Ch. 5 A Little More of the Puzzle
Dinner was rather quiet that evening. The children didn't speak as much as the adults; however they managed to think of something, and ended up asking Fred and George about Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Though Mrs. Weasley wasn't too keen on the subject, she continued her conversation with Tonks as George told them his and Fred's affairs. To what Harry understood, the shop had been going quite well. They had created five new pranks since their leaving of school, and perfected all the ones they made while they were there. Hundreds of witches and wizards had stopped at the shop, and they're gross income had been increasing immensely. Everyone seemed to enjoy the productiveness of the shop — everyone except Mrs. Weasley of course. Any time the twins would mention anything remotely related to pranks, or school, or their shop, she'd glance over at them with a cringe and frown. She knew quite well that she had no say anymore. They were of age and could do as they pleased.
Once everyone had finished their meals, Harry stretched tiresomely. He wasn't used to full meals such as this, and he was falling asleep quickly. After a long, unnoticed yawn, Harry gazed over at Ginny, who seemed troubled about something. He studied her face to see if he could figure it out, and noticed she silently whispered to herself. At times, it seemed as if she was upset with herself. What could be the problem? He turned to Hermione, who was staring over at Ron. Harry knew she hurt inside, but knowing her austerity, he also knew she wouldn't show it in front of everyone.
"I think it's time for bed," Mrs. Weasley suggested as she stood up. "Upstairs everyone. Yes, Fred, I know you don't have to go to bed yet." Fred closed his mouth from responding, and continued conversing with George.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way up to the second floor in silence. While climbing the steps, Harry often heard quiet whispering behind him. He turned around to find Ginny quietly talking to herself.
"Ginny, why do you keep talking to yourself?" Harry asked, not being able to stand not knowing anymore.
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking passed him up at Ron and Hermione.
"What do you mean, what do I mean?" he asked irritated. "You've been talking to yourself since dinner."
"O-oh. Just thinking out loud," she answered. "If you have such a problem with it, just ignore it. Is that so hard?" She pushed passed him, walking down the hall into her room.
Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, and asked, "Am I missing something? Is there something you know that I don't — not that it'd be surprising."
Ron and Hermione both shook their heads. Hermione walked to the door Ginny just had walked through, and turned around to Harry and Ron.
"Could I have a moment alone with Ron, Harry?" she asked.
A bit shocked, Harry answered, "Sure," and walked into his room across from them. After closing the door, he leaned his ear against it and tried listening to them.
"You didn't have to do that today," he heard Hermione say.
"Yeah, I did. You don't deserve that," said Ron.
"But he didn't know. He didn't understand."
"It still wasn't right," mumbled Ron.
There was a short pause, and Harry wondered what they were doing.
"Well, 'night," Hermione said.
"Goodnight."
The sound of a door closing told Harry to step back and pretend to be busy with something. He rushed over to his trunk and opened it up as Ron opened the door and stepped inside.
Harry knew Ron wouldn't tell him everything being on non-speaking terms, changed in to his pyjamas and crawled in bed. He took off his glasses, placed them on the table next to his bed, and pulled the covers up over his head. Taking in a deep, silent breath, Harry shortly found himself sound asleep before he could respond to the whispered question in the air…
The night's manners could drown out the horrific screams of anyone or anything. The wind howled ferociously, and the rain blew in sideways, pelting a lowly being's cloak-covered face. Steadily he walked through the chilling forest; the tops of the trees vanished into the night's sky and were only visible when lightning was present. With his wand in his hand, the person continued a fixed pace towards a mouldering shack. Shattered windows and mud-coated sidings only increased the nonexistent welcoming.
As his firm gait turned into creeping tiptoe, he gripped tighter around his wand and pushed open the rotten door of the house. The aroma of dirt and grime flooded the room and the ceiling leaked raindrops, unable to distinguish the difference between outside and in. Making his way across the room to another door with only having the flashes of lightning through the windows to light his way, the sounds of mud caked to his shoes squished against the floor with each step. Before opening the door, the mysterious person pulled back his hood, revealing him self as a young boy with incredibly messy and soaked, black hair and piercing emerald-green eyes that occasionally blazed scarlet-orange. A scar resided in the centre of his forehead, and by his grave expression, he knew exactly what he was looking for.
Showing no intent to smile, the boy grabbed the doorknob and pushed hard on the door with his shoulder. The door gave no sign of weakness. He pushed harder on the door, giving a littler more effort into it. A quiet whimper leaked through the cracks of the door. Suddenly, a surprising smile appeared across the boy's face.
"Oh, girl," he said calmly, "it's me. You're friend." The boy pressed his ear against the door, hearing sounds of sobs and feckless crying. "Girl, open the door."
A few moments passed and no apparent movement could be heard on the other side. The boy backed away from the door, and shouted, "Alohomora!" There was a quick click sound, and he swung open the door with one hand. Lightning crashed outside and revealed the room to be empty. The boy's eyes glowed fiercely red as his anger rose.
"Where are you, little girl?" his voice coolly asked. Slowly crossing the room, he exclaimed, "Lumos!" He continued searching around the room, sounding as calm and welcoming as possible. "Why do you hide from me? I'm your friend. Harry." Shifting his fiendish eyes around the room, he saw a quick glimpse of a bushy brown-haired girl. He shined his wand in the corner of the room next to the window and smiled. "Hello." A gasp escaped the girl's mouth, and she scampered to the other room, pushing open the door to the aloof night.
The boy didn't strain himself to follow her; he knew where she was headed. The rain began to soften and lightning flashed once more before the smile wiped from his face. He swept from the shack and followed her. He knew she was on her way back to the one place she thought was safe…
A loud creak of the floor stirred Harry in his sleep, and interrupted his quite puzzling dream. What was that all about? Realising he was still under the quilt, he slowly pulled it down passed his eyes, making sure whoever was up didn't take note to his awakening. His eyes were already well adjusted to the dim room, and he noticed the person moving about was Ron. Harry reached for his glasses and put them on under the bedding.
Harry listened intently to Ron's movements around the room — what was he doing? There was quick shuffling first to Harry's left and then to his right. Shortly after, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Harry threw the coverlet off him self, sat up, and peered over at the door. Light from the corridor shone through the break between the door and floor, and shadows danced back and forth around the glow. Sitting up, Harry pulled the covers off him self and crept to the lit-outlined door and listened intently for movement on the other side. The light out side the door flicked off and footsteps began to fade away.
Slightly opening the door to see out into the corridor, Harry watched the back of Ron disappear into the darkness towards the steps. Opening the door a little wider to squeeze himself through, he followed quietly behind, leaving the door ajar. Each step Harry took caused his head to beat faster; he didn't know why this was happening. It was just Ron who he was following — unlike a Death Eater or something similar.
Harry crept to the edge of the hall in anticipation — much like the feeling a person would have reaching the edge of the world in the fifteenth century. What would be waiting for him below? Would he find amity?
The night seemed unusually stormy. Rain pounded on the roof, and he could hear it beating rhythmically against the glass window at the bottom of the stairs; Lightning cracked outside with its followed-up burst of thunder that shook the knickknacks on the wall. Holding himself with his hand against the wall, Harry peered down to the ground floor, unable to see even his hands in front of him except their outline when lightning illuminated through the below window. Pacing each step with his eyes alert for any movement, he reached the ground floor, and childishly stretched and tapped his foot in front of him to confirm it was actually the floor — many times he found himself tripping down the last step at the Dursleys because he had miscounted.
This floor revealed itself to be as dark as the last — what could Ron be possibly doing?
Making his way down the gloomy corridor, Harry inched his way to the front of the house, aware of all his surroundings. A faint glow from the sitting room egged on his curiosity. Go on, a voice inside his head told him, you know you want to see what he's doing. Without hesitation, Harry began creeping toward the entrance of the room. As he reached closer to it, he began hearing voices echoing towards him. His pace slowed immensely, and Harry brought all his attention to the sounds from the other room.
"He's sleeping," a deeper voice said, most likely Ron.
"Good. We don't want him walking in on this, now do we?" stated a softer voice, which Harry presumed to be Hermione. Harry's ears perked at their choice of words.
"He probably would find a way to make this seem not right and rip off our heads." Lightning crashed suddenly, and there was a quick sound of something crashing to the floor.
"Ron!" Hermione hissed silently. "Watch what you're doing! Reparo!"
"Sorry…" he whispered back. "It's the bloody storm. We haven't had a storm like this a few wee—"
A sudden silence fell over the room and hallway.
"Sorry…again," Harry heard Ron mumble.
"Don't worry about it," Hermione assured weakly. "Let's just get to this."
"We don't have to do this, Her—"
"Yes, we do!" screamed Hermione just as another crack of lightning sparked. Harry slightly stuck his head around the corner to get a visual of the room and conversation. Candles flickered on a table Ron and Hermione knelt down in front of. Faint lights extracted from the candles danced on the walls, and a large piece of parchment with an assortment of writing accessories lay about on the table. "This is for Harry, and we're going to do this for him!"
Harry could see Hermione wasn't expressing her full feelings. Her eyes glazed with tears that were enhanced by the dim light in the room. Her sombre stare at Ron added as a cover up to how she truly wanted to feel. But Ron never broke; he sent her the same expression back, and she finally gave up through a deep sigh and a look to her knees.
"Fine," she slurred, wiping away the excess tears from her eyes, and began pulling together the decorating utensils. "So I guess you can head off to bed then." Accidentally knocking over a container of glitter, Hermione quietly cursed under her breath. She then noticed Ron still dwelled in the room, and insolently posed, "Well are you going to go or not?"
Watching Ron stumble over what he wanted to say, Harry sat himself down on the floor and continued listening.
"I-I don't want to leave you here—" a roar of thunder cut him off for a moment, "—by yourself."
"Ron, I'm perfectly capable to be in a room by myself," she assured sharply, and turned to a distressed Ron. "But thanks for the offer." She stood up with the parchment and writing utensils in her arms and began walking straight towards Harry—Ron narrowing his eyes at her.
Harry's eyes grew wide, and quickly stood up, running quickly down the corridor to the stairs. The last thing he heard was, "Hermione, wait—" and another explosion of thunder covered the rest. But what came afterwards was so terrifying—so chilling—it nearly forced Harry to jump out of his skin, stopping him in his tracks at the scream behind him.