Chapter Eleven
Quarantine
Harry could remember the day everything in his entire world changed with stark clarity. It had started out as an average work-day, full of paperwork and meandering trails that only led to more trails rather than a significant conclusion. He'd been unprepared for the way everything sort of shifted on its axis…
He'd been sitting with Ethan in one of the conference rooms, yet again reading over files from St. Mungo's about potions made during the war, when he noticed a number of higher-ups purposefully striding toward Gawain Robards' office, the door closing with a resounding click behind them.
The back of his neck prickling, Harry left Ethan at the table and casually yet slowly strolled past the closed door. Harry could hear a very faint hum, but the silence from inside the office was so absolute, he was certain it had been charmed. Robards' secretary frowned at him when he paused a moment too long. He tried to give her a friendly smile, but he must've failed miserably because her frown turned into a scowl. She obviously knew what he was up to.
Irritated, Harry returned to the conference room, angling his chair so he could keep an eye on the office door.
"What's up with you?" Ethan asked, looking up from his files.
"Have you seen Owen?" Harry asked.
"Not recently, why?"
"There's a meeting in Robards' office. I'm wondering if he's in there," Harry said, running through the day in his head and wondering if Owen had mentioned anything.
"You think it's something about the case?" Ethan asked, leaning over the table so he could peer at the closed office door.
"Vivian Scott is in there, but I also saw Ludo Bagman, so I'm not sure," Harry said. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see if we hear anything."
"Bagman? Can't be serious then, can it? He's a bit of a joke, isn't he?" Ethan said, turning back to his file.
After Bagman's gambling debts and habits had been exposed after the Triwizard Tournament, his credibility had suffered greatly. By the time the war began, everyone's focus had turned to far more serious crimes, and Ludo Bagman had sort of fallen through the cracks. His time on the run from the goblins had left him with a wasted appearance, and Harry wasn't certain what arrangements had been made to settle his gambling debts. He'd gone back to work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, though he was no longer its Head.
"Yeah, bit of a joke," Harry muttered absently. Bagman didn't have anything to do with their case as far as he knew. He wondered if Vivian was working on something else. It was so rare that Unspeakables worked with the rest of the Ministry, it seemed highly unlikely there would be simultaneous cases involving the same Unspeakable, however.
He didn't have long to ponder it before Owen joined them in the conference room. "What do you know?" he asked.
"Bunch of old toffs in Robards' office. Did you hear anything?" Harry asked before Owen even had the chance to sit down.
He shook his head. "I've been out checking on the safe houses. Your mate, Longbottom, said to say hello. He's not showing any signs of the illness, so I don't think they'll hold him too much longer."
"What's going on in the safe houses?" Harry asked.
"They're ruddy all being used. We're going to have to come up with another option to isolate any more potential victims," Owen said, frowning so the deep scar on his chin whitened.
"What d'you mean?" Ethan asked, looking up.
"We've been isolating anyone whose come in contact with the bloody disease to see if they'll show symptoms, like Longbottom. Now that it's spread into London, we're coming up with more and more people actually sick. We can't keep those who have it in the same place as those merely exposed. That's way too risky. If any more of the magical community is subjected to this thing, and it's nearly a gone conclusion that we will, we need to keep them separated, but use the safe houses for those who've actually contracted the disease," Owen said, growing more and more agitated as he spoke.
"So, they're not putting them in St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, startled. St. Mungo's was the only actual hospital he'd ever heard of in the magical world.
Owen shook his head. "Not yet. Too much contact to those already unwell there."
"I wonder if that's what the meeting with Robards is all about," Harry said, pondering.
"That doesn't explain Bagmen, though. Unless… d'you think they want to isolate people in Quidditch stadiums?" Ethan asked, looking startled but rather excited.
Harry shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. You don't want to put all potential victims together. That would just spread it amongst all of them." Although, it wouldn't be the first time the Ministry had come up with some hare-brained scheme like that. They spent a year pretending Voldemort wasn't back despite the mounting evidence right under their noses.
"I have to report to Robards on the safe houses. I'll see what I can find out," Owen said, scratching his chin.
"You said Neville is all right?" Harry asked.
Owen shrugged. "Yeah, bored out of his ruddy hat, though. The Unspeakable on duty said he needs a few more days observation. I don't know what the bloody hell she's observing. Looks like all Longbottom is doing is pacing and staring. What a boring waste of a career, spending your whole day taking notes about someone else doing absolutely nothing."
"Feels like that could be us with all the progress we've made with these files," Harry said, glaring at the stack of files on the table.
"Still found nothing, then?" Owen asked.
"I hate potions," Harry grumbled.
"So you've said… repeatedly," Owen replied with a smirk.
Harry gave him a two-finger salute.
"Did you try listening at the door?" Owen asked, obviously as curious about what was happening in Robards' office as Harry was.
"Of course, I did. I couldn't hear a thing except the dim hum of a Silencing Charm," he said, peevishly.
Owen frowned, causing his forehead to crease. "What are you talking about?"
"You know, that muffled sound the protective enhancements make if you get close enough," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with the way Owen was staring at him. Ethan's head had also shot up.
"You can hear the Charms?" Owen asked, eyes wide.
"Er… can't you?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. Why did this always happen to him?
"No," Owen said, shaking his head. "Have you always been able to do that?"
Harry shrugged noncommittedly. "I dunno."
"Wicked," Ethan said breathlessly and staring at Harry with more reverence than Harry was comfortable seeing. "That's amazing."
Harry's face felt extremely hot, and he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"You felt them that day we went to the St. Mungo's potion laboratory, too, didn't you? You stopped Ethan from entering. I'd wondered about it. I knew because I had the instructions in front of me, but I didn't remember mentioning it to you," Owen said, watching Harry closely.
Harry felt as if Owen was suspicious of this latest discovery, but it wasn't as if he'd been trying to hide it or anything. He hadn't even realized it was yet another unusual talent he'd been unaware he had.
Before he could answer, Gawain Robards' voice echoed down the hallway, "Savage, Potter – my office, now."
Harry quickly stood, ignoring the look shared between Owen and Ethan as he moved resolutely towards Robards' office. He knew without looking that Owen had followed him out.
Vivian was the only person still in Robards' office when they arrived. She stood by the fireplace, staring into it with one hand on her chin and not acknowledging either of them. Robards told them to shut the door as they took seats across from his desk. His expression was grave as he silently surveyed his two Aurors. His eyes lingered a moment on Harry, and something about his gaze sent a thrill of foreboding down Harry's spine.
"Did you finish your sweep of the safe houses, Auror Savage?" Robards asked brusquely.
"Yes, sir. They're still completely full, and none of the subjects are quite ready to be released, although it looks like Longbottom will be declared healthy within the next few days," Owen answered.
"Right. We've decided to switch the safe houses into treatment locations and have those potentially exposed moved into self-quarantine in their homes," Robards said, his voice clipped and terse.
Owen's eyes narrowed. "And how will that be enforced?" he asked.
"Undetermined," Robards said.
Vivian finally turned away from the fireplace and looked toward them. "We're hoping people will cooperate for the benefit of all. The numbers of exposures have grown exponentially, and we need to do everything we're capable of in order to control the spread," she said softly. "If we don't get that cooperation, obviously stricter enforcement will be necessitated."
"What about family members who live with the likely victims?" Harry asked. "What happens to them?"
"They will also have to quarantine. Living in the same space obviously imperils them, as well," Robards replied.
"You need to be aware that we've had a potential massive exposure, and our first high-profile case. The ramifications of which could be catastrophic," Vivian said, speaking slowly and succinctly.
Something about her voice was off, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.
"Why? Who is it?" asked Owen, looking startled.
"It's a Quidditch player," Robards said.
"From which–" Harry interrupted, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and his throat tightened.
Robards didn't let him finish, cutting him off. "Apparently, this player was having some memory trouble last week, but it wasn't flagged as anything unusual. Today, her disorientation required one of the team's medi-witches to see her, and we were contacted. Her confusion is extreme, so it's difficult to get straight answers. We have her isolated now, but the potential spread to others is exponential."
"Who is this player?" Owen asked.
"What team is she from?" Harry gasped desperately. Robards had said a medi-witch was seeing her. He felt as if the room was closing in on him and something alive was clawing inside his belly. He somehow knew what Robards was going to say before he said, and yet still dreaded hearing the answer.
"She plays for the Holyhead Harpies, whose practice facility is located in Wales, not far from our initial outbreak," Robards said, meeting Harry's eyes.
Harry's brain went into a deadened sort of shock, and he couldn't get his numb lips to form the question. Which player? He sat there, stunned, feeling his heart hammer in his chest to the point it was painful.
It couldn't be Ginny. She'd been fine… hadn't she? He'd been bollocks at Occlumency and never learned Legilimency, but he desperately tried now to look into Robards' mind to see whom he was talking about. Surely Robards would've said outright if it was Ginny.
Owen cast an uneasy glance at Harry. "So… what happens next?" he asked.
"The entire team, coaches, trainers – anyone who comes into direct contact with the players – is to be confined to their homes. They're all currently undergoing examinations to be certain no one else tests positive. Of utmost concern is the fact they played in an exhibition match not too long ago that was well attended, and members of every team were there. All teams have cancelled their upcoming trips abroad, something that's never happened before. The Quidditch League is unhappy, but it's necessary to contain the potential spread," Robards said. "The risk of exposure at that exhibition match was massive."
"How long are they to be confined?" Owen asked.
"At least two weeks, and we'll be testing them regularly. The memory issues aren't all that difficult to spot if you're aware to look for it. Also, although the pustules associated with traditional Spattergroit aren't there in massive numbers, there have been some minor traces. A stray mark here and there on the body, but this strain of the disease is more pronounced on the inside," Vivian said, her eyes lingering on Harry for a moment, but he was still unable to form any words.
'Just tell me Ginny's okay,' he thought desperately. Surely they would've said by now…
From the repeated glances they were shooting at him, Harry surmised they were both aware of his connection to the team through his relationship with Ginny. It had certainly been in the papers enough, and not a lot slipped passed either of them, but he didn't know if that made him presumptuous. He was having trouble thinking straight.
"What does that mean? Exactly?" Owen asked, frowning.
"It means the pustules are developing on the inside, around the brain," Robards replied.
"This is most likely a result of the experiments that Gethin was doing in attempt to eliminate the scarring. Instead, the disease evolved, and it's moved inward. That's what's causing the hallucinations, memory lapses and confusion we're seeing now," Vivian added.
Owen looked startled. "Are those who recover completely back to full health?"
Vivian paused a moment before answering, pressing her lips together. "Mostly."
Harry's voice finally returned in a roaring gush of thunderous sound echoing in his brain. "What the hell does that mean?" he shouted, panting as if winded. He felt as if he'd run a mile when all he'd done was sat immobile in this ruddy chair.
Owen placed a restraining hand on Harry's arm, but he didn't care.
"There have been some memory lapses, but we're not certain that won't fade with time. It might simply be a matter of their confusion upon awakening after recovery. We're still at the early stages of discovery with this disease," Vivian said calmly, using that composed, professor-like voice Harry had come to recognize.
He found he detested that voice at the moment. "This isn't just some fascinating new discovery. These are people we're talking about," he snapped, clenching his jaw so tightly it ached.
"Harry, I realize you're upset, but the more we know, the more we can help," Vivian said, her voice softer, yet he found it patronizing. He wanted to throttle her to get that calm, clinical expression to leave her face.
"You're also going to have to be confined, along with Auror Weasley, Potter. We can keep in touch through the Floo network, but nothing unnecessary goes into or out of your home. We'll have food delivered in bulk," Robards said briskly.
So, both of them were aware of his relationship with Ginny. Certainly, they would've told him by now if it were her. From the way they were talking, he didn't think so, but his hands were sweating, and the need to get out of here and see her was becoming unbearable. He needed to check on her, just to be sure.
"What if any of the other players are positive? What happens to them?" Owen asked, his hand still holding Harry's arm.
"As of yet it's only the one player who is confirmed affected. Theresa Grant will be isolated immediately. If any of the others test positive, we'll isolate them, too. We're working on setting up a hospital of sorts just for those afflicted," Vivian said.
So, it was the team's Seeker, not Ginny. The tightness in Harry's chest loosened slightly, but then another thought occurred to him. Should he even be in this room with all of them?
"I went to that Quidditch match," he said.
"We're aware of that. Harry. Right now, Theresa Grant is level one, that means she's confirmed positive. Ginny and the rest of her teammates are considered level two exposure – those people in direct contact with the afflicted. You and your other housemates are level three. You haven't come into direct contact with anyone with the disease, so we're just taking precautions. We're going to monitor and test level twos and confine level threes," Vivian said.
"What about Owen? We've worked together this whole time," Harry said, meeting Owen's gaze. He couldn't tell what the older Auror was thinking.
"He would be considered a level four, which means we're aware of the potential, but nothing is to be done at the moment. No one has become sick without direct contact, and we can't put everyone in isolation. Hell, that would include our entire team, at this point," Robards said, and Harry thought he sounded annoyed.
"One step at a time. We'll care for Grant, and observe the others. Should any other member of the team become ill, that person's family will shift to level two, and so on," Vivian explained.
"So, Harry's off the case, then?" Owen asked, looking grim.
"He and Weasley are both on consulting basis only. Floo calls are fine, but he's not to come into the Ministry, and you are not to go to their residence. Do I make myself clear?" Robards asked sternly.
Harry'd had enough. He pushed back his chair to stand. He needed to check on Ginny before he could even begin to think clearly.
"Sit down, Potter," Robards barked.
"You just said I'm not to be at the Ministry. I have something to do before I clear out my desk, sir," Harry said, feeling resentful.
"I've arranged a Portkey to take you home. Weasley and Granger are being given the same information simultaneously. I have a few more things to discuss, then you'll leave directly from this office."
Harry found he really didn't care much at the moment. He wanted to see Ginny. He slumped back into the chair, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Harry, you can still help, even in quarantine. Pay attention to any new marks on your body. Anything unexplained that appears to grow rather than fade. Be aware of minor forgetfulness, losing words or track of the conversation. Keep an eye on your housemates, too," Vivian said.
"Other than the marks, those all sound like things that happen when you're tired or stressed. Excuse me for pointing it out, but being in quarantine is both exhausting and stressful," Harry snapped.
"You're right about that, but if it happens repeatedly and in increasing degrees of severity, that should be brought to our attention," Vivian replied.
"How is Ginny to be monitored if no one is allowed in or out?" Harry asked.
"Every player will be checked routinely. An Unspeakable will visit utilizing protective measures. I'll be overseeing Ginny personally," Vivian said.
Harry nodded, heart clenching again with the possibility that Ginny could be in danger and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. This feeling of helplessness might be just what finally did him in.
/* /* /* /*
Ginny's head was spinning, and not because she'd just stepped out of the Floo into the impeccably clean kitchen at Grimmauld Place. She was dressed in a pair of dark Muggle jeans with a fancy swirl on each of the back pockets and her team practice jersey. She'd been interrupted in the midst of changing and was dragged into a meeting room before being allowed to complete the process.
The team's medical staff informed her and her fellow players that their Seeker, Theresa, had caught the Spattergroit strain that had been sweeping across Britain. The same strain that both Harry and Ron had been working to contain. Several Unspeakables had arrived in the facility using Bubble-Head Charms, and they'd examined all the rest of them, informing them that they were all being placed in quarantine.
Ginny remembered breaking into the safe house where Harry was being held earlier that summer, and she dreaded being stuck in the same place. As it turned out, she instead was going to be held at home, along with her brothers, Harry and Hermione. The Unspeakable she'd questioned wouldn't give her any kind of time frame on how long they'd be kept inside, and she feared it was far more likely she'd murder one of her brothers before the disease had the chance.
She loved them, but they drove her barmy.
She supposed someone at the Ministry was informing Harry, Ron and Hermione of the situation, but she wondered about George. How was he going to keep his business going if he couldn't get there? She remembered he and Fred had used owl-order to keep it afloat when they'd gone into hiding during the war, but that was when the entire population was lying low from Voldemort's terror. This time, the public would still be going to the shop even though he couldn't be there.
She didn't see George agreeing to that readily.
Ginny felt uneasy about being confined with them, but she also didn't want to be alone. She was the only one who'd had direct contact with Theresa. If any of the others caught this thing, it would be because of her. The Unspeakable assured her that the fact no one else on the team showed any symptoms was a good sign, but she couldn't escape the nagging worry.
Last week, Theresa had a hard time adapting to some of the new maneuvers the Harpies were working on. Ginny had been annoyed with her for making practice run so long without any progress. Now it turned out she hadn't just been inattentive. The fact was, she couldn't process what she was being asked to do.
Theresa had always been an excellent flier, but she often took longer than any of the others to catch on to anything non-Quidditch related. She was competitive, but she wasn't the brightest constellation in the sky. As such, her confusion didn't raise alarm bells with anyone. It wasn't until that morning that she apparently didn't even recognize Gwenog when the team captain arrived.
They were all feeling rather guilty about that.
Ginny hadn't even seen Theresa. She'd been taken to the infirmary before Ginny had arrived at practice. Gwenog and Willow had told the others what had happened, and the team had been pondering if Theresa had gone on a weekend bender until the medical team had converged upon the changing room.
They'd set them all straight.
Well, they'd informed them of what had happened to Theresa, anyway. They hadn't been at all forthright about what would happen to the rest of them next. They'd expertly avoided Ginny's stream of questions, which only managed to infuriate her.
She was hoping Harry, Ron and Hermione could tell her more.
She could hear voices upstairs, it sounded as if they were coming from the sitting room. She grabbed a Butterbeer from the ice box and pulled the top off, taking a long drink. She breathed deeply, trying to center herself before she followed the voices up the stairs.
She unobtrusively peered into the sitting room. Hermione sat cross-legged on one of the studded armchairs, a giant medical tome resting open in her lap. Ron and Harry sat on the sofa opposite her, both of them resting their feet on the coffee table. George paced by the large front window with his arms folded across his chest. Ginny could nearly see the steam rising from his ear.
Her heart inexplicably filled with affection for all of them.
"Who the ruddy hell do they think they are? They don't have the authority to destroy my business," George said, "especially after all the secrecy products we made for them during the war!"
"They're not trying to destroy your business, George. They're trying to keep everyone safe," Harry said, sighing heavily.
He sounded as if he was trying to explain something to an over-tired toddler for the fiftieth time. He should know by now from experience that was never going to work. The secret was derailment.
"Oh, please, you can still work from home, George. How the bloody hell am I supposed to play Quidditch inside here? Do they honestly think people are going to cooperate for long if they're told there'll be no matches?" she asked, striding into the room.
"Ginny!" Harry yelped, jumping to his feet and tramping across the room in two steps to meet her. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, it won't last all the way to Quidditch season," Ron said, remaining propped on the sofa.
Harry took her by the arms, his eyes skimming rapidly over her as if searching for signs of sickening. His brow was creased and he held her arms just a little too tightly, alerting her that he'd been worrying.
"I'm all right," she said softly, placing her hand on the side of his face. He leaned into her touch, releasing his tension.
"What happened to the team this morning?" Hermione asked.
"What did they do to you?" Ron asked simultaneously.
"Give her a minute," Harry said firmly, leading her to the sofa and guiding her to sit. "D'you need anything?"
Ginny took another sip of the Butterbeer still clutched in her hand. "I never even saw Theresa, although I was told she was behaving quite loopy. Those Unspeakables arrived and told us all that we'd have to be quarantined until further notice. Did they give you lot any idea how long that might be?"
"Neville's been confined for nearly two weeks, and they said he was close to being released," Ron said.
"I've never even met Theresa Grant. I can't stay away from the shop for two whole weeks," George said, running a hand through his hair in agitation.
"Sorry," Ginny said, shrugging, her insides twisting uncomfortably.
"It's not your fault," Harry said firmly, glaring at George as he wrapped his arm around her. "There was no way to know beforehand. That's how this illness has been spreading, and why we're being confined now – to stop it from spreading to anyone else."
"They cancelled our whole pre-season travel schedule. I was supposed to be in sunny Brazil next week," Ginny said, uncertain if she despaired more over losing the chance to play, or the hope Harry might've been able to meet her for a visit.
"The foreign dignitaries don't want it spreading outside Britain, but I think they're already too late. It's done so in the Muggle population, despite their efforts to limit travel," Hermione said.
"How did they decide you hadn't been affected?" Harry asked, running his hand through her hair. He hadn't let go of her since she'd arrived, and she realized the emotion she saw lurking behind his eyes was fear. She supposed he'd never faced a threat where the only way to fight it was by doing nothing.
Harry was way too impulsive to sit and do nothing for long.
The fact he was scared only made her insides twist again.
"I'm all right, love. They asked a series of questions and examined me for any marks. I was completely cleared. They said they'd send someone every few days to check again," she said, trying to reassure them both.
"I wish it was me instead," he blurted, concern shining in his eyes.
It was this same awkward sincerity he was prone to display that had amused her at first but eventually endeared him to her completely. They weren't just words to him. He struggled so hard to come up with the words, that when he managed to burst out something like that, it was because he truly meant it, not because he was trying to impress her. She knew he'd willingly give his life for her. He already had – and she never wanted to go through that pain again.
"Well, I don't," she said firmly. "We're all going to be stuck here for a while, so we might as well make the best of it. So, Hermione's going to read, Ron's going to eat, George is going to fill owl-orders, I'm going to run up and down the stairs to try and stay in match shape, and Harry's going to brood. Does that about cover it?"
"I'm not going to brood," Harry said, affronted, as the others all chuckled.
"I do have several of these medical books I've wanted to look through," Hermione said, indicating the book open on her lap.
"Of course, you do," Ron deadpanned. He winked at her across the coffee table, and her cheeks pinkened.
"How is it that I ended up stuck all on my own with two nauseatingly lovesick couples?" George asked, looking revolted.
"That's your own fault for not patching things up with Angelina. Although, I suppose that's actually a good thing, for her sake, anyway," Ginny said tartly.
"Yeah, remind me of that when I'm stuck wanking while you lot are off shagging," George mumbled, causing Hermione's mouth to drop open, appalled.
"Eww, George. That's not an image I needed," Ginny said, feeling nauseated. She was happy Angelina wasn't stuck here with the rest of them, but she wondered how many others she might've inadvertently exposed. She'd been all through Diagon Alley recently.
"Hey, yeah, we could pretend we're on holiday," Ron said, sitting up straighter and his countenance brightening.
Ginny shrugged, looking over at Harry, who still looked rather pensive. "This might be our chance to make up for our missing trip," she said.
"Hey! I wasn't talking about you," Ron said, spluttering.
Ginny had no patience for Ron's antics. The day had been stressful enough already. "Stuff it, Ron. I won't have the tolerance to put up with your nonsense if we're here long-term, and you don't want bat bogeys fluttering around your face for weeks."
"I suppose you could take the time to finally learn how to cook," Harry said offhandedly.
Ron's eyes bulged. "That's right! What are we going to do about food? D'you think Mum'll send us dinners?"
"We ought to be sending meals to your parents since we'll all be stuck here and not working," Hermione said, casting a disapproving scowl at Ron.
Harry shook his head. "I don't think that will work. Nothing is supposed to go out of here once it comes inside. Robards' said they'd send food in, but I think we'll have to prepare it ourselves. At least it'll be something to do."
"Speak for yourself. I'm still going to try and work – and you can all help me fill the owl orders," George said. He'd had time to calm down and consider his options. Ginny was glad to see he was beginning to decide what had to be done and how.
"How if nothing is supposed to go out?" Ron asked.
"You can work on the manufacturing end, then the products will need to be held in a sterile setting for a bit, or decontaminated before sending them out. I'm certain Vivian will find a way if we ask her," Harry said.
"We can all help. We can make one of the empty rooms into a workshop. Make a list of supplies and potion ingredients you'll need from the shop, and we can help you with the manufacturing here," Ginny said.
"Yeah, and Verity can still handle things on-site. We're allowed to use the Floo network for calls, just not transport," Hermione said.
"But that still doesn't solve the problem of what we're going to eat," Ron said, rubbing his stomach.
"Look, why don't I start working on something for dinner. We have no idea what kind of supplies they're going to deliver or when, but I know I have enough here to pull something together," Harry said, getting to his feet and looking at Ginny. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine… but I am hungry," Ginny said, grimacing. She hated putting him to work when he'd obviously spent his day stressing about her, but she was a Weasley, after all. Besides, Harry would be better off having something to do.
"I'm going to take a look and see what room would work best for a workshop," George said, following Harry out the door. "You don't mind, d'you, mate?"
"No, use what you like," Harry said absently.
Ginny watched them go, frowning at the now open doorway.
"He's been really worried about you," Hermione said tentatively.
"Crikey, he's getting worse than Mum," Ron said.
"Perhaps because he's too used to losing people," Ginny snapped.
To his credit, Ron looked abashed.
"How did the rest of the team take it?" Hermione asked, shooting Ron a quelling glance.
Ginny shrugged. "It was harder for them since they were virtually blindsided. I know it's been in the news, but honestly, most of them don't look at more than the sports pages. I, at least, had you lot keeping me in the loop."
"You didn't tell them that, did you?" Ron asked warily.
"Of course not. I'm not an idiot," Ginny snapped.
"Debatable," Ron said, shrugging.
She scowled at him. "Both Gwenog and Galinda were really alarmed by the whole thing, but in Gwenog's case, I think that was more down to the fact they were cancelling our tour. That pre-season tour is what brings in most of the funds for the next season, mind."
"I think a lot of things are going to be cancelled. Amos Diggory told me they discussed that at a meeting this morning," Hermione said. "He called me into his office afterwards, handed me a Portkey and told me I was being quarantined."
"What? You didn't all find out together?" Ginny asked, startled.
"Nope. Dad came to see me, and he broke the news. I think Unspeakable Scott told Harry. They gave us all Portkeys and shuffled us off fast," Ron said.
"I don't think they wanted us strolling all over the Ministry," Hermione said.
"Hey! If we're going to be quarantined for at least two weeks, d'you think that means we can skive off Percy's wedding?" Ron asked, looking both startled and hopeful.
The wedding!
"Oh, shite, I hadn't thought about that. I'm supposed to be a bridesmaid," Ginny said. Although she'd been exasperated by the whole thing, she didn't want to spoil it for them. What would happen if half of Percy's family couldn't attend?
"There's nothing you can do about that, though," Hermione said.
"Mum's going to kill me," Ginny moaned, dropping her face into her hands.
"I'm surprised we haven't heard anything from her yet. D'you think she knows?" Ron asked.
"I'm sure Dad'll tell her when he gets home if he was the one who told you," Ginny said uneasily.
"He's probably not home yet. When she finds out we've been here all this time and didn't bother letting her know, she'll most likely send you a Howler," Hermione said, failing dismally in hiding her amusement.
"What d'you think is so funny? She knows you're the responsible one. You'll probably get the Howler," Ron said, rolling his eyes.
Hermione sobered – or at least managed to school her expression.
"What are we going to do cooped up in here so long?" Ron groaned. "Both you and Harry will be miserable gits if you can't get out and fly."
"Look at it as an opportunity to do something new, something you've always wanted to try but haven't had the time," Hermione said.
"I've always wanted more time to sleep," Ron said. "I can have a kip in the afternoon and stay in my pajamas all day."
"And how is that different from any other Sunday?" Hermione said snarkily.
"You know, I've always wanted to learn how to play the piano. It's silly to have that piano in the entryway when none of us knows how to play it," Ginny said.
Harry's decorator – whom he'd once dubbed his demon decorator – had told him having the piano in her grand entryway could simply be a showpiece for an elegant setting when he needed to entertain guests, but Ginny had always found that to be such a waste. She supposed it was her frugal upbringing kicking in, but it bothered her nonetheless.
"How are you going to do that? Who's going to teach you?" Ron asked.
"There are music books you can order from Flourish and Blotts, and I bet we could find an instructor that would be willing to use the Floo for lessons," Hermione said, sounding excited. "Ooh, I think I'll do it with you. This should be fun."
Ginny smiled faintly, not at all certain she wanted to be shown up by Hermione, or lectured on how much time to spend practicing. Ah, well, that cat was amongst the pixies now, she supposed.
"It's not like Harry, Hermione and I haven't been cooped up together for long periods before," Ron said, not paying any attention to the girls. "At least this time there'll be no tent or bloody Horcruxes to contend with."
"That's true," Hermione conceded. "It should be less stressful without the weight of the world hanging in the balance."
"Unless one of us becomes ill," Ginny said, voicing her fear.
"Such a bright little ray of sunshine, you are," Ron said irritably. "It'll be loads of fun trapped here with you."
"She's right, Ron. It's a real possibility," Hermione said, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
"What if it's him?" Ginny asked, tilting her head toward the open doorway. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how things always seem to happen to him. And if does, it'll be my fault."
"It won't be your fault. It's a disease Ginny, it doesn't pick and choose who to attack like a Death Eater. We just have to follow the precautions and hope for the best. If it's going to happen, it could be any of us," Hermione said.
"Or all of us," Ron said, paling slightly.
Ginny shut her eyes. "Mum and Dad would never survive that."
"Well, let's hope they won't have to. Dwelling on it is only going to make us all panicky," Hermione said.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, standing up suddenly and reaching out his hand.
"Where?" she asked, confused.
"Let's have our first kip of the quarantine before dinner," he said, waggling his eyebrows.
"A kip? Is that what you're calling it?" Ginny muttered. Hermione looked over at Ginny, embarrassed, but Ginny waved them off. "Oh, go on with it, then. It'll cheer you up. I'm going to go check on how Harry's doing finding something to make for dinner."
She quickly left the two of them in the sitting room and took the stairs into the kitchen two at a time. Harry stood at the stove with his back to her, stirring a large pot. The familiar smell of her mum's soup wafted toward her, filling her senses and striking a chord of nostalgia down to her very soul. She took a deep breath.
"I smell chicken soup," she said fondly.
Harry turned around, grinning. He was wearing an apron over his Auror robes. "It's your mum's recipe. She always used to make it for me when I was ill, remember?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "She used to make it for all of us. But I'm not ill, Harry," she said, knowing this was what was plaguing him.
"I hope not," he said, turning back towards the stove.
"I'm not, and I understand that you're worried. I'm worried, too. I don't want to get any of the rest of you, sick, either."
"Don't think about that," Harry said quickly.
"Then you need to stop worrying about it, too. We'll face whatever comes, together, okay?" she asked.
Harry didn't say anything for a moment, then he turned back to face her, grinning. "Technically, I wasn't sick when she made it for me, either. I was poisoned, she just didn't know it at the time."
Ginny stared at him blankly for a moment, nonplussed. "You're such prat," she finally said before helping him to prepare their first quarantined meal.
Author's Note: Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time and attention, and especially their opinions on what's working and what isn't. Also, a hue shout-out and thanks to Deadwoodpecker for her support and reassurance on this chapter. This one is the turning point, and I'd needed an objective look over that she supplied for me.
