Chapter Seventeen
Obliviate
(Note: My sweet, soft-hearted beta, Arnel, told me if I didn't give a tissue warning, she'd break into my account and do it herself. Here's the warning so we won't let Arnel become a hacker!)
Harry woke up earlier than usual the next day, and after numerous attempts to fall back to sleep, finally gave it up as a bad job. He never slept well without Ginny there to snuggle. He'd tossed and turned most of the night, but at least he could use the extra time to get a longer visit with Ron and Ginny. Once the medi-witch arrived for her shift, she always banished him from the room. Forgoing a shower, he pulled a dressing gown over his pajamas, and put his protective charms in place.
The previous evening, both Ron and Ginny had had a difficult time of it, experiencing increasing struggles with their various memory and motor function issues. Neither had been up for a visit. Ginny had actually fallen asleep while Harry was sitting there, something she'd never done before. Ron was irritable and gloomy, and nothing Harry said seemed to cheer him. He was hoping this morning's visit would be better. Theresa Grant's death had left a tense pall over the entire house, and there didn't appear to be anything they could do to shake it.
He expected Hermione would be up to visit, as well, but since there was no sign of her yet, he supposed he should just go in. He could admit – if only to himself – that he was nervous about what he'd find. Neither had seemed to care when he'd finally left them to sleep, and he couldn't help but feel he was losing a little more of both of them with each passing day.
And it hurt.
With a heavy heart, he pushed open the Infirmary door. The room was dark and quiet, but a thin band of morning light was streaming in through the curtain and illuminating a sliver of Ginny's bed. She was still asleep, her hair sprawled across her pillow like a crown. The steady, rhythmic rising of her chest let him know she was still deeply asleep.
He tore his eyes away to glance over at Ron, and he was startled to see bright blue eyes glowering back at him.
"'Bout time," Ron snarled.
Harry's eyebrows rose. "I didn't expect you'd be awake. It's early for you." He scanned the room – several of Ron's support pillows were scattered on the floor, and Ron's neck was twisted at an awkward angle.
"Couldn't sleep," Ron mumbled.
"D'you want to sit up?" Harry asked. He'd already had his head bitten off several times for attempting to assist Ron before he'd admitted that he needed help. Harry felt bad for making him ask – something he, Harry, always avoided doing, if possible – but Ron seemed to take the unsolicited aid as an insult.
Ron's ears turned red, and he swore beneath his breath. "Yeah, all right. I'm almost there, just need some straightening out," he said, not meeting Harry's eyes.
Harry lifted the pillows off the floor and adjusted them at the head of the bed. He placed his hands beneath Ron's shoulders and hoisted him upwards, resting his back against the pillows. Ron's head lolled forward. Harry swallowed heavily and adjusted his head, adding a smaller pillow for support once he was in a seated position.
"There. You nearly had it," Harry lied, clearing his throat.
"Right," Ron said, his body relaxing against the pillows.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" Harry asked, searching for a subject to break the awkward tension.
"What?" Ron asked blankly
"You said you couldn't sleep. Anything wrong?" Harry asked.
"That's a stupid question, innit? Everything's wrong. I can't even piss by myself. Isn't that enough for you, or is only a Dark Lord breaking into your head worthy enough to cause sleeplessness?" Ron asked, sneering.
Harry took a deep breath. He knew Ron was frustrated with being sick, and he knew the illness had been causing these outbursts, seeming to prey on the worst parts of Ron's personality – but it was still hard not to snap back at times.
"D'you need the toilet?" he asked calmly. He knew the medi-witch took care of all their personal hygiene needs, but he'd been in hospital often enough to know how uncomfortable waiting could be.
"No, I don't need the toilet," Ron said as if the question was ridiculous. "You're not helping me with that, anyway. Did you bring any food?"
"I haven't made breakfast yet. I came in here before going downstairs," he replied.
Ron rolled his eyes, looking disgruntled. Harry's patience was thinning.
"I can go get it started now, if you like," Harry said, feeling slightly guilty for thinking he'd prefer getting out of this room.
Ron's eyes opened wide, and he reached out. "No! Don't leave. You just got here," he whinged. "Why d'you have to leave already? I'm bored."
"I can stay," Harry said, gingerly sitting on the edge of Ron's bed near his feet. Ron took up a lot more of the bed than Ginny did. Harry's eyes drifted toward her sleeping form. She hadn't moved, despite Ron speaking using his full voice. He wished she would.
"Want to play chess?" Harry asked, sighing.
"All right," Ron said, grinning. He tried to grab the board from his bed-side table, but he dropped it, and it banged loudly against the floor. Ginny sighed, but slept on.
"I can get it," Harry said quickly, before Ron spiraled into more despair over his clumsiness. He picked up the board and cast a quick Levitation Charm so it would hover between them. As he began sorting his pieces, he tentatively asked, "So… are you going to tell me why you couldn't sleep?"
Ron looked up from the board blankly. "Huh?"
"Why couldn't you sleep last night?" he repeated.
"What are you on about? I slept like a Kneazle. You're white, so you go first," Ron said, studying his chess pieces. "Did you bring anything to eat?"
Harry smiled tightly. "Yeah, I made a feast. You just finished it."
"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "All right, then, let's play."
Conversations with Ron all seemed to go this way recently. His short-term memory trouble caused him to have the same conversation repeatedly without ever being aware of it. At first, Harry tried to answer patiently, but sometimes, when the repetitiveness became ridiculous, he came up with more and more outlandish answers. Hermione had more trouble with the repetitiveness. She grew exasperated with Ron's forgetfulness, and even more appalled by Harry's ludicrous answers.
Ron just seemed to roll with it all, and sometimes, Harry suspected Ron was purposefully trying to wind Hermione up. That was such a typically normal response from Ron, that Harry wasn't sure it was just wishful thinking on his part.
He moved one of his pawns, and Ron shook his head. "You'd think perhaps this would be your chance to beat me since my head's all messed up and all," he said lightly.
"Your head is always messed up," Harry replied.
Ron grinned, puffing out his chest. "And I always beat you."
After a few more moves, Ron's prediction came true, and he easily took Harry's king. He automatically set up the board for a rematch. Harry's eyes kept being drawn toward Ginny as they played. She'd turned her face toward them, although she continued to sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, and stray wisps of her hair fluttered as she breathed.
"Y'know, it's sort of creepy the way you're just watching my sister sleep, mate," Ron said, at last.
Harry startled. "I'm just checking on her," he said defensively.
"Just wake her up, if I'm boring you," he said, turning toward her bed. "Oi–"
"No! Don't wake her. She looks peaceful," Harry said, irritated. Part of him thought the sleep was best for her, but the other part agreed with Ron and wanted her to wake up. Before Ron could argue, the door opened, and Hermione stuck her head inside.
"Oh! You're awake," she said, looking surprised. Her hair was piled atop her head with stray curls hanging down wildly, and she also still wore her dressing gown. She inched inside the room, giving Ron a squeeze before gently perching on the very edge of Ginny's bed since Harry and Ron were still playing chess on his. She waved her wand over Ginny, and at Harry's curious expression, she said, "Just so we don't wake her."
"Harry wants her to wake up. He apparently wants us all awake – he woke me up at this ungodly hour, too," Ron grumbled, shooting Harry a nasty glare.
"I did not!" Harry yelped, turning toward Hermione with wide eyes. "He was already awake when I came in. He said he didn't sleep well, so the medi-witch should probably know about that."
"Will you keep it down? I'm trying to concentrate," Ron snapped, staring at the chessboard.
"Vivian should be here for our scans this morning. I hope she'll have some good news about an antidote. I think they're very close. The last time we spoke, she was talking about modifying it so it could help the Muggles. You know what that means?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "That it's already working on wizards? Why haven't they given it to Ginny and Ron, then?"
Hermione shrugged. "Apparently, they're working out the side effects. You know as well as I do that potions have to be exact to get the desired results."
Harry turned back to the game, pondering. What if Ginny ran out of time before the testing was complete? She was definitely experiencing more severe symptoms. If this was her only hope, wouldn't it be better to at least try, and worry about the consequences later? Theresa Grant was already dead, and in all likelihood, she was the one who'd infected Ginny. His stomach twisted, fear clawing at his insides like a battalion of insects trying to escape. The fact that Ginny was sleeping an awful lot preyed upon his mind, and it was all he could do to stop himself leaping across the room to shake her awake, to hold her close to him and never let her go.
As he raised his hand to move his chess piece, he stopped, his hand hovering above the board. Ron hadn't made his move yet. He was frowning, studying the board. Ron was usually more decisive in his wins against Harry.
"Have you seen George yet this morning?' Hermione asked.
"Nah, I came right in here before going downstairs. He's probably in his shop. He's almost finished with the Ministry order," Harry said absently.
"I think he's hoping to have some Extendable Ears ready to give to Vivian today," she said.
Ron finally moved one of his chess pieces, but as he leaned back, his head slid off the pillow Harry had placed to keep him upright. It hung awkwardly before Hermione jumped up and readjusted it, causing Ron to scowl.
"I'm all right. Just stretching," he said irritably, jerking out of her reach.
"And I'm just redecorating," Hermione said, rolling her eyes before she crossed back to Ginny's bed and sat down. She crossed her legs very tightly, one foot swinging at a very clipped pace.
Harry ducked his head to cover his grin and moved his rook. There was something about his best mates bickering, even in these stressful and worrying times, that felt so normal. There was something comforting about it amidst all the uncertainty.
"I asked Vivian to bring me a few more medical books. I hope she remembers," Hermione said, her irritation waning as quickly as it had flared.
"I can't believe there's anything relevant that you haven't read yet," Harry said. He suspected that she'd read all the large medical tomes she'd bought at the beginning of their quarantine so that she could keep questioning Vivian.
"I can't believe there's a book left in the whole world that you haven't read," Ron said, smirking as he made his move.
Harry grinned, looking at the board. He felt the smile slowly melt from his face. Confused, he looked at Ron, whose attention was completely on Hermione and her tense foot-swinging. His stomach twisted again, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut as he haltingly moved his piece.
"Checkmate," he said, his voice strained. He'd never been less happy about winning a match in his life.
Stricken brown and green eyes met across the room as Hermione looked up, her swinging foot stilling.
"You beat me," Ron said blankly.
Harry swallowed. "Looks like it," he rasped.
Ron shrugged. "Even a broken clock is right once in a while."
"Twice a day," Hermione said automatically, looking as stunned as Harry felt. Her eyes filled as she walked over to hug Ron, who smirked at Harry over her shoulder.
The chess pieces rattled, and Harry used his wand to move the chessboard aside to make room for her.
"Hey, are we done playing?" Ron asked, eyes wide as he pulled some of Hermione's hair from his mouth.
"Did you want a rematch?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"That's all right. I understand you get tired of losing," Ron said, his grin returning. "Must get boring for you."
Harry paused for a moment, and he thought he might've heard Hermione trying to stifle a sob. "Yeah, I do, mate," he said, his throat aching.
He moved to sit on the edge of Ginny's bed, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Ginny stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
"Good morning," he said, smiling gently at her sleepy eyes.
Ginny frowned, blinking before her eyes roamed over his face. She smiled sweetly, but her eyes held a lost, vacant expression.
Harry rubbed the stubble on his jaw, unnerved by the emptiness in her gaze. There was none of Ginny's usual fire or mischievousness, she just looked… lost.
"Ginny… d'you feel all right?" he asked warily, his heartbeat thrumming in his throat.
She didn't answer, but continued to smile pleasantly as she pulled herself to a seated position, looking around the room.
"Good morning, Ginny," Hermione said, alerted by Harry's tone that something wasn't right.
Ginny jerked as if startled by Hermione's presence, even though she'd been looking right at her before she spoke.
"Oi! What's wrong with you? You look like you came out on the wrong end of a Confundus Charm," Ron said.
Ginny blinked. "I was visiting with my brother," she said dreamily.
"I am you brother," Ron said, baffled. "We haven't been visiting. You've been asleep."
"Ron–" Harry said, not wanting him to upset her. She was altered, and he desperately wanted to get her back without alarming her. Hermione placed her hand on Ron's shoulder, distracting him.
"Where's Fred?" Ginny asked.
All the air left Harry's lungs. Had she seen Fred? The one time he'd conversed with someone he knew to be dead was when he was hovering precariously on the line between the living and the dead. Had Ginny been there? Had Fred really come to greet her, or was this simply more of the confusion in her mind?
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said softly.
"What d'you mean where's Fred? He's dead," Ron said bluntly.
Harry cringed, expecting tears from Ginny, but her eyes remained vacant. "Yes. I have a new green top," she said, smiling as she ran her hand along the T-shirt she'd slept in. It was purple.
"You look beautiful," Harry said, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.
"I was visiting with my brother," she repeated. "Fred always visits."
"Ginny!" Harry said, feeling an urgent need to connect with her and drag her out of this haze. His mind was playing tricks on him, and he kept envisioning her at King's Cross Station with Fred holding out his hand to assist her onboard a train. A train going nowhere – and one he couldn't follow.
Hermione rose and moved toward them, placing her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Ginny, do you know where you are?" she asked.
Ginny nodded vigorously. "At The Burrow."
Hermione's eyes sparkled. "That's right. And do you know who we all are?" she asked, indicating the rest of them.
Ginny looked around, smiling brightest at Ron's confused face. She nodded happily.
Harry felt like the pressure from Hermione's hand was the only thing tethering him to the earth. He felt as if he could fly apart if she let go.
"Who are we, Ginny?" Hermione asked.
Ginny tilted her head, the same sweet, yet vacant, smile plastered on her pale face. "I have a new green top."
"Ginny, you're wearing your pajamas. When's breakfast? I'm starving," Ron said loudly, looking around as if there might be food hidden in the room somewhere.
Harry felt numb. He knew he should probably go and make something. Ron had asked several times already, but he couldn't seem to force himself to move. He was frozen, staring at Ginny's body but unable to see her there. He needed to call the Healers. There had to be something else he could do. Something to erase that vacant expression from her face.
"D'you like Quidditch, Ginny?" he asked desperately, knowing talking about the sport always brought such animation to her eyes. His body felt tense, wound like a coil, waiting to see if his question would spark anything.
She nodded eagerly, but her expression didn't change.
"Which position do you like?" he asked. Hermione's nails dug into his shoulder, and although he was certain it would leave marks, he barely felt it.
"I need to tell Fred he lost his slippers," she said.
Harry hung his head, feeling as if the walls of his carefully constructed house of cards were falling in after an explosion. She didn't know them. She didn't know any of them.
She didn't know him.
He'd promised her that if this happened, that he'd remember for both of them, but he didn't know if he could do that. How was he supposed to do that when she was looking right at him, yet she had no idea who he was – or what they'd been to each other. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out and was lying beating feebly on the floor.
He stood up quickly, backing away.
"Harry–" Hermione began, but she seemed lost for words.
"Are you going to make breakfast now?" Ron asked, grinning.
Harry bolted from the room.
/* /* /* /*
Harry lay on his bed, still dressed in the track suit he'd worn for Vivian's check that morning and staring listlessly at the ceiling. The sun was now low in the sky outside, filling the room with shadows. He could see dust motes rising above a few spots where the sun still hit. He'd answered Vivian's questions, and since she'd seen Hermione before she spoke with him, she was already aware of Ginny's altered status. Infuriatingly, she'd said it was part of the disease's progress.
Harry had flung himself onto the bed in a fit of pique once she left, and he hadn't moved since. Both Hermione and George had been up and tried to coax him to come down and eat to no avail. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't tired, although he thought he might've dozed off and on. He simply had no energy or desire to move. He didn't know what he could do, anyway, even if he managed to pull himself off this bed.
The last time he could remember experiencing apathy this intense was that time after the Dementor attack before his fifth year. He'd expected an immediate response, but was left to stew in his own lethargy for days on end before the Order finally arrived. This time, there was no hopeful ending in sight. Instead, Harry was aching with dread over the thought of what might come next.
He couldn't seem to find any trace of the silver lining Ginny liked to talk about.
Focusing on his ceiling, he noticed a cobweb forming in one corner of the room. Kreacher would be horrified, but even the elf was barred entry during the quarantine. They were all stuck in place while this invisible enemy struck with impunity and without any trace of mercy.
She didn't remember him. Everything they'd built, everything they'd shared was just… gone. She'd looked right through him as if he were a stranger. The hollowness of his belly felt distant, as if it were someone else who was hungry. His limbs were heavy, and even the thought of raising his wand to cast some light seemed to require far too much effort.
Ron was deteriorating, too. His bouts of short temper were growing more and more frequent, and he was barely able to hold his head up on his own. How was it fair that he, Harry, was still fine and functioning, but two of the people he cared most about in the world were fading before his eyes? Didn't everyone always say that everything seemed to happen to him? So why wasn't it? Why did it have to be Ron and Ginny? They didn't deserve this.
There was a knock on his bedroom door, but he ignored it. It could only be George or Hermione, and they'd eventually give up and go away. Maybe they'd think he was sleeping.
"Harry, open the door," Hermione said, and she sounded rather exasperated. It figured that she'd be more insistent than George. She could be a downright pest if she wanted to be.
He ignored her.
"All right, Harry. If you're starkers, you'd best cover up, because I'm coming in anyway," she said, pushing the door open and marching inside.
He should've locked the door, but it had seemed to involve too much effort. Hermione moved to the side of his bed and peered down at him. She had a thick, pink headband holding back her bushy hair, but she was very pale, and her face held a pinched quality.
"Harry, you can't stay up here. Why don't you come down and have some dinner with George and me?" she asked, her voice a mixture of sympathy and pity that he didn't want to hear.
"I'll be down later," he said listlessly.
"Oh, you will not. You're not fooling us, Harry. It's all right to be upset. We're all upset, but it's easier to handle it together," she said, pushing back her hair that was already held back by the headband.
"I'm not hungry, Hermione," he said.
"Well, budge over then," she said, undeterred.
"What?" he asked. She'd surprised him enough to make him turn his head to really look at her. She looked as miserable as he felt.
"Budge over," she said, hoisting herself up onto the large bed and resting her back against the headboard next to him. Like him, she wore a track suit, but she'd added a pair of pink, fluffy slippers that matched her headband.
"I don't feel like talking, Hermione," he said, resigned that she wouldn't listen but feeling he ought to at least state the fact.
"I know, but I do. I hate seeing Ron this way, and I know he gets so irritated when I try to help… but I just can't not help him. It's impossible," she said, her voice a bit shaky.
Harry sighed, reaching out to take her hand and threading his fingers through hers. "I know. He knows it, too. Usually he likes it when you do things for him," he said.
Hermione snorted. "That's true. I hate this. I'm supposed to be the cleverest witch of our age, and I don't know how to help him."
Harry nodded. "You are clever, Hermione. No one has been able to work this out yet," he said, squeezing her hand.
Hermione sniffled again. "But we're running out of time."
Harry clenched his eyes shut. "I know. She doesn't know me. She had no idea who was sitting beside her this morning. I could've just been any of the medi-witches."
"Ron can't remember anything I say. I even told him I thought the Chudley Cannons would win the league this year, and he forgot I said it a few minutes later," Hermione said, sniffling.
Harry tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "Yeah, but that's the kind of thing he'll never let you forget. You mark my words."
"I hope so," Hermione whispered.
Harry took a deep, shaky breath. "I do, too."
"I told Vivian and the medi-witch everything that happened this morning, and she promised me she'd let the Healers know. If there's anything that can be done to slow the process down, they're going to do it until this draught is ready," Hermione said.
"But it still might not be ready in time," Harry said, voicing his biggest fear. What if they had found the solution… only it came a few hours or days too late for Ginny or Ron?
"We have to believe it will," Hermione said firmly. "How did your scan go? Mine went perfectly, and George said he didn't miss any questions."
"Fine," Harry said, shrugging.
"Could you say something else? To you, 'fine' means the same whether it's good or bad. Did you miss any of the questions?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
Harry lifted one corner of his mouth. It was the closest he could manage to a grin. "I didn't miss any questions," he said.
"Well, that's good then. George let his parents know that Ron and Ginny were slipping. I'm worried he's pushing himself too hard to get this order done," Hermione said.
"It's easier for him to keep busy," Harry said.
"I know, but I'm still worried. I'm worried about you, too. This isn't like you, Harry," she said.
"What is it you want me to do, Hermione? How can anything I do change things? How is my coming down to eat in the kitchen possibly going to help Ginny or Ron?" he asked, feeling nettled, yet unable to manage any heat behind his words.
"I don't know!" Hermione said, her eyes filling. "I don't know how to help, either, Harry, but moping and brooding isn't the answer."
"Well if you don't know the answer, then why can't I brood? It's what I do," Harry said. "We're all coping the best way we know how."
"Well, it's best to cope while eating," George said, entering the room with a large, heavily-laden tray. "I got tired of waiting, so I thought we were eating up here."
"Good idea, George," Hermione said, jumping up and running out the door.
George frowned. "I don't usually make the birds flee a room when I enter it," he said, craning his neck to see where she went.
She returned a moment later with a clean sheet in her hands. She spread it out over the top of the bed, leaving Harry beneath it since he still had yet to move.
"That way, we won't leave any crumbs," she said.
"I always said you were brilliant, Hermione," George said, sitting down beside Harry and placing the tray on his lap.
Hermione resumed her spot on Harry's other side.
"Mum sent dinner," George said, indicating the tray laden with a large amount of sausage rolls, roasted potatoes and asparagus with cheese sauce. There were also several bottles of Butterbeer.
"She did?" Hermione asked, surprised. "It's good that she's cooking. She seemed quite down earlier today."
George nodded, biting into a sausage roll. "I know, but I told her Harry was having a hard day, and it seemed to cheer her up. She said she'd be sending food over, and this is what she tossed through the Floo," he said.
This was the first thing to break through the haze Harry had felt all day. He turned towards George, shocked and more than a little hurt.
"My having a bad day cheered her up?" he asked. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley had finally had enough of him and finally resented his survival while her own children perished.
"It's not what you think, Harry. Mrs. Weasley feels better when she thinks there's someone else to worry about. Taking care of you is what makes her feel better," Hermione said gently.
"You can't seriously be concerned about that, mate. I think Mum likes you more than some of her own kids, quite honestly. Not me, of course. I'm still her favorite," George said, biting into another large sausage roll. He shoved one into Harry's hand. "Here, eat this. You have to try one, at least, or else I'm making you tell her you didn't eat what she spent all day preparing."
Harry was aware he was being manipulated, but he allowed it. He took a bite of the sausage roll, and his mouth instantly watered whilst his stomach growled its appreciation.
Perhaps he was a bit hungry after all.
Hermione took the empty plates off George's tray and scooped some of the potatoes and asparagus onto each. Harry accepted his plate, balancing it on his legs as he pulled himself into a seated position between George and Hermione.
"Did your mum say anything else, George? How is everyone coping?" Hermione asked, blowing steam from her roasted potatoes.
George shrugged, swallowing a massive mouthful. "She said Dad's still going into work every few days to consult with the Muggle Minister. The team has been trying to do as much as they can by Floo calls rather than in person. She said she keeps hearing bangs and small explosions coming from his shed, but she doesn't think she really wants to know what he's doing out there."
Harry felt a flicker of amusement. He could picture Mr. Weasley using all the additional time at home to tinker with a variety of Muggle objects. He wondered what he'd find if he ever had the chance to go back into the shed in The Burrow's back garden. He found he really missed his chats with Mr. Weasley.
"What about Percy's wedding?" Hermione asked.
"Apparently, my brother is a married man. He and Audrey made it official. It was just the two of them and an officiant at the Ministry. No fuss, no hoopla, none of the traditions they'd been so adamant about using. Mum says Mrs. Abbott threw a right little tantrum, but there was nothing else that could be done. They're still planning on holding a party after… at some later date," George said, his words trailing.
The unspoken threat of all the Weasleys never being able to be together again hung in the air. Harry put his sausage roll back on the plate, his stomach turning with what he'd already eaten.
"But, at least they're together," Hermione said a bit tearfully. "Did Audrey move into Percy's flat, or did he move into hers?"
George swallowed, clearing his throat, "I don't know, actually. I never thought to ask, but Mum did say they're together now. She said Charlie called yesterday."
"Ooh, how are things in Romania?" Hermione asked, her eyes brightening.
George shrugged. "Apparently, they never had all that many cases, but they're slowly starting to reopen things. He never stopped working, but… the dragons still need to be looked after, and they all have to be spaced well apart to control them, anyway."
"That makes sense, I supposed. It's good to hear things are starting to reopen. I'm certain your dad will keep watch to know if it flares back again," Hermione said.
Harry picked up his sausage roll again and took another bite.
"Knowing Charlie, he only cares when the pubs open again," George said ruefully. "Merlin, I wish I could go to the pub." He clinked his bottle against Harry and Hermione's.
"What about Bill and Fleur?" Hermione asked.
George shrugged. "He's still been working a lot. You know the goblins; they're not going to let a little thing like that interfere with their treasure. Of course, there hasn't been a single case of a goblin catching it," he said.
Since the end of the war and the imprisonment of many of the former Death Eaters, all Voldemort's supporters' homes and vaults had been seized. The contents of the vaults had been used to pay legal fees, and re-distributed to those who they'd hurt, but the secret gold and treasures hidden in their many homes had proven more problematic. Much of it was hidden under various charms and enchantments, and Bill used his skills as a curse-breaker to seize the treasure once he'd managed to break them.
"He says the hardest part of it all is explaining to Victoire why she can't play with Teddy. The two of them are right put out with being kept apart," George said.
"I can't imagine being stuck inside all this time with a toddler," Hermione said, looking horrified by the thought.
Harry's thoughts strayed to Teddy and how much the little boy's world had changed. He was not only cut off from his godfather, but from his best friend and all the other people in his life that he'd come to know and depend upon. All the promises Harry had vowed to keep about ensuring the boy never felt alone, and that he'd keep a connection to the parents he'd lost seemed hollow now. The little wooden train Teddy had sent him through the Floo sat on Harry's bedside table, but it brought him no joy now.
The entire post-war life he'd been building was crumbling around him, and he was powerless to hold it together. He hated it. He felt even more powerless and out of his element than he'd had when he first learned the prophesy and what his life would entail. There was, at least, a point to it all then – kill Voldemort or die trying. This… this was just sitting back and letting his world be destroyed piece by piece.
He chewed mechanically on some potatoes, but try as he might, he couldn't think of anything he could do to help. Ginny had been telling him for years that it wasn't all up to him to save the day anymore, but he found he wished it was.
"I bet the lack of opportunity to have Mum watch Victoire for them is seriously impeding their sibling-making abilities," George said, sniggering. "I bet Bill is as grumpy as some of the goblins he works with."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I don't know, George, your parents managed to have seven of you. I'm certain there are opportunities with only one toddler running around."
Harry suddenly released a bark of laughter at the revolted expression on George's face. Although, truth be told, he really didn't want to think about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that way, either.
Both George and Hermione turned toward him, apparently shocked by his response after his sullen mood all day. Hermione looked rather pleased with herself and adopted that smug expression that never failed to irritate him.
A grin crossed George's face. Raising his wand, he said, "Accio, pudding."
Harry watched as one of Mrs. Weasley's excellent treacle tarts came soaring into the room, hovering in front of George until he snatched it out of the air. He scooped a heap of it onto Harry's plate. It was Harry's favorite, and he thought Mrs. Weasley made it better than even the house-elves at Hogwarts had done.
"None for you," George said to Hermione, scooping out his own and beginning to eat. "No treacle tart for anyone who jokes about my parents' love life. That's off-limits to all in my company."
Hermione stuck out her lower lip, pouting for a moment before picking up her spoon and taking some right from Harry's plate.
"Hey! That's mine," Harry said, blocking her spoon with his own when she went for a second scoop.
They battled with their spoons like swords until George heaped another massive scoop onto Harry's plate. "Mum'll skin me alive she hears Harry didn't get enough. She makes this just for you, you know."
"I like her Black Forest Cake the best," Hermione said, taking another spoonful from Harry's plate.
"Mum does make the best puddings, but she used to make these jam roly polys when we were little. She hasn't done them in ages, but they were the best," George said, closing his eyes in apparent relish of his nostalgia.
Before anyone could respond, there was a commotion outside on the landing. Several sets of footsteps came charging up the stairs and into the room they were using as an infirmary.
Harry, Hermione and George all looked at one another blankly before shoving their plates to the side and hurrying out of the room. The landing was empty, and the door to the infirmary was tightly shut. Harry tried the knob, but it refused to turn. He banged on the door.
"Hello? Who's here, and why is this door locked?" he asked.
There was no reply. Both George and Hermione began knocking and firing off questions as well. Throughout the clamor, Harry's heart was thudding painfully. There were only a handful of people who had access to Grimmauld Place under normal circumstances. During the quarantine, it was only Vivian, several Healers and the medi-witches who came daily. It wasn't yet time for the medi-witch to go off duty, so that meant several of the others had arrived in a hurry. There had been more than one set of footsteps they'd heard on the landing. Either the Healers had discovered something new and were trying it out on Ron and Ginny… or the medi-witch had called for aid.
Judging by the state he'd left both Ron and Ginny in that morning, Harry's gut was telling him it was the latter, but his desperate hope was wishing for the former.
"Vivian," he bellowed. "What's going on?"
Author's note: Dun, dun dun. So, what do you think is going on? Had my surgery – thanks for the well wishes. It's hunting and pecking a bit for me, though. Please hit that review button and share our thoughts!
As always, thanks to my betas, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for all their corrections, suggestions and improvements. – not to mention listening as I talk things out.
