Harry Potter Is Dead
Chapter 3 | Dinner Guests
The morning dawned bright and cold, unusual for the end of spring; the sky was a bright, opaque gray and the air carried the scent of rain. Hermione had been in the habit of waking up with the sun for a while, and even if there was no sun to be seen, she assumed she was awake before anyone else. But Hermione smelled cooking bacon as she stepped quietly down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Mm, she thought, Mrs. Weasley must be up early today, too.
It was not Mrs. Weasley standing over the stove when Hermione stumbled into the kitchen.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, caught completely off guard. "What are you doing?"
He turned around, a spatula in his hand, and looked at her with pretend confusion. "What, I'm not allowed to make breakfast every once in a while?"
Hermione was still flabbergasted. "You never cook. Or get up before eleven if you can help it. " She said incredulously. Ron was the person Hermione would least suspect would ever want to do either of these things - she'd never say it to his face, but over the years Ron had continually shocked her with better and more impressive displays of laziness.
Ron turned slightly red. "Well, I can if I want to." he said defensively. "And besides . . . everyone's still asleep. We've got the whole house to ourselves. Er, the kitchen, at least." Ron said this very quickly, and quite suddenly Hermione realized that he had woken himself up at sunrise just because he knew that she did the same thing every day.
The puffs of smoke curling off of the bacon distracted Hermione from Ron's blushing face for a moment. "Ron, you're burning breakfast," she pointed, and he jumped around, fiddling with the dial on the stove without a clue what he was doing. "Here, let me help." She laughed. Hermione turned the stove off, picked up the pan, and dumped the black bacon in the trash bin. She raised an eyebrow, but her eyes were smiling. "Let's try again, all right?"
Hermione put a few strips of fresh bacon in the pan and placed Ron's hand on the spatula. She curled her fingers around his and showed him the proper way to do it; soon the kitchen was full of the smell and the sound of cooking bacon.
Hermione was very aware of how close Ron was; they were pressed against one another, Hermione in between Ron and the stove. He had a hand resting on her waist as they flipped the bacon, and they swayed slightly, smiling. She looked upwards, forgetting all about the pan and the bacon, and kissed him. They broke apart, both very pink and very giggly, only when they heard footsteps a floor above. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley emerged in the kitchen a moment later. They stopped when they saw Ron and Hermione by the stove.
"Oh - sorry - Arthur, we're intruding - we'll just head upstairs for a minute - " Mrs. Weasley said.
"Mum!" Ron complained, blushing heavily. Hermione suddenly realized that she and Ron were still sandwiched together, and they hurriedly stepped away from one another. The pan of bacon came into view. "We made breakfast." Ron offered feebly. The second batch of bacon, forgotten on the stove, was not quite as blackened as the first had been, but was fairly close.
Hermione put it on a plate. "It looks delicious." She said, and Ron grinned at her.
An hour the kitchen slowly filled with hungry Weasleys. Although Mrs. Weasley had once again prepared a feast for breakfast, Ron and Hermione smiled as they shared the plate of shriveled, burnt bacon. They happily munched on their breakfast, despite the taste, like it was a wonderful inside joke.
And then the fire flared bright green.
At once the talk died down, as Kingsley's head appeared in the grate. Mr. Weasley stood up and approached, his expression full of fear. The Weasleys said nothing, waiting for Kingsley to drop a bomb on them. Had there been an attack?
Kingsley's head looked tiredly around at the kitchen. He had dark circles around his eyes. "Sorry, Arthur," his deep voice boomed. "I'm interrupting, but this is important. Old Mal Millay's place has just been found."
Groans and gasps of shock echoed through the kitchen. Mallory Millay had been in the Order since it was started twenty five years ago. She was older than anyone else on their side and arguably the kindliest. In light of their defeat last year, many of the Order's allies' identities were discovered; most of them lost a safe place to hide. Mal had opened her doors to whomever needed a home, and her house had become a sanctuary for Order members on the run.
"She went to town for groceries," Kingsley continued, "Never came back. Those Muggle law-keepers reported a struggle in the cereal aisle and she hasn't been seen since. They probably tortured the whereabouts of the safe house out of her, that's the only way they'd have been able to get in."
Kingsley allowed the Weasleys a moment of defeated silence. Shaking his head, he continued. "There were people staying with her that managed to get away. We were wondering if they could stay here, just for a few weeks, at least until we can find them a permanent place."
"They can stay as long as they need." Mrs. Weasley said firmly. She was very pale.
Kingsley nodded. "Thanks, Molly, Arthur. It's a big help. I'll send them along." His head vanished from the fire, but the eerie green glow still lingered as the fire died down, casting weird shadows across the fearful, saddened, and stony faces of the people congregated in the kitchen. And then the fire flared up again, and a body appeared, spinning in the grate.
Luna Lovegood stepped neatly out of the fire, for once, her indifferent attitude strangely absent. She was covered head to toe in bleeding wounds and large bruises, and she was not smiling serenely as she once always had. She looked back at the fireplace, the flames inside glowing green again, politely refusing Mrs. Weasley's attempts to doctor her wounds.
Dean Thomas stumbled into the kitchen, covered in soot but not nearly as badly hurt as Luna. He coughed and moved away from the fireplace, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "Thanks," he croaked, but did not smile. Dean leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.
Hermione was struck with a sudden, terrible thought. She looked up at Ron with wide eyes. "How many people were staying with Mal?" she asked with worry.
"Er . . . "
The sound of a crying baby filled the room. Andromeda Tonks and baby Teddy stepped out of the flames. She was desperately trying to quiet her grandson, but even the child sported several tiny cuts and bruises. Andromeda whispered and cooed, covered in much worse injuries, but poor Teddy screamed and wailed terribly.
Mrs. Weasley hurried forward. "Oh, shhh, Teddy, shhh . . . " she tried in vain. She turned worriedly to his grandmother. "I have dittany in the pantry, Andromeda, let's get him cleaned up." The two hurried off. A few minutes later, Essence of Dittany administered to his cuts, Teddy's cries subsided to fussy sobs.
Hermione turned her attention back to the fire, waiting for it to flash green and tall again. But no more people stepped out of the grate. They waited a minute, anxiously, until Dean finally spoke up, his eyes still closed and his voice very hoarse.
"There's no one else." He said.
"But wasn't Neville staying there? And - and - " George stopped himself.
"Seamus, yeah." Dean replied. A very long moment later, he finished, "He's dead."
A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. Luna put her arm around Dean, who stared at the ground, his face contorted in such a mask of anger and pain that Hermione had never seen before. Actually, only once before, now that she thought about. On the face of the person whose hand she squeezed now. She looked up at his face, but Ron did not meet her eyes, looking at Dean. His expression said that he knew everything that Dean was feeling right now.
"I'm sorry." Mr. Weasley said finally, with all the warmth and understanding of a father that had lost a child. "I'll show you up to your room, if you like." He offered, and Dean nodded.
"I'll go with you." Luna said. Hermione knew that if anyone could calm down someone who was angry, or hurting, it was Luna. She was the best at this sort of thing. Without another word, Mr. Weasley led the two up the stairs.
Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda had returned. Teddy was nestled in his grandmother's arms, sucking quietly on his thumb, though the tear tracks were not yet gone from his little face.
"What - what happened?" Ron asked Andromeda quietly.
Andromeda looked at him, took a deep breath, and began. "Death Eaters. They surprised us; set the house on fire. We were fighting them off, but there were too many of them. Neville and Seamus told us to grab brooms, use the Floo, get away. They'd distract them, they said. The house was about to come down, so we didn't have much time. Didn't want to, but he pushed us into the fireplace, he did . . . and just then, Seamus . . . " Andromeda paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and then continued. "When I looked back, poor Neville was holding off at least ten, bravest thing I've ever seen. But he couldn't do it. I don't know if they took him back, or if he's - if he's - " Tears leaked out of Andromeda's eyes. Mrs. Weasley handed her a tissue. "Oh - thank you, Molly . . ." She blew her nose loudly with one hand. Teddy laughed at the noise. Andromeda attempted to control herself, for the baby's sake, and smiled down at him as best she could. Mrs. Weasley patted her back.
"I'm sure we have an old crib in the shed somewhere, Andromeda, why don't we go look for that . . . "
The two women left the room, leaving Hermione, Ron, and George standing in the kitchen with an enormous breakfast that none of them wanted to eat.
Dean did not emerge from his room until much later that day. Hermione noticed that Dean, though distant, seemed much calmer than he had been when he arrived, no doubt thanks to Luna's uncanny understanding of death. After, he sat on the sofa with his hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, staring at the fireplace for a long while.
A little while later, Hermione came down the stairs to find the living room empty but for Dean and Andromeda, who sat together on the couch. Andromeda had a hand on Dean's shoulder and was talking soothingly to him. Hermione could not see his face.
On the floor beside Andromeda's leg, Teddy gave a fussy wail. Andromeda attempted to attend to Teddy with one hand, focused on Dean, but could perform neither task effectively at the same time. Hermione stepped in, scooping Teddy up in her arms. "I've got him." Hermione said quietly, and Andromeda gave her a grateful smile and turned back to Dean.
Hermione headed out the back door, clutching Teddy's hand. "Let's go play outside! Would you like that, Teddy?" She said.
He blinked innocently up at her, but smiled when they exited the house. The rainclouds that had hovered ominously over them at sunrise had blown away by now. All that was left was a few puffy white clouds and a warm, summery breeze that gently pushed and pulled the branches of nearby trees. A butterfly flew past Teddy's head, and he laughed, trying to catch it in his fat little fist.
Hermione and Teddy had not been playing for long when they screen door bumped shut again. Hermione looked up from the ladybug she and Teddy had been examining and saw Ron approaching. She smiled.
Ron sat down in the grass next to her. They stayed there for a while, watching Teddy toddle around the bushes, who looked poked bugs curiously and sniffed flowers until pollen coated his nose. Ron and Hermione snuggled close, but did not speak; neither wanted to disturb the quiet peace. The setting sun cast a golden light over it all; Hermione could have stayed there forever, basking in the dying light, just watching the world move on. For a while all of the terrible things that had happened since Voldemort's return vanished.
After quite some time, Ron took a deep breath and broke the silence. "What do you think," Ron began slowly, "About . . . us?"
Hermione looked up at him, brows furrowed at the vague question. "What do you mean?"
Ron shrugged. It seemed he was having difficulty finding the right words. "Well . . . you know. There's Voldemort and everything, and we don't know if - what's going to happen, if we're gonna . . . end up like Harry - "
"Don't say that." Hermione said softly, cutting him off.
They were silent once more for another long period of time. Ron was watching Teddy intently, his expression soft, as the little boy stuck his hand in an old Wellington boot and waved it around.
"You ever want to have kids?" Ron said absently. He did not look at her, and was trying very hard to sound casual, but he was blushing.
Hermione tilted her head. "Yes, I think so . . . yes, I would." she said. There was another pause. "What, do you mean with - with - "
"No." Ron said, so quickly that Hermione wondered if he had even thought about the answer before he said it.. The red flush on his cheeks spread all over his face.
"Oh." Hermione blinked. "Oh."
"I'm - I'm sorry," Ron stammered, if possible, even redder than before. Hermione, her thoughts momentarily dancing away from the embarrassing subject matter of their conversation, suddenly wondered if that was the first time she had ever heard Ron say those worlds.
The quiet that followed was not the peaceful bliss that it had been before. Both Ron and Hermione were burning scarlet, and they shifted uncomfortably, neither sure what to say.
"Even after all this practice," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I still always manage to make a complete arse of myself in front of you. Every bloody time."
Hermione giggled, and she could feel Ron relax beside her.
"Things could have turned out worse." Hermione said.
"Worse?" Ron looked at her incredulously, but he was smiling. "How could it have been worse! It took me a good seven years to sort out that I liked you!"
Hermione blushed, but laughed a little in spite of herself.
He was grinning, but as Hermione watched, Ron's expression changed, slowly becoming serious. He shifted his weight, so he was turned towards her, fixing his eyes steadily on hers.
"So, um, Hermione - " Ron began, but at that moment the back door banged open and Mrs. Weasley emerged, a large, tottering stack of china plates hovering behind her.
"All right, you lot!" She barked, "Everyone grab something and get it outside, God knows I do enough around this house and I could do with some help!"
"Mum . . . " Ron began, but she cut across him once more.
"Hard work is good for you!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Now help your brother get a table out here so I can put these down!"
He and Hermione hurried inside to help everyone set up for dinner. Half an hour later, an absolute feast had been laden out apon several mismatched coffee tables pushed together. Many wooden chairs from the kitchen as well as armchairs pulled from the living room were all pushed up against the tables, each filled with a happily chatting occupant. Percy had suggested they wait until Mrs. Weasley returned from inside before they started eating, and while Ron stared hungrily at his food and opened his mouth to protest, Hermione nudged him to remind him of his mother's relatively short fuse that night.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to have calmed down considerably, however, because she returned from inside with an unexpected guest. Ginny.
Ginny walked slowly, taking delicate steps, as if she was walking on glass. The shirt of Harry's that she wore constantly was remarkably gone, replaced by a rather frilly dress, inevitably of Mrs. Weasley's choosing, which looked as if it belonged to a girl several years younger than Ginny herself. Her hair was combed, and overall she looked quite healthy. Hermione remarked at what a miracle it was that Mrs. Weasley had been able to coax Ginny outside of her room for the first time in weeks, even to get her out of Harry's old clothes. But there was still that deadened, spacey look in Ginny's eyes that Hermione wasn't sure would ever go away, however normal she might look at the moment.
"We have someone who'd like to join us tonight, everyone! Ginny, will you sit down, please, dear?" Mrs. Weasley guided Ginny to an empty seat and set her down gently, unhooking her arm from her daughter's elbow. She poured herself wine in a plastic cup and timidly sat down in the next chair over.
Eight wide smiles beamed at Ginny from all directions, who merely looked innocently back at them, and pleasantly confused by all the attention. She did not see past their large grins, did not see the desperateness in their eyes like Hermione could. Each of them was very nervous about having Ginny there. It was like having a ticking time bomb sitting at the dinner table - say the wrong thing, and she'd explode. None of them knew what would trigger a fit, or when. If, Hermione reminded herself. This could very well end up just fine. She's not guaranteed to start yelling . . .
And so dinner wore on, like some sort of bizarre game. Conversation was sparse and strained, centered around Ginny.
"Look, Ginny, a robin, you like those, remember?"
"Are you hungry, Ginny, dear? Do you want some more potatoes? No, of course, you don't need to eat them if you don't want to . . ."
"Did you like the book I read you yesterday, Ginny? Do you want to tell Andromeda here about Babbity Rabbity?"
She sat through the meal without saying much, focusing on playing with her food and being rather despondent and quiet despite the many attempts to drag Ginny into innocent, friendly conversation. But she merely smiled weakly or nodded her head in response to most questions, often ignoring an inquiry altogether. It was not until Ron began to chat with George about Quidditch that she looked up from her plate, eyes rather wide, and suddenly engaged herself in the conversation.
" . . . but they've got Finchley now, he's got more talent than the Cannons've seen in years!" Ron was saying.
"Finchley might be the best man on the team, but he's still terrible by normal standards. It's no wonder the Falcons gave him up." George snorted, taking a swig of grape juice and grimacing at either the rather sour taste, or the memory of Finchley's evidently horrendous playing years with the Falcons.
"They'll make the playoffs at least. Maybe even the quarter finals!" Ron's voice trailed off wistfully, and George snorted into his drink.
"I think they've got a chance." Said Ginny suddenly. The table got very quiet. Ron swiveled around to look at her.
"Yeah," He said. A smile slid onto his face. "Yeah, and Gudgeon is getting better, he actually caught the snitch last month, but they were already down by four hundred . . ."
"But they'll be up against the Arrows next week, d'you think they can manage?"
"Yeah, 'course . . . "
Hermione had no leads as to how Ginny knew that the Chudley Cannons were playing the Appleby Arrows in a week's time when she had been shut up in her room for ages, but at that moment she didn't really care. For the first time in a long while, Ginny was acting like her old self again. Soon she was not only casually chatting with Ron, but with George and Mr. Weasley as well, even Percy, happily discussing quaffles and bludgers in a way they hadn't in years. Hermione could see that everyone was nervous at first, watching their words, frightened that the bubble might burst at any moment and Ginny would start to yell. But as the conversation continued on and Ginny was nothing but her old self, they relaxed. Even Mrs. Weasley, who had anxiously watched Ginny much longer than anyone else, slowly began to laugh along with the rest of her family.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting red and orange and gold over everything until it finally slipped behind the treeline. Fireflies hung low, and the purples and blues of evening set in. A warm breeze tossed the leaves on the trees, sending spring's last flower petals drifting over the table. Its occupants ate and drank until they were all full to bursting, but stayed at the table long after all the food was gone; laughing and talking, heartened by Ginny's sudden return to normality.
" . . . so Bagman's got the entire Japanese national team wandering around the Ministry, a hall down from the Minister's office, asking people where the Quidditch pitch is!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.
The table burst into raucous laughter. Ginny giggled the hardest and the longest, and grinning long after everyone had clamed down. The pitchers of grape juice were empty by now; still thirsty, Ginny downed her mother's drink when she wasn't looking. George winked at his sister from down the table and Ginny grinned.
"Did they ever find the stadium?" Luna asked.
"Oh, yes, Bagman sorted it all out in the end. Never seen Fudge yell like that before, though, he was always so good-natured back then." Mr. Weasley chuckled. "But I pity those poor people on level one trying to interpret what on earth those Japanese were trying to say. I think Shizuka Wantanabe was the only one who knew English on that team, definitely not well, though. Apparently they were directed to the loo several times, don't know what got mixed up there . . . "
The Weasley's back garden echoed with laughter once more. Ginny, whose cheeks were very red, looked over at her father, eyes alight.
"Did they step in the toilets?" Ginny giggled. "The ones that flush you down the drain? Harry said - " She froze. The lingering laughter died immediately, and suddenly Ginny burst into hysterical tears.
"Ginny, dear, please calm down, we're here for you." Mrs. Weasley said gently, but she was clearly alarmed, eyes showing that she feared the worst. She laid a hand on Ginny's elbow, but Ginny jerked back as if she had been shocked.
"NO!" Ginny shrieked, her eyes wild once more. The warmth and happiness of just a moment before had vanished as it had never been, and a chill silence stilled the table's occupants. Ginny's screams pierced the icy air. "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY! I'VE GONE AND TOLD THEM!" A shaking hand reached up to her hair, pulling at it. She was staring at an empty patch of air, her face screwed up with rage and pain.
"Ginny, it's all right," Ron began calmly, rising from his seat, hands half-raised in surrender. "Just calm down . . ."
He tentatively approached, but Ginny leapt away from him, toppling out of her chair and crawling backwards on the ground. Her little girl's dress was torn, her hair a mess; tears poured from her face. "STAY AWAY FROM ME! YOU WON'T TAKE HIM, I WON'T LET YOU, I NEED HIM!" Ginny yelled and yelled until her face was purple, rocking and crying. Her hands were balled into shaking fists.
The rest of the table had risen. Mrs. Weasley knelt to the ground next to her daughter, trying to calm her down, her desperation that she tried to hide showing in her cracking voice and pained face. But Ginny beat her back, scratching and biting and kicking. Hermione watched, horror-struck, feeling useless as Ginny's siblings and parents tried to calm into the hysterical girl, who writhed on the ground.
"IT'S NOT OKAY, HARRY!" Ginny screamed at no one. "THEY'LL TAKE YOU, THEY'LL TAKE IT, I CAN'T - CAN'T - " Ginny's torment seemed to move beyond words. With a great sob she lunged at thin air, as if trying to clutch it in her arms, then fell to the ground crying harder than ever, shaking with cold. Ron and George took advantage of this moment of stillness and grabbed Ginny, who fought as if for her life. Hermione was just about frozen when she looked up and realized Ginny was making it snow. She was past reason. Ginny was dangerous.
"Morteus Maxima!" Mrs. Weasley's voice shook as she cast the spell, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. Ginny's fighting suddenly diminished, her kicking slowed, until she lay still a moment later, her eyes dull and listless. Her steady breaths rose in great puffs of steam, her skin an ethereal blue. George lifted her limp form from the frosted ground with the delicacy of something much-loved, but very fragile, and carried her inside. Like a funeral procession, the others followed solemnly, without a word, swallowed up one by one by the open mouth of the dark house.
It seems like this entire story is going to take place at mealtimes! . Like seriously. I just can't get away from the food.
But anyway, I hope you liked it! Please review, it means a lot to me.
