Many thanks (again) to the reviewers of the earlier 'chapters' – I'd never
have got this far without your encouragement. Special thanks to Brittney
for fixing my grammatical errors.
Of course, this does not belong to me.
For the past three days, Ginny had been hard put to not to confide to Hermione what she had discovered. She had, however, given her word. When she had woken Tonks up to take the firecall, Tonks, still half asleep, had mumbled something unintelligible, then tumbled automatically out of bed. Ginny figured only the pain from hitting a toe against the wardrobe woke her up properly. After that, Ginny had been too busy supporting her as she cursed under her breath to ask further questions or give air to the satisfaction she felt at having her hunch from a summer evening prove to be true. Still, as she'd made to hurry downstairs, Tonks had paused a moment with her hand on the doorpost and turned to Ginny, 'Don't tell,' she had said, her earnest voice strangely at odds with her spiky, pink hair and crinkles from sleep still visible on her cheek.
With the snow, icy cold had crept into the hallways of Grimmauld Place and made them all wrap up in sweaters and blankets, huddling in front of the fireplaces. Just now, Tonks had wound her woollen scarf an extra time around her neck before venturing outside. It appeared no one took any notice that for an instant, before she yawned her good-byes to hurry up the stairs, Tonks' right-hand fingers rested light as a feather on the top of Lupin's shoulder, and nor did anyone seem to find anything unusual about the way he smiled back up at her just then. Harry chose this moment to send the salt dancing over the table, but as Ginny caught his glance, he looked away quickly.
Now, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already disappeared up the stairs, Ginny's mother coming with them to make sure the fire in the drawing room didn't go out. Lupin got up and made to clear the remnants of breakfast away from the table. Ginny remained seated. Head in hands, elbows planted firmly on the table, she fixed him with an exasperated stare.
"I just don't get it," she said. "Why don't you just tell everyone?"
He leant back against the sink, a nearly drained teacup still in his hand. The spoon made slight clinking noises against the rim of the cup as he absently stirred the dregs at the bottom. He looked tired.
For a moment, Ginny regretted she had asked. After all, Lupin was a very private man, although they tended to forget this given his ability to handle any Weasley family crisis, and his way to make light of the hardships that went with being a werewolf. Maybe he felt this belonged to them and to their night-time selves only, like nightmares or fear of darkness better not mentioned in the light of day. But this wasn't Order business, this wasn't bad, Ginny insisted. This was nice.
He gave the hint of a shake of his head. "It's all right," he said, regarding her thoughtfully. He was a teacher. He would strive to answer any question she'd pose. "You would wonder that."
He put his cup down on the sink beside him. The spoon rattled a final 'clink' against the saucer. "I'm scared," he offered simply. "Good things are the ones we let slip most easily. The more people who know, the more likely it is that..." He half-shrugged, glanced around the gloomy kitchen, then met her gaze steadily, "If Voldemort knew, he would use it. It's one advantage I'd rather he didn't have."
They cleared the table companionably. Judging by the frown appearing between his eyebrows and by the urgency she had heard in Tonks' voice earlier, Ginny guessed there had to be more to the matter than this. As an explanation, it didn't quite add up Anyone in the Order would know to keep a secret. As for them, the children, they did too. Lupin's vague smile before he finally put the last cups away and left, seemed to confirm this. Alone in the dim light of the cavernous kitchen, however, Ginny thought of Bellatrix's taunting voice between the dusty shelves deep in the Department of Mysteries and, for now, she understood.
For the past three days, Ginny had been hard put to not to confide to Hermione what she had discovered. She had, however, given her word. When she had woken Tonks up to take the firecall, Tonks, still half asleep, had mumbled something unintelligible, then tumbled automatically out of bed. Ginny figured only the pain from hitting a toe against the wardrobe woke her up properly. After that, Ginny had been too busy supporting her as she cursed under her breath to ask further questions or give air to the satisfaction she felt at having her hunch from a summer evening prove to be true. Still, as she'd made to hurry downstairs, Tonks had paused a moment with her hand on the doorpost and turned to Ginny, 'Don't tell,' she had said, her earnest voice strangely at odds with her spiky, pink hair and crinkles from sleep still visible on her cheek.
With the snow, icy cold had crept into the hallways of Grimmauld Place and made them all wrap up in sweaters and blankets, huddling in front of the fireplaces. Just now, Tonks had wound her woollen scarf an extra time around her neck before venturing outside. It appeared no one took any notice that for an instant, before she yawned her good-byes to hurry up the stairs, Tonks' right-hand fingers rested light as a feather on the top of Lupin's shoulder, and nor did anyone seem to find anything unusual about the way he smiled back up at her just then. Harry chose this moment to send the salt dancing over the table, but as Ginny caught his glance, he looked away quickly.
Now, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already disappeared up the stairs, Ginny's mother coming with them to make sure the fire in the drawing room didn't go out. Lupin got up and made to clear the remnants of breakfast away from the table. Ginny remained seated. Head in hands, elbows planted firmly on the table, she fixed him with an exasperated stare.
"I just don't get it," she said. "Why don't you just tell everyone?"
He leant back against the sink, a nearly drained teacup still in his hand. The spoon made slight clinking noises against the rim of the cup as he absently stirred the dregs at the bottom. He looked tired.
For a moment, Ginny regretted she had asked. After all, Lupin was a very private man, although they tended to forget this given his ability to handle any Weasley family crisis, and his way to make light of the hardships that went with being a werewolf. Maybe he felt this belonged to them and to their night-time selves only, like nightmares or fear of darkness better not mentioned in the light of day. But this wasn't Order business, this wasn't bad, Ginny insisted. This was nice.
He gave the hint of a shake of his head. "It's all right," he said, regarding her thoughtfully. He was a teacher. He would strive to answer any question she'd pose. "You would wonder that."
He put his cup down on the sink beside him. The spoon rattled a final 'clink' against the saucer. "I'm scared," he offered simply. "Good things are the ones we let slip most easily. The more people who know, the more likely it is that..." He half-shrugged, glanced around the gloomy kitchen, then met her gaze steadily, "If Voldemort knew, he would use it. It's one advantage I'd rather he didn't have."
They cleared the table companionably. Judging by the frown appearing between his eyebrows and by the urgency she had heard in Tonks' voice earlier, Ginny guessed there had to be more to the matter than this. As an explanation, it didn't quite add up Anyone in the Order would know to keep a secret. As for them, the children, they did too. Lupin's vague smile before he finally put the last cups away and left, seemed to confirm this. Alone in the dim light of the cavernous kitchen, however, Ginny thought of Bellatrix's taunting voice between the dusty shelves deep in the Department of Mysteries and, for now, she understood.