Chapter Thirty-Six
Hard Truths
~*~
A/N: Another writing credit goes out to Jedi Boadicea, who is again responsible for much of Draco's dialogue and behavior.
Thanks to Cap'n Kathy, Caroline, CoKerry, Doctor Aicha, Firelocks and Joe for beta-reading.
~*~
When a week had passed and Harry and Ginny still had not spoken Ron informed Hermione that something had to be done. Hermione laughed and reminded Ron that they had once gone three months without speaking because of a cat and a rat. Fights were natural, and Harry and Ginny were new to being a couple, and they'd work it out on their own without any interference.
But when another week passed and Ginny's birthday arrived without any sign that Harry knew or cared, Hermione began to wonder if she should interfere after all.
Ginny had grown steadily quieter each day as she'd continued to work on Hermione's parents. She was now able to stay near the Grangers for more than an hour at a time, and she went to St. Mungo's every evening when she was finished with school and the dragons, ignoring anyone who told her that she didn't really have space for it in her schedule. Hermione wondered if Ginny was really dedicated to her work, or if she simply wanted to distract herself.
"I don't think you should be working on your birthday," Hermione ventured. "Don't you want to go back and see if -"
"It doesn't matter," Ginny said, her hands extended over Hermione's father's knees. "Don't worry about it." But her voice was too quiet and her shoulders were slumped. "I'm fine."
Hermione crossed her legs and her arms in one motion. "You and Harry are so much alike," she began, but stopped when Ginny dropped her hands and looked up.
"Please don't." She didn't move again until Hermione had nodded assent, and then she lifted her hands again and returned her eyes to Mr. Granger. "I have to tell you something about your parents. This isn't going to be easy."
Hermione steeled herself. "Go on."
"The higher I get, the more damage there is. Which makes sense, if the curses were primarily aimed at their chests and heads."
"I… assumed as much." But that didn't make it any easier to hear. Hermione clasped her hands on her knee and watched Ginny move her fingers slowly and deliberately in the air. "Is any of it - can any of it be Healed?"
"Yes. But your dad…" Ginny passed her fingers over Hermione's father's eyes, and her face clouded. "Hermione…"
"Just tell me." Hermione tried to keep the edges out of her voice. "Say it, I need to know."
Ginny dropped her hands and shook her head. "I don't know how to break this kind of news," she muttered. "I don't know how mediwizards do this. I'm sorry."
"Say it fast. The waiting is worse."
Ginny met Hermione's eyes and took a breath. "I think your father is blind."
Hermione gripped the arms of her chair and didn't answer for a moment. She wasn't sure how to process what she was being told. "Okay," she finally said. But it wasn't all right. It was sickening. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair -
"I could be wrong."
"But you think you're right." The world around Hermione was blurry, and she knew there were tears in her eyes, though she couldn't really feel them. She knew she would be lucky if her father woke up at all. But if he was going to wake up blind… and there was no one left to blame. No one to strike at.
Ginny came around the bed, looking distraught. She knelt in front of Hermione and put a hand on her knee. "I hate telling you these things," she said quietly. "I'm going to do everything in my power to fix it, you know I am."
"Of course I know." She paused, not trusting her voice. "Is - is my mum…"
"I don't think so. She seems to have much less damage to her head and face." Ginny was quiet for a moment. "I expect… I expect your dad stood in front of her."
"Yes," Hermione whispered. "I'm sure he did." She swiftly blocked a mental image, not wanting to imagine how it must have happened. She had always tried not to dwell on it, not to think of all the possible, morbid scenarios - and now she tried very hard to hold back her tears. She didn't want to make Ginny feel worse than she probably already did. Delia had warned her not to pressure Ginny, who was doing more than she should have for the Grangers. It was taking time away from her studies and it was straining her relationship with Remus, who was now adamant that she should give up several of her extracurricular activities and focus on finishing her seventh year. But Ginny had been just as adamant. Hermione had heard the fight from upstairs. Ginny had shouted that she would fail out of school rather than give up Healing, if those were her choices, and then she had left the house in tears.
But Hermione knew it had much less to do with Remus, or Healing, than it had to do with Harry. Fortunately, Remus knew it too. They all did. Except Harry.
"You really shouldn't be working on your birthday," Hermione said again, when she had mastered her emotions. "Let's go home and get ready for the party." The change of subject was half for Ginny's sake and half for her own; she wanted to get out of St. Mungo's and find Ron and be held for a while before she had to put on a brave face.
She imagined that Ginny needed a little holding too - her face was very pale and there were rings under her eyes. The Weasleys were meeting at the Snout's Fair to celebrate Ginny's and Ron's birthdays together, and Hermione could predict Mrs. Weasley's reaction if she should see Ginny looking so worn out.
"I don't have the energy for a party," Ginny said, and stood.
"You're coming to your birthday," Hermione told her. "If I have to drag you. If you need to lie down first, then go and do it. Besides, it's for Ron's birthday too, and he'll want you there."
Ginny shrugged. "All right."
Hermione paused, unsure of whether to say what was on the tip of her tongue. "And I'm sure Harry will want-"
Ginny winced. "No, don't." She peeled off the white mediwizarding coat she'd been issued, and draped it over her arm. "But you're right, I need a shower and a nap. I'll feel better when I don't smell like dragons and hospitals. See you tonight."
Hermione followed her into the corridor, but Ginny was walking very fast and obviously wanted to be left alone.
Shifting from one foot to the other, Hermione tried to stop herself from carrying out the thought in her head. They can handle it alone, she thought to herself. I told Ron we should stay out of it and I still think we should stay out of it…
She checked her watch. Half past four. There really was no point going straight home to Lupin Lodge – Ginny would be in the shower and didn't feel like talking anyway. If she happened to Apparate to the Notch in hopes that Ron might leave work early, and if Harry just happened to be there, well, he was her friend, wasn't he? And he needed someone to talk to just as much as Ginny did - if she could even convince him to talk. She had failed with Ginny.
But she knew Harry better. Hermione drew her wand and Apparated into the front room of the Notch.
"Hey! Heard of knocking?" The voice came from the couch, where Harry was sitting, still in dragon gear. He held an odd-looking and colorful package on his knee, and it contrasted with the grim expression on his face.
"Sorry," Hermione said. "Mind if I sit here?" Without waiting for an answer, she sat on the opposite end of the couch, pulled a leg under her and faced Harry, who continued to look ahead.
"Ron's not home," he said.
Hermione shrugged. "Well, maybe I just came to see you."
Harry let out a short laugh. "Right," he said, still not looking at her.
Hermione felt something snap inside her. She knew that he felt closer to Ron than to her in many ways, and she'd come to terms with it. And perhaps it was strange for him to see her and Ron really together now, in the way that they were. But she and Harry had shared so much together – didn't it count for something?
"Don't you dare try that stuff with me," she said angrily. "Are you suggesting I've never taken an interest in you personally? Perhaps I'm not Ron, but you don't have to act so surprised if I decide I want to come over and chat for a bit in the afternoon."
"You haven't in a while."
Hermione was surprised. "I was trying to mind my own business," she said honestly. "I thought you'd be pleased."
Harry was silent.
"Well if you want me here, I'm here, so talk to me. I never see you anymore. You're always asleep, or out walking about, or working, or reading…" She smiled. "Not that I mind the reading part– it makes me happy to see you pick up a book – but I don't even feel like I know what's going on with you anymore, and I used to know pretty much… everything."
He glanced at her. "I'm sure Ginny's told you."
"Ginny won't tell me anything. When I asked if you'd had a row, she only said that it wasn't a row. I asked what it was and she said she didn't know." Hermione watched Harry's eyes flit down to the package on his knee. He looked uncomfortable. "If it wasn't a row, then what was it?" she prompted.
Harry traced a finger along the side of the funny-looking package. "We're… taking a break from each other," he mumbled.
Hermione felt a stab of worry. They'd broken it off. "Why?"
"Ginny said we should."
"Why?" she asked again, not sure she believed him. That Ginny would voluntarily choose to take a break from Harry didn't seem quite right. There had to be more to it.
Harry wasn't offering any further information.
"For no reason?" Hermione pressed.
He shrugged as if to say he didn't know, and Hermione crossed her arms. He knew - he was just being stubborn. She was about to interrogate him further when he lifted the package off of his knee and put it on the couch between them.
"I'm sorry I haven't been around," he said, pushing up his glasses with one finger. Hermione noticed that they were smudged - and his hair was a mess, and he looked rather lost. She felt as though they were back at Hogwarts, and she was about to help Harry with a particularly difficult spell. "I've just been… busy. You know. I know you have too, with your parents and Culparrat stuff, and… stuff."
Hermione had to smile a little. For such an acutely observant person, Harry could be very unaware. "Yes, there's a lot going on," she said, deciding not to tell him about her father until things were all sorted out. He'd only blame himself for that too, and she was glad to have something else to concentrate on, for the moment. "I've been spending some time with Sirius as well."
Harry looked interested. "I've hardly seen him lately. Are you helping him with research?"
"No - he thinks that the spell that I developed for my parents might help destroy the Dementors. So I gave him a copy of the spell to work with, and he's been muttering over it for the last two weeks."
"Good," Harry said, with surprising vehemence. "When will it be ready?"
Hermione looked closely at him, surprised by his eagerness. She supposed she shouldn't be – of course Harry wanted the Dementors destroyed; he worked with them every day, and if his appearance was anything to go by, they were certainly wearing away at him. He still had white hairs, which disturbed her very much.
Harry waited for her answer.
"I… don't even know if it will work," she said gently. "I've Thought on it, but like any spell, it would need to be tested on a small scale until it's perfected. And I can't think of anything to use as a test that would be equivalent to a Dementor."
"What about a Dementor itself? Is it something I can test for you while I'm at work?"
"No!" Hermione said, shocked. "You sound like Sirius. Of course a Dementor would be the best thing to use for a test, but the principle of the spell I've thought up is for it to be massive enough to destroy all of the Dementors at once. I think that's how it would have to be done. Because we know they can rejuvenate each other. I can't quite figure out how to condense it and still get it to work, so I don't think it's a good idea to rush out to test anything yet."
"A Boggart then."
Hermione shook her head. "The properties of a Boggart are entirely different. Riddikulus is one thing, but this would work on the actual physical being of the Dementor, and that can't be tested on another creature."
"Are you sure?" Harry was starting to look like himself again. Interested. Focused. "What does the spell do, exactly? What happens to the Dementor?"
"There's no way to tell. What we'd hope, actually, is that the souls would return to their owners. If their bodies are still alive, that is. I don't know what would happen to the dead ones. It could be destructive – it's definitely dangerous, and it's still too early."
Harry frowned. "But aren't most of the soul-sucked people…"
"Criminals, yes. Or supposed criminals."
"You don't think the souls could really be put back?"
Hermione shrugged. "Sirius suggested it was a possibility. I think he's taking things a bit far. But we won't know unless we try, I suppose."
"Then why not let me try it?"
"Because there's nothing to try." Hermione gave him a very serious look. "I'm telling you, Harry, if you do anything stupid and get your soul sucked after everything we've come through, I'll kill you."
"Is that what would happen?" Harry asked, looking startled.
"If something goes wrong with a spell that affects their physical form? I don't know what would happen - they might retaliate, they've been out there without food for so long that they must be starving."
"They are," Harry said grimly.
"Well then wait until I have a chance to work it out - and I'll do it as soon as I can. Don't let Sirius go out there to do any experiments."
"All right," Harry promised. "I won't." There was an awkward silence.
"What's that?" Hermione asked, pointing to the package that sat between them. It was tall, conical, wrapped in purple, and very glittery, and it reminded her of something that Gilderoy Lockhart would have liked. Several brightly-colored ribbons stuck out at playful angles from the top, and Harry reached out to bat them back and forth with his fingers.
"This?" he asked. "It's, er… it's a present. For Ron, you know, for his birthday."
"Ron's birthday was two weeks ago and you gave him a Sneakoscope. Which I still don't understand."
Harry looked at her as though she wasn't too bright after all. "He's never had a really good one," he said. "And it might help him decide who's innocent - you know, in court."
"Those aren't allowed in court!"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"And this present isn't for Ron." Hermione went on, ignoring him and tapping the conical thing. "Purple isn't really his color, and quite honestly, if you gave him something covered with glitter, I'm not sure he'd ever speak to you again."
Harry reddened. "We're celebrating his birthday tonight, though, aren't we? At the Snout's Fair?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"It's for Ginny, all right?" Harry gave the ribbons another fierce bat. "But I'm not sure I want to give it to her."
"I'd worked that bit out, Harry," she said, scooting closer to examine the package. "I just wanted to hear you say it."
He pushed it towards her and crossed his arms. "What is it with girls and wanting to hear things?" he asked. "I just wanted to hear you say it," he mimicked in a falsetto. "If you knew, why did I have to say it?"
So that was part of the problem. Hermione held up her hands in mock defense. "Because saying things can make us realize their form and power. The words used in our spells and charms are only words when uttered by someone with no magic, and yet, the magic wouldn't work without the words." She was quoting from A Standard Book of Spells, and she was quite sure that Harry wouldn't know it. "You may know that this package is intended for Ginny Weasley, and I may know it, but until you say it, the fact remains a question, and – "
Harry was half smiling. "You're annoying," he said, but the words were friendly and had no sting. "It's a hat. And I want to hear what you think of it."
"A hat? For what?" Hermione picked up the package and turned it over. From its shape and size, it appeared to be a standard Hogwarts formal tall pointed hat. She looked at Harry. "Did she say she needed a hat?"
"You don't have to need a present," Harry said, tight-lipped. "When we were at Faeryland for New Year, she said she liked it."
"Well, I can't give my opinion unless I look - so can I see it?" Hermione asked, wondering if she was going to be able to hold in her laughter. "I promise to wrap it back up." When Harry didn't answer, she put the package back down on the sofa and said, "I'll just do a quick Revealing Charm, okay?"
Hermione pulled out her wand and muttered the spell, and nearly choked when she saw the pink, fairy princess hat in front of her. Silver glitter covered it, and the base was surrounded by cheap, fuzzy pink fur.
"It's not good, is it?" Harry asked.
"Er, well… " Hermione tried to choose her words carefully. "Pink isn't really a good color when you've got red hair?" She sighed. Harry didn't care about things like that; it was his fault that Ron owned two different orange caps. "Harry, why on earth would you think Ginny would want this hat for her birthday? What she'd really like is just for you to be there and talk to her."
"Did she say that?" He narrowed his eyes.
"No!" Hermione gently kicked his foot. "I told you she didn't tell me anything - and when have I ever lied to you?"
Harry was quiet.
Hermione smiled and patted his arm. "I'm not ganging up on you with Ginny. I'm just telling you as a friend, and… and as a girl… that this hat would only make Ginny happy if she were five years old."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it. He was still quite red.
"Do you want me to help you think of something else?"
Eyes on his knees, Harry slowly shook his head. "I… have something else," he said, very quietly.
Hermione waited without pressing him. If he had mentioned it then he wanted to show it - all she had to do was sit and give him a minute.
Sure enough, a minute later, Harry pulled a rumpled, folded piece of parchment out of his pocket. "I wrote her a letter," he mumbled, curling a corner of it back and forth with his fingers.
That was a good sign - or not. Hermione frowned. She'd received letters from Harry. Her favorite had been the summer in-between fourth and fifth year: Dear Hermione, How are you? I'm fine. The Dursleys are gits. Dudley's fat and stupid too. Wish I could do magic. My scar doesn't hurt, thanks for asking. ~Harry
"Well?" she asked.
Harry looked up. "Well, what?"
"Are you going to let me read it, or not?"
"No!" Harry stuck the letter back into his pocket and looked at her in horror.
Hermione laughed. "Well, fine! I was going to help you, but I'm sure you're capable of saying how you feel on paper, and I'm sure Ginny will love it."
Harry mumbled something unintelligible.
"What's that?" Hermione asked, holding a hand to her ear.
"I said it's not finished, I can't give it to her. Look – " he looked desperate " – I can't give her this letter, but I can give her the hat."
Hermione held out her hand. "Harry," she said, "as I once promised to protect you, I cannot let you give Ginny that ridiculous hat."
Harry scowled at her.
"Come on, Harry, let me help. It will be like doing our homework together again."
He didn't look convinced.
"And besides," she added, "who else are you going to ask? I'm a girl, I'm your friend, I've had a lot of letters, and I know what's good. And I'm a better writer than you are, and I'll never, never tell."
His expression relaxed. "All right," he said, pulling the letter back out of his pocket and handing it to her.
Hermione opened the letter, which hadn't even been sealed. She could see, without reading it,that it was going to need a lot of help. There were several scratch-outs and a few ink blots. It started, Dear Ginny, except that "Dear" was crossed out.
"Get a quill, Harry," Hermione said, holding the letter up closer to her face. "You need to rewrite this."
He stared at her blankly. "I thought you were going to help me?"
"I'm not going to write it for you, Harry. I'm going to give you helpful suggestions. For starters, it's okay to say Dear Ginny. That's the proper way to address a letter to anyone."
"If you're going to make fun of me, forget it," he said, reaching to snatch the letter out of her grasp.
Hermione held her hands over her head. "Get a piece of parchment, Harry," she said.
He looked annoyed, but Summoned parchment, ink and a quill, which all landed on the table in front of the couch.
"Right," Hermione said and looked at the letter in her hands. It read:
Dear Ginny,
Sorry about all that stuff I said the other day.
Love, Sincerely, Yours,
Harry.
She handed the letter back to Harry, trying so hard not to laugh that she could feel herself turning red. "Save that letter," she instructed, when she was sure that her voice wouldn't crack. "Save it for ten years from now, when you can laugh at it. What did you say to Ginny, anyway?"
"I – she really didn't tell you?"
Hermione let out a pained, gusty sigh. "Between the two of you, I've heard next to nothing. You had a row, you've taken a break. How bad can it be?"
"Dunno." Harry shrugged. "Bad. She won't talk to me."
"Why not?"
"I'm…" He absently crumpled the letter in his hands. "I'm… she told me to sort out how I feel," he said, almost inaudibly.
"How you feel about her?"
"Yeah." Harry's face was nearly scarlet now.
"Don't you know, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.
He hesitated, then shook his head, and Hermione bit back another sigh. All this indirect, hidden emotion was somewhat foreign to her. She wished that, after all this time, Harry would just break down and let her in. She was suddenly grateful that Ron was loud and obvious. It made things so much simpler.
"Try telling me what you feel, then," she said. "And write it down. Write something down. Write Dear Ginny on that piece of parchment."
Harry unscrewed the top to the inkpot and dipped his quill. Hermione folded her hands together and waited until the scratching noise of quill against parchment had stopped.
"Now what?" he asked, not looking up.
"Well… your feelings come next."
Harry made a quiet noise that reminded Hermione of an animal trapped in a cage.
"It's not as difficult as you're making it. You do like her. Don't you?"
There was a pause. "She's'mazing," Harry finally mumbled, so quickly that the words almost didn't make sense.
"Write that down!" Hermione ordered. "You're amazing. Write that."
They continued in that vein for a while, until Harry had composed a whole string of favorable adjectives to describe Ginny. Amazing. Smart. Brave. Fun. Pretty, he'd finally told her. Soon, Harry was writing on his own. Hermione sat back, pleased, and waited for him to finish.
Finally, he looked up. "Can't I just give her the hat?" he asked.
"The hat's rubbish, Harry."
Harry sighed, scratched something out, crumpled up the parchment and started writing on a new piece.
"How do I sign it?" he asked, after several minutes.
"However you think is best," Hermione said, dying to see what he'd written. When he finally placed his quill on the table, Hermione held out her hand for the new letter. She gave a little sigh as she read the contents. It read a bit like a school essay, but the underlying sentiment came though clearly.
Dear Ginny,
Happy Birthday. I got you a present, but it's so stupid that Hermione says I can't give it to you. She says I should just talk to you but I don't know what to say.
You're amazing. I don't know anyone else who is as smart, brave, fun and as pretty as you are. When I'm with you I feel like everything is okay, except for when I make you ill.
You wanted me to tell you how I feel. I feel horrible for that row. I feel like an arse writing this letter. I'd feel better if we weren't on a break.
Love,
Harry
"I can't give it to her," Harry said.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "You have to give it to her."
He shook his head, folded up the letter and slid it into his pocket. "Later," he said.
"Tonight then," Hermione stood and stretched a bit. "You can give it to her at the party. I suppose Ron's going to the Snout's Fair straight from work after all. I've got to go home and get ready for the dinner. Are you going to change?"
"Yeah," he said, standing up as well. Hermione pulled her wand and prepared to Disapparate, but Harry grabbed her arm.
"Look…" He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual. "I'll go tonight, for Ron, but… " He stopped. He looked suddenly angry. "I'm not giving her anything. So keep it to yourself."
"Harry…"
"No. But I'm -" He met her eyes. "I'm really glad you came by. Don't ever think that I don't care about you as much as I do about Ron."
Hermione stared at him. In all the time they had known each other, he'd never said anything like that. Perhaps it was good that Ginny was forcing him to think about his feelings. It was… really nice to hear that.
"Thank you," she said, touched. "And don't worry, Harry - it'll work out." She gave him a hug and stepped back. "You're halfway there. Besides, I already warned Ginny that an average Harry quarrel lasts at least a month, so I think she knows what to expect."
Harry's eyebrows went up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.
Hermione only laughed and Disapparated. But as she got ready for the party in her own room at Lupin Lodge, she wondered if it had been wise to talk to Harry after all. It hadn't seemed to sway him in the end, and she had a bad feeling that he would be as stubborn about this row with Ginny as he'd ever been about his other quarrels. She hoped he'd prove her wrong at the Snout's Fair, and she walked into town with Ginny, trying to keep the conversation light.
But at the party Harry proved only that Hermione knew him very well; he kept his eyes off Ginny and gave her nothing - not even the stupid princess hat. And if the distant look in Ginny's eyes was anything to judge by, even that hat might not have been such a horrible idea after all.
~*~
"Reducto!" Bill shouted. The air in front of him did not shimmer. "Abrumpo!" There was no tension that he could see, no break in the enchanted field. "Dilabum Obex!" Nothing happened. "Effracto Moenius!" "Perfringum Maledictio!" "Solvo Murus!"
"Give up."
Bill glanced over his shoulder and his heart leapt into his throat for the tenth time that morning. He felt like a kid. Fleur sat in the grass in the middle of the field where he'd learned to fly, her arms wrapped around her knees, her chin tilted up, her expression full of quiet amusement. The mid-April sun touched her face and made her eyes look like little bits of sky.
"The spell is finished," she said quietly, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "You cannot break it."
"Oh can't I." But there was no real challenge in his voice. He gazed down at her, forgetting for awhile that he had a job to do, and she gazed back with equal admiration. It was like it had been before. There was no embarrassment between them, and no fighting. They had seen each other nearly every day for over a month, and though Fleur continued to refuse to see him after work, Bill knew it wasn't out of malice. She was simply taking things slowly this time, making sure of him and of their friendship.
He had to admit he didn't blame her. He had tried to tell her what he had discovered about veela, but she had put a hand to his lips and stopped him, saying it wasn't important and that she had been wrong, too. It was the most physical contact they'd had. Bill almost wanted to bring up the subject again, just to feel her fingers brush against his mouth.
"What's going on out there? Is something wrong?" Penelope's voice carried across the field. "Is it working?"
"It's solid," Bill called back, not taking his eyes off Fleur. "Just taking a rest."
"Let's have lunch then!" Penelope and Hermione rolled up their maps, gathered their workbags and began to walk back to the Burrow, heads together, talking animatedly.
Bill put out his hand. "Lunch?"
It didn't surprise him that Fleur shook her head. Usually she ignored his hand and got to her feet on her own, but this time she didn't even do that; she stayed where she was, and shifted her gaze to the woods. "I would like to stay out 'ere for a little while," she said. Her voice was very quiet.
"Do you…" Bill hesitated. "Do you want company?"
"Non." Fleur gave him a very brief smile and looked back at the woods again. For the first time all morning, her clear-eyed expression clouded over and her posture slumped a little. She looked as if she were struggling with a thought she couldn't stand, but couldn't get rid of.
Bill knew the feeling. It came over him every once in awhile, as well. But he left his hand out and tried again. "You have to eat."
"I am not 'ungry."
"Even if you are not 'ungry." He laughed a bit, and was happy to see her bite her lip on a smile. "Come on. Eat a little, just to make Mum happy, and then you can come back out here on your own - I'll keep Hermione and Penny inside if you need some time to yourself. All right?"
Fleur gave him a grateful look and, breaking recent tradition, she slipped her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. "Thank you," she said, keeping her eyes low and trying to pull her hand out of his as soon as she had her balance.
Bill held fast. He didn't want to lose contact. He wanted to hold her hand and walk with her to the house.
"Please, Bill," she whispered. She glanced up at him and then down again immediately. They were standing very close.
"I'd rather not let go," he said hoarsely. He slowly rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.
Fleur kept her head inclined. Her hair shone silvery white in the weak sunlight and fell softly in curtains on either side of her face. The slope of her nose was slim and noble, strong and graceful, like the rest of her. Bill wanted to run a fingertip down it.
"Please," she repeated, sounding slightly panicked. She pulled her hand from his.
Bill let it go. There was nothing else for it. She would decide when she was ready to move forward with him, and he could only keep making opportunities available. Beside her, without her hand in his, he walked with her back to the Burrow. Fleur didn't speak, and he could tell that something was truly troubling her, so he stayed quiet too and let her have her sadness. Some things, he knew, were only made worse by trying to make them better.
"What did you mean, it's solid?" Hermione asked immediately, when Bill and Fleur walked into the house. She stood in front of the fireplace, half a sandwich in her hand, looking thrilled. "Do you mean it's finished? Does it work? Are you saying you can't break it - it's really complete and we can start to put it up at Culparrat? Can we start to plan how many other Charmers we're going to need? Who should we write to? Should we tell Moody and your dad right away? I think we should."
Bill wasn't sure how she said so much so fast, without breathing. "It's finished," he said. "I'd say it's time to start planning the particulars."
Hermione gave a little squeal of joy, and Penelope looked equally excited. Fleur went to the far end of the room and sat in the big, tattered armchair that Bill's father had sat in every morning for years, with his Daily Prophet in one hand and his tea in the other. She looked very small and pale in the big brown chair, and didn't seem to hear anything that Hermione was saying. She turned her face to the window and stared at nothing.
Bill put a plate of lunch on the little table beside her. Fleur glanced at it, and then at him. "Thank you." But when she looked back at the window without touching the food, Bill felt a stab of real concern. She never ate much, but she wasn't the kind of girl who skipped meals either. Either she was ill or it was a particularly bad day. He knew what she must be thinking about; he knew how grief could sneak up on a person out of nowhere, and he wished he had the right to help her.
"We'll have to think about guards," Penelope was saying. "Once the spell is in place, the Aurors will be free to do something else."
"Yes, they need to concentrate on Azkaban," Hermione said, and her expression changed from excitement to worry. "I think it's high time the dragon riders had a break."
Bill only half listened. He was worried about the situation at Azkaban, but more worried about the girl in his dad's chair.
Fleur picked at a loose bit of leather on the arm of the chair, then smoothed it down again with her fingers. She winced for no reason. Bill stopped thinking about Aurors and Dementors and went to get her some tea.
"Bill!" Adam sat at the kitchen table with three boys around his age, all of whom looked much less healthy than he did. But at least they were clean and sheltered, Bill thought, looking around at all of them. And if his mother had anything to do with it, they'd be filled out in no time. The plates in front of them were piled high.
"Adam, how's it going?" Bill rapped his knuckles lightly on Adam's head and greeted the other boys. "Hullo Matthew. David. Oi, Ralph, where'd that bruise come from?"
Ralph, who was wiry and given to picking friendly wrestling matches, sported a nasty black eye. "Him!" he said vehemently, elbowing Matthew. "Doesn't know how to play Keeper!"
"I didn't want to play Keeper," said Matthew darkly, and tucked back into his stew. "I'm a Beater."
Bill checked a smile and flicked his wand, bringing a teacup out of the cupboard. He flicked his wand again and filled the cup with steaming tea. David watched enviously.
"I want a wand," he said, and sighed. He had never had one, Bill knew. He hadn't yet begun his first year, but all four of them would start at Hogwarts again in September: Adam in his third year, Ralph and Matthew in their second. There had been a fifth child, a little girl who Adam called Ella, who was supposed to begin her third year as well. But she had run away the very day she had been brought to the Burrow, and no one could tell where she had gone. Bill had never even met her. St. Mungo's Children's Home had sworn up and down that they had charmed her hair the same way they'd charmed the other children's, but Bill knew it couldn't have been a thorough job. His mother still blamed herself. And for all they knew, Ella might have made her way back to London by now, or she might have fallen into Muggle care. Muggle orphanages were being checked one by one, but so far there had been no news.
"Hungry?" Bill asked, watching Adam stuff an extra sandwich and a couple of rolls into the pockets of his robes. He had taken to wearing Bill's very old robes around the house on lesson days. He said it made him think better.
"I will be later," said Adam defensively, and added an apple to his bulging cargo. "I'm going for a walk, all right? Be right back." Overstuffed pockets clapping against his hips, he ran out of the kitchen. Bill heard the front door slam, and a moment later he could see Adam through the window, racing down the hill to the west of the Burrow. He disappeared into the woods.
"Insane," Bill said under his breath, and went back into the front room.
"Elves, of course!" Hermione was saying. "They're the obvious choice, aren't they? Not only are many of them unemployed at the moment because they were flushed out of Dark wizards' houses and left to fend for themselves, but they've got powerful magic of their own - they'd be able to navigate the prison without splinching, because they're not affected by Apparition borders! And they're terribly loyal, and their natural inclination - at least, in the majority of cases - is to provide domestic care. They'd be perfect!"
"What, inside Culparrat?" Bill asked, offering the teacup to Fleur. She curled both her hands around it as if to warm them, though it wasn't a bit cold. Bill watched her face, but she didn't look up. He sat in the chair nearest hers, and returned his attention to the conversation.
"Yes. Not as exterior guards - although they're excellent protectors, and we might use some of them at interior posts within the prison - but to keep the prison running smoothly. To keep the prisoners in meals, and clean sheets, and humane conditions."
"Not a bad idea at all," Bill agreed.
"And at exterior posts?" Penelope said. "I admit the house-elf idea is -"
"They're not house-elves, Penny, they're just elves."
Penelope gave a short, exasperated sigh. "Yes, all right. The elves are an excellent idea, and I think we should contact Hogwarts -"
"We can just contact the elvish union," Hermione said happily. "They have one now, you know."
Bill looked over at her, and wasn't sure whether to laugh or congratulate her on a job well done - or just to roll his eyes. He had heard from Ron about Hermione's enthusiasm for activism, and had assumed that the stories had been exaggerations. But she was even more earnest than Ron had described.
"All right, we'll contact their union." Penelope shook her head. "I'm asking who we should consider for the outside posts. The Aurors will have other things to attend to, once the Ministry is back in full session, and the M.L.E.S. is overtaxed as it is. The Dementors are obviously out."
Bill shrugged. "You'll have to advertise. There are plenty of unemployed wizards."
"But we can't have just anyone," Penelope said. "We need trustworthy… they'd have to be…"
"Well I'll tell you what I think," Hermione said. "I've been thinking about this."
"Shocking," Penelope said dryly. But she was smiling.
"I think it's time the Ministry stopped being stupid about their Dark creature classifications - no offense to Mr. Weasley, because I know he'll change it if he gets to stay in office, but I worry about what will happen if he doesn't, and perhaps we ought to press him to do this now." Hermione took a deep breath. "Werewolves should be employed. If we employed the werewolves, especially in Ministry positions, we'd have a group of truly loyal guards. They've been waiting centuries for someone to recognize their worth as what they are ninety nine percent of the time - human beings - and whoever gives them that recognition is sure to have their allegiance." She looked from Bill to Penelope. "Don't you agree?" She looked at Fleur. "Fleur, what do you think?"
Fleur started. She fixed glassy eyes on Hermione. "I am sorry," she said, and her voice was very dry. "What did you say?"
Hermione glanced at Penelope. "Fleur, are you all right?"
Fleur nodded. She put her teacup on the table with a shaking hand and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. She shut her eyes. Her mouth opened and her breath became irregular; she seemed to have forgotten that anyone was watching. She sat still for nearly a minute, and the clock ticked in the silence.
"Fleur?" Penelope's voice was full of concern. "Are you ill?"
Bill knew she wasn't. He turned his chair towards her and leaned forward. "Can I do anything?" he asked, as quietly as he could.
Fleur's chest hitched. She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth, covered her eyes with her fingers, and shook her head.
Bill realized with a jolt of anxiety that she was about to cry.
Seconds later, Fleur flung her other arm across her face and sobbed into the silent room. It was a sob unlike any Bill had ever heard - an empty, broken, abandoned sound that seemed to come from another body. It did not end, but stretched into a long, keening moan, too low to be Fleur's voice but too heartbroken to be anyone else's. Bill had never heard her like this - but he had felt her. Just like this. He sat rooted to the spot, terrified of the explanation for that sound.
The permanent crease between Penelope's eyebrows deepened. She came to crouch beside Fleur's chair and put a hand on her knee.
"Oh, my dear -" Mrs. Weasley raced in from the garden with Leo on her hip and Adam on her heels. At the sight of Fleur, her free hand flew to her mouth. "Poor thing," she murmured to Hermione, who was staring at Fleur with a face full of pity. "It must be very bad."
It is. Bill knew that there was only one reason for Fleur to cry like that. But he didn't want to name it and make it true.
"Ma -" Fleur gasped behind her arms, making everyone in the room jump including Leo, who screwed up his face and hid it in Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. "Ma -"
"You don't have to talk," Penelope said gently, keeping her hand on Fleur's knee. "Take your time."
"Gabrielle -"
Bill's insides turned to ice.
Fleur crumpled, dignity forgotten, pulling her legs close to her body and sobbing into the rounded side of Mr. Weasley's worn out chair.
"Her little sister," Hermione said faintly to Mrs. Weasley, who turned white and pulled Leo closer to her apron front.
Adam watched without flinching, his face unreadable.
"Gabrielle…"
Penelope knelt and kept her contact; Hermione stayed still and Mrs. Weasley hovered, twin expressions of sickened understanding on their faces. Bill could only sit beside Fleur and watch, his fingers clenched, his chest tight and his heart thudding so hard that it echoed in his head and sent blood rushing to pound in his eardrums. He wanted to be sick. It was Percy all over again.
Several minutes later, Fleur's sobs subsided and she ceased to repeat her sister's name. Her feet slid back to the floor and her arms came down and lolled like dead weights on her thighs. Bill was struck by her appearance. She made no move to wipe her face, which hung slack, blotched, wet and unbeautiful. The light in her eyes had gone out.
"What happened?" Penelope asked quietly. "Or is it too soon?"
Fleur hiccoughed wetly and fumbled to pull a strand of her long hair away from her mouth. Penelope reached up and took over, kneeling up to smooth the plastered bits of hair back from her face so that Fleur could drop her hands again and sit dully, staring at nothing.
"Would you like some water?" Penelope was saying now, tucking the last of the silvery hair behind Fleur's hunched shoulders. "Would you like to have a lie down? There's an empty room upstairs, I'll take you there if you like."
Fleur stirred. She stared around the room at nothing, then fixed her eyes on Penelope. With the blank face and cracking voice of a person hardly half awake, she began to speak.
"Ma… ma soeur… she was… it was last year when…" But there Fleur stopped. She was already trembling head to toe and her eyes were full of tears again. She opened her mouth, shut it, and turned her eyes to Bill. "Please." She stretched a hand towards him.
Bill took her hand in both of his. He saw his mother, Penelope, Hermione and Adam turn their faces to him, questioning.
"Fleur's sister - " Bill's voice cracked, but he continued, making no effort to hide his emotion. She should know how much he hurt for her sake. "Gabrielle was one of the children at Mont Ste. Mireille."
Hermione winced, Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Penelope gave a low cry. She replaced her hand on Fleur's knee. Adam's eyes narrowed slightly.
"She's missing now," Bill went on. "Presumed -"
Fleur's chin trembled at the word and she shook her head. It was enough.
"Not presumed," Bill rasped, his voice so dry that it hurt coming out. "She's - dead. Fleur, how do you know?"
Fleur spoke after several failed attempts. "They 'av discovered a - grave-"
Mrs. Weasley drew a hissing breath and Penelope bowed her head.
"Where many bodies were discarded. They cannot identify the bones because the curses… there were burns." Fleur whimpered. "But they found wands. They found the wand with my - my grandmother's 'air in the core - it is no mistake…" Fleur dissolved again into sobs.
Bill heard a raw, furious sound of sorrow and realized that it had torn from him. Fleur gripped his hand and reached toward him with her other arm, shaking all over. He stood and bent down to let her take hold of his neck, then pulled her out of the chair with one arm beneath her knees and the other across her back, to cradle her.
"I'm so sorry," he managed into her hair. "I'm so sorry." And he meant it in every way. He was sorry about Gabrielle, sorry for the way he had behaved, sorry he hadn't trusted her, sorry that he hadn't been with her to get that news. "I'm sorry, Fleur." She wept jerkily, clutching at his shoulders, and he headed for the stairs.
"My mother will not - 'ave a funeral she - thinks it is best to 'ave faith but, Bill - Bill -"
He hardly saw his mother's look of astonishment as he carried Fleur away to his old bedroom; he hardly noticed that Hermione raced ahead of him to get the door and spare him the trouble. Only Fleur mattered. He brought her into the shuttered, dim blue room, lay her in the little bed, and curled up beside her when she groped for him. They couldn't lie side by side on the small mattress, so he rolled onto his back and pulled her to him. She sprawled half on top of him with her face into his
shoulder, and he put his hand on the back of her head, wanting, somehow, to give her comfort. She wept into him, channeling unearthly sobs, and Bill fumbled for words.
"I'm right here," he said, stroking her hair with one hand and her back with the other, feeling her sobs rise and fall. The shoulder of his robes was already wet through. "I've got you."
She gave him no answer except a thick snuffle that didn't sound at all feminine, let alone as if it had come from a quarter-veela.
Bill kissed her head, reached for the tissues on the bedside table and handed her several. He moved the weight of her hair to the far side of her neck and moved his fingers gently back and forth on the exposed half of her throat. "Shh." He kissed her hair again, and continued to shush her as she cried.
Eventually, Fleur graduated to quieter floods of tears and her chest stopped heaving. She'd stuck the tissues under her face without bothering to use them and their corners fluttered between her hidden profile and Bill's chest with every breath she took. It would have been a funny picture, if she had not been so grieved. Bill brushed the backs of his fingers along her hairline, and down the only part of her face he could see - the little strip of skin between her temple and the side of her jaw, next to her ear. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. "I'm so sorry."
She braced her forearm on his chest and lifted her head. A few of the tissues came with her, stuck to her face. Bill reached up, peeled the tissues away, and threw them towards the waste bin. "Need another one?"
Fleur blinked at him, her face sticky with tears, and shook her head. "Thank you," she mumbled. She hiccoughed again, and sniffed. "I want my sister." Tears jumped into her eyes. "Distract me," she pleaded, blinking away the tears. They fell onto Bill's vest. "Make me forget."
He touched her face. It was soft and cold and wet. "I can't do that," he said quietly.
"Did I - not distract - you once?" Fleur asked, still through hiccoughs.
"No." Bill rubbed his thumb back and forth along her cheekbone. "You made it so I didn't need to be distracted. You made it all right."
She nodded, and fell down again with her face in the side of Bill's neck. He traced the dip of her spine all the way up to her neck and back down again, over and over, not sure what good it would do. But her breathing stayed regular and she relaxed a little further every time he touched her.
"Gabrielle was a better witch than I am," Fleur said abruptly, after several minutes had passed in silence. "She was calm, and she was not vain. She 'ad my father's nose. It 'ad a little bump and two freckles, and my grandmother was 'orrified." Fleur drew a deep breath and let it out again. Bill shut his eyes and felt it through his robes. "Grandmama wanted to use a potion to take them right off. But my mother refused to let 'er alter a thing. She said that Gabrielle was more beautiful for her differences."
Bill thought how true that was. He loved Fleur best when she had come unraveled and was free from enchantments.
"And she was so strong-minded, my sister. When she got 'er wand - she did not get to choose 'er wand, you should 'ave seen that tantrum - she told me she did not approve of Grandmama's decision, and she was not going to use it for very long. She said she wanted something more reliable than an old veela 'air in the center." Fleur laughed, then sobered. "And she did not use it for very long," she said quietly. "She was a little Seer, per'aps."
Bill smoothed her hair, giving her what comfort he could.
"Tomorrow, Bill, if… I would like it if you would come to my flat and look at pictures. I want to show her to you. Please."
"We can go now if you like -- I've always tried to picture her," Bill said truthfully. "In my head she looks like a smaller version of you."
Fleur raised her head again and looked into Bill's face. Some of the light had returned to her eyes. "Non. She was 'erself. She was so beautiful."
Bill used his thumb to dry the wet circles beneath Fleur's eyes. "Would you like to go now?" he asked again. "I want to see her."
Fleur nodded and sat up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked around the room for the first time. "Is this your room from when you were a boy?"
Bill looked around, registering where he was. "Yes," he said slowly. "Charlie's too, after Fred and George were born. It was Percy's room after we left. It's Adam's now - isn't he a great kid? He hasn't touched a thing."
The room bore the traces of all three Weasley boys who had lived in it. The walls themselves seemed to breathe with adolescent secrets and school holidays, mishaps and accomplishments. In lieu of wallpaper, every surface was plastered over with exam papers, O.W.L. results, letters from Hogwarts, pictures from the paper – all of it hanging precariously with the aid of many different spells. Percy's hangings were the tidiest; Charlie's the most haphazard. On the emptiest wall, Adam had begun to hang his pictures and assignments, while Bill's own things, he noted wryly, were yellowed with age - except for the awards. On the far wall, there hung six academic medals that gave off flecks of light even in the growing darkness. Two were his; four were Percy's. Below them, scattered on a shelf, were golden trophies with scarlet plates, duplicates of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup that Charlie and his team had won more than once.
"Are these your medals?" Fleur stood and went to look at them. She traced careful fingers across the metal discs and trophies and Bill watched her, rather amazed that she was here, in the room where he'd first begun to dream about girls. Never in his wildest dreams had he given himself a girl like Fleur
"Er, one or two," he said. "The trophies are all Charlie's - he was a great Quidditch player in school, they said he could've played for England. And most of those awards are Percy's."
"Your mother leaves them up."
"Yes, well, she gets a bit proud. Can't imagine why, as you can see we were all completely useless."
Fleur glanced over her shoulder and smiled, then returned to her inspection, running her fingertips over the badges that were stuck into a corkboard. Their mother had always been proudest of the badges. The three metal plates still shone: his own Prefect and Head Boy badges alongside Percy's Head Boy badge. Percy's badge seemed to give off a strange light, Bill thought, though he knew that he was probably imagining things. He looked at the empty space on the strip of cork where Percy's Prefect badge had used to hang. Penelope still kept it with her, all the time. She'd taken the pin off so that Leo could hold it, and he clutched it in his little hand very often, when he fell asleep.
Bill got up and went to stand with Fleur. Like her, he traced his fingers over Percy's badge, and as he did it, something painful swelled in his chest. He missed his brother. Percy had been so different from the rest of them, but he'd been a strongheart. He'd been a Gryffindor. And like everyone else who'd got lost in the war, he wasn't supposed to be dead. It still didn't seem quite real to Bill that he wasn't going to have a chance to see Percy again. Talk to him. Tell him he'd never really meant any of the wisecracks. Watch him hold his own son. Leo had been born to a wonderful father, and he was never going to know it.
They were going to have to make him know it. It was their responsibility to remember every shred of the life that had been Percy's, and pass it on.
"I am so glad I met your brother," Fleur said quietly. She took Bill's hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "It is important to me. I am so glad I knew 'im, even a little."
Bill relaxed. The painful thing that had been twisting inside him died down. "So am I."
"My sister would 'av liked you very much." Fleur laced her fingers between his and breathed out. "She liked people to 'ave strength. And passion."
Bill let the profound compliment sink into him, then turned his head and kissed Fleur's temple. She took a shallow breath and shut her eyes. Her skin was cool. He breathed in the rain smell of her hair and left his mouth on her skin for a long time, incapable of moving away until she lifted his hand in hers and inclined her head. Bill's mouth slipped from her temple and he bent his head. He watched in awe as Fleur touched her lips to the back of his hand, then turned it over and kissed his palm.
"Thank you," she murmured, and looked up at him.
Bill cupped her upturned face with the hand she'd just kissed. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was pale, and the tip of her nose was little bit pink. She was flawed… flawless…
She was real. She shut her eyes and tilted up her chin, and her mouth fell slightly open.
Bill's heart pounded; he knew it was her invitation - knew that he could kiss her now, for the first time in more than a year. For a moment he hesitated, unsure if it was all right or if he would be taking advantage of her grief. But then, they had shared their only kiss just after he had got news of Percy's murder, when he had been at his most vulnerable. And kissing her had soothed his heart more than he had believed anything could.
Fleur opened her eyes and in them Bill could read confusion. Hurt. She pulled back, color rising in her face. "Is this not…" she began slowly.
"Shh," he whispered, and brushed his hand back through her hair. "Close your eyes, Fleur."
She did. Bill bent his head.
Her lips were slightly chapped; that was the first thing he noticed. Soft but imperfect, so that brushing his mouth across hers sent shocks into his brain. The texture of her. The texture and the first, slow, responsive movement. The wonderful sound of her broken breathing. And her fingertips. She touched the sides of his neck, making him shiver, then touched his hair. His shoulders. And all the while their mouths brushed, gently mapping territory that had been discovered and lost, but not forgotten. There was still the same strange familiarity, as if this was the only right choice and the reasons would come later.
Bill almost didn't want to deepen the kiss. There was something heavenly about it, as if she were a ghost or an angel, something he couldn't quite hold. Something fragile that might vanish into smoke or dissolve under the weight of a breath. He ran his hands down her arms and slipped them around her back.
Fleur whispered his name and opened her mouth to his. Kissed him fully, tangled her fingers in his hair. And suddenly she wasn't fragile at all, she was flesh and blood and her body was pressed to his, and it had been a year. For a little while, in the dim, blue light of his childhood bedroom, Bill forgot to be gentle.
That night, back at her flat, Bill lay in bed with Fleur and looked at pictures. He read letters. He listened to stories. She spoke of Gabrielle and he spoke of Percy - all night they traded memories that seemed to flow effortlessly into one another, almost untouched by the burden of grief. When they fell asleep hours later among the keepsakes, Bill was not sure if he had asked her to stay with him forever, or if had been she who had asked him. He only knew that the exchange had been made for good.
~*~
Twenty-eight days. Four weeks. Almost an entire month. And not a word from Harry - not even when he'd showed up to the pub on her birthday. He'd spent all his time in the corner, and Ginny had tried to ignore him but it had hurt more than she had been able to hide. Hermione had taken her aside and told her that Harry really did care for her, but it hadn't helped. It didn't matter what Hermione said. Ginny flicked her wand at the wireless and turned off the music that had been playing while she studied - she couldn't listen to another sappy love song. She went back to stirring the Wolfsbane Potion, hardly caring what she was doing.
She supposed it was over. Not that she would ever be over Harry, in her heart - she'd love him even if he never spoke another word to her - but nothing worked between them. She'd been in pain, one way or another, since the very beginning and so had he. Perhaps it wasn't worth it. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. She wished she wouldn't dream about him so much, but, short of taking a potion to keep dreams away altogether, she didn't think that she would ever stop.
She absently ladled a dose of potion into a goblet, and went to find Remus so that he could drink it right away.
"You're preoccupied," he said, when she found him at the dining room table poring over an open file that looked like official Ministry business.
She shrugged. "Go on," she said, and held out a peppermint imp. Remus swallowed the potion and quickly took the imp.
"Thank you."
"Is that stuff for Sirius?" She pointed to the papers, and Remus glanced up at her.
"No, it's the Culparrat employee proposal."
Ginny had never heard of it. "Oh. Are you working on it for my dad, or something?"
Remus gave her a worried look. "No… Hermione asked me to look over it because it's about possibly employing werewolves in the Ministry. Ginny, you were sitting at the table last night when she handed it to me. You participated in the discussion."
"Oh… right." She only vaguely remembered. "Sorry, I'm…"
"Exhausted. And at the risk of sending you flying out of the house in tears, I'll tell you again -"
"I won't fly out." Ginny sat down across from him and propped her chin in her hand to keep her head up. She was tired, but she tried not to let Remus see it. "I know what you're going to say, and you're right, but I just don't know which thing to give up. It's all too important."
He shook his head. "The dragons are nearly well."
"But not perfectly."
"But they're not about to throw their riders, and that was the main point. And if you won't stop with that, then at least I can take this potion at the apothecary."
"No!" Ginny stared at him. "No."
"Cut down the amount of time you spend at St. Mungo's. Do that only on the weekends -"
"It's her parents."
Remus sighed. "Then at least stop working privately on other people."
Ginny bristled. "I only worked on Malfoy once," she said. And it was true. Remus didn't need to know that she had consented to go to Malfoy Manor this afternoon. It was the best day for it; on Sundays she had no school, no dragon work, and she could split her time between studying and St. Mungo's - and on the Wolfsbane Potion, since Remus's transformation would occur on Wednesday. It would mark the second blue moon in a year, and two transformations in a month made for more time standing over a cauldron than Ginny had ever bargained for. Still she'd made the potion several times now, and hardly had to concentrate on it any more.
"I'm sure it tires you out just to be near him so often. Perhaps you could do less work on the dragons, if you're not willing to stop working on them altogether. They hardly need two hours of your time every afternoon. Once a week should suffice."
Ginny bit her tongue. She wasn't about to abandon Charlie and Harry and the rest of the riders to work with dragons that would get sick again if she wasn't there, but she knew it was no good to explain that to Remus. He'd just give her another speech on maturity and priorities and decisions and learning to say no, and she wasn't in the mood. Besides, she had an appointment.
She made herself smile a little. "I'll think about it," she said lightly, and stood.
"Off to St. Mungo's?" Remus looked back down at his papers.
"I was already there this morning. I'm going to go outside for a while."
Remus glanced up again, looking surprised. "That's good. Have a nice walk."
Ginny nodded and left the house. She didn't bother checking her reflection or changing out of her work robes - it wasn't that sort of appointment - and she didn't even need to grab a cloak, now that the weather had grown mild. She walked for a little while so that her excuse for leaving the house would not technically be a lie, and then she shut her eyes and concentrated on a place she couldn't believe she was going to visit. When she opened her eyes again she stood on wide, black marble steps, as impressive as the entrance to Gringotts.
Malfoy Manor.
Ginny looked up and took an unbalanced step back. The gray stone walls stretched several stories high, making her feel dizzy. Dozens of massive windows glinted in the midmorning light. The front doors were twice her height and as wide as the ones at Hogwarts. Did people really live like this?
She raised the heavy, silver knocker and pounded it three times against the polished black doors. The door swung silently open and a female house-elf, looking terrified and dejected, appeared in the foyer.
"Your name?" the elf squeaked.
"Ginny Weasley." Ginny couldn't believe the Malfoys' nerve. "You're free, you know," she told the elf. "It's illegal for them to keep you here. You can go whenever you like."
The elf only cringed. She gestured Ginny into the first entryway of the manor, and shut the doors. "If Miss would follow me."
Furious that she'd agreed to come on terms of complete confidentiality, Ginny followed the poor little elf through another set of black doors and into a second entry chamber. Sconces flared to life as they walked into the high, dark room, and the carved double doors gleamed at either end. They had been intricately carved with what looked like thousands of coiling, writhing serpents. They were really moving. Ginny shivered and tried to imagine being a child in a house where even the doors were terrifying. She looked up and shivered again; someone had mounted trophies of dead things. Not even whole bodies, but wings, talons, fangs and scales - even very rare horns. It seemed so heartless.
"You have no cloak?" the elf asked, stopping at the far doors. "No bag?"
Ginny shook her head and stayed still while the elf raised her knobbly hands. The air around them crackled and Ginny knew that she was being searched for weapons.
"Your wand." The elf held out her hand.
"Nice try," Ginny said.
"But the rules, Miss -"
"Tell Mr. Malfoy he'll have to relax his rules. I'm not giving up my wand."
The elf, looking frightened, disappeared into thin air with a crack!
While Ginny waited, she tried the doors at either end of the windowless chamber, and found them locked. "Alohomora!" she whispered, but found herself knocked back several steps by the force of an invisible ward. She steadied herself and tried to Apparate into the next chamber, but found that Apparition was also impossible. It would be difficult to break out of here, and Ron's words were suddenly loud in Ginny's mind, telling her not to be alone with Malfoy, for whatever reason. No one even knew she was here. That had been extremely stupid.
Just as she was about to panic, the door opened before her, and the elf showed a very shaky Ginny into the drawing room.
"Wait here." She left Ginny alone.
The room was bigger and higher than the entire Burrow, and Ginny walked around it, awed. On either side of the room, fires snapped in twin fireplaces, both large enough to comfortably hold a dozen people, both flanked by giant stone hydras, their fangs bared, their heads expertly detailed - Ginny was sure they were going to strike at her. The walls of the room were stone, so highly polished that they seemed to be made of silver. She weaved her way across a soft, silent carpet, between gilded chairs with velvet seats, beneath flickering chandeliers…
She was amazed. This wasn't a home at all; it was a museum. Everything was perfectly arranged and obviously valuable - and tremendously cold. Nothing showed signs of wear or age, or even use. It seemed like a very big dollhouse to Ginny, who had a strong urge to mess something up and make it more real. The room was empty in every real way; alive as it looked, it was very much dead - recently dead, as if the life force had just gone out of it and left it a shell.
Disturbed, Ginny let her eyes stray to the portrait on the far wall. It was an elegant life-sized painting of all three Malfoys, beautifully lit - a wizard painting, obviously. So the people in it should have moved. But they all sat still and stared down at the room. Only Lucius Malfoy smiled, just barely, his lips curving up at her as if to say Yes. All this is mine. Including you.
Mesmerized, Ginny walked towards it, but when she got to the center of the room, she felt as if her insides had suddenly collapsed. Gravity gave way - she pressed her hands to her stomach and tried to breathe. She couldn't see. It was as if she had fallen through the floor and into a tank of ice water; Malfoy Manor disappeared, and around her, in her powerful mind's eye, rose the Chamber of Secrets. Whispers filled her mind, seductive and irresistible. Riddle's whispers, his words. Riddle's handwriting unraveled across the blackness around her, page upon page of it, glowing and perfect. He had been here. Lived here, dormant, for many years. Things belonging to him were still very nearby. He was gone, and yet he remained, and Ginny felt him take root in her before she could do anything to stop it. She moaned, her heart hammering so hard that she knew it would kill her if she couldn't make it stop -
"So good of you to be on time, Weasley."
Ginny gasped for breath as if she'd just been pulled from drowning. She wrenched her eyes open.
"Keep it up and you'll earn your wage."
She barely heard him. She was so glad to hear someone that it didn't matter what he said. Ginny stumbled back until she leaned against a sofa, and she gripped its back with both hands, staring wide-eyed at the empty space in front of her. Her mind was clear. Her vision was restored. It was as if nothing had ever happened, except that her mouth was very dry and she knew she would have nightmares, tonight.
"Are you ill?"
She glanced at Draco, who stood poised in one of the doorways. His hair and skin stood apart in this dark vault of a room, and seemed to float above his sweeping black robes. It was an unsettling contrast.
"Do you… want to work in this room?" she asked in return.
As if he knew and liked what the room was doing to her, Draco smirked. "Did you expect another room, perhaps?"
"I don't know." Ginny let go of the sofa and straightened. "It's a big house."
"You're used to something smaller, I know." Draco walked through the room and waved a careless hand at the fire. It dimmed, just slightly. "I wouldn't want you to get lost. This room will serve." He sat in a huge, throne-like chair and sprawled out. But it was a collected sprawl, as if he'd practiced relaxing in front of a mirror. One knee was bent, the other extended; one arm dangled over the arm of the chair and the other forearm rested, fingers playing on the wood. He rested his head on the dark green velvet and swept his eyes from her head to her feet. A look of mild distaste crossed his expression.
Ginny got the distinct impression that he felt she cheapened the house, by standing in it. It bothered her, but she waited for him to finish pretending that he was relaxed and then pulled a much smaller chair over to him. She sat facing him, so close that their knees almost touched.
Draco snapped up. He pulled his legs in and glared at her. "Have a care the way you drag my furniture about, Weasley."
Ginny stayed quiet and still. His poise was shattered, his mask was gone, and it would be much simpler to work, this way. The air around him was full of awkward anger, and that, at least, was something. She put out a hand and shut her eyes.
"Wait."
Ginny felt her hand knocked away. Draco had barely touched her, but for some reason the contact was acutely painful. "Ow!" She opened her eyes and shook her burning fingers, not sure what had just happened.
"Don't whimper, I hardly touched you." Draco sat well back. "Now listen to me. I have employed you, and this is what I want - I want to sleep."
Ginny raised her eyebrows. Did he mean here, in front of her? Or just in general?
"I… don't sleep well," he went on, not looking at her now. "Minimal assistance from a Healer should make it easier to sleep… well."
Ginny worked not to show her surprise. That had been an honest beginning. "All right," she said. "Can you tell me a bit more? How do you normally sleep?"
He glanced at her. "Badly." The word dripped with sarcasm.
"Yes, but specifically? Do you wake up often, or do you have trouble getting to sleep in the first place?"
He sighed, obviously irritated that he had to talk about it. "I wake up often. I'm restless. I…" He paused and nailed her with a look. "Don't you ever have nightmares, Weasley?"
She wondered how he knew. "Yes," she said. "All right." She understood nightmares. She could help with nightmares. "I'm going to put out my hands again, if you'd kindly not hit them."
"Don't put them where they don't belong and we won't have a problem," Draco muttered. He fell back against the velvet chair, turned his head away, and shut his eyes.
Ginny gazed at him, and mixed with her annoyance was pity. Now that she knew what she was looking for, he did seem exhausted - and it was no wonder he suffered from nightmares, living in this house. She wondered why there were no sleepless shadows under his eyes. He was so naturally pale that she would have expected telltale smudges. She raised a careful hand before his face, and knew her answer.
"I'm going to have to take this… spell… off of you," she said hesitantly. And when he did not protest, she pulled her wand and repealed his Glamour.
Draco flinched, but kept his eyes firmly shut, and Ginny was glad that he couldn't see her jaw drop. He was haggard. His skin was not icy pale after all, but ash gray and sweating. His forehead was lined. The corners of his mouth turned down. His nose was chapped, the skin under his eyes was puffed and bluish, and his eyelids were swollen and pink. Ginny tucked away her wand and held her hands out again, aware that it wasn't only sleeplessness, but grief that made him look like this. Grief and a ruined psyche.
She moved her hands across the cold ring of air that made up the surface of his aura; it felt like the stone walls of his house. Polished. Freezing. It stood out around him in a wide, impenetrable arc, much further from his body than Hermione's or Ron's. Gingerly, she pushed her fingertips forward and felt them absorbed into the innards of his energy. And underneath the polish, closer to his head, Ginny felt a mass of writhing undercurrents. She felt she'd plunged her hands into a river of snakes. It was revolting, but she marshaled every scrap of will power and kept her hands where they were. She eased her fingers along the serpentine coils of energy, smoothing them flat as she caught them and curled her palms around them, warming them. Making them fluid and human. It was slow, painstaking work, but it absorbed her so completely that she barely felt the time pass. She felt instinctively that it was right to work here, near his head, where the sleeplessness was centered. But to be perfectly sure that she had targeted him correctly, she dropped her hands lower and felt the air around his heart.
It was like another aura altogether. Ginny was shocked to feel a hard, gnarled undercrust to the frozen ring. Nothing slithered or moved here; it only ached and burned, throbbing hot and dry against her hands like something parched. She wanted to give it water. She didn't know how to help it. She stretched her fingers deeply into its roots as if she were something cool and liquid, and willed the anguish to abate.
Abruptly, there was nothing. No aura. No temperature. Ginny gasped and opened her eyes to see that Draco had shot out of his chair and was striding to the far door, his back to her.
"That's enough," he said, his voice unsteady, and disappeared into a corridor.
Seconds later, the elf appeared in the same doorway. "Master is collecting your wage," she said, and retreated into shadow.
Ginny stood, and fell back down again at once. Her knees were weak and her head pounded. She had no idea how long she'd been working, but it had taken the life out of her for today. She couldn't imagine Apparating any time soon, especially since, now that she was fully open and there was nothing else to concentrate on, she could feel this house to its depths. Ron had been held and tortured here, somewhere in this perfect manor. She could feel the shadow of his experience; it lingered, mingling with a thousand other tortures, somewhere deep beneath this showcase of a house.
"This should be adequate pay." Draco had returned with his Glamour back in place. He came straight to her chair holding an exquisitely embroidered coin pouch, which he thrust into her face.
Ginny looked at the money and knew she couldn't take it. She had no idea where it really came from. She ignored the pouch and looked up at Draco instead. "You're not what you think you are," she told him, clasping her hands in her lap. "I know what truly bad people are capable of, and you're not that." Her voice came from somewhere far away; she wasn't sure why she was saying it. But she knew it was the truth. He was not Riddle. He was not his father. He was vicious, but mostly he was lost, and she felt so sorry for him.
Draco's eyes glassed over. His hand, holding the pouch, trembled a fraction. She reached up to take it from him, and her fingers brushed his hand.
"Ow!" she cried, and snatched her hand away. The pouch crashed to the floor and coins rolled in all directions. It was like fire - something about his hand - Ginny had felt the same thing an hour ago, when he had pushed her hand away. "What was that?"
Draco looked blankly at his fingers, then yanked his hand back. Something on it flashed gold.
"What is that - a ring?" Ginny demanded. "The one with the M on it?" She'd heard about it from Ron. She'd seen the M marked on Ron's temple.
Draco glanced at his hand, making a show of nonchalance. "It was my father's," he said, his voice full of disdain.
Ginny reached out for it and managed to touch it again - but the shock that went up her arm was not physical, as she had previously thought. It burned, but in a deeper, more familiar way. It was a shock of pure power. Controlling power. Dark power. Ginny knew just what to compare it to.
"Let me see it."
Draco stepped back and pulled his hand close to his body. "What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, when she stood and lunged to touch the ring again. There was something about it - something she had to know. "Your work here is finished."
"Hold out your hand," Ginny said, her voice very low. "I mean it."
"Your work here," Draco repeated cuttingly, " is finished. You have your pay. If you will not leave, I will see you escorted out."
"But -"
"And don't expect my assistance with the dragons any longer." He sneered at her. "You've had more than enough time to Heal them. Though after your little display this afternoon, I can see that your gifts are practically a sham - I feel no different - it's no surprise that you haven't managed to get your job done."
Ginny gritted her teeth. "I bet you'll sleep tonight," she said angrily. "Let me know how that goes, and then tell me my work's a sham."
"Weasley," he said, his voice full of derision, "if I ever speak to you again, it won't be by choice. Now get out before I throw you out."
"Is that a threat?"
He drew his wand.
Ginny wondered if she was strong enough to fight, but it seemed she had no choice. She put her hand to her own weapon a second too late - Draco twisted his wand and she flinched -
But he only vanished. At the same moment, the room plunged into total darkness. Ginny was terrified. But almost immediately, the foyer doors flew open, and a shaft of light spilled into the massive drawing room. The house-elf scurried into the light and beckoned to her.
"This way, Miss."
Frustrated, frightened and very tired, Ginny gathered what was left of her strength. She left the spilled coins on the floor and went quickly out of the manor.
When the front doors had shut her out for good, she slumped back against them, squinting in the dying light that glared across the statue-studded lawns. Her heart raced, yet her blood seemed to be pumping slowly, like something dark and thick and tainted, and she knew that she would never come back here. She never wanted to work on Draco Malfoy again.
And she would no longer have an escort when she got to work on Monday.
"Damn," she said softly. But there was no way around it; she would simply have to do what she could from afar. She certainly couldn't ask Harry to take her up. And he would have been hurt trying, anyway.
Ginny rested against the stones of Malfoy Manor until she believed she wouldn't splinch, and then she gathered her wits and Apparated right into her bedroom at Lupin Lodge, so exhausted that she didn't even undress before falling into bed. The moment her head hit the pillow, her eyes fell shut. Her thoughts were messy and out of order - Remus's worried face, the froth of a brewing potion, the Grangers in their beds, the dragons' giant eyes, her father in the Minister's office, Riddle's beautiful handwriting, the way Draco Malfoy really looked, the splash of coins on plush green carpet, the way houses felt when there was no love in them, the way Harry's voice felt when it was just behind her ear, the way his eyes smiled when it was just for her, the way he laughed… She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Her last clear thought, as the darkness tumbled over her, was that she wished she had never signed a confidentiality contract with Draco Malfoy. She wished she could tell someone that there was something funny about that ring…
~*~
