HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A bit of H/G and a bit of R/Hr. I hope this lives up to your expectations. I look forward to everyone's reactions!
As always, thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.
More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile. This includes update dates, hints about upcoming chapters, and even a few spoilers.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I post.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this and to ElvenLaughter for support and reviewing every single chapter to date.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Numb
Ron opened his eyes and realized he'd been asleep.
He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered sitting on Ginny's bed and watching Hermione sleep, curled around his pillow. He remembered he had just wanted to see her. Just to have a moment alone and make sure she was okay.
When he awoke he was lying on Ginny's bed staring straight at the open door of Ginny's room. He couldn't move for a moment, as if his limbs had forgotten how.
He sat up and looked at Hermione. She was still asleep, lying on her side. She hugged his pillow to her, her face half-buried in it. Soft brown hair, free of pins and clips spilled over her shoulders and cheeks in a bushy mess he'd always found adorable.
Even asleep, she looks so intent. Intense. A brush of cold washed over the house, and Hermione shivered, burrowing deeper under her covers, making a soft sound of contentment.
He smiled to himself, knowing if any of his siblings saw the look on his face, he'd never live it down.
He could just see her indignant expression if she were to catch sight of him right then.
'Ronald Weasley, just what do you think you're doing, sitting there and staring at me?'
He might even have a chance to respond before she continued scolding him, but he'd either stutter and turn as red as his hair, or his mouth would disengage from his brain and he'd say something stupid.
I always say something stupid. That's why I should learn to leave the talking to her.
Though, sometimes, saying something stupid was easier than telling the truth.'Yes, Hermione, one of my favorite pastimes is sitting and watching you.' Or worse: 'I was watching you sleep...and you're beautiful. Even if I could have, I didn't want to look away.'
There was only one thing to do, really. All he'd have to do was speak first – and then duck. Hopefully, she'd be groggy enough right after she woke up for him to get the first word in, because he knew she'd get the last word in. She always did.
He'd have his say, then accept whatever she dished out. Things were going to be different between them. He was going to make sure of it.
Ron started when he heard the stairs creak as someone trudged upstairs. Is Ginny back already?
He crept to the door and leaned his head out to see a man carrying a limp, black-clad body in his arms. He didn't recognize the man at first. He was tall and lanky, and wore a long dark gray tunic, sturdy hiking trousers and boots; he had a worn brown leather satchel slung over one shoulder, hanging low against one hip. His long silver hair was tied back into a long tail with a series of leather thongs and hung past his hips. There was a polished walking staff of white wood slung across his back.
He carried the body with ease and he moved with strength and confidence that belied the age his silver hair seemed to indicate.
He had a long nose that had been broken more than once supporting wire-frame glasses and a silver beard almost as long as his hair, but braided and decorated with beads and what looked to be bright red feathers.
Professor Dumbledore?
As soon as he had the unlikely thought, he knew he was right. But it was hard to picture this Dumbledore as his Headmaster. He was still Dumbledore, but also seemed to be a different person entirely.
A second suspicion, one that seemed just as unlikely as the first, slithered into the back of his mind.
Expressionless, he stared at the body in Dumbledore's arms.
I miss the days when I was always wrong.
Harry was covered in blood and bruises and burns. His arms and legs hung at unnatural angles, and his breath rasped and gurgled. But his wand, stained with blood, was clasped tightly in his hand.
Ron dashed across the hall and opened the door to his bedroom, closing Ginny's door behind him. He started lighting candles, as if enough light would somehow change the situation.
"Thank you, Mister Weasley." Dumbledore tried to smile, but failed.
Ron just stared at the body of his friend as Dumbledore laid him on his bed. Even unconscious, Harry groaned at the pain.
"I'll get Mum." It seemed the most logical thing to do. Someone was hurt – his mother had always patched people up when they were hurt. He didn't want to even think that Harry might be beyond her skills.
"I'm already here, dear." His mother came bustling into the room, followed by Fawkes. She saw Harry and her lips thinned. "Go downstairs and take care of your sister."
Ron looked sharply at his mother. "What's wrong with Ginny?"
"She is physically fine, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said, pulling his wand from his satchel. "However, Harry's arrival was more traumatic for her than it was for you. She and your brother William were successful in fighting off a few Death Eaters and Dementors, and they are no worse for the wear. Your sister, however, seems to be in a bit of shock and likely needs some brotherly support right now."
Ron stood his ground. "What happened?"
"Ronald! Downstairs, now!" His mother barked. "Or make yourself useful and get a basin of warm water and my antiseptic."
Without another word, Ron dashed into the bathroom and filled a metal basin from the tap, grabbed several washcloths, towels, bandages, and the rest of his mother's traditional medical supplies.
Where are my feelings? Why am I so numb? He wanted to be angry, to be sad, to cry, to scream – anything. Instead, there was nothing. He couldn't get the image of his best friend's body lying limp on his bed out of his mind.
He ducked back into his room, careful not to slosh the water, and pulled a small table he usually used for comics and Chudley Cannon paraphernalia over to Harry's bedside. He swept the table clean and set out the supplies as Dumbledore used his wand to remove the scorched remains of Harry's shirt.
Ron bit back a curse when he saw the mottled black bruising and hundreds of tiny cuts and welts decorating Harry's pale skin. Ron could literally count Harry's ribs he was so thin.
"Ron?" A sleepy voice called from the doorway. He looked up just in time to see Hermione see Harry.
She put her hand to her mouth, a faint gasp mingling with a whimper. He darted away from Harry's bedside and over to her, putting arm around her waist and leading her out.
"Come on. They've got him. Mum and Dumbledore will put him right. You'll see."
She leaned against him, trying to stare over his shoulder, but he was so much taller he was able to block her view. She was crying silently and shaking against him.
"Hermione...come on. Ginny needs us." He tugged at her gently, leading her away as he closed the door behind him. She clung to him as he took her downstairs.
Ginny was curled up in an armchair next to the fire, staring blankly at nothing. She was smeared with Harry's blood, and she was hugging her knees to her chest. Bill and Tonks were on the couch nearest the stairs. Tonks was deliberately not looking at Bill, though Bill kept looking at Tonks. They both seemed to be waiting for the other one to say something.
Ron led Hermione over to the couch nearest Ginny and sat down next to her. She leaned against him, burying her face in his shoulder. Feeling awkward, not at all knowing how to comfort her, he put his arms around her and let her press close to him and cry herself out.
He opened his mouth to ask – again – what had happened, but his voice stuck on its way out of his throat.
Instead, he just stared at the tea service someone had set out for them. Tea was a Weasley tradition; when something went wrong, you drank tea. When you had to talk and you didn't want to, you drank tea. When you had to wait for bad news, you drank tea.
Ron didn't much feel like drinking tea.
- 0 -
Four hours could be a very long time.
They sat in the Burrow's cramped living room, and stared at tea growing cold on the coffee tables.
It seemed inconceivable that it wasn't even noon.
Each minute seemed to drag by, marked by the slow ticking of the Weasley family clock.
If he dies... Ron couldn't finish the thought. He hadn't been able to finish it since Dumbledore had silently carried Harry into his room.
He was trying not to stare at Ginny, still dressed in her bloodstained shorts and tank top. He saw her legs and hands were also smeared with Harry's blood, and the sight of it made him shiver. Once or twice, someone had suggested she clean up, but she'd just stared blankly at them and silently refused to do so.
Hermione was still leaned against him, one of her arms wrapped around his arm holding her. He knew she was dozing off and on – which, coming from Hermione, meant she was more exhausted than he'd thought.
He let her sleep, even though he wanted her to be awake, to look around the room and pull the answers out of thin air. For her to have a flash of blinding, brilliant logic and figure out how to make everything better.
One by one, the 'higher-ranking' members of the Order found their way to the Burrow. Each one found an excuse to walk past the five of them gathered around the fireplace, their eyes both sympathetic and hard. Mostly, they eyed Ginny. Some of them even looked like they were going to stop and say something to her.
But Ron always stopped them with a glare before they could speak; the glare wasn't a threat. It was an unspoken statement that he would make a scene none of them wanted if they didn't leave his sister alone.
He wanted to do more than just glare. He wanted to demand someone tell him what happened. He wanted to scream at someone for what had been done to his best friend. But he didn't. He knew it wouldn't do any good.
It was their fault Harry was hurt. The Order was supposed to protect him, not let him end up like...that.
Death Eaters. Death Eaters came here. They followed Harry. Where was he last night? What happened to him?
He felt his anger building, but he ruthlessly suppressed it. There would be a time for anger, but this wasn't it.
He let Hermione sleep, left Ginny alone with her thoughts and let Bill and Tonks silently fight.
If this is maturity, I want a bloody recount. Being an immature git was so much more satisfying.
Eventually, Dumbledore came down the stairs.
He took off his satchel and set it beside the remaining armchair, then leaned his staff against the wall. Hermione seemed to know he was in the room, and opened her eyes, her expression making it seem she hadn't slept at all.
Dumbledore sat and looked at them.
His blue eyes had lost their familiar twinkle, and he regarded them all with a somber expression.
"Harry will be fine, given rest and time to recuperate. However, I imagine he will have as much opportunity to rest at his Aunt and Uncle's home as he would here. I will most likely be taking him back there shortly."
He waved his wand and the cold tea reheated. He helped himself to a cup, and took a small sip, and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Ahh, this reminds me of my days in the field against Grindelwald. Strong, bitter tea was the order of the day." He took another sip.
Ginny shot an unreadable look and Bill, who shrugged. It was the first sign of life she'd shown since Ron had come downstairs.
He set the teacup down. "I must admit surprise none of you have more to say, or ask."
"Would you actually tell us the truth?"
Ron was surprised when he realized it was Hermione who had spoken.
If she's not gonna be the voice of reason, we're doomed.
Dumbledore's eyes went from person to person, as if asking them to speak.
"Shock," Ron muttered. "Isn't that what it's called when you just can't process anymore?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore answered, and leaned back in the chair. "But however shocking this may be, this might be your only opportunity to question me until the school term begins."
Ron shook his head. "It's not that easy, Professor. There's too much to consider to even start figuring out what questions I need to ask, let alone finding a way to ask them. I mean, no one but Ginny's heard from Harry all summer long. That's kinda normal, us not able to talk to him. I thought it was good, him talking to Ginny. I'm not always the best at this emotional stuff and Hermione was out and about. There was someone to help him deal. Maybe he could survive this summer.
"Except I find out Charlie – my own brother! – sold him out to the bloody Ministry, and he's trapped with his Aunt and Uncle for the whole summer. Then Hermione shows up in the middle of the night with Tonks and they tell us Harry's being kept in that cupboard again. That he's being beaten by his Uncle and his cousin and starved by his Aunt."
Ron couldn't stay seated anymore. He stood up, pacing in front of the couch.
"We were going to go get him, you know. Hermione had this elaborate plan even Professor Snape couldn't argue down. Only, Harry was missing. Charlie and Mum hinted at some kind of vision Fleur's had, and as usual, no one wanted to tell us what was going on. Even though we always figure it out anyway. Why not just save everyone the time, tell us everything, and tell us why you're doing what you're doing. It's piss-poor strategy to keep even the pawns unaware of what they're doing and why they're doing it."
Ron paused, almost as if he were realizing who he was talking to, but he kept pacing.
"I couldn't sleep last night. I couldn't get it out of my head that my best friend was living in hell, and I couldn't do a damn thing to help him. That no one was going to do a damn thing to help him."
He waved off anything Dumbledore might have tried to say. "Yeah, okay. He's supposed to be 'safe' there. Whatever. But this morning...I went go to check on Hermione." He looked over his shoulder at her, his voice softening. "I...I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She had to run away twice and all, you know?"
Uncomfortable at the way Hermione looked away from him, Ron looked back at Dumbledore.
"It was like I fell asleep, only I didn't. I'm a bloody wizard. I know when I've had a spell cast on me. I wake up and I see you carrying Harry, and he looks like he's dead. No one will bloody well tell me anything, but that's normal. The Order just stares at my sister like it's all her fault. After all, we don't know what we're doing. We're just kids. Now you come down here and tell me he's sort of but not really okay, but he has to go back there."
Ron stopped pacing and faced Dumbledore. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.
"No." He shook his head. "No, sir. Professor. Last time he went there alone, he came back like...that. So I'm going with him. He'll not be alone there ever again."
Dumbledore actually looked surprised, but he ignored Ron, resting his eyes on Ginny.
"You have been in contact with Harry this summer, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny looked up at Dumbledore. Her expression was blank. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."
"We thought you knew," Bill spoke up. "Charlie even tried to get her to share the letters with the Order."
Frowning, Dumbledore took another sip of tea. "No, I have been out of touch lately. I know very little of what passed this summer." He kept staring at Ginny. "I do not know how, Miss Weasley, but you have managed to maintain contact with Harry without the Ministry being aware of it."
Ginny shrugged. "Hedwig always handled our letters."
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. May I please see the letters from Harry?"
"No." Ginny shook her head. "You may not."
"Please, Miss Weasley, I believe they may be of some importance..."
"She said no." Ron stepped in front of Dumbledore again. "So stop asking."
"Ronald Weasley, sit down this instant!" Molly's strident shout cut through the air as she stormed down the stairs. "Your sister can speak for herself! And I would very much like to see the letters for myself! If they reveal anything of Harry's situation, you should have told someone!"
Ron bowed his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, but he didn't sit down.
"Ron's right. No. Stop asking." Ginny said. She looked gratefully at her brother, glad he was standing up for her. "Sorry, Mum. Even I know the people I could have told weren't going to do anything."
Dumbledore nodded, looking very troubled. "Very well. You understand that I will ask Harry when I take him back to the Dursleys?"
Ginny's hands gripped the sides of her chair. "What Harry chooses to or not to give you is his choice. This is mine."
Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "No. You won't ask him. And I already told you. I'm going with him."
Dumbledore, still ignoring Ron, turned in his chair to face Molly. "How soon will he wake?"
Molly shook her head. "A few hours, at the earliest. He's taken quite a bit, Albus, and some of it isn't even healed yet!"
Dumbledore nodded. "That is...unfortunate."
"Unfortunate, Albus?" Molly asked, her voice beginning to rise.
"Unfortunate that I might have to take him back injured or unconscious. But unless I am given good reason, he must go back."
"You're not taking him back there when he's unconscious." Ron said calmly, his eyes flickering violet in the reflected orange light of the fire.
Dumbledore sighed, ignoring Ron once again. "Molly, I will need you to keep working on him, to do as much for him as you can until it is time for me to take him."
"I may not like how Ron spoke to you, Albus, but I must agree. Harry should not go back there, much less alone! I will not allow it! He's been abused! What more reason do you need?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Molly, regardless, I will need you to keep working on him, to do as much for him as you can until it is time for me to take him."
"You certainly don't need to tell me what I need to do to take care of a hurt boy, Albus Dumbledore," Molly said with as much dignity as she could muster. "But you will not take him back there."
She turned around walked out of the room.
Ron looked like he was going to step in front of Dumbledore again, but Bill shook his head at his brother.
Trembling with rage, Ron turned to Ginny, kneeling in front of her. He rested his hands over hers. He was very aware of Harry's dried blood touching his skin. "You need me here?"
Ginny shook her head. "No, I'll be okay. I won't let them leave without you. Or me."
"Thanks." Ron stood back up and looked over at Dumbledore. "Since no one else cares I'm here, I've got work to do."
He stalked outside, but to everyone's surprise, he closed the door lightly behind him.
He didn't see Hermione watching him go.
"Happy now?" Ginny asked Dumbledore.
"No, Miss Weasley, I am not." He bowed his head, cradling his teacup in his hands. "And you are not nearly as angry with me you as should be. Or will be." Again, he set his teacup down. "I must know exactly what transpired this morning, Miss Weasley."
Ginny shrugged. "Fine. Ask me."
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Ahh, if only words were but flowers to be plucked from the mind's garden...but they are not. I must see through your eyes, Ginevra. There is a spell that will allow me to do just that, but does so by granting me access to your thoughts."
Ginny hugged her knees to her chest. "So you can rifle through my brain until you find out what was in those letters? I don't think so."
"I give you my word, my oath as a Wizard and as the nominal leader of the Order of the Phoenix that I will only view the events that transpired this morning."
Ginny didn't say a word.
"As difficult as it may be for you, Ginevra, I need you to trust me."
She stared at the Headmaster long and hard, refusing to look away from his eyes.
"Will it help you help Harry?"
Dumbledore nodded. "The knowledge you have may very well make the difference between returning him to Privet Drive or allowing him to remain here."
Ginny nodded. "All right then."
Dumbledore pointed his wand at her. "Legilimens."
- 0 -
Ginny shakily crept into Ron's room. She was shivering from a cold that was more inside than out, and her mind still ached, raw from Dumbledore's Legilimency. He had tried to be gentle and careful, but Ginny had been possessed before and her mind gave up its secrets reluctantly.
The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and only a few candles were still burning. Usually the bright orange walls made the room look like it was on fire, but with the only light coming from the candle flames, it seemed to be smoldering.
She crept to the bed, and stood there a long moment, staring at him. He looked so...peaceful, asleep like that. The pain was gone from his gaunt face. He was still pale, and he was painfully thin. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there when he'd left Hogwarts.
Ginny reached down to smooth those lines away. Was it her imagination, or did he seem to smile when her fingertips brushed his face?
She saw his hand still clutched his wand. It was streaked with blood, and the holly wood had lost its sheen.
"As he would not willingly release it, your mother and I thought it best to allow him to keep it." Dumbledore spoke from behind her, closing the door behind them. Fawkes flapped over to perch on the headboard above Harry's shoulder. "I must admit, Miss Weasley, that you have surprised me."
Ginny knew she should pull her hand away from Harry. But she didn't want to. "I do that. Just ask my brothers."
She didn't care how she had surprised Dumbledore. She just wanted him to leave. To give her just one moment alone with Harry.
I haven't been alone with him since the Chamber, have I?
She didn't want Dumbledore to see her cry. Or see how weak she was, to give in to a crush that would never be reciprocated. Just one moment. Is that too much to ask?
She heard Dumbledore walk further into the room. It was habit, to look away from whatever else had your attention and look at Dumbledore. He had that kind of presence, and was owed that kind of respect.
Ginny didn't look away from Harry. She didn't want to see what was in Dumbledore's eyes, see the reflection of what he had seen in her mind.
"You're going to take him away again, aren't you?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "I am. He must return to Privet Drive. Conscious or not, I must take him back. I do not want to. I do not believe it is the right thing to do. I believe it is the best thing to do. I have not been given an alternative Harry can live with."
So you're going to take him away from me, too? She ran her hand down Harry's arm. A thousand different retorts hung on the tip of her tongue, but none of them would do any good.
She wasn't sure he would come back alive next time.
"Until I touched your thoughts, I did not realize the depth of the feelings you still hold for Harry."
She shrugged. That's none of your business! It's no one's business but mine! Why do all of you think what I feel, that what I want is yours to know and banter about as you please?
There's a part of her that wondered if she should have argued more with Dumbledore, but she knew she couldn't win an argument with the Headmaster, especially when she didn't have all the information. And if she'd tried, he might have taken away the single moment she might have.
Dumbledore sighed. "I will come for him later. I believe Fawkes wishes to remain with you for a time."
Ginny smiled bitterly. "Not like I have a choice." She left it unspoken. But you do.
She heard Dumbledore turn to leave. "Headmaster."
He stopped. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"
"I hope it's worth it. I hope what you've put him through and what he will have to go through is worth it."
Dumbledore opened the door. "Only time will answer such a thing, Miss Weasley, but it is a hope I fervently share."
The door shut behind him.
I don't care anymore. If I only get one moment, I'm going to make the best of it.
She climbed into the bed as slowly as she could, trying not to jostle him. Gently, she scooted down so that her leg was resting against his pillows – his head was nearly in her lap again.
Her hand moved of its own accord, trailing through his hair.
He almost died. The thought kept creeping into her head. He almost died in my arms.
She'd seen a glimpse of it in Dumbledore's mind. Just a faint flash as he had pulled away from her thoughts. Harry had come within inches of death, and it was only Fawkes' tears, Fawkes' continued affection for Harry, that had saved him this time. Dumbledore had provided Molly with several vials of Fawkes' tears to mix into potions for Harry. It was something Fawkes would do for no other but Dumbledore - and now Harry.
Harry had already recovered incredibly fast, and would keep recovering at an astounding rate thanks to the powers of Fawkes' tears. By the time he awoke (late that evening, Dumbledore surmised) he would be much better than he was now. And with each passing hour, he'd get better. He would be healed, but he would be weak.
He would be weak and back with the Dursleys.
Ginny smiled and touched his face with her fingertips, trying not to cry. He was alive. That was the important thing.
What is it with me? Why can't I be over this? Over him? Why do I have to feel this way about him?
She had tried to shut down the part of herself that felt those things, but it hadn't worked. He'd been so angry at them all...and then he'd hidden from them to protect them from himself. He was willing to sacrifice everything, even his own life, to save Sirius, but hadn't been willing to risk anyone else. He had been willing to allow Ron and Hermione to go with him because he knew they would have followed him regardless.
She had forced him to let the rest of them go. They had gone, but Sirius had still died.
He won't even tell us how much it hurts him. Or how scared he is. He'll just keep on trying to save all of us. Just like he saved me.
He kept trying to do what he knew was right, and he kept being punished for it.
How much can you take, Harry, until one day you aren't the person we all love?
She was afraid that this time he would wake up and wouldn't be able to be Harry anymore.
She wanted him to wake up and smile. She wanted him to have his one moment too – a moment where he could be truly, completely happy. Instead, he would wake up and have to face his relatives again. Again, he'd be alone, and there was nothing she – or anyone – could do about it.
Except Dumbledore.
She knew he might wake at any time, and would find her there. Feel her there. But she kept touching his face, his arms, his shoulders, his chest. Even if it was just for a moment.
The next time I see you, will you be so angry at the world you won't let anyone touch you?
She remembered last summer all too well. He'd been so very angry, at all of them. She knew the anger well; it was anger coming from hurt, from fear. From isolation. He'd been alone and left that way. All year long, she had wanted to go to him to hold him until he stopped fighting her, until he had to let some of that hurt out.
She hadn't. She'd been too scared he would turn her away. Instead, she'd played kissing games with Michael Corner.
Am I strong enough to let him know I'm here for him, even if he doesn't want me?
She didn't know the answer. All she knew is that if he woke up before Dumbledore took him away, he wouldn't wake up alone.
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
