I'm not going to go on as I usually do. Just a quick thanks to everyone who wrote who I couldn't respond back to. You are absolutely awesome. I really hope you guys enjoy this. You would not believe how many times I rewrote it. Spines getting a little bit stronger, I just need to find a new job. Okay, I'll leave you alone now. Happy reading!
Chapter Thirty: Where have you been?
Cecil Cast hated her job. Lousy pay, lousy hours and lousy costumers. Hundreds of patrons who came in every day, living under the false belief that their food somehow magically appeared, ready for them to eat, the moment they ordered it.
But that wasn't the way it worked. Food did not just magically appear. It could be summoned. It could be stolen. But it could not be conjured. And yes, Barrel was good. He was by far the fastest cook in Diagon Alley, but even he wasn't that good. He needed time, just like anyone else, to make the food. And she needed time, just like anyone else, to serve. It was no easy thing to work her way through the crowded pub with a loaded tray, dodging trailing cloaks, jutting arms and waving wands, all without dropping a single plate of food. No one seemed to appreciate just how hard her job was. And no one, it seemed, knew how to throw their trash in the bin. Cecil sighed heavily as she surveyed the room. The very least they could do was not throw it on the floor.
Leaning against the handle of her broom, one hand folded over the other on the end, Cecil groaned. What a nightmare. There was no way she was going to get this all cleaned up before customers started arriving for dinner.
Letting her breath out in a huff, she stood straight. She took up the broom and tossed it into the middle of the room, catching it with her wand before it had a chance to land. With a flick, it jerked to a stop, the bristles just grazing the worn wood. She gave it another assertive flick and the broom began clearing a path from the center of the room to the perimeter, removing all traces of dirt and debris.
Satisfied, Cecil turned back to the kitchen, wand poised to summon a bin to collect the dishes. It sailed through the air and came to a stop at her side, floating just at her hip. She made her way to the first grouping of tables, pulling her hair up into an untidy knot on the top of her head. She made quick work of the mess, vanishing the remaining food from the plates, stacking them in the bin, collecting the cups and tableware and dumping them in with the rest. Using a rag she scrubbed off the table, working out the spilled drinks and grease left from the food. That finished she moved on to the next.
After only three tables the bin was full and needed to be sent back to the kitchen. She summoned another bin and moved on to the next grouping.
Cecil cursed as she approached the table, finding a spray of salt scattered across the top in a wide arch, originating at the mouth of a spilled shaker. She used her wand to blow the small grains off the edge of the table as she picked up the small cylinder and set it up right. Finished, she stuck her wand through her knot of hair, freeing both hands to continue clearing.
She was so used to the rhythmic sweep of the broom's bristles across the floor that she hardly noticed it anymore. That was until something came along to disrupt it. She was halfway through the next table when she heard the rhythm stutter, caught on something unknown. Her head turned, following the unfamiliar schwthump. Schwthump. Schwthump.
She straightened and turned at the same moment, rubbing her hands clean on her trousers.
Schwthump. Schwthump. Schwthump.
Her eyes narrowed in the darkness. Something was stopping the broom from continuing its usual cleaning path under the tables.
Schwthump. Schwthump.
With one hand placed on the table to steady her, she bent over at the waist, dipping her head so it was lower than the sea of tabletops. Set deep in the shadows near the pedestal holding up the tabletop in the far corner, was a large basket. Schwthump. Schwthump. She watched the broom sweep into it, trying to continue through it as if it weren't there.
Behind her a door clicked closed, startling her with the break in silence. As Cecil straightened she glanced quickly around the room, half expecting to find someone there. Grumbling under her breath about carless, inconsiderate shoppers, she moved across the room to the table. Stopping beside a chair, Cecil hunched down and reached for the basket blindly.
Her fingers grazed the smooth whicker but couldn't make purchase. Bending her body into a more awkward angle, she ran her finger along the lidded rim until she found the base of the handle. She had to push her arm farther under the table to get a sure grip, but finally she managed to curl her fingers around it enough to pull it towards her. It took a bit of effort, the basket was heavier then she originally thought. She gave the basket another heave and it slid to a stop between her legs, the lid knocking free when it hit her knee. As soon as its path was free the broom continued, passing by her, kicking up small clouds of dust and dirt.
Coughing, Cecil waved the cloud a way, reaching for the lid with her other hand. When the lid didn't fall easily back into place Cecil bent forward to examine the rim, searching for a lip or notch that kept the lid secure. When she moved closer, a shaft of light from the window moved past her shoulder and illuminated the inside of the basket just beyond the lip. Her eyes naturally followed it, glancing down and then quickly away. Whatever was inside was not her concern. She froze though, her mind registering what it was her eyes had seen.
She moved the lid back, her eyes looking for the something small and white she had seen resting just next to the wall of the basket.
Cecil froze, stunned for a moment into immobility. That couldn't be right. She shook her head, trying to clear it of ridiculous thoughts. She'd been working to many hours she decided as she replaced the lid. There couldn't possibly be… No one could forget… No one would …But what if…
Cecil hesitated, debating whether to just put the basket in the back with the rest of the items forgotten by people passing through the Leaky Cauldron, or to examine the contents further. She'd almost decided to put it in the back; someone would come looking for it eventually. But then again, she bit her lip, if there really was… well she couldn't just… not if someone really had…
Slowly, cautiously, as if opening the lid would release something deadly into the pub, she lifted the lid, just enough to look inside. She ducked her head to peer through the gap.
With a gasp Cecil dropped the cover, hands going to her mouth. After a moment of staring wide eyed at the lid she reached down and lifted it further. This time she let it slide off the back to land on the floor with a quiet thud.
"Oh my God." She gripped the basket. "Tom!" She called without turning, her voice cracking. "Barrel!" She lowered her hands into the basket. "You better come quick."
Winifred Edgcomb forced her lips to smile as she waved the couple out of her office. The moment the door closed the smile disappeared, all pretence gone. She hated days like this. Absolutely hated them. What had that couple ever done to deserve their fate? They'd done their part. They'd fought in the fight against You-Know-Who. And what was their reward? Spell damage that left them incapable of conceiving children of their own.
It wasn't fair.
This was the part she hated the most about her job. All those couples who came to her, wanting her to help them make their families. They put their fate in her hands and it weighed heavily on her shoulders. These couples, they expected her to find them a child. Not just a child, a baby. They always wanted a baby. Someone who could be all theirs from the very beginning.
Winifred fell heavily into her seat, slumping low. The Massons were in for a wait. There just weren't many orphaned magical children to begin with. Not anymore. If they had come to her right after the war…there had been options then. But now.? And a baby none the less? Everyone wanted a baby. There were couples who had been on the list, waiting, praying, for years. So much longer then the Massons.
They're best hope, the best hope of most of the couples, was that some foolish Hogwarts student got herself into a predicament and decided to give it up. It had been known to happen. More often than Winifred would have personally cared for. Children should remain children for as long as possible. Students had no business doing what it was they were doing that got them into those circumstances. But really, what did people expect to happen when they locked all those hormonal teenagers up together without any real adult supervision? It was astonishing more girls didn't end up in trouble.
Sighing, Winifred picked up her quill, preparing to scratch a few notes on the Massons's application.
"Ms Edgecombe," her assistant knocked as she opened the door, one hand extended. "This arrived for you while you were in with the Massons." She walked the short distance to Winifred's desk, offering the note.
"Thank you." She said offhandedly as she dropped the quill and accepted the missive. She glanced briefly at the handwriting scrawled across the front, not recognizing it. She slipped her finger under the paper and tore open the wax seal. She spread the missive open on her desk as the door to her office latched closed.
She was back on her feet before she was to the end, paper held slightly crumpled between her fingers.
She snatched up her wand from where it lay and threw her traveling cloak over her shoulders as she strode around the side of her desk and to the door.
"Evie," She called to her assistant as she secured the last hook under her chin, "Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day."
Her assistant was instantly on her feet and following her towards the lifts. "Is something the matter?" She asked, her face skewed with concern.
"No, no." Winifred shook her head dismissively. "Just cancel my appointments. Or reschedule them. I have no idea how long this is going to take." She bit nervously at her thumb nail. "When you're done rearranging my schedule," she said, seeming to come to a decision, "could you get a set of T9ph4 forms and leave them on my desk?"
"T9ph4?" Evie asked, surprised.
"Yes." Winifred nodded. "I've got a feeling." She turned as the lift slid into place. "Thanks Evie," She placed a hand on the girls shoulder. "You're a life saver."
She stepped into the lift and pressed the button to close the gates before pressing another to send her to the atrium. After a short ride she was walking across the smooth tile toward the designated appiration area.
As soon as it was her turn she stepped into place and spun on her heal.
In an instant she felt as though her entire body was being squeezed through one long, extremely uncomfortable, tube. Her feet slammed into the ground seconds later and the tube released her, sending the ends of her robes swishing around her ankles.
Letting out the breath she had been holding, Winifred shook out her robes forcing them to lay straight. She didn't mind appiration really. It was fast and convenient, well worth the discomfort. She just wished her robes made it through the journey as well as she did.
Ignoring the rain falling gently on her shoulders, Winifred patted her pocket for her wand. Satisfied that it had made it through the journey with her she crossed the length of the small back alley to the old wooden door. The metal was cold and slick in her hand. Grimacing she pulled open the door, whipping her palm against her thigh the moment she was able. She stepped into the dimply lit pub, sighing at the rush of warm air that greeted her.
The pub wasn't as full as she was accustomed to. Typically when she passed through it was packed with witches and wizards taking a break from their shopping to enjoy a quick pint. Today the pub was practically empty. There was only a small crowd, most of them she recognized as Ministry Aurors.
Three of them were taking statements, she assumed from the anxious looks on their faces, from the three witnesses. Some were busy canvassing the room for clues and still others had their wands out casting different diagnostic spells. She wished them the best of luck. She couldn't imagine they would find anything of use with as many magical folk who passed through here on a daily bases. This room had to be overrun with the shadows of residual magic.
She turned from them to the small cluster gathered close to the bar. There were two Aurors sitting on stools facing two who had their backs to Winifred.
Being unacquainted with the man she was looking for, Winifred called for Captain Bruer just loud enough to be heard, tentatively watching to see who responded.
One of the men with their backs to Winifred turned, dropping his arms from their place around his chest as his face relaxed with relief. "Ms Edgecombe?" He asked hopefully, stepping away from the small group to greet her.
"Captain Bruer." She acknowledged, taking his offered hand.
The Captain released her fingers, moving back a step. "I wasn't expecting you this soon."
Winifred frowned. "I don't waste any time when children are involved."
"Of course." He nodded. "Well," he stepped back with his left foot, clearing a path for her to come farther into the room. "Would you like to see her?"
Winifred nodded. "Where was she found?" She asked as she fell into step next to the Auror Captain.
"The barmaid found her asleep in a basket under the back table."
"Any idea who she is?"
"If we knew that we wouldn't have called you. Whomever left her left us no way of finding them. There's no letter. No identification. Nothing to let us know who she is." He led her around the bar pushing open one of two doors, revealing a small office. "She's in here."
He waited for Winifred to enter the room and followed her in. He closed the door then pulled his wand. He cast a quick charm, silencing the room from the inside.
Winifred glared at the man uneasily. She reached for her wand. "What did you do that for?"
Bruer stuffed his wand back into his pocket. "You'll see soon enough." He lifted a hand as though he were going to rest in on her back and lead her forward. She stepped away from him and he let it drop. He nodded his head towards the desk and the large basket sitting on the floor directly in front of it. "She's in there."
Winifred crossed the room to the basket and lowered herself to her knees. She looked back at Bruer with disgust. "You shut her in?"
He held up his hands in defense. "That's the way the barmaid found her. We assumed the person who left her did it for a reason. She seemed to sleep better with it closed."
Shaking her head Winifred returned her focus to the basket. Acting quickly she pried open the lid and tossed it aside. She reached for the small child but stopped with her fingers inches away from the little body. Her eyes grew wide. She snatched her hands away to cover her mouth.
Bruer stared at her, one brow arched high on his prematurely balding head. He took a step forward. "What's the matter with her?" He bent over, hands braced on his knees to look at her.
Winifred lowered her hands. "Where did you say you found her?"
"She was tucked under a back table. Why?" Bruer scratched at his pale scalp. "Who is she?"
Winifred reached into the basket and very carefully lifted the small child into her arms. She traced a finger along the sleeping child's cheek, taking note of the salty dampness, the bridge of her nose and the soft black curls that framed her red rimmed eyes.
Winifred's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. "I can't be certain. But I think…" She smoothed back the child's hair, nodding. "I think she just might be." Her head snapped up suddenly, smile fixed on her face. "We need to get her to St. Mungos." She struggled to gain her feet without jostling the sleeping child, accepting Bruer's help gratefully when he offered her a hand. "Can you do something for me?" She asked as she nestled the child into a more comfortable position against her chest. "Could you contact Captain Weasley and have him meet me at St. Mungos?"
"Look Ms Edgecombe," Captain Bruer said shortly, aggravation sharpening his tone. "This is my case. You can't just call in a favor because you don't think my team,"
"Oh for Merlin's sake." She interrupted, temper spiking. "This has nothing to do with you or your team's ability to handle a case. This is a personal matter between me and Captain Weasley. Will you please just contact him for me?"
Bruer's face twisted up on one side in aversion.
"Oh, never mind." She snarled marching past him.
"Be careful you don't wake her." Bruer warned her retreating back. "That child screams like a banshee."
Winifred shifted the child to one arm, freeing the other so she could open the door. "Don't concern yourself. I'm sure I can manage." She closed the door firmly behind her, shutting him in.
Readjusting her plans Winfred walked around the back of the bar, eyes scanning the small groups until she found the man she was looking for. "Tom," she picked up her step when he turned her way. "Tom, I need you to do something for me." She put her hand on his arm. "I need you to contact Ron Weasley for me. Tell him to meet me at St. Mungos. Can you do that, Tom?"
Tom's old eyes turned to the child in her arms, then back to hers, widening with comprehension. "Of course I can, love."
"Thanks Tom." She turned. "I owe you." She called over her shoulder as she hurried towards the door.
She'd lived in this house for nearly four years now. Even when she hadn't lived in it, she had. She knew it better than anyone. Even Harry. She, after all, had been the one to transform the house from its former decrepitness to the masterpiece it now was. She wouldn't have thought it possible to know it any better then she already had, but she was wrong. After walking the same path for the last, she glanced at the clock mounted on the far wall, two and a half hours, she knew it even better. She knew where the cracks in the walls were beginning to come through again. She knew where the original mason had misplaced the tiles making the pattern slightly disjointed. She knew where the spindles on the staircase were worn, most likely from little hands gripping them for several generations. She knew all those things, but she still didn't know where her husband was.
Ginny made another pass and stopped to stare at the closed door, willing it to open and Harry to step in. It remained stubbornly shut.
"Bloody hell, Harry." She cursed under her breath. "Where are you?"
Hands on hips, she turned and resumed pacing. She didn't know how much more of this she could stand. She wasn't use to Harry disappearing with little notice. Not anymore. Not since he had given up field work when Sirius was born. The fact that he had run off now without telling her where he was going , again, was the least of her worries. She just needed him to come home. Now.
Finally, the sound she had been waiting for. The sound of the bolt shifting in its cradle and the screech of protest from the hinges being forced to hold the door's weight as it was opened. Ginny stopped to watch as Harry stepped through the door.
Sensing her presences, Harry lifted his head. He paused for half a second when he found her standing there, staring at him through slightly hooded eyes. Something Ginny didn't recognize flashed through his as he deliberately turned, and using both hands closed the door. He hesitated another moment before he faced her.
"Where the hell have you been?" She asked with no preamble. "I've been trying to reach you."
Harry leaned against the door, hands behind his back. "There was…something I had to do." He hesitated.
"Well I hope it was bloody well important. Have you any idea what's been happening?"
Harry nodded. "I think I have a fair idea."
"Really? Do you really?" Ginny shoved her hair back out of her face, her fingers getting caught in the knotted strands, sending a surge of further annoyance through her. "Are you aware," she batted the lock of hair behind her shoulder, "that Hermione's trial started two days ago?"
"What?" Harry pushed away from the door.
Ginny threw her hands forward as if welcoming his shock. "Why do you think I've been trying to reach you?"
"But," Harry stuttered. "But, that's not possible."
"What do you mean that's not possible?" She put a hand to her chest. "Are you calling me a liar? I was there today. I saw her."
Harry's nose scrunched with confusion. "What were you doing at her trial?"
Ginny rubbed her face impatiently. "Never mind that." She let her hands drop. "The question isn't why I was there, but why you weren't?"
"I was…busy."
"Busy?" A brow arched.
Harry shrugged a shoulder uneasily. "Fred and I…we were taking care of…special cargo." He said tentatively.
"Oh well that's just brilliant." Ginny glared at him. "You're on me for weeks about needing to save Hermione and the one day she really needs you you aren't there."
"Don't you think you're overreacting?"
"No Harry," her voice quivered. "I don't. You were meant to testify today on her behalf." She paused a moment to let her words sink in. "They tried to call you as a character witness and you couldn't be bothered to show up. The entire wizarding world knows you're meant to be her best friend and you weren't there. How do you think that makes her look? Harry Potter, her best friend and savior of the wizarding world, won't stand with her?"
"I…" Harry gapped, stunned, head shaking.
"Where were you, Harry?" She demanded again.
"I didn't know." Harry sagged against the wood. His hands instantly went to his hair, worrying it until it was a right mess. "Bloody hell. I thought I had more time."
"More time? For what?"
Harry kept his hands gripped in his hair, making it difficult to look at Ginny. "To get Blake home."
Ginny was across the foyer in an instant. "To bring Blake home?"
Harry nodded.
Ginny stared at him, her eyes reading him like only she could.
She reached for his hand, prying it loose of the strands and weaving her fingers through his. "Harry," she paused a moment to collect her thoughts. "Harry, do you know where Blake is?" She asked under her breath.
"No." Harry said honestly, meeting her steady stare. "That was part of the plan." He explained. "The less I know the fewer people I can incriminate." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "But I did."
Ginny closed her eyes, turning her head away. "Merlin's pants, Harry. What were you thinking?" She dropped his hand to march away. "If they find out you helped her…What about me Harry? What about the children?" She dropped her voice. "They could send you to Azkaban."
"I know." He pulled at his hair.
"Did you even stop to consider what that would do to us?" She hissed.
"Of course I did." He dropped his hand to reach for both of hers, drawing her in front of him when he had both. "But I couldn't do nothing." He used their interlocked fingers to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "When have you ever known me to standby and do nothing when someone was in trouble? Especially when it's someone I love."
"Never." She admitted grudgingly, closing her eyes, trying to hide her suffocating fear. "But Harry, what if they find out?"
"They won't." He promised.
Her fingers tightened around his. She looked up into his eyes, lips trembling. "When this is all over," she shoved him slightly, "I'm going to strangle you."
Harry nodded. "That's fair."
"How long?"
"Not long." He answered, understanding the unspecified question. "I told you I thought Hermione was trying to pass me a message. Fred and I put the pieces together and we followed the trail to Spain."
"Or course." Ginny nodded, looking towards the ceiling. "Where else would she hide her?" Her tongue slid across her dry lips. "But I still don't understand. Why?"
"Why?"
"Why did she do it? What could she possibly have been thinking? She had to 've known it was going to end this way."
Harry shrugged, lost. "You'd have to ask her that. All I can say is that Beila said Hermione made some sort of promise to Ron and this was the only way she could think to keep it. She also said Hermione didn't expect it to go for this long, which says to me Hermione didn't plan on getting caught."
"But she did. And look what it's done to her, and to the rest of us. Ron is a mess with worry. Mum is working herself sick because she can't do anything for Ron or Hermione. You and I've been fitting. And Harry, I saw her today. I saw Hermione." Her head shook as if she were trying to deny some horrible truth. "It's not good. She's not…" She lowered her face. "She's not the same. I don't know…" Her mouth trembled as she recalled the emaciated shell that had been her best friend. "Harry, what have they done to her?"
Not knowing what to say or what to do, Harry pulled Ginny into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. "The same thing they did to Sirius."
She shuttered in his arms. She closed her eyes to shut off the painful images she carried of Harry's godfather. He'd gotten better, but he never lost that haunted look. It always hung around him like a shadow. She blanched as she recalled Hermione's face from this morning. It was a face she recognized.
Harry's arms tightened. He lifted his head to look down at her. "I'm trying understand," He smoothed her hair out of her eyes, trying to see into them. "Why the sudden change of heart? The last we spoke Hermioen deserved everything she got."
Eyes still closed, Ginny turned her head so her cheek was resting against Harry's chest. "Mum made me go to the trial today. When neither of us showed up the last two days she came in here like a mother dragon, wouldn't let up until I agreed to go. She made me sit for nearly six hours and listen as the prosecution said some of the most…" She shoved back from Harry, anger spiking behind her sparkling eyes. "They've turned Hermione into some kind of monster." She snarled, wiping at her eyes. "They turned everything around, Harry. They took the most innocent stories and twisted them into…into these…they're lying about her, Harry. And the more bizarre the lies grew the angrier I became and… and… and I don't pretend to understand the logic behind why she did what she did, but Hermione Granger is not a monster. And nobody talks about my best friend that way."
"No one but you."
Ginny flinched at his words. Hands resting on her hips she turned, nodding her head slowly. She ran a hand threw her fiery locks, gripping it tight at the back of her head. "That's right." She acknowledged as she reached the base of the stairs and sank onto the bottom step. "That's right." She repeated, voice cracking. "No one but me." She pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked her face into them. "I'm such a hypocrite, Harry. How can I be angry with them for saying some of the same things I did?" She didn't look up as he approached. "How could I have been so cruel to her? If I had known what was going to happen…" She shook her head slowly from side to side. She pounded a fist against her knee. "But I'm still so angry at her."
"That's okay." Harry crouched down so he was at her level. "You can be. I'm mad at her too."
Ginny rubbed numbly at her arms. "She promised me she would never hurt Ron again." Her mouth worked noiselessly for a moment. "And then she hurt him the worst way imaginable."
Harry pivoted awkwardly until he could sit on the step beside her. He took Ginny's hand and pulled it into his lap, holding it there between both of his. "Hermione doesn't break promises easily."
Ginny nodded. "I know." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Harry," she paused, drawing in several breaths before she continued, "What if I never get the chance to apologize?"
"Gin," He put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in. He pressed a kiss to her brow. "I won't let that happen."
Her eyes were filled with regret when she looked up at him. "How are you going to stop it? You missed your chance to help her."
"Gin," he turned her face, forcing her to look at him. "Why do you think Fred and I chose now to go to Spain?"
"To bring Blake back."
"Exactly." He turned his body slightly to better face her. "We had to do it now. This is what we were waiting for. Ron has custody again, which means Blake is safe, and Hermione has no contact with the outside world."
"Which means?"
"Which means," Harry cupped her face, "if Blake is returned to England when Hermione couldn't possibly have orchestrated it, there just might be enough doubt that they can't convict her."
"And it might not make any difference at all." Ginny countered. "They might convict her anyway."
"Yes." Harry agreed. "They might. Actually, they probably will. But this is the only chance she has left."
Ginny's mouth deepened into harsher lines. "That's not good enough. She can't go back there. They can't send Hermione Granger back to Azkaban. They can't. She's a member of the Golden Trio. She helped save the wizarding world. She's one of Ron's best friends and he's Blake's father. That isn't right."
"I know." He agreed, wrapping his arm around her. "It isn't… But I don't think that's going to matter. I think Jillian Oldham is going to make sure of that."
Ginny tensed in his arms. "Jillian Oldham." She said the name with a sneer. "She's an awful woman. She's doing more damage to Hermione than anyone else at that trial. It's like she has a personal vendetta against her or something."
"Well, she does."
Ginny looked up at her husband, eyes narrowed. "She does? How? Why?"
"In truth her issues are with Ron and me. Hermione's just caught in the middle."
"I don't understand."
Harry sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Jillian believes," he dropped his hand onto his knee. "That she should have been made Captain of the Alphas over Ron. She thinks he used his celebrity to get the appointment, not his record. She believes we all use our celebrity to get what we want. But she can't touch Ron and me, so she's going after Hermione." Harry drew in an unsteady breath. "She's punishing her to punish us."
"So that's why…" her eyes darted back and forth as her mind raced, putting all the pieces together. She looked up at Harry suddenly, her mouth handing slightly open. She pointed a finger at him. "It was you."
"It was me…what?"
"You…" she pointed at him again for emphasis. "You were the one who leaked the story to the Prophet. You're the one who got her in trouble."
"Of course I did. You don't think I was going to let her get away with torturing Hermione, do you?"
"No." Ginny said assertively. "I would expect absolutely nothing less from you. What happens if Greene finds out?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't care. Some things are more important."
Ginny nodded slowly. "Harry," she played nervously with the cuff of his sleeve. "She did do it."
"I know."
"So there's a good chance she will be convicted."
"Yes." He agreed.
"What happens if they do?"
Harry thought about it a moment. "We appeal."
"And if that doesn't work."
A smile turned up the corner of Harry's lips. "We storm Azkaban and break her free."
"Harry," she frowned. "Be serious."
"I am serious. We'll storm Azkaban, get her out of there, and we'll help her lead a life on the run." His smile was bittersweet. "It's not as though we don't have practice."
Ginny snuggled into Harry's chest, gripping his robes tight in her fingers. "It won't come to that."
Harry kissed the crown of her head. "You're right." He turned his face to rest his cheek on her hair and stare hollowly at the far wall. "It won't."
His eyes were beginning to cross. How in the hell had so much mail accumulated in such a short amount of time. He wasn't half way through this stack and there was still more in the hall. Moaning, he picked up another letter and slid his finger under the wax seal. With frustration Ron balled up the note and threw it at the modest fire burning low in the grate. It was another letter from the Prophet requesting a privet interview. "Not bloody likely." He muttered as he watched the parchment catch and go up in a bright burst of flame.
Wearily Ron rubbed at his eyes. He didn't know how much more of this he could stand. How was he supposed to pretend like everything was normal when he knew that Blake was on her way home? It took all the resolve he had not to apperate to the nearest aeroplane station and look for her. Honestly, how long could it take? Shouldn't they be back in the country by now? He'd already waited a day. He knew, without a measure of a doubt, he could not wait for another. The suspense felt like it was literally killing him. His insides were so knotted it was painful to breath.
And he couldn't concentrate. How could he when kept seeing his worst nightmares come to life in his mind? He kept waiting for them to happen. Waiting for the worst news he could imagine to happen and bring his world to another screaming halt. He was waiting for Harry to come knock on his door. He was waiting for news that that wonky Muggle aeroplane Beila had brought Blake home on had crashed. His breath picked up and his chest tightened at the thought. He sucked air into his lungs in sharp painful gasps.
Before he'd realized he's had the thought he was on his feet. He couldn't take this a moment longer. He couldn't. Not when something terrible had obviously happened. He had to do something. He had to go and find her. He couldn't…he had to.
He looked frantically around the empty room as if it could somehow give him the answers he needed. His eyes skimmed along the walls, over the bookshelves, automatically skipping the large tomes he'd taught himself to ignore.
Finding nothing to comfort him and being reminded of things he wasn't ready to think about, he turned his back to the room, bracing his hands on the windowsill. He couldn't think about that. Not now. Not if he wanted to keep what little amount of sanity he had left. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the ghost of dreams trying to swamp him. Smiles and laughter. Lingering dreams of the future. He shook his head to clear the images.
The ironic bit was that she would have known exactly what to say to him. She always did. No one knew better than her what to say to calm him down or to rile him up. If she had been there she would have known. She would have found the words to convince him not to go running off, half-caulked, in fruitless search of his missing daughter. And if that hadn't worked her brilliant mind would have found another way to make him stay.
A hint of a smile slid across his lips before he had a chance to stop it. He banished it away quickly. It did no good to think that way. Hermione wasn't here and she wouldn't be. Not again.
It was then Ron felt it. A disturbance in his wards. Someone was trying to get through. Rather persistently, judging by the spikes in his awareness. There'd been such a massive influx of owls and reporters trying to get an interview with him that he'd been forced to activate his wards. Nothing was getting through without his direct permission and he wasn't in the mood to give that too just anyone.
Unable to see the front garden from his office and half convinced his visitor was someone there to deliver the news he'd been dreading, Ron was forced to make the short journey into the front hall to identify his visitor.
He pulled back one of the two curtains shrouding the widows on either side of his door. He needed to squint to see properly into the fading light and needed to take a second look when he couldn't immediately identify the man standing at the edge of his property.
He couldn't be absolutely certain, but it looked like the man frantically waving his arms in the air, trying to gain his attention, was none other than Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron.
Curiosity piqued, Ron threw the lock and opened the door. "Tom." He used the man's name as a greeting. "What are you doing here?"
"Did ya know ya've got maybe ten owls trying to get through ya wards?" He asked in return.
"Yes." Ron nodded once. "I suppose I did."
Tom shrugged, dismissing the matter as unimportant. "I've got a message for ya. Tried sending ma owl ma'self, but she came back when she couldn'a get through."
Ron's arms crossed slowly over his chest. "You've got a message for me?"
Tom nodded, trying to take a step forward, but the wards forced him to take a step back instead. "I 'ave. Ya expecting an attack?"
Ron shrugged a single shoulder offhandedly. "You could call it that."
"Right," Tom frowned, clearly not understanding. "Well, ya need to get ya'self to St. Mungos."
"I do?" Ron leaned against the door jam. "And why is that?"
Tom held up his hands. "Alls I know is, Winnie Edgecomb is there with a babe she wan's ya to take a look at."
The look of amused curiosity froze on Ron's face as his entire body locked down. Blake, his mind screamed with certainty as his deprived lungs drew in air. Blake was at St. Mungos. She was hurt. He'd been right all along. His worst fears threatened to swamp him again, but he pushed them back. There was no room for them inside his head. Not now. Only one thought could be there.
He had to get to her.
In half a heart beat Ron was leaping off his front stoop and running full speed for the edge of his property. The moment he was through the wards he spun and disappeared with a pop, leaving behind a disgruntled barman, grumbling about ungrateful young men.
Ron reappeared in a London alley three short blocks from the entrance to the magical hospital. Purely out of habit, Ron paused long enough to ensure he wasn't noticed suddenly appearing out of nowhere by an unsuspecting Muggle, before he bolted out of the alley and into the street. He didn't stop running until he skidded to a halt in front of the false store front.
"Ron Weasley." He panted. "Visitor." He was almost surprised the manikin accepted his feeble explanation but did not hesitate to plunge through the barrier when she directed him forward.
Inside the waiting room was a mad house. Nearly every plastic chair was occupied by some witch or wizard with one magical emergency or another. Some of the spell damage was so bizarre Ron was almost obligated to stop and look. He pressed on.
It took him only a moment to decide the line leading up to the reception desk was too long and to attempt the search on his own.
It stood to reason, he thought as he moved towards the lifts, that if Winnie Edgecombe had brought Blake here she would have brought her to where the children are kept. The children were probably kept somewhere near the babies.
With destination in mind he pressed the call button. If he was wrong he would ask someone there for help.
He jabbed at the button a few more times but abandoned it soon after, choosing instead to try his luck with the stairs. His training as an Auror had him better equipped than most to take the stairs at a run, but he was still winded as he reached the right floor and stumbled through the door onto the ward.
"Sorry," Ron panted apologetically to the families waiting in the hallway who had turned to stare at him when he burst through the door. He spared them only a glance before he was turning to read the hospital map mounted on the wall. His eyes scrunched. He was having trouble making out the descriptions.
"Sir," a witch in lime green robes approached him at a half run. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Ron panted, turning to face her, hands anchored to his hips. "I'm looking for my daughter."
"Alright," the witch nodded. "What ward is she in?"
Ron's face scrunched tight. "I uh…I uh don't know."
Her lips instantly turned down in a frown. "You don't know?"
Ron shook his head.
"Alright," she said a little testily. "What was she brought in for?"
Ron's face flushed with mounting embarrassment. "I uh…don't know that either."
The woman's lips pursed unhappily. "I see." She crossed her arms just under her bosom.
Ron could tell by the look in her eyes that he was just moments away from being escorted from the premises. His mind quickly jumped through his options, settling on the one that was most likely going to get him the fastest help. "Is Trainee Hamlin working today?"
One dark brow arched high at the question. "Bernadette Hamlin?"
"Yes." He sighed with relief. "Bernadette. May I speak with her?"
The woman's eyes narrowed further. "I thought you were here to see your daughter."
"Please," Ron begged. "This is urgent. Bernie's aware of the situation. She can help me. Please."
The woman stared at him a moment, her lips still pursed. His shoulders sagged with defeat just as she pulled her wand and pressed it to her throat. "Sonorus. Trainee Hamlin. Please report to the maternity ward immediately. Trainee Hamlin, please report to the maternity ward."
"Thank you." Ron's voice rang with gratitude.
The woman's lips pursed. "Don't think you've gotten your way, young man." She warned. "If I don't like what Ms Hamlin has to say I'll have you removed quicker than a hopping-pot."
Ron nodded once, both acknowledging and dismissing the warning. It didn't matter what this little woman said, he wasn't leaving this hospital without Blake.
Ron glanced at the wall map longingly. It would be so much easier if there was a little star that said BLAKE IS HERE. He was wasting valuable time. Blake was somewhere in this hospital and being separated from her now was nearly as painful as watching her being carried away in that cab had been.
Closing his eyes, Ron turned and leaned against the wall. He sank low, bracing his arms on his knees, head bowed forward. The medi-witch stared at him, eyes softening with concern.
"Are you alright, Sir?"
"No." Ron moaned. "I'm not."
The bell over the lift chimed and the doors slid open. Bernie stepped off, poised and ready for her next assignment. "Ron?" she looked with confusion from the man hunkered down on the floor to the witch standing over him. "Ron, what are you doing here?"
"You know this man?" the Healer demanded.
Bernie stepped around her to reach for Ron's hand, helping pull him to his feet. "What are you doing here?" She glanced curiously around. "In the maternity ward of all places?"
"Bernie," he latched onto her hand, "She's here."
"Who is?" Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the urgency radiating from his every pore. She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "Blake? Blake is here?"
"I don't know. I mean, I think so."
"Ron," Bernie gasped. "That's just…that's just…" her chest puffed. " Wonderful. Oh Ron," She squeezed his hand. "I'm so happy for you."
"I don't have her back yet." His fingers tightened around her hand. "That might not even be why I'm here. I'm just…"
"Alright." She nodded, taking control and resorting to her soothing voice. "What do you need me to do?"
"I got a message from Winifred Edgecombe to come to St. Mungos."
"Winifred Edgecombe? The woman who was handling the adoption?"Bernie clarified.
"Yes." He said the word with relief, satisfied that Bernie understood. "She handles all adoptions and all cases concerning children and family services for the Ministry."
"Okay." Bernie nodded. "If a child is recovered," she explained to Ron, trying to elevate the panic and worry she could see building behind his eyes, "then he or she is brought here just to have a check over. To make sure they aren't hurt or sick or been mistreated in anyway. I'm sure it's just standard procedure."
Ron nodded, uninterested. "Yes, but where do they bring them?" He demanded.
Bernie wove her fingers through his. "Follow me." She turned briskly and towed Ron back to the door leading to the stair well. She guided him down one flight of stairs and threw open the door to the next level. She rushed ahead, forcing Ron to quicken his step to keep pace with her.
She led him around several corners and along as many corridors until he was so confused he wasn't sure he could find his way out again.
She took one last corner and released his hand to step up to a small reception window. She leaned over the counter, speaking to the receptionist in a lowered voice. The two women dialogued back and forth, too low for Ron to overhear.
"Bernie," his patience was waning.
She held up a hand to silence him.
Hissing with frustration Ron pivoted, hands clasped behind his head. He opened his eyes on a breath. "Winifred?" He asked, eyes narrowing, spotting a familiar figure half way down the hall.
The woman's head sapped to the side. "Ron?" She finished pulling the door closed. "Where have you been?" She was marching towards him, weariness hanging about her like a shroud. "I was expecting you here an hour ago."
Ron met her at halfway. He didn't answer her question. His need for his own answers was too strong. His fear of the answers keeping him from asking them.
Winifred saw the need in his eyes and her face softened. "They found her at the Leaky Cauldron. She was in a basket, tucked under a back table. There was no note. No explanation. I imagine who ever took her planned to blackmail either you or the Javeds but got scared and abandoned their plan."
Ron nodded along, no longer listening to her explanation. He was taking deep, slow breaths struggling for composer.
Winifred glanced over her shoulder then back at him. "Ron, would you like to see her?"
Ron's head snapped up. He opened his mouth to answer but couldn't get the words past the hard lump in his throat. He settled for biting his lip and nodding.
Smiling encouragingly, Winifred took his hand and led him backwards down the hall until they were standing outside the door he had first seen her exiting. She reached blindly behind her, grasping for the handle. The door swung open and she backed inside, towing him as far as the sill where he stopped, body tensing with a mixture of fear and anxiety.
"Ron?" She squeezed his hand.
"I…"
Her face softened. "Do you need a moment?"
Ron closed his eyes, bracing himself. His heart was beating fast and hard inside his chest. It felt like it was going to break through his ribs at any minute. "Is she…" He swallowed and tried again. "Is she alright?"
Winfired gave his fingers another squeeze. "She's perfect. Tired. But perfect."
Ron pressed his lips together. When he opened his eyes Winifred could see the stark terror in them. "She's been gone so long." He mouthed. "How much have I missed?"
"I don't know." She said honestly. "But I do know that there is a little girl in that room who desperately misses her father."
Ron's eyes glazed with tears. "Yeah?"
Winifred smiled. "She's been understandably upset since she woke up. I'm sure…"
She was cut off as Ron pushed past her, bumping her in his haste, causing her to fall back a step.
Passing through the doorway was like passing through an invisible portal into a world of sound. Ron ground to a stop in the middle of the room, eyes riveted on the small red face screwed up in fury. His heart, which had stopped beating for a split second when he recognized her, raced madly back to life. Joy coursed through his body, swamping him with relief, nearly knocking him to his knees.
He caught himself, hesitating all of half a heartbeat, than took a step. Than another. He faltered, than was across the room, lifting the child out of the startled healers arms.
Ron held her a moment at arm's length, drinking in every inch of her. Searching frantically for any drastic changes from the child he remembered. He watched as the little girl opened her eyes, drawing in a breath, preparing to continue with a fresh cry of anger. She stopped, startled. There was a flicker of recognition behind her eyes and her small hands reached towards him, grasping.
In a shout of laughter and relief Ron hugged her to his chest, arms wrapping around her in a protective, possessive hold. Blake pressed her face into his chest, her hands clinging to his robes desperately. He ran his fingers through her curls, resting his hand at the back of her head, cradling her close to his heart. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, resting his face there, inhaling her sent. Her cries lapsed into silence, fading into noiseless shutters of breath. He could feel the tension ease out of her body as she relaxed into his familiar warmth. He knew the instant she fell asleep.
Closing his eyes, Ron turned his head and rested his cheek gently on her curls. He swayed soothingly back and forth, murmuring to her lovingly as tears slid from his eyes.
Still standing near the door Winifred waved the healer to her side, indicating with her head that they should both leave and give father and daughter a moment alone.
Winifred turned as the healer approached and found a woman standing in the doorway, blocking their exit. Squaring her shoulders, she marched the woman down, forcing her backwards into the hall.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" She demanded the moment they were free of the room.
The young woman bristled under the discourteous tone. "I'm a friend of Captain Weasleys."
"Sure you are." Winifred agreed cynically. "Why don't you run along now?" She waved the girl off. "There's nothing for you to see here."
"I really am a…"
"Look sweetheart," Winifred cut her off. "I don't care if you're the bloody love of his life. You're not getting in there. Now, run along before I have someone come and remove you."
Bernie flushed a bright red. "Don't tell me to run along." She snapped. "I'm not a child. And Ron is my friend. So if you don't mind, I think I'll just wait right here for him."
"Ms Edgecombe," the Healer beside her interceded. "This is Bernadette Hamlin. One of our trainees. I can vouch for her."
Bernie tilted her chin up defiantly, almost daringly.
Winifred's eyes narrowed on the young woman. "Don't bother Captain Weasley." She warned, pointing her finger. "He hasn't seen his daughter in a month. I won't have you or anyone else ruining this for him."
"I would never."Bernie bristled. "But as his friend I want to be here in case he needs me."
Winifred stared at Bernie a long minute. To Bernie it looked like she was trying to come to some kind of decision. She suspected the other woman was deciding if it was safe to trust her. In the end, when she spoke, it wasn't to Bernie but to the Healer. "If Captain Weasley comes out before I return, send him on to my office. I have documents for him to sign."
"Of course." The Healer readily agreed.
Winifred shot Bernie one last warning look before she hurried off. If she moved quick she could be back before Ron even knew she was gone.