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Author: Cera Story: Eólach Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 11 Words: 10,981
"This is unbelievable! I'm going to kill Malfoy!" Harry watched, helpless, as his best friend paced back and forth in a rage. Since the end of the battle, Ron's expression had been unchanging—his skin pale, his eyes weary. Now, his cheeks were flushed with anger as he unmercifully flattened the grass beneath his feet. His hands were fisted at his side as he ranted about Malfoy. He'd often seen Ron Weasley in this type of emotional state, but it never got any easier to witness. "Ron—" "What kind of maggot takes a person's memory?!" It was a valid question. Harry often wondered how and why people could be so heartless. Where did all of the hatred come from? With Malfoy, it was anybody's guess. Harry knew that it wasn't just Malfoy's actions that Ron was furious about—it was their own. After Ginny collapsed, they had both gone to her, more shocked than anything about what happened. In those few moments, those precious moments when they'd tried to revive her, Malfoy had run. There had been no word of his capture, although it was certainly possible that he was in Azkaban. Possible, but not definite. Harry knew that it grated on Ron—just as it did on his own conscious—to have let Malfoy hurt Ginny and then escape. It was painful to see her, knowing that you could have prevented what happened. Because Harry felt the same anger and frustration as his best friend, he had no idea how to offer him comfort. "Malfoy—" "She doesn't know her family!" Ron stopped pacing and faced Harry, an expression of grief on his face. "She doesn't know me, Harry. She's my little sister, and she doesn't recognize me!" "I know, Ron. I understand—" "No! You don't understand!" He rounded on Harry, jabbing a finger in his chest. "She's my sister! You never watched her grow up, you didn't spend your whole life protecting her, teaching her!" "Stop it!" Harry yelled, shoving Ron away from him. "Just because I'm not family, doesn't mean that I don't understand what it's like. You haven't had to speak to her alone. You haven't seen that look on her face, when she's trying to remember and can't. She flinched when she first heard my voice, Ron. Don't tell me I don't understand." His last words came out in barely more than a whisper. As quickly as he had angered, Ron seemed to deflate. "Yeah, I know, Harry. I'm sorry, it's just…." "It's all right, Ron." As Ron slumped to the ground under a tall oak tree, Harry turned and stared at the Burrow. For so long, it had been a symbol of family for Harry, a place of love, safety, and fond memories. They would be bringing Ginny home tomorrow, and for her, it would be none of those things. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, to suddenly wake up and not know yourself, or your family and friends. To lose your memory would be like losing your life. It had been so hard the day before, when he'd sat with Ginny, for Harry to not rage at the injustice of it all. As he'd watched her struggle within herself, he'd had the incredible urge to scream, to destroy, to exact revenge. He hadn't done any of that though, he knew that wasn't what Ginny needed. She had looked so frightened, and so lost. Oh, there were moments when her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks reddened, but they were few. She needed patience, and she needed friends. Harry decided right there in the room that he was going to provide her with both, no matter how hard it would be to hide his own anger. They'd talked for a good while, and he tried to be as relaxed as he could. That had been difficult, as his own memories had been swirling inside of him. Ginny at ten, waving goodbye to the Hogwarts Express. At eleven, squeaking at him from behind half-closed doorways. In the Chamber of Secrets. At the Yule Ball with Neville, getting her toes stomped on. Doing the victory dance with Fred and George when he won his trial before fifth year. Sitting with him by the lake, in his sixth year, when he was consumed by his grief over Sirius. He remembered the hug she gave him as he left Hogwarts a year before, and the strange feeling he'd had when she let go. Those were all memories that she didn't have anymore. "Harry?" He turned to see his best friend plucking random blades of grass and tossing them into the breeze. "Yeah?" "What's going to happen now?" Harry knew that Ron wasn't just talking about Ginny, but of life in general. The war was over, Voldemort had been destroyed, but life—life still had to go on. It was difficult for any of them to imagine their futures now, as they hadn't dared to dream of them before. He shrugged. "I really don't know, Ron." "What—What's she like? How was she doing?" Harry settled on the grass beside his best friend and sighed. He knew it was difficult for Ron to accept, to understand, that Ginny hadn't been ready to see her entire family the day before. The Weasleys got their chance to visit, but Ginny had been exhausted, and consequently slept through most of the visit. "She's confused, Ron, and scared. But, at times, there are flashes of the real Ginny. She's in there, we just have to find her." They shared the silence for a while, each of them lost in his own thoughts. Harry fingered the scar that ran from his back to his stomach—a present from Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd resorted to Muggle violence when he'd outwitted her with magic. He'd asked the Healers to leave the scar, so that he'd never forgot the battle—not that that was likely. He wondered briefly if Ginny was better off, not remembering the pain and the loss they'd all felt over the years, as Voldemort's power grew. Shaking his head, he quickly squashed the idea. For every bad painful memory, there were a dozen happy ones. It was best to just focus on those. There would be happiness in their lives again. They'd all been too focused on the war in the past, they hadn't had time to live. Now things were going to change, they had to. Harry could finally move out of Order Headquarters, and think about what he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing. He wasn't sure if being an Auror was for him—he'd seen enough fighting in his lifetime. Maybe he could play Quidditch again. For the time being, he just wanted to relax. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were going to do with the rest of their lives. Thinking of his two friends had him frowning, as he hadn't heard from Hermione in a few days. "Hey Ron?" "Yeah?" "When are we going to see Hermione?" "Oh, well I talked to her last night, and I think that she'll be by tomorrow. She really wanted to be here earlier—for Ginny—" Harry noticed Ron's ear turn a bit red, but refrained from commenting. His friends had put their 'relationship', or whatever it was, on hold. He knew that it was because they wanted to be there for him, and he was grateful. He couldn't help feeling guilty though, that they hadn't been able to explore their feelings for each other. Maybe now they'd have that chance, without a war to mess everything up. "—but her parents insisted that she stay with them for a few days." "She's okay?" Ron shrugged. "No lasting injuries. She's worried about Ginny though—" He was cut off as his stomach gave a loud groan. Harry laughed. Ron's stomach was one constant that would never fail. He checked his watched and noticed that it was past noon. "Let's go in and eat," he suggested. They walked back to the Burrow in companionable silence, each lost in thoughts of the past, and the future. Ron swung the back door open and called for Mrs. Weasley. It wasn't necessary, as she was standing at the kitchen sink, her back to them. Harry watched her take a deep breath before turning to face them. "Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you'd be coming in to eat. Are you two ready for lunch then?" Ron patted his stomach while heading for the refrigerator. "I feel as if I haven't had a bite to eat in ages." Harry didn't respond. Looking closely at Mrs. Weasley, he noted the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and her equally red nose. He never professed to be an expert at reading people, especially women, but it seemed obvious that she'd been crying. What was also obvious was the cause of her tears. Ginny. As Mrs. Weasley busied herself making lunch, Harry tried to imagine what she was dealing with. Her daughter didn't recognize her. Harry had watched the brief interaction between them the day before. Mrs. Weasley, trying to hide her emotions, and Ginny, being so horribly polite. Harry knew how it felt when Ginny hadn't recognized him—hard, and painful—but he was sure that it was much more difficult for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "Harry, are you going to have some lunch?" Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, and Harry could see that the expression was forced. Without thinking, he approached her. Automatically, he removed the spoon from her hand and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It was the first time in his life that had willingly and openly offered affection. It felt right that his first comforting hug would be given to Mrs. Weasley, after all the comfort she had provided him since he was eleven. He heard her sniffle before she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. Harry could feel her body shaking slightly. "It's just so difficult, isn't it?" she asked. Now that he'd gotten this far, Harry wasn't entirely sure how to respond to her. Female tears were a frightening experience. He remembered clearly another time he'd seen Mrs. Weasley crying. She'd seen the Boggart at Grimmauld Place, and with it a vision of her family dying. He supposed this was similar for her. Ginny wasn't gone, but a part of her was. For now, he hoped. He patted her on the back lightly, glancing over at Ron, who was simply staring at them. He wished that his best friend would do something besides sit at the table and watch his mother sob. "Everything will work out, Mrs. Weasley," he said lamely. "Of course, dear." She sniffed again before loosening her grip. "You're a good boy, Harry. You'll help Ginny through this." "Oh. I—of course I will." Mrs. Weasley turned as Ron stood from the table, his hands shoved in his pockets. "Ron? You haven't eaten, let me make you something," she said quickly, turning for the refrigerator. "No," he muttered, frowning. "I'm not hungry." As Harry listened to Ron stomp up the stairs, and watched Mrs. Weasley busy herself wiping the counter, still swiping at her eyes, he wondered if the Weasley family would ever be the same as it once was. * A/N--My apologies for the huge delay in getting this chapter out. Assignments and then finals were a bit time consuming, so I didn't have a lot of chances to get this chapter just how I wanted it. Again, many thanks to Katieay, my dear friend, for continuously encouraging me and allowing me to bounce ideas off of you, and to Tari, for being the superb beta that you are, and helping me find that missing element. Lastly, to anyone who's reading this, and to those who review, I appreciate it more than I can say. Thanks.
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