Interlude I
"And that," Albus said, pulling something from his desk drawer, "brings us to Miss Weasley. Care for a humbug before we continue?"
Minerva sighed. Bad enough that even three days after Christmas Albus still insisted on wearing the ridiculous hat he'd received in a cracker, but "Albus," she said, "that is the third time in the last twenty minutes you've offered me one. I already told you I don't like the flavour."
His eyes sparkled as he unwrapped it and tossed the candy into his mouth.
"Indeed. The problem, of course, is that if no one else helps then I will have no choice but to eat them all myself, and that can only wreak havoc on my digestive system."
"One, Albus," she said, "if only to keep you from rattling that bag at me for the rest of this meeting."
He beamed and passed her one.
"Now," He said, "when last we discussed her, you said that you had been seeing an upswing in Miss Weasley's social activities. Is this state of affairs still continuing?"
"It is. She still seems to be limiting her company to that of either Luna Lovegood or Colin Creevey, but she appears to be spending quite a fair amount of her time with them."
"Lovely. I have noticed her a few times with one of those two. With Mr Creevey during meals, often, or walking with Miss Lovegood."
She coughed, the burning taste of the humbug sneaking into her sinuses and settling there.
Bloody peppermint.
"One of my students had the nerve to complain about Ginny inviting Luna into the Gryffindor Common Room," she said, "I set them straight, of course."
"Yes. Ginevra has not formed a close bond with her roommates, has she?"
"They're acquaintances," she said with a grimace, "to be frank, I would be surprised if they became bosom buddies. The Woodworth girls have drawn McLaggen into their social circle, and none of them are the type of people the Weasleys ever had much to do with."
Albus chuckled lightly, his hat wobbling on his head.
"I would say not. But there have been no issues between them?"
"None."
"What of her nightmares?"
"If they are still continuing, they are minimal," she said. "She says that she rarely suffers them, and none of her roommates have mentioned anything of the sort, not to me or to any of the prefects."
"Indeed a hopeful sign. I assume that she never took Remus up on his offer?"
"No. And while she seems more comfortable with me, she still avoids talking about the events of last year."
Albus frowned, absentmindedly reaching out and stroking Fawkes.
"Whenever I meet with her," Minerva continued, "I get the feeling that she's holding something back. That she's not telling me everything that's going on in her mind."
"Really, Minerva? A teenager not revealing their innermost feelings to an authority figure?"
"It just...unnerves me, slightly. I can't make her talk, I've seen that much. I just hope that whatever she's keeping hidden, it's not hurting her."
"Doubtless," Albus said, "it is the fact that she still feels some sort of attachment, perhaps, to the memory of Tom Riddle."
She looked up sharply, catching his eye.
He nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm certain there are still some remnants of her positive feelings for him. Feelings that have tormented her since she came to know who he truly was."
"You can't mean she still cares for him," she said, feeling sickened at the very thought, "I-"
"I would be very surprised if none of those emotions lingered," he interrupted, "remember, Minerva, she had that diary for the better part of a year. A year spent sharing her deepest emotions with the memory of a highly charismatic, incredibly skilled manipulator. Not to mention the enchantments on the diary itself, enchantments set to induce devotion and obsession."
"You said that those enchantments were no longer affecting her," she said, trying and failing to keep an accusatory tone from her voice.
"If you recall, I said that there were lingering shards of the enchantments which I believed would fade in time."
He held up a hand, forestalling her next comment.
"I still do not think that I was in error. But the fact remains that he had tied her sense of devotion and worth to him. There is no additional damage being done to her, but all the harm he had already caused did not simply vanish with him. The injuries he inflicted on her soul still need to heal, and while it seems they are in the process of doing so, we would have to be as reckless as Crispin Cronk when he decided his backyard was the perfect location for Sphinx breeding to assume that they are completely healed."
"She needs more help than I can give, Albus. I know I'm an excellent teacher, but getting the children to open up has never been my forte."
"What she needs, is to know that the staff here care about her and that if she desires, she can be open with us. She needs to spend time with friends just like a normal child."
"And that's exactly what we are already giving her."
"Correct. Of course, we must still keep an open eye. Students have been known to hide away severe problems in the past. Nevertheless, I believe Miss Weasley is well on her way to recovery."
"I hope you're right, Albus."
"I usually am. Now, let's discuss Mr Longbottom."
He stuck his hand into the drawer again.
She sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Molly put down her needles and picked up the jumper, critically examining the G embossed on the front.
The wireless was off, Arthur's voice filling the room instead.
She picked up her wand, waving it over the sweater and tying off a few loose threads.
Since she'd first continued her mother's tradition of making Christmas jumpers for her children, she'd followed her mother's footsteps in using no magic in the actual creation of the garment.
It was a small gesture, one she was all but certain her children didn't notice, and yet it made the whole process something far more personal, an act replete with genuine care and love.
The work of her own two hands, each stitch imbued with her love for her children.
One day, she knew, Ginny would be making Christmas jumpers for her own children, continuing a tradition that Molly knew to be at least four generations old.
At least, she hoped that Ginny would one day continue the tradition.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at it, her heart aching at the reminder that this conglomeration of wool would be the only piece of her spending Christmas with her daughter.
"...and a very happy Christmas. Your loving son, Percy. Well," Arthur said, putting down the letter, "sounds like everything's going well in Hogwarts."
She didn't reply, continuing to stare at the jumper as her sorrow overflowed, sending tears trailing down her face.
"Molly?" Arthur asked, sounding alarmed, "what's wrong?"
"I hate this," she whispered.
"She's doing well, Molly," he said gently, "all of the boys say so, and so do the staff. She's getting better."
"I know. But I hate that we have to hear it from them. I hate that-that I can't just pick her up and give her a hug, like when she was little and had hurt herself. I hate that there's nothing I can do."
The tears came faster now, a lump building up inter back of her throat.
"I haven't felt so helpless since-since Gideon and Fabian. There's nothing I can do, Arthur. And I hate it."
"It's natural to feel that way," he said, "but you need to focus on how far she's come instead of thinking about what she went through."
"I know. I know. But I-we shouldn't have to worry about her, not like this. We shouldn't have to hope that she's actually doing as well as it sounds, we shouldn't have her brothers keeping tabs on her. We shouldn't be in this situation in the first place."
"We shouldn't," he agreed, "but we are. And one day, maybe we'll have a Minister who cares more about the people than about lining his pockets, and then Lucius Malfoy will pay."
"I just wish that there was something I could do!" She cried, "instead of just letting her deal with it herself."
"Molly," he said, moving closer and taking her hand, "she's doing well. Very well. That's what you need to think about. If you let yourself get into thoughts about what you wished we could do, it'll just make you feel worse."
She seized a nearby handkerchief, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
"I think," she said, "that we must get to Diagon tomorrow."
"We already did the Christmas shopping…"
"I know. But I'd like to get Ginny something extra. Even just something small like a few more chocolates. Just something."
"That could work. Or the updated copy of Quidditch Through the Ages."
He shrugged at her questioning look.
"The longest letter she's written to us was the one talking about the game. If she doesn't at least try and join the team one day, I'll get a brass wand."
"I think you're right," Molly said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, "she'll appreciate it."
"I hope so."
"I'm sorry for being so-so dramatic. I shouldn't be so worried."
"Dear, you're her mother. You're meant to worry. Just remember, she's getting better."
"Yes," Molly said, a more genuine smile than her last attempt spreading across her face, "she's moving past it."