Chapter 15: The Waiting
Gawain managed a few hours of sleep before his anxieties coaxed him back to consciousness. He had fallen asleep surprisingly easily, the mental and emotional exhaustion from the day taking its toll. He awoke, however, at half past four in the morning to a quiet room in a quiet house with a far from quiet mind.
There were too many thoughts and feelings racing through his brain to be able to fully formulate into any kind of conscious image. But they had his heart pounding as he stared at the shadows around the chipped crown moulding of their bedroom listening to the sounds of the night.
Mary was deep asleep beside him. She had paid her dues in her younger years as a Healer in the Accident and Emergency department with her fair share of overnight call. It had taught her the valuable ability to find sleep when she could. Gawain was not so skilled at this. Ella too slept soundly in the small second bed in the corner with the blissful oblivion that only a child could manage.
Resigning himself that sleep would not be visiting him again, Gawain rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt as quietly as he could manage and stole silently from the room, shutting the door behind him with practiced control.
He was still buttoning his shirt as he moved down the stairs. On the first floor landing, he paused in the door to the drawing room. Kingsley was sitting in the straight-backed chair Gawain had pulled up earlier. His arms and legs were crossed, one fist pressed to his mouth. He stared at Potter who still slept soundly. He did not look up at Gawain, though Gawain was sure he had heard him approach.
"How's he doing?" asked Gawain.
"The same," Kingsley replied, his voice emotionless. He did not look up to Gawain nor did he show the slightest bit of surprise at the voice. He had most definitely heard Gawain coming.
Gawain studied his friend for a moment. Then looked to Potter who had not moved a muscle since Gawain had left him some three hours prior. Then back to Kingsley. He looked as exhausted as Gawain felt. Exhausted and depressed.
"Come on," he said, his tone brooking no disagreement. "He's dead asleep. He's not going anywhere. Let's go find some coffee."
Kingsley said nothing for a moment. Just continued to stare at Potter, his face a blank mask of exhaustion. Then he sighed and rose to follow Gawain out of the room without another word.
Down in the kitchen, Kingsley sank into a chair at the table while Gawain rummaged through the pantry. He found a bag of decent coffee beans and sent a silent thank you up to Potter for it before delving into the cupboards to find the slightly rusted old percolator they had used that very first night he had come to Grimmauld Place. Kingsley said nothing while Gawain set about brewing them a pot of coffee. He merely sat with his eyes closed, elbows on the table, massaging an apparent ache in his temple.
It was a good ten minutes in which Gawain and Kingsley sat together at the kitchen table in silence before Kingsley finally sighed at looked at him. It was the first time he had met Gawain's eye that morning. He looked tired. Beyond tired. Gawain just looked back at him. He didn't know what to say. He never did. So all he could offer was silent company.
After studying him for half a minute, Kingsley sighed again and looked around the empty kitchen as though he had never seen it before. When at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse with exhaustion.
"I think I'm too stressed by too many things to even be able to focus on how to solve any of them. Harry. Edward. The Death Eaters. Who in the Ministry sold us out. The election."
Gawain considered this in silence for a moment. Then said, "I guess we just take them one at a time. Potter was the most emergent. He's stable for now… nothing more we can do there for the time being. So what's next?"
Kingsley deliberated. "Margaret said Minerva was sending word to the Aurors. They'll have been to the Bones house by now at the very least. We need to establish communication. Find out what's going on."
Gawain nodded contemplatively and opened his mouth to agree when there was a thump out in the hall. Both heads turned sharply in the direction of the hall, ears attuned to the sound of stumbling footsteps tripping over that blasted troll's leg umbrella stand in the hall. And then the kitchen door creaked open.
Kingsley was out of his seat in an instant and flying to the form which stumbled across the threshold faster than Gawain could even register who it was. It was lucky he was so fast, because he only just managed to catch Potter before he took a spectacular spill onto the kitchen floor.
"Harry! What the bloody hell are you doing out of bed?" Kingsley demanded, part fury, part concern, and part self-reproach. Gawain pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, and Kingsley guided the boy's slumped form into it. Potter looked so weak he could barely hold himself upright. Merlin only knew how he made it down the stairs. He was still shirtless and Gawain saw a fair amount of blood striking trough the bandages around his middle. More than Mary would want to see, he was sure.
"Da Weavelees…" Potter mumbled weakly in what only vaguely resembled the English language. "Hafta go warn dem…"
Kingsley frowned. He was kneeling by Potter's chair, his hands still gripping the boy's shoulders, worried he was about to fall off at any moment. "The Weasleys? Harry, the Weasleys are fine. What do you have to warn them about?"
"Voldermer's comin forem..."
"Volde…?" Kingsley looked confused for a moment. Then his face went blank. His hand went up very slowly and laid itself against Potter's forehead. "Harry, you're burning up." He was staring at Potter's face with trepidation. And Gawain too took note of the sweat clinging to the boy's face, the pallor of his skin, the hooded eyes. Then his gaze travelled past Potter to find Kingsley looking directly at him. "Get Mary," Kingsley commanded Gawain. And Gawain was flying for the door.
Gawain took the stairs three at a time and sling-shotted himself around the first and second floor landings with a hand pulling himself along the banister. He opened the door to their third floor bedroom softly and crossed to the bed where Mary still slept. She was awake in an instant when his hand gently shook her shoulder. She sat up, glanced at him in confusion, then her eyes shot over to check on Ella who still snoozed away deeply.
"You're needed. It's Potter," Gawain breathed softly but urgently. Mary was out of bed in a flash, reaching for a jumper from their bag at the foot of the bed.
She made it as far as the door before she lurched to a halt and looked back at Ella's sleeping form. "Ella…" she said uncertainly.
"I'll ask the Amins to watch her. You go. He's in the kitchen. I'll meet you there."
"The kitch—?" She shook her head, deciding this detail was not important at the moment. And then she was gone.
Gawain softly closed the bedroom door and moved to the room across the hall and knocked softly. Sandeep answered the door a minute later, blinking sleepily in confusion. "Everything alright?" he yawned.
Gawain shook his head. "It's Potter." It was all the explanation he had time for. "Can you watch Ella? She's still asleep."
Sandeep abruptly looked awake. Awake and worried. And sad. Nayana appeared behind him, pulling a dressing gown closed over her round belly and looking sympathetic. "Of course. We'll go sit in your room until she wakes up."
Gawain spared enough time for a grateful smile, before turning and rushing back down the stairs after Mary. On the second floor landing, he saw Margaret poking her head out of the second door to see the source of the noise. "Gawain?" she asked. "What's wrong?" But Gawain was too distracted to pay her further mind and just kept heading down the stairs.
When he re-entered the kitchen, Potter was still seated in the same chair, his head hanging weakly. Mary was kneeling next to Potter and looking up into his face, her fingers finding his pulse. "I swear we only left him for a moment," Kingsley was saying.
"How on earth did he even make it down the stairs?" Mary asked exasperatedly, moving to remove the bandage and inspect the wound.
"Meet Harry," replied Kingsley. He sounded almost angry as he gazed down at Potter. "When he sets his mind to do something, no matter how inconceivable or idiotic," he emphasised this last word in Potter's direction, "he does it. Through sheer force of will."
Potter grumbled something Gawain could not make out. The only words he caught sounded something along the lines of "gotta find gin" and this hardly seemed the time for a nightcap.
"Merlin, Poppy wasn't joking. I'm amazed he could even get off the couch…" Mary muttered. "I'm going to have to keep him sedated if he keeps doing this." Her fingers were moving across the boy's abdomen, pressing firmly but gently. She was glancing up at his face, gaging his pain level.
With a new surge of determination, Potter then tried to pull himself off the chair, only to have Kingsley push him back down with a sigh and an eye roll. Gawain got the impression he had done this several times while he had been gone. "I hafta go warn the Weavleys," Potter slurred insistently.
"Warn who?" asked Mary, glancing up at Kingsley for translation. At this point, Margaret slid into the room, looking around and taking in the situation in confusion. She was wearing a bleach-stained pair of flannel pyjama pants and a baggy t-shirt with what appeared to be a faded band logo.
"The Weasley Family," translated Kingsley. Then he turned to Potter. "Harry, you are in no shape to go anywhere. I will go and check on the Weasleys, but you have to go back to bed."
"You can't go," mumbled Potter. "Voldermer… He'll look fer me dere…"
Kingsley sighed and crouched down again to be on Potter's eyelevel. His face was full of sympathy and concern and forced patience. "Harry. Voldemort is dead. You killed him. Remember?"
Potter groaned and murmured something indistinguishable again, his face screwed up in frustration. But he slumped forward and rested his head on the kitchen table. His arm hung limply and swayed a little like a pendulum. Gawain glanced at Mary and saw her looking at Potter's partially obscured face with a hand covering her mouth and tears in her eyes.
"I'm sure the Weasleys are fine, Harry," Kingsley continued, his hand resting comfortingly on the boy's back. "But I promise. I'll go check to be sure. But you need to stay here and rest."
Potter shook his head without removing it from the table top. But he seemed to be done fighting to stand for the moment. Mary and Kingsley exchanged a look and both straightened up and took a few steps away from the boy. Margaret and Gawain crossed to join them as they conferenced softly.
"I don't think it's peritonitis," Mary was saying, softly. "His abdomen is still soft and it doesn't seem as painful as I would expect if it were. I'll run a few diagnostics straight away and increase the frequency of his antibiotic draft to be safe." Kingsley nodded.
"Could the Weasleys really be in danger?" Gawain asked Kingsley.
Kingsley shook his head. "I can't think why they would be targeted in this, but anything's possible, I suppose. They were Order members, after all. But I suspect it's all just in Harry's mind."
"The fever is clearly causing a lot of confusion," Mary added, eyeing the boy sadly. Potter's forehead was still glued to the table, and if he could hear them, he didn't seem to understand.
"Whether or not they're in danger, I should go," Kingsley continued. "I should have done so last night. Molly is going to murder me for forgetting…"
Margaret shook her head. "Are you insane? You can't go out there on the whim of some kind of fever dream!"
"That's not the point. They need to know that Harry's hurt. I should have told them straight away. I was so stressed, I just forgot. Stupid of me. But they deserve to know."
"Who are the Weasleys?" Mary asked, trying to catch up to this conversation.
"Harry's surrogate family," Kingsley supplied. "They basically adopted him when he was eleven. He spent a lot of school hols with them and such. Arthur and Molly Weasley see him as one of their own children. They're going to be worried sick."
Kingsley turned his attention back to Gawain and Margaret. "And Arthur could be the answer to a lot of our problems, come to think on it. I don't know why I didn't consider him earlier. He has reason to go in and out of the Ministry. No one would think twice about seeing him there. He'll be able to pass messages discretely with Preston. Help us keep apprised of what's going on."
"Can he be trusted?" asked Margaret sceptically.
"I would, and have, trusted Arthur Weasley with my life," replied Kingsley earnestly. "And any one of the Weasleys would give their life in a heartbeat to keep Harry safe. They all can get through the Fidelius Charm into Grimmauld Place. And the Weasley house is also Fidelius protected, so I think it should be safe to Floo between the two. I'll Floo over and touch base with them, then come right back."
There was silence for a moment as they considered this. Margaret still looked sceptical. "It seems like a big risk to take. McGonagall already alerted the Aurors. Shouldn't we trust that they're on it? And as for Potter…" she glanced to the boy and looked a little guilty as she continued. "I mean, what good does it do them to know he's hurt? Nothing they can do about it."
Gawain was looking at Mary as he answered this. "You're not a mother, Margaret. Kingsley's right. No parent should be kept in the dark that their child is wounded. It's not fair. They need to know." Mary gave him a small sad smile and nodded her head in agreement. Gawain turned his gaze to Kingsley. "And I don't know about the rest of you, but I for one am eager to have some news from the outside about what the hell is going on out there. I say we call Weasley in."
Margaret looked around and sighed when she saw she had no allies. "Fine, then I'm going with you to watch your back."
Gawain rolled his eyes. "Were you even listening? The Weasley house is Fidelius protected. You won't be able to get through."
"But you can?" Margaret asked Kingsley.
The closest thing to a smile that Kingsley could manage crossed over his face. "Molly makes a habit of coaxing waifs, strays, and bachelors such as myself over for dinner. I've been to the Burrow quite regularly." Then, in response to Margaret's worried look. "What was it you said last night before going to Hogwarts? 'I'll be careful, and I'll be quick.'"
Gawain couldn't help but smile at the simple elegance with which Kingsley had just subtly told Margaret not to be a hypocrite. Margaret, on the other hand, just rolled her one good eye in response. Kingsley seemed to take it as begrudging agreement. "You lot get Harry back upstairs. I won't be a minute." And then he moved over to the Floo, helping himself to a pinch of powder from an urn on the mantel.
Potter was, at least, not entirely dead weight this time. Gawain and Margaret each took an arm over their shoulders and managed to haul him up the stairs a little more easily than the previous night. Twice, however, Potter abruptly became agitated, tried to turn and make his way back downstairs, and had to be assured that Kingsley had everything well in hand. But otherwise, he mostly kept his feet under him and let them guide him back to the drawing room. It helped that he was too weak to actually offer much resistance and, in fact, seemed to scarcely understand where or who they were.
Once the boy was settled back on the couch, Margaret excused herself to go check on the Bones family and Amitra. Mary was bustling about, giving Potter potions, spreading a poultice over his wound, changing his bandage, mopping the sweat from his brow, murmuring comforting words to him when he seemed distressed. Tired of standing around and feeling useless, Gawain left her to it, and went back downstairs to await Kingsley. Where, of course, he set about standing around and feeling useless some more.
True to his word, it was not long before Kingsley returned, fortunately. He offered just a few words in response to Gawain's expectant look. That Arthur Weasley was heading into the Ministry to try to get them some news and was to report back. And then he settled himself at the kitchen table and allowed Gawain to freshen up his forgotten cup of coffee from earlier.
Gawain studied Kingsley, waiting. He seemed distracted. "What's next on your list of stressors?" Gawain asked, when Kingsley remained silent. Kingsley raised an eyebrow at him, and he clarified, "Mary's taking care of Potter. Weasley is getting us communication with the Aurors who are tracking down the Death Eaters. What's our next problem to solve?"
Kingsley considered this for a moment. Then said, "Edward, I suppose. But I can't imagine there is much I can do to help that situation. Especially if he insists on continuing to make me so bloody angry..." He shook his head and raised his eyes to the havens as he said these last words.
The pair sat in silence as they both deliberated Edward Bones's situation. Gawain had found himself avoiding all thought related to this topic. Now it was painful to face.
"I feel guilty," he said into the silence, as much to himself as to Kingsley. Then he hesitated. Was it fair to burden Kingsley more with his own troubles. But Kingsley looked at him, silently inviting him to continue. Gawain licked his lips and swallowed. "I feel guilty for not feeling more guilty," he said. "About Iris Bones." Kingsley gave a small frown to indicate that Gawain should explain. Gawain sighed.
"Potter chose to get my family first. He looked at me; he saw me falling to pieces; he prioritised my family. It wasn't fair. If he had gone for Bones's family first, Iris would be alive. And Mary might be dead. And I should be feeling guilty about that. But all I can feel is relief." It was a horrible truth. But there it was. He was filled with relief that his family was here safe. That it was not Mary lying dead somewhere. That it was not Ella upstairs crying for her mother.
Kingsley was quiet as he thought about this. Then he said, "While I most definitely do not put it past Harry to have made your sad history a factor in his decision making, I doubt it was the only reason he went to your house first. It was a logical choice. Objectively, I would have done the same. His order made sense."
"How so?" challenged Gawain. Kingsley knew him well enough that even though he said he didn't feel guilty, on some level, that was not entirely true. Kingsley was comforting him. And Gawain wasn't having it. He didn't deserve comforting. "There were children at the Bones house. He should have gone there first."
"There was a child at your house too," Kingsley reminded him. "And a pregnant woman in the middle. Your house was the furthest. It was going to take the most energy to Apparate to. It makes sense to get that out of the way first and not attempt the return with two people after being exhausted from several other Apparitions prior. A mistake could have resulted in Splinching someone. The Bones home was closest to London. His choice to go north to south was logical and fair."
Gawain considered this, trying to decide whether or not to believe Kingsley. Whether it was indeed logical. Whether he would have made the same choice if he had been an impartial participant. But it was impossible for him to be impartial. His viewpoint was too biased to be able to contemplate any kind of logic here.
As he sat there, considering this depressing sort of brain-teaser, the fire whooshed abruptly. Gawain's nerves were on edge. He wondered how many more times he could take the heart-stopping feeling that fireplace kept bringing him. His wand was out in an instant. But out of the fireplace lurched at young girl, about Potter's age who hardly seemed a great threat.
She was a pretty girl, Gawain could not help but notice. Petite and slender with a mane of long fiery red hair that fell to the small of her back. She had clearly not taken the time to change, still in pyjamas with feet bare. The girl looked around the kitchen with wide-eyed panic, completely ignoring Gawain's wand. Her eyes found Kingsley, and she said with urgency, "Dad just told me. Where is he?"
Kingsley looked at her with pity and said simply, "Upstairs. Drawing room." He did not seem surprised by her appearance; he seemed to have been expecting this.
The girl waited for no further conversation. She was flying in the direction of the door, slipping past Gawain without sparing him a glance. And then she was gone. Gawain glanced back at Kingsley. He was staring after her with a sad expression that Gawain did not fully understand. After a moment in which they stood in awkward silence, Gawain topped off the coffee cups again, and they again sank into their respective chairs. To wait some more.
It could not have been more than a quarter of an hour in which time they sat sipping their coffee in silence before the redheaded girl was back, this time slower, her shoulders slumped. She looked horribly depressed.
"Alright?" Kingsley asked her with a tone that said he was quite aware that indeed nothing was alright.
The girl sighed. "I suppose. Your Healer sent me away. She said he was too agitated for visitors right now, and I should come back tomorrow."
"I'm sure Mary knows best," replied Kingsley sympathetically. "She's been a Healer for a long time."
"Well sure, if you're going to go and be all logical about it. But I'm not in the mood to be logical," the girl replied disgruntledly. It was a strange hearken back to their previous conversation.
"He's pretty fevered right now. Not sure he knows what's going on anyway," said Kingsley with an understanding smile.
"Yeah, I got that. Only about ten percent of what he was saying made any sense at all. He kept telling me to get out of here before You-Kn— before Voldemort came." Kingsley nodded sympathetically.
The girl studied Kingsley for a moment in silence, picking at her lip with a fingernail. Then she said, "So what stupid act of nobility was it this time?"
Kingsley smiled sadly. He clearly needed no clarification on this question. "Took a curse for a twelve year old boy."
The girl let out a growl of frustration. "Ugh, of course he did." Her tone was full of anger and exasperation as she continued. "It's like you can't even be angry with him properly because every time it's so annoyingly honourable!"
She sank down in the chair opposite Kingsley, her chin resting in her hand as she regarded the Minister with a dejected expression. "Why does he keep doing this stuff, Kingsley?" Gawain may as well not even have been there for all the attention she showed him. "Why can't he just let it go?"
Kingsley shrugged as though mystified by this himself. His expression was placid, but below the surface, Gawain thought he could see the undercurrent of guilt he still felt. He was wondering if he was the reason Potter didn't let it go. "It is rather a pattern with him, isn't it?"
"Hermione calls it his saving-people thing. I guess I should be grateful for it. I mean, it was me he was saving when I was eleven. Dad when I was fourteen. Merlin only knows how many times he's defended Ron... But mostly I'm just tired of it. And I wish he could just be a selfish coward for once in his life." She thought about those words for a moment then added with a sigh, "But then I guess he wouldn't be the Harry we all know and love, would he?"
Kingsley just smiled his sad sympathetic smile, and Gawain suspected, internally, he was agreeing. Then Kingsley drew in a breath and said nonchalantly, "Not that it's any of my business, of course, but can't help but be curious… You two going to get back together, or what?" He smiled kindly over his coffee cup with just a hint of friendly teasing.
Gawain looked at the girl with some little interest. He had not heard Potter mention a girl. He too couldn't help the curiosity, for all that the love-lives of teenagers really should be below his notice. He studied her, wondering at what kind of girl might date the saviour of the wizarding world. It hadn't crossed his mind before.
The girl blushed. "How did you know about…" she trailed off.
Kingsley shrugged with a smile. "Your mum told me about it a while back."
"Of course she did," she said with another sigh of frustration. "Anyway. You'd have to ask Harry, wouldn't you? He's the one who dumped me, not the other way around. Noble idiot," she added with an eye roll.
"Ah. I see. Sorry." And Kingsley really did look sorry for it.
The girl sighed and looked up at Kingsley through long lashes from where she sat slumped with her chin in her hand. "He's basically been avoiding me since he got back. So it's not looking great," she said sardonically. "That ten minute fevered conversation we just had was the most attention he's paid me all year." Despite her mocking tone, she looked genuinely dismayed over this.
"He was rather busy this past year…" observed Kingsley.
But the girl shook her head. "Even before that. I think he always saw our relationship with an expiration date. Like he was afraid to I would get hurt if he got too close…" She looked dejected. But then, this shifted into anger. She dropped her hand to the table with a thunk and straightened her back. "I mean, you're a man. Explain it to me! Why do men always think they have to protect us poor defenceless women?" she ranted, clearly not actually wanting an answer. "Like we're so delicate we can't take care of ourselves? Like we need a man to make our decisions for us?"
Kingsley was opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to think of a response to this, when abruptly, the girl seemed to remember that Gawain was there. She glanced at him and blushed to the roots of her red hair. "Anyway," she said, clearing her throat. She laid her hands flat on the table top and pushed, rising to her feet. "I should go. Mum's worried sick. I have to go lie to her and tell her everything is fine."
Kingsley looked like he wanted to say something bracing and comforting but couldn't think what. The girl just shook her head at him. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Just venting. Hard to find people to vent to when the whole world worships the ground your ex-boyfriend walks on."
She sighed, clearly feeling awkward about her outburst. She changed the subject. "Ron was out for the night. Staying at the joke shop helping George. Or at least that's what he told Mum…" she added as an afterthought. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was actually at Hermione's. At any rate, he doesn't know yet. But I expect he'll be wanting to visit. Him and Hermione."
"Of course. Any time," said Kingsley earnestly.
The girl studied Kingsley sadly for a moment as though hoping he might have a solution to make it all better. When it was clear he could not, she sighed and said, "Well, see you later."
"Bye, Ginny," replied Kingsley, just as sadly. And as quickly as she arrived, she was gone.
Starting at about six o'clock, members of the Gang trickled down to the kitchen one-by-one. Margaret returned first, now fully dressed. Sandeep Amin arrived shortly after. Gawain felt a surge of affection for him as he immediately assured Gawain that Nayana was still with Ella and that he had checked in with Mary to ensure she didn't need anything. In response to the expression on Kingsley's face, he also informed them that Potter was resting comfortably again and was fast asleep when he'd looked in. Then Roslyn entered, looking as polished as usual with her hair tidily pulled back in its signature twist. Gawain wondered at her clothes from yesterday which looked cleaned and pressed despite that they were her only pair of robes here. Ben stumbled down last, rubbing sleep from his eyes, also in his clothes from yesterday, though looking much less put-together than Roslyn. Bones did not come down, though Margaret had assured them he was upstairs with his children who were still sleeping.
Kingsley updated them all on his communication with Arthur Weasley. And then they all sat around the kitchen table nursing their coffee or tea. Waiting. The group was unusually quiet.
It did not come naturally for Gawain, waiting. He wanted to be doing something. But for the life of him, he did not know what. It was a problem he could not fix. And it irked him to no end.
When, at a quarter to seven, the fire flared and Arthur Weasley stepped out, Gawain felt the familiar heart dropping feeling of suspense. Weasley paused to take in who all was at the kitchen before tiredly helping himself to a seat at the table and a cup of tea from the pot.
Gawain did not know Arthur Weasley well. For all the years he had worked just down the hall from his office, one would think he would have gotten to know him. But, if he was being honest, Arthur Weasley had always rather seemed beneath Gawain's notice. But now he studied him with new eyes. He was a tall man with balding red hair. He wore old patch-worn robes, and he removed horn-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief before speaking.
"I've made contact with Proudfoot. They've been to the Bones estate last night. Finished locking down the crime scene. And they've confirmed that Iris Bones is dead," he said soberly. This was of no surprise to anyone, but still a palpable sorrow fell over the assembly at the confirmation. "No marks on the body. Likely the Avada Kedavra. They've moved her to the morgue at St Mungo's now. Edward Bones was there when they arrived at the house. He was in a bit of a pinch, it sounds like. He was fighting a collection of Death Eaters, but they fled when the Aurors arrived. Proudfoot said they tried to offer Edward protection, but it sounds like he was… er… less than grateful. He Disapparated and no one knows where he went."
"He's here," offered Kingsley.
"For now, anyway," added Margaret. "I think I mostly have him talked down, but he's not thrilled to be sitting in this house doing nothing."
"Well, he's not alone in that," Ben muttered.
"Have they been to any of the other houses?" Gawain asked Weasley, seeking to draw the conversation back to productivity.
Weasley shook his head. "They've only done the Bones house and Kingsley's so far. No signs of any disturbance at your place," he offered to Kingsley. "Likely they knew you weren't there and that you lived alone. The Aurors did a good sweep to ensure there were no traps set for you. Nothing turned up." Then he turned back to Gawain. "Proudfoot was working with low staffing on the night shift. He says he'll be getting teams together to search each of your houses come eight o'clock when the rest come in." Gawain managed a nod in understanding, even through his frustration. He was eager to hear that his home still stood in one piece, but he did know Preston would have been working under constraints. "I'll get you updates later this morning when I know more," Weasley finished.
"You should be careful who sees you, Arthur," said Kingsley. "I hate to drag you into all this mess. Last thing I want is for you to be targeted."
Arthur just shook his head, indicating to Kingsley not to worry. "I can be discrete. I'll go in as scheduled at eight. It will be easy enough for me to touch base with Proudfoot without anyone paying me any mind. I still have my office on the second floor, so people are used to seeing me come and go. No one has any reason to expect me to be involved with this."
Kingsley looked at him with a sad fondness. "I'm so grateful to you, Arthur."
Weasley just shrugged. "You know you need only ask." Kingsley smiled at him appreciatively. "I do need to go update Molly, though. She'll be worrying…"
"Of course," replied Kingsley. "You should go be with her. You'll be needing to check in at the Ministry soon anyway." He rose to his feet to bid Weasley farewell. "Tell Preston that he can send messages back with you as needed. We'll be anxious for any news he can give us. And eager to work out a way to help with the investigation as it goes forward. For now it seems we're pretty well stuck here…"
"I will," replied Weasley, also getting to his feet. Kingsley made to walk him to the fireplace, but Weasley hesitated, not moving away.
"Was there something else?" Kingsley asked.
Weasley adjusted his glasses and licked his lips. "No, no… I was just hoping to check in on Harry first."
"Oh, hell," said Kingsley in a self-deprecating tone. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you were. I'm so sorry. I should have taken you up straight away."
Weasley just shook his head kindly. "You have a lot on your mind, Kingsley. Don't go fretting yourself. But I do think, for my peace of mind, I need to see him breathing for a minute."
"He's up in the drawing room. Healer Mary Robards has been looking out for him. I can take you up—"
"Don't trouble yourself. I know the way. And you have more than enough to be getting on with." And he moved to exit the kitchen.
"Arthur," Kingsley called to him before he could leave the room. Weasley paused and looked back, questioningly. "About Harry… I'm sorry. I never meant…"
Weasley smiled gently. "You and I both no there's no keeping Harry on the side-lines, Kingsley. I don't blame you." He made to turn again toward the door, but then paused as he seemed to consider something. "When you next see Molly, on the other hand… Well good luck. And know that I tried to defend you."
The Gang sat around the table for quite some time after Weasley left for home a little while later. It was not a productive meeting. Could one call it a meeting when no one could think of anything worth saying? They sat and sipped and waited.
The rest of the families came down soon after. Amitra entered around eight with the three Bones children in search of breakfast. The Bones's looked around the kitchen as though lost, avoiding everyone's sympathetic smiles and greetings. Edward Bones was, as ever, notably absent. Amitra put an arm around Margaret from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder as they watched people milling awkwardly with little conversation.
Nayana and Ella came into the kitchen not long after, and Ella rushed to Gawain. He hugged her tightly. He had not realised how much he had needed that hug. Ella smiled up at him, her chin resting on his chest. He marvelled at her resilience as he smiled back.
"Da'! Nayana says she's going to help me with the drawing I was making for Harry Potter," she chattered. "I'm turning it into a get-well-soon card instead. And Nayana says she knows a spell that will make the ink turn different colours."
"That's great, Elles Bells," Gawain replied, brushing her dark curtain of hair behind her ear. "I'm sure he'll love it." At least someone was accomplishing something today. He glanced over her head to smile at Nayana who smiled back.
"We've been having lots of fun, don't worry," Nayana assured him and reading his mind as he wondered if he was asking too much of her. "Ella, why don't we let your dad work. Let's go see what we can manage to find for breakfast, shall we?"
"I'll help," jumped in Amitra. She gave Margaret a peck on the cheek and moved off after Nayana and Ella, the three of them wandering across the kitchen on a mission to raid the pantry.
"Check the icebox. If there's milk and eggs, I reckon we can manage some pancakes," he heard Amitra say as she pulled out a bag of flour and sugar.
"My nan makes the best drop scones," Ella was saying to no one in particular.
"Why don't you have a seat, kids," Margaret turned to the Bones children who were standing awkwardly just inside the door. "I'm sure they'll be able to scrounge something up soon. I bet you're hungry."
The girl, Susan, merely offered Margaret a weak, non-committal smile. The littlest boy, Brandon, had crushed himself up against his sister's side. He looked up at all the adults through large round eyes as though he didn't know what to make of them at all. Maxim, the older boy, shrugged and mumbled, "I guess."
"Did you sleep alright?" Margaret asked them. Another shrug. The three of them found seats together on the far side of the table and studied their hands as they waited. Clearly, they were not eager for further conversation. Gawain saw Margaret sigh, gazing at them with worry. She caught Gawain watching her, and he gave her an encouraging nod in silence.
It was not long before Amitra was turning out fresh hot pancakes. Nayana had Ella helping to set the table before she began passing a platter full of pancakes down the way. Gawain plucked a few pancakes onto a plate to bring up to Mary who he was sure would not be leaving Potter's side anytime soon. He caught Nayana's eye from the doorway as he left, and she nodded to him in silence. Ella was so busy telling Sandeep of the difference between Scotch pancakes and English pancakes that she did not notice him go.
Potter was sleeping soundly again when Gawain entered the drawing room. One arm had escaped the bundle of blankets and was hanging limply over the side of the couch. Mary was sitting beside him, watching him sadly.
"How's he doing?" Gawain asked, placing the plate of pancakes next to Mary on the coffee table.
"I managed to get his fever down," Mary replied. She made no immediate move for the breakfast. "He seems to be sleeping better now."
Gawain studied his wife gravely. She looked exhausted. And there was some new sadness he could see in her that he hadn't noticed earlier. "And you?" he asked.
Mary kept her eyes on Potter and did not answer for a moment. Then she spoke, so softly, Gawain had to lean into hear her. "He called me 'Mum'."
"What?"
"Harry. In his fever. He called me 'Mum'." Then she glanced at Gawain and sighed. She ran a hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes. "I wish she was here. Every child should have their mum with them when they're sick."
Gawain had nothing to say to that. He looked over to the boy sleeping on the couch and was again reminded of his youth and another pang of guilt stabbed his gut, remembering that he, Gawain, had put him in this position. As much to comfort himself as her, he reached out and put an arm around Mary. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. She leaned back against his side from her position on the chair beside the couch, accepting this small pitiful attempt at comfort. The pancakes lay forgotten on the coffee table.
He stood this way for a moment before he heard voices coming up the stairs. He half turned his head to listen better, but the only one he recognised was Kingsley. He gave Mary's shoulders another gentle squeeze before breaking the touch, just as a soft knock on the door frame announced company.
Kingsley came in, leading the bushy haired girl Gawain recognised as Hermione Granger. Behind her was a tall red-haired boy of the same age who could only be Ron Weasley. Mary stood from her chair as Kingsley introduced them.
"Ron and Hermione," he said, gesturing to each in turn. "This is Healer Mary Robards. She's been looking after Harry. And her husband Gawain." Gawain felt a funny stab of something akin to jealousy hastily stifled as he was introduced too. He was much more used to Mary being introduced as his wife than he as her husband. Then he shoved the feeling away, chastising himself for the misogyny of that thought. Mary was most definitely first violin in this orchestra.
Weasley and Granger nodded politely, if a little distractedly, at them each in turn, their eyes troubled. "Thank you for—" Granger began to Mary, then cut off abruptly. For Mary had just stepped aside and Granger and Weasely had caught their first look at Potter's unconscious form on the couch. "Oh, God," Granger breathed. And abruptly there were tears in her eyes. And hand came up to cover her mouth. She turned her face away from them a moment as she struggled to gain control of her emotions.
Weasley meanwhile, was staring at Potter as though he'd seen a ghost. He glanced at Granger, then back to Potter. "Suddenly, I see why Dad didn't want Mum coming to visit until he was awake…" he said dully. Gawain did not understand this comment. Why shouldn't Molly Weasley visit?
But Granger continued the thought. Her voice was little more than a whisper, choked with emotion. "He looks just like… like he did when…"
"He looks like he did when Hagrid carried his body out of the forest," Kingsley finished for her emotionlessly. "I know. I've been thinking the same." And then Gawain understood. These were people who loved Potter. People who had had to see their friend's dead body paraded before them. And now they felt they were reliving it all over again.
"Dad said it would be too much for Mum. After… after Fred…" said Ron to no one in particular, his eyes still on Potter. Gawain did not know who Fred was, but Weasley's voice cracked as he said the name. "Not so sure it's not too much for me too…" All three of them, Weasley, Granger, and Kingsley were staring at Potter's unconscious form, but their gaze was far away, and Gawain thought they were somewhere else entirely.
Granger sniffed, then seemed to remember Mary and Gawain. "Sorry," she said with a teary smile for them. "I guess we're all still a little emotionally scarred." She rubbed a few stray tears away with the back of her hand and turned to Mary. "Would it be alright… that is, will we be in the way if…"
"Of course!" Mary hastened to say. "You should sit with him." She moved across the room to fetch another chair to pull up alongside the one she had been sitting in. "I'm not sure how much he is aware of at the moment. I have him quite heavily sedated. He kept trying to get up…" she explained regretfully.
A snort of laughter surprised everyone and all eyes turned to Weasley. He shrugged. "Good to know Harry's still it there somewhere. Very true to form, that." Granger smiled a silent laugh as well at that, even as another tear escaped her eye.
After leaving Weasley and Granger to have some privacy with Potter for a while, Gawain settled into the bedroom upstairs with Mary and Ella over the next few hours. Mary unpacked their bag and hung the few sets of clothes she had brought for them each in the closet. Ella lay on her stomach on her bed, working on the masterpiece she intended to gift to Potter when he awoke. A glance over her shoulder showed a drawing of a spectacled figure on a broomstick.
Gawain sat on the other bed and watched Ella colouring with a small smile on his face. She had her tongue poking out between her teeth as she focused on her drawing. He couldn't be prouder of this irrepressible little human he had helped create. Through all the fear and stress they had been through in the past day, still she remained imperturbable and kind and sought to relieve the suffering of others. Gawain could not image what on earth he had done to deserve her.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced over to Mary who was watching him watch Ella from her position by the closet. She was smiling gently at him, and he knew she could tell what he was thinking. He gestured for her to join him. Mary climbed up to sit on the bed beside him, and Gawain put his arm around her. Together they watched Ella colouring and Gawain found peace in this little moment with his family.
Hunger drove them from this little sanctuary at midday. On the third floor landing, they found Ben. Ben looked distracted. He was leaning over the banister and looking up the staircase toward the fourth floor, his sandy blond hair falling in his eyes as he craned his neck. He did not immediately notice them approach until Gawain smacked him on the back in greeting.
"How's it going?" Gawain greeted him. "What are you up to?"
Ben jumped and a flush creeped up his face. "Oh, nothing much. Just… exploring the house, you know. Bit bored."
Gawain nodded in understanding. He couldn't blame him. Poor Ben was one of the only people here without family to keep him occupied. "Well, Kingsley said we should steer clear of the fourth floor, remember," Gawain reminded him. "Potter lives up there. Lad deserves some privacy, what with the home invasion."
"Right," muttered Ben, chewing on his lip. "Forgot."
Gawain took pity on him. "We're off in search of lunch. Care to join?" As with all mentions of food, Ben brightened, and they made their way down to the kitchen together.
Mary veered off to check on Potter on the first floor landing, indicating that she would catch up. A glance through the open door of the drawing room showed Weasley and Granger were still there. Gawain led Ben and Ella down the stairs. Ella was chatting incessantly. Ben looked awkward, as though he really had no idea how to interact with children, but Ella was blissfully unaware of this.
In the kitchen, Kingsley, Roslyn, Sandeep, and Margaret were sitting at once end of the table, their heads bowed toward each other in conversation. Amitra was sitting next to Margaret, but she was chatting with the three Bones children, none of whom particularly seemed to be chatting back. Nayana, was standing at the far side of the table, kneading some kind of dough in a bowl. A heavenly spicy smell was emanating from a pot on the stove.
Ella danced unabashedly away from Gawain and over to Nayana. "What are you making?" she asked.
"Chapati. Why don't you come and learn," replied Nayana smiling at her and handing her a rolling pin and dusting their corner of the table with flour. Gawain smiled after them, before helping himself to the chair next to Sandeep.
"It just feels so hopeless. What are they going to have to go on?" Margaret was saying to Kingsley.
"Preston is good at what he does. If there's a lead to be had, he'll find it. We have to trust him."
"I just wish we could be there. To investigate ourselves."
This was not a new conversation. It was one that had been rehashed many times in just the short time that they had been stuck in Grimmauld Place.
"Blasted Death Eaters," commented Ben, helpfully.
"Why now?" Sandeep mused. "If they've been watching us for weeks as Proudfoot heard… We must have been getting close to something to have made them act now. Was it about one of the upcoming trials, do you suppose? Maybe they're hoping with us out of action, a case will get overturned?"
"Or maybe it was to distract us from Preston's assignment?" said Kingsley. "Maybe he was getting too close to something. Maybe they were on to him. Intentionally pulling him away from the investigation."
"What if it's not really about the Death Eaters at all," muttered Gawain, thoughtfully, as much to himself as to anyone else. All four pairs of eyes looked at him quizzically.
"What else would it be about?" asked Roslyn.
Gawain shrugged. "What other thing of note is going on? Other than us rounding up Death Eaters?" When no one responded, he supplied the answer he was looking for with a shrug. "The election."
More silence. Kingsley was regarding him with a crease between his brows.
"Seems a bit of a stretch," said Margaret. "We're literally talking about Death Eaters attacking us, aren't we? Don't see why they should care so much about the election. More about getting away with their lives and their freedom."
"How do we know it's the Death Eaters?" asked Gawain. "How do we know exactly who attacked us." The others merely looked at him. Gawain shrugged again. "Potter didn't recognise any of them. And he knows more Death Eaters on sight than most. What if it's all a ploy? What if they're just trying to get Kingsley and his most influential supporters out of the way?"
There was silence as everyone considered this. "Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to end up with a duffer like Guy Burgess as Minister," supplied Ben after a moment.
Kingsley was regarding Gawain seriously. "You suspect Guy could have orchestrated something like this?"
Gawain shrugged. "Maybe. Or someone who knows a 'duffer' is easier to control than you would be."
They all considered this in silence some more. None of the others seemed convinced. Which was fair. Gawain was far from convinced himself. It was a half-formed theory. But it was his job to keep an open mind.
It was then that the fire flared green and Arthur Weasley stepped into the kitchen. Gradually, Gawain was reaching a point where the arrival of someone by Floo didn't make him immediately lunge for his wand.
Weasley looked troubled as he brushed soot from his robes and looked around. He took in the occupants of the room until his eyes found Kingsley who had gotten to his feet expectantly. Weasley nodded to him to conference privately in the far corner of the kitchen and the pair moved away. Gawain suppressed the annoyance. Merlin, but he just wanted news of his home and what they had found there. But instead the two men were whispering together where none of the others could hear them.
"Da'! Da'! Look!" Gawain turned distractedly to look at Ella. "I made a chadapi!" she cried excitedly. She was holding out a slightly misshapen round flat bread to him.
"Chapati," Nayana corrected gently, passing them each plates piled with what appeared to be cauliflower and potatoes. She placed another plate piled with more bread in the centre of the table. Sandeep happily helped himself to a piece of the bread and began tearing off chunks and using it to transport vegetables to his mouth expertly. The others looked around hesitantly, and Gawain was glad when Margaret shook her head and reached for a fork. He followed her example.
Kingsley and Weasley were moving out of their corner then. "I'm sorry," Gawain heard Weasley mutter. "Do you want me to be the one…"
"No. No, it should be me," replied Kingsley. "Thank you, Arthur. For everything."
"Of course. I just wish I had better news."
"Me too," Kingsley sighed.
"I'll just head up and collect Ron and Hermione. Molly will be wanting them home for lunch."
"By all means."
"Da', Nayana says she's going to teach me to cook all sorts of Indian food," Ella was chattering.
"That's great, love," Gawain replied automatically turning back to her briefly.
When he glanced back over his shoulder, Weasley had left the room. And Kingsley was staring straight at Gawain, a look of sorrow on his face. Gawain felt his heart drop. Kingsley looked down at his feet a moment and licked his lips. Then, looking back to Gawain, nodded his head in the direction of the door.
"Elles, I'll be right back. Stay with Nayana," Gawain said without looking at her. And then he was following Kingsley out into the hall and up the short flight of stairs to the entrance hall.
Kingsley turned into the first room off the hall, which turned out to be a musty library. His face was grave. Gawain braced himself.
Gawain wasted no time when Kingsley closed the door behind them. "What's happened?"
Kingsley licked his lips again and seemed to be struggling to make eye contact as he chose his words carefully. "Gawain. I'm afraid I have bad news. Very bad." He paused. Gawain's heart was pounding so hard he thought Kingsley must be deafened by it. Bloody hell, man. Spit it out. "Arthur brought news from Preston. They've been to your home…"
Kingsley paused again. Gawain felt his heart breaking. His home. The beautiful home he had built with Katherine. All that he had left of her. It was gone. In that instant, he knew it with certainty. In a way, he'd known it since the crystal in his pocket alerted him to the break-in.
"It's all gone," he supplied to Kingsley gravely. He wanted to make it easier for Kingsley. He struggled to keep his tone matter-of-fact. To let Kingsley know that he would survive this. That he didn't need to worry about him too on top of everything else. "Did they burn it to the ground?" This, however, seemed to only pain Kingsley further. "It's only a house, Kingsley," he said bracingly. "All that matters is that Ella and Mary are here safe."
"Gawain… the house is fine. But they found a body." Gawain blinked. He didn't understand. No. The house was burned to the ground. It was gone. What was this about a body? There was no one there. "I'm so sorry, Gawain. It's your mother-in-law."
A buzzing was filling Gawain's ears. Kingsley was still talking, but he was struggling to make sense of the words.
"There were no marks on her. Likely the Avada Kedavra. It would have been quick. She didn't suffer. She must have stopped by unexpectedly. They probably surprised her. She didn't even have time to draw her wand."
"Gwen… is dead…?" Gawain choked out, still lost somewhere at the very beginning of this conversation and unable to get past this point to understand anything else that Kingsley was saying. It didn't make sense. He couldn't understand. Couldn't grasp the idea of a world where Gwendolyn Macdonald did not exist.
Kingsley just looked at him pityingly. "I'm so sorry, Gawain."
"No… No, this doesn't make sense. She wasn't supposed to be there. It was Mary's day off. She wasn't due to watch Ella again until tomorrow."
Kingsley regarded him sadly. "She must have stopped by… There was a plate of biscuits scattered on the floor. Maybe dropping some off for you all. I'm so sorry Gawain. For you. For Mary."
"Mary…" repeated Gawain dully. "I have to tell Mary. Oh, God," Gawain said as an even worse realisation hit him. "Ella! Oh, poor Ella. They were so close."
"If there's anything I can do…"
But Gawain was hardly hearing him. He had been through this before, after all. The words of comfort. The invitations for assistance. As though anyone could make it better. As though anyone could change the fact that a person you loved was gone. As though anyone could change the fact that the world was a darker place than it had been just a moment before.
A/N (05.08.2021): So sorry for the slow update! It's been a bit crazy over here in the real world. Hope you lot are surviving this funny ol' thing we call life. Thanks to all of you who left patient and encouraging notes to continue. You cannot imagine how much it helps get me writing again when I find myself faltering. I don't anticipate it being such a wait for the next chapter. I already have some chunks from the next one written (who else out there writes completely out of order?)