Chapter 4
Decision and Conversations
A loud shriek pulled Harry from his sleep, thrusting him once more into the real world. It took him a moment to realize that the scream was one he knew; it was Hermione's voice. He grasped around in the bleary morning light, searching desperately for his wand; Ron was nowhere in sight. After a few seconds of wrestling with his blankets, it rolled out of the folds onto the wooden floor boards with a clatter. Harry snatched it up as he ran for the door, roughly pulling a cloak around his shoulders as he went.
He was sure the yell had come from the front yard. He glanced out a window on the way down the stairs, but the view was obstructed by the eaves of the lower levels. He jumped the last few steps. Mrs. Weasley was standing in the doorway, tears in her eyes. To Harry's surprise, a smile was playing at the corners of her lips. He peered past her through the doorframe.
Hermione was standing at the garden gate, her arms wrapped around two people Harry recognized as her parents, in a constricting bear hug. Tears were streaming down the reunited family's faces as they whispered assurances of good health and sobbed in each other's ears. Ron was standing to one side in his own maroon robe. His wand dangled loosely in his fingers at his side. He threw Harry a small smile before turning back to Hermione's reunion with her family.
Hermione managed to break apart herself from her parents for a moment, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried forwards, making offers of temporary residence to the Grangers. It didn't take much convincing; Hermione had used a Memory Charm so powerful that the Grangers had sold their house before moving to Australia, effectively leaving them homeless. It had taken six of the highest members of the St. Mungo's staff to successfully restore the Granger's memories. Harry felt a burst of pride; Hermione was going to be a great Obliviator.
When everyone found their way back to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley, still with a hint of tears in her eyes, started to whip up a massive breakfast. Any who ventured to approach her were given tasks, bar the new arrivals. Harry watched in amusement as each of the Weasley boys were given jobs. He pointedly glanced away as Ginny entered the room. Seconds later the door to the yard slammed and Harry turned to see Bill, Charlie and Ron glaring daggers at him as a mane of red hair whipped out of sight around the corner of the house. He shrugged and engaged the nearest person in conversation. He sincerely regretted this when Mr. Weasley began to interrogate him on the use of light bulbs.
"Hey Harry, come over here for a minute," Ron called. Trying very hard not to look relieved, Harry left a disappointed Mr. Weasley and threaded his way across the room to Ron.
"You're a life saver," Harry whispered to his best friend.
Ron chuckled, "Yeah, Dad gets a bit carried away sometimes but he's alright. Any minute now he'll realize that the Grangers are Muggles, and for the rest of the holidays they're not going to have a few second's peace without Dad giving them a drilling about a few more Muggle type things. But anyway …" he hesitated.
Harry saw the look on his face and instantly knew what Ron was about to say, "No."
"I didn't say anything," said Ron in protest, turning a brilliant shade of red.
"Ron I'm not talking about it," he said firmly, squashing any more attempts to bring Ginny up. Ron looked sullen for a moment but brightened when he saw Hermione coming over.
"Ron, did-" the rest of her sentence was wiped out as Ron swept her into his arms and into a deep kiss. After a few seconds, Harry became decidedly uncomfortable and cleared his throat loudly. The two stood up abruptly, both with cheeks and ears tinged pink. The four parents were standing in shocked silence; Harry could see both Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger's eyebrows receding into their hairlines. Bill and Charlie whistled appreciatively.
"About time," Charlie whispered in Harry's ear, nudging him with his elbow, "I thought Ron was never going to do it." Harry grinned, refraining from telling them all about Ron and Hermione's dramatic return from the Chamber of Secrets during the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Anyway," Hermione said, obviously trying her best not to see the sharp looks the two mothers kept shooting her and Ron, "What I came to ask was if Ron had got an answer out of you yet, Harry." By now Harry was getting well and truly annoyed. It was really none of their business.
"Look if you two want to get together and have a few private snog sessions that's your business," he said forcefully, "But you have no right to try and force me to apologize to someone who doesn't want me to anyway." Ron and Hermione took his rant rather well, or, as good as anyone can take being rebuked by your best friend. Hermione gave Harry a hard look and then stalked over to her parents. Ron shook his head in exasperation, shot Harry a quick glare and then followed Hermione, leaving Harry alone near the doorway.
"Fancy a game of Quidditch, Harry?" Charlie asked, coming up behind him, "Although, we'd better wait until breakfast is over; Mum might strangle me if I skip it after she went to this much trouble." They chanced a glance toward the bench and saw several dishes of butter being whisked at once, Mrs. Weasley standing behind them with her wand pointing at them.
Harry grinned, "Sounds great."
Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself. When everyone was finally seated, the table seemed to groan under the weight of so much food. There were three plates of sausages and bacon, with two plates of eggs resting in the middle. Four flasks of pumpkin juice sat in the middle of the table, and toast would periodically shoot out of the pantry and cook itself above the flames in the hearth before flying over and landing on the plates of the feasting people.
The Grangers had been seated between Hermione and, to their misfortune, Mr. Weasley. He was questioning them relentlessly about their jobs as dentists. Every now and then Harry heard him mutter words like, 'Remarkable' and 'Simply amazing what you Muggles can do without magic'. Fleur had arrived from Shell Cottage this morning and was talking to Mrs. Weasley about children and grandchildren with a very pink Bill putting in a word here and there.
Today, both Ginny and George were missing from the table, with Bill once again disappearing upstairs with a plate full of food in his hand. Ginny hadn't been seen since she stormed out of the house.
As soon as he was finished Harry raced up the stairs to get changed, still ignoring Ron and Hermione. After he had pulled on some old clothes, and given himself a sharp reminder to get some new casual robes, he hurried back down. Charlie was standing ready at the door. Bill was with him and to Harry's surprise, Fleur was there too.
"I 'ave yet to learn ze way to play zis game," she said in heavily accented French, "Per'aps I would be better if were to watch you boys for a while." The three boys grimaced but Bill put an arm around his wife and led her outside, Harry and Charlie following behind. They reached the broom shed and the two Weasley brothers pulled out a pair of old Cleansweeps. Harry felt a twinge of sadness as he remembered the remains of his Firebolt. The Weasleys seemed to sense his mood as they gave him the broom that appeared to have the least splinters.
The place where they usually played Quidditch at the Burrow was a large field that had stopped being used for agriculture long ago. The only evidence of its history was an abandoned tractor lying in the corner, almost swallowed by the long grass that covered the field. Trees surrounded it, effectively hiding it from the eyes of the Muggle world.
They were jumping the fence into the field when they realised there was somebody already there. Harry stiffened when he saw who. Ginny was doing some lazy circles in the air, apparently unaware of the new arrivals. The old makeshift Quidditch rings were hovering at the other end of the field, with a few old Quaffles lying beneath them.
"Oi," Bill shouted, "Ginny!" The Weasley girl turned and waved at them. Without warning she went into a steep dive, rocketing toward them. Harry felt his jaw drop as she pulled up just in time, making a perfect landing. Even he had trouble with those.
"Hey Bill, Charlie, Fleur," she said, cheerful at first. Upon catching sight of the fourth person, her voice became suddenly cool, "Harry."
"Ginny," he said stiffly. The other three cast nervous glances at the two of them. Ginny's chocolate brown eyes were burning with an inner flame as she stared fiercely into Harry's own unusually harsh emerald green ones.
"Well what are we waiting for," Harry said irritably, breaking eye contact first, "Let's play some Quidditch." It did nothing to help his temper when the others breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Can I play?" Ginny inquired sweetly. Harry felt a strong urge to shout 'NO!' at her, but decided it would seem quite immature, so let the others decide instead. He felt his face fall when he realised that both Bill and Charlie considered Ginny as their favourite sibling. Sure enough, both of them nodded at her request. A little voice warned him that it was going to be a long morning.
The sky was cloudless, the weather fine. Harry was a little nervous, as he had only left the Hospital Wing the previous afternoon, his reasons for being there the same as where he was now. But as he kicked off from the ground, and the cool air streamed past him, he felt his worries slip away. The broom's handling and speed were nothing like his Firebolt, but it didn't matter once he was in the air. Once more, he was carefree, relaxed.
"Harry," called Charlie. Harry turned to see that they were all hovering a little way off. Beyond them he could see the Burrow just rising past the trees, with the village of Ottery St. Catchpole just visible in the distance.
Charlie held out a fist and showed them several sticks poking out the top. "We're drawing straws to see who the captains are," he explained. They all pulled out one each; Ginny and Bill got the short ones. Soon the teams were set; Bill, Fleur and Harry on one side, with Charlie and Ginny on the other. It was pretty fair considering Bill was only an average player while Fleur was terrible.
At two points in the game Harry was almost knocked off his broom by Ginny who passed dangerously close at lightning speeds. She didn't even glance at him as she nearly hit him for the fifth time. He tried to keep a sharp rein on his temper but could feel himself getting angrier by the moment. There was no reason for her to treat him this way.
He forced her to the back of his mind, trying to focus on finding the Snitch, or rather, the rock that had been painted gold and enchanted to do the Snitch's job. Charlie was circling far above, searching the pitch below him. Anyone who saw them from a distance would just think them to be large birds or something similar.
He caught sight of a bright glint in the corner of his eye. Turning slightly on his broom, he saw the 'Snitch' floating underneath the rings at Bill's end of the field. He sped off in the direction of the hoops, urging the old broom to move faster. He could hear the distinct sound of Charlie speeding along beside him. A sudden tug jerked him to a halt. He glanced over his shoulder and felt his blood boil. Ginny was holding onto the end of his broom, preventing him from reaching the Snitch. Charlie shot forward, arm outstretched. In the last second, it zoomed out of reach and disappeared. Harry shook Ginny off furiously, trying very hard not to see the smug look on her face. He would have got that Snitch, and she knew it.
They played for a little over an hour more before Bill called it off. He had been getting nervous with the amount of times Ginny had nearly knocked Harry off his broom by throwing the Quaffle straight at him. They finally landed in the field and started to troop back toward the house. Judging by the looks passing between the younger two, Bill guessed he had just prevented murder.
"I'll take the brooms back to the shed," Harry volunteered, shooting another icy glare at Ginny. Bill sighed in relief. As long as Harry managed to avoid Ginny after this, everyone just might have a peaceful afternoon. Apparently his hopes were in vain.
"I'll help."
If looks could kill, both Harry and Ginny would have burnt each other to cinders. They stopped and just stared into each others eyes, each waiting for the other to break contact. Harry broke first, grabbing Bill's and Fleur's brooms, throwing them over his shoulder and marching on toward the broom shed. Ginny huffed, grabbed Charlie's broom and chased after him.
"Harry."
He ignored her.
"Harry."
Slightly harder to ignore this time.
"Harry, I'm warning you!"
It was hard to ignore shouting, but he managed it.
Whack!
"Heavens above!" he roared, "What's wrong with you?" Ginny had hit him over the head with one of the brooms she was carrying, effectively knocking him over.
"You weren't listening," she said imperiously. He glared up at her, slowly disentangling himself from the pile of brooms and climbing to his feet. She was watching him cautiously, as if worried he might spring at any moment.
"You really shouldn't have done that," Harry said angrily.
"You should have listened," Ginny snorted.
"Why should I listen?" he demanded, "You've been perfectly unreasonable since I finally defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in a millennium."
She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry ploughed on, "You had no right to treat me like the enemy. I was trying save the woman I was in love with. But I finally return and what do I find? The woman I wanted to save was nothing more than a silly little girl."
She gave Harry a furious glare before turning on her heel and running toward the house.
Lunch was subdued, although both Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger kept shooting suspicious looks at both Ron and Hermione. While Harry would normally take the opportunity to tease his friends, he was finding it impossible not to notice the death glares Bill and Charlie were shooting him. He ate the quickest, and ran to Ron's room before either of them could make a move.
On the first floor, Harry heard a sound he had not expected to hear; the muffled noises of sobbing. He faltered. He had not intended to hurt Ginny to this extent. Hoping that she wasn't in one of her worse moods, he eased the door open. A blast of bright yellow light flashed past his ear, and he hastily slammed shut the door again. For a moment there was silence apart from the sobs echoing through the wood. Then he knocked. It seemed a good idea.
"Go away!" she wailed, "I don't want to talk to anyone."
"It's Harry," Harry said hurriedly. The crying seemed to stop, as if in shock, but then continued worse than before, "Ginny, let me in."
The door was flung open with such force that Harry took a step back. To tell the truth, he had not really expected her to open up to him at all. He moved in cautiously, aware of the possibility that Ginny could hex him anytime.Ginny was sitting on her bed, giving Harry one of her fiercer glares. Tears were streaming down her face, which was almost as red as her fiery hair.
"What do you want Harry?" she said in a dangerously low voice. He knew that voice; she was on the verge of cursing him into tomorrow.
"I just wanted to talk to you for a minute," Harry said soothingly. He sat down at her desk, glancing at the wand in her hand. His own was still in the loop at his belt, unreachable.
"I'm not sure I want to listen," Ginny said bitterly.
"Well, just hear me out."
"In case you hadn't noticed," Ginny said darkly, "I have been willing to hear your story ever since we got together. I wanted to hear your side of it. You had no idea how much it hurt that you would keep things from me, but would always share them with Ron and Hermione. For heaven's sake Harry, I was your girlfriend." By the end of it, the tone of her voice had changed from wrathful, to miserable.
"I was trying to protect you," he said earnestly, his eyes pleading with her to understand, "You would have been moved straight to the top of Voldemort's hit list. What was I supposed to do? Let you go back to Hogwarts with the whole world knowing that you and I were a couple? You might as well have painted a target on your back."
"And I told you I didn't care about all that," Ginny said fiercely, "Did you think for one minute that maybe everybody already knew about us, and that I was a target anyway? Did you consider how I felt about just letting you go off on a task that proved too much for Albus Dumbledore himself? You didn't even tell me where you were going."
"I couldn't tell you," Harry snapped, "Making sure that nobody knew where we were at any time was paramount to our mission. News has ways of leaking out, and if Voldemort had even the faintest idea of what we had been looking for, our task would have been over before you could say 'Horcrux'."
"Do you really think I would be that careless?" Ginny demanded, "No, you knew I could keep any secret of yours. It was your bloody 'saving people' thing, and you refused to trust me. Hermione was absolutely right; you think you can take responsibility for everything on your own." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny ploughed on, "Do you think you could hide things from me, and then expect me to welcome you back with open arms? Did you think I would smile and say that all is forgiven?"
"You didn't share all of your secrets with me!" Harry replied angrily, his frustration starting to get the better of him, "You never told me what happened within the Chamber of Secrets!"
Ginny looked shocked, and to Harry's surprise a single tear traced its way down her cheek. "Did you ever ask?" she screeched, "You told me yourself in you fifth year that you had forgotten. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?"
She took a shuddering breath and then looked Harry in the eye, "You can't expect me to trust you with my secrets, if you yourself don't trust me. Until you learn not to completely rely on yourself, there can be nothing between us Harry." Ginny turned away from him, and wrapped her fingers around the windowsill. Her knuckles had turned white; she was struggling not to tremble.
To say Harry was shocked would be an understatement. Without a word, he got to his feet and left the room. He felt dazed. Ginny had brought everything he had mishandled into the forefront of his mind, and he wasn't sure he was ready for what was awaiting him. She had told him exactly what he hadn't wanted to hear; the truth of his nature. The past three years had made him a hard, untrusting person. And now that he realised it, he hated it.
Harry didn't exactly know where his feet took him. He vaguely remembered walking along the road leading to town, before turning off and ending up in the field that sat next to the Burrow. As he sat down, he looked back up to the home of the Weasleys and sighed.
She was right. He didn't like it, but people rarely like the truth. And this time Ginny was telling it to his face, and perhaps against his will he had heard the truth; he was unprepared to take responsibility for his actions. Even in the last few moments with her, he had tried to offload the blame for his situation onto her head. Black clouds cloaked the sun far overhead, darkening the earth, accurately reflecting Harry's emotions. He felt a jab of jealousy in his gut; why did things always happen to him. If he could have been normal, wouldn't that have made things so much simpler? Why was he chosen as the one to be the savior of the wizarding world? He stood abruptly, kicking a stone as hard as he could. It struck a tree, bouncing off onto the ground harmlessly.
It came to him suddenly, surprising him enough to make him sit down back down. It had always been someone or something else that drove him on to complete his destiny. Ginny had said it, without really meaning to. From the day he was born, his fate had been sealed by the words of a half-seer in a crumbling inn. It had never been his choice where his life would lead. It had always been someone else, turning him every which way, carefully guiding his footsteps in the hope that he would one day overcome Voldemort. Even in death, Dumbledore had managed to guide him through his journey of hunting and destroying through his assistant, Severus Snape, and his brother, Aberforth. Harry had never fully taken responsibility for his own actions; there had always been someone else to break his fall. Who did Ginny have to look after her and tell her everything would be alright when times got rough, or when nightmares haunted her through the darkest hours?
He stood resolutely. He would not allow others to fix his problems anymore. He would accept the responsibility that was given to him, and any troubles he caused would be solved by him. He stood resolutely and marched off toward the Burrow, with only one thought in mind. A girl lived in that house, and he knew that one way or another, he was going to win her trust back.
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Harry was very careful when he entered the back door. He didn't know just how far Bill and Charlie would be willing to go for their revenge, but he did know enough not to underestimate them. He slipped his wand up his sleeve and eased the door shut as quietly as he could. He winced when it squeaked loudly on rusty hinges. Mrs. Weasley wasn't cooking in the kitchen, so he assumed she was in the cozy sitting room. He crept towards the stairs on tiptoe, trying very hard not to bump into anything or make any noise. He reached the staircase without any sort of trouble and climbed it to the first floor landing, being careful to skip the last, creaking stair. Harry stopped there for a moment, listening. But there were no sounds of sniffling or crying so he moved on. Privately he was a little relieved; he wasn't sure if he was ready to face her before at least a little bit of coaching.
He stopped another floor up. On his left was the door to Percy's room and it was firmly closed. Although he was once more on good terms with his family, the third Weasley had kept his apartment in London. It was easier to reach the Ministry from there than here, he had pointed out. Harry hadn't seen the logic in this, as wizards could Apparate, but didn't comment. He had heard that Percy was the chief of the opposition to Umbridge, defying her at every turn and discrediting all the motions she was making. This had renewed Harry's respect for the Weasley; some of his nightmares involved the toady witch.
The door on his right was slightly ajar. Harry felt a pang when he realised it was Fred and George's old room. He moved closer and peered in. Bill and Charlie were both sitting on Fred's bed, sharing frequent anxious looks. Harry felt his stomach roll over when he saw the hunched form of George, wrapped up in a long black cloak. In less than two weeks, the remaining twin had withered. There were large black bags under his eyes and his skin had an unhealthy yellowish hue added to his normally pale complexion. His red hair was messy and knotted, and he had a short growth of beard on his chin. He turned his head for a second and Harry felt a chill. His eyes, once so full of life, were hollow; empty shells of what once was.
"You've got to eat, George," Charlie was saying. He looked exasperated. George turned his dead stare to his older brother. Charlie was holding a plate out to him. The platter was laden with all kinds of food. George turned away again, exposing his misshapen ear. Harry shivered when he saw it; that was a testament to one of the bigger mistakes Snape had made during the war.
Bill leaned forward and grabbed his brother's shoulder, speaking firmly, "You don't have a choice, George. Mum's really worried; you've got to eat or you'll starve."
To Harry's surprise, George spoke. His voice was a rasp, filled with scorn, "Fred can't eat ever again, and you're worried about me missing a few meals."
Bill looked hurt, but George appeared not to notice. Charlie shook his head and watched his younger brother reproachfully. George glared at him scathingly before picking up one of the sandwiches tentatively and taking a bite out of the corner. He gagged like someone who hadn't eaten in days. Feeling quite worse than he had before he looked in, Harry resolved to speak to George before he left for his last year at Hogwarts. With that in mind he continued on his way upstairs.
The door to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room was shut firmly. Harry had no doubt that the two of them considered their bedroom as a sort of refuge from the wild events that occurred on and around their property. He grinned when he remembered the amount of times Mrs. Weasley had come here to hide last summer when Fleur worked herself up over the wedding preparations. The smile faded when Harry recalled just how that evening had ended for him.
He finally reached the top landing, just below the attic, when a funny noise made him stop. It wasn't the ghoul; that strange being had been recently been moved back into the attic. And from what Harry understood from Charlie and Bill's dark mutterings, it hadn't stopped banging on the pipes since. No, this sounded more like a giggle. He approached the door to Ron's room and pressed his ear against it. A few muffled groans and more giggles escaped through the wood. Harry felt his eyebrows recede into his hairline, and despite his earlier vow to grow up, almost giggled himself. He didn't think Hermione would have forgotten something as simple as a Silencing charm in a situation like this. Then again, if she had, he may not have heard them first, and walked straight in. He felt himself blush as he imagined the consequences.
Harry turned and crept back down the hallway, descending several steps as well. This time, he made a point of making as much noise as possible, knocking three times very loudly. There was a bit of scrabbling around on the other side of the door, followed by some frantic whispers. After another hushed minute, the door opened a crack, before being opened up the whole way. Hermione looked almost normal, except for a few rumples in her shirt and skirt. Ron, sitting alone on the bed, was a different story. The bright orange colours of his room might almost have distracted Harry from his best friend's hair, which was sticking out at all angles, or from his plain grey shirt that was inside out. But it was next to impossible to ignore the disgruntled look he was throwing Harry.
Feeling the corners of his mouth quirking, Harry murmured, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No," she said hastily, "Not at all." Harry gave her a knowing look and she had the grace to blush. Glancing at Ron, he saw his best mate had his mouth open, as if he wanted to say something else. Harry slipped past Hermione and plopped himself down on the bed next to Ron.
"We were just talking about you," Hermione said from the door, obviously trying to form a believable lie. Harry just snorted.
"You know," he said conversationally, "Locking and silencing charms are really useful when you don't want to be interrupted." What he said had the desired effect. Ron's ears turned bright red while Hermione's mouth formed a silent 'Oh'.
They both started blurting out excuses at once, ranging from, "Don't be silly, Harry, you don't know what you heard," to "It really wasn't how it sounded mate," to "I'm sure you were imagining it." Harry held up his hand and the other two became quiet straight away.
"If you wanted some privacy," he began innocently, "You could have just sent me away." Hermione and Ron did the one thing Harry knew they would. They looked at each other, somehow telepathically conveying messages between the two of them without saying anything. He would have to figure out how to do that someday.
"I'll take these clothes down to the laundry," Hermione said finally, trying very hard to save face. She gathered an armful of clothes from the floor, holding them at arms length disdainfully, as if afraid of being contaminated. She glanced at the Ron one more time before hurrying out of the room.
Harry couldn't resist, "If you don't want me to intrude on your together time, and you really couldn't be bothered to even do a charm, could you make a sign or something that you could hang on your door so everybody will know to knock rather than enter."
"Shut it you!" said Ron with a scowl, tossing a pillow at his friend's head. Harry chuckled and caught it. Ron continued in a sour voice, "As a matter of fact, I might take you up on that. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like the sign ready by tomorrow afternoon."
If Harry had been expecting a reaction, it wasn't the blunt reply that he got. Ron grinned at his friend's open mouth, and spread his arms wide, "What? Hermione and me are both eighteen now, Harry. We've been adults for a year already."
Harry snorted, "Yet you're sneaking about like two children who just stole Professor McGonagall's cookies." He cut off abruptly, realizing he had swung back to the topic at hand. "Actually Ron, it's childishness and growing up that I'd like to talk to you about." He began pacing, with Ron looking at him expectantly. Finally, he stopped, took a deep breath and faced his friend.
"And about Ginny."
The look on Ron's face when he said this was wary at first. But as Harry remained silent, the expression changed; first to one of confusion, but that was quickly replaced with a large smirk, "I had a feeling you might be coming around, especially when I found this on top of your bed this morning."
Harry felt his face burning as Ron picked up the book he had read the previous night when he couldn't sleep; Twelve Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches. He hadn't really taken in what he was reading, or even what book he was holding. All he had wanted was a release from his nightmares.
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," he said coolly, "As of an hour ago, Ginny Weasley is, how did she put it? 'Moving past what we had'." His voice had become bitter by the end.
Ron looked uncomfortable, "I'm sure she'll come around, Harry."
Harry shook his head firmly, "Not unless I learn to trust her; even then I'm not sure if she even likes me anymore! And that's why I need your help, Ron. You have to give me a hand with this. I need Ginny, but I have to convince her to want me back." Ron looked positively alarmed by the note of desperation in his friend's voice. After another moment of staring open mouthed at his best mate, Ron spoke.
"Well," he said slowly, "First thing's first." He pressed the copy of Twelve Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches into Harry's hands, "You have to read and memorize this; cover to cover."
Harry stared at him for a second, then grinned and turned to the first page. Chapter 1: Making Peace with an Estranged Witch…
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Dinner was as very different affair to the tense lunch. Although the looks the eldest two Weasleys continued to give him could hardly be called kind, Harry found himself in a much cheerier mood than at the midday meal. Ginny's face registered shock when he asked her quite civilly if she would mind passing the roast beef. She complied after getting over her initial surprise, but as Harry tucked into his meal, he saw her shoot a very suspicious glance at Hermione, who was not exactly succeeding in her attempts to hide a very smug smile.
"Harry, if you don't mind," Mrs. Weasley suddenly, "Could you possibly take George's meal up to him today? I know you haven't seen him yet and I'm almost certain he would appreciate seeing you again. After all, the three of you were very close." At this nameless mention of Fred, the mother of the Weasley family's lip trembled, and Harry hastily grabbed the plate of food and hurried to the third floor.
He knocked on the hard wood once, waiting. A sound he took for permission to enter resonated from within the room. He pushed the door open with one foot, walking slowly into the room.
George was sitting at his desk, the black cloak still shrouding him. His wand was protruding from one of the pockets. In his hand, a quill was scratching furiously as he wrote. Harry saw an envelope lying on the desk nearby, addressed to Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, Diagon Alley. He felt a rush of pity for the twin that was left behind.
"Just leave it on the bed," George rasped suddenly, waving absently at the bed to his left. Harry quickly placed the tray on the pillow. He hurriedly turned to leave, not wanting to intrude on the surviving twin. But when he reached the door, he hesitated. He looked back at George's cloaked form and walked slowly over. George seemed to ignore him. Indeed, he hadn't so much as glanced at Harry since he entered the room.
"George," Harry began tentatively. The twin went very still, dropping his quill on top of his unfinished letter. After a second, he turned, revealing to Harry the shell of his former self. His eyes, once so full of life, were dull. Up close, George looked even gaunter than before.
The Weasley twin stared at him for another second before leaping to his feet with a roar. Harry stepped back, alarmed. But he was quickly disabused of his fears as George grabbed him in a bone crunching hug. Caught off guard, Harry barely managed to keep his feet as his older friend held onto him tightly.
"Harry!" he whispered, "Where've you been for the past few weeks? I've been trying to get Mum to send you up for days." His voice was still harsh, but Harry thought he could hear a tiny bit of warmth in it. Despite himself, he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't come to see George earlier.
"I've been around," Harry said, breaking out of the embrace, "Helping out at Hogwarts, you know, with the clean up and everything." He saw George's face darken at the mention of the Wizarding school, and hastily changed the subject, "But how have you been doing? How's the joke shop going?"
To Harry's dismay, George grimaced, "Horrible. I've been planning to go back in for a few days, but I haven't got around to it yet. Lee Jordan's in charge of the shop while I'm not there, but it's been falling apart since-"
He broke off, plainly not wanting to talk about Fred. Harry didn't particularly feel like pursuing that line of discussion either, and instead asked, "Have you been working on any new products?"
To Harry's immense relief, a grin with the ghost of his former cheekiness in it appeared on George's lips. Without saying a word, the Weasley fell to his knees and pulled a box from beneath his bed. He rummaged around in it for a minute before pulling out a silver bracelet with a gasp of triumph. Harry stared at him in confusion as George clipped it onto his own wrist.
"May I present to you; the 'Tricky Tracker 4500'," George said proudly, his presentation only marred by the grate of his voice.
"What does it do?" said Harry uncertainly, examining the device wrapped around his friend's forearm.
"What does it do?!" George roared in mock outrage, "This, my friend, is the newest brand of lost and found. Just tell it what you're looking for and the bracelet will point you the way you want to go." Seeing Harry was still confused, he threw up his hands, "A demonstration perhaps."
He pulled the silver thing from his own arm and clipped it onto Harry's. Harry gasped; the damn thing was too tight. Then to his utter astonishment, it grew until it was quite comfortable on his wrist.
"I installed a Fit-All-Sizes Charm," George rasped from his seat at the desk, "It grows and shrinks so it can stay on anyone's arm."
Harry watched it for a moment. When nothing happened, he looked up at George in bewilderment. George tapped his foot impatiently, "You've got to tell it what you've lost."
Feeling very foolish, Harry lifted the bracelet to his mouth and said, "Ron." He was startled as the bracelet tugged on his arm, swinging it around towards the floor. For a second his hand was pointed towards where he guessed the kitchen was, before the flow of magic was cut off and Harry could freely move his hand again.
"That's brilliant," Harry murmured, but his expression became troubled for a moment, "George, couldn't wizards with foul intentions use these to track Dark artifacts?" Even as he said it, a Cloak in the bottom of his trunk, a Stone lying forgotten on the forest floor and a Wand buried carefully in a grave flashed to the forefront of his mind.
He barely held in a sigh of relief as George shook his head, "I'm way ahead of you Harry. I've refined the seeking magic within the bracelet so that it only points to something already owned by the wearer or a person very close to their heart."
Harry glanced up in surprise, as he pried the silver armlet off and handed it back to its maker, "These things can track people?"
George smiled again, and for a minute the hollowness was gone from his eyes, "That's just one of the beauties of this little thing. They'll be on the shelves by next Thursday." He placed the bracelet carefully back in its box before grimacing and turning back to the platter, "I'd better eat this. You'd better get out of here or else they'll think I've eaten you instead." He chuckled, but there was no humor in his mirth.
Harry stood up, deciding it was time to go as George picked up his quill and continued with his letter writing. He reached the door and slipped out onto the stairs. After a moment's thought, he went up instead of down, deciding not to return to dinner but to turn in early. George turned and stared, unseeing, at the door, long after Harry was gone.
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Maddok Alben had to bend over double to fit through the cold, rocky tunnel. It was long and straight, and the chill evening air was icy once trapped within the confines of this hole. But he couldn't be late, so he ignored the cold, rather than shielding himself from it with a warming charm. His grey eyes glinted in the dim light of the lanterns hanging from the walls.
Cobwebs lined the walls of the narrow passage, occasionally getting tangled in Maddok's wild black hair. He hurriedly brushed it away. If he was late, well, he would have a lot more than spiders to deal with. His master was not a forgiving man.
He came to an abrupt halt as the tunnel came to a dead end. Maddok frowned, glancing back the way he had come. He was sure there had been no turns in the path. Looking back to the way forward, he pulled out his wand, muttering "Lumos" as he pointed it at the apparently blank wall. The cave's end was filled with sudden light. Maddok tried to take no notice of the trickle of icy fear in the pit of his stomach as he ran his hand over the smooth stone.
He almost gasped with relief when he found a jutting piece of stone. Remembering his master's orders, he turned the rock one full circle to the right, and then a half circle to the left. The combination was complete. With a groan, the rock slid out of place, revealing a trapdoor. Pocketing his wand, Maddok pushed the small wooden door open with a grunt, emerging into a much wider area.
Most of the room was cast in shadows, the only light spraying from a small fire which had been lit in the hearth. Before the fireplace was a large chair, which was facing away from the new arrival. Maddok had barely taken two steps toward it when a deep voice called out.
"You're not quite late, Maddok."
Maddok fell to his knees at once, prostrating himself for his master, "I have come, as you ordered, my Lord."
"Indeed," said the deep voice. It sounded amused as it continued, "I understand that being early is new for you. My other servants seem to believe you have a tendency to be late." The voice became harsh, "Under no circumstance are you to disappoint me, Maddok. You know what happened to Rowles!"
Maddok was shaking, "I w-will not disappoint you, my Lord. I s-swear it."
"Good," said the deep voice, suddenly calm again, "I have a task for you. You will be placed in charge of several of the others for the duration of this task, as I have no doubt that it will be extremely difficult. You may choose your partners."
"Th-thank you, my Lord," Maddok gasped, "I am t-truly honoured."
"As for your task," his master continued, "You are to find and kill Harry Potter."
Despite himself, Maddok's breath caught in his throat, and he looked up from his place on the floor, "M-my Lord, if I may be so bold, Potter defeated Lord Voldemort himself. I-it will be nearly impossible to defeat him."
"Do you question me, Maddok?!" roared the voice, terrible rage emanating from it. Maddok shrunk back as a shadowed, heavily cloaked figure stood from the chair, holding something aloft in his hand. Maddok gasped as he realised it was the fabled Elder Wand. His master was the owner of the Deathstick.
"Potter had power that Voldemort knew not," the heavily cloaked said softly, "But I am now the owner of that power." He glanced at his servant and Maddok was terrified to see the firelight reflecting of red eyes. "Go now Maddok, and never question my power, or the power of my enemies again."
Head bowed, Maddok inched his way toward the trapdoor. He managed to climb through it without so much as glancing at his master again. Once clear of the room, he fled, with the image of two red eyes imprinted in his memories, and cruel laughter ringing in his ears.
Rewritten due to some constructive criticism from some helpful readers. It's still not perfect, but I think it's better than before. Thanks guys.
Red.