and invisible gnomes.
Mr. Weasley wore a look of complete consternation. "I don't understand. How does Ginny feel about Harry?"
Mrs. Weasley sighed and conjured a steaming mug in front of him. "Just drink your tea, Arthur."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Back in her room, Ginny was in a righteous fury. Afraid, was she? Lacking spine, was she? She'd show him; she'd show her rattling, mangy, annoying prat of a brother that she had more courage in her pinky finger than he had in his whole freckled body.
It took her only a moment to find the letter, already attracting dust bunnies underneath her bed. She rolled it up tightly, tied it with a piece of spare ribbon lying about. Then, without so much as asking, she snuck up to Percy's room and attached the letter to Hermes.
"Go to Harry, Hermes. Fly safe."
The owl looked sadly at her for a moment, as if it could sense her troubled state of mind. Then it was winging off into the fading sunlight, carrying the hope of her heart on its leg.
End of ChapterExtended Author's Notes: Wow! What a fun chapter to write! When I began this story, I had only a very general sense of where I wanted it to go. But from the first line of this chapter, it's starting to take a life of its own, and those are the best stories to write, because in a sense they almost write themselves. I wanted to take this space to give an extended reply to those who have been lovely enough to review the previous chapter, in the hopes that a witty reply from me might coerce them into reading the NEXT chapter ^_^. So, here goes!
CurlsofGold: It always seems like the first chapter is the hardest to write; I'm glad the beginning got off to a good start for you!
JadeStellar: I'm a big sap, too! But a word of warning; this is not fluff. It's romance, but it's not fluff. There will be romance later on (dates, hand holding, clandestine kisses), but not before it's properly set up and characterized in the context of the story. I hope you stay with the story, though; the sap can be so much more rewarding when there's been a good build-up behind it!
Hermione Starise: When I first took it into my head to write a Harry Potter fic, the thing that was foremost in my mind was originality. When I finally hit on the idea of a summer at Beauxbatons, the whole thing just kind of fell together!
Hermandron4ever: I know the first chapter was a little confusing, but there was no concrete conflict behind the torn picture. It was a metaphor that implies Hermione is subconsciously torn between two things; that she tore the picture was simply a physical manifestation of that conflict.
Forgotten Goddess: Thanks for the praise. And as for the torn picture thing, read the above comment; I hope that clarifies things a little!
Soapbox for a generation: I'm 19, and a creative writing major at a Florida university, so I've had a LOT of practice, lol. And don't worry, your style and technique will get better with time and practice; soon, you'll be editing your chapters only once before you sling 'em out there! (Guilty note: I never actually edited the first chapter. Bad me.)
MaragaritaMocha: Originality is a plus with me, and I guess it is with you, too! Thanks for reading, and I hope you keep on reading!
Rinabina: France and romance! That's exactly what's going to happen! *goes to diligently review Goblet of Fire so he can properly write Fleur Delacour . . .
Thanks again to everyone! Chapter Three will be up in a couple of days, I hope; I have a Lit Theory paper due on Tuesday, but I might get in some work on this story before then! Until next time!