When the War is Over: Chapter Seven
(I don't own any copyrights to the Harry Potter series, or anything to do with it).
"Ginny..." A voice beaks through the darkness. "You need to wake up...you can't sleep anymore--Ginny!" My eyes refuse to open, my body feels paralyzed; I don't want to wake up, but the voice goes on. "You can't leave them yet...there's still things to live for..."
My eyes flutter open; Harsh florescent lighting illuminates a stark white ceiling. I feel drained, I can only stare at the ceiling and think of what must have happened after I collapsed. Who woke me up? Who called out my name? Ron is sitting on a chair by my bedside, with his head between his hands; He looks up as I stir under the itchy wool blankets.
"Ginny!" He cries as he flings himself off the bed and embraces me. I embrace him back, weakly, and than he pulls away and stares at me. "Don't ever do that again! Do you know what'll happen to me if Mum finds out!"
"I already know," Mum says as she steps into the room. Her face is a thunderhead, her voice is shrill, her cheeks are flushed. Dad shuffles in behind her, looking defeated. I know I'm in for a fight.
"HOW COULD YOU---" She sputters at Ron, and Ron begins to tremble, "COULD HAVE KILLED HER!----LETTING HER GO ON A MISSON LIKE THAT!---NEARLY KILLED BY DEMENTORS!---YOUR SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER!"
"But Mum--" Ron tries to explain, but she pushes his flimsy words aside.
"DON'T 'BUT MUM' ME!---HOW COULD THE ORDER LET HER GO---HAVE HARSH WORDS WITH---TAKING HER HOME AS SOON AS WE CAN!---"
The last words freeze my heart. Go home? After all I've accomplished?...not a chance. Mum is still berating Ron, my own voice sounds small.
"Mum...I'm not going home," a deadly silence falls upon the room. Mum turns to me, her eyes livid.
"You most certainly are!---" I cut her off.
"No, I'm not," I take a deep breath, trying to explain myself, "I am not coming home because the war is going to continue, weather I am home or not. I need to be a part of this, I need to be doing something to help him, even if it's only small things..."
"Oh Ginny," Dad breathes, speaking for the first time, "I know you want to be doing something to help him...but how do you think he'd feel if something happened to you?"
"What if I don't care if it's dangerous to be with you?"
"How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral"
"I don't care"
"But I do! Please Ginny---"
Why did I suddenly remember our argument? I feel guilt bubbling up inside of me, my resolve wavers.
"I want you to be my home...my reason for returning!"
Is is right? Is what I'm doing right? What would he do if it was me? He'd look for me, fight for me, even die for me if he had to...and he'd do it for love, our love.
"Dad," my voice is firm, unwavering, "If I were in danger, I know exactly what he'd do. I will not do any less for him."
"But sweetheart-"
"No Mum!" I cut her off, "I'm not returning and that's final." Hermione steps into the room, and surveys the scene. Ron is pale, trembling, Mum is just coming off of her livid state, and Dad looks torn between us, afraid to agree with either woman.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Hermione says, "Ron, we're needed at headquarters; Lucius has come around, and we're going to question him. I start to rise, but Mum is at my side in the instant, firmly pushing me back into bed.
"I may not be able to stop you from being involved in this war," she says as she fluffs my pillow, "but I can at least ensure that you don't leave the hospital before your fully recovered."
I'd like to argue, but a nurse has suddenly appeared, inserting something into my IV tube; My eyes grow heavy, and everything blurs to darkness.
I'm released from the hospital a week later, with nothing more than a scar and some extreme soreness. I have to battle with Lupin and Mad-eye, but finally they allow me the chance to question Lucius, albeit, with Ron and Hermione stationed outside, and the door open so that they can hear everything that goes on.
The room is used for storage, the grimy windows are high on the walls, weak light filters through them in the late afternoon. There are stacks of old paintings lying on rotting tables, ancient, termite eaten wardrobes, and piles of antiques. Lucius is triple-tied to a chair, with barely enough leverage to keep the circulation in his arms and legs. His oily blonde hair is matted, dirty, and his face is one that looks to have taken a severe beating recently.
"Hello Mr. Malfoy," I say kindly, wanting to catch him off guard. He spits on the ground before my feet, and to prove I'm not affected, I step right on top of it. "That wasn't very kind to do to someone who has come to treat those bruises."
"Keep your treatments to yourself girl," he snaps, looking away, "I'll not talk, as I'm sure your friends have already informed you.
"Oh I'm perfectly fine with not talking," I reply genially, setting down a bottle antiseptic and some cotton balls, "but you might be more inclined to talk once your wounds have been treated, right?"
"As I said, I'll not talk. Can you not listen?"
"Don't you care about what happened to the people who tried to break you out?" I bait him, suddenly deciding to gamble, "Don't you even care about your ownson?"
"My son is none of your concern!" He retorts.
"Oh but he's defiantly our concern, certainly, since we caught him, he has been quite useful."
Mr. Malfoy sneers at me, "I'll not fall for that trick. Your bluffing!"
"Perhaps," I agree, "but if you don't wish to listen..." I start to pick up the bottle of antiseptic, but Mr. Malfoy's voice halts me, his face looks less sure than before.
"What---would I have to do to gain information concerning my...son?"
"Well, first, if you don't mind, I'd like to treat those wounds, than, I'd really appreciate it if you'd tell me why they've taken Master Olivander and Professor Trelawney." He studies me for a moment, and than nods curtly. Several moments later, his face is looking shiny, but the swelling seems to be fading.
"As to--Olivander," Mr. Malfoy's face twists in disgust, "I only know that he was the unlucky recipient of Trelawney's second prophecy. Isn't it obvious, my master wanted them so he could extract the prophecy? He is not about to make the same mistake twice."
"Thank you, now," I step closer to him, staring him directly in the eyes, "if you don't mind...I'd like to know why this second prophecy concerns Harry Potter, the 'chosen one', and what exactly the prophecy entails."
"I don't know!" Mr. Malfoy lies, staring coldly back at me, "had I known, would I be alive to tell you today?"
"Well-- if you don't want to know about Malf--"
"--Isn't it obvious," Mr. Malfoy changes his story suddenly, distress in his eyes, "This...second prophecy, isn't just about the boy...it's about two others. The 'three' are needed to fulfill it. Now I'm nose to nose with him, his breath is hot and sour on my face.
"And who would the two others be?" I demand.
"Do you know nothing girl," his voice is barely a condescending whisper, "It's obviously you...you, and one other..."