The group parted, as though running water around a mid-stream boulder, circumventing the mother and her child. Hermione stood a long moment, watching the grown man weeping on his mother's breast and her eyes flicked over to Hugo. Quickly, she went to the children and ushered them both inside the house and set them up in the kitchen with dishtowels and crockery to dry. Ginny worked beside her and impulsively Hermione reached over and held her soapy hand, Ginny squeezed back and they continued working.
The men were seated in the main living area, silent. Finally Arthur asked a question about the latest Ministry kerfuffle and both Harry and Ron rushed to fill the void.
At long last, Molly and George walked slowly into the house. They were arm in arm and talking softly.
"I almost forgot!" George said. "Ginny, I've got something for you."
Ginny dried her hands, looking at her brother's retreating back.
Over his shoulder he said, "Come on, it's in here then."
They all followed.
A brightly wrapped box sat on the coffee table, humming a jaunty tune. George picked it up and turned to his sister. "This is from Fred and me." He was beaming mischievously.
"When you've got a look like that on your face it makes me nervous to open it, George."
"A look like what? Nothing to be nervous about. Here sit down." He swept the Sunday papers off a wingbacked chair onto the floor and she sat. "I'll tell you a bit about it before you open it, okay?"
She nodded, placing the box on her knees.
"I've learned a lot about ghosts these past nineteen years. More than most ever do, I would think." He began speaking to everyone in the room. Harry raised his eyebrows and bent his head towards the children. George nodded in response. "It's fine. Ghosts live in the past. Their past and they spend a lot of time thinking about things that happened when they were alive, to them, because of them. They're pretty self-centred that way." The room laughed nervously. "I know, Fred never dwelt on himself like that, did he? But, he does now. He's always reminding me of something we did or said and then he just talks about it until he doesn't need to anymore. Like he's worked something out for himself, I think. Friday, he wanted to talk about something that happened with you Ginny when you were four years old."
Ginny nodded and Molly moved beneath Arthur's arm on the sofa. He squeezed tight, pulling his wife closer.
"I don't know if you are going to remember this. Mum was reading to you and Ron out of that Fairy Stories for Children. It was a muggle book."
"I remember the Fairy Stories book!" Molly and Ginny exclaimed together. Ron sheepishly shook his head no.
George continued. "Good. Fred and I were listening too, although we were acting like it was baby stuff. But the story was about this princess," he interrupted himself, "it doesn't end well for her, but that's not the point of my story. The princess traded ten kisses to a swineherd for a magical teapot that could tell you what all the neighbours were having for breakfast if you put your finger in the steam."
"I remember this," Ginny whispered.
"You went all kinds of crazy about this teapot. You were just a little girl and you wanted that teapot, you wanted to know what the neighbours were having for breakfast. And Fred and I laughed and laughed at that. Laughed until we made you cry."
"George," Molly admonished. "That wasn't nice at all."
"Guilty. I don't think there's been any lasting damage, but Fred... Well, open the box. Fred and I worked on it all day yesterday."
And of course, once the wrapping fell away, an old-fashioned tea kettle sat on Ginny's lap. "Really?" Her voice was very close to breaking and she cleared her throat. "Oh, George, really is it?"
He nodded, smiling wide. "It really is and it really will. For what good that does. But, Fred insisted and there you are."
Ginny stood and set the kettle gently down on the coffee table and jumped into her brother's arms. "Thank you."
"And Fred."
"And Fred, of course. Can we try it now?"
"No, breakfast time only."
Early the next morning Ginny crept into the grey dawn of her kitchen. The teapot was on the hob. She filled it from the tap, set it back on the cooktop and lit the gas, watching the flame lick at the bottom of the kettle. She walked back to the sink and looked out of the window, letting her mind clear, breathing deeply through the emotions that were moving through her unbidden but demanding. Beside her, the kettle began to sing softly and she wrapped the wire handle with a dishcloth and moved it onto a trivet on the table. Then she sat down, her heart hammering.
She closed her eyes and ran her fingertip through the steam billowing happily out of the spout.
After several long passes through the steam, she lay her forearms down on the table, lowered her head and sobbed.
A few moments later, Harry walked into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around his wife and leaned down over her, whispering nonsense words into her ear. She raised her head, smiling at him, wiping her face dry with the dishtowel. "It worked."
"I thought it might have."
Ginny stood and refilled the kettle, relighting the hob and setting it back down to boil. "I want you to try it. There is one funny thing I didn't understand."
"Why someone would eat cold pizza for breakfast?"
Ginny laughed and shook her head.
"Is there any actual tea?" Harry asked, smiling back at his wife.
"In a minute. I want you to try this first." She carried the singing kettle back to the table. "Here."
Harry smirked but ran a quick finger through the steam and couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Why is this so funny?"
"I don't know but it is, isn't it?"
Suddenly his brows furrowed. "What's that? It tells you what cats are having for breakfast?"
"That's what I didn't understand. Harry, I think that's Mrs. Riley."
"Why would Mrs. Riley be eating cat food for breakfast?"
Ginny just looked at him sternly.
"Oh, I see." Harry nodded. "Yes, Ginny, we will find a way to help out. It's not okay that an old woman has nothing more than a tin of cat food to eat."
Ginny hugged him hard.