Chapter 9

Doing What's Right

Coldness engulfed her body as bolts of lightning shot from the otherwise inky black sky. She couldn't see a single thing, and the sudden shocks of light hurt her eyes.

"What do you want from me!" she screamed into the thick, black night. It was worse than the feeling of a dementor breathing down her neck. She just wanted to get out of here and back to her warm, safe bed . . .

"Ginevra Weasley, I presume?" a slippery voice asked from somewhere to her right.

Ginny closed her eyes tightly and brought her hands down to wrap around her stomach protectively, for she knew at once who that terrible voice belonged to. She'd only met Michael's father once, but there was no way she could forget him. He was a middle-aged man who looked almost identical to Michael, and once, he'd even tried to hit on her. Like father, like son, she thought.

"What do you want from me you bastard!" she shrieked toward where she guessed the voice was coming from.

Before Ginny got her answer, she could suddenly see a lithe figure among all the blackness.

"I knew it was you," Ginny muttered indignantly. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm coming to claim what is min — my son's," he answered, coming dangerously close. "Do you, and your child for that matter, wish to live another day?"

"I don't know what you're playing at, but get the hell out of my mind. That's right, I know this isn't a dream, I'm not stupid," growled Ginny.

"Fine, have it your way; one way or another, my son's heir will find her way back to us. But let's make it interesting: either you leave Harry Potter and flee, never to be seen again . . . or I kill each and every member of your family slowly. Starting with Miss Granger and her unborn child. Hmmmm," he contemplated. "That sounds fun. Now I wonder how I should go about doing that? First, I'll take a rope — "

"Enough," whimpered Ginny. She had no desire to hear the man's further plans concerning Hermione or any other member of her family. She'd already almost lost the baby once, and to have to go through that again? Ginny could never let that happen. "Please don't hurt anyone. I — I'll leave Harry," she whispered, choking on the tears she would not allow herself to shed. Her words caused her physical pain, a sharp stab to her chest.

"Just as I thought," Mr. Corner said smoothly, reaching out a hand to caress her stomach.

Ginny just pushed his hand away in revulsion, glaring. He smiled coldly at her then pointed his wand at her and shouted, "Empiez!" She assumed it was the spell to return her to her previous location.

She felt a whirling sensation, similar to a Portkey, and suddenly she was lying face-down on her bed. She gingerly sat up, grateful for the fact that she was alone. Quickly, she grabbed a suitcase from the hotel closet and packed the essential items she'd need . . . all she knew was that she sure as hell was not going to put her family in danger.

Gingerly, she stuck her head out the door and peeked first one way, then the other. Finding the coast clear, she took off toward the elevators. Before leaving, she'd decided she was going to do everything the Muggle way; there would be no tracing her by any means. She had even left her wand behind in the room.

Half an hour later found Ginny on a rickety old bus, her head resting forlornly against the window. She stared at the countryside passing her by and seriously had no idea what she was doing. She'd left her heart with Harry, and she could feel a cold emptiness every time she thought about him.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget everything, resting an open palm against her stomach.

"We'll be okay, baby girl," she assured shakily. "Wait a minute! Michael's dad said she'd find her way back eventually. I was right, it is a girl!" The small fact didn't offer much comfort, but it was enough to get Ginny through the remainder of the bus ride.

She stepped off the bus on Hope Street. It was a completely random choice, but she figured what could be more promising than 'Hope Street'? Besides, she didn't know anyone else in the Bahamas, and she sure as hell couldn't go back home . . . at least not until someone found her of their own accord.

Ginny tentatively walked over toward the first building she saw, and was relieved to find it was an inn, or motel, or something of the like. A bell jangled when she opened the door and she walked over to the elderly man slumped in a chair behind the counter.

"E — Excuse me," she stuttered nervously.

"I bloody well did not eat all the tarts," he mumbled, then shook his head and opened his eyes.

"Oh, hello, can I help you young miss?" he asked cheerily, smile on his wrinkled face.

"Well . . . I was sort of looking for somewhere to stay for the time being — until I find myself a flat of my own that is," she whispered, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

The man sighed and glanced sympathetically at her. Another runaway, he thought to himself. "I'm Martin," he said out loud. "We have plenty of vacancies. Would you like an ocean view?"

"It doesn't matter," Ginny mumbled, looking down at the floor. She was so ashamed at herself for leaving without telling anyone, but what choice did she have? All her family ever did was love her, would it really be fair to put them in danger because of her own stupid mistake?

"Miss? Miss?" she heard, and she snapped out of her thoughts, looking toward the sound of the voice.

She spotted Martin over by the stairs, her suitcase in his hand. "Follow me, Miss."

"You can just call me . . . Taylor," she lied quickly, the name of one of her childhood friends coming to mind.

"Very well, Taylor, if you'll just follow me," he looked back at her, then seemed to notice her protruding stomach for the first time. "Dear me, a baby on the way? Not a good time for a mother-to-be to be on her own, if it's not too bold to say."

She simply glared at him, and he widened his eyes and led the way to her room without another word.

After she'd gotten her room, which incidentally did have a view of the ocean, she decided a plan of action was in order. The baby would be coming in about . . . oh, a fair amount of time. That gave her plenty of time to find a job and a flat before she'd have to worry about another little mouth to feed.

Ginny placed a hand against her temple, trying to ward off the already forming headache. She closed her eyes, and couldn't stop the image of a young man with jet-black hair and sparkling green eyes coming back to the resort to find all her stuff, and her as well, gone.

A knock on her door jarred her from her thoughts, and she jumped slightly. "Miss Taylor, it's Martin," she heard from outside, and she frowned, wondering what he was doing knocking at her door.

"Just a minute," she called, and stood up from her perch, making her way to the door.

Ginny opened the door to find Martin standing outside with a young man who looked to be about seventeen or eighteen with him. "This is my grandson, Charlie. Thought you might need a guide or someone to show you around," Martin said, giving Charlie a shove inside the room.

"Anything you need, just give me a ring downstairs," yelled Martin on his way back to the lobby.

"Hi," greeted Charlie awkwardly, holding out his hand.

Ginny placed her hand within his own and smiled reassuringly at him. The poor lad looked as if his grandfather had forced him to meet her against his will.

"Hi, I'm Gi — Taylor," she answered, berating herself for the slip-up.

He let go of her hand, and glanced around the room, not at all sure what to do next. His grandfather practically threatened him to come meet this young woman, not mentioning her, ahem, condition, and then he was left all alone with her after only just meeting her.

"So . . . do you in fact need a guide, or is my grandfather becoming senile, and pushing his opinions on other people again?" joked Charlie, trying to lighten the mood.

Ginny managed to crack a smile and said, "I would appreciate a guide very much, thanks."

Silently, she wondered to herself. Was this someone sent to her, someone to help her through this rough time? By all means, no way was she looking for someone to replace Harry, and never would she, but she would eventually need someone's help. And who could possibly be of more help than Charlie? Someone who seemed quite eager to please, but not someone she could foresee herself falling for. Her heart would always belong to Harry Potter, but when that means putting the ones you love in danger . . . it's best to keep your heart, and never let it go.