Chapter 6: Fire and Rain

It's kind of remarkable what dipshits most of my Weasley cousins are when, without exception, I actually really like all their parents. At lunch and dinner the day of Mum's funeral, I'm stuck with Molly and our cousins at the kids' table while all the adults are totally inaccessible in the dining room, and I keep reminding myself that starting next weekend, I'm going to get to spend Saturdays and Sundays with my aunts and uncles and grandparents with no cousins in sight—well, except for Hugo and Rose, who are still a year or two too young for Hogwarts.

Of course, there's a part of me that's wondering how Dad could be so secure in his conviction that his siblings and their spouses will actually want to hang out with me when Dad was always totally out of the loop with the rest of the Weasleys my entire childhood. Still, Angelina says she wants to keep on with our Saturday hangouts (which she admits to feeling better about now that I won't be sneaking away from school to have them), and Aunt Fleur and Aunt Ginny both make a point of telling me how much they're looking forward to my company. Anyway, it's not like Dad will be tagging along: he said himself that he'll probably be busy working most of the time, since I'm sure that being Head of the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry is so exciting.

The family politics are almost enough to make me forget that my mum just killed herself less than a week ago. Almost.

The highlight of Saturday is probably seeing Uncle Charlie, who only comes back from Romania to visit once every three or four years. I haven't actually met him all that many times as a result, but when I do, he's always really jolly and friendly and kind of has this way of looking at you like you're the only other person in the room, which is impressive in a family as big as the Weasleys. The last time I saw him was last Christmas, and he brought back a boyfriend, this dude named Gregor, to meet the family. He doesn't bring Gregor—or any other guy, for that matter—this time.

We go back home for the night after helping Grammy Weasley clean up dinner and thanking her and Granddad Weasley for their hospitality. Molly and I are only going back with Dad for the night before we'll have to Floo back to Hogwarts, but at least I know that it'll only be another week before I can come back, and again, and again.

There's a letter sitting on my bed and a big barn owl soaring around up by the ceiling when I get up to my room. I pick up the parchment and open it; it's written in McLaggen's handwriting, and I grin in spite of myself.

Weasley,

Things have sucked without you here the last few days. Smith got a week's detention just for giving Trelawney shit in Divination when James Potter completely got away with charming all the Slytherin boys' underwear to itch all day Friday. Jessica Vane tried to start making suicide jokes about your mum, but Chandni Patil chewed her out for it before I could even lift a finger. I don't think they're dating anymore this year. Thought you might like to know that.

You missed an exam in Charms, but you probably knew that already. Anyway, I'm sure Flitwick will let you make it up. He's chill like that.

Al Potter said before he left for the funeral that you and your sister will be back in school on Monday. He looked pretty disappointed about something, but I couldn't tell if he was bummed you were gone so long or bummed he had to spend the weekend with you. Nobody's been making any name jokes about him without you here, and if you ask me, he secretly misses it.

I know that I

Hurry back. I think Potter's almost cracked getting electricity to work in the castle, even if there won't be any cell signal when he does.

McLaggen

So Chandni is now defending my mum's honor to the slag she cheated on me with. That's almost more interesting to me than the fact that they apparently broke up over the summer. Still, the most interesting bit of all is the part that McLaggen crossed out without finishing. I know that I—what, exactly? Was it something sappy? Some kind of apology? Because I don't really want anybody's apology. Life happens, people are shitbags, whatever. I'm just trying to survive here, and I don't need anybody patronizing me to make themselves feel better about what they've done to make survival harder for me.

I consider writing a letter back, but it's Saturday night and I'll see him on Monday morning. Don't want him getting the wrong idea about what he means to me. It's not like I even know myself how I feel; better not go around giving the impression that I know what the hell is happening. Still, I keep the parchment unfolded and put it on my bedside table, so that I can look at it when I want to.

Somebody knocks on my door after that, and then Molly opens the door and comes in without being invited, might I add. "I'm just sitting downstairs with Dad, if you'd like to join us," she says. She sounds pissed.

"Maybe later, sweet cheeks."

Molly flares up at that. "We're supposed to be with family at a time like this. You're supposed to be celebrating Mum's legacy, and you're—"

"'Celebrating Mum's legacy?' She spent her whole life hiding from her responsibilities, including to us. She had no legacy."

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Molly doesn't lose control very often. You want to see something really interesting? Watch this space. "Our mother is dead, and you're acting like she didn't even die."

"No," I say with an air of supreme calm, "I'm not acting like she didn't die. I'm acting like I don't care. And I don't. Care, I mean."

Molly lets out something between a scream and a snarl. It's really too bad I'm not getting this on camera. "Rot in hell," she declares with the full extent of her self-righteousness, and she slams my door shut. I can hear her stomping away all the way down the stairs.

I wait the three hours until I hear Molly go upstairs for the night before I venture out of my bedroom. Dad is always up late, usually to work, but tonight, he's just staring into the empty fireplace looking like he's given up on life. "Well, this is a cheerful scene."

"Luce. Come sit down." Dad pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and straightens up a little until he looks a little more like a human being. He's usually full of talk about Portkey regulations and all the ways my life will be ruined if I don't become a prefect, but when I sit down, Dad just stares at me like he's really, really tired and lets his jaw hang open like a grave.

I shift around in my seat. "Well, as riveting as this conversation has been—"

"You have to forgive your sister," says Dad. "She just doesn't understand you. She thinks you're being disrespectful, and she thinks you're not dealing with Mum's death."

"And you know better?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugs. "Well, I can't know how you're feeling for sure, but I think you'll deal with it when you're ready, and I think you know enough to know that nobody at Hogwarts are going to be the ones to help you through it. I also think there's a lot going on underneath the way—uh—the way you are."

"You mean what an asshole I am."

"To put it crudely, yes."

I'm surprised by him. Dad and I are different enough that I always thought he just hated what a snarky bitch I can be, but here he is, trying to find meaning in it. He's wrong, of course—I'm just an asshole—but I'm impressed with his attempts to think of me respectfully. It's not like I ever would have pegged Dad as somebody who tries to read deeper into people. He's always so… uptight. And presumptuous.

"Yeah, well, I don't have anything I need to deal with," I say. "It was just a shock to find out, that's all. It's not like we had a relationship. It's not like she loved me."

"Lucy, you know that none of that is true."

But I'm only lying a little bit. I'm fine, and the only thing wrong is that people are treating me like I'm not. Even if Mum had a little love for me (as much as she could muster through the PTSD and depression)—even if we had a few good talks mixed in there with all the neglect and leaving Dad to deal with me alone—it's not like it was enough. Not enough to keep her from killing herself, that's for sure.

"You know," Dad says when I don't answer, "it should have been you who I named Molly. I think your sister feels like she has too much to prove to live up to your Grammy, and it was only ever supposed to make her feel close to her. I think you might have understood that better."

"I don't give a rat's ass about living up to anybody's legacy."

"But you love Grammy."

"Well—yes."

"Just like you love the rest of our family."

"Yes."

"It's why you're coming home for weekends."

"Is there a point to this?"

Dad smiles. "I guess not. You want to go for a walk?"

"But it's raining."

"Only a little."

So we head outside for a walk with Impervius Charms to shield us from most of the rain, me taking delight in the knowledge that Molly probably can see us through her window and must be steaming about it. We live in London, mostly so that Dad can live close to the Ministry. I've always thought this was a stupid reason to move here—it's not like he can't just Apparate to the employee entrance to the building every morning, so why wouldn't he want to live somewhere beautiful like the countryside where he grew up and just commute to get to work? But I guess the city is beautiful in its own way, from great Gothic churches to Postmodern skyscrapers.

We wind up in the green space near The Orangery, a glass and stone palace that's now used as a gallery and can be reserved for private events. When you get past the building proper and the open-air auditorium and the carpark, there are a few Japanese gardens that we end up winding our way through, landing on the little playground where Molly and I used to come sometimes when we were little.

Dad looks at me. I look back at Dad.

"Seriously?" I ask him.

"Yeah."

"You've never liked playgrounds. You used to make Uncle George take me and Molly here so that you could stay home with your bill-drafting and your research and not have to play with us."

"That wasn't the reason," says Dad, and I frown. "I loved taking you girls out. I just thought your Uncle George needed to spend time playing with you more than I did."

"Huh," I say. It's like my entire understanding of the world has shifted in a moment. "You should have clarified that to us. We always just assumed you didn't want—us."

I hadn't been planning on wording it that way, but it's true. Molly and I always, always thought Dad was too much of a boring-ass workaholic to bother spending time with his kids.

"I wanted you," says Dad. "I also didn't really know how to act around children. But I wanted you. Having kids was my idea."

"So Mum didn't want us. Big surprise there."

Dad sighs. "That's not exactly true. She loved you girls more than anyone or anything in the world. She was just afraid of having children when we first got married. She was afraid that she would be a bad mother."

"Well, she was right."

"Lucy," says Dad, "I'm trying really hard to be understanding and patient with you, but you're going to have to stop insulting your mother's memory over and over."

"But it's what I think."

"Think it in your head, then, and cut it off before it comes out your mouth."

I'm not good at that. I've never seen the point in not verbalizing what you feel. Isn't lying by omission still a lie? I'm far from perfect, but I've never wanted to be a liar, so I've always just—said everything in my brain.

But then Dad adds, "The world is a better place because of what you contribute to it, my daughter, but not every one of your contributions is making the world a better place. Sometimes, you have to weigh the consequences of your words."

"Deep," I tease, because I'm not really sure what else to say.

Dad spares me the awkwardness. "Race you to the monkey bars."

"You're really not joking, are you?"

"Have you ever, ever known me to tell a joke?"

I laugh, because I haven't, and I take off in a run.

x

The next day, before we go back to Hogwarts, Aunt Ginny takes me and Molly out for lunch. Al and James are already back at school, and Lily is apparently at Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron's house playing with Hugo, so it's just the three of us. I want to go to the Leaky Cauldron and people-watch in Diagon Alley when we're done eating, but I get outvoted, and Aunt Ginny takes us instead to a little café in Muggle London close to where Molly and I live.

It's a pretty standard afternoon until we're walking back home and I happen to ask, "Why didn't Uncle Harry come with you to see us?"

I'm expecting something back like he got called in to work or he's showing Granddad Weasley how to use a hair dryer, but instead, Aunt Ginny goes all tense. "I may as well tell you," she says, sounding pained. "We've only told our kids yet, but you're going to find out anyway eventually, and I don't like to lie."

"Find out what?" asks Molly, swirling her straw around her glass of lemonade.

Aunt Ginny takes this long-ass, drawn-out sip of water. "Your Uncle Harry and I, um… well, we…"

Like a moron, I'm not getting it, but Molly lets go of her lemonade, uncharacteristically rests her arms and elbows on the table, and leans in with this big shocked face. "You and Uncle Harry? But you're not…? Are you?"

Aunt Ginny gives a tiny nod, and that's when it clicks. "Jesus fuck. You're getting divorced?"

"Keep your voice down, Lucy," Molly hisses at me.

"But why?" I demand.

Aunt Ginny sighs. "He's still your uncle. I don't want to speak ill of him."

"But you have to give us something."

Molly rolls her eyes. "Lucy—"

"No, Molly, it's okay," says Aunt Ginny. "We just—we loved each other very much, but he never really let me in."

This part of the story, at least, isn't a total surprise. Mum's already told me that Aunt Ginny was totally devastated when Uncle Harry left to fight Voldy with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione but not with her. I guess the reasons for that never really changed.

I try to think back to seeing Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny at the funeral and the Burrow afterwards. Did Aunt Ginny laugh at his sass and jokes? Did Uncle Harry touch her waist when they stood up to go? Behind closed doors, are they still polite, even friendly, or do they start screaming at each other the second they're alone? What do Al and James think? What about Lily, who's still living at home?

"He's still going to be your Uncle Harry," Aunt Ginny says now. "He may not be at the Burrow every Sunday for lunch or come to Christmas anymore, but he's still going to love you, and he's still going to make time to be in your lives."

"But he won't be part of the Weasley family anymore," I say flatly. Aunt Ginny's mouth drops open, but she doesn't say anything. "He doesn't have any other family. He's Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's best friend. He's like a son to Grammy and Granddad."

"And none of that is going to change," says Aunt Ginny patiently. "We just—can't really be around each other anymore. It's too hard, honey."

"But you said you still love each other."

"Yes."

"So if you still love each other, why do you have to get a divorce? Why can't you figure it out? It's not hard. It's not bloody Transfiguration. Why are you being so stupid?"

"Oh my god, Lucy, have a little sympathy," Molly interjects.

"It's okay, Molly. She can feel how she feels."

I press on, "But he came to the funeral with you, didn't he?"

"That was a little bit different, Lucy. He wanted to pay his respects. It was important for us to overcome our differences so that we could be there for you and your dad."

"So overcome your differences the rest of the time."

"Sweetie, it's not that simple. We—"

"I'm walking home," I announce suddenly, and I scoot my chair back and get up. "Thanks for lunch."

Aunt Ginny tries to fight me on it, but as I'm walking away, I can hear Molly telling her, "Just let her go. There's no reasoning with her when she's like this."

And maybe that's true. Maybe I'm irrational and immature and can't deal with reality, or maybe I'm just fed up. It's like—Mum secretly wanted to die, and Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry secretly wanted to get divorced for god knows how long. I guess you never know what people are thinking that they're not saying.

I've walked a good five minutes from the café before I sort of—duck into an alley and break down on the ground. It's stupid, but for a second there, I just want to tell my mum what Aunt Ginny said and let her rub my back like she used to. The truth is—Mum wasn't always a terrible mother. She was vacant some of the time, and she abandoned us when we needed her, but she was kind and empathetic and a really good listener, and I loved her. I loved my mum.

I loved my mum.

It's not until now that I realize I'm not calling my parents ancestors anymore. Maybe this whole thing is affecting me more than I realized.