|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: St Margarets Story: Magic Within, Magic Without Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 30 Words: 82,984
Ginny stirred when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. It couldn't be time to wake yet. The tap was insistent. Then she felt something against her face – a soft breath and whiskers? She opened her eyes and stared straight into the green eyes of Aunt Martha's cat, Pamela. "Are you sure you're not an Animagus?" she asked blearily, sitting up and blinking against the bright sunlight. The cat sniffed and then sat with her tail wrapped around her haunches in a regal pose. "Sorry," she told Pamela, who was obviously insulted. Hearing bird song, she scrambled out of bed with new vigor. Today is going to be a better day, she resolved. She looked cautiously out into the corridor and then skulked over to the door of the box room. It was empty. The bathroom door was standing open, so Harry must have already gone downstairs. She strained her ears at the top of the stairs and heard his voice. He must be talking to Aunt Martha, she thought. The clock chimed eleven times and then whined, "Everyone will leave me behind since I slept so late." Ginny couldn't believe she had whiled the morning away like that. She quickly showered, using Lavender Lullaby shampoo this time. When she looked at the ingredients on the label she noticed that Harry had added 'cauldron scrapings.' She giggled. It seemed he had a project, too. "Those beautiful eyes are bright again," Aunt Martha greeted her as she entered the kitchen. "You must have slept well, my dear." Ginny almost stopped short in astonishment. Never in her life had she received such an extravagant compliment. If this had happened at the Burrow, that statement would have been met with derisive snorts and many unflattering comments from her brothers. She couldn't help but look at Harry to see if he was rolling his eyes at Aunt Martha's praise. He wasn't – he was smiling slightly at her like he was glad she had slept so well. "Um," she began awkwardly. "I did sleep well – thanks to Harry. Although I didn't mean to sleep so late – sorry." "Don't apologize, my dear. You deserved a lie-in. Harry and I have solved the sleeping arrangement problem. He has agreed to sleep in the main house." Ginny was horrified that Harry would have to sleep in that gloomy place all alone. "Really?" "Really," he said. "I have – what is it?" "Twenty," Aunt Martha supplied. "Twenty bedrooms to choose from. I should find one to suit me." "But – you'll be all alone." Ginny felt so sorry for him – she hated to be alone. "I'll be asleep most of the time." He shrugged and then grinned. "Maybe there will be some spiders to keep me company." She couldn't believe he was teasing her. "Maybe," she said coolly, "thousands of them." He laughed, not a bit put-out at her tone. She sighed and tucked into the porridge Lotty had whisked in front of her. "So, you're planning to visit the stone circle?" Aunt Martha asked. "You'll want another broom. I've several, although my favorite is still the Oak Shaft 79." "You have an Oak Shaft 79?" Harry gaped at her. "I've read about them, but I've never actually seen one. Does it still go?" "Of course it does. I still go – don't I?" Aunt Martha got stiffly to her feet and opened a cupboard door. "Here it is," she said letting the broom hover at waist height. It was a large, heavy broom. The mellow wood glowed in the bright sunshine of the kitchen. "Wow," Harry approached the broom and looked it over from twigs to handle. Ginny could see how interested he was and also how careful. He looked like a small child who had been told to look and not touch. Then he put his hands behind his back. There was something in that gesture that tugged at Ginny's heart. Here was one of the best fliers Hogwarts had ever seen, someone who knew brooms, somehow feeling he wasn't worthy to touch this one. It must be those Muggle relatives of his, Ginny thought, who make him feel like that sometimes. "Try it out, my lad," Aunt Martha said grandly. Harry didn't wait for a second invitation. He took it out onto the garden path, leaving the kitchen door open. Ginny could see him taking off slowly, getting used to the strange broom. He circled and dipped, seeing what the broom could do. Then he slowed it and carefully stood up, balancing on the handle. The broom was so perfectly balanced that he could walk from one end to the next. With the nudge of his toe, the broom swung into a wide circle. "That boy knows brooms," Aunt Martha said approvingly. "The Oak Shaft is no racing broom for dives and fancy flying. But it is as steady as a rock up there." Harry aimed toward the ground balancing like a surfer on the long broom. His face was flushed and his eyes were glowing from enthusiasm when he entered the kitchen. This is the Harry I like to see, Ginny thought, confident, carefree – with that touch of arrogance Aunt Martha finds so attractive in men. She quickly tamped down on that idea of attractive. All happy people were attractive weren't they? "Harry has told me that you played Seeker this year?" Aunt Martha asked. "I didn't hear that during your visit, because I was so pleased to hear that Ron was such a successful Keeper. Just what that boy needed." "Do you have a Quaffle?" Harry asked. "Ginny wants to try out for Chaser. We could practice." "No, I don't have a Quaffle, but I can transfigure a small pumpkin. How would that do?" Aunt Martha looked pleased at this turn of events. "I was a Chaser for Hufflepuff long ago. The Weasleys have always been good at Quidditch," she added unnecessarily. Harry took Ron's broom and Ginny took the Oak Shaft, even though it was slow and enormous. "Just practice your Quaffle handling," Harry suggested. "You can practice your flying later." Aunt Martha magicked a chair into the garden to watch them. Since Ginny didn't have to pay attention to her flying, she was able to move the Quaffle in all sorts of ways. Harry wasn't used to handling a Quaffle, but he caught on quickly. Aunt Martha clapped and cheered enthusiastically every time Ginny threw the Quaffle behind or below her and Harry managed to catch it. All too quickly, she waved them down. "I must hasten to my solicitors. Ginny, you need a different broom. That one – and even Ron's broom – is too heavy for you." Ginny shrugged. There was no way she was ever going to fly anything but a school broom. She couldn't imagine the expenses Mum and Dad were going to have putting the Burrow back to rights. Still, it didn't matter. If she could play Quidditch, that's all she cared about. They switched brooms on the way to the stone circle so Ginny could practice flying. Harry trailed behind on the Oak Shaft. She waited for him before touching down. The circle looked like a wonderful place and she didn't want to experience it alone. "Wow," Harry said, looking around. They were on a high hill that had breath-taking views of the fields and rolling hills of Warwickshire. The forest went on for as far as the eye could see, with the river cutting its way through it. The pastures were dotted with cows and sheep and small blue ponds reflecting the clear sky. Even the manor house looked small from here. But it wasn't the view that was the most arresting thing about the stone circle – it was the music. The stones – huge flat boulders – at least twelve feet high were arranged in a circle, with one stone in the middle. They were dark gray and rough and they were singing as softly as a whisper. "Same song as the sword?" Harry asked. "I don't think these stones are tin," Ginny giggled. "It kind of reminds me…" Harry was struggling to describe what they were hearing. "Of the Phoenix song," Ginny finished for him. "Yeah – but –" "It's different," Ginny continued. "It's different because –" She frowned in thought. "Because the Phoenix song lifted you up – made you feel lighter and bigger…" "But this makes you feel… like yourself," Harry finished slowly. It was true. There was something about the sound that was familiar – like the sound of breathing or a heart beating that seemed intimately human – yet also vast and majestic. Perfectly content, Ginny walked the perimeter of the stones, gazing out at the hills and fields, blue in the distance. Harry sprawled against the center stone, with his knees raised and his arms dangling relaxed against them. The breezed ruffled his dark hair, making it intriguingly messy. She finally joined him in the center, facing the wind so her hair could blow away from her face. "I can believe this is a magical place," Harry said. "I wonder who built it and why." "I suppose it has to do with astronomy and all that," Ginny answered vaguely. "What do you reckon about that well? Do you think it was built at the same time as this?" "Aunt Martha told me a little bit about it last night," Ginny replied. "She says that there are wells of magical water all over Britain. The fountain at the Ministry is one. The lake at Hogwarts is fed by a magical spring." "Really?" "She told me that the water is just water unless you know what to do with it. And that it is usually witches who know how to use the power of water – although I don't see how water could be very destructive." He frowned in thought. "At the Ministry when Dumbledore was dueling with Voldemort – he used the fountain." "He did?" Ginny knew Dumbledore had been there of course, had seen the destruction of the atrium and the statues – but no one knew the details – except for Harry and Dumbledore. "Yeah. He put Voldemort in this column of water." "What did it do to him?" "I don't think it hurt him – but he didn't like it." Harry's gaze was faraway. "Because he disappeared. I thought…" Here he faltered. "I thought Voldemort was gone – but that's when he possessed me." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Harry had said it was painful, Ginny remembered. "How did you ever get rid of him – especially if you were in so much pain?" He opened his eyes and started pulling at the grass. "I don't know," he said in a low voice. "I remember wanting to die. And then thinking that if I died I would be with Sirius. Once I thought of Sirius, Voldemort left." "Because you loved Sirius," Ginny murmured, "that's what he hates more than poison – love." "That's what Dumbledore tried to tell me –" He let the blades of grass fall from his fingers. "Not that it will help me in the future," he said bleakly. "Everyone I love or has loved me is gone." "That's not true!" Ginny felt suddenly angry with him. Couldn't he see what good friends he had? Or how her entire family felt about him? He looked at her steadily, his eyes as green as the grass all around them. Ginny took a deep breath. What had she gotten herself into? She didn't know how to tell him any of this without sounding like she fancied him – which would make him uncomfortable. And I don't fancy him, she reminded herself sternly. She had given up on Harry long ago. But that didn't mean he should give up on himself. "A lot of people love you Harry – you know that – deep down. But –" This sounded so horrible, but she felt she had to say it. "But you're never going to get Sirius back. No one will ever love you the same way and you will never feel that way about anybody else. Because they won't be Sirius." His eyes darkened with pain, but he didn't refute her words. "But that doesn't mean that you won't ever feel deeply for someone else again." "Sirius was –" He paused. "Sirius was just for me." Her heart turned over at the forlorn note in his voice. Didn't she understand that? Being the last of seven children, she had often wanted people and experiences just for her. "I know." She smiled at him wryly. "I don't like to share either." "I reckon you had a lot of sharing to do with seven children in your family." He cocked his head as he regarded her. "Ron's complained about that before – but I never connected you. I mean, I know you're a Weasley – I've certainly been reminded of that these past two days." He gave her a faint smile. "But you're just… yourself somehow." He shrugged. "I don't know what I'm saying really." "You know, when I talk to Lee Jordan, I always think of him as Fred and George's friend. But when I talk to you, I don't think of you as Ron's friend – you're just you. Is that what you mean?" His face cleared. "Yeah, that's what I mean." She giggled, feeling suddenly light-hearted. "Poor Ron – we've left him totally out." "'Poor Ron' would want nothing to do with this conversation," Harry pointed out. It was true. Ron wouldn't want to wax philosophical about love or Sirius. "So, Potter." She imitated Professor McGonagall's crisp tones. "Sum up how to get rid of evil." He grinned. "Stab, don't slice." "Yes, go on." "Um – use water?" "Perhaps, what else?" "Singing stone?" he asked. "Think I could drop one on Voldemort's head?" "I don't see why you couldn't try," she said in her own voice. "I'm sure he would hate this place – it's too good," she said, looking around again. "That's true." Harry rested the back of his head on the stone. "What makes something good? And what makes it evil?" "I don't know," Ginny said slowly. "I reckon You-know-who would find a way to make this place evil – even though nature has made it good." "Yeah," he answered wearily. "I'm just glad he's not here." * They spent the rest of the afternoon flying and practicing with the Quaffle. Then, with Harry's coaching, Ginny tried her Patronus Charm a few times – but quickly became frustrated when she could produce no more than a silvery shadow from her wand. When they returned to the house, Aunt Martha reminded Harry that he needed to pick out a bedroom in the main house. Ginny went along, seizing her chance to see a grand manor house. They entered through the vast kitchen, with Lotty leading the way. Aunt Martha had told the elf to make sure to put him in a room where "nobody had died." That seemed to narrow the field quite a bit. Lotty lead them through dark paneled corridors and up several flights of stairs. There was a corner room with views of the vast front lawn. While it was a lovely, light-filled room, it was decorated entirely in pink, which Harry didn't think suited him. Lotty shrugged and led them down the main staircase. On the ground floor, behind the kitchen was a small, whitewashed room. The window looked out on the gardens between the main house and the Dowager house. The best part, Ginny thought, was the smell of roses coming from the trellis that climbed the outside wall. "This is nice, Harry," she said sniffing, "and it smells –" "Like cauldron scrapings," he said, wrinkling his nose. She reached out of the window and plucked a pink rose. "This is not a cauldron scraping." "No it's not – but it's a little – um – girly smelling." He was teasing her again. "I don't think it will affect your manliness," she said rolling her eyes. "Just my sinuses." "Oh! Do you have allergies or something?" "No – I'm just being contrary. This room is fine." He grinned at her. She bounced on the bed. "Well, the bed is comfortable – and there isn't a bit of pink." She sprawled on the bed, with her hair fanned out behind her. "No cracks in the ceiling to give you the creeps." "Cracks in the ceiling?" He was standing by the bureau, watching her. "The first night I ever slept alone in my room – I must have been about five – I noticed the cracks in the ceiling and I thought the longest one was an arm that was going to come down and grab me." "The obsession with arms goes way back I see." She giggled. "I suppose it does." "So what did you do about the cracks in the ceiling?" "Oh – Dad came in and made all the cracks come together to look like a knight. He said that Sir Crackpot would watch over me." She laughed. "Of course, how could you be afraid of someone with that name?" She idly sniffed the rose and then rubbed its softness against her cheek. "You look like one of those girls in the car adverts – they make you think if you buy the car, you'll get the girl." Ginny sat up, feeling suddenly self-conscious. They had ads like that in Which Broomstick and there was no way she looked like the glamorous witches selling brooms. Her shortcomings must be glaringly obvious in comparison. "Um, maybe we should look at the rest of the house," she suggested. Lotty had gone back to the Dowager house so they had a few false starts finding the main corridor. Ginny glimpsed one of the formal drawing rooms. The furniture was shrouded in white coverings and the draperies were drawn, giving the room a gloomy air. So it was with great surprise that she heard female giggles and a man's laughing baritone. Ginny stole to the doorway for a better look. Above the fireplace was a large portrait of a much younger Aunt Martha, holding a sleeping red-haired toddler who could have passed for any of her brothers. This Aunt Martha had her hair in an elaborate pompadour with three curly tendrils of hair arranged around her neck. Her dress was a gorgeous shade of light green. She had obviously dressed up for the portrait. Her husband was a tall, strapping man with dark, snapping eyes and black curly hair. He was laughing and pulling at Aunt Martha's fancy hair-do. "Come on, Marty. He's asleep." "John," she giggled. "I can't leave him here." "Bring him along to the landscape." "What if he wakes up?" Aunt Martha's portrait didn't sound like she needed too much more convincing. "He'll know his mummy and daddy love each other very much." "Scar him for life, no doubt," she answered, sounding more like the Aunt Martha Ginny knew. "We'll be quiet." His big hands cupped her face. "Or I should say, I'll be quiet – although I don't know if you can be." Her laugh was slightly breathless as he pulled the pins out of her hair. "That's the way you should always look," he said burying his face in her vivid hair, "free and just a little wild…" Ginny, who had been rooted to the spot, realized she shouldn't be watching this. She backed away, right in to Harry who had also heard the portraits. "Um – I reckon we avoid the landscapes." "Yeah," Ginny agreed. As they made their way back to the Dowager house, Ginny thought about her aunt. She knew that Aunt Martha had been married – but she had never stopped to consider what her husband had been like or what kind of marriage they had shared. And she never knew that Aunt Martha had a child.... It was almost unbearable to think about. "Wasn't that sad?" she asked Harry. "What – the portrait?" "Yes," she stopped in the garden path, astonished that he wasn't more sensitive about Aunt Martha's loss. "You knew she was a widow," he pointed out reasonably. "Yes – but – they were so happy." "Wouldn't it have been worse if they were arguing or something?" She raised her eyebrows. "I suppose." "At least they had a good relationship while it lasted." The bitterness in his tone caught her off guard. "What are you thinking about, Harry? Something's bothering you." She wondered if he was regretting breaking off with Cho – but then the last time she thought he was upset about Cho – he wanted to talk to Sirius. He searched her face as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk to her or not – just like that day in the library. She knew she was risking a snub, but she asked anyway. "You don't have to answer this, but does it have to do with what you wanted to talk to Sirius about that time?" He sighed. "I saw something last year – my parents – when they were fifteen. My mum was yelling at my dad – not that I blame her really. Sirius and Lupin said they got along fine once they started dating their seventh year – but I would have rather seen them happy like your Aunt Martha." Of course he would, Ginny thought. Here she was thinking that he wasn't sensitive. She thought back to his stricken face in the library. He really did feel things deeply. "I wish –" she began and then stopped, realizing that there wasn't a thing she could say to make it better. "I wish your problems were something Sir Crackpot could fix." "You know, I think he's running the universe these days." "It certainly appears that way," she answered ruefully. * That night, as Ginny got ready for bed, she wondered how Harry was faring in that big, empty house. Whether it was sleeping arrangements or a glimpse into the past, Harry always seemed to pull the short straw. It seemed so unfair that Harry had seen his parents unhappy, when it probably wasn't typical of their relationship. Her parents had their share of arguments over the years, but she always knew they loved each other. That knowledge was as unshakeable as the ground under her feet. She went to open the window, hanging over the headboard to do it. A movement outside caught her eye. It was a moonlit night so she could see the kitchen garden clearly, although the forest beyond the wall was lost in the darkness. There it was again. A person in a dark cloak appeared to be skirting the wall, peering up at the Dowager house. Glad there were no lights burning in her room, Ginny ducked behind the headboard. When she looked again, the person was gone. With her wand out, Ginny went out into the corridor, this time remembering to step over the creaking board. She stole down the stairs and padded into the sitting room. All was quiet except for the snoring of the Toby mugs. She looked out the windows toward the main house. She could see the lumpy shapes of the rose bushes and the outline of the house beyond. Then she saw a movement. Catching her breath, she pressed her nose against the glass. Someone or something was by the rose trellis next to Harry's window. Now she didn't know what to do. She had no way to alert Harry. Aunt Martha would be no use in a duel and neither would Lotty. For the first time she realized how isolated they were. The clock suddenly chimed eleven times and a voice whispered, "What if there are intruders?" Ginny gathered her courage and hurried through the kitchen and out to the garden. She pressed herself against the rough, stucco surface of the dowager house and peeked around the corner. She couldn't believe what she saw. It was a cow – probably the same one from yesterday – eating the roses under Harry's window. Feeling extremely foolish, she took her fear and relief out on the cow. "Scat – get out of the rose garden." The cow looked up. There was something almost insolent about its stare. "Go – you old thing!" she cried, sending a hex its way. The cow finally started to lumber away from the roses. "You are so annoying!" "Ginny?" Harry was outside too, with his wand out and a concerned look on his face. When he saw the cow, he grinned. "Why are you rustling cattle this time of night?" "I thought –" Now she really felt stupid. "I thought I saw someone – in a cloak. So I came down to investigate." "Ginny! What are you thinking? It could have been Voldemort's men or Malfoy's." "What was I supposed to do? Wait for them to come into the house after me? I thought this person was under your window. I didn't want them to harm you either – but I had no way to contact you." She was shaking, she was so angry after being so worried. And she didn't like that condescending way he was talking to her – like she was incapable of taking care of herself…. She felt better when he frowned and said thoughtfully, "No, you don't have a way to contact me. I could use Hedwig – but that would only work for one of us." They stood in the silent garden, thinking. Finally Harry said, "Have you ever seen those paper airplane memos they have at the Ministry?" "Good idea. I could have a few in my room – already written." "Do you know the charm?" "No, but I could write to Percy. He'd know." "Are you sure Percy would want you writing to me?" he asked in a strained voice. "What are you talking about?" "Last year, Percy thought Ron should stay away from me because I was thought unstable and association with me would undermine Ron's chances to be Head Boy." "Oh, that is the limit!" Ginny exploded. "Allow me to apologize for him, Harry. After everything you've done for our family! Of course, Ron didn't listen." Her forehead was pounding as she thought of how hurtful that must have been to Harry. "I'm going to write to Percy and tell him I want to write to you – and that I need him to give me the means to do it. Then we'll see what his true colors are." "Do you think that's wise? I mean – your family and Percy have just started talking again." "Wise? Who knows? But Percy should know better than to tell me who I can write to and who I can't. Ron tried it this summer – told me I shouldn't write to Dean. He didn't say that again – well, he didn't say anything again after I charmed his mouth shut for three hours!" "You want to write to Dean?" His voice was sharp. "No! Why would I want to write to Dean? I just don't want any of my brothers to tell me whom I can write to. The only person I want to write to is you. And I only need to write to you if –" "Sir Crackpot is on the loose," he said, sounding suddenly happier. She giggled. "Right." "I reckon we should go to bed, unless you want to stand guard over the roses?" "No, I –" She was interrupted by a squeaky voice. "Draco Malfoy is an Animagus!" Harry started and then laughed as he realized what he had just heard. "You've been teaching the Jarvey." "I'm obviously not finished," she said giggling. "I thought I needed a project like all of your cauldron scraping labels." "You noticed, did you?" "Oh yes." They lapsed into silence again. Then, just like the night before, Ginny suddenly became aware – of her bare feet on the cool grass, of the warm, scented breeze playing with her hair. "I'll just go now," she said inanely. "Right." Neither one of them moved. "Are you," she began, wondering at his hesitation. "okay in that house all alone?" "You don't like to be alone do you?" he asked quietly. "I'm not used to it, I suppose." There was something about talking in the dark that kept her from equivocating. "It's not like Grimmauld Place," he said looking over at the manor. Then he turned to her. "It was a happy house, Ginny." "Oh." There was something about the way he said her name…. Suddenly she was all in goose bumps. It must be cooler than she thought – and she was only wearing a thin nightshirt. "I'm off to bed," she said in a louder voice than necessary. "Good-night." Then she stumbled into the house, not sure what she was fleeing from.
|