07 January 2002
Ron took a moment to gaze out at the orchard, gathering his thoughts. He and Fred and George had done a lot of damage to it on Christmas; half of the trees were simply gone, the ground was littered with the blackened remains. Hermione is really rubbing off on me if I can see metaphors now, he thought.
But he couldn't deny the symbolism in half the orchard being dead because of winter, and half the orchard being destroyed. And while Ron didn't know if this represented his sister, his father, his best mate, or his entire family, the sight of it resonated with him.
I didn't know about the Polyjuice. Not really. I'm sorry.
Harry's letter -- the first contact they'd had from him in years -- burned a hole in the pocket of his robes. Ron turned his back on the orchard and continued on to the Burrow, thoughts running through his head. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since it had arrived with a non-descript barn owl while Ron had been eating his eggs.
I didn't know about the Polyjuice. Not really. I'm sorry. What did that even mean? How was it that he'd "not really" known? Ron felt stupid for not guessing it, frankly; now that the truth had come out like Fiendfyre, he saw all the clues. Ginny's reluctance to even be in the same room as their dad. The way she wouldn't even look at him or talk to him. But Harry hadn't been around for all these clues. So how could he have "not really" known?
And what was he apologizing for? Was he just sorry in a general way (which was unnecessary, as his three year absence was like a gigantic, completely unneeded apology)? Or was he sorry that he hadn't known?
It was Hermione's fault. She'd laid out all of these possibilities for him. Before she'd analyzed it to death, Ron had been quite content with being both happy (that Harry had written) and sad (because of the reason).
Ron stopped short when he saw Dora Lupin -- looking mopey and depressed -- sitting at the kitchen table. She and his mum were quite the pair; both weren't saying much at all, and had their hands wrapped around their tea cups. He narrowed his eyes at them, not wanting to be insensitive, but... three days after Christmas he'd come across Dora sobbing and blaming the pregnancy hormones. And while Hermione assured him he'd come a long way (she'd given him a tablespoon for their first anniversary, and a saucer for their third Christmas -- he was hoping for a cup soon), he didn't want to be around the crying.
"Where's Dad?" he asked warily.
"Out by his shed, dear," his mother murmured. "Are you hungry? I could--"
"I'm fine," Ron lied. He was hungry -- breakfast had been almost three hours ago -- but he didn't want his mother to go to the trouble. "I was just -- I'll go find Dad." He waved at Dora while making his retreat and let the door slam shut.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks, and the burning rage was mostly gone (Azkaban had helped), and Ron was left feeling this hopeless sort of confusion. Why would they do that to her? What was the point? And those questions inevitably led to horrible thoughts, because if Lucius Malfoy had thought to use Polyjuice, what else had they thought of?
His mind wouldn't leave him alone, and hit on something particularly vile. Harry had been there at Malfoy Manor. What if they'd had him under the Imperius Curse? What if, what if, what if. And while he hated that Sennet bitch for threatening to write a tell-all book about Malfoy Manor, a part of him just wanted to know, because imagining the worst was more terrible than knowing.
Ron leaned his head up against the wall of the shed, wishing he could scourgify his brain. But it wouldn't let it alone. Ever since Ginny had finally told them a small part of what had been done to her, he couldn't help but try to think the way they had. They'd obviously tried to completely demolish her for reasons Ron just couldn't understand, and the only thing that could have been worse was if Harry had been forced to rape her.
"You might want to get out of the way."
His dad's voice cut through his thoughts.
"What?" Ron said blankly. He glanced around. His dad stood a small distance from the shed. He'd expected to find his dad in there, tinkering with his Muggle appliances, distracting himself from Ginny's words. Ron wasn't stupid. He knew that whatever mental anguish he had, his father had to be feeling it a thousand times worse.
"Step back, Ron," he said.
"But--"
"NOW!"
Ron obeyed, and just in time. The force of his father's Blasting Hex singed the back of his shirt and the hairs on his neck. Ron glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch the entire shed go up in flames. It lasted a few minutes. In that time his mother and Dora came out to watch. None of them said anything. The ravaged look on his dad's face told Ron that words couldn't do a damn thing.
"I've thought and thought about it," his father said quietly, watching the flames die. The Muggle things he loved were melting and destroyed. "I can't remember any single instance when they might have gotten my hair. Not one. And believe me, I've gone through every time I saw Lucius Malfoy that entire year. Every moment. I--"
"It wasn't your fault," Ron told him forcefully. "It really, really wasn't."
His father kept his eyes on the flaming shed. The acrid smell of burning plastic was in Ron's nostrils. And he hated that he'd gotten used to being completely helpless and unable to help someone who was hurting deeply. His dad made a convulsive gesture, and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. Ron had to turn away.
"I just -- I want her to know how sorry I am. Even if she never talks to me again. When she sees the shed. I hope she knows."
No one could offer any words of comfort. Ron felt especially helpless, and hated that. He didn't feel like his dad should blame himself, but he didn't want to begrudge Ginny any of her pain. It just seemed like everyone lost, and there was no way to turn it around.
"Harry wrote to me," he said suddenly, trying to change the subject. His father turned from the shed, eyebrows flying up. Ron took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. "I think he would have told us. I dunno, though. It's Harry. He could be apologizing that the Earth is round or that Hogwarts is in Scotland."
A small smile flickered over his father's face. "I wouldn't have blamed him, I don't think," he said slowly. "He was only seventeen."
Ron grimaced and scratched his forearm. His eyes were drawn to the flames again. One of the worst things about the entire situation was that he understood why Harry hadn't come back. Not fully. But Ginny's physical state had been pretty evident, and Ron could see why that would send Harry off the deep end. Never once had he blamed his best mate for what had happened to Ginny, but it was unavoidable that Harry would blame himself.
"How did he know?" his mother spoke up. "How did he know what happened over Christmas?"
"He overheard George telling Remus, I think," Dora said quietly. She was staring at the remnants of the shed and had her hand over her belly. "He must have. By the time I got back to the kitchen, he was gone."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
09 January 2002
Ginny sat in her dorm room staring at a blank piece of parchment. Just write the damn letter, she told herself fiercely. Ever since her conversation with Harry, she knew that she really should. Really, really. She wanted the Erised vision, but -- her stomach gave a sickening twinge -- it was going to have to be her that made the first step.
But thinking about actually saying -- what? I'm sorry I screamed at you was a bit of a lie; she wouldn't have screamed if he hadn't pushed her. She didn't even want to mention it, but how could she not? For years, she'd been able to ignore it or distract herself from it. Yes, it had always been there, just under the surface, but now it boiled and raged. And she couldn't even think about them without having being thrust into a memory--
The Easter holidays had ended, and the last thing she really wanted was to go back to school (though she'd fought fiercely with her parents to allow her to return at all). Ginny sighed. The other students were tense and mostly silent -- except a pocket of Slytherin students who appeared to be completely at ease -- as they got off the train in Hogsmeade. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood whispered quietly together, checking furtively for eavesdroppers. Ginny stayed several paces behind them, not wanting to intrude on the older students.
I wish they'd started up Defense Association again, she thought forlornly. They were the most likely, after all; but ever since she'd talked them into helping her steal Gryffindor's sword (it was Harry's not Snape's!), and they'd gotten caught, she hadn't wanted to try to get them to do anything. It could have been worse, though, she thought mutinously. He only gave us detention with Hagrid.
Hagrid. He was also gone. Not dead, thank God, but on the run. Ginny was going to miss having tea with him. He was pretty much her only source of outside information that she had about the Order of the Phoenix, as her parents and brothers would never write that kind of information in a letter, and Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences. Everything was just so different, including the fact that the Carrows no longer appeared to allow the carriages pulled by thestrals to carry the students to the castle. Or perhaps the thestrals had refused to work for the Death Eaters.
Ginny's pace slowed and she let a group of Slytherin's pass her. When Draco Malfoy looked back at her, an ugly little smile hovering over his lips, she walked even slower. The arse had been teasing her all year, asking her about Harry, and whether she knew her "boyfriend" had no chance, that she might as well weep for him now.
Arse, she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around her. She watched as he whispered something to his mates, the morons Crabbe and Goyle, dropping back from the crowd. Almost against her will, she glanced over her shoulder. There was quite a distance between herself and another large group behind her. One tall boy also walked alone, but his face was hidden by the shadows and she had no idea who he was.
"Stop, Ginny," she told herself quietly. She straightened her shoulders and kept her eyes on the lit path. The gates of Hogwarts were just barely visible. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when she realized Malfoy's two goons had left his side and were practically walking beside her. Just get to Hogwarts. Just make it through those gates.
Footsteps behind her. The boy she didn't recognize was whistling a jaunty tune and gaining on her. Let it be someone from the Defense Association... Michael Corner or Terry Boot or someone else. But paranoia, nurtured by her parents' fears for her safety and that of the rest of the family, especially Ron, reared its ugly head, and she couldn't help but notice that she was pretty much surrounded. And the distance was closing. A few seconds later, Ginny opened her mouth, ready to yell for someone and--
"Ginevra!"
Ginny's head swiveled to the left. That was her dad's voice. Relief and terror swamped her at once. Malfoy wouldn't be able to carry out his plans, but... why was he here? Had something terrible happened in the hours she'd been gone? Or had her parents retracted their decision to allow her to go back to Hogwarts, and now they were all going into hiding?"
"Dad?" she asked, frozen.
The flickering light from the floating torches fell on his face. "Come with me," he said, in a voice that allowed little in the way of argument.
Ginny stepped off the path. "Is it Harry?" she asked urgently. Her heart pounded in her chest. Let him be all right, she pleaded. Let all of them be all right. Despite the fact that her father was here, that whatever Malfoy had planned he couldn't do it, she was safe, she still glanced back at them. He didn't seem too disappointed by it; in fact, he looked quite gleeful.
Ask the security question, a small voice told her. She opened her mouth--
"Yes, it's Harry," he said softly. "It's bad. Don't you want to be with him?"
The wording struck her as off and she took a half step backward. "What's your dearest ambition?" she asked. Say that you want to know how airplanes stay up, she told him. Say it. But instead of replying, instead of offering reassurance, he looked beyond her and gave a sharp nod.
And Ginny was shoved right into his arms. Her head snapped back and a breath later she screamed. HEAR ME! Confusion and fear whirled around inside her while she yelled her head off -- she could hear people walking by, now, she must've stepped right into a protective circle--
"Too late," the man -- Ginny knew by now he wasn't her father -- whispered in her ear. And holding her in a painful grip, he whirled around, and Ginny thought his arms had tightened enough to make her feel as though she was about to pop. We've just Apparated, she realized dazedly. It hadn't just been his grip on her body, but he'd taken her away from Hogwarts, and she had no idea where she was...
Fear broke over her. She had the impression of a large, ornately decorated room and a small crowd of people before she broke out of his grasp and tried to run. One step. Two steps. Three steps.
"Crucio!"
A spell slammed into her and she shrieked again, this time from pain, not fear. It sent her tumbling hard to the floor, panting.
"No need to be rude," said a high, cold voice. "My loyal servants went to no small amount of trouble to get you here."
Ginny raised her head and forced herself to stand. Five figures ranged in front of a hearth large enough to fit almost her entire family. Three of them were laughing at her. She knew who all of them were: Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, ravaged face almost inhuman; Fenrir Greyback chuckled, his eyes sweeping up and down her body in a way that made her feel naked; and her father's face and voice changed as she watched, red faded to pale blond. Lucius Malfoy. His wife didn't laugh, but stared coldly straight ahead.
And Lord Voldemort stared at her, head cocked, as though she was an interesting puzzle. And Ginny was almost too panicked to think. I'm bait, the thought thrummed through her veins. He means to use me to get Harry here.
"He's going to come rescue me," she said, trying to make her voice loud.
"Your father?" Mr. Malfoy said, voice still rich with laughter. "The pathetic Muggle-lover has no idea where you are. He didn't even have the sense to know when I was taking his hair from him." He twirled his wand in his hand while Ginny watched, not wanting to look at anything else. "He's weak--"
"My dad isn't weak!" she told him, though her knees literally knocked with fear. What if something had happened to her family since she'd left? How had Mr. Malfoy gotten the hair he'd needed for the Polyjuice? Keep your chin up. Harry isn't ever afraid. And he'd met all these people before. He's escaped them. I wish I still had my wand.
But they were using her as bait for Harry, so she didn't need to fight all of them to get out on her own. He'd come and defeat Voldemort once and for all and she'd be fine. Maybe even a little proud that she helped him. This thought gave her the courage to look Lord Voldemort in the face. "He's going to beat you! Harry's going to defeat you again!"
Bellatrix Lestrange laughed again; the sound sent chills down her spine. "The poor little baby thinks she's bait," she said in a baby voice. Ice flooded Ginny's belly. They're going to kill me... but why? What's the point?
"You're not the bait," said Lucius Malfoy. He'd stepped closer until he was much too close. Much, much too close. "You're the weapon."
Ginny jerked herself out of the memory, breathing heavily. She wanted to strangle that young, stupid girl for being so wrong about everything. For not walking with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. For not asking the security question until her fate was already sealed. For thinking she'd be rescued right away (and not after seventy days), and for having no idea until it was much too late what being the weapon crafted to be used against Harry actually meant.
Her parchment had a few blotchy tear stains on it, so she got a new one. But she still couldn't force herself to say anything, so she drew her safety symbol, the lightning bolt, across the entire sheet and rolled it up. That's the best I can do for right now, she told herself.
"Come on, Arnold," she said. The pygmy puff immediately perked up, giving her a look that was half full of hope and half full of despair. Despite the shaking, angry feeling that had suffused her limbs, it made her smile. "Yes, we're going to go see them. Yes, you have another chance to woo Calliope."
She grabbed her cloak and her Nimbus 2121 and headed straight for Harry's office. Glancing at her watch, she grimaced. She'd told him that she would be come around in an hour. What if he was busy and didn't want to see her? They couldn't spend every moment of every day together, after all.
Don't be stupid, she gave herself a mental slap. When has he ever not wanted to see you? After reminding herself -- sometimes she forgot, as it still seemed too good to be true -- that Harry was always pleased to see her, it got easier to walk toward him, and she was hardly nervous at all when she knocked on his office door. She even managed to throw a wave at Stuart Method, Elizabeth Barnett, and Aisling Powell, who were loitering in the corridor.
"Ginny!" he said.
"Hi," she said, relieved. Just the sight of him took away some of the jittery, nauseous feelings she had after her memory. "I was wondering... do you want to go flying with me?"
His gaze sharpened, and Ginny knew what he was thinking. She'd told him two days before (on the first day of her period) that it was a bit too cold to be flying, even with a charm. He hadn't questioned her mild lie (though Ginny knew he hadn't believed her fully), but Ginny could practically see him forcing himself not to ask her what was going on.
Maybe I should drop my bag and bend over to pick it up, she thought wildly, before castigating herself for it. It was true that Harry was distracted whenever he noticed her bum, but Ginny had done it purposefully three times already (she liked seeing the look on his face), and she felt bad for doing it. But she didn't want him to press her for--
"All right," he said finally, interrupting her thoughts. "Let me grab my broom. It's in my sitting room."
An hour later, Ginny felt closer to normal. It's the looming, she admitted as she landed. The Death Eaters had loomed around her. And even now they were all dead and gone, it was like they were still there sometimes. Arnold helped her ignore that feeling, and Harry's kisses sometimes made it disappear completely for hours. Her family had likewise been able to distract her over the years. But they always came back.
Harry didn't say much at all as they walked back up to the castle. This strangely made Ginny want to tell him everything. She even opened her mouth several times to speak, but as soon as she did, the words twisted up inside of her. "I wrote to my family," she finally forced out, just as they were nearing the doors.
"I'm glad," he said.
"It -- I mean -- just my safety symbol," Ginny continued lamely. "Not like a real letter. Just -- just to let them know I'm safe." Professor McGonagall was keeping her family informed, Ginny knew, but still. His fingers gently brushed against her back; she was relieved that he didn't find her gesture pathetic or too small.
He remained very quiet until they returned to his office to retrieve the pygmy puffs, though Ginny sensed that he wanted to say something. A little ball of anxiety grew in her stomach the longer the silence stretched, though she would have hated it even more if he said anything about it in public.
"I don't like that bloke," Harry said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. Ginny turned to look. Pollux Sennet stood in a circle of friends, and just the sight of him made her want to hex him and run away at the same time. She turned away before he noticed her staring.
"I don't either," she said as they turned the corner.
"He doesn't bother you, does he?" Harry asked sharply.
"No," Ginny said. "Not really." He shouldn't bother me. He's just an arse. He wouldn't bother anyone else. He hadn't done anything outward for a while, not since it was made clear that she and Harry were friends.
"Tell me if he does," he said.
Ginny was about to ask him what he would do, but the knowledge that if Sennet did something truly awful, Harry wouldn't stop at anything to help her, stilled her tongue. But he also treated her like an equal, too, which was like a balm to her. He didn't push her, but he didn't want to lock her away. He was going to let her help with taking care of the book, and even though she saw the grimace on his face, he didn't push her into admitting that Pollux Sennet bothered her.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Ginny retrieved Arnold from her bag and cuddled him to her ear. The familiar snuffling noise as he rooted through her hair -- his lovesick ways didn't make him completely unfamiliar -- calmed her anxiety a bit. "Do you think I should have written more? Or mentioned -- mentioned -- told them--"
Harry waited until she fell silent. Damn it, she thought.
"Mentioned Christmas?" he asked finally, to her relief. She nodded wordlessly. He ruffled his hair and then rubbed his scar, sure signs that he was thinking carefully about his answer. "I don't know, Gin. I don't -- I would never want to tell you what you should do or shouldn't or anything like that."
"I know," she said. This was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. And she had to admit that she wished that he'd offer his opinion just a little bit more, as she wanted to offer hers. Their relationship was pretty even on the giving and taking. She stroked Arnold lightly with her finger. "I do respect your opinion, though."
"I dunno," he said. "I think maybe you should mention it at some point, but... why does it have to be right away?"
"Because I -- I feel like -- guilty," she admitted. And she did. She kept seeing her father's face -- and the others -- and knew that she'd unloaded something awful on them and done a runner. This made her feel like a coward, but a large part of her -- the part that couldn't escape the memories -- still chanted at her to stay away from them.
"You don't have to protect them anymore, though," he said. "For better or worse, it came out, and I don't think they'd begrudge you for taking time to let it process."
Protecting them? That was a funny way of putting it. Ginny let his words sink in while she played with Arnold, who kept trying to escape to get to Calliope. The other pygmy puff was poking her head out of Harry's robes and eyeing Arnold warily. It was true that she didn't have to say anything about Christmas right away. She had time, and if the last three and a half years had taught her anything, it was that her family was extremely patient with her.
"I want to do it," she said.
"You will, then," he said, shrugging, as though he really did believe that she could rebuild the bridges she'd blasted away with the truth. She felt very warm, and wasn't sure if this was due to her proximity to him or if it was his complete faith in her. Most likely a mixture of both.
His lips seemed particularly enticing all of a sudden. And Ginny felt a bit bad, but the desire to talk about her family receded swiftly. "Can we get to the kissing now?" she blurted out, flushing.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
11 January 2002
I've been waiting almost four bloody years to tell you it wasn't your fault, you moron.
Harry sat on the end of his bed, staring down at Ron's letter, not knowing what the hell to think. He shouldn't have been surprised to see a reply, though having Remus' owl, Orion, slam into his window at six in the morning had been like a bucket of cold water. It had taken him several minutes to even open it. And he'd felt like a girl, but it had really slammed into him how much he missed Ron and Hermione the moment he saw the familiar, untidy scrawl.
The sarcasm was just as familiar, as well as the sentiment. He could almost feel Ron cuffing him on the shoulder and telling him to pull his head out of his arse. And Hermione would be right beside him listing all the reasons why Harry shouldn't blame himself.
And that was the problem.
Harry already felt like he and Ginny were on their way to talking about what had happened. It was inevitable, really. But he was dreading it. What if she just didn't remember that she'd been taken to be used as a weapon against him? He didn't quite understand why she trusted him of all people, but he was afraid that she'd come to her senses.
"I'm a mess," he said out loud to the empty room. It was just... getting Ron's letter directly after having a particularly bad nightmare made his stomach lurch sickeningly. Everything felt so fragile. Not his feelings for her, of course. But he was afraid that Ginny was going to wake up one day and realize that she was the one who had paid the price, when it should have been him. She'd been hand-chosen by Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy (with the help of Draco) and had been brutalized because of him. He didn't want to remind her of this.
Calliope chose that moment to pop up and down, squeaking madly. Harry had never been more relieved to be jerked out of his thoughts, and he watched her roll around happily. He didn't much enjoy these thoughts, and generally tried to avoid them as much as he could.
Harry would much rather think about the fact that even though they'd only been together for less than two weeks, he already knew lots of things about her. For someone who did not much like to be touched, she was very affectionate with him. She liked to stroke his hair, and she let him thread his fingers through hers whenever he wanted, and never complained that it got mussed. It had become natural for the both of them to hold hands (which made walking through the halls and not holding hands a bit hard). And she wrapped her arms around him when he kissed her, and even though this made it quite difficult for him to hide his arousal from her (and required acrobatic feats made even more challenging because he had to be stealthy about it), he appreciated the contact.
Even more importantly, he learned what she didn't like. There was a very precise spot on the back of her neck that made her freeze up if he touched it. Above it, below it, and to the side of it was fine. But there was a little circle of flesh that was simply off limits. This combined with the repulsed, hurting look that flashed over her face made him avoid it at all costs. She didn't like to be tickled (though seemed to have no qualms about tickling him), and her left foot was especially sensitive.
By the time he had finished cataloguing her likes and dislikes, Harry felt better. Not quite ready to reply to Ron's letter, but enough to know that he would. He glanced at Orion warily. Eventually.
He thought about it for the rest of the day. And even though he felt slightly guilty for being absent-minded in class, he couldn't help it. They'll get over it, Harry thought darkly as he was forced to take Benjamin Corner up to the hospital wing yet again. It was the seventh time, and Harry felt extremely bad for the boy's parents.
But besides that one small mishap ("Everything will come back, don't worry," Madam Pomfrey had assured both of them), the rest of the day passed smoothly despite his lack of attention.
"I hear you had an interesting day," Ginny remarked as she breezed through his door, fresh from Quidditch practice. Arnold warbled a brief greeting, huge eyes immediately searching for Calliope. Harry didn't have the heart to tell the pygmy puff that the love of his life was now hiding under the sofa.
"It wasn't that interesting," Harry said defensively. He knew she meant Ben Corner's accident, but really. The boy practically had his own bed in the hospital wing. As soon as the door was shut behind her, he distracted her by kissing her thoroughly. He even did something new and tilted her head a bit to kiss her neck, grinning against her smooth skin when she sucked in a breath.
"Now is it interesting?" she smiled at him when he pulled away.
"Very," he said smugly. She likes it when I kiss her neck, he added to his list of things that made her happy. "And... I know a way to make things even more interesting," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You're on," she said immediately. "Though don't think you've got the skill to beat me."
"Oh?" he said. "I've been practicing my technique, I'll have you know."
"In the last day?" she said dubiously.
Harry summoned the cards, prepared for her to kick his arse at Exploding Snap yet again. For a game that was won largely due to luck, he was pathetic at it compared to her. But it was worth seeing the competitive light in her eyes, and she generally consoled him after he lost with several kisses. Besides, he told himself. She's the sister of Fred and George. Exploding things must like her.
"What are you smiling about?" she asked suddenly.
"The fact that I'm going to beat you," Harry lied easily.
"Dream on, Potter," she rolled her eyes, sitting down gracefully and pushing back her sleeves.
Later that evening, after she'd left, and Harry had never mentioned that he'd corresponded with her brother, he stared out the window. Orion was winging his way to Ron and Hermione with his short answer that didn't say anything he really wanted to say. Just a simple: Thanks, Ron. But he felt like his relationship with Ginny might be either solid as a rock or a house made out of exploding cards. And he didn't want to find out for sure which one it was.