Chapter 2. The Weasleys: picking up the pieces

The night passed anxiously; Rose felt utterly restless ever since her mother and Uncle Harry retired.

She couldn't even say goodbye to her father. And she couldn't say anything to her mother, despite catching her inquiring gaze several times.

"Have some sleep," Theo came up quietly and hugged her, stopping her nervous pacing. She didn't even notice the sunrise.

"May I go with you?" she looked hopefully at the healer, knowing that he needed to look in on Sarah.

"You need rest," Theo remarked gently but unequivocally, tracing his finger along her face. The sleepless night and the anxiety of the last few days must have affected her just as much as Malfoy or James.

"I still don't know what is going on with Lily."

"You can do nothing to help," the man stroked her tense shoulders. "I shall be back soon."

"Promise?"

"Rose," he said with tender reproach, running his palm along her neck, and she immediately felt warmth spreading down her spine.

"What if right outside the front door stands a boy, whose pumpkin juice you salted back in school?"

Theo uttered a barely audible laugh, as though wind blew newspaper pages off the table.

"Or a rejected beau of yours," he whispered in her ear, as he put his arms around her. "Michael Williams, was it?"

"Theo!" she tried to sound angry, but couldn't hold back a smile. He stepped back, satisfied, and grabbed his medical briefcase.

"Rest," he repeated and stroked her cheek with his burnt fingertip. "I shall wake you."

She nodded, took a step closer, and kissed his slightly dry lips. He answered the kiss – carefully and tenderly – for a few moments, then backed up, ready to leave.

"Pardon…"

They turned around in unison – out of the fireplace walked Hermione, a little embarrassed by her intrusion. Rose only needed one glance at her mother to realize: she knew.

"I have to go," Theo nodded at Hermione, momentarily rested his eyes on Rose, and headed for the door.

"Did I interrupt?" the woman was speaking to the healer, and he understood.

"No. I am expected with a patient," and Theo vanished in the night, taking with him the calm that he had managed to briefly instill in Rose.

She knew. Her mother even knew where Theo went. Rose must have known that Uncle Harry would not be able to hide what'd happened from her. He simply could not – his link with her mother was too strong. Keeping secrets from each other was too foreign to them. They were too tightly linked at some intangible level, for her mum not to sense that something was amiss and then get Uncle Harry to tell her everything.

Her father did not take that into account: he didn't realize that her mother would need no more than a second alone with Uncle Harry to understand what happened. He didn't take that into account, because he didn't know. Not about their strange connection.

Rose stared at her mother, not sure what to say to her. How would she react to her own daughter concealing her father's presence from her? That all of them did their best to prevent her from knowing that her husband, after leaving his family four years ago, was here, yet thought it necessary to run off as soon as she turned up…

Rose felt ashamed, and she knew that her mother had the right to be upset at her, to feel hurt.

For a few minutes, the room was silent, as though both of them were roo reluctant to start talking. The girl searched her mother's face for any clues to what Hermione was feeling, yet she couldn't quite read her expression.

Rose's mom took two steps forward and suddenly embraced Rose, who froze in astonishment.

"My poor darling," Hermione whispered, stroking her daughter's fluffy hair.

"Mum… I…"

"They didn't have the right to get you involved in this, to force you to decide," the woman peered into Rose's eyes. "I am afraid to even imagine how difficult this has been for you."

"Mum," Rose stared straight at Hermione, at a loss for words. "You… Are you angry?"

"At you? For what? For trying to do your best by everyone involved?" Hermione voice was full of tenderness. "You didn't have a choice."

"I didn't know what to do, mum…"

"It is alright."

Hermione let go of her daughter and walked around the room, looking around, touching the items in the room.

"Uncle Harry told you, didn't he?" Rose ventured.

Her mother nodded, standing still by the fireplace. Her hands, Rose only now noticed, were shaking.

"I guessed that something had happened. Harry was never good at lying."

Rose could have argued that, but didn't. Why restate the obvious? Uncle Harry was unableto to lie only to her, the woman who had saved him.

"I saw him," Hermione said suddenly, staring her daughter in the eye. "Although at the moment, I thought it was the trick of light. An illusion. But one look at Harry was enough to know that he was here… That Ron was here."

Rose felt as though her mum was speaking to herself: either to convince or to comsole. The woman's gaze glided around the room, as if trying to grasp any detail that would prove the recent presence of the person dear to her.

"Mum…"

"How is he?" Hermione looked up at her daughter, but her gaze seemed to be contrived, too calm.

"Fine, I think," Rose couldn't decide what she could disclose to her mother and what she should hold back, to avoid causing her even more pain. But this is her mum! Her mother, who always did her best to tell the truth, to everyone, and demanded the same from others. She is strong; she is honest. It would be wrong to hide anything from her, even if has to do with the woman in her father's life. Yet, this is her mum, who already suffered enough after her husband left. She has gotten over it, has made her peace with it. Why make her go through it again?

Perhaps, her father is right: truth is not likely to do anyone any good. They cannot change anything.

"Is he well? Harry said he needed a healer…"

"Nothing serious, mum," Rose winced, realizing that she'd resolved to lie. Merlin, Dad, what are we doing?! "It's just the full moon stuff."

"Theo went to him, didn't he? Truly, nothing serious?"

"He is alright," for now, the girl added to herself, walking over to Hermione and taking hold of her shaking hands, which plainly betrayed her mother's true feelings. "Forgive me, I know that you would want… It is that I… I know where he lives."

"No," her mother withdrew, breaking from Rose's grasp and turning away. "He didn't want that."

"Mum, he thinks that it is better for you…"

"And for him," Hermione turned toward her daughter, her eyes strangely glistening. "He is right: what's the use?"

"Mum!"

"Rose," the woman smiled slightly, "we cannot turn back time, everything is too complicated… Or too simple, actually. Our meeting would only bring us fresh suffering."

"And he didn't want that," the girl nodded. "But he so wants to see you!"

"He saw me. And I him…" her mother looked down at her clasped hands. "I am very glad that he is alive and well. That he is not alone."

"Mummy, he loves you," Rose whispered, walking up to her mother. "He loves you so much."

"Do you think I don't love him? I shall always love your father, Rose, always. Do you understand? I will always love Ron. Harry will always love Ginny," Hermione winced as though it still pained her to say the name out loud. "But things are what they are. And nothing can be changed now."

"Would you want to?"

"Yes, sometimes I want it more than anything…"

They fell silent, looking away from one other.

"Mum…"

Hermione looked at her daughter.

"Mum, is it true that he hit you?" Rose was loathe to ask the question, but she needed to know. Needed to finally understand everything that happened four years ago…

The woman started, frowned, and her gaze turned a little cross:

"Who told you that?"

"Is it important?"

"It is important, because it is a lie."

Rose stared intently into her mother's face, but couldn't understand whether Hermione was trying to spare her the truth or Sarah had actually lied.

"So, this was not the reason Daddy left?"

"No," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head. "Your father would have never struck me. You know how he is."

Rose doubted for another moment, but then nodded, resigned.

"Mum… how is Uncle Harry?"

Hermione smiled, as though relaxing her guard:

"You know him. He is feeling guilty."

"About what?" the girl grinned.

"That he had to hide everything from me, that he failed in doing so, that I am suffering now because of it. Harry cannot live without even a slightest feeling of guilt," Rose's mother said, with a slight smile. "All right, I think I ought to go to him."

"Mum…"

"Yes?"

"Theo and I are going to be married," Rose showed her the ring. Hermione smiled broadly and hugged her daughter.

"Finally! I was beginning to think that Harry and your uncles would need to have a talk with your young man…"

"Mum!"

Hermione laughed, before kissing Rose's cheek:

"Everything will be alright, don't you worry. You are not responsible for your parents' actions, remember that."

Rose nodded, watching her mother walk towards the fireplace.

"Mum…"

"Yes?"

"Will you never see each other again?"

Hermione stopped by the fireplace and looked back:

"If your father needs time, he's got it."

Her mother vanished in the green flames, leaving behind peace and hope. It was always like that when her mother was near. Hermione Weasley never left behind a mess, and Rose was very grateful to her mother for that.

Did she tell the truth? Did Sarah lie? And is any of that important anymore? Even if her mother lied, what difference does it make? It is clear that she has forgiven Father… What can it change?

The girl went to Theo's study and fetched her wand: she needed to clean up a little after these last few crazy days. The thoughts of Lily immediately came to mind, but she doubted there was a reason to worry. Malfoy always got his way, so it was his business to worry about getting back his wife's lost love for him… It was good for him to overcome obstacles, although such cruel ones were probably an overkill…

An owl knocked on the window, a scroll in its claws. Rose promptly took the letter; her heart beat faster in anticipation of more bad news. Yet, after barely scanning the few lines in Uncle Harry's handwriting, she smiled in relief and sat down in a chair, resting in the rays of sunlight.

"Dong, the Malfoys' house elf found me. Lily is alright, she is with Scorpius. They are at James'. Kisses."

Wow… Malfoy is worthy of a statue: it hasn't been even a couple of days…

"What are you smiling about?"

She started, nearly dropping her wand.

"Theo!" she didn't know whether to be glad or upset that he was back so soon – a little pale, tired from the hard journey, but so dear and loved… "How are they?"

"Sarah is on the mend," he set down his briefcase and took off the dusty cloak before hugging Rose. She smelled his usual aroma: potion mix, parchment, floo powder… "How is your mother?"

"Not bad, but Uncle Harry told her everything."

"I'm not surprised," the healer snickered quietly, going to wash his hands. "You didn't get any sleep."

"I am not sleepy," the girl lied.

He didn't respond – merely waved his wand, summoning the oh so familiar potion. Rose replied with a smile to her fiance's pointed gaze.

"Fine, fine, I am going to rest, but without a sleeping potion, Mr. Healer. Still, I probably ought to show my face at the Academy…"

"Tomorrow," Theo interrupted unequivocally, his eye trained on the vial he was still holding in his hands.

"Tyrant," the girl snorted and left the study, hearing Theo's laughter behind her.

The sun was setting behind the hill, casting shadows on this gloomy place, blanketed in invisible mist. Sparse trees were preparing to shed their foliage, glowing scarlet in the sunset, stirring the soul. A few lonely-looking birds dove around the clouds, gathering in the recently clear skies. Silence was almost palpable, but for the slight rustling of flowers and leaves that echoed somewhere deep inside.

In this hour, there were no visitors here – it was too difficult to breathe in the gloomy sunset air, full of eternal peace and grief.

He stopped and looked up in the sky – it seemed that rain was about to start. The thought was calm and fleeting, for he didn't think the weeping sky a hindrance. On the contrary – a bloody sunset was bound to end in rain. It was fitting…

He knelt and touched the grass that covered the hallowed ground; then, as though following a ritual, looked up at the light-colored slab and read:

"Ginny Potter, 1981-2018".

And only then, almost out loud, he read the words engraved in gold on her grave:

"Forgive me."

"Hello," he sat down and put two red roses on the grass. The pain was hardly there anymore – it had dulled over the years. Here he simply loved and longed – the way he could love only her and long only for her. Silently, he told her about everything that had happened in their lives in the past year, wordlessly sharing his life with her.

"You know, sometimes it is really difficult for me… our children are so challenging… Sometimes I don't know how to talk to them. It is so hard to be a father, without you. It is especially complicated with Albus, our wonderchild. Sometimes I look on in fear at how quickly he develops, how smart he is. He knows so many things; he is so unusual. And these dreams of his. I don't know how to react to them. I fear that this grandpa from his dreams is playing with his life… the way he once did with my own. Still, I am reluctant to put a stop to it, because it looks to me like this is a part of Al that makes him happy. And I don't want to upset him. He is so peculiar, so vulnerable…"

"You would have known what to do… I miss you, Ginny…"

"So do I," a heavy hand rested on his shoulder.

Harry started, although he'd known the other man would come. Ron got down on the grass next to him and laid a nosegay of wildflowers next to the roses.

They were silent, staring at the golden letters:

"Forgive me."

"This is for you," Harry put something light and cool into his friend's palm.

In the light of the setting sun, Ron saw the gleaming gold of the chain and the locket – the very one that once held a lock of her hair.

"You told her," Ron murmured, almost accusingly.

Harry nodded, a tad guiltily hanging his head.

"She's here?" Ron sounded almost panicked, ready to up and run.

"No. She knowns that you don't want this encounter."

Ron relaxed a little, peering at the locket; then opened it awkwardly – inside were the pictures of Rose and Hugo.

"She said that she would give you as much time as you need."

"And what if that time never comes?"

"She will understand," Harry looked up at his friend with tired eyes. "She will always – do you hear? - always wait for you."

Ron didn't respond; he felt a lump in his throat when he closed the locket and saw the words engraved on the back: "With love and forgiveness".

"What are we to do with this?" he clenched Hermione's message in his hand, feeling the lump recede, the darkness before his eyes lighten, and his heart slowing down, for the first time in a long time bringing peace, not tranquility.

"This is for you two to decide," Harry answered dully, staring at the tombstone. "This is your bout. I lost mine a long time ago."

Ron laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Why do you come here alone?"

"Would you have brought a cheerleading team to a talk with Hermione?" Harry smirked. "It's just that I am now ready to talk to the one I lost. And you are only half-way there…"

Ron was silent. He stared at the sky, with gathering clouds, clutching the locket – this message of forgiveness, proof that he always has been and still is a part of her life, that it would always have a place for him.

"How is Sarah?" Harry was running his hand over the grass, gazing tiredly off in the distance.

"She is asleep most of the time now; the approaching full moon is draining for her," Ron looked towards the sky, feeling rather than seeing the moon that has almost completed its waxing.

"And how are you?" Harry shifted his gaze to his friend, noticing that he was a bit pale. "Tough time?"

"The usual," Ron shrugged. He looked at the tombstone next to them and felt the pang of old longing, which would never go away. Same for Harry, probably. "I dream of her often…"

"I don't. I don't dream at all, actually," Potter confessed, closing his eyes. "Almost four years now. I've gotten used to it."

Ron shrugged his shoulders: his friend must have earned his nighttime serenity – after so many years of suffering through nightmares about the past. Each of them deserved it. He tightened his hold on the locket chain, feeling the gold grow warm in his hand.

They kept silent, thinking of the two women who forever linked their lives and destinies. The cemetery was now shrouded in cloudy nighttime darkness; first raindrops fell on tombstones and the grass.

"It rains each year after sunset," Harry turned up his palm, catching the sky's tears.

"And knowing that, you never take an umbrella with you," Ron grinned, shaking his head – a stupid habit of an animal, difficult to fight even in full human form.

"I love rain…"

Ron even shuddered a little.

"Tell me…"

"About what?" Ron swept the rain drops from his nose.

"About your dreams," Harry stared at the gold inscription; his lips appeared to be noiselessly repeating the words 'forgive me', that felt branded onto his heart.

"They are different. Sometimes I see her as a little girl, before Hogwarts. She runs around the garden, laughing. Sometimes I see her with you. I don't like those dreams…"

Harry hemmed, but didn't say anything.

"But most often, she comes as a grown-up, the way I remember her in her last days… And she is smiling, asking about Dad, about our brothers, about the kids. Never about you, as though she knows all about you as it is…"

Harry nodded, not at all surprised at that. Although – these are just dreams, aren't they?

"It is a good thing that she does not ask about me," Potter said suddenly, with a slight smile. "Otherwise, you would turn right there, in your sleep, and run to kill me…"

"Not funny," Ron frowned, although he knew exactly what Harry meant.

"Sorry…"

"Harry."

"What?"

"I was wrong."

Harry stared at him, confused, frowning.

"You were never responsible for her death."

His friend swallowed, his hands trembled.

"Ron…"

"You would never let her die."

"But I did."

"She has forgiven you, and I… I have also," Ron once again laid a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "What's left is a trifle. You have to forgive yourself."

"Only after you," Potter replied after a moment's pause. "Because Hermione has also forgiven you ages ago."

Harry pointed at the locket, still clasped in Ron's hand. They both grinned crookedly.

"Time for me to go," Ron rose, stretching his legs. "Don't want to leave Sarah alone for long…"

Harry nodded, staying put, apparently intending to stay there all night. Alone.

"See you around, brother."

Harry looked up at him and smiled.

"Definitely."

Ron vanished without a sound, as though dissolving into the rain. Harry wiped moisture from his face and looked back at the headstone. If there was her picture on it, he felt Ginny would be smiling.