Chapter 13

Promises Get Broken

The moon is full and my arms are empty

All night long I've pleaded and cried

You always said the day that you would leave me

Would be a cold day in July . . .

Well time moves slow and promises get broken

In this cold day in July

Dixie Chicks: Cold Day in July

August 31st dawned humid and sweltering at the Burrow, the early morning sun rising to shine on a house filled with two extremely cranky pregnant women and two equally irritable men who were finding that sympathy pains were not all that fictional. For example, Harry swore that every time Ginny had a craving for chocolate truffles (which was fairly often as of late) he would desire them as well. Hermione's cravings were exceptionally odder, ranging from chocolate-covered chicken to eggs covered in mustard.

That particular day happened to be the start of term for Ginny, as well as Hermione who was acting as assistant to Professor Flitwick until he retired at the end of the year. Hermione, being only an assistant, didn't need to actually stay at Hogwarts; she'd be returning home every night after work. Ginny's Hogwarts letter had been sent to the Burrow when the owl had failed to reach her elsewhere, and Mrs. Weasley had gone to acquire her list of schoolbooks a week earlier, and the only thing left to be done was pack a few last minute items.

"Ron, how many times am I going to need to tell you to go put those trunks in the car?" nagged a very impatient Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was leaving, of course, by Hogwarts Express, but Hermione was to Apparate later.

"Just once more, Mum," jested Ron, earning himself a potato hurled at his head.

"Hey! I know you're grouchy as well today, but we don't need anymore hormones in this house than there already are."

"You'd best keep your mouth shut, young man, or one of them is likely to take your head off!" she growled quietly so as not to be heard by the aforementioned "them."

"Oh, you agree with him then? That we're both totally nutters?" asked a distraught Ginny, walking into the kitchen from upstairs.

"No, dear, I haven't said that," Molly soothed, sending daggers at Ron with her eyes for putting her on Ginny's bad side, and so early in the morning at that. She walked over to her daughter and patted her back comfortingly, steering her back up the stairs.

"Ron!" called a voice from outside. "Ron, where are you?"

"Duty calls," Ron grumbled to himself, responding to Hermione's voice and opening the door for her to enter the house. He very nearly gasped at her garments, or rather lack thereof. She wore a tight blue tank top that exposed the moderate protrusion of her stomach and a pair of cut-off denim shorts with frayed edges. "Uh — are you wearing that to work?"

"So what if I am?" she snapped, fanning herself with the Daily Prophet.

"Um — it's perfectly acceptable clothing."

"Damn right it better be, it's bloody ninety degrees outside!"

"This baby has got to be a boy, Hermione. I've never heard you curse so much in your entire life," insisted Ron.

"So now girls aren't allowed to curse?"

"I bloody can't win anymore," he whined in reply, fleeing up the stairs, which seemed to be the favored escape route in recent days.

"Ron, is it just me, or are we the only two sane people within ten miles?" asked Harry quietly, ducking to narrowly escape a black high-heeled shoe thrown at him from Ginny's doorway.

"Thank you!" exclaimed Ron gratefully, pulling him out of harm's way as the matching shoe came hurtling out, along with a shout of "Why can't I fit into these any more!"

"I'm taking charge of this situation!" declared Harry, glancing over to see that Ron was looking at him dubiously. "What? You think I can't deal with a couple of emotional women? I killed Voldemort, for crying out loud. I think I'll be able to handle these two. I've had practice, my friend. Practice."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat . . . "

Harry placed two fingers against his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. "Listen up, women . . . and Ron."

"Thanks for that, pal."

Harry nodded and continued. "Ginny, put those shoes back in their rightful suitcase. Hermione!" he bellowed down the stairs. "Get up here and change out of those clothes into something more professional. Mrs. Weasley, you are in charge of making sure that my orders are carried out."

There was complete silence in the household, as slow footsteps were heard coming upstairs. When Hermione finally reached the top, she looked scathingly at Harry, as did Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, who'd come from the bedroom at his officious "orders."

"Ron? You know what else I've had practice with?"

"What's that, Harry? And I bloody well hope it has something to do with getting us out of this."

"When all else fails, and when women look at you like they're looking at us: RUN!"

Nearly an hour later, after every last-minute preparation had been taken care of (and Ron and Harry had tentatively returned from wherever they'd run to) Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron stood at the platform of Kings' Cross to see Ginny off.

"I'm coming to visit you every day," promised Harry sincerely. "As soon as I get off of work, I'll Apparate — what's that Hermione? No, not onto Hogwarts grounds of course," he joked, causing a small smile to decorate Ginny's face.

"Harry . . . Michael's still going to be at school. What am I supposed to do about him?"

That was something nobody had thought of. "Well, I assume nobody's told McGonogall about any of this?"

"No," admitted Ginny. "But I guess she can take care of it. D'you think she'll expel Michael?"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the look of glee that graced her features at the thought of Michael getting expelled from Hogwarts. "I don't know, but I certainly hope so. I'll be up to see you tomorrow. Just wait until I get my hands around his filthy little neck . . . "

"That's the kind of talk I like to hear," bantered Ginny, the hormones and mood swings from earlier in the day having mysteriously vanished. Well . . . almost. "Harry, I'm going to miss you so much." Ginny burst into tears, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck.

"Don't cry, love. We'll be practically living together I'll be there so often," he assured her, drawing her so close that she was pressing hard into his body. She buried her face into his shoulder and forced back the torrent of tears that threatened to break loose any second.

"I know," she replied, voice wavering. "But it won't be the same."

"I love you, Ginny," he told her, placing one hand on either of her cheeks and kissing her.

"Sorry to — um . . . interrupt — but, the train's going to leave in three minutes, darling," harried Mrs. Weasley, gently but firmly grasping Ginny's elbow and directing her toward the train.

With one final kiss, Ginny walked away, glancing back every two seconds to make sure that Harry was still there. When she at last did board the train, she sat next to the window and pressed her face up against it, determined not to lose sight of him until she was no longer able to see him. Her gaze never turned away from his until the Hogwarts' Express rounded a corner.

"I think someone should write to McGonogall and tell her about Ginny's pregnancy before she gets there and causes a massive uproar. Besides, someone needs to let her know about Michael," Harry told Mrs. Weasley later that afternoon as she sat with him and Ron in the living room. Seeing as how Harry had been sharing Ginny's room with her, he was staying on at the Burrow, and obviously so were Ron and Hermione, being that they lived there. He did have his own flat in Muggle London, and he was in fact thinking about asking Ginny to move in with him before the baby was born. All he knew was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, no matter how long he had to wait.

"Good idea, Harry, I'll speak with her," volunteered Mrs. Weasley.

"I'm home! Ron, are you here?"

"We're in the living room, Hermione," returned Ron, smiling at her as she came in. Much to everyone's relief, she'd agreed that her clothes were a bit inappropriate and changed into a black robe over a white blouse and slacks.

"How's Ginny? Is she okay? What about Michael?" Harry bombarded her with questions the second he saw her.

"Slow down," she grumbled, taking a seat next to Ron on the couch. "She's fine. And Michael . . . well, I actually haven't seen him."

"You're a horrendous liar, Hermione," Harry accused.

"Fine, he was talking to her before —"

"What! How dare he even speak to her?" This time it was Ron who beat Harry to the outburst of anger.

Harry didn't say a word. He sat there, looking strangely unruffled, before he finally stood and walked out the door. He just knew that it wasn't going to work for him to have to leave Ginny alone with Michael, even under the watchful eye of McGonogall.

"Harry, where are you going?" he heard distantly from behind him, but he paid no mind. Instead, he walked a little ways down the road and Apparated to just outside the huge Hogwarts' gate bearing the boars' heads. Still radiating the eerie calmness as before, he made his way inside amazingly easily.

The last strains of the Sorting Hat's song could be heard as he found himself outside the Great Hall, watching the petrified first years at the front of the expansive dining hall. His view swept over the students, effortlessly spotting Ginny at the Gryffindor table. Being as how she was the last Weasley left in school, she was almost the only redhead left in Gryffindor. He noticed her glancing anxiously at the Ravenclaw table, a glint of perplexity in her eyes as she saw Michael sitting there. Harry's own hands itched to wrap around Michael's neck and strangle every last ounce of air out of his body, but he managed to contain himself until some students began to filter up to their dormitories, closely followed by the rest.

"Ginny," he whispered when he saw her exiting.

She started, but then a look of happiness mixed with turmoil crossed her face and she flung herself into Harry's arms stiffly. "What are you doing here so soon? N — Not that I'm unhappy to see you."

"Hermione came home . . . she told me she saw Michael with you earlier and I wanted to come to make sure you were all right," he told Ginny concernedly, pulling her aside and out of the way of everyone else.

"I — I'm fine Harry," she stammered, not wanting to let him know what their little chat had been about. He had come to her, contrite and appealing for her forgiveness. He said it'd been his father that threatened her and not him, and that he genuinely wanted to be a part of the baby's life. At first she had slapped him, and turned to walk away, but he had begged and pleaded with her, stating that it wasn't her decision to make whether or not to let their daughter know her father.

"What did he say to you?"

"Why?"

"Because this is not like you, Ginny. Please tell me he didn't use his damn slippery ways to make you think you'd done something wrong?" asked Harry, laying his hands on her shoulders and looking deep into her brown eyes that seemed so bewildered.

"But — what if I led him on, what if I baited him and then just brought it on myself?" she pondered, stepping further away from Harry.

"You can't be serious, Ginny! Think about it, I've been attracted to you since fifth year, and I've never tried to force you to do anything you didn't want to. Michael is using you as an excuse to get the baby, remember what you told me about his father? They want the baby, don't you see that?"

"But he is her father . . . "

"Ginny, please listen to me — you said it yourself, I'm her father. I want to be, nothing could make me happier!" Harry sought to pull her near him again, but she pulled her arm from his grasp and turned away, stopping only to hear Harry's heartfelt, "I thought you loved me."

"I do. But it's the baby I've got to think about now, can't you accept that? It would be selfish of me to keep her to myself," she answered, looking down at her toes to avoid seeing the hurt-filled eyes of Harry.

"I don't believe this. I really don't," he muttered, turning away dejectedly.

"Don't leave," Ginny whispered, but it was too late. Harry had vanished before she turned around and she felt tears spring to her chocolate-colored eyes for the millionth time. "I don't want this."