|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Cera Story: Eólach Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 10 Words: 10,981
She was leaving St. Mungo's. Ginny knew that she'd been there for less than a week, but to her it had felt like ages. The stark white walls of her room had started to feel suffocating. Oh, she was allowed to wander around a bit, but never alone. She felt like a child, requiring constant supervision, and it frustrated her. She understood, of course, that having no memories could pose a problem if she were alone, but it didn't stop her from hating the situation. Her family was constantly flittering about, trying to help her. Had she once enjoyed being from such a large group? It was hard, so hard to see their faces. They kept hoping that she would remember, and she kept letting them down. The only person who didn't look at her as if hoping she would suddenly have some sort of epiphany was Harry. He didn't seem to have any expectations from her, and she appreciated that. He was so calm each time he came to see her, so polite, and yet she could tell that there was a storm brewing under the surface. And she knew that he, and everyone else, were keeping things from her. She wondered what information about her life and theirs they weren't telling her. Was she an awful person? Had she done terrible things to people? Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door of her hospital room. She glanced over to see one of her brothers leaning against the doorframe. "Hi," she said as she picked up a vase full of flowers, and tried desperately to remember his name. It was one of the twins—Fred, or… George. She really needed to keep a list, as it was next to impossible to remember all of the names that were constantly being thrown at her. Remembering her immediate family was of top priority of course. She contemplated guessing his name; she had a decent chance of getting it right. On the other hand, she had just as much chance at getting it wrong and she didn't want to upset him by not remembering. He grinned widely as he watched her fiddle with the lilies—which were from Harry. "Nice flowers," he commented. "Oh, yes. I can't recall who gave them to me," she lied, trying to sound nonchalant, "but it was very thoughtful. So are the rest of them." She gestured to the other bouquets spread across the table under the window. "I particularly like these ones though." Her eyes lifted to her brother's. "Are lilies my favourite?" "I can't say that we've ever had a conversation about your favourite flower. I'll have to ask Mum, she might know." "Okay. Thanks." She picked up her wand from the bedside table and placed it in the robe of her pocket. She was nervous, she realised. Scared to be leaving the safety of the hospital and scared of doing or saying something wrong. She knew that her own voice was painfully polite, but she just didn't know how else she was to act. "Are you taking me to the house, then?" she finally asked. "That I am." He paused for a moment, before adding, "It's George." "Oh." She let out a breath that she hadn't realised she was holding. "Right. George. I'm sorry." "Why?" "Because I couldn't—I didn't remember." He was still smiling as he walked toward her and took the lilies from her. "Mum doesn't even remember which one of us is which all of the time, so I can hardly expect you to." "Oh, well then." "We used to have a riot with it. The changes we pulled on everyone…" he trailed off, as if seeing a memory she wasn't aware of. "Well, I can't tell you about them, as they're too incriminating." He winked at her and tugged lightly at her ponytail. "Sisters have a nasty habit of dobbing. Although, Ron was worse than you as a kid." He gathered her bag and placed it on the table full of flowers. "Really?" "Oh yeah. Poor bloke was a great guinea pig. Everyone was more protective of you, so we had to use him a lot. But we did get you a few times." Ginny's heart warmed at the thought of being the target of her brothers' tricks. It was typical of younger siblings, or so she assumed. She sent him a sideways glance as he pulled out his wand and transfigured her belongings. "You don't pull pranks on me anymore, do you?" He placed a companionable arm around her shoulders as he led her from the room. "Now Ginny, my dear, we've matured, Fred and I. We're young businessmen, making our way in the world. We wouldn't stoop to childish pranks anymore." She laughed as she glanced back into the room she never wanted to inhabit again. "Even I can tell that's not true." ~*~ The Burrow. Stepping out of the fireplace into a small, cramped kitchen, Ginny was surprised. It wasn't at all what she had expected. She had pictured something larger, grander, but she was pleased that it wasn't. This house felt comfortable, personal. She could see why the members of her family, and Harry, spoke of it with such fondness. George was already waiting for her, as he had flooed first. Beside him stood members of her family, each wearing a different expression. Her mother—the lines on her face more apparent than they had been in the hospital, was smiling nervously. Fred was grinning, much the same way that George had at St Mungo's. It was going to be very difficult to tell them apart. Ron stood beside Fred, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. Of the group, he was the only one not staring at her. Instead, he was frowning at the floor. Harry was at the end of the line. Ginny was surprised to see him—she didn't remember anyone telling her that he lived at The Burrow. She'd have to ask about that. His stance was similar to Ron's—with hands in pockets—but his face was up, his expression friendly. Ginny smiled weakly. She managed a quick 'hello' before she was engulfed in her mother's arms. The next sound she made was an 'oomph' as the air rushed out of her lungs. "Oh, it's good to have you home, dear," her mother whispered, tightening her hold. "Mum, let poor Ginny breath." "Oh." Ginny was released, but her mother held her hands between them. "If you need anything, you just ask. Are you hungry? I could make you some lunch—" "No. Thank you, but I'm fine." The thought of eating made Ginny's stomach turn. They'd stuffed her full of breakfast at St Mungo's, and she couldn't imagine wanting to eat anytime in the next week or so. Ginny sensed a look of disappointment flicker across her mother's face, but it was quickly hidden. "Of course. I'm sure you must be tired from the trip." "No—" "The Healers said that you needed to keep resting, you'll need to get your strength back up." Ginny didn't think she needed any more rest, considering that she'd just been in the hospital for days, but her mother continued before she could protest. Turning to her youngest son, she pointed to a narrow hallway leading out the kitchen. "Ron, take Ginny up to her room, help her get settled." "But—" "You'll have a nice rest, and I'll make you a snack when you wake. Go on now, Ron will show you the way." She gave Ginny a gentle shove as George handed Ron her shrunken belongings, which he shoved in his pockets. Feeling as if she had no choice in the matter, Ginny followed her brother out of the room. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at Ron's back. She wasn't tired, and felt a rising sense of irritation at being sent to her room—like a child. They walked down a narrow hallway to a rather dodgy looking set of stairs. As she watched Ron start to climb, Ginny decided that if the stairs could hold his weight, certainly she would be safe. At the third landing, Ron stopped and pointed to the closed door in front of them. "This one's yours," he said, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at her. "Thanks." She smiled slightly at him before pushing the door open. She waited for—and hoped for—some kind of recognition. A jolt, a feeling, anything. But nothing came, and Ginny tried not to let the disappointment overwhelm her. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she stepped into the room and looked around. It was small, that was the first thing she noticed. The walls were a light green colour, as was the bedspread. The single bed was situated in the corner of the room, and across from it was a wardrobe, a small desk, and a chair. A trunk lay at the foot of the bed, and Ginny crossed over to it, running her fingers along the embossed 'G.W.' on the front. "It was sent over from Hogwarts." Ron's voice made her jump, as she had forgotten that he was with her. Turning to him, she frowned as she tried to place the name he'd said. When she couldn't, she asked what it was. "Hogwarts. The wizarding school you—we—all attended. You were still there when everything happened, it was the night before the leaving feast." "Oh." She waited, hoping that he would keep talking, but he was obviously finished. Stepping around the trunk, she climbed onto the bed, crossing her legs under her. Without speaking, Ron set her things on the floor, took out his wand, and enlarged them. Once finished, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, much like they were when she arrived. He looked ready to leave, but she desperately wanted to keep him there. She wanted to get to know her family, and the only way to do that was to talk to them. It was too bad that Ron acted like talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'd better—" "Does he live here? Harry?" Ginny asked the first thing that came to mind. "No—well, not really." At her questioning gaze, he continued. "He's been living at Grimmauld Place this past year, most of us have." "Where is that?" "London." "But he's staying here now?" "It seems that way, doesn't it?" "Did he live here before Grimmo Place?" "Grimmauld. No, he didn't." "Where—" "With his aunt and uncle." "Oh. Where are his parents?" Ron ran a hand through his red hair and let out an annoyed huff. "Look, why don't you just ask Harry? I've got to go, I'm sure Mum has things for me to do." Before Ginny could utter a word, Ron was gone, and she felt an incredible sadness well up inside of her. Why was he so abrupt? Did she say something wrong? Was he just rude by nature? Tears prickled the back of her eyes as a fear bubbled to the surface. What if she didn't like her family? It was something she hadn't thought of, hadn't even considered. She assumed that she loved them, and they her. But what if that wasn't the case? Shaking her head, Ginny blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. She would find out. She would get to know each of them, and form her own opinions. She only hoped that her brothers and parents were people she could like and respect. Determined to shake her mood, Ginny went about putting her things away and acquainting herself with her room. It was actually quite bare, and Ginny felt a sense of disappointment at the lack of character in the room. There were no posters on the wall, no ornaments at all. Just green. Maybe it was her favourite colour. Ginny headed for the desk, and, opening the top drawer, she found what she was looking for—parchment and a quill. Setting the parchment on the desk, she wrote Favourite colour? Green? near the top. Under it, she added Favourite flower? Lily? Satisfied with the start of her list—one that she knew would grow by leaps and bounds, Ginny turned to the wardrobe. As she started to open it, voices could be heard from just outside her door. Stepping towards the door, she strained to make out who it was, and what they were saying. One voice was male, and it sounded like Ron, although she hadn't heard him talk enough to recognise his voice instantly. The other person was female, and it definitely wasn't her mother. Before she could reach for it, the door was pulled open, and Ginny came face to face with a girl about her age. She was a few inches taller than Ginny and wore a pair of jeans and a navy jumper. Her brown hair, which drew Ginny's eye immediately, reached just below her shoulders and was somewhat messy. It looked as if she'd just gotten out of bed, and hadn't taken the time to smooth her hair. Her face was pretty, and her brown eyes were staring at Ginny with trepidation. Before Ginny could utter a word, the girl started to talk—very quickly. "Hi. I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger. I just arrived, and I wanted to come up and see you. We're friends. But you don't—well, of course you don't. You can't—this is—I'm sorry!" Ginny's eyes widened as Hermione's welled with tears. Suddenly, Hermione leapt, and Ginny found herself once again being squeezed the death. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron flee, and felt a rising sense of panic. "Oh, Ginny," Hermione mumbled, "this is just awful." Stepping back, she quickly wiped her eyes with the corner of her jumper. Ginny must have looked quite shocked, because Hermione laughed nervously and looked at the floor. "I just scared the life out of you, didn't I?" "Honestly? Yes." Hermione's gaze rose, and their eyes met. She couldn't explain why, but Ginny felt a kinship with this whirlwind of bushy hair and rambling words who stood in front of her. It wasn't that she remembered anything specific about her, it was more that she sensed that they would be friends. Twin smiles spread slowly across both of their faces and Ginny felt herself reaching out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Hermione." A/N Thanks so much again to Katie for the stronghanded 'encouragement' to get this chapter finished before you left, (it was exactly what I needed) ;) and to Tari for your 'ooohs' and 'awwws' that completely made my day. Once again, a big thank you as well to those who are reading.
|