CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Aftershocks

It was half past three. Mrs Weasley had fallen asleep hours ago after drinking Ginny's drug-laced tea. The whole house was sleeping at long last, except perhaps Bill, keeping a vigil over his brother's bed.

And Harry, of course.

He had not moved from his chair at the kitchen table ever since Mr Weasley had left for the Ministry. Ginny had returned briefly, only to disappear again to check on Hermione. That had been hours ago, and she hadn't come back, so Harry supposed she had gone to bed.

Hadn't she told him to go too? Harry vaguely remembered her suggesting it, but for some reason he hadn't taken it in at the time. He'd got through at least seven cups of strong tea while he had been sitting alone. Perhaps that was why his headache had disappeared - numbed under the influence of caffeine, leaving behind a fuzzy sensation. If anything, his painful muscles were even more painful after over four hours in that hard-backed chair.

He knew there was no point in trying to go up to bed. Sleep was a million miles away, despite his exhaustion. He'd lie awake all night, just thinking; remembering their faces, and that gory scene on the kitchen floor. Besides, he needed to be alert, just in case -

It wasn't as though he had never seen such things before. His sixth year at Hogwarts had been full of tragedy, from first to last. When he had arrived back at the Dursley's house at the beginning of the summer, he felt like he had seen bitter, bloody battle. In retrospect, he mused, that had been the case. The gauntlet was down now, and two sides were amassing to slaughter one another. It had been threatening to happen for a long while, and the time had come.

What had happened to Charlie had been no accident, that was certain. The Weasleys had become prime targets now, as Harry had feared. This was no longer a matter of secretive whispers and legends, as it had been when Harry had first come into contact with the wizarding world at the age of eleven. It was a global war for freedom over oppression; life over death.

What would have happened if he hadn't won the Third Task with Cedric that day over two years ago? Harry laughed aloud. He knew perfectly well. Voldemort would not have fallen at the first hurdle. He'd have kept trying, on and on relentlessly, to obtain what he needed to become a living, breathing force once more.

Harry stared blankly at the teapot. In essence, it was all down to him that so many people had been ruthlessly slaughtered. He was the one who had inadvertently achieved world-wide renown at the tender age of one for causing a backlash of power which had supposedly destroyed Voldemort. He was the one whose blood had been used to restore Voldemort to his initial state, ready to draw his old allies again, and reclaim the power he had lost in the intervening years. He was the one who had made friends with Ron that day on the Hogwarts Express, forging a bond between the Weasleys and himself which could not easily be unmade. He was the one who had recklessly fallen in love with Ginny.

Love?

Yes. That was painfully obvious to him now. He couldn't live without Ginny. He could never be the man he wanted to be unless she was in his life. For all his experience and subtlety, his defence skills and his determined spirit, it was Ginny who made him strong enough to face the uncertain future. It was the inward thought of Ginny that made going to bed at night and waking up in the morning bearable. The sound of her mesmorising voice and her gentle touch, which had the power to send his mind into turmoil as well as soothe his worst moments.

And all he had succeeded in doing was endangering her family. Charlie's critical condition upstairs was proof of that.

It was almost four o'clock in the morning when the sound of footsteps on the stairs shook Harry out of his morbid thoughts. The kitchen door swung open.

She stood there in her pyjamas, her flaming hair flowing in waves over her shoulders. In the dimming candlelight, her eyes reflected the fiery glow.

"Harry!" she breathed, as their gazes met. "Have you been here all night?"

He nodded, words escaping him for more than one reason.

Ginny bridged the gap between them, coming to stand beside him, her gentle hands resting on his tense shoulders.

"You need sleep, Harry," she said, softly. "I've already got three invalids on my hands, I don't need another one."

Her words drew a faint smile, until the familiar iron ring choked his heart again. He sighed, letting his eyelids flutter shut for a moment. Her voice sounded sweetly and low in his ear.

"You mustn't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

How could she know that's what I'm thinking?

"It might as well be," he replied, hoarsely. "Your family is shielding a hunted man."

"We're not shielding you. You don't need to be protected like a child, Harry. You've faced more than anyone since the Triwizard Tournament, and you've survived so far. You'll keep on surviving."

"You reckon?" he murmured, doubtfully.

"I know. What happens to this family is not your fault. Charlie, Bill, Mum, Dad, all of us - what we do is voluntary. We've chosen to stand up with The Order against - him. The dangers we accepted at the start, like you've done. This is something we've got to do, and we'll see it through."

A surge of relief spread through Harry like fire. She was right, and she didn't blame him. Thank God.

His mind eased by her soothing words, the pain in his muscles became suddenly more apparent. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You need to rest, Harry," she said, earnestly, gently rubbing her fingertips across his shoulders. "You're so tense."

The affectionate proximity of her touch wasn't helping matters, really.

Her hands began to massage his muscles softly, sending sparks through his body which were entirely inappropriate.

"Try to relax," she suggested, moving up to his neck, coming into contact with bare skin. Harry drew in his breath sharply. He had never felt less relaxed in his life.

Wracking his brains for something to think about that would take his mind off what she was doing, he felt her fingers creep round to his collar, deftly undoing his top buttons.

"What - what are you doing?" he croaked, hastily clearing his throat.

"I can't unknot muscles through fabric, Harry," she said, with a smile in her voice. "Don't worry - I'm only going to undo the top three."

Carefully she pulled his shirt backwards slightly, and slipped her fingers below the material. Harry's eyes snapped shut. If she knew what he was feeling at that moment -

The thought didn't bear thinking about.

The sensation of her rhythmic, gentle movements was making his head spin. If anything, the tension in his body was increasing. After five minutes or so, his attempt to think about something else had failed utterly.

It feels so good.

He couldn't stand it any more. He caught her hands in a tight grip, and mentally shook himself.

"Thanks, Gin," he managed to choke out. "You're completely amazing, did you know that?" She laughed quietly, letting his fingers entwine around hers.

He brushed his lips against one of her palms, willing himself to calm down. He heard - and felt - her draw her breath in softly. Her skin seemed to shiver.

She slowly withdrew her hands, placing her fingertips on his temples where his sensitivity was lower. He relaxed totally as she gently manipulated the pressure points, holding the weight of his head in her palm. It was a feeling in complete contrast to the sensations in his body a mere moment ago. His mind had gone blissfully blank, and a peaceful calmness flooded his soul, seeping into every limb. Whatever she was doing was no ordinary massage, he knew that much, but thinking was becoming gradually more and more impossible -

It wasn't until a slight noise outside jarred him out of his relaxed state that he realised her hands had returned to his neck and shoulders, and were softly caressing his skin again.

The kitchen door opened, and Ron ambled in slowly, rubbing his forehead. He stopped dead as he noted their unusually intimate position.

"What the hell is this?" he said, brusquely.

"What the hell are you doing up at this hour?" said Ginny, removing her hands from Harry's shoulders. Hastily, he pulled his shirt back to it's normal place, wondering why he felt guilty all of a sudden.

Ron, it appeared, did not feel like pursuing the argument. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, and shuffled stiffly towards the back door.

"Woke up," he replied, simply. "Couldn't get back to sleep again."

"How's Hermione?"

"Dead to the world. Did you slip her something as well?"

"No."

"Oh." He opened the back door and disappeared without another word.

Ginny sighed.

"I hope they've made up," Harry said, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"They have," replied Ginny, with a faint smile.

"Oh yes? How do you know?"

"He stayed with her in my room. She was still rather upset, I think." Harry's eyebrows rose. Ginny noticed, and quickly added: "No! Nothing like that!"

Harry grinned. "Where did you sleep, then?"

"In Ron's room," she replied. Harry fancied he saw her blush slightly. "That's how I knew you hadn't been to bed."

"Is that why you came down? To see where I was?"

"To see how you were feeling," she corrected. "Yes. I guessed you'd be awake, thinking."

Their eyes remained interlocked for what seemed like a very long time, until Ginny glanced downwards.

"I should go and relieve Bill," she said. "He's been with Charlie all night."

Harry nodded. He knew that she was wondering whether he would relapse into misery once she'd left him. "I'll be fine, Gin, don't worry."

She raised her eyes again and smiled. "Sure?"

"Sure."

He watched her slender figure all the way across the kitchen and out into the hall, delighting in the sight. He felt strangely desolate when the door closed behind her.

Then he remembered Ron.

***

The night air blew against his face with surprising force. The wind was rising, and it seemed colder than it had been earlier that evening at Oberon's Well. Harry found Ron standing on the patio, leaning his elbows on the stone wall.

"You all right?" he asked, coming to a stop beside him.

Ron hastily hid one of his hands behind his back.

Harry viewed him suspiciously. "Ron, you're not - ?"

Ron's facial expression turned from mild irritation to quick anger in a matter of seconds. He returned Harry's glare and lifted his hand back onto the wall.

"So what if I am?"

Harry sighed. They'd had this conversation too many times before.

"Hermione will kill you if she finds out."

"Great. You're going to grass to her now, are you?" Ron retorted, bitterly.

"No, I'm not! And stop yelling at me, OK? I'm doing my best here!"

Ron snorted, but he seemed to be calming down.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," he said, grimly.

"She'll smell it on your clothes tomorrow."

"I'll change."

Harry felt it wise to abandon the subject, watching Ron blow out a cloud of grey smoke. Though truthfully, Ron was always easier to handle when he had a cigarette in his fingers.

"She'd go mad if she knew," Ron sighed, staring at his hands on the wall. "I can't do anything right, can I?"

"The trouble with you two is that you treat this friendship like a war of wills," Harry said, struck by the unusual display of regret in his best friend's demeanour. "Would it be so bad to lighten up?"

Ron shrugged. "I always say the wrong things. Then she takes the moral highground and makes me feel worse. Then I say the wrong things again." He let his head fall forward into his hands, furrowing his brow.

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd have to leave this one to Ginny. Instead, he laid his hand on Ron's shoulder and gave him a little shake.

The back door opened, and footsteps sounded across the patio towards them. Ron didn't even bother hiding his cigarette this time.

Bill fell onto his elbows on the wall, letting out a long sigh.

"Ginny's taken over," he said, moving his neck stiffly.

"How's Charlie doing?" asked Harry.

"His pulse is stronger, but he's still pale. Has Dad gone to the Ministry?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Give us one of them, Ron."

Ron reached lazily into his pocket and tossed a little box to Bill.

"Mum would hit the ceiling, mate," said Bill, passing the box back when he had taken one.

Harry felt Ron swell with anger beside him, and placed a hand on his elbow, pressing his fingers into the sinews sharply, forcing him to relax. Bill straightened his back like a threatened cat, giving Ron a hard look which he instantly returned. "You going to tell her?"

"No," replied Bill, calmly, leaning on the wall again. "She doesn't like me doing it either, remember?"

The tension in the atmosphere eased almost immediately. Harry was well used to Ron's violent mood swings, and he'd had plenty of practise in handling him. Bill, having the same genes, could empathise with him in a way only siblings could. The next few minutes were spent in contemplative silence as the three of them watched the rising dawn across the valley. Nobody seemed particularly inclined to break the peace, until Ron let out a long stream of smoke in what was clearly a pained sigh.

"You OK?" asked Bill, viewing him sideways.

"Been better," replied Ron, dully.

"You look terrible. Haven't you slept?"

"Caught three or four hours after Hermione fell asleep, but something woke me up. Incidentally, Harry, what was going on in the kitchen when I came down?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and he searched for a reasonable response, but found he didn't really feel like giving one. What passed between him and Ginny was personal, and nobody else's business, and that particular moment in the kitchen had been special. He felt like he was carrying the Holy Grail inside him, and he didn't want to share it. "Nothing."

Ron gave him a quizzical, skeptical look. "Good time to pick," he said, grumpily.

"Nothing was going on!" Harry said, rather more forcefully. "Do you think I - ? Do you think I would - ?" He realised that whatever he said in defence of himself just then would either be a downright lie or the truth, and neither option felt like the wisest thing to say to Ginny's brothers.

Ron shrugged, and gave up the argument. Harry knew that his sister wasn't the only woman on his mind, and even Ginny was having to take second place in his thoughts at that moment.

"I think I'll go back inside," said Ron, flicking his cigarette end over the wall. "See you later."

Harry and Bill exchanged glances as Ron disappeared into the kitchen.

"Phew!" breathed Bill. "Is it me, or is he getting harder to deal with?"

Harry nodded, grimly. "He gets angrier these days. He's a bit screwed up inside, unsurprisingly."

"Hermione?"

Harry smiled. "Good. I was starting to think I was imagining things."

Bill glanced sideways at Harry, curiously. "Is it that obvious to you?"

"I've known him for years," shrugged Harry. "I can tell when something's on his mind, and Hermione's too. I'm just surprised they haven't picked it up in each other yet."

"Ron's notoriously obtuse about things like this," said Bill, with a laugh, twirling his cigarette end in his fingers before flicking it the way of Ron's. "When it's an issue of himself, that is. Bit like you, really."

It took a few seconds for Harry to process the last part, his forehead furrowed, thoughtfully. "Sorry?"

"Are you aware that you're making your feelings towards my sister painfully obvious?"

Bloody hell! Get out of that one, Potter!

Bill was staring at him, half amused, half serious. There was no way out.

Harry resigned himself to his fate, letting his head drop into his hands, running tense fingers through his thick hair. "Is it that obvious?"

"Painfully," replied Bill, nodding.

Harry took a deep breath, waiting for the moment when Bill would accuse him of being thoughtless and cruel to consider endangering Ginny's life -

"Nasty situation," said Bill, blandly. Then he smiled. "You look like you're suffering."

Harry glanced at Bill's face, before attempting to relieve the taut pressure in his temples the way Ginny had done.

"It's killing me."

"That bad, really?"

"Worse."

Bill seemed genuinely surprised, but he didn't appear to be angry at all. He considered for a moment, before turning squarely to face him. "Look, Harry, if it was up to me I'd say tell her how you feel about her, be with her and be happy. You care about her a lot, I know. You've made that obvious too."

"But it's not as simple as that, is it?"

"Unfortunately not. We all just want each other to be safe, you and Hermione included, and that's sometimes trickier than it seems. Loving somebody is often the fastest way towards putting them in danger. It all depends on how strong that love is." Bill laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Whatever you decide, do me a favour, OK?"

"What?"

"Look after my sister."