Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Arthur Weasley
December 24, 1997. Arthur whistled softly to himself, a curious half-rhythm, but the elusive melody constantly flitted around the edges of his conscious grasp. He was pruning old leaves out of a flower bouquet in front of the Burrow. There were spells that would have done this more quickly and far more effectively. With the wedding only twenty four hours away, it would have been prudent to use them, but Arthur was looking for something to distract him, and this laborious Muggle chore fit the bill perfectly. Afterward, he would move onto the various hedges around the compound.
There were many fascinating things going on in his head at that moment. In preparation for the event, Tonks and Hermione had been sprucing things up, with a lot of help from the house-elves. They had added picturesque but temporary stone columns out beside the building, as well as a small, ornate platform. Rows of white chairs circled the platform, with streams of flowers spreading out in every direction.
He paused to consider the future of the young couple. For the time being, they would continue to stay with the Order of the Phoenix, of course. Harry had commissioned the elves to begin work on a large Manor on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Arthur had himself seen the plans, and they were breathtaking. It would be a three-story building, covering a city block, with eight bedrooms. What a wonderful place to raise children. With a twinge of embarrassment, he turned his thoughts to The Burrow; the claustrophobic, run-down, glorified-shack-of-a-house that he had raised his own children in. We did a good job though, raising our kids, didn't we? Even if it did not turn out so well for all of them in the end…
The Potter Manor was to be the home of his youngest child and only daughter, Ginny. Inside, he hoped, she would find a life filled with joy, the devotion of her husband, and a slew of redheaded children. A father is always protective of his daughters, and giving her away to a young man is always a great risk. In this category at least, he felt blessed: Ginny had made a fine choice in Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Lived.
That is, if he did.
Arthur's constant struggle was to keep his mind off of the dark shadows that loomed over the future. He knew that the hopeful vision he had for his daughter's future was tenuous. Even as he trimmed flowers, the few remaining members of The Order of the Phoenix were preparing for their final showdown with the Deatheaters, a fight they had little chance of winning. Harry's threat to split the Order seemed to have died away in the wake of wedding preparations, but Remus had decided to go on the offensive anyway. He and Harry had hatched a plan for the assault on the Malfoy Manor: Harry would arrive at the scene before the rest of the Order, and lie in wait. The Order would divide into two teams, one lead by Remus and the other by Hermione, and they would flank the Malfoy Manor, leaving no path to escape. Harry would remain in the shadows until after the assault had begun, and enter the fray only after the appearance of the Dark Lord. From there, they could only hope that things went their way.
Arthur knew that his future son-in-law was in grave danger even before the risky plan was launched. The most powerful wizard in the world was hunting him, and if the Dark Lord got his way, this wedding would find itself short one groom. In fact, it was not entirely clear that Harry was still alive. He had not been seen in several weeks, and the Deatheaters were still active. Hedwig, Harry's owl, arrived from time to time with words of encouragement and small gifts for Ginny, but there was no way to be sure that these came from Harry himself. Even the most recent owl was a week removed from that moment.
"Minister Riddle" had re-opened the Daily Prophet, and begun printing papers with a decided editorial slant. The Muggle military continued to search for the Order, as did the Deatheaters; although admittedly a healthy distance from where they actually were. Remus suspected that The Dark Lord was magically coercing the Muggle Prime Minister.
For the umpteenth time, Arthur cursed Harry's sense of timing. Why would he choose to hold a wedding while the shadow of death still hangs over all of us? In the last year, Ginny had lost three brothers and her mother to the violence of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. How can he expect to start a happy marriage like that, on the heels of such great personal tragedy? And with the last battle still looming, the outcome of the entire messy affair still unresolved?
Harry had said that he wanted to hold it then, in the darkest hour, as a symbol of confidence and hope. He wanted to let the Dark Lord know that no matter how perilous the situation might appear, they could still lead happy, complete lives. He wanted Ginny to know that he would always love her, and always be with her, even when the world seemed ready to end. This was all good thinking, Arthur knew, right up until the point where the Deatheaters would crash the party and annihilate all their friends and family, all neatly convened in the same place.
Listen to me! I'm beginning to sound like Moody.
Arthur wiped his brow, and the perspiration dampened the backside of his gloves. The sun was beating down with intensity on the Burrow through a cloudless sky. Ir was unseasonably warm. He looked up at it in wonder. How long has it been since I've seen the sun in these dark days? Still, he was thankful for the brightness. For the afternoon at least, it seemed as though everything might be all right.
With a sigh of frustration, he set down his shears and pulled off his gloves. The bushes looked horrible, he had to admit. Reluctantly, he pulled out his wand and corrected in thirty seconds all the damage he had done in four hours of Muggle trimming. He left the shears and the gloves on the ground, and went inside to find his daughter.
"What's the password?" Colin demanded, half in jest. He and his younger brother Dennis kept a steadfast watch on the front door to the Burrow. Inside, Arthur knew that Ginny would be in her room, preparing for the ceremony the following day. He was thankful for the security, and never lost his patient with their measures.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Arthur intoned, and went through the door as soon as the grinning Creevey brothers moved out of his way. He crossed the living room in a few spaces, trying not to think of the horrible night, so many months ago, when the Deatheaters had come to his own home. Harry had staved off the attack almost single-handedly, but ever since Arthur had felt uncomfortable in his home. What if they came back, now?
He stepped lightly into the kitchen, and paused in front of the staircase, looking at the kitchen table. He took a seat on the bottom step and stared at it in reminiscence. There were still nine chairs crammed around it, although they only needed four now. Before he was aware of it, tears began tricking down his face, and he suddenly realized that he was sobbing.
* * * *
November 1, 1997. Arthur leaned against the wall in the old warehouse, staring at the ceiling wordlessly. The Order had just returned from the Ministry, counting their losses and licking their wounds. The body count was still being tallied, but thus far the numbers were staggering. Minerva's death had plunged the order in to a state of chaos; it was not entirely clear where they would proceed, who they would turn to. But she was not the only one lost: not by a long shot.
Emmeline, Mundungus, and Sturgis had fought valiantly and died in the battle. They were joined by heavy casualties from the Ministry: it seemed as though every member of the magical government had met their doom that night. Arthur was dimly aware of the great losses their side had taken, but his mind centered on the one closest to him.
He had taken his team into the thick of the conflict, and disaster struck quickly. They had emerged from the staircase on the middle floor of the Ministry, and the scene was thick with spells. Before they had a chance to find cover, a group of Deatheaters converged on their position, and sprayed them with killing curses. Mundungus and Bill were killed instantly.
The rest of the evening had been a blur. Arthur had become insensate with rage; and began recklessly attacking the Deatheater hordes, without concern for his duty as team leader or even his personal safety. Somehow, he and Angelina Finnigan met up with Hestia Jones and Igor Karkaroff, and they stayed together until the Deatheaters had finally been repulsed. Now, Arthur found himself back at Headquarters, with only one thing on his mind. Bill… He had now lost two sons and a wife to this horrible war.
"Mr. Weasley?"
Arthur diverted his eyes from the ceiling to see Harry standing in front of him. The youth did not look well. His skin was caked in a thick paste of dust, blood, and sweat. His face was unnaturally pale, and his eyes were blood shot. He seemed to be shivering. I know how you feel.
Behind Harry stood Remus, looking only slightly better than the youth.
"What is it, Harry?" Arthur asked wearily.
Harry turned to Remus with a plaintive look. "Arthur," the werewolf said, his voice grave. "We have something… unpleasant to show you."
"I'm not sure I could handle anything more today," Arthur replied truthfully.
Remus and Harry grimaced. Remus spoke softly. "I'm afraid that your night is far from over, old friend.
What more horrors could possibly await me than the loss of my son? "Very well," Arthur responded, gesturing to the other wizards that he would follow them.
Remus and Harry lead him into an adjoining corridor, and turned into the first room on the left. "I should tell you that no one has seen this except for Harry and I," Remus told him. "I will leave it up to you how to handle this." The room had presumably been an office when the warehouse had been inhabited by Muggles, but was now barren. The walls were a dirty white in hue, and all of the furniture had been removed. There was nothing in the room except for three wizards and one redheaded corpse.
"Oh, god!" Arthur choked, fresh tears arriving in his eyes. "Percy!" He collapsed to his knees beside the fallen youth, cradling the head of his son in his shaking arms. Whygodwhy?
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Remus said simply, still standing beside the door, which he had closed behind him. "I know this must be tough for you."
"You have no idea!" Arthur screeched, surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Why is he.. wearing these robes?" Arthur sobbed, tugging at the thick green clothing on his son's body.
Neither Harry nor Remus said anything. Arthur stared at them in wild disbelief, but they held their silence. Tears began running down Harry's face. He too collapsed on the ground beside the cold form of Percy Weasley, and began shaking with great heaving sobs.
"Why is my son wearing the robes of a Deatheater?" Arthur shouted, angrily tearing at the cloth in his hands. He could not believe the only answer his mind could provide.
"I'm so sorry," Harry gasped. Arthur realized that the boy had not spoken in several long minutes. "It's all my fault!"
Percy… why? Why did you go to their side?
"Actually, it explains a lot," Remus went on in his low voice. "The Minister and everyone close to him were exterminated very early in the battle, we think. Someone close to Fudge must have betrayed him."
"I'm so sorry!" Harry wailed again.
"This has nothing to do with you," Arthur breathed. He could feel his insides going cold. The tears stopped in his eyes, and he suddenly felt nothing at all.
Harry regarded Arthur cautiously, then proceeded slowly. "Mr. Weasley, I… I killed him."
"What… do you mean, Harry?"
"Right after the dragon appeared, the battle turned our way. I was flying around on a broomstick on the street level, trying to find the thickest group of Deatheaters to attack," Harry said. "Then, one of them signaled the retreat. I figured this must be their leader, so I… I snuck up behind him, and killed him. I… I swear I didn't know who it was, Mr. Weasley!"
The three of them sat in silence for long minutes, while Arthur's mind whirled with the news. His emotions seemed to have finally died altogether; he could no longer feel the pain of his losses, nor the shame of Percy's actions. Harry spent the entire time watching him with tear-filled eyes, waiting for Arthur's reaction.
"Harry," he said at last, his voice devoid of feeling. "It isn't your fault. Percy chose this when he went over to the Dark Lord's side."
"I didn't know! I'm so sorry!" Harry wailed again.
"Harry, you have to forgive yourself. Right away," Arthur breathed. "You can't possibly blame yourself for his death: you were merely doing your job, and doing it well. But it is imperative that you let go of your guilt, Harry. Do you understand me?"
Harry looked back at him in utter bewilderment.
"Remus, I think I know what you meant when you said that I could decide how to handle this."
Remus nodded. "Your choice: Percy died bravely, defending the Minister, or… as it stands now."
"I would in no way seek to ameliorate or ease my sufferings. I don't know how I would. I have suffered more than I think you could understand, Remus, have shed so many tears… All rivers decrease to mine eyes," Arthur said slowly. "But I must think of my remaining children, and how this news would affect them. If I can at all help it, they will never know the truth of Percy's horrible actions."
"Very well," Remus agreed, his voice low and serious.
Harry caught on. "Let's get these awful robes off of him."
Remus left shortly thereafter, and Harry and Arthur attended to the corpse. The hoax was complete by the time Alastor Moody poked his head in.
"Potter," he growled in his characteristic way.
Harry looked up, alarmed. "What is it, Moody?" He glanced back at Arthur with a grave, conspiratorial look.
"Where is Fawkes?" Moody said gruffly.
Harry was visibly relieved by the question. "I, er, sent him to be with Ginny. Right after the fight. I wanted to be sure she was safe."
Arthur tore his attention away from Percy and looked at Harry in wonderment. "You-you love my daughter, don't you?"
The young man did not waver. "Yes sir, I do."
Thank God for that. "Thank you."
* * * *
Soon enough, this awful war will be over. And then we can begin again.
Arthur stifled his cries and wiped away the tears. He reminded himself that he had to be strong at that moment, for his own daughter's happiness. He got back to his feet after a second, and ascended the stairs quickly. He stopped when he reached the closed door to Ginny's room. He knocked softly. "Ginny? May I come in?"
"Come on in," came her soft voice from inside.
Arthur turned the knob and stepped through the door. The sunlight came streaming in through the open curtains, creating a twinkling on every surface in the room. There were flowers in here as well, filling the room with a pleasant fragrance and many bright colors. Fawkes, who had become a recent fixture at the Burrow, sat in the window. Ginny sat in front of the mirror at her bureau, playing with her long, curly hair. She was wearing her wedding dress: white and lacey, but not overly complicated. He knew it well; her mother had worn it at their wedding.
"Wow, you look beautiful, Gin," Arthur exclaimed, his heart swelling with pride.
Ginny turned away from the mirror and looked back at him with an appreciative smile. "Thanks," she said. "I thought I'd go ahead and try the dress on. It fits pretty well."
"Yes, you're about the same build as, ah, your mother was," he said with difficulty. He stepped over to stand beside her, tenderly touching a curl of her read hair. On the table in front of her was arrayed her hairbrush, a few pieces of jewelry, various baubles, and a glass of some sort of potion. This he picked up and smelled. "Ugh! What is this?"
"A potion Hermione made for me," she answered, sighing heavily. "It's… supposed to make me feel better."
Arthur put the glass back down and looked at his daughter in alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked suddenly.
"It's nothing much, I've just been feeling a bit under the weather lately," she answered, sounding embarrassed. "I just want to make sure I'm on top of things tomorrow."
Arthur frowned with deep concern. Something was seriously bothering his daughter, and it was not hard to guess what. We make everything here so pretty, so ornate, and we expect her to forget that the war is raging out there in the world, that her fiancé' is likely in mortal danger, that her family is dying slowly..
Hanging from one of the posts of the bureau was a silver chain with her wedding ring on it. It had apparently belonged to Lily Potter, many years ago, and his daughter would wear it for the rest of her life. Arthur only hoped that she would enjoy it longer than the previous owner had. He reached out to grab it, but Ginny slapped his hand away. He withdrew his hand in surprise.
"I'm sorry, Dad," she said, sighing heavily. "I just polished it, and I don't want anyone to touch it before the ceremony."
"Oh, no problem." It was easy to push his annoyance away. Poor, tragic girl.
"Listen, Ginny," he said, feeling as though he had a weight on his chest. "I don't know if I've taken the time to explain to you all the things that have been going on in my head. First of all, I want you to know how very much I love you. These have been, well, very hard times for all of us, and I've often regretted that I didn't tell my children I loved them often enough. I… won't get another chance with several of them, and that hurts me. There a lot of things I wish I had said to them, and now I'll never get the chance. I won't make that same mistake with you. I don't have any words of wisdom to offer you before tomorrow. I can only tell you that the key to making a happy home is remembering the love you have for your family; if you make that your top priority you won't get too far off track. I want you to know that I'm proud of you, and I look forward to the happy life you will have. I think you have a fine man in Harry, and I know that he would go to the ends of the Earth to make you happy. I only wish I knew where he was right now, as I'm sure you do."
Ginny blinked, tears starting in her eyes. "I-I'm sure he's safe," she said timidly.
Arthur nodded, exhaling sharply. "I only fear that he may have done something rash."
"Like what?"
"Like seeking out The Dark Lord on his own," Arthur said. He did not want to say these things to his daughter, but felt she should be aware of the possibility.
"I'm sure he wouldn't do anything like that," she said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.
"I am not so sure," a cold voice came from the doorway. Arthur whirled around to see his actual worst nightmare; Lord Voldemort standing in his daughter's room. "But he hasn't had much luck has he? Because here I am."
The evil wizard made a jerking motion with his outstretched wand, and Arthur's own weapon flew out of his robes before he could even draw it. The Enemy snatched the wand out of the air and threw it out the door, into the corridor. Another jerk of his wand sent Arthur flying up against the far wall hard. He found that he could no longer move.
Ginny got to her feet, her face showing a mix of fear and defiance.
"It's fortuitous that you are here, Arthur Weasley," the Dark Lord rasped. "I think I will let you live today, that you might carry the message. You can go back to your Order and tell them that I have killed Harry Potter's lover." His laughter filled Arthur's body with coldness.
Voldemort gazed deeply into Arthur's eyes, and the patriarch of the Weasley's felt a tingling inside his skull. "Ah…" Voldemort sighed. "Most interesting. The Forbidden Forest. I should have seen it myself. But no matter, we will attend to your friends at headquarters soon enough. Your meager attack will never materialize."
"Why-Why didn't Harry see this coming?" Ginny whimpered, more to herself than anyone else. "He swore he would protect me!"
Arthur continued to strain his muscles, but the invisible binding held him fast. He looked about for any sign of help, but there was none. Even Fawkes had vanished. He prayed that the Phoenix would return shortly with Harry.
"Your lover is a fool, and his death will come soon enough," Voldemort cackled. He walked across the room slowly toward Ginny, who backed away a couple of steps. His wand was still in his hand, loosely pointed at her heart. Clearly, he felt unthreatened, in control. He came to a stop beside the bureau, which he examined with interest.
"I think I recognize this wedding ring," Voldemort breathed. "I've already killed the first owner of it. Maybe you should put it on, little Weasley, and you can die wearing this little keepsake."
"Oh no! Why this now?" Ginny sounded hysterical. Her body began to convulse with sobs.
Voldemort reached out his long, green fingers and touched her face, running his dry skin against her cheek. "Yessss… He will misss you." He smiled viciously, then reached out and grabbed the ring.
And vanished.
Ginny instantly stopped her sobbing and whirled to face her father. "I have to go now," she said simply. "If-if I don't make it back from this, know that I loved you very much."
"Wait, Ginny, what-". Arthur cut short his protest as his daughter pulled open a drawer and seized the wand inside. "What are you doing?" he asked, unable to believe his eyes.
Her eyes softened, as if fresh tears were on the way. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped herself. She reached down and picked up her brush: the other portkey in the room. She vanished immediately as well.
Arthur's screams filled the house for several minutes on end. He was not sure how much time had passed before he heard footsteps on the stairs. A second later, Remus burst in, carrying Arthur's wand, with the Creevey Brothers on his heels.
"Arthur, what has happened?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear. He undid the enchantment holding Arthur to the wall.
"Ginny!" Arthur howled, collapsing to his knees. "She's… gone to fight Lord Voldemort!"
"What?" Colin gasped.
"He was here – in this room! He came to kill her, but she… she used a portkey to… She went to fight him! I don't know where they are," Arthur sobbed. His thoughts were whirling through incarnations of doom, all swirling around one central thought, which he screamed out in agony: "I can't help her!"
"Oh no…" Dennis spoke up.
"Arthur, we… I hate to say it, but we can't help that right now," Remus said softly. "I just got the word from Harry. He's at Malfoy manner, and Hermione's team is moving into position. We've got to go, Arthur. The final battle is upon us."