Ch. 16: Tears
Several weeks had now passed since Ron's death, and Harry still felt as though someone had ripped away a vital part of himself. Everywhere he went he was reminded of his lost love. On this particular day he'd decided to visit Diagon Alley hoping to distract himself from his grief for at least a few minutes and instead had found himself standing in front of a quidditch supply store crying his eyes out. There had been a poster in the window advertizing an upcoming Chuddley Cannons game. ' Ron loves the Cannons,' he'd thought to himself. 'I'll have to see about getting us some tickets.' he'd been on the verge of inquiring about the tickets in question when he'd remembered that Ron wouldn't be there to enjoy the game, and that had started the waterworks. It wasn't fair. What right had Ron had to up and leave him like that. He hadn't even had the chance to tell him just once more how much he loved him before he was gone. He and Ron had always been together, and yet he'd had the meanness to go away and leave Harry all alone. He.... Harry was struck by the fact that he was getting angry at his mate for dying, and the tears began to fall even faster than they had before. He leaned heavily on his cane and let his grief have sway over him, not caring what anyone who saw him thought.
"Sir, are you alright."
He turned towards the voice and found himself looking into the eyes of an obviously concerned and, no doubt, startled young woman with fiery red hair. It was his grand niece Gwendolyn (Weasley) Finnigan.
"Uncle Harry? Are you okay? What's wrong?"
In answer he just pointed at the poster announcing the upcoming quidditch match. She looked, and then nodded as if she understood.
"Uncle Ron wouldn't want you doing this to yourself uncle Harry. He would have wanted you to be happy even though he's gone."
"I know Gwen but I miss him so much. Everywhere I turn I see something that reminds me of him. The other night I found a stale chocolate frog in the couch and all I could think of was how much Ron loved to eat them. Sometimes I'll read something interesting in the Daily Prophet and I find myself thinking that I'll have to tell him about it, only to realize he isn't there. It's just so hard."
"I know uncle Harry, I know. I miss him too. I've got an idea. Why don't you come spend a few days with us at the Burrow. You haven't seen the twins for quite some time now. I swear they're going to be daddy and uncle George all over again."
Harry had to laugh at the thought. He'd seen some of the pranks that the Weasley twins had accomplished when he had been a student at Hogwarts. During his tenure as headmaster of Hogwarts he'd found that the twins had risen to the ranks of legend, and were reguarded as being on a par with the marauders with their many stunts. He could use a change of scene it was true, and the two young boys always brought a smile to his heart.
Ch. 17: Last Battle
Harry sat in front of his fire brooding, and drinking a brandy. Shortly after returning from a visit to the Burrow he'd begun to feel weak and experienced shooting pains in his left arm. One minute he'd been looking out the window and the next he'd been examing the pattern of the parlor's carpet. He'd barely had time to register the sound of a house elf popping into the room before everything went black. When he'd opened his eyes again he found himself looking at a ceiling.
"Ah good you're awake. Take it easy Mr. Potter it's alright you're in the critical care area of St. Mungo's."
He looked towards the voice and found himself facing a healer.
"What am I doing in St. Mungo's? Last thing I remember is..."
"Calm down Mr. Potter. You need to rest. You've been very ill. You were found unconscious by one of your house elves who demonstrated some very quick thinking by summoning aid as quickly as he did."
"But what's wrong with me then? Did I pass out? And if I did then why? Please tell me."
"You have a weak heart Mr. Potter. I'm sorry to say we can't fix this problem, only treat it with potions which will keep you going for a bit longer. It may interest you to know that you've made the front page again." The healer held up a copy of the Daily Prophet. In big, bold type the headline read, "Boy who lived collapses at home." Harry snorted his derision. Would he never have any privacy?
A month later he'd sufficently recovered from his heart attack to leave the hospital. He was advised to take it easy. No apperating, port keying or flooing, and absolutely no flying. That of course left only the knight bus. Molly and the other kids had come to see him home of course. Harry sighed remembering when he'd been the parent and they the children. Now it seemed things had flipped, and he was the child. He finished his brandy and went to bed.
Several weeks had now passed since Ron's death, and Harry still felt as though someone had ripped away a vital part of himself. Everywhere he went he was reminded of his lost love. On this particular day he'd decided to visit Diagon Alley hoping to distract himself from his grief for at least a few minutes and instead had found himself standing in front of a quidditch supply store crying his eyes out. There had been a poster in the window advertizing an upcoming Chuddley Cannons game. ' Ron loves the Cannons,' he'd thought to himself. 'I'll have to see about getting us some tickets.' he'd been on the verge of inquiring about the tickets in question when he'd remembered that Ron wouldn't be there to enjoy the game, and that had started the waterworks. It wasn't fair. What right had Ron had to up and leave him like that. He hadn't even had the chance to tell him just once more how much he loved him before he was gone. He and Ron had always been together, and yet he'd had the meanness to go away and leave Harry all alone. He.... Harry was struck by the fact that he was getting angry at his mate for dying, and the tears began to fall even faster than they had before. He leaned heavily on his cane and let his grief have sway over him, not caring what anyone who saw him thought.
"Sir, are you alright."
He turned towards the voice and found himself looking into the eyes of an obviously concerned and, no doubt, startled young woman with fiery red hair. It was his grand niece Gwendolyn (Weasley) Finnigan.
"Uncle Harry? Are you okay? What's wrong?"
In answer he just pointed at the poster announcing the upcoming quidditch match. She looked, and then nodded as if she understood.
"Uncle Ron wouldn't want you doing this to yourself uncle Harry. He would have wanted you to be happy even though he's gone."
"I know Gwen but I miss him so much. Everywhere I turn I see something that reminds me of him. The other night I found a stale chocolate frog in the couch and all I could think of was how much Ron loved to eat them. Sometimes I'll read something interesting in the Daily Prophet and I find myself thinking that I'll have to tell him about it, only to realize he isn't there. It's just so hard."
"I know uncle Harry, I know. I miss him too. I've got an idea. Why don't you come spend a few days with us at the Burrow. You haven't seen the twins for quite some time now. I swear they're going to be daddy and uncle George all over again."
Harry had to laugh at the thought. He'd seen some of the pranks that the Weasley twins had accomplished when he had been a student at Hogwarts. During his tenure as headmaster of Hogwarts he'd found that the twins had risen to the ranks of legend, and were reguarded as being on a par with the marauders with their many stunts. He could use a change of scene it was true, and the two young boys always brought a smile to his heart.
Ch. 17: Last Battle
Harry sat in front of his fire brooding, and drinking a brandy. Shortly after returning from a visit to the Burrow he'd begun to feel weak and experienced shooting pains in his left arm. One minute he'd been looking out the window and the next he'd been examing the pattern of the parlor's carpet. He'd barely had time to register the sound of a house elf popping into the room before everything went black. When he'd opened his eyes again he found himself looking at a ceiling.
"Ah good you're awake. Take it easy Mr. Potter it's alright you're in the critical care area of St. Mungo's."
He looked towards the voice and found himself facing a healer.
"What am I doing in St. Mungo's? Last thing I remember is..."
"Calm down Mr. Potter. You need to rest. You've been very ill. You were found unconscious by one of your house elves who demonstrated some very quick thinking by summoning aid as quickly as he did."
"But what's wrong with me then? Did I pass out? And if I did then why? Please tell me."
"You have a weak heart Mr. Potter. I'm sorry to say we can't fix this problem, only treat it with potions which will keep you going for a bit longer. It may interest you to know that you've made the front page again." The healer held up a copy of the Daily Prophet. In big, bold type the headline read, "Boy who lived collapses at home." Harry snorted his derision. Would he never have any privacy?
A month later he'd sufficently recovered from his heart attack to leave the hospital. He was advised to take it easy. No apperating, port keying or flooing, and absolutely no flying. That of course left only the knight bus. Molly and the other kids had come to see him home of course. Harry sighed remembering when he'd been the parent and they the children. Now it seemed things had flipped, and he was the child. He finished his brandy and went to bed.