Chapter Thirty-Three
Residual Damage
~*~
A/N: A special thanks from Arabella to Jedi Boadicea, who deserves a co-writing credit for the final segment of this chapter. Jedi is responsible for the bulk of Draco's behavior there, not to mention his dialogue. Also, it is Jedi B on whom I blame my fascination with Mr. Malfoy, the younger. Jedi B is the Queen of all Evil. Bow down, or she'll have you cursed.
Thanks to the crazy Leesburg ghosthunter for taking us on that tour of residual hantings and for explaining to us why we our electronic equipment malfunctions so often (we are "high EMs").
And thanks, as always, to the mighty beta team: B Bennett, Cap'n Kathy, Firelox, Joe and Moey
~*~
Remus knew, from the look on Ginny's face, that she was about to ask him for permission to do something stupid, and that if he were any sort of respectable guardian, he would have to say no.
"Remus?"
Her tone of voice strengthened his conviction; it was the perfect blend of innocence and humility and warning. One word conveyed that he was the only person in the world capable of granting her wish, that it was a most desperately selfless wish, and that, if he wouldn't help her, then she would have to throw herself into the sea.
"Hm?" he answered.
Neutrality was a trait he possessed naturally, and he had honed it to a skill during his years at Hogwarts. Having been thrust by James and Sirius into more unwise situations than he could count, he had learned how to stay well back from the edge of peril. "Hm?" was always a safe answer, when he was approached in this way. It implied that he could not even tell that Ginny perceived her situation to be dire, and sometimes the most effective deflection was simply to pretend ignorance. He kept his eyes on her latest Arithmancy assignment and dipped his quill into red ink for the hundredth time, thinking that it was a very good thing that Ginny Weasley was a Healer. She certainly didn't make much of a student in the more theoretical areas.
"I have to ask you something."
Remus circled a mistake on her paper. "About Arithmancy?" he asked, knowing full well that she was as likely to approach him about Arithmancy on a Saturday as he was to forget a dose of Wolfsbane Potion.
"No… but first, how are you feeling?"
Remus looked up and smiled. Last night had been a blue moon, and though he had slept in this morning, the whole process had never felt so casual. Almost restful. "Very well. Thank you, Ginny."
"Oh good." She shifted to her other foot and moved her eyes from his to look at her paper. "Did I really get that many wrong?"
"More than that many. There's another page left to mark."
"Oh. Am I going to fail, or anything?"
"No, but your work is slightly below average."
She didn't look concerned. "But in my Healing courses I've improved a lot, haven't I?"
"Mmm," Remus said noncommittally. Whatever she wanted, it was something to do with Healing, and she was trying to trick him into saying something that would give her implicit permission. It was a subtle tactic, but Remus was a subtler interpreter.
"I think the dragons have given me a lot of strength," Ginny said.
Remus turned the page of her assignment.
"I feel ready to try something new."
Remus dipped his quill into the red ink.
"So I was thinking of stopping by St. Mungo's today to see the Grangers."
Remus paused. A drop of ink splashed onto the paper. He had known this request was coming, but he hadn't expected to field it quite so soon, and he had certainly hoped that the dragons would have taught her not to tackle too much at once. "Is that so?"
"Yes." A little iron entered her tone. "That's so. But I wanted to tell you, first."
"Tell, or ask?"
"Well, ask - but Remus you have to let me." Ginny's subtle tactics vanished; she dragged a chair to the desk and sat down to look him in the eye. "I promised Hermione."
Remus gave her a hard look. "What exactly did you promise? I hope you haven't got her hopes up, Ginny, because there's no precedent -"
"I told her that I didn't know if anything was possible, but that I'd have a look at her parents today and see what I can feel. That's all I want to do, just hold out my hands and see." Ginny's eyes shone but there were shadows beneath them. "Please say it's all right, please."
"You," said Remus, putting down his quill and folding his hands on the desk, "are spreading yourself too thin. You're involved in a major Ministry project, you handle my transformations, you've just finished studying for your Apparition examinations, you've got schoolwork to keep up with, you haven't even begun to prepare for your N.E.W.T.s, you're trying to balance your - friendships -" Remus raised an eyebrow. "And who knows what other mad experiments you're trying out, behind my back."
"Remus, I can do it."
"Ginny, you're overextended."
"Oh, don't say I can't go. Don't make me disappoint Hermione."
The guilt card. Ginny must have been taking lessons from Sirius. "If you are disappointing Hermione, then it is no one's fault but yours. You should have known better than to say yes without asking."
"Please -"
"No. And that's the end of it."
Ginny sat back in her chair. "I don't want to disobey," she said, and crossed her arms.
"Then don't." But Remus understood the warning. If he didn't permit her, she'd go without consent. And there was no way to stop her, really. She was of age, she had her license, and she was on the designated family list of wizards permitted to enter the Grangers' room.
"Remus, I have to do this. I have to know if there's at least a possibility, it's Hermione. She's my friend, and they're her parents, and you'd do it if you could. Imagine if it was Sirius's parents - you'd've done it already."
Remus couldn't think of an answer for that.
"I have to do this," she repeated. "But I'd really like for you to come with me, if you're not too tired. That way, you can supervise me and make sure I don't overextend myself."
And she had won. Remus sighed. "Are you a chess player, Ginny?"
"Yes - well, I'm not as good as Ron, or anything - why?"
"No reason. Get your cloak, let's visit the Grangers."
Ginny leapt to her feet. "Oh, thank you -" And she was gone and back in seconds, wrapping a cloak round her shoulders, stuffing identification into her pocket. "See you there!" she said happily, and was gone.
A few minutes later, signed in and permitted entry, Remus pushed open the door of the Grangers' hospital room. He had only been here twice, at the very beginning, when they had all come to ensure that Hermione got her way and that her parents would be given proper wizarding care, as they deserved. He had forgotten the fetid air, the overlying sterility not quite masking the true illness and pain underneath. Behind him, Ginny drew an uneven breath, and he was still too much wolf not to hear it.
"Are you all right?" He turned to look at her and she nodded, but was bone-white.
"This place… the whole hospital."
"Overwhelming?"
"So… many people are in pain. I can't…" Her eyes filled with tears. "There are children upstairs, aren't there?"
Her senses had grown powerfully acute if she could feel that much. "Do you want to leave, Ginny?" Remus put out his arm and Ginny grabbed it as if it was a banister and she was about to fall down stairs. "That's it, we're going," Remus said, and attempted to steer her out of the room, but Ginny straightened with what must have been incredible effort, and walked across the room to Hermione's mother.
"Give me a minute, it'll only take a minute, I just want to see what…" Ginny looked into Mrs. Granger's face. "Hermione has her bone structure, doesn't she?" she murmured. "But she's so thin." Ginny stretched a hand out, and held it two feet above Mrs. Granger. "Oh no, no…"
"What is it?" Remus went to stand with her. "What do you feel?"
"N-nothing," Ginny said. Her lip trembled. "I don't feel anything. There's no aura. What does that mean?"
Remus didn't want to say what he thought it meant. Mrs. Granger's face was lifeless except for her wide-open eyes. And except for the frozen horror in those eyes, Remus believed that all life had gone out of her.
But Ginny did not give up. She moved her hand a foot closer to Mrs. Granger. "Nothing," she said, and dropped it several inches lower. When she was nearly touching Mrs. Granger's stomach, Ginny shrieked and snatched her hand away.
"What?" Remus said, worried.
"Put your hand there, put your hand there. Can you feel that?"
Remus put his hand where Ginny told him, and felt nothing. "I'm sorry, no."
"Damn. Hermione's aura is close to her body, too, but not this close," Ginny said, talking rapidly. "Hermione's is sort of an ellipse, it's really tight and smooth, but this isn't even an aura, this isn't human at all, this is - this is - I don't recognize -" she winced again, and took a small step back. "But I suppose it could … I mean, I have no idea… but what does the Cruciatus Curse feel like?"
Remus gave a short, involuntary laugh. "You want words?"
"I… " Ginny looked a bit lost. "There aren't any, I'm sure."
"No." Remus blocked out a very disturbing memory that drifted into his mind. Twenty years hadn't dimmed it. How bizarre. "Do you think you're feeling the Cruciatus Curse?"
"Is that possible? Could it still be… on her?" Ginny looked disgusted, but she extended her hands again and ran them over the air above Mrs. Granger. Quickly, she snatched her fingers back and shook them. "Whatever it is, it's all over her," she said. "Is that possible?" she asked again.
"What do you feel? Be specific."
"It's like needles. Hundreds of very sharp needles, very hot - like they're going to burn my hands."
"Yes… but you didn't scream."
"No," Ginny said slowly. "It's bearable pain. Almost. I can't leave my hands there for long, though. I couldn't possibly work on them, through whatever it is."
Remus nodded. "But if I told you to reach out your hands again, you could do it?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
Ginny shrugged and slowly extended her hands once more. She winced, left her hands where they were for several seconds, then drew a hissing breath and pulled her hands back. "That's about it."
"If you can voluntarily leave your hands in it for that long, then it's not the Cruciatus."
Ginny went a little pale. "Then I don't know how people stand it," she said, very quietly. "I know they made people stand it for hours."
"Not hours. Not unbroken hours, anyway. Hours, and you've got madness on your hands." Remus studied Mrs. Granger's horrified face. "Or this. Whatever this is."
"It…" Ginny looked at her hands and pressed her mouth shut. "I think it is the Cruciatus," she said. "I worked on someone who had this in his aura. Not exactly like this, much weaker, but I think it's the same."
Remus frowned at her. "Who have you been working on - Harry? I told you -"
"It wasn't Harry," was all Ginny said. She clasped her hands in front of her mouth and stared worriedly down at Mrs. Granger. "If it's really the Cruciatus, and it's all over her body, then she must be just… ruined."
Remus frowned more deeply, trying to remember everything he had ever learned about the long-term effects of serious curses, but nothing came to mind that would explain the Grangers' condition.
Ginny walked around him and over to Mr. Granger's bed, and ran her hands through the air around him. She made a noise like she'd been burnt by scalding hot water, and stepped back. "Same thing here." She looked a bit frightened. "I think it's all over them. The curse has been working on them all this time, I don't know what else it could be."
"No, wait - that's impossible," Remus said, relieved. He had finally remembered something useful. "The hospital curse breakers would have got rid of it if it were an active curse. It's one of the first things they test for here - hexes, potions and curses are all searched for and stripped from the victims. An active curse would have been detected within the first month."
"But it's there. I can feel it." Ginny sounded panicked. She tried to extend her hands again, but pulled them back at once, sucking in another pained breath. "I can't get close enough to help them," she said. "And I can't feel their real energy at all. All I can feel is the curse."
"It's not a curse anymore - it can't be."
"Well then what is it? How can I break it?"
Remus didn't know.
"How can I tell Hermione that the Cruciatus is still all round her mum and dad?" Ginny's voice trembled. "It'll kill her, I know how she is, she won't stop thinking about it."
"It's not a curse," Remus repeated, as firmly as he could. "If the Cruciatus had tormented them for a year, they'd be dead, Ginny." He was fairly sure that he was right - if she could put her hands in it, then it was not the Cruciatus, no matter what she thought she could compare it to. Or at least, it was not the Cruciatus in its full measure…
"A residual," he said suddenly.
"What?" Ginny looked up at him.
"A residual - it's like - it's like the ghost of a curse." Remus felt as if he were standing in the library at Hogwarts. Ginny watched him just as James and Sirius and Peter had used to, wide-eyed and ready to make use of every word that came out of his mouth. "Most wizards don't believe in them. The cursologists here at St. Mungo's would be extremely skeptical, I'm sure, but some of the more liberal apothecaries and the ancient eastern sorcerers believe that all magic leaves its own living energy behind it."
"It does!" Ginny said at once. "At Hogwarts - at Seamus and Lavender's wedding - I could feel exactly where everything had happened. I could remember exactly where Voldemort's wand dropped."
Remus nodded, unsurprised. "If that's true, then the Grangers may not be in pain. Perhaps what you're feeling is a residual of what they endured."
"How can you say they're not in pain?" Ginny demanded. "Look at their eyes."
"Yes, but they're frozen in a moment in time. They look conscious, but they are not. They were in terrible pain, when they lost consciousness, and that is what you see and feel. The pain itself has ebbed away."
"Then… then perhaps if we wait a bit longer, the rest of it will wear off and I'll be able to work on them?"
Remus ran a hand through his hair, pursed his lips and let out a puff of air. "It's very hard to say. Some injuries last forever, even when the pain is gone." Into Remus's mind flashed an old, dark picture. A sharp, white moon. Terrible growling. Yellow eyes and dripping fangs. He winced and continued, mostly to himself. "The residual effects of certain magic can be as bad, in their own way, as the initial traumas."
Ginny gave him a narrow look. Perhaps she knew what he was thinking about, because she didn't ask for further answers. She nodded, and turned her eyes back to Mrs. Granger. "I'm going to tell Hermione what I felt - she should know, no matter what. And she can tell the doctors, and perhaps once they know the residual's there, they can get rid of it. And then I'll be able to leave my hands near them long enough to help them."
She sounded so hopeful and determined that Remus could not bring himself to tell her that it seemed impossible. Mediwizards that did not believe in residuals had certainly spent no time developing the spells that could repeal them. "All right," he said. "You don't look as pale as you did. How are you feeling?"
"Better." Ginny rubbed her head. "The longer I stay in a difficult place, the easier it gets. But I'm… not ready for this hospital." She dropped her hands. "I need more practice. More time around the dragons should do it."
Glad that she had recognized a boundary on her own, Remus steered her out of the hospital room. He met her at home and put on the tea. And for the rest of the afternoon, much to his surprise, Ginny distracted herself by reworking her ruined Arithmancy.
~*~
Fleur stood under the enormous dome of her bright blue umbrella and rang the third floor bell at number thirteen, Diagon Alley. When there was no immediate answer, Fleur switched the umbrella into her other hand and pulled a card out of her pocket and checked the address. Yes. This was Penelope Clearwater's building. It was a nondescript, stone rowhouse, but Fleur had long ago lost her snobbery where flats were concerned; when she had first moved to Paris she had discovered that what she could afford and what she actually liked were in two very different categories. This row house was in a nice enough area, if it was a bit cramped-looking. And the number thirteen on the building, which hung askew in spidery gothic iron, was somehow beautiful.
Fleur rang the bell again. Again there was no answer, and she began to get irritated. Moreover, she was worried. She didn't want to stand here in the middle of Diagon Alley, in the middle of the rain, where anyone might walk by. Anyone at all.
"Fleur Delacour - is that you?"
Fleur heard the quick clicking of footsteps on wet sidewalk and turned to see two faces she vaguely recognized. They must have been Penelope Clearwater and Hermione Granger, though if it hadn't been for the baby that slept against Penelope's back, Fleur never would have known who was who.
"Are we late?" Penelope asked. "I'm so sorry! We just popped down to The Write Answer for more quills and parchment -"
"Non, I am early," Fleur said.
Hermione, who was holding an umbrella over herself and Penelope, looked rather unsettled. She gave Fleur a smile that wasn't quite convincing.
"Hello," she said. "I'm Hermione Granger. I don't know if you remem-"
"I remember," Fleur lied, and held out her hand first to Hermione and then Penelope. "It is wonderful to see you both again."
"You too! Excuse me, let me just get past you there - thanks - and then we can all get out of this rain and upstairs to work. I love your umbrella, by the way."
Penelope was friendly enough, Fleur decided as they tramped up three very steep flights.
"Feel free to Apparate after this, now you know where it is, and avoid those horrible stairs," Penelope panted, and pushed open the door to her flat. "I only use them because he -" she reached over her shoulder and patted her son - "made me fat. Come in, make yourself at home."
Fleur looked around the flat. It was clean, and very simply furnished. Long white curtains hung in the windows and Penelope had polished the wooden floors to a high shine. There was a distinct lack of knick-knacks and clutter - except in a tiny room that Penelope explained was the nursery - and a sense of something quiet and peaceful hung in the air. Fleur liked it.
"Your flat is lovely," she said, as she hung her cloak and umbrella on the set of hooks near the door and took her bag to the table near the windows.
"Thanks." Penelope smiled. "I've only just moved in, so Leo hasn't had time to destroy it. I'm sorry we can't work in a proper office, but there simply isn't room there, for three."
"Oh, it is nothing, I can work anywhere." Fleur thought she saw annoyance flicker across Hermione's face. But the expression was gone so quickly that Fleur decided not to assume anything. "May I see what you are attempting to build?"
Penelope excused herself to put Leo down for a nap before they began, and it was Hermione who retrieved a rolled-up stack of massive, map-sized parchment sheets. She placed them on the table.
Fleur thanked her and unrolled the stack, but frowned at the very first page; these spell maps had been drawn one layer at a time, and she was used to seeing complex spells in overlay. It helped her to visualize what she would have to do, to put it all together. She rolled up the stack of parchment without another look. "There is a map of these together, yes?" she asked.
Hermione gave a slight cough. "You'll want to look through the layers first," she said, a little too slowly. "So you'll recognize what you're looking at when you see it in overlay. It's complicated."
Fleur knew now that she hadn't been imagining things. Hermione didn't like her. "Perhaps you will allow me to judge?" she asked, and watched as Hermione's chin went into the air. It didn't bother her. In Fleur's opinion, there were two kinds of women: those like Penelope, who were confident in themselves and had no fear of her, and those like Hermione, who were afraid.
"Why certainly." Hermione stood and raised her wand. She made several complicated movements, and muttered several spells Fleur did not recognize. A moment later, filling the room, there hung a glittering map, so deep and complex, and involving so many magical paths, that Fleur's mouth hung open.
"Mon Dieu," she said, not caring if Hermione had the upper hand. "I 'av never seen…"
"Hermione, give her a chance to look at the layers!" Penelope rebuked as she came back into the room. "Goodness. You'll overwhelm her and she won't want to work with us." She laughed. "But it's beautiful, isn't it? I still can't believe it's finally finished. In theory, anyway. We were up all night, drawing the final drafts - Hermione only just discovered the key to the design."
"It was Ron," Hermione protested. "Don't give me credit."
Penelope waved her wand, and the glittering map vanished. "What do you think, Miss Delacour?"
"I think… I will need some hours to study these," said Fleur, touching the rolls of parchment. "And please, call me Fleur."
For the next three hours, they pored over maps and spells, paths and theories, Arithmancy and Thinking. Fleur could not help being impressed by Hermione's apprenticeship, and when she told her as much it seemed to soften her attitude. When lunch rolled around, it was announced by a stomach rumble - no one could work out whose - and a cry from the nursery.
"Everyone's hungry, apparently," Penelope said. "I'll be right back - Hermione, do you and Fleur want to grab lunch and bring it back here? I don't have much in the way of food, and I'm starving - grab money from my coat if you go, would you, and just get me something big."
Hermione fished money out of Penelope's cloak. "No, you're fine," she said to Fleur, holding out a hand to stop her from getting up. "Really, I'll get it. Have a look at those last two paths while I'm gone and then we can look at the overlay again and you can see how it all fits together. What do you want? I'm going to the Lighthouse, they've got sandwiches and pies and soup and things."
"Vegetable soup and a baguette - a roll - it does not matter." Fleur opened her purse, but Hermione waved her off again.
"My treat, it's fine. Thanks for helping with this, I'm - glad you could come." And she was gone, looking a bit red and rather contrite. Fleur sat back in surprise. Perhaps she had misjudged Hermione, who seemed very pleasant after all.
After going over the last two maps, Fleur stood in the empty room to stretch her legs. She looked out of the windows and her eyes strayed to the small, framed pictures on the walls. There were very few. One was a copy of a very pretty painting Fleur did not recognize - she leaned close to the painted lilies to see the name scrawled beneath them. Monet. He had to be a Muggle; she would have recognized the name of any French wizarding painter who was this good. On the far wall hung a photograph of Penelope, asleep with an unbelievably tiny Leo. And beside that hung a picture of a freckled young man in horn-rimmed glasses, who looked very serious, but very happy.
Percy.
Fleur recognized him instantly and her breath caught in her throat. Percy. Percy who had been killed, Percy whose death had brought Bill to Charlie in the middle of a trench, in the middle of a war. Percy who belonged in this flat, with his wife and his son. He smiled quietly out at her and, every so often, he pushed up his glasses. Bill missed him so much - Fleur knew that. And Bill hadn't meant to be awful; Fleur knew that, too. This year had been strange and difficult for everyone, and just when things should have been getting easier they had become stupidly complicated. It had been so uncomplicated, that first night, and so honest. Fleur traced a finger down the frame of Percy's photo and sighed.
"Did you know him?"
Fleur whirled. She hadn't heard Hermione come back - perhaps she had Apparated. "I…" she began. "I remember 'im from the tournament. I know what happened to 'im."
"Did Penny -"
"Non, I found out last year, when it 'appened. I was… putting Diversion Enchantments around the dragon camp, for Sharlie Weasley, when his brother came to tell 'im. I overheard them. I was so sorry."
It seemed to be enough of the truth to satisfy Hermione. She nodded, and glanced down the little corridor toward the nursery. "Here's lunch," she said, and set a bag on the hall table. "Let me get Penny, and we'll get back to it."
They returned to work, but, to Fleur's chagrin, the afternoon was a long series of frustrating failures. Hermione had brought a large beetle, which they were using as the "prisoner", and so far, the prisoner had escaped from every attempt Fleur had made.
She stopped and tied back her hair, determined to conquer the spell. She hoped they could not see how worried she was - it should have been nothing at all to erect a palm-sized miniature of a spell, and that was all she wanted to create. A little model should have taken minutes, at most. Fleur had always managed to put up fully functional spells within a few hours of first seeing them drawn, and she had a knack for mastering the most difficult charms, like Diversion Enchantments, in a few days' time. No miniature of any kind had ever given her trouble. But the Imprisonment Enchantment was so complicated that Fleur could hardly keep all its layers in her mind together at once. It was imperative that she do so, or nothing could be built, but bits of it kept slipping out of her grasp. No magic had ever been so difficult for her, but she continued to build, narrowing her focus, unwilling to admit defeat.
When the beetle finally crashed into thin air and splinched, Fleur let out an undignified shout of victory and slumped back in her chair.
"It works!" Hermione squeaked and, to Fleur's astonishment, Penelope burst into tears. "Oh, Penny, Penny, what's the matter -"
"It's just that P-Percy and I w-wanted to do this and we worked so h-hard… and now it's r-real -" Penelope put her hands over her face, and Hermione hugged her.
Fleur watched them, feeling very tired and more than a little out of place. But she put a hand on Penelope's elbow, knowing from her own experience that even the smallest comforts were always worth giving. Even if Penelope was still a relative stranger, she had been Percy's wife. And Percy was Bill's brother. And that connected them.
"He'd be so happy," Penelope sobbed. "I hope he can s-see this."
"He can," Hermione assured her.
"Of course 'e can," Fleur chimed in.
"Oh, Fleur, I'm sorry - let me pull myself together -" Penelope wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.
Fleur Summoned the tissues. "Non, take your time. But I will give you privacy. And I will come back to try this again tomorrow, yes?"
"Yes," said Penelope and Hermione together, at once, as the free half of the beetle scuttled to the edge of the table and fell onto the floor.
"And… if I may suggest something?"
Hermione glanced at her. "Go on."
"The spell can be built, and it works - it is wonderful." Fleur smiled at Penelope. "But per'aps it would be wise to make certain it cannot be broken down, before it is put into effect? I am not an expert at breaking charms, only at building them…" She trailed off, wondering just how obvious she was being, but neither Penelope nor Hermione seemed to have any clue what her motives were.
"She's right," Hermione said, and let go of Penny to chew on her fingernail. "You know, Bill's done with all his work at Gringotts, and he's got loads of experience. If anyone could break this, he could. I'm sure he'd love to help."
"Of course, Bill! " Penelope wiped her eyes again and gave Fleur a watery smile. "Bill Weasley is my brother-in-law. He's a Curse Breaker for Gring- "
"Wait, didn't you work together at Gringotts?" Hermione cut in, and suddenly her eyes were very keen. "You already know him, don't you?"
Fleur searched for words, but found none, and Hermione was still talking.
"I remember Ron saying something in a letter, something about Bill and…" Hermione stopped. Her eyes widened, and her mouth twitched.
Fleur wondered if the room had suddenly overheated or if she'd gone crimson.
"Yes, let's do ask Bill to help us," Hermione said, after she'd regained her composure. "I'm going over to the Weasleys' tonight for supper, and all the boys are supposed to be there, so I'll ask him tonight. Will you be there, Penelope?"
"No, I had lunch with Molly yesterday and I'm a little worn out right now, to be honest."
Hermione nodded, and looked up at Fleur. "Well then, would you like to come along? I'm sure no one would mind." She grinned. "Mrs. Weasley's always up for more company."
Fleur wanted to say yes, but she didn't know how, and the idea of walking into Bill's house uninvited and unexpected terrified her. So she shook her head.
"You're sure?"
Fleur nodded.
"Well all right." Hermione stood and patted Penelope's shoulder. "Perhaps next time. I'm going to go and find Ron and head down to the Burrow. I'll see you both tomorrow."
"Yes, tomorrow," Fleur echoed, and Disapparated from Penelope's flat so distracted about what tomorrow might hold that she forgot both her umbrella and her cloak.
~*~
"Put that down, dear." Molly hid a triumphant smile as Max instantly laid down the wand he'd picked up from the kitchen table. "You'll have a wand of your own soon enough."
Late sunlight pierced the kitchen windows and filled the Burrow; it was Molly's favorite kind of light and tonight she felt strangely content. She had expected Penelope's move to Diagon Alley to distress her, but it hadn't. Not much. Perhaps it was because, when Penelope had brought Leo to visit yesterday, she had looked happier than she had in months. Perhaps it was the fact that the Weasley children were coming together for dinner tonight, for the first time since Christmas.
Or perhaps Max was keeping her young. She hadn't expected to like him quite so much.
"I want my old wand," he said. "It chose me."
"Of course you want your old wand." Molly patted his shoulder. "Ebony, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring?"
Max's jaw dropped. "How did you -"
"St. Mungo's confiscated it, dear, they didn't burn it up. I have it."
"WHERE?"
Molly laughed. "It isn't in the house, so there's no point in tearing the place apart."
"Well, when can I have it?" he demanded.
"In September, when Hogwarts opens again." She licked her thumb and rubbed out a spot of dirt on Max's temple before he could dart away.
"Hey - that's disgusting!" Max rubbed at his forehead, scowling. "What makes you think I'll still be here in September?"
"Instinct." Molly smiled at him, and Max looked like he wanted very much to smile back, but he only tossed his head.
"Well I'm not going back to that stupid school, you can forget it."
"Then there won't be any need to give back your wand." Molly held out a wooden spoon, covered in sauce. "Taste?"
Max gingerly sipped from the spoon. "More salt."
Molly turned to the table for the salt shaker, and was pleased to see Arthur in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"I see I'm obsolete," he said. "You have a new taster."
"He's much more decisive than you are," Molly said, and handed Max the salt. "And a better cook."
Max half-smiled, and gave the salt several confident shakes over the pot.
"Run along and wash your hands, dear," Molly said, when he'd finished. "We'll eat in an hour, when everyone's here."
Max's sandy eyebrows came together. "Everyone? That girl isn't coming, is she?"
"What, Hermione?"
"No, that stupid Healer."
Molly pursed her lips. "My daughter's name is Ginny," she said tightly, "and though you won't give us your proper name, I'll thank you to respect other people's."
"If she's coming, I'm not eating."
"Then I'm afraid you're going to be very hungry."
Max pulled a horrible face; he pushed past Arthur, stomped out of the room and ran up the stairs. Molly rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger.
"Just when I think I've got him sorted out," she said, and sighed.
Arthur smiled a little. "We've got him more sorted than you think," he said. "He's -"
"He's impossible. He won't tell us anything, not even what House he was in, and he's the best liar I've ever met. He never slips up, I don't know how we're going to -"
"Molly," Arthur said patiently. "I think I have his name."
Molly felt excited and cold all at once. To know Max better - to really help him - she would have to know his identity and his past. But the chances that his parents were dead, or in prison, were very high, and the chances that he didn't know what had happened to his parents were even higher. How would she break the news to him, whatever it was? It was a question that had bothered her ever since she and Arthur had decided to hold onto him.
"Well?" she said.
"Adam Mercury Hopewell, Junior," Arthur said. "I'm almost positive. I sent pictures to McGonagall, and she identified him and sent back copies of all his papers." Arthur placed a thick file on the table. "She isn't positive, but several of the teachers concur and I contacted several of the families in his year, to see if any of them recognized him. Only one woman - Margaret Pucey - wrote that her youngest son, Damian, was a friend of Adam's. No one else answered, but that's probably because the rest of the families in his old circle aren't keen on giving me information of any kind."
Molly's heart sank. "Then - his parents?"
"In Culparrat. Tried and convicted."
Tears came fast, and Molly was unprepared. "Poor thing," she mumbled, and Arthur came around the table to hug her. She hugged back, brokenhearted for Adam - if he was Adam. "Does he know?"
"No. He wasn't lying when he said that he was informed that they'd been killed. Under Fudge's direction, many children of arrested Death Eaters were given false information on their parents' whereabouts when they were taken to the children's home. It was decided that they were too young to know the truth."
Molly pulled away. "How do we tell him?"
"I have no idea." Arthur took the file from the table and handed it to Molly; she opened it and paged through Adam Hopewell's identification, report cards, selected assignments, and Head of House reports.
"Slytherin," she said quietly. "Well, it's not exactly shocking."
"The Hopewells are related to the Malfoys, actually. Adam's father is Lucius's second cousin, once removed. It's distant, but the connection is there."
"Then… if he's Adam… then he has living relatives."
"Yes."
"Who might want him."
"It's possible."
"Arthur, they'll ruin him."
Arthur gently moved Molly's hair away from her face. "Your sauce is boiling." He went to stir it as Molly continued to sift through Adam's file.
"Look at these marks. These are like Percy's old marks - or Bill's. He must have been top of his year."
"I know it."
Molly put down the file. "Arthur, he's doing so well here. He's doing well with us, and with his lessons, and with - with behaving like a child ought to behave. And his relatives, whoever they are - if they're the kind of people who won't even give you information, then they'd adopt him just for spite, even if they didn't want him - and he can't be asked to adjust again, it isn't fair to him -"
"I know." Arthur gave her a long look. "But let's wait until we're sure of who he is, and then speak with him about what he wants, before we get the world involved."
Molly nodded. She looked down at the table and dragged her fingers across the top of the file. "I suppose I've grown rather attached, is the thing."
"So have I."
"Well, I knew you were going to like him the minute he took an interest in your ridiculous plugs." Molly let out a wistful breath. "I'm sure I should be tired of raising children, but I'm so glad that Ron brought him here - as much trouble as he is, if there were six more of him I don't think I'd mind. Am I mad?"
Arthur laughed. "Molly," he said affectionately. He laid the long spoon across the top of the pot and took her by the shoulders. Molly tilted up her chin and marveled that she could still feel like a fifth year, when they stood together like this. Glasses and lines and thinning hair had done nothing to diminish her husband's charms.
"Oh, Arthur -"
A catcall from the front room distracted them both; Molly turned and squinted through the open kitchen door to see Bill throwing his things onto the sofa and grinning.
"No, don't let me interrupt," he called. "Smells great in here, Mum. When's dinner?"
"Whenever your brothers and sister get here - " Molly stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed her husband; he squeezed her shoulders and let go. "And Bill, dear," she called, "would you please go upstairs and see if you can get Adam - that is, Max - to come down and eat?"
Bill strode to the kitchen, frowning. "What'd you just call him?"
Molly shushed him. "I didn't mean to shout. Your father's had a letter from Minerva McGonagall."
Bill lowered his voice. "Really? Have we got Max's identity, Dad?"
Arthur handed Bill the file and explained the situation; Bill paged through Adam Hopewell's papers, pulled out a report card and whistled again. "Quite a brain on that one. All right then - what if I try to slip his name into conversation tonight and see if he answers to it?"
"He'll never fall for that," Molly said, but Bill waved a careless hand.
"HHHh e likes me, he'll answer me." He gave an easy smile and went about lighting the lamps; the sun had finished setting, and the house was growing dark. "He's got good taste, if he's got a bad temper."
"Well, he certainly doesn't like your sister," Molly said, feeling very huffy about it. "That's why he won't come down to dinner. And I can't see why -"
"It's just because she practiced on him in front of everyone, at Christmas. He didn't want to be called out like that about his parents. He didn't think it was fair. He's scared she'll try it again."
Molly blinked. "Did he tell you all that?"
"Not in so many words." Bill shrugged. "But he mentioned something the last time I was here, and I can't say I blame him. That was quite an audience for something so personal - say, can I taste that for you?"
Molly shared a guilty look with Arthur while Bill helped himself to the sauce. "I tried to talk to Max - that is, to Adam - on Christmas night," she said quietly. "But he wouldn't answer me. I didn't know it still bothered him so much."
Arthur pushed up his glasses. "Well. The only one who can set it right is Ginny, and once she knows there's a breach to heal, I'm sure she'll want to try."
"She's been on the warpath about Healing everything lately, hasn't she?" Bill shook his head and opened another simmering pot. "Charlie keeps me up to date on how she's handling Azkaban - all those dragons - not to mention she brewed the Wolfsbane Potion twice last month. Someone needs to slow her down, or she'll get sick. She's an amateur. I've been doing some reading - want me to have a chat with her?"
"According to Sirius, Remus already lectured her this morning." Arthur clapped Bill on the shoulder. "So go ahead and see if you can get Adam to answer to his name, and leave Ginny to us for now."
"Lectured her?" Molly slapped Bill's hand away from sausage pan and clapped a lid onto it. "Is she falling behind on her schoolwork?"
"Not yet," Arthur said, "but it seems she's determined to take on another project. She spent the morning at St. Mungo's."
"Well, that's a natural place for a Healer to take up work," said Bill, thunking into a chair and attempting to break a bit of crust off the massive apple pie that sat beside Adam's file. Molly slapped his hand again. "Ow! Mum -"
"Have a glass of water." Molly set one before him. "Don't spoil your appetite."
"She spent the morning at St. Mungo's," Arthur repeated, "because she's taken it into her head that she can wake Hermione's parents."
Molly gasped. "Arthur!" She stared at him. "Is that possible?"
"According to Ron it's not impossible, and he's certainly done his research - do you know, it was Ron who researched the Hopewells for me, today? It took him no time at all, and his notes! Painstaking, I mean it. I'll have to show them to you."
"Hermione's good for him," Bill said. "So's working with Sirius."
"Yes, and I'm glad he's there. With those two heading up the justice department and Moody running Culparrat, I'm well satisfied. Charlie and Mick have Azkaban under control, and Rose Brown does the work of three with the Privy Council - oh, there's work yet to do, but it's coming together." Arthur smiled, and Molly was thrilled to see that it was a real smile, not one of the tired, tight ones he'd been giving for so long. "It's really coming together. I can hardly believe it. I'll be calling for Privy Council elections soon - it really seems time to elect new P.C.s, and once they're installed they can prepare to select the Magical Advisory and the Minister of Magic."
"You're going to open debates on a new Minister right off?" Bill frowned.
"Well, it's time to get the thing sorted out," said Arthur, looking unconcerned. "If the P.C.s select me, I'll be happy to continue on at the Ministry, but I can't remain the default Minister forever, not now that our corner of the wizarding world is nearly healthy again. People deserve -"
"You're not default," Bill said stoutly. "You've done a brilliant job."
"Now, Bill, don't give me more credit than I'm due, when we're all doing our parts. You've been a great help to Gringotts and to me." He smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to run for Privy Council?"
Bill shook his head, but he looked very pleased, and Molly was reminded of all the times he'd helped his father on projects as a child. He'd usually be standing on a stepstool in the garage, holding onto some Muggle contraption while Arthur pulled and tugged at it. Arthur's hair had been thicker then, and Bill's had been… short. She reached out and smoothed his hair, instinctively running a hand over his ponytail. "How long do you plan -" she began, but Bill seemed to know what was coming.
"I'm keeping it forever, Mum. I'm not cutting it off." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'm going to go and see if I can get Max down here for dinner, all right?"
"I'm down here." They all turned to see Max in the door, washed and dressed, his eyes fixed on Bill. "I heard your voice. Where's everyone else?"
"Not here yet."
Max looked satisfied. "Did you bring the mummy dust, like you said?"
"Absolutely."
"Cool." Max followed Bill into the front room, where they sat on the floor on either side of Bill's knapsack. Molly and Arthur moved closer to the kitchen door, in order to overhear the conversation.
"Want to see the dust first, or would you rather read a bit about the mummy, so you know what you're touching?" Bill handed Max an enormous book. "Page nine hundred and twelve - and this is sixth year level Defense reading, so let me know if you need any help."
Max snorted, opened the book, and became immediately absorbed. "Oh wow," he murmured, after a few minutes. "Did they really bury two hundred living people with him?"
"Isn't that amazing?"
"Yeah. And was he really a wizard, or was he what Muggles think a wizard is?"
"Really a wizard - although what Muggles think isn't always so far off the mark."
Max shook his head and put the book aside. "All right, show me the dust."
Bill pulled a very small, silver box from the front pouch of his knapsack and held it between his finger and thumb. "Be careful when you open it - you don't want to inhale this. It's ancient, and it's powerful. You have to respect it, got that?"
Max nodded, obviously enchanted, and took the box. He opened it with extreme care and peered in.
"Great. Now put the box in my palm, and dip each of your index fingers into it. I'm going to teach you how to make a protective amulet, right in your skin. It's called a Dermulet. You'll learn about it in sixth year, but you'll be the only one in your class who really knows what's going on."
Max did as he was told, and held up both his index fingers, covered in gray dust.
"Now rub it into the backs of your hands until it's in your skin - that's it, Adam - and hold your hands out, palms down. I'll tell you what to say."
Adam continued to obey without flinching at the sound of his name, and Bill's eyes flickered to the kitchen door for an instant before returning to Adam's face. Molly took Arthur's hand and gripped it.
"It's him," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"We'll have to tell him." Molly leaned her head on Arthur's shoulder and tried to imagine telling Adam Mercury Hopewell, aged twelve, that his parents were alive and well and stunned in Culparrat, where they would remain for life. She heard him chanting in strange Egyptian with Bill, and wondered how many amulets it would take to ward off the terrible shock he was going to get.
"That's it," Bill said finally. "You're under the protection of Hathor now."
"So I can do whatever I want!"
"No, no. You can't go testing your Dermulet or it'll backfire - nasty business, ancient magic when it backfires. It's just there if you need it. And it'll help you at the oddest times."
"Have you got one too, then?"
Bill held up the backs of his hands. "Saved my life in the pyramids twice, I'm telling you."
Adam looked impressed. He tossed his head and threw back his sandy fringe. "Thanks." He paused. "You know how you said I might be allowed to invite a few of my friends to stay here?"
Bill's eyes flickered to the kitchen door again and his face flushed a little. "Erm. Yes?"
"Oh, he didn't dare," Molly whispered, trying to feel angry at Bill for having promised something so outrageous. But it didn't feel so outrageous. Instead, she felt a flutter of excitement. Hope.
"What do you think?" Adam pressed. "Could you ask about it for me?"
Bill considered him. "If you want to know the answer to that one, then you're going to have to ask about it yourself."
"Ah." Arthur squeezed Molly's waist. "Seems we're in for an interrogation."
"Well we don't have to answer him now," Molly answered slowly, an idea forming in her mind. "And you don't have to answer me now… but what if…" She gave him a pleading look. "What if? Arthur, there are so many of them, and I know we couldn't take them all, but it's a big enough house and I've got time on my hands - and we're still so young."
Arthur looked down at her and his glasses slid partway down his nose. "You want another house full, don't you?" He shook his head. "You really are the maddest woman I've ever known."
"But we'll talk it over later?" Molly said, knowing, from the expression in his eyes, that the talk would end in her favor. And Adam's.
"Yes." Arthur kissed her. "We'll talk it over later. Now, where are the rest of the first batch? Weren't they supposed to be here by seven? It's quarter past, and I'm starving -"
Arthur was interrupted by a raucous noise from the garden. The front door flew open and a blast of happy chatter, carried on a gust of frozen air, filled the Burrow. Molly watched cloaks fly onto hooks and heard Ron's wail of deepest despair that the Cannons had lost their first match of the season to the Falmouth Falcons. She pretended not to see Hermione shut his mouth with a kiss, and watched instead as Ginny, looking very tired, sat on the sofa beside Harry, who looked just as exhausted. Fred went straight to the wireless and turned on music. Charlie and George hunkered down beside Bill and Adam, and Adam began to describe, to his new audience, the amazing magic he'd just performed.
It wasn't long before Ron started moaning about Quidditch again, but Hermione didn't try to help this time. She gave him a pat on the shoulder, left him to Harry, and approached Molly and Arthur.
"Well?" asked Arthur, rubbing his hands together. "How did it go?"
"How did what go?" Molly asked.
"These wonderful girls…" Arthur said, squeezing Hermione's shoulder and looking around the room. "Where's Penny?"
"She's a little tired," Hermione said. "But don't worry, it's a good thing."
"Right," said Arthur, looking pleased. "This wonderful girl, and our daughter-in-law, came to my office last night with the most impressive diagrams I've ever seen. I couldn't make heads or tails of them, of course, but I'm sure they're very good." Arthur grinned. "Did they work?"
"Have you really designed a working spell?" Bill asked, entering the room and looking eager. Adam trailed in behind him, and Molly threw the boy an encouraging smile. He scowled in return. "Has it been tested?" Bill continued. "Can I help with anything?"
"Well," Hermione said. "We've had to hire a professional Charmer to help us with the spell construction. It's too complicated to for us to actually build. We needed someone with experience working with large boundaries – things like Hogwarts, or… well, like Gringotts vaults."
"Oh?" Bill said, looking suddenly very eager. "I can recommend some people who work for Gringotts, if you like."
"The Charmer we've hired seems to be very, very good. Today was only her first day, and she seemed positive that it could be done, with time. Actually, she's recently worked at Gringotts in London – perhaps she was one of the people you were going to recommend?"
Bill somehow managed to knock a water glass over and spill it onto Adam, who shrieked and ran out of the room, only to be caught by Ron and forced to join the Quidditch conversation. "No, I don't think I… I don't know her."
"Bill!" Molly said. "You haven't even heard her name! How can you say you don't know her?"
"It's all right," Hermione said. She didn't seem to mind Bill's behavior. In fact, she was grinning from ear to ear. "Gringotts is a very large place. You will come and help us when it's time to try to break the charm, though, won't you Bill? We could really use a skilled Curse-Breaker. Several, actually. So if you think of anyone else…"
"If it's someone with Gringotts experience, then you won't need to worry too much," Bill answered. He sat down on a kitchen chair. "Sure… I'll help. Just let me know when you need me." He looked pale, and Molly wondered if he'd inhaled any of the mummy dust he'd given to Adam.
"Is there anything I can help with, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked.
"I was just going to ask that!" Angelina said, heading into the kitchen.
"No, no, girls, but thank you. Go and relax!" Her heart lighter than it had been in a year, Molly leaned against her husband and gazed at her children and their closest friends as they commandeered her house and rendered it a home.
~*~
"It's that time again."
Malfoy's voice rang in Harry's ear, though he and Mordor were still out of sight, and Harry gritted his teeth. I hate you, he thought. I hate your bloody guts. You better just fly back to camp, because if you come around the side of that prison right now and show your face, then I'm going to have to break your neck.
A red dragon soared into view, breathing a stream of fire. It would have been a fantastic sight but for the dragon's rider, whose leer was visible from thirty yards away. Harry clenched the handles of his seat and willed Malfoy to fall. I won't help you, this time. You can drown, for all I care.
"Well, well, Potter. Looking peaky, I must say. A little young for the white hair, aren't you? If only your girlfriend had time to take better care of you."
Harry hated the communications charm that they had to use. He hated that Malfoy's voice, dripping with sarcasm, seemed to echo in his head. He would not rise to it. There was no point in rising to it. "Your shift's not over," he said. "You've got five minutes until Lisa gets out here. Get back in your place before something happens."
"Oh, something's going to happen, all right," Malfoy said, his voice quiet and suggestive. "But not until I get to shore."
It was a load of crap, and Harry knew it, but the suggestion was enough to make his insides writhe. "Get back in your place," he repeated. "Before a Dementor -"
"I'm well aware of my place," Malfoy said, "and it isn't here, working with paupers and idiots."
"Then sod off," Harry spat. There. He'd risen to it, and he didn't care. It felt good to shout. He wanted to shout - wanted to let Malfoy have it - wanted to pull his wand and let go of the control he'd been keeping so carefully.
Malfoy smiled. "Not quite yet," he said. "There's no replacement for me, the new riders are still in training. And I wouldn't want to abandon the Ministry's mighty cause. Why, something terrible might happen."
"GET IN YOUR SPOT, MALFOY!" Mick's shout, in both their heads, made both of them jump. Malfoy looked supremely irritated for having been startled. He tossed his head and muttered something under his breath about Irish people, but steered Mordor around. He looked over his shoulder at Harry, before flying out of sight.
"Enjoy the rest of your shift, Potter," he said. "I know I will."
And he was gone, leaving a smoke screen behind him. Harry knew it couldn't have been deliberate - Malfoy couldn't have forced Mordor to blow a wall of black smoke - but the timing was perfect. It surrounded Norbert and blinded Harry. He could not make out Azkaban, and his thoughts turned to Ginny, who would be climbing onto Malfoy's broom again in a few minutes. Ginny, who hadn't said much to him lately, because she said she was tired of defending herself. It had been nearly two weeks since they had all gone over to the Weasleys' house for supper, and since then, he had hardly seen Ginny at all. Malfoy certainly spent more time alone with her than Harry did.
Malfoy touched her more than Harry did.
Harry felt cold and dizzy. He gripped the seat handles again, and shut his eyes, trying to maintain his balance. He felt dangerously close to passing out; he moaned a little and turned his head to escape the imaginary pictures that wouldn't stop plaguing him. He wondered what it meant that his mother's voice had been drowned out lately by this new horror, this vision of Malfoy holding Ginny close against him, putting his mouth on her neck. Ginny never stopped him, in the visions. Harry's stomach clenched.
"You all right there, Harry?"
Lisa. Harry opened his eyes to see her flying around from Malfoy's side of the prison, looking concerned. The air was completely clear now; the smoke screen had vanished and Malfoy had obviously completed his shift. Harry looked around in a panic, and wondered how long he'd had his eyes closed. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "I'm fine - just have a - a headache."
Lisa frowned, but left him alone and resumed her post.
Harry pushed up his glasses and realized that he was sweating. He saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye and spun to face it - but there was nothing there. Dementors were everywhere, lately. The two hours after Draco went to work with Ginny always seemed, to Harry, to take weeks. He could barely keep his eyes open, and fighting sometimes seemed impossible. Even when he saw Dementors, he found it very difficult to summon his Patronus.
Another dark shape below sent Harry into a dive - at least Norbert was behaving himself again - and this time he wasn't imagining things. It was a Dementor, leaving the prison and moving fast across the water. Harry hadn't seen one move with such determination in a long time. It almost looked as if it were pursuing something.
"Expecto Patronum!" he cried, but Prongs did not appear. Nothing but a silvery wisp issued from Harry's wand. He urged Norbert to dive lower, and tried to come up with a happy memory that would clear his mind. It was harder to do, now that thoughts of Ginny had the opposite effect. Dudley at the cinema, Dudley at the cinema, Dudley at the cinema…
"Expecto Patronum!"
Prongs galloped forth in full force and knocked the Dementor back to where it belonged. Harry rose into the air again, panting as he fished a bit of chocolate out of his front vest pocket. He hoped there would be no more attempted escapes today; he didn't think he was up for another one.
"O'Malley, is everyone all right?"
The voice in Harry's ear was unfamiliar and sharp with worry, and he tensed. One of the dragon keepers at shore was talking to them. That was unusual.
"Yeah?" Mick's voice was unconcerned.
"We've got a situation - a Dementor's on shore. It must've slipped past you -"
"WHAT?" Mick's voice was harsh and loud. Harry winced. "What are you talking about?"
But Harry thought he knew. In the haze of smoke that had surrounded him several minutes before, anything might have slipped by. And, he recalled with a pang of guilt, he had felt unnaturally cold. Dizzy. He'd felt exactly as if a Dementor were beside him, but he had done nothing about it; he'd been unable to see or act. It was on the tip of his tongue to take the blame when Mick's voice cut in again, still too loud for comfort.
"Bloody Malfoy, I swear to God, I told him to stay in his spot -"
"Mick, could you tone it down?" Lisa sounded annoyed. "I've got eardrums, you know - John, do you want me to ride in and guide that Dementor back out here, or what?"
"No, we'll do it on broomstick, you stay where you are. It's taken care of, I just wanted to be sure none of your dragons had thrown you."
"No injuries out here," Lisa said. "Mark it down though, Charlie's going to want to hear about this."
"But everyone on shore is fine?" Harry asked abruptly. "No one was hurt?"
There was a short pause, and when the dragon keeper spoke again he sounded slightly nervous. "No - Mr. Potter - er, that is, everyone on shore is just fine." He paused again. "So that's it then. Phaedra's on her way out there, and she's driving the Dementor, you should see her any minute."
Harry heard an angry exhale, which he assumed was Mick's, and then the Communications Charm went dead in his ear.
Thankfully, there were no further incidents at sea, but Harry couldn't stop thinking about Ginny, onshore with a Dementor - it could have hurt her and he had let it past - the very idea made him sick at heart. He couldn't wait until his shift was over. He needed to see her and be sure that she was really all right.
When he flew to shore two hours later, however, he had to fight down another pang of sickness. He could see them from the air, Ginny and Malfoy, standing just outside Mordor's enclosure, deep in conversation. Harry made a very bad landing and hurried past the equipment tent toward Mordor's pen, stopping when he heard his name.
"Harry has nothing to do with this." Ginny's back was to Harry and her hands were on her hips. "Never mind, I didn't think you'd say yes. I won't have time anyway, what with the dragons."
Realizing they hadn't seen him yet, Harry stepped back and waited. What didn't he have anything to do with? Say yes to what? What in the hell was she talking about?
"I am not some test animal, Weasley," Malfoy hissed. "How dare you presume... that I... that I would be... available for your practice like a subject for hire..." Malfoy's eyes strayed over Ginny's shoulder. His gaze fell on Harry and he trailed off. "But on second thought… yes."
Ginny leaned forward a little. "Yes?"
"Are you deaf, Weasley?"
"No," Ginny snapped. "So… when?"
Malfoy smiled at Harry, and returned his eyes to Ginny's face. "Now."
"Oh - well, good!" Ginny said, and Harry felt as if the world had just been yanked from beneath his feet. "Where should we go?"
Malfoy paused. His eyes flicked back to Harry, but only for an instant, and raised his voice a little. "Somewhere private."
"All right - where then?"
Harry couldn't breathe. Ginny was agreeing to meet Malfoy. In private. She sounded happy about it. And she had sought him out; this had been her idea.
"There's an inn at Stornoway, but -"
"Does it have a pub?" Malfoy demanded.
"Yes."
"Then we'll go there." Malfoy pulled off his riding gloves and began to remove his gear. "Why hello, Potter - how long have you been standing there?"
Ginny whirled. "Harry!" she said. But that was all. She looked a bit shocked.
Harry just stared at her.
"I'm going to change," Malfoy said, after a pause. "I'll meet you at the pub, Weasley." He strode away, leaving Harry and Ginny in their difficult silence.
Harry had a feeling that he was supposed to break the silence and that it was his job, as a proper boyfriend, to say something that would not sound like an accusation. "So you're… going out with Malfoy," he managed.
Ginny's eyes went from shocked to disbelieving. "Going out?" she repeated.
"To the pub." Harry was sure he'd said exactly the wrong thing. The trouble was, he couldn't think of anything else to say, and his head still swam with horrible images. He and Ginny had set aside Sunday for a Valentine's Day outing - she'd said that Harry got to pick the place, this time, since Faeryland hadn't exactly been his style. They were supposed to spend the afternoon at a Cannons match. But he wasn't certain he wanted to spend the day watching Quidditch with Ginny, knowing that she would just as easily go to a pub with Malfoy.
You know that's not the truth, said a voice deep in Harry's mind. You know her better than that. But he ignored it. He was angry and tired, and the Dementors had taken their toll.
"We're not going for friendly drinks, if that's what's worrying you," she said, and she gave a bit of a laugh. "I've asked him to let me do a bit of practice on him."
"Oh." That didn't help at all. "So you… you want to practice on Malfoy."
"No, I don't want to - Harry -" Ginny pushed her hair back; it was very windblown. Harry wondered if Malfoy had ever had to touch it. To get it out of his way. He winced, and wished he could stop being so morbidly curious.
"But you're going to."
"Not really. I mean, yes, I can use the practice, but you don't know what it's like up there with him. I have to get his energy sorted out a bit - he's a mess. It's too hard to hold him off and work on the dragons at the same time." She smiled a little. "But I told him it was for practice because I can't imagine he'd take well to being told that he's a mess. I'm surprised he didn't say no anyway - he probably only said yes because he saw you standing there and he knew it would annoy you." Ginny touched Harry's arm. "Please don't let it upset you. I don't really care why he said yes, I just have to do it and get it out of the way, all right?" She sighed and dropped her hand. "Could you not look at me like that?"
Harry looked away. He didn't know how he was looking at her. He didn't really want to look at her, at the moment. He had a feeling he was being unfair, but he wasn't sure how to stop.
"Do you at least understand what I'm doing? It's business."
He nodded. Of course it was business. Her business, and Malfoy's. Not his. He wanted to get far away from her, and from all of it.
"You know, I can tell when you're lying."
Harry looked at her, startled. Had she been reading his feelings again? "Huh?"
"You're a really bad liar. So if you're going to doubt me, then could you do it at home? Because I'm tired." And she really looked it.
"I don't… doubt you," he attempted. Harry knew he had to salvage this before it got worse. He took a step closer to her. "It's him I don't trust. Even if he's only doing this to get at me, he's still doing it, and it's still… it's still you." Harry wasn't sure what he meant. He grabbed for one of her hands.
Ginny let him hold it. She studied his eyes for a moment. "That's right, it's me," she said. "Are you all right? What happened with that Dementor?"
Harry looked down. "I think it was my fault that it got past."
"Stop that."
"No, it really - there was a smoke cloud, and I felt the Dementor there but I…" Harry shrugged. "I just couldn't fight it."
Ginny looked very concerned. "You couldn't fight at all?"
He was too embarrassed to repeat himself.
"Did you tell anyone?"
He gave her a swift, warning look. "No."
"Harry…" Ginny shifted her weight. She looked uncomfortable. "Look, I know how you feel, but if they've worn you down that much, then you have to take a break. You could get hurt."
He kept hold of her hand and said nothing. He couldn't quit the job. And he didn't want to let her go. He knew that, as soon as he did, she would be in Stornoway with Malfoy.
"Will you at least think about it?"
He nodded once, just barely. It wasn't a lie. He was thinking about it now, even if he didn't plan to think about it after this.
"We're still on for Sunday, aren't we?"
He made himself return her smile. "Yes."
"Good." Ginny looked both ways, kissed him very quickly, and let go of his hand. "See you later." She pulled her wand. "Oh - and if you see Remus and he asks where I've gone, please don't tell him. I don't need another lecture, all right?"
Ginny twisted her wand and was gone.
~*~
The Leaping Fish tavern in Stornoway was small and dark, and smelled like its name. Ginny tried breathing through her mouth, but felt she could taste the odor, and went back to using her nose. She spotted the back of Draco's head across the pub and knew he'd be peevish about sitting in a place like this. It simply wasn't done. She wasn't sure how many times she'd been told, in the past several weeks, that such and such a thing "simply wasn't done," but she was getting tired of hearing it. A lot of things that Draco believed "weren't done" were things Ginny considered normal and good - it was sad, in a way.
Strangely, she had begun to think of him as Draco. She wasn't sure when it had happened. Perhaps it was simply that she couldn't stay impersonal when she was inside a person's aura. It was, she realized, something worth practicing; professional distance was a skill she would need to sharpen. And Draco - no, Malfoy - would be the perfect target. There were many reasons that she wanted to work on him. She hadn't been entirely honest with Harry; it was true that she needed to clear a space for herself, but it was equally as true that she was compelled to help Draco, no matter how little she liked him. She had read about Healers who had been as drawn to their enemies as they were to their friends, and it made sense to her, but she knew that it wouldn't to Harry.
There was one other reason that she wanted to do this - a reason Harry would have despised more than any of the others. Draco's aura was more like Harry's than either of them would have cared to know. He was overwhelming, like Harry. Dark and troubled, like Harry. But where Harry's heart was open, Draco's was walled and hard. While Harry had a hold on her, Draco had none. And so, while it hurt Ginny to open up to Harry, it was almost painless to open up to Draco - exhausting and uncomfortable, but not excruciating. Good practice, really.
Ginny weaved her way through the little tables, put her cloak over the chair across from Draco, and sat down facing him. In his hand he had a short, empty glass.
"Are you going to drink?" she asked. There was nothing in her books about working on people who were under the influence, and she wondered if it was entirely ethical. She had begun to rethink her ethics after Bill had given her a few pointed words about working on children.
"Well I'm not doing this sober, am I?" Draco snorted. "Who in their right mind would sit in this hell hole with you?"
"Fine." You ignorant arse. Ginny sat up straight and placed her hands palms-down on the table. She began to raise them, but Draco interrupted.
"Why do you want to do this?" he barked. "Is it to irritate Potter? Are you having a lovebird spat? I refuse to be part of it, if that's all it is."
Ginny put her hands down. "Irritate him? What, on purpose? He's my friend."
"Friend?" Draco laughed. "Not trying to make him jealous, are you, Weasley?"
She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. This was going to be horrible. Every day with him was horrible. But she had to try. "No. I asked you because I knew you'd be… a challenge."
He smirked. "Yes. After spending all day working on your simpleton friends, I'm sure I am. But won't your family be ever so concerned about your spending time with me in private? Who knows what might happen."
Ginny felt sick to her stomach. "Nothing's going to happen. We can just... talk, if you like."
"I don't like, Weasley. You asked me for this favor. Don't forget that." Draco gestured to the bar with his empty glass. It disappeared and another materialized in its place, full of something so powerful that Ginny could smell it, even through the fish. "So." He knocked back half the drink in one gulp. "What exactly is your deal then?"
Ginny hardly knew what to tell him. She wanted him to open up a bit, but she could hardly tell him that. From across the table she felt his energy flow toward her, a bit bigger than usual - perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it would be easier if he got drunk. She allowed it to soak into her, and hoped it would build up her tolerance. He knew things. There was something distinctly secretive in his energy - a current colder than the others - and it blocked her from fully absorbing his aura. There were so many things he must have known. Things about the Grangers. Things about the Death Eaters. Perhaps working on Draco would be more beneficial to everyone than she had originally realized. She had to loosen him up. She had to act casual.
"How long have you had that dragon, anyway?" she asked.
Draco jumped, and Ginny could feel that he was more guarded now than he had been all day. "Why? What about him?"
Ginny was surprised by his reaction. It was obvious to her, and probably to everyone, that Draco had a serious affinity for dragons, and that his own was of great importance to him. He might have been a bastard in all other ways, but he cared about his pet. "It was just a question," she said.
Draco scowled. "I've had him long enough. Don't make small talk with me, Weasley, I'm not here to socialize - and get your hands down. What are you going to do?"
Ginny sighed. "Well, I don't know how much you know about Healing, but -"
"Plenty."
"All right. Well, it's different with everyone."
"And better with some than others, I'm sure."
The lewd suggestion in his tone rankled Ginny. She was used to being teased, but not like that, and Draco found the most personal ways to taunt her about Harry. "Some people," she retorted, "are harder to work on, because they're damaged - and you're one of the worst I've seen."
Draco bristled. "Damaged?" His voice dropped. "You presume a great deal, Weasley."
"I don't presume anything. I feel all of it."
Draco pounded the second half of his second drink and beckoned for another. When it appeared, he wrapped both his pale hands around it so tightly that Ginny wondered if the glass would break.
"Go on, then." He glared at her. "Tell me what I should be feeling."
Ginny hesitated. "I don't think you want to know what I can feel."
"Don't tell me what I do or do not want."
"I just…" But it was useless. Ginny knew it was useless, he was so defensive that even two potent shots hadn't done much to open him up. "I think it would be better if you talked," she attempted.
"Really?" he drawled. "And just what do you want me to talk about?"
"Whatever comes to mind."
Draco raised a white eyebrow. "Let me see, what comes to mind… Perhaps you'd like me to talk about seeing my father murdered? Oh. Wait." He lifted his glass in a mocking half-salute. "Your father did that, didn't he?" He pounded the drink and smacked the empty glass onto the table.
Ginny didn't mean to cry out, but his anguish hit her like a wall. And what he'd said was terrible; she never thought about it if she didn't have to. He was getting the better of her, and she hadn't done any work at all. Concentrating as hard as she could, she bowed her head slightly, turned up her hands on her knees, and tried to stay open.
"But you didn't want to hear about that, I'm sure," Draco said softly. "Just thought you might try a little experiment." Ginny didn't see him order another drink, but she heard the soft 'pop' of materialization, and heard the glass scrape against the wooden table as he picked it up. "You think because you're the Minister's daughter you can do whatever you'd like... but you can't. You're nothing. Your whole family, all of you, thinking you can rise above your station."
Ginny hardly heard the insulting words. There was real pain beneath the anger, and it was louder, in all her senses, than anything he could say. She could tell that he was coming unhinged. She dared a look up and saw that his face was unusually red from drink and emotion. And though he was ranting and bitter, his expression was more open than she had ever dreamed it could be.
"He isn't the Minister," Draco went on, clutching his drink in both hands. "He's nothing. He's a murderer usurping the position of his betters."
"Do you hate us?" Ginny asked. She could feel the hatred pulsating between them. She knew it was there, and she wanted him to name it.
Draco laughed horribly. "Hate you? Hate you? What do you think, Weasley, you idiot?" He leaned forward across the table, narrowing his eyes at her. "Do you hate me? Do tell me, little Ginny."
He spoke her name like something poisonous, and Ginny tensed, thrown off course. She sat back and stared at him as he polished off his fourth drink. Did she hate him? She thought of the way Draco had treated her family. Harry. She thought of how cruel he was to Hermione, and she thought of the Grangers, lying tortured in their hospital room - though his father had done that. She thought of Tom Riddle - though that had been his father's fault, too. Nothing Draco had done to them seemed as horrible, as painful, as what he radiated right now. She felt his father's death consume him all over again, and it didn't matter that Lucius Malfoy had been a Death Eater, or that he had tried to kill them. Draco's grief was acute.
"I can't hate you," she said. And it was the truth.
He made a noise of disgust. "And why can't you? Do you even know what it means? Do you even know what it means to really hate someone? Do you know what it does? Or are you just too weak to understand..." His voice tailed off, and he was clearly beyond his own control. His eyes were glassy and Ginny could feel the tears behind them - he had reached his emotional threshold and was about to cry. He seemed to know it, too; he gazed away at the wall, shaking.
"I can't hate you, because we fought in the same war." Ginny paused. "I don't know much about your side of it, but it couldn't have been any nicer than mine."
"Nicer?" he mumbled, and looked up. His eyes swam. "Nicer?" he repeated viciously.
Ginny didn't look away. "And yes, if you really want to know. I know about hating someone."
He snorted wetly. It was a vulnerable, inelegant sound, and it shocked Ginny. "I doubt that," he said, but his usual cutting tone was dull and sad.
It had never struck her, not even while sitting near him day after day, that this level of emotion existed in Draco Malfoy. He was human. More than anyone knew. And he hated himself for it. It was the saddest thing that Ginny had ever felt or seen, and she reached out her hand on instinct, to help him, but came up against his aura instead. It was as dark and twisted as ever, but so open that it flooded into Ginny, making her shudder. The light in the room seemed to flash, and the feelings that washed over her were nightmarish. He was lost. He had never lived up to certain expectations, and now it was too late. He despised his present self, and he despised his past, and he despised the world for being less than he had expected. He hated his father. He missed his father. He had never known his father. He resented his mother, who could not help him. He had never made any choices of his own and he felt paralyzed to do so now - his world had been shattered and his way of life was beyond his reach, and the one person who could have built it up again was dead. This game against Harry was all he had left. These were the last shreds of his control. He had the dragons. He had the dragons.
Ginny sat with her hand outstretched, stunned by the nuances that she could now interpret. She had never been this good before. She was getting sharp. Really sharp. She shut her eyes and tried to discern what was happening with the dragons. What was his connection to the dragons…?
"Is this what you do for Potter? Sit dutifully at his side and let him unload his poor, troubled little soul?"
Ginny gasped and dropped her hand. Draco's energy had shifted, suddenly and totally, leaving her in the cold. She kept her eyes shut, unwilling to look at his face.
"Does he tell you all about how hard it was for him?" He paused. "I'm sure he does. And what do you do to comfort him?" His voice was full of scorn. "What do you do to make him feel better?"
Shaken by the personal interrogation, Ginny opened her eyes, and she saw something in Draco's wet gaze that unsettled her deeply. He was drunk. And he was not himself. But he wanted her to make him feel better, even if he did not know how to ask.
"Are you finished?" she asked faintly.
"Finished?" He pulled back, smiling cruelly. "Hardly, Weasley. It's never finished. Haven't you learned that by now?" Apparently lost in the bitterness of his own world, Draco Malfoy dropped his gaze into his empty glass.
"Well I'm finished." Ginny pushed her chair back. "I'm too tired to keep going today."
Draco smirked into his glass, which was suddenly full again. But his smirk was not the same as it had always been. It had lost its easy arrogance, and looked quite painful. "Too much for you, of course." He glanced up at her, eyes full of contempt. "I should have known."
"I said it would be a challenge." Ginny tried to get her bearings, to remember why she was here. It had all been more than she'd anticipated, and she knew that she had only scratched the surface. There was more work to do, here. And for reasons that weren't entirely logical, she wanted another chance. But she could not imagine that he would ever submit to this again - it would take the most subtle maneuvering to get him to agree. "I could… try again. If you'd do me that favor." The last words were hard to say, but she knew it was the only chance she had. He required flattery. It was how he operated.
For a minute, he actually seemed to consider it, and then - "I have a life, Weasley," he sneered. But he was lying. He had nothing, and Ginny knew it. "You'll have to find someone else to be at your beck and call."
She nodded. She hadn't expected automatic agreement. "Well. I'll be back tomorrow in any case, to work with the dragons. So if you change your mind..."
Draco shot her a venomous look, then turned away and drank. But this time, he held his glass as if he were holding a crystal goblet, and his posture suggested that he was somewhere altogether finer than this dark little pub. He was poised and silent, and Ginny knew that he had shut her out. For now.
Without another word she rose from the table, put on her cloak, and left the Leaping Fish.
