7. When Losing You
Hermione, Harry and Ron were making their way out of the Great Hall, as the girl suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. The boys nearly bumped into her, but she didn't notice it, turning around. "I nearly forgot!" she exclaimed, slapping her forehead with her flat hand. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me that we should visit the infirmary every two days, starting today. It seems that Professor Flitwick has created a combination of a draining charm and something resembling a storing charm ... Though, I wonder how he ..." As it was typical, Hermione got sidetrack by her fascination of the creation of new and unseen charms. But as it was neither the place nor the time, Harry brought her back to earth. "Yes, sorry," she said, sheepishly. "What I was saying was that the headmaster wants us to 'donate' some of our magic."
"Our magic?" Ron intervened. "But our magic is essential to us! We can't do anything without it! We'd be vulnerable to ..."
"We don't have to fight anymore, Ron," Hermione reminded him, gently. Voldemort was dead and all of his follow Death Eater that had attacked Hogwarts. "And it is not that we lose our magic forever. It would re-grow in a two days time. And these wards I was trying to find out about are going to remain still for around a week. There is no need to worry. Voldemort himself saw to that." She snorted at the irony. But then again, if it wasn't for Voldemort, they wouldn't have to give parts of their magic, leaving them exposed.
"For what does Dumbledore need our magic?" Harry asked.
"Oh, he and the other professors are going to use it to 'feed' it to the wounded students. Hopefully it will help to nurse them back. Though, I don't really know how this is even possible." But that would have to wait, as the wards were a more pressing matter to find out about. "The advantage of this is, of course, that we can be wherever we want to be ... I wouldn't feel all too good to not do anything for my schoolmates ..." Hermione turned abruptly, rubbing her eyes secretly.
----
Molly Weasley didn't try in the least to keep her crying down. She was alone in the Burrow, her children abroad, in their shop or ... at Hogwarts. No one was there to be bothered by her wailing, but that meant that there wasn't anybody to comfort her, either. The tears pouring down her cheeks didn't want to stop, her vocal cords hurt from the constant crying. Only little Pig flew around his owner, trying in vain to soothe her. The mood of the normally so hyper owl was dampened considerably; he couldn't do anything at all. Molly kept on crying, not hearing the unnaturally soft hooting of Pigwidgeon. Only as shrill ringing sounds added to the hooting, did Molly stop her wailing long enough to let a bit sense back into her mind. The ringing had to be the strange Muggle apparatus with which one could talk to someone over great distances. 'Deli phone' or something that sounded similar.
----
Arthur Weasley waited anxiously for his wife to pick up the phone, urging her on mentally. It had taken him long enough to re-load his Muggle device. Sometimes magic had its advantages, Muggle things went out of energy far too quickly, and in situations far too inappropriate. But Arthur didn't curse the telephone, for it was the only possibility to contact Molly and inform her of the latest events that had taken place at the Ministry of Magic. He knew that she must be going crazy with fear not knowing what was happening. Wincing slightly, as he moved his injured arm, Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. With each passing second that Molly hadn't answered the phone, he became more nervous. What if something had happened to her? What if they had attacked the Burrow, too? Though, they were pure blooded, that didn't have to mean they were secure, as You-Know-Who had known long ago that the Weasleys were 'Muggle lovers' as the Dark Lord so nicely put it. Arthur shuddered at the thought of the red-eyed monster and his minions.
The Death Eater attack had come as a total surprise, as Snape had been forced to give up his spying. And the Potions Master had been their sole source, more or less, of the on-goings of the Dark Side. Voldemort's followers had assaulted the ministry out of the blue, the employees totally unprepared. Well, as unprepared as one could be in the given times. There had been many casualties, as it was not unusual in wars. Arthur still thanked every listening deity that Charlie and Bill were still abroad and that Percy - as much a nuisance he could be, he was still his son - was merely injured. The same couldn't be said for Fudge, though. Arthur mused who would be elected the new minister, but shoved these thoughts aside, as they were not necessary at this very moment.
The ringing went on, Molly hadn't picked up the phone yet. Arthur became even more uncomfortable. Hopefully his wife was at home and just couldn't find the device, or she had forgotten which button to press ... Anything.
You-Know-Who was a born strategist Arthur had to admit. The distraction his followers had pulled was ingenious. And this special charm the Death Eaters had used, which resembled this Muggle 'Makro' thing, was ingenious in itself, as well. They had just to utter the right warding spells and they reproduced themselves exponentially. It was the work of a downright genius, and if it hadn't been Voldemort himself, Arthur would have sworn it was Hermione's idea. The Death Eaters didn't have to use any precious hours of spelling and warding, they just had to say each phrase once and they were ready. Ready to trap the whole British Wizarding World in their houses, without the prospect of escape in the near future. How they had managed it, in the first place, was beyond Arthur. What happened to people who weren't in their houses as the spells were activated, he did not know, but he'd rather know that his wife was inside the Burrow, than to start speculating what had happened otherwise.
As the now annoying tone of the vacant telephone line went on, Arthur began to draw the darkest scenarios in his head. "Come on, Molly, dear!" he urged and finally his bidding was heard.
"A-Arthur?" the voice of Molly Weasley asked, oddly timidly. And why did she sound so strangely hoarse? Had she been crying? "Sniff." Why was she crying?! Forgetting all about why he had called her in the first place, Arthur tried to investigate why Molly was crying.
"Yes, it's me. Molly? Has anything happened at home? Are you alright?" he asked in a soft prodding tone. There couldn't have been any attack at the Burrow, could it? Molly didn't answer right away, she only started to wail again. The sound caused Arthur to get a feeling of unease, rising from the pit of his stomach and forming a knot in his throat. Why would his wife act the way she did? Arthur cursed the circumstance that he couldn't do anything at all to comfort her, due to the distance. "Darling?"
"Oh Arthur ... I just ... she was ... there's no way ... Arthur ..." she gibbered incoherently, between sobs and hiccups. Anything else, he couldn't make out, anymore.
The dreadful feeling only intensified. What could have possibly happened that left his wife a bundle of nerves? Yes, Molly was a very emotional woman, but this display was nothing ordinary. Arthur wasn't looking forward to receiving the answer. "Molly, what is it?" Though his wife's behaviour frightened him, he wouldn't let on.
"I-I ... the clock was damaged ... I couldn't see ... Ginny, my baby ..."
The air around Arthur froze, as his heartbeat picked up its pace. Gripping the phone more forcefully, he shut his eyes tightly, willing the thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn't do to jump to conclusions before Molly had even finished her sentence. But as he spoke again, his voice was a mere raspy whisper. "What is it with Ginny?"
Molly erupted again in crying, unable to hold out any longer. Why did it have to be her? She was always such a nice little girl, despite her temper which she had inherited from her mother. "She is ... dead!"
Regardless of the wailing of his wife, Arthur heard her words crystal clear. It seemed as though the world stopped spinning, his blood ceased his circulating. "What?" he whispered nonetheless. How could his baby girl be possibly dead? There was no way; she was at Hogwarts, wasn't she? The fine hairs on his forearms stood on end as an alarming thought crossed his mind. What if You-Know-Who had attacked Hogwarts and had made it through the wards? Maybe that had something to do with the wards his Death Eaters had set up, Arthur couldn't be sure. But if Hogwarts had fallen, that was a catastrophe! The Dark Lord couldn't have won over the Light, could he? Left with no way to get the information, the redhead tugged at his hair in frustration. His daughter couldn't be dead ...
"Her ... hand on the ... grandfather-clock ... points at ... dead ..." At this last word, Molly broke down and wouldn't say anything more for seemingly never ending minutes.
Arthur's heart broke over and over again, as he made futile attempts to calm his wife down. He said it could be possible that the clock was wrong, although, deep down he knew that this was not the case. Slowly, Molly regained a bit of her composure back, telling her husband that Ron's hand was still pointing at Hogwarts, the twins' at work. Everything was right, and Ginny's hand pointed at dead. There was no mistaking it.
"Darling?" Arthur coaxed after the silence wore on too long. "Are you going to be ... alright?" He flinched at his formulation. Sure she wouldn't be all right! Their daughter just died, for Merlin's sake! He himself didn't know how he was going to cope with that, let alone how he should break the news to Percy ...
"Why did you call?" Molly obviously opted to ignore the question. She didn't have a satisfying answer for her husband, after all.
Arthur closed his eyes tightly. It was too much, but he'd make sure to help his wife as well as he could, once the wards were broken. So, he told Molly about the attack and assured quickly that he and Percy were only minor injured. "Only a few scratches and bruises, dear, nothing to worry about." But he knew, that Molly wouldn't do anything else but worry. 'What could have been'- scenarios already rode roller coaster in his head. But the worst scenario had already happened, their daughter was dead and wouldn't be coming back again.
Hermione, Harry and Ron were making their way out of the Great Hall, as the girl suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. The boys nearly bumped into her, but she didn't notice it, turning around. "I nearly forgot!" she exclaimed, slapping her forehead with her flat hand. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me that we should visit the infirmary every two days, starting today. It seems that Professor Flitwick has created a combination of a draining charm and something resembling a storing charm ... Though, I wonder how he ..." As it was typical, Hermione got sidetrack by her fascination of the creation of new and unseen charms. But as it was neither the place nor the time, Harry brought her back to earth. "Yes, sorry," she said, sheepishly. "What I was saying was that the headmaster wants us to 'donate' some of our magic."
"Our magic?" Ron intervened. "But our magic is essential to us! We can't do anything without it! We'd be vulnerable to ..."
"We don't have to fight anymore, Ron," Hermione reminded him, gently. Voldemort was dead and all of his follow Death Eater that had attacked Hogwarts. "And it is not that we lose our magic forever. It would re-grow in a two days time. And these wards I was trying to find out about are going to remain still for around a week. There is no need to worry. Voldemort himself saw to that." She snorted at the irony. But then again, if it wasn't for Voldemort, they wouldn't have to give parts of their magic, leaving them exposed.
"For what does Dumbledore need our magic?" Harry asked.
"Oh, he and the other professors are going to use it to 'feed' it to the wounded students. Hopefully it will help to nurse them back. Though, I don't really know how this is even possible." But that would have to wait, as the wards were a more pressing matter to find out about. "The advantage of this is, of course, that we can be wherever we want to be ... I wouldn't feel all too good to not do anything for my schoolmates ..." Hermione turned abruptly, rubbing her eyes secretly.
----
Molly Weasley didn't try in the least to keep her crying down. She was alone in the Burrow, her children abroad, in their shop or ... at Hogwarts. No one was there to be bothered by her wailing, but that meant that there wasn't anybody to comfort her, either. The tears pouring down her cheeks didn't want to stop, her vocal cords hurt from the constant crying. Only little Pig flew around his owner, trying in vain to soothe her. The mood of the normally so hyper owl was dampened considerably; he couldn't do anything at all. Molly kept on crying, not hearing the unnaturally soft hooting of Pigwidgeon. Only as shrill ringing sounds added to the hooting, did Molly stop her wailing long enough to let a bit sense back into her mind. The ringing had to be the strange Muggle apparatus with which one could talk to someone over great distances. 'Deli phone' or something that sounded similar.
----
Arthur Weasley waited anxiously for his wife to pick up the phone, urging her on mentally. It had taken him long enough to re-load his Muggle device. Sometimes magic had its advantages, Muggle things went out of energy far too quickly, and in situations far too inappropriate. But Arthur didn't curse the telephone, for it was the only possibility to contact Molly and inform her of the latest events that had taken place at the Ministry of Magic. He knew that she must be going crazy with fear not knowing what was happening. Wincing slightly, as he moved his injured arm, Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. With each passing second that Molly hadn't answered the phone, he became more nervous. What if something had happened to her? What if they had attacked the Burrow, too? Though, they were pure blooded, that didn't have to mean they were secure, as You-Know-Who had known long ago that the Weasleys were 'Muggle lovers' as the Dark Lord so nicely put it. Arthur shuddered at the thought of the red-eyed monster and his minions.
The Death Eater attack had come as a total surprise, as Snape had been forced to give up his spying. And the Potions Master had been their sole source, more or less, of the on-goings of the Dark Side. Voldemort's followers had assaulted the ministry out of the blue, the employees totally unprepared. Well, as unprepared as one could be in the given times. There had been many casualties, as it was not unusual in wars. Arthur still thanked every listening deity that Charlie and Bill were still abroad and that Percy - as much a nuisance he could be, he was still his son - was merely injured. The same couldn't be said for Fudge, though. Arthur mused who would be elected the new minister, but shoved these thoughts aside, as they were not necessary at this very moment.
The ringing went on, Molly hadn't picked up the phone yet. Arthur became even more uncomfortable. Hopefully his wife was at home and just couldn't find the device, or she had forgotten which button to press ... Anything.
You-Know-Who was a born strategist Arthur had to admit. The distraction his followers had pulled was ingenious. And this special charm the Death Eaters had used, which resembled this Muggle 'Makro' thing, was ingenious in itself, as well. They had just to utter the right warding spells and they reproduced themselves exponentially. It was the work of a downright genius, and if it hadn't been Voldemort himself, Arthur would have sworn it was Hermione's idea. The Death Eaters didn't have to use any precious hours of spelling and warding, they just had to say each phrase once and they were ready. Ready to trap the whole British Wizarding World in their houses, without the prospect of escape in the near future. How they had managed it, in the first place, was beyond Arthur. What happened to people who weren't in their houses as the spells were activated, he did not know, but he'd rather know that his wife was inside the Burrow, than to start speculating what had happened otherwise.
As the now annoying tone of the vacant telephone line went on, Arthur began to draw the darkest scenarios in his head. "Come on, Molly, dear!" he urged and finally his bidding was heard.
"A-Arthur?" the voice of Molly Weasley asked, oddly timidly. And why did she sound so strangely hoarse? Had she been crying? "Sniff." Why was she crying?! Forgetting all about why he had called her in the first place, Arthur tried to investigate why Molly was crying.
"Yes, it's me. Molly? Has anything happened at home? Are you alright?" he asked in a soft prodding tone. There couldn't have been any attack at the Burrow, could it? Molly didn't answer right away, she only started to wail again. The sound caused Arthur to get a feeling of unease, rising from the pit of his stomach and forming a knot in his throat. Why would his wife act the way she did? Arthur cursed the circumstance that he couldn't do anything at all to comfort her, due to the distance. "Darling?"
"Oh Arthur ... I just ... she was ... there's no way ... Arthur ..." she gibbered incoherently, between sobs and hiccups. Anything else, he couldn't make out, anymore.
The dreadful feeling only intensified. What could have possibly happened that left his wife a bundle of nerves? Yes, Molly was a very emotional woman, but this display was nothing ordinary. Arthur wasn't looking forward to receiving the answer. "Molly, what is it?" Though his wife's behaviour frightened him, he wouldn't let on.
"I-I ... the clock was damaged ... I couldn't see ... Ginny, my baby ..."
The air around Arthur froze, as his heartbeat picked up its pace. Gripping the phone more forcefully, he shut his eyes tightly, willing the thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn't do to jump to conclusions before Molly had even finished her sentence. But as he spoke again, his voice was a mere raspy whisper. "What is it with Ginny?"
Molly erupted again in crying, unable to hold out any longer. Why did it have to be her? She was always such a nice little girl, despite her temper which she had inherited from her mother. "She is ... dead!"
Regardless of the wailing of his wife, Arthur heard her words crystal clear. It seemed as though the world stopped spinning, his blood ceased his circulating. "What?" he whispered nonetheless. How could his baby girl be possibly dead? There was no way; she was at Hogwarts, wasn't she? The fine hairs on his forearms stood on end as an alarming thought crossed his mind. What if You-Know-Who had attacked Hogwarts and had made it through the wards? Maybe that had something to do with the wards his Death Eaters had set up, Arthur couldn't be sure. But if Hogwarts had fallen, that was a catastrophe! The Dark Lord couldn't have won over the Light, could he? Left with no way to get the information, the redhead tugged at his hair in frustration. His daughter couldn't be dead ...
"Her ... hand on the ... grandfather-clock ... points at ... dead ..." At this last word, Molly broke down and wouldn't say anything more for seemingly never ending minutes.
Arthur's heart broke over and over again, as he made futile attempts to calm his wife down. He said it could be possible that the clock was wrong, although, deep down he knew that this was not the case. Slowly, Molly regained a bit of her composure back, telling her husband that Ron's hand was still pointing at Hogwarts, the twins' at work. Everything was right, and Ginny's hand pointed at dead. There was no mistaking it.
"Darling?" Arthur coaxed after the silence wore on too long. "Are you going to be ... alright?" He flinched at his formulation. Sure she wouldn't be all right! Their daughter just died, for Merlin's sake! He himself didn't know how he was going to cope with that, let alone how he should break the news to Percy ...
"Why did you call?" Molly obviously opted to ignore the question. She didn't have a satisfying answer for her husband, after all.
Arthur closed his eyes tightly. It was too much, but he'd make sure to help his wife as well as he could, once the wards were broken. So, he told Molly about the attack and assured quickly that he and Percy were only minor injured. "Only a few scratches and bruises, dear, nothing to worry about." But he knew, that Molly wouldn't do anything else but worry. 'What could have been'- scenarios already rode roller coaster in his head. But the worst scenario had already happened, their daughter was dead and wouldn't be coming back again.