MASTER OF DEATH SPRING 5
By the third week, Harry had learned more about bread-making than he'd ever wanted to.
He lay on the floor of Gryffindor Tower, full to the point of discomfort, eyes half-closed, and longing for a nap. James and Lily had disappeared a while ago, muttering some sort of excuse that the others took in their stride, but Harry could not trust, even though it was the third time that day they'd gone off alone together. He grunted, shifting on the floor. Everyone else was quiet.
The portrait swung open with a bang.
"I've got it!" said Sirius, excited. "It's here!"
Harry groaned.
"No more bread," Ginny pleaded.
"It's not bread! It's the catalog!"
Harry heaved himself into a sitting position. "The catalog?" he asked.
"All of Diagon Alley's gone into a mail-order business," explained Sirius, waving around a brightly colored catalog that was thick as a book. "They've got everything in here." He opened it at random, gave a little ha of triumph, and said, beaming: "Look! Hufflepuff's cup! I told you it has everything!"
No one slept that night; the arrival of the catalog had injected Gryffindor Tower with a new excitement. In no time at all, James and Sirius had made perfect copies of it. We might have just won a Quidditch match, Harry thought to himself, as he looked up briefly from his own copy. It was just lucky that Sirius the elder had opened accounts at Gringott's for them some weeks prior. Not knowing how much money was in said account was a bit of a problem… with great reluctance, Harry limited himself to three items: a solid gold cauldron, a copy of Professor Vindictus Viridian's Curses and Counter Curses, 2nd Edition, and a tiny, moving model of the solar system contained within a glass dome.
Greatly satisfied, as though he'd just eaten a rather delicious meal, Harry leaned back in his seat, tipping his head toward the ceiling, and let the murmuration of the others wash over him. Across the room, Ginny was bent over her own catalog, tongue peeking out, flipping the pages swiftly. I wonder what she's buying, he thought.
Over the next several days, packages arrived by owl in a steady procession. He had a chance to discover some of what Ginny bought: ribbons that tied themselves, a painting of a silvery horse cantering along a beach – it reminded him of her patronus. When he told her so, she smiled at him. "That's why I bought it, of course," she told him. But other packages she did not open in the common room, and Harry could not help but feel intrigued on the two occasions this happened.
The second time, just after Ginny ducked into her room, Harry stared after her. Not long after, his parents rushed in through the portrait hole. Harry only had a second to register that they were not laughing and flirting as they usually were after a stroll. Instead, his mother was red-eyed and swollen-cheeked, and there were clear tear tracks on her face. His father stopped her in the middle of the common room, his hands on her shoulders. They were staring so intently at each other that Harry did not think they even noticed him.
"It isn't your fault, love," James said, tone tender.
Harry ducked his head, not wanting his parents to see him spying.
"-wish I could do something," said Lily.
"What of Petunia, though? Can she help?"
There was a small pause. "Not the way I can," Lily responded, soft and sad. "And it isn't even just the magic, James. It isn't. Though that would help a lot with a broken leg–"
"-you know magic can't always heal Muggle injuries–"
"I know, but I could set up charms about the house, you know, to make things easier: self-washing sheets, self-washing dishes… her broken leg wouldn't affect her as much. But it isn't just that… it's… Petunia."
Harry had no need to listen further – he was very well aware of Petunia's nurturing instincts: she had very little, and he couldn't imagine them focused on anyone but Dudley. Still, he shifted in the armchair, giving his parents a quick look. As always, they stood rather close together, silhouetted by the sunlight coming through one of the windows. Lily's face was downcast and hidden in shadow.
"Ah," said James. "My mum does all that, too–"
"It's part of a magical household. And with Dad gone… she doesn't have anyone to care for her or comfort her," said Lily.
"You could," James said, very, very quietly.
Harry shrunk into his chair, holding his breath. Was his father suggesting what Harry thought he was suggesting?
"What d'you mean?" Lily whispered.
"We could go," said James. "We could take my cloak, leave the grounds, and Apparate from just outside the gate."
"But James…"
To be honest, Harry had expected his father or Sirius to sneak off one afternoon and return with bottles of butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks or firewhiskey from the Hog's Head. But both of them had – as far as Harry knew – never broken the Ministry's edict that they limit their movements. This, even more than Sirius's warnings and Dumbledore's daily talks, more than any of the articles in the Daily Prophet, had impressed on Harry the gravity of the situation with the pox. But now, James was persuading Lily to break the rules.
And it was working.
"Your mum is hardly dangerous to us," James was saying.
Lily let out a watery little laugh. "You don't believe the Prophet, then?"
"I believe very little of what they say," James informed her.
"I know you don't," said Lily.
There was enough of a particular sort of silence then for Harry to know what they were doing. Making a face, he remained quiet.
"You really think we should?"
"I do," James said firmly. "This may or may not be life and death, but your mum is important, Lily. We'll go there and come back… Look, we can go tomorrow. We'll just tell everyone – tell them we want some time together. All we'll have to do is be home by dinner."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," said James. "We'll set her up with as many charms as we can… we'll make things easier on her."
"I don't think Petunia would lift a finger for her," Lily said. "You're right, James. I think we should do it. Petunia might help, but she'd give Mum an earful for it. Okay. But – are you certain you want to come with me? I could go alone–"
"Not a chance," said James, very firmly. "Try to keep me from going with you, I dare you."
When there was another pause, Harry made the mistake of sighing over it. Both of his parents shuffled over to him, looking down at him, faces unreadable.
"I didn't hear anything!" he said quickly, holding out his hands.
Lily bit her lip.
"I didn't hear anything that was any of my business," Harry amended, just as quickly.
His parents gave each other a long look; Harry couldn't read it. But they seemed to come to some sort of unspoken agreement, for Lily muttered a "thanks", and James nodded before they left him alone again. Harry settled again, thoughtful. If there was a reason for leaving Hogwarts, this was a good reason to do so. Rubbing at a little pain in his temple, Harry thought it was actually quite good of them to do so. They'd been good for weeks, hadn't they? And Lily's mother – Harry's grandmother – was in need.
An interruption of his thoughts came in the form of Ginny, who finally opened her door, now without the discreetly wrapped package, and flopped into the chair nearest the fire. There was a look on her face that Harry had seen several times over the last several weeks: a sort of savage, frustrated boredom.
"You all right?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," she grumbled.
"You got something in the post?" he asked. "Was it any good?"
"No, just something I needed," said Ginny, flicking a glance at him. "Trying to be more like my mum. Preparing for stuff, anyway." Face growing even moodier, she turned rather resolutely – in Harry's opinion – to the fire, directing her wand at it, and making the flames shoot higher and start to crackle and pop loud enough that it was a signal to Harry that she did not want to discuss it anymore.
Later that night, after tossing and turning for quite a while, grappling with things he couldn't control. There was little Harry could do to help Lily with her mother: James was perfectly capable. All Harry had to do was pretend he had heard nothing of their discussion. Likewise, he could do nothing about the pox that held the wizarding world in its grip. He could do nothing about their inadvertent time travel; the glacial pace at which Dumbledore and others were helping them was nothing to do with Harry. It was at this point his head began to pound.
Flinging his arm over his eyes, Harry instead thought of Ginny. Thick as he was, he knew that she was missing her family. How could she not be? The Weasleys were largely wonderful, and she'd been apart from them for months. And, he reminded himself, you owe her. Headache receding, Harry sat up. He'd promised Ginny that they could go to the Burrow, but events had conspired against them. True, they were meant to stay at Hogwarts, but hadn't his parents proven there were reasons – good reasons – to leave? There was little reason to suspect that Harry and Ginny would prove any danger to her family… they hadn't gone anywhere.
Perhaps a trip to the Burrow would prove to be what Ginny needed.
Satisfied with his idea, Harry was finally able to slip into a dreamless sleep.
HPHPHPHPHP
While Ginny was secretive about some of her purchases, she'd put the money Sirius had given her into things she used publicly, as well. The robes she was wearing were not the standard black robes that she'd livened up with judicious use of fabric bartered from classmates, or with scarves she'd knit herself. Harry caught the edge of the door and held himself up. No, these were entirely new, a bright enough green that they caught the weak sunlight filtering in through the windows. The robes gleamed along with her hair. She was sprawled indolently enough that he saw a rather fanciful ribbon tied about her ankle, dipping over her pale, bare feet.
With a small sigh, Harry pushed himself forward. "Hey," he said.
Her lips parted and she sat up, letting her robes fall over her knees. "Hey," she said. Color flooded her cheeks.
This brought him closer. Curious, he peered at her. "New robes?" he asked.
With a movement that may have seemed casual had her cheeks not turned a deeper shade of red, she tucked the slim little volume under her leg. "Yeah," she said, after a pause. "I used some of the – you know – money Sol gave us."
"I like it," said Harry.
"Thanks," she said, smiling ruefully.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"Reading," she said quickly. "I mean, I was reading."
Harry eyed her.
Her eyebrow lifted; he could see the thoughts marching across her face so clearly that he might have read them: She had no intention of telling him what she was reading, and if he pressed for answers, she would not hold back on arguing with him. As he rather enjoyed the way they were now back to getting along, he held back his questions, sighed, and instead said, "Would the book wait a while? I thought we could go… do something."
"I don't much feel like flying," she said, with a small grimace.
"It isn't that," said Harry. He peered over first one shoulder and then the next. They were still alone in this little alcove. When he looked back at Ginny, he caught a little spark of interest. "I owe you," he said, very quietly.
Her brow knit together. "What?" Then: "Oh! Now?"
"I thought it might be a good day for it," said Harry. "Sol's away, he told me. He's trying to triple his galleons – which, good for him, I hope he does it. And everyone is off doing stuff–"
"Remus is working on his… project, and James and Lily have that new yeast that Euphemia sent over," said Ginny. She was in motion, standing up, tucking the mysterious little book into the pocket of her robes – Harry caught enough of a glimpse to know half the title was The Owl and – and shaking them out so they fell around her ankles. The ribbon, to his disappointment, was hidden.
"You want to go?" Harry asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
"Yes!" she said, before her face fell. "But are you sure? We aren't supposed to leave Hogwarts grounds…"
"We won't get caught," said Harry.
"And how are we going to get there?" she pressed.
"I've already thought of this," said Harry.
"But isn't it a little risky for you–"
Harry laughed out loud. Then, taking her hand, he squeezed it, before letting it drop again. Leaning forward, close enough their foreheads nearly touched, he said: "Didn't a wise person once tell me that anything's possible if you've just got enough nerve?"
It was her turn to laugh.
His plan was simple enough. He used everything he'd ever learned from the Marauder's Map in order to smuggle Ginny out of Hogwarts. His heart had been beating a swift tattoo in his chest the entire time, but that was mostly due to Ginny being under the invisibility cloak with him rather than any danger of them getting caught: Hogwarts was largely deserted. There was no outcry when they entered the secret passage; no alarm was risen when they exited it in Hogsmeade.
Harry could not help but be pleased with his plans.
"How are we getting there?" Ginny asked, softly.
"Knight Bus. And I thought we'd pick it up here," Harry muttered to the now invisible Ginny. They were outside Honeydukes, which was emptier than Harry had ever seen it.
"Yeah, good," said Ginny, "we're far enough away from Hogwarts and the Hog's Head… no one is going to notice you."
"That was my thinking," said Harry, cheerful.
Taking a moment to peer around, it struck him how Hogsmeade seemed emptied of people. A few scurried here and there, but they were always alone, head down, and never closer than six feet to anyone. The skin on the back of his neck twitched. Even the shelves in the stores were bare. Shivering a little, he took one more look and flicked his wand upward.
Moments later, the Knight Bus careened around the corner on two wheels, brushing so close to the vegetable cart that the sad, lone bit of wilted lettuce toppled to the ground.
Ginny braced him on the back, her hand warm.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus." A squat man was looking out the suddenly open door and speaking while the brakes still hissed. "We are happy you've chosen us for your transportation needs." His voice was stiff. "Due to all our safety, however, we gotta few rules the Ministry says we gotta keep."
"Louder, Ern!" The driver's voice drifted out toward them.
"First rule is no more'n yourself can come ride," said Ern, even more stiffly. "Ministry thinks only one witch or wizard out per household is enough."
Harry forced out a little chuckle. "Well, I'm alone here," he said, gesturing rather ostentatiously.
Ern continued on, faster now. "You gotta sit six feet apart from any other passenger, and it's an extra five sickles per ride…"
"For our cleaning efforts!" shouted the driver.
"On account of us having to clean," agreed Ern. "You agree?"
"I agree," said Harry, and climbed aboard, with Ginny right on his heels.
Ern was not exactly youthful, but he was much younger than Harry was used to: His hair was black as a beetle, and there were fewer lines around his mouth or eyes. He spoke mostly in grunts, however, much like his older counterpart. There was only one sticky moment, when he took out his stubby, unpolished wand, flicked it, and a seat appeared.
Just one seat.
"Erm," he said, very aware of the invisible Ginny just beside him. "Can I have a double seat–"
"No," said Ern.
"-just to stretch out my legs?"
"Ministry rules," he grunted, and turned and walked off, back toward the driver.
Harry cast about for another place for her to sit, but they were the only ones on this level of the bus, if not the only ones on it at all. He would offer to sit on the floor, but Ern and the bus driver might find that ever so slightly unusual, wouldn't they? And she couldn't sit on the floor; she'd be thrown all over the place. When the obvious solution presented itself, he grew dizzy at the very idea. It felt like one of his increasingly intense daydreams, and not something he'd be able to experience in real life.
"Ginny," he whispered. "I think you'll have to… sit on… my – er – lap."
"Your lap?" she said, just as quietly.
His neck heated. "Otherwise, you'd just get thrown around…"
He settled, leaving the decision up to her. She could take what he offered or she could make do on the floor. His stomach fluttered as he waited, waited to feel her settle on him. However, it was the flowery scent of her that alerted him just before she settled on his knees. He breathed it in. The chains governing how he could act around her were loosened by their absence from Hogwarts and her invisibility. Even though she sat very primly on his knees, it was enough to memorize the weight of her–
–the Knight Bus surged into motion, and she was thrown against him. Stunned, Harry caught her against his chest, holding her as the bus caromed onto a crowded street in London. They weren't the only people on the bus, then.
"Can you breathe?" he muttered quietly, as an older gentleman with a scarf around his lower face stumbled off the bus.
Ginny settled a bit, though her body remained pressed all along his. "Yes," she said, just as the doors slammed.
Harry might have cast Muffliato so they could speak, but that would require taking his hands off of her, possibly sending her flying off him and up against the other side of the bus. No, she might break her neck if that happened. So instead, he kept his arms wrapped tight around her, because it was necessary.
Thirty minutes later, the Knight Bus found itself on a small, deserted lane.
Somewhat dazed, Harry settled Ginny on her feet and took a moment to gather himself before standing. Ern and the driver asked for his sickles. "And here's a bit — bit of a tip," mumbled Harry, dropping another six into the bucket. Their surprised thanks followed him out the door and onto the gravel. With a small pop, it bundled back in the other direction and disappeared from view.
A second later, Ginny appeared, hair disheveled from both the ride and the cloak. It swished upward on her robes; Harry reached out and righted it, feeling, for a bare second, the silky texture.
"Sorry about that," said Harry, though it wasn't exactly true.
"It's fine," said Ginny. Interested, he noticed a tiny bit of color in her cheeks.
"Should we…?" he gestured down the road.
"Yeah," said Ginny.
The lane was as empty as everywhere else they'd been that day, but this did not have the ominous sort of feel of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. The place where Molly and Arthur had chosen to build their home did not have the emptiness by Ministry decree but for a desire for privacy. A weight on his shoulders seemed to lessen. Ginny, for once, was moving faster than he was; he imagined it was eagerness to see her family that spurred her steps. A pang of guilt went through him that it had taken so long to keep his word to her. But then, the memory of what had happened the last time they'd snuck out of Hogwarts intruded, causing a phantom pain in his hands. Tucking them in his pockets, he hurried after her.
It was a chilly day and mist clung to the trees beside the road. It took some time until the Burrow materialized bit by bit, revealing the glint of a window here and the rise of a chimney there until there it was, almost exactly as he remembered it, that crooked little building, with fog swirling about it like its own cloak of invisibility.
"It looks just the same," Harry marveled.
Ginny squinted at the building. "Almost," she said, pointing toward the eastern side. "See there… Dad did an addition between now and then. It's missing."
"Oh," said Harry.
"I know it well because it was — will be my room," said Ginny, amused. "But it's mostly the same as when they bought it…" Then, excited, she said: "And look! Look there! There's the farmstand!"
"The what?"
But Ginny had taken his arm in her hand and was pulling him forward and to the side, where a little stand covered with honeysuckle stood. As they approached, some of the tightly furled buds bloomed, releasing a fresh scent that Harry had come to associate with Ginny. Distantly, a bell chimed.
Curious, Harry peered closer.
"Mum and Dad used to sell their vegetables and fruits and some of their charms," murmured Ginny, once they were close enough to see the shelves. They were mostly empty; obviously, they'd been picked over earlier. But the shelves themselves were painted a Weasley red, and held a couple of bouquets of brightly colored flowers, a basket of paper bags, tidily folded, and three large jars of flower petals.
"What're the paper bags for?" Harry asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I'm not sure. Mum sold a bit of everything before we 'got to be too much of a handful', she said. Could be anything. I know what those jars are, though, they freshen the air… like in a dank room."
"I'm surprised she didn't do that in Grimmauld Place," Harry muttered.
"Maybe she tried," Ginny pointed out, laughing a little, "but it was too much, even for one of her charms."
"That's likely"
The bell chimed again. This time, when it did, the back door of the Burrow flung open, and two red-headed boys tumbled out, shoving at each other, and a third toddled quickly after them on short, chubby legs.
With a pang felt somewhere in his midsection, Harry recognized the very much younger versions of Bill, Charlie, and Percy. Percy, no longer quite a baby as he had been in Diagon Alley, that first, confusing day in 1977. But still, he was not sturdy on his feet. When he tumbled over, the oldest of the three let out a gusty sigh and went back for him.
"You were supposed to stay with Mummy." Bill's voice drifted across the garden. "Percy, go back to Mummy, we have customers."
Percy hunched his shoulders and walked very forlornly back into the Burrow. His pouting looks were ignored by his brothers, who continued on across the yard toward Harry and Ginny, looking very much like they owned the farmstand and everything in it.
"Are they in charge of the farmstand?" Harry asked, amused. "A little young for it, aren't they?"
"I'm sure they're just helping Mum out," said Ginny. Her eyes were wide and bright and focused on her small brothers. "She'll need it for the next little while."
"Because of the pox?" Harry asked, looking from her to her brothers and back again.
"Because of the twins," said Ginny, rather matter-of-factly. "They'll have just been born, you know. They're only weeks old… they were born on the first, right after Easter."
Harry was gaping at her. "But–"
It was Bill who interrupted him. "Welcome, sir and miss!" he said, his little chest puffed with pride. Then, after Bill nudged him in the side, Charlie too muttered a welcome. "Welcome to Weasley's Farm to Cauldron stand!"
"Welcome," Charlie repeated again. Harry noticed he was holding a stuffed dragon behind his back and was none too happy they were there. "Are you sick?" he asked.
"Er, no," said Harry.
Ginny smiled at him and squatted down. "Not at all," she said cheerfully.
"We're supposed to guess everyone's sick," said Charlie. "That's what Uncle Fabian says, and he's a healer."
"We don't question customers, Charlie," said Bill. "And besides, we're staying well away. We're only here to say hello–"
"And to watch the cauldron," said Charlie.
Bill shushed him. "We're not supposed to say that part out loud!"
Harry covered his laugh with a cough. There was a battered looking cauldron on the bottom shelf. It must be where money was to be placed, for both brothers gave it a rather significant look. "No need to worry about that," said Harry.
One of the windows must have been open, for the unmistakable cry of a newborn started up followed swiftly by a second. Harry could not help but feel a small pang at the idea of the brand new Fred and George, innocent still of the happy chaos they would create in later years. Ginny, he noticed with a sidelong look, was barely holding it in. How much stronger must her feelings be? Indeed, as he looked, he saw a sheen of tears brightening her eyes.
Harry cleared his throat.
"We got babies," Charlie told him.
"We haven't got a lot of stuff," said Bill, watching them.
"No matter," said Harry. "I'll take the lot."
"You want all of it?" Charlie asked, eyes going round.
"How much?"
Bill grabbed hold of his brother, and pulled him to the side. Their whispered conference was hardly effective: Harry heard every word of it, though both were clearly trying to be quiet. Another grin threatened him, and he held it in. Ginny was ignoring everything around her in favor of yearning toward the Burrow, the place that would not be her home for several years. Harry felt intrusive for seeing that, for seeing the single tear that tracked down her cheek, and turned back to the boys, who were arguing over how much to charge them.
"But Mummy said–"
"Mummy didn't know they were going to buy everything!"
"But she said to halve everything because it's been out here since before the twins were borned–"
"And I said she didn't know!" said Bill. He remained quite unaware that Harry could hear every word. "Charlie, you don't know the way I do. I heard Mummy and Daddy even before Freddy and Georgie. We need this."
"But Mummy said half."
"Quiet," said Bill.
"Billy!"
"I said shush," Bill said, with all the importance a seven year old could muster. "Mummy will tell you I was right, you'll see."
Harry did not know whether Molly Weasley would or not, but Charlie finally capitulated, making a face, and marching up beside his brother back to the stand. Ginny was still ignoring them, craning her neck for a better look. The two little Weasleys quoted him a price. Harry didn't argue or try to haggle, but plopped the sickles and knuts into the cauldron.
"We'll take that," said Bill. "We don't leave it out."
"All right," said Harry, surreptitiously dropping two galleons into the cauldron. If he could, he'd dump all the contents of his pockets into the cauldron.
"Thank you, sir," the boys chorused together.
"You're welcome." Harry vanished everything he'd bought – everything on those shelves. He'd not be able to manage carrying it all the way back to Hogwarts. "Now–"
But his question was interrupted not by the cries of newborn twins, but the shriek of a grown woman. It pierced the air, shattering the aura of peace that surrounded the Burrow. It fell to pieces around them; in one motion, Ginny was flinging herself over the low, stone fence and sprinting across the yard. Harry followed her, nearly catching up with her before she yanked on the door.
"Ginny–"
But she was gone. Molly Weasley was screaming again. Now, too, other cries joined her, three of them. Her youngest sons were crying, and she was still screaming…
Harry stumbled into the small sitting room, which was filled with soft cushions and toys for children, including a small play castle that looked like Hogwarts, in the center of the room. Molly stood beside an open cupboard door, sobbing, with Ginny rushing toward her. Ice flooded his belly; there, on the floor, were two tiny newborns covered in terrible, grey-tinged sores. As he watched they opened further – surely Fred and George could not survive this, could not come back from this–"
"I've got this," said Ginny, firm and sure.
With what was a physical effort, Harry pulled his gaze from the dying twins toward Ginny. She's got this? Harry questioned in disbelief. Got what?
"Riddikulus," said Ginny.
What the–
With a crack, the twins disappeared. They were replaced with a mirror, one that reflected Ginny. Harry picked his way around the toys, curious as to why such a thing would frighten her? It didn't reflect her, not really; the woman in the mirror was older, her face lined. A cloak kept her hidden as – as swiftly as the beat of a dragonfly's wings – a small, red-haired family walked by her, oblivious to her. The real Ginny let out a little moan. "Riddikulus," she said, with the hint of a sob. Then, again, stronger: "RIDDIKULUS!"
The woman in the mirror turned into a can-can girl, kicking up her heels. Bill and Charlie let out barks of laughter. Harry forced a laugh of his own, then Ginny did, until the boggart in the mirror looked confused and then ill until finally, with a roll of its eyes, it disappeared with a belch of hot air and a pop.
Molly dropped to the ground as though her strings were cut. Percy, who'd been hiding behind the play Hogwarts, ran to her and flung himself on her, sobbing, his little face beet-red. "My babies!" she sobbed, grasping Percy to her.
Harry looked around the room for the real twins, but Ginny was there first, finding them tucked in a large basket beside the window. "Here," she said, carrying the basket over. "Here they are, they're fine," said Ginny. "It was a boggart, you know. Just a boggart. They're alive and healthy… listen to them scream!"
Molly sniffled.
"They're angry little fellows," Charlie observed, peering over them.
"Maybe they don't like noise," said Bill. "There was lots of noise."
Harry snorted. Thankfully, this went unnoticed by the rest of the Weasleys.
Curious, he ventured closer. Molly was juggling Percy lower onto her lap, and pulling first one twin and then the other closer to her. Somehow, though clumsily, she managed to hold her three youngest without dislodging Percy.
"Thank you," she finally said, looking up at them. "I – I don't even know what to say." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Arthur – m-my husband – he's only just now gone back to work… today was my first d-day without him, with all five of them. And of course it would be today of all days that a boggart…!" She curved her head toward her shoulder and wiped her tears off on her robes. "A bloody boggart!"
"Mummy said 'bloody'!" crowed Charlie.
"That's a knut you've got to put in the jar," Bill said.
"Of course, Billy," murmured Molly. With a grimace, she said, "They keep me on the level, they do. And – where are my manners? I don't even know your names!"
"I'm Ginny," said Ginny, "and this is Harry, he's my–"
"Friend," Harry cut in, with great force. "I'm her friend. We aren't related or anything." The last thing he wanted or needed was another set of people who believed him to be Ginny's brother. She stared at him, mouth open a little; he thought he could see a question in her eyes. "We've been mistaken for being related before," he added, "but we aren't."
If Molly found this odd of him, she didn't say anything. Instead, probably since they were now quiet, she handed one twin to Bill and the other to Charlie. "Well, you came at a good moment," she said, picking herself up off the floor with great care. Percy was still clinging to her robes. "I appreciate it… Ginny and Harry."
"Let me make you some tea," said Ginny.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to…"
"I want to," said Ginny.
Molly hesitated a moment longer.
"Daddy wouldn't like it," Bill said. "Because of bad people."
Molly muttered something under her breath. Her shoulders fell. "Your father might be right," she said, with obvious reluctance. "And there's the pox… we're not meant to have visitors." She swiped a hand over her brow.
Harry exchanged a glance with Ginny. It was true. They were hardly supposed to have left Hogwarts at all, let alone ventured into the Burrow.
"Daddy's more worried about the bad people," said Bill.
"We ought to be worried about both," said Molly. "What if – what if we had tea outside?"
"Of course," said Ginny, warmly.
Harry figured that her loneliness had overcome her caution. It did not surprise him, though, when she drew a line in the yard and asked them not to cross it.
"I haven't seen anyone aside from Arthur in a month," she confessed, sitting well away from them. There was a torn, reluctant sort of look on her face, as though she might bolt inside the Burrow with her children at any moment. The twins were asleep again in their basket, which Molly had covered with a knitted blanket. "Tell me, what brought you here?"
"We're – erm – we're up at Hogwarts," said Ginny. "We've been – erm – held there since Easter holidays; almost everyone else was able to go home to be with their families." There was a momentary flavor of bitterness in her tone, there and gone again. "But we had to stay…"
"How old are you?" Molly asked, warmth creeping into her tone. "That must have been frightening…"
"I'm fifteen," said Ginny.
Harry held back from saying anything. Instead, he sat beside her, and let her talk to her young mother without interrupting, as the two got to know each other. Their words washed over him; he half-shut his eyes, letting the sun and the conversation warm him.
"-got a godfather," Ginny was telling her, leaning forward. "But it doesn't mean I've forgotten my family – my real family. They're unforgettable, you know."
One of the twins had started to fuss, and Molly brought him out, tucked a conjured blanket over her shoulder, and began to feed him. "I feel the same way about my family," said Molly, smiling a little, eyes roving over her not-so-small brood of children. Harry wondered if she knew she was going to add two more children to her crew before she and Arthur were done. Seeing the exhaustion in her every movement, Harry thought not. "Of course, I haven't lost anyone. Not really." She let out a watery little chuckle. "It's unbelievable, especially in these times, with – with everything going on. But I've been lucky, haven't I, Freddy?"
"Mummy!"
"Just a moment, Billy–"
"But Mummy! We've just counted up everything in the cauldron, and guess what! We've got a lot!"
"Don't be rude, Billy," admonished Molly. She gave them a look, her face proving capable of turning as red as her daughter's. "We oughtn't take your money, not after you helped with the boggart."
"Of course you'll take our money," said Ginny, "we're going home with your things."
"But–"
"No buts," said Ginny, very firmly. "It was a neighborly thing, what we did."
Molly eyed them. "How did you even find us in the first place?"
Harry was just lucky that Ginny was quicker to fabricate things. "We heard about the stand from Xeno Lovegood," Ginny lied unblushingly and with great confidence. "He said he'd heard that your charms are unmatched."
Molly looked flummoxed. "I didn't even know – well, I see his wife more often… she does seem to like my charms. But as I said, we've not seen anyone since before the pox. I only put my simples out there out of hope…"
"What's it like down here, with the pox?" Harry asked.
"All we've got are rumors," said Molly. "If you know Xeno, you'll know about The Quibbler… well, some of the rumors – even some I'm hearing from my own brother – they're just terrifying, aren't they? People turning completely to stone and rotting from the inside out – I've heard that – that even if they're given a dose of Restorative Draught in time, they're still rotting unless it's made from the rarest of plants – my brother Fabian wrote that he heard that you can tell if a wizarding home has the affliction because spiders crawl away from it by the thousands. And if that isn't a Quibbler article in the making, I don't know what is!"
"What of rumors about the Muggleborns?" Ginny asked.
Harry felt a wave of cold undulate over his skin.
"Nothing to it," said Molly, with a stubborn jut of her chin. "It's going through the community, pureblood and Muggleborn alike." Passion rose in her tone, distracting Harry. "It doesn't matter. That I do know, sure as I know my own name. I don't care what the Ministry is saying. This – this fiction that Muggleborns spread it… it's vile." Red spots appeared in her cheeks. "All it does is help You-Know-Who."
Silence fell like a curtain.
Both Harry and Ginny were quiet; but Molly grew agitated, as though she regretted what she had said almost immediately after she said it. She tucked infant Fred back in the basket beside George, stood, and whistled for her other three boys. "Go back inside, and wash up. Billy, wash Percy's hands for him. You need to help Mummy." There was something fearful in her eyes when she looked back at them. "If you'll pardon me," she said, with a rueful twist of her lips, and an overly jovial tone. "It seems I've forgotten how to interact with… well, you aren't children, are you? But not quite adults. Teenagers. I didn't mean to – I didn't mean to say all of that – you'll have to forgive–"
"There's nothing to forgive," said Ginny.
"Not at all," said Harry, standing with reluctance. "We don't think Muggleborns spread it, either. It doesn't make sense."
"You're one of the few who don't see it," muttered Molly. The basket with the twins lifted slowly into the air, rocking a bit, then bobbed gently on the air toward the back door of the Burrow.
Harry did not want to leave, and could not believe that Ginny did either.
"You know," said Molly, once all five of her children were indoors, "I know your first names, but I never got your last names."
"Peverell," said Harry.
"Peverell," echoed Ginny.
Molly's eyebrows flew upward. "Didn't you say – ah. That's why you've got people thinking you're related. I wondered, since you two don't look much like each other at all. You've got the same last name?"
"Yeah," said Harry.
"And the same godfather," said Ginny. "So we can hardly blame anyone for thinking he's my brother."
"But I'm not," Harry said, very firmly.
Molly's lips twitched. "Yes, I see that. Your godfather just happened to collect Peverells, then. It's amusing to me, since I didn't even know there were any Peverells left…" She looked Ginny over. "Well, dear, it was nice to meet you–"
"And you," said Ginny, with great warmth. "And you. Send me an owl if you have any more trouble with boggarts." There was a hungry tone in her voice. "Or – or for anything."
There was a puzzled silence. Then, Molly's face softened. "I will," she promised. "Once the pox has run its course – whenever that is…"
"Hopefully soon," muttered Harry.
"Yes," Ginny and Molly chorused.
There was one more smile between the two. Then, Molly hurried off toward her crooked, warm little house and tossed them one more wave before she pulled the door shut. Harry blew out a breath and tucked his hands into his pockets. Ginny's eyes were bright as she continued to stare at the house. Gently, Harry took her by the upper arm and led her back toward the lane.
"We do have to go," he apologized. "She might get suspicious if we stay any longer."
"I know," Ginny said with a sigh. "I know she will. But I could've stayed forever…"
Harry thought of Christmas in Godric's Hollow, and the few moments he'd spent with his grandfather. Then he thought of all the time he was able to spend with his parents; he'd even gone so far as to think he knew too much about them. His lips pulled downward. He couldn't think of any child who'd want to witness their parents having sex. But this was different; it was different for Ginny, he knew. She'd gone from having a very large, very loving family, to having them be strangers to her. Harry's family had always been strangers to him.
He looked sidelong at her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," she said. "She was brilliant, wasn't she? Even at the end there…"
"I think she just thought she'd said too much," said Harry. There had been one thing in particular she'd said that had interested him. For the moment, however, it had slipped his mind.
But there was no time to think about what that might have been: they cleared the fence and shut the gate and it was then that Ginny's face crumpled. Harry's stomach dropped to his toes.
"Ginny—"
But his panicked, awkward exclamation was cut short when she chopped her hand through the air, marched off a few feet and, back to him, wept into her hands. Harry stared at the back of her head, then up at the sky, then at his toes, trying to sort out his own racing thoughts. What can I say? What can I possibly say? Ginny was grieving, and he had no idea what on earth could possibly comfort her when their situation was completely without landmarks…
Then, finally, he did the only thing he could do: he said nothing at all. Instead, he took the few steps closer to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. The moment he did, she spun and leaned into him. Harry squeezed her upper arms, lightly, just in case grief had made her fragile. It hadn't — he took a moment to appreciate the strength in her — then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. Her crying was nearly silent, which made the ache Harry felt in his midsection even stronger, for some unfathomable reason. For long moments her shoulders shook and her tears wetted the front of his robes. Still, he held her, curving his whole body toward hers.
Finally, she leaned back, peering up at him, her face swollen and blotchy. A bit of her hair was stuck to a red, wet cheek. Harry brought his hand up, brushed it away with his thumb, and tucked it behind the shell of her ear.
"Thank you," she said. There was a tremor in her voice.
"I didn't do anything," Harry protested.
Her fingers brushed his jaw again. Her eyes were clearing. Her grief had passed, leaving behind the slow marvel that he was holding her in his arms.
"You—"
But whatever she was about to say was cut off by a loud trill from his watch. It was their warning that it was time to go unless they wanted everyone suspicious that they were late for dinner. No one had been late to dinner since the start of the pox. Still, he was reluctant to disengage, and only half let go of her. The unsaid things between them were rising. He could taste them on his tongue; his mouth went dry.
"Thank you for taking me here, Harry," she said. Her lips quirked in a lopsided little smile. With a gentle movement, she was out of his arms. "We'd better get back…"
"Yeah…"
All the way back to Hogwarts, especially when she once more sat in his lap on the Knight Bus, Harry was quiet. Those unsaid things were going to have to be said; otherwise, Harry felt he might experience some internal explosion. But outside the Burrow where her family lived all unknowing she existed was not the place, and just after she'd experienced a squall of grief was not the time.
Soon, he thought.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
They snuck back into Hogwarts with little more than five minutes to spare.
Harry, who was still having moments where he relived the feel of her in his lap, cursed under his breath. "We've got to separate now, otherwise…"
"Otherwise they'll know we've been hanging out together today?" Ginny said, a hint of annoyance in her tone. There was an unspoken why would that matter that floated by.
Harry ignored this. "I'll go down the east stair… you can—"
"Scuttle down the other side, pretending you don't know I exist," said Ginny.
Lips twitching, he opened his mouth to reply, but Her level look had him snapping his mouth closed.
"We need to talk," she said abruptly.
Harry cut a glance back down the corridor, despite the fact he knew they were alone. "After dinner?"
She eyed him. "Very well," she said, in nearly as severe a tone as McGonagall could manage. "And you can think on all the reasons why you've suddenly decided you can't be seen with me—"
"—it's not that—"
"When the — you know what? Let's go to dinner, and then we'll talk," said Ginny, slipping ahead of him.
"I'll meet you when they all go up to the dorms," promised Harry.
That managed, they went their separate ways. Harry was scarcely aware of his surroundings, he was too busy wrestling with nerves. Three times, he nearly stepped off the edge of the moving stair, to the taunts of three knights in a portrait who then followed him to jeer at him some more. But Harry did not care about this small annoyance, not in the face of a threatened — promised — discussion. Slowly, slowly, he began to marshal his thoughts together, practicing what he would say to her.
It isn't because I don't want to be seen with you.
People noticed that I just wanted to be with you… they were laughing about it…
It's hard to pretend to be your brother.
Harry slowed, remembering how unbrotherly he had felt while holding her on the Knight Bus. Then, suddenly, he was not practicing the conversation he had to have, he was reliving it. There, on the Bus, it had taken his entire will to keep himself in check. He couldn't any longer. Arousal seemed to have seeped into his bones.
Stop it, he ordered himself. But he acknowledged, with a small grimace, that he was going to have an early night. Forcing himself onward, he clomped down the stairs. There was one particular activity that he needed to participate in, but it was decidedly not for groups. This was a detail he would leave out when they had their discussion; he didn't need to admit to her how deep his attraction went and the lengths he went to to relieve it… she didn't need to know exactly how unbrotherly he felt toward her.
Yes, you can keep that bit to yourself.
He took a moment outside the Great Hall to collect himself.
When he finally pushed open the door, he stopped short, brows coming together. There, at the head table, were the professors: Dumbledore in the middle, chatting with Professor McGonagall; Flitwick was drawing deeply from a goblet, while Old Bones sat on his flying carpet and was in an apparently deep conversation with Professor Slughorn. The professors who had stayed behind at Hogwarts were all accounted for, but there were none of the students. The Gryffindor table was empty of his parents, Sirius, Remus, and even Ginny.
None of them had ever been late for a meal since before Easter.
"Where are they?" Harry muttered.
His words were met with a low rumble of thunder. Glancing up, he saw that the enchanted ceiling was rather stormy today. Clouds roiled overhead, darkening by the moment, and threatening rain.
"Ah, Mr. Peverell," called Dumbledore. "You're here… but where are your friends?"
"I don't know," said Harry. "I've only seen Ginny all day…"
"Perhaps you can locate them and let them know their dinner awaits them?" Dumbledore prompted.
"I… yeah," said Harry. A flash of light lit the room, throwing all the professors into sharp relief. "I'll go find them."
There's no reason to assume the worst, he scolded himself. But he could not help remembering the dream he'd had during that terrible storm on Halloween, in which Voldemort had entered the castle unmolested in order to gain a few drops of blood from the basilisk that lurked in the Chamber of Secrets. But that was a dream, he argued, though he was not convinced. On edge, instincts prickling at him, his scar twinging with phantom pain, he hurried toward the Tower.
The Fat Lady saw him coming. "What's your hurry?"
"Are they in there?" Harry snapped.
"Should be, last one to get here was that sister of yours," said the Fat Lady.
"And she hasn't left?" Harry asked sharply.
"No," said the portrait, folding her arms under her ample bosom. "All has been quiet," she assured him. "What's this about?"
"They're late for dinner," Harry muttered.
"Oh, dear," said the Fat Lady with a great deal of sympathy.
Still on edge, Harry snapped out the password. The portrait swung open.
Harry clambered in, not quite sure what to expect, but stopped short on what he found. There was James Potter, white and shaking, staring down at a bit of parchment in his hands. Everyone clustered around him: Lily had both arms around him, Sirius had managed to set his hand on James's shoulder. Remus stood silently near, a pillar of quiet support. Even Ginny was there, white and solemn.
"What is it?" Harry asked. "I knew something was wrong… none of you were at dinner…"
"I can't eat," James said, voice hollow.
"What is it?" Harry asked again.
"It's my parents," said James. His eyes were rimmed with red. "They – they've got the pox. It's apparently… pretty bad."
Harry's stomach dropped down, arrowing toward his feet. "Oh no," he said. "No." For a fleeting moment, Ginny caught his gaze, held it, and looked away. They had known this would happen; but now that it was here, that the time had come, it seemed unreal that these were the last days of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. "They can't."
"It's bad," repeated James.
"James," Lily murmured, squeezing him toward her. Her boyfriend went willingly.
"When did you hear?" Harry asked.
"Just an hour ago," said James. Then, suddenly, he burst from the sofa. Harry jerked backward, but no one else seemed surprised. "And I can't even go see them," he said loudly. "Fuck the Ministry, even. What do I care about getting sick?"
"I care," Lily snapped.
"I CAN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE!" James shouted, face contorted. "They're my parents."
Lily went to him. Harry looked away; the moment was too private for him to see and to watch. His stomach had not yet returned to its rightful place; he found a chair and flopped into it. Head in his hands, he reminded himself that this was how he'd known it would happen. Sirius had warned him of it months ago. Tears stung the backs of his eyes; he swallowed them back, hard, banishing them. And there was Ginny, looking at him; there was a warmth in her expression that felt like a gentle caress.
After that, there was not much talking. Later – how much later, Harry had no idea – Lily drew James up the stairs and away from them. At some point, Professor McGonagall had come, wondering about her missing students. Once learning what had happened, she sent their dinners to them. Only Harry, Ginny, and Remus ate. Sirius sat under the window, looking up at the stars.
Ginny set warming charms on the basket of uneaten food. "For later," she murmured, breaking the silence at last, "when they're hungry."
"Good thinking," said Remus, just as quietly.
It was this short exchange that ended the mostly silent vigil. Harry rose from his chair, stretched his arms over his head. With some surprise, he realized it was after midnight: It was difficult to believe that it was only this day that they'd gone to the Burrow, that Ginny had sat in his lap, and he'd been hoping for an early night so he could relive that properly. Instead, his grandparents' illness had blown him backward.
If only, he thought, as he waved a quiet goodnight to Ginny and Remus, there were something I could do. And yet, even as he got into bed, he could not help shake the unsettling feeling that he was missing something, that there was something he needed to be doing. Heel of his hand pressed up against his brow, he felt like spiders were crawling under covers with him, at his feet, trying to herd him somewhere… The urgency kept him awake long into the night, restless and uneasy, until he finally dropped into equally restless and uneasy dreams.
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Author's Note: I think it's both appropriate and annoying that as I'm posting this arc, I'm suffering from the flu and am in my own little lockdown. I should've expected this, considering every time I read Stephen King's The Stand, I get a little cold, and I'm like, "Oh, shit, it's Captain Trips!" LOL. I hope you're enjoying this arc… not much longer, and it will be concluded. If you spare a thought, I'd appreciate reviews/encouragement/whatever as the next chapter after this one has me gritting my teeth like you have no idea. Hope you're well!