Chapter 7. Ron Weasley.
He was sat at Sarah's bedside, holding her warm – finally, warm! – hand in his large, awkward palms. Bertie snuggled against his shoulder; she was breathing noisily, as though holding back tears.
"She will wake up soon, won't she?" the girl asked quietly.
"Of course," he was certain of that. The only thing that bothered him was the nearing – felt more and more acutely now – of the full moon. It could rob Sarah of the strength that she had so painstakingly stored up. "We shall go home soon… And you must return to school."
"No," Bertie said grimly, pulling away and crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to be with my mum!"
"Bertie, your mum wanted you to get on with your studies, so no further discussion," Ron shook his head, looking at her. "When she is better, we'll come and see you, I promise."
"I won't go without Albus…"
Ron sighed heavily: would Harry let his son go from his side at a time like this?
"Daddy…"
Rose appeared behind him – she was a little pale, and her hands were gripping the wand tightly. Bertie smiled shyly at her and walked over to her mother's bedside.
"How is everything? Did you find the other kids?"
The girl nodded, her eyes motioning towards the study. Ron nodded and followed her there, leaving Bertie with Sarah. Let the girl spend a little time with her, and then he would deliver her to school, somehow.
"What happened?"
"Marcus Devereaux, the man who was behind the kidnappings, is dead," Rose said, looking him straight in the eye. "I just gave evidence to the Ministry…"
"Let me guess who killed him," Ron chuckled mirthlessly. Only one man in their family had a habit of murdering his enemies first, then asking questions.
"He had a suicide locket on him, so it is immaterial who cast the last spell," Rose sat on the edge of the desk and sighed. "His wife is now at the Ministry."
"And Malfoy and James?" Ron thought that the last thing Harry needed right now was his son-in-law in Azkaban, what with everything else that was going on.
"They went to the hospital to see Lily before we called in the Ministry troops but I reckon, they will be summoned soon, too…" Rose closed her eyes for a moment, exhausted. "I stopped by St. Mungo's."
"What's there?" Ron was afraid to even think of what had happened to Lily – this red-haired girl who kept getting caught in the line of fire. Like Ginny…
He glanced back at the curtain, behind which Bertie was talking quietly with her mother.
"Lily has been affected by the Memory Charm, and Xenia and Theo are trying to help her now."
"And Harry?"
"He is coming here, to take Albus and Bertie to school; he has already written to Professor McGonagall," Rose glanced the same way her father had before. "Theo said that Sarah would be alright; she is through the worst of it."
Ron nodded, feeling the tight knot of worry, which he had long ceased to notice, begin to loosen. He could breathe easier, as though the lights of the cottage hiding amidst snow and mountain slopes suddenly beckoned to him once more.
Without her, he would be left alone again, with no place in this world.
"It is no use asking you to stay, is it?" Rose was looking him straight in the eye, but without the reproach he detected in the first few hours of their reunion.
"They need me," Ron pointed at Bertie, who walked from behind the curtain and stopped, not wanting to intrude.
The awkwardness was broken by the sound of footsteps; a disgruntled Albus walked in presently, a cloak in his hands, followed by Harry, who was smiling with paternal affection at his son's back.
"Why have I got to go back to school when Lily is not well?" Albus repeated stubbornly, walking over to Rose and looking beseechingly at her, as though she had it in her power to change Harry's mind. Even Ron couldn't hold back a smile.
"Because you are only eleven, and you can't do anything more to help, whereas furthering your education so you can help people later in life is entirely within your power," Harry explained patiently, his smile forced, as though all that he'd been through was etched in his features. How hard it must have been for him to leave his daughter's bedside at a time like this!
When would the beleaguered Harry Potter finally get a break? Probably never, for there were too many personalities around him. At least Harry didn't run the danger of losing himself or be caught unprepared by all manner of adversity…
"Ron, I can take Bertie along," Harry was looking straight at Ron, but his eyes kept drifting shut, as though he was in dire need of some sleep immediately.
"I want to see her off myself, if it's all the same to you."
Harry shrugged.
"I'll say goodbye to Mum," Bertie said, sounding hurt, and disappeared behind the screen.
Albus looked at his father peevishly:
"I shall still find a way…"
"Al, enough already! Don't stir any more trouble this semester, alright?" Harry leaned against the wall and sighed heavily. "You can look for a way, but only without leaving Hogwarts…"
Al frowned, but then a happy smile lit up his face, making Harry's aspect go almost ashen. Yes, it's not easy to be a father to a wizard prodigy. Still, your creation, your pain, Ron thought with a smirk, feeling a modicum of pride for this green-eyed boy, who was Ginny's son…
"Alright, whatever you say," purred Albus. Bertie returned to the room.
"You promised, Uncle Ron, so don't you forget," the girl looked at him pointedly, reminding him that he would bring her mother to the school as soon as she was better. Right, as though he could forget…
"Let's go," Harry straightened up and nodded at Rose. "We'll be back soon."
"I'll be here," Rose shrugged, and Ron could see very well that his daughter would rather be at the hospital, with Lily, but that her responsibilities would always take priority over her feelings. That's just who she'd grown up to be… And Ron was proud of that, too.
They traveled by fireplace: first Harry, then the children, and Ron brought up the rear.
There was no one in McGonagall's study, only the portraits were snoozing quietly in the corners. Ron glanced at Dumbledore's frame, but the Headmaster was absent. Sneaking around somewhere, the old intrigant, Ron thought. Or maybe he remembered Ron's promise to destroy his frame for all his chess matches, all his games with the children…
"Let's go find McGonagall or Professor Faustus."
"Oh no, Dad, he would punish us right off!" Albus snorted.
"And rightly so," Harry smiled and opened the door.
The hallways were dark; it must be suppertime. Ron walked alongside Harry, trying to dismiss the feeling of homecoming that was slowly overtaking him. He hadn't been here in so long. The last time was… with Harry and Hermione, at the end of their Seventh Year. Such a long time.
"Hey, Broon!" Albus suddenly shouted, spotting a boy at the end of the corridor, and Ron even jumped a little, forced back to the present. But the boy merely looked around and quickly retreated, as though in an attempt to escape. "Damn, he is cheesed off…"
"Of course, he is," Bertie patted Al's shoulder, "don't worry, he'll get over it soon."
"Is he a Slytherin?" Ron hemmed, trying to keep his mind off Harry, walking next to him.
"No, a Gryffindor," smiled Al. "I haven't gotten to Slytherin yet…"
"Lucky them," snorted Ron. Harry bit back a mile.
"There is Professor Faustus," Bertie hung her head and bit her lip, pressing unconsciously against Ron's leg. He put his hand on her shoulder: come on, what is the worst the professor can do? Only give detention.
"Good evening," the Head of Gryffindor House was too young for the job, Ron thought. And too handsome. And, judging by his bearing, too pure-blood. "Finally, you are back," the professor said, looking at Al and Bertie. The girl was sniffling guiltily, while Al smiled at the head of his House as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "Go have your supper, and then come to my study, and we'll discuss your conduct."
"Well…," Harry shook Professor Faustus' hand before crouching before the slightly deflated Albus. "Please, don't run away again, yeah? Lily will be alright."
"Well, if you are so sure…" the boy said doubtingly.
"I'll write you. Or rather, Lily will write you soon. Behave," Harry kissed his son's black crown and turned towards Bertie. "Keep an eye on him, ok?"
Bertie nodded, smiling shyly, then took a step forward and hugged Ron's knees:
"Mum will be alright, you promised."
"Of course, little one," Ron crouched down and hugged her back – tenderly and carefully. "We'll visit you soon."
She nodded. Al took her hand, and the two First Years hurried up the steps to the Great Hall.
"See you later," Professor Faustus followed the children, leaving Ron and Harry alone in the dark corridor.
"Well," Ron turned and looked over the portraits that were eyeing the two of them curiously. "Everything seems the same here."
Harry nodded his ascent.
"We can take a walk," he offered, heading for the side staircase which, as Ron remembered, led directly to the Entrance Hall. "I don't think McGonagall would mind…"
Ron shrugged, thrusting his hands in his pockets in a familiar gesture. For some reason, he felt really old right now.
The park was empty, too, with dimly lit trails. Their old friend, the Whomping Willow, was bending in the wind in the distance. The Quidditch rings were towering shadows, the windows of Hagrid's hut had lights in them, and right next to it was the blue marble slab.
"I feel like I am on my way to have tea at Hagrid's," Harry confessed, standing on the steps, looking out over the park. "Although Albus has said that his cooking still leaves much to be desired…"
Ron hemmed, feeling the same strange longing that had taken hold of Harry. They both couldn't help but think of what was still missing, for the illusion to be complete.
"How is she?"
They were walking down the dark path that wound around the lake. Perhaps, this was the only place where they could freely speak about what tormented both of them. No, not tormented, preoccupied.
"All right," Harry was looking down at his feet, rare street lights reflecting off his spectacles. "She survived."
Ron nodded, barely daring to breathe. He had always dreaded the moment when he would have to talk about her, but now he realized that he needed to. To talk, to know, to touch, if only with his thoughts, and then continue to live – away from her.
"She thinks of you often," Harry said.
Damn! Ron felt like tearing his friend's head off. Why would he say something like that? What would it change, except ripping open his barely healed heart?"
"I think you ought to know this," as though reading his thoughts, added Harry. "She would have liked to see you."
"And I am glad I didn't run into her," Ron replied morosely, without looking up. "It is utterly useless; what's the point in tormenting each other?"
"I don't know now how to tell her. She won't forgive me for not writing her about you…"
"I forbid you to, just like I forbid Rose, or have you forgotten?" Ron was breathing slowly and regularly, feeling his instantly racing heart beginning to slow down. "Don't tell her."
"You want me to lie?"
"And you two still don't keep any secrets from each other?" Ron hemmed, feeling the bitter pang of old jealousy. "Just as always…"
"Forgive me."
Ron froze, looking straight into Harry's green eyes. The other man had never apologised to him – not like this.
"What?"
"Forgive me for taking your life from you…" Harry's voice shook, as though he feared that he wouldn't be able to get it all out.
"Ever the egotist," Ron snorted, "always thinking that you are the center of the universe, and that everything that happens is because of you. Relax, Harry, if I didn't voluntarily leave this life behind, you could never take it away."
His casual tone clearly made Harry easier. But he didn't look away.
"Stop torturing yourself," Ron reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "There was no other way, and I am actually glad that I left. It's enough that we lost… Ginny…"
It felt odd to speak his sister's name out loud – it had been nearly impossible before, just as it was to say "Hermione".
"Will you come with me?" Harry asked suddenly, and Ron knew immediately what he meant. It was nearly the anniversary of the day when their lives diverged so irretrievably.
"Do you come there alone?"
Harry nodded, hiding his eyes. And Ron was somehow glad to see Harry's quiet, old suffering – he hasn't forgotten, he remembers Ginny.
"I shall come straight there, at sundown," he nodded.
Harry patted his shoulder gratefully, and they smiled at one another – as if they were seventeen again.
"We miss you," Harry said quietly as they headed back to the castle, to return to Rose's house, to the real world, which seemed to have dissolved for a time in the atmosphere of Hogwarts that still held memories of them.
Of them, of Ginny, and of the others who were never coming back within these walls.
"I miss all of you, too," Ron replied, like an echo. "But it is not too high a price for learning to live again."
"Was it hard?"
"Tolerable," Ron lied, walking up the steps. "I had Sarah and Bertie."
"Do you love her?"
Ron smirked as he turned to face Harry, knowing that his eyes now held the torment of the years gone by:
"I do. Just like I loved Ginny."
And then he turned and walked into the Great Hall, because he couldn't wait to leave this place, this sarcophagus of memories.