|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Wild Magelet Story: Justice Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 5 Words: 33,705
A/N: Thank you to Mistral, my lovely beta, who -- no matter how busy she may be -- always finds time to help me out and to put her foot down when I get too enthusiastic about commas and exclamation marks. =) After that rude awakening, they'd both been bleary and incoherent as they reached for their wands, and she'd half-expected to scatter bits and pieces of herself across the Devon countryside. As it was, she arrived in her parents' backyard surprisingly unscathed -- although Harry, to her amusement and his great disgust, managed to misplace one sleeve on the journey. "Bugger," he muttered under his breath, self-consciously curving a hand around his bare arm. He glared in response to her giggle. "I reckon it wasn't so easy to laugh when you Splinched your lips off, was it?" Ginny hefted her armload of presents higher and grinned at him. "Good thing that Mum's been busy with the knitting needles, isn't it?" Harry clomped across to the back door and yanked it open, turning back to say loudly, "We'd better open presents right off, then." "Funny you should say that, Potter," a voice commented in level tones, and Harry jumped. Ginny's eyebrows rose. Ron was standing directly behind the door, his face stony. His arms were full of brightly wrapped parcels, his unshaven chin resting on the top of the stack. "Do you know what time it is?" her brother continued, blue eyes flickering between them in a penetrating stare. "Sod off, Ron," Ginny said carelessly, elbowing him out of the way. It was bloody freezing outside. She marched into the kitchen and deposited their gifts on the counter. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Harry jostle past a belligerent Ron with a mumbled, "Get away with it, mate". "Ginny!" Her mum had been standing by the table, clutching an assortment of pots, wooden spoons and cookbooks. As they hustled inside, cheeks glowing with cold, she let her armload fall and threw herself forward with haphazard abandon. Ginny, taken aback, found herself trapped within a warm squeezing embrace, watching her grandmother's antique saucepan bounce along the floorboards. "Oh, Ginny!" Her mum pulled back to regard her tearfully before her gaze shifted to the left. "Harry! Oh, my babies. Oh, Ginny!" she repeated, tightening her hold. It was difficult to tell if the outpouring of emotion was that of delight or devastation. Ginny shrugged and patted her mother absently on the shoulder. She looked at Harry, who looked at Ron. "The news isn't going to be such a surprise, then?" Harry asked him sarcastically, and Ron hugged his presents closer, like a small boy with a favourite teddy bear. "Didn't think I had to keep it a secret, did I? I didn't tell Ginny," he said defensively, shifting his feet and drawing Ginny's attention to his legs. "I'm sorry," she said, coughing back a snicker, "but are you wearing pajamas?" "What d'you mean, you didn't tell Ginny?" Harry snorted over the sound of her mum's weeping. "You weren't exactly subtle last night." "Yes, he is wearing pajamas," someone else piped up, and Ginny turned as Hermione shuffled into the kitchen. Her words were barely audible through the impressive yawn that preceded them. Taking a slurp from her mug, the other witch pushed back a loose bushel of hair. "We've been here since half-six," she went on, sending a nasty look in Ron's direction, "because someone" -- another filthy look -- "couldn't wait any longer to open his presents." Ginny rolled her eyes. "How old are you again?" she asked her brother, ignoring the fact that she usually couldn't sleep on Christmas Eve either. She'd always thought it was a universal thing for children, but maybe it was just a Weasley trait. Even Bill and Charlie were annually up at the crack of dawn, but, as far as she could remember, both Harry and Hermione had no problem snoozing the night through. "What're you complaining about?" Ron retorted, ignoring her to frown at Harry. "She said 'yes', yeah? Though I dunno why you'd want to marry that pest." He reached around their mum and gave Ginny a quick punch on the arm. "I'm happy for you, for both of you," he finished awkwardly. Hermione put down her cup and threw her arms about Harry's neck, startling a laugh from him. He clumsily hugged her back. "Oh, I'm sorry," she cried, smiling at Ginny. "It is wonderful! Congratulations, both of you. Everyone's so pleased. And proposing on Christmas Eve, Harry." She flicked a glance at her boyfriend. "Imagine how romantic this would be if we'd all had enough sleep." "Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said, groaning. "If you're in a snit because I didn't propose to you..." He was cut off by her outraged gasp. Their mum finally let Ginny go and stood up straighter, dabbing at her eyes with a Hagrid-sized handkerchief. "That's quite enough from you, young man," she told her son sternly. "If you were inclined to show even a particle of sense, you would have taken a leaf from Harry's book last night." The smile she bestowed on Harry was glowing with approval, and Ginny hid her laughter as he reddened. If he hadn't been the golden boy of their family before, he'd certainly be able to do no wrong now. "As if I'd want to marry you, anyway!" Hermione fired back, obviously still seething. "I don't ever need to have children; I know exactly what it's like living with a baby. Starting with the sleep deprivation." Their mother cut sharply into Ron's mocking reply. "There's a crate of potatoes to be scrubbed, Ron," she said firmly, folding her arms across her middle. "By hand, if you please." "Oh, Mum." He scowled, looking at the monstrous pile of vegetables in dismay, and Hermione grinned mercilessly. "I've already done the sodding sprouts. Why can't Ginny do it?" "Your sister is an engaged woman. She's celebrating today." He gaped at her. "It's Christmas! We're all celebrating today." Their mother appeared distinctly unimpressed with that argument. "This is a sacred day, when families come together and help each other. Therefore, you may help me, with a peeler, at the sink." She overrode his protests. "And the quicker you do it, the sooner we can open the presents." Ginny was surprised. "Haven't you opened any yet?" she asked, looking at her watch. "It's nearly half-eleven." On the scale of angry expressions, Ron's face was more demonic than miffed. "No, we haven't," he bit out, trudging without enthusiasm to the sink. "Mum said that we had to wait for everyone this year, since it's special. And then you two don't show up until nearly lunchtime. What, were you shagging all night?" "Yes." "Ron!" Their mum's angry exclamation clashed with Ginny's wicked affirmative. Then, "Ginny!" She shook her head in despair. "This is hardly an appropriate subject for Christmas. Honestly, I don't know why the two of you put up with them," she said to Harry and Hermione. "I don't know about Ginny, but Ron's very flexible," said Hermione suddenly, before a look of horror crossed her features. Ginny spluttered with laughter. "Hermione!" she gasped, genuinely shocked. "I'm sorry." The older witch clapped one hand to her mouth, avoiding looking at a dumbstruck Molly. "I'm so tired. And this coffee is really strong," she added feebly. "Coffee? I could fancy a cup." Bill came through the doorway with a bulging paper sack resting in each arm, his youngest son -- thus far - slung about his neck in a baby carrier. Snow was caught liberally in his long hair, and dark patches of exhaustion smudged his eyes. Tired lines had joined the network of faded scars on his face. As always, the healed cut by his mouth was twisting his lips into a quirky half-smile. "The stronger, the better." Ginny pulled her wand and set the coffee boiling, a second before her mother moved to do the same. "Where've you been? I thought we'd be the last to arrive." She reached out to pet her nephew's little head. Bill passed one of his bags to Ron, then grabbed her hand, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "You are, you lazy brats. Mum sent the rest of us on errands while we waited. Good thing old Harbison can't bear to close the shop for even one day, I reckon. We had to pick up some new Christmas candles and table settings -- couldn't get last year's from the attic this morning. The ghoul's not being a very festive spirit." He smacked an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "Heard the news from Ron. Congratulations, little sister." Looking at Harry, his eyes twinkled. "'Bout time you made an honest woman of her, Potter." Harry's face was on fire. "Er, yeah...I mean..." Bill laughed, releasing Ginny in order to set down the remaining parcel and free his hair from his son's chubby fist. "It's all right. Better late than never. You're a bit quicker off the mark than some people, anyway." He looked pointedly at Ron, who scowled back. Fortunately, the rest of the party came trooping indoors before her brother could retaliate. Ginny knew from experience that both of his usual impulses -- swearing and hexing -- would land him in hot water with their mother before his wand hand lowered. It was incredible how much noise twenty-odd people could make when compressed into a tiny room. Her family crowded about, hollering their congratulations and "Happy Christmases". Judging by the quantity of snow covering the children, the enforced errands had turned into an opportunity for a Weasley snowball fight. The twins, standing on either side of Harry, pulling their best big brother act, looked as if they'd been buried in the stuff. Her father was suspiciously quiet. He shook Harry's hand, murmuring something that caused her boyfriend -- Merlin, her fiancé -- to look quickly down, swallowing hard. Approaching Ginny, he simply pulled her into a tight embrace, as he had when she was a little girl, with one palm cupping the back of her head. He held her for a long time, and when he finally pulled back, the wet gleam in his eyes struck any words from her tongue. Pressing a kiss to the parting of her hair, he quickly turned and called out a general offer of eggnog. Taking a few steadying breaths through her mouth, Ginny looked around the warm, bustling kitchen and realized that there was still more than one person missing. Weasleys tended to compete with one another for volume and attention, and the amount of noise that ensued often gave the impression of a larger group of people. Carefully stepping over Bill and Fleur's middle sons, who were rolling about on the hearth rug and making strange animal sounds, she approached her mother. Molly was back at the stove, humming away and smiling slightly to herself, utterly in her element surrounded by family and food. "Mum, where are Elizabeth and David?" Ginny asked, sticking her finger into a bowl of raw pudding batter. "You didn't let them go to the village, did you?" "No, of course I didn't." The glance she received was a little indignant. "I've looked after at-risk children before, thank you, Ginny. You and your brothers, included." "Sorry." She bit her lip. "How are they doing?" Aurelia Sutcliffe had brought the Cowleys to the Burrow three days earlier. According to her parents, they had been stoic but frightened. Elizabeth had been especially saddened by the absence of Mrs. Adams. The brusque nurse had not been at all happy to let them go to a strange place alone, but had been summoned to London to attend her ill grandchild. Ginny's father had mentioned that she flooed every evening to ensure that her babies were safe and well-fed. Her mother sighed. "As well as could be expected. They're upstairs at the moment, having a wee kip. David was up in the night with bad dreams, poor mite. Tonks and Remus are keeping an eye on them. She's absolutely devoted to those children." "I know." Ginny played with a stray chocolate chip on the chopping board. "Do you think they'll adopt them?" It seemed like the perfect solution to her, and she didn't understand why Tonks hadn't already started proceedings. Her mother was silent for a moment, watching her hands as they deftly sliced hard-boiled eggs for the salad. "I think," she said eventually, "that Tonks is more like Remus than she had ever before realized." Ginny blinked. She was about to ask what on earth that meant when the couple in question shuffled into the room, joining the congregation of the sleep-deprived. Remus looked weary and hastily put-together, his wavy hair disheveled and his grey cardigan hanging loose. One of his hands was shoved into the pocket of his trousers, the other rested on Tonks's back. Her friend's eyes -- violet in colour today -- were shadowed, but her hair and apparel were typically merry. Raspberry-red curls sprouted in no apparent order, entwined with the occasional streak of pure white. The effect was that of someone wearing a handful of candy canes on their head, and it clashed amusingly with her purple miniskirt and pink jumper. Elizabeth and David stood just behind her legs, yawning as they gazed around the kitchen with slowly widening eyes. Both children looked thin and pale, although Ginny was sure that her mother had been force-feeding them goodies. The sound levels in the room immediately dropped, shouting and laughing toned down to chattering and smiles out of respect for their grieving charges. She watched gratefully, and Tonks warily, as Fred and George advanced on the siblings. The twins were usually as subtle as a Jelly Legs Jinx, but they were astonishingly good with genuinely unhappy people. Within seconds, Fred had used an uncomfortable-looking hex on a snickering George, David's thumb had left his mouth, and Elizabeth's lips had curved a fraction. Tonks touched David on his head and came toward Ginny, greeting Harry with a "Wotcher, kiddo. Nice biceps!" and an unexpected kiss on the cheek as she passed. Ginny laughed aloud as he blushed for the umpteenth time that week. "Happy Christmas, engaged girl," Tonks said, wrapping her in a hard hug before seizing hold of her left hand. "Give us a look, then." She examined the emerald ring with exaggerated care. "Blimey, he's pinched the Crown Jewels!" Ginny touched one finger to the precious jewel, rolling it about her knuckle and still marveling at the strangeness of such a...grown-up symbol. It really was a lovely ring, and one that Harry claimed to have chosen by himself. There were several rings in his family vault, he'd told her, most of which had belonged to Potter ancestors, but he reckoned that an engagement ring should be something unique. Given just one time, between just two people. Tonks was regarding her with a wordless smile. "Happy?" she asked, twirling a lock of bright hair around her thumb. "About Harry?" Ginny sought him with her eyes. He was standing in the doorway to the living room, deep in conversation with Remus. She assumed they were watching Ron divide up the presents under the tree; he'd made a mad dash for them a few minutes before. Meeting Tonks's gaze, she answered unflinchingly, "Always." A muffled chuckle came from the corner, and she turned to see George instructing David on the joys of Exploding Sherbets. A food staple, he explained seriously, that should always be consumed before a meal lest the appetite be destroyed by green vegetables. Elizabeth had retired to a chair and was sitting stiffly, her hands tucked between her knees and her attention focused on her little brother. "Are they okay?" She directed her question at Tonks this time. If anyone had insight into the situation, it was surely the witch at her side. Tonks gathered her hair into a loose ponytail with one hand, huffing out a sigh as she, too, observed the clingy little boy and the distant girl. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "Elizabeth's already been through hell, and David...well, he has burdens that even grown men struggle to bear. To lose their parents now..." Her hand moved in a minute gesture, tactfully indicating the framed photograph of Percy on the wall. "Your family knows as well as most how difficult this season can be when you're incomplete." The words were soft and matter-of-fact, and somehow more comforting than the cloying sympathy that they received every year from well-meaning relatives. Ginny watched as the image of her brother ducked his head bashfully, shying away from the camera. Until the day he'd died, she'd burned with rage at Percy. She'd publicly labeled him every name under the sun. That anger had not been buried with him; yet the shock of losing him still had the power to take her unawares, even after all this time. She knew that their family had been fortunate compared to others, but she refused to consider them 'lucky'. 'Lucky' were the few families that gathered today in their entirety. Pompous prats, and all. How these children felt, she couldn't even imagine. "Tonks," she said hesitantly. It was one thing to blithely bring up the subject of adoption with her mother, quite another to broach it with her friend. She hadn't missed Tonks's surreptitious peeking at Fleur's burgeoning belly. "Have you thought about...well, about taking Elizabeth and David in? You're so fond of them, and it could only be good for David, couldn't it, having Remus to talk to?" As she spoke, it occurred to her that Remus had hardly befriended the boy. If anything, he appeared to be avoiding him, only venturing near when bullied into it by his girlfriend. Tonks looked both wistful and resigned. "Ginny, you don't know how much I want..." She broke off, lowering her voice. "I'd love to have them with me, you know that I would. But it's out of the question. Nobody knows that they're here at the Burrow except Aurelia. The file has been sealed. If Delltorio ever finds out that Elizabeth is an Animagus, it's a very short leap to realizing that it was she who blew the whistle on him. I already have a connection to that bastard; it's best that he never discovers my relationship with the Cowleys. Besides, those kids need stability, and with my job and Remus's work for the Order... The last thing they need is to lose someone else. I don't know what Remus would say, anyway. Children make him nervous." "Do they?" Ginny asked, startled. "But he's a teacher." "He reckons the little 'uns are different." Tonks rubbed her nose. "I've tried pointing out that four-year-olds are pretty well set, but..." They were briefly interrupted by Ron's bellow from the living room, ordering everyone to report at once for the gift exchange. Ginny found a seat on the least comfortable couch, the one on which a person could only sit for fifteen minutes before they found themselves subsiding rear-first into its depths. Tonks and Hermione plunked down on either side of her, and they all watched as the nephews -- and Ron -- practically wriggled with excitement. Shaking his head, amused, her father swung his wand and uttered a short, silly incantation. Instantly, the air was filled with swarming, brightly coloured parcels. Gifts flew out from under the tree, from inside rucksacks and the row of family stockings, and whirled frenetically about the room before finding their owners. The spell was of twin inspiration and, although the presents were supposed to swoop neatly into their recipient's lap, more often than not they collided with random noses, ears and foreheads. The next five minutes were confusing and hilarious as everyone struggled to collect their own booty. When the laughter died down, to be replaced with the sound of tearing paper and shouts of gratitude, Ginny turned back to Tonks, her mother's earlier comment echoing in her head. "Is it just me, or does this family have more than its fair share of stupid, noble people?" she asked, freeing a professional wand holster from its wrapping and waving it at Charlie in thanks. Tonks looked up from the gift she was struggling to open. "What do you mean?" she asked warily. "Seems to me as if everyone around here is prone to making decisions for other people -- denying other people loads of happiness because they think it might be too dangerous for them." Ginny gave her a contemplative stare. "Maybe you are more like Remus than you'd thought." Tonks's mouth quirked reluctantly. "Yeah, all right. Touché. But it doesn't change the fact that it is too risky. Call it selfish self-preservation, if you like. If I took full charge of those kids and something happened to them because of that, I'd never forgive myself. Never." Ginny recognized the expression that settled on her face. It was not stern, or bossy, or bad-tempered, but something in it warned her to let the subject drop. For now, anyway. "Tonks, can you not have children of your own?" She heard the question quite clearly, but couldn't believe that she'd dared to ask it. In all the years that she'd known her friend, she'd never even considered putting voice to such a sensitive issue. "Don't answer that," she went on immediately, watching guiltily as the heart-shaped face fell. "Merlin, I'm sorry..." "No, it's okay." Tonks tried to smile, her eyes on her hands where they'd stilled against the pink parcel. "I've always been a bit surprised, actually, that you haven't asked before." She wet her lips. "No, I can't." The statement was brief and painful. "Is it...is it the werewolf thing?" Ginny was sure that it was. She'd actually researched the topic, but there was almost no information out there, and even Hermione wasn't quite sure of the intimate details of lycanthropy. Tonks surprised her. "No," she said immediately. "Well, not solely that." Her gaze flickered to Remus, who was admiring his new Molly-knitted jumper with due appreciation. Harry, at his side, was already wearing his own and looked very fanciable in royal blue. "Werewolves have great difficulty in conceiving kids," Tonks continued slowly. "Even if they do manage to conceive, the foetus is usually damaged, and women rarely carry to full term. There aren't many werewolf babies around." "Are they born affected?" Ginny asked tentatively, worried that she might be pushing. Tonks shook her head. "It's a good thing, too," she said grimly, "or Greyback's dealings with young women would have extended to more than bites. Probably they did. Sick bastard. No, they're not born with lycanthropy. One in a thousand werewolves, maybe, can have a healthy child." She touched her hair with the tips of her fingers. "But Remus can't. Not with me, anyway." "You mean Metamorphmagi can't..." "Can't have babies, no." The other witch swallowed. "Our genetic code is completely screwy. The cells don't divide properly. Or something. A professor explained it to me once, but I didn't really need to hear the details." She shrugged. "Didn't even care, not when I was young. I never thought I was the maternal type, and I always knew that I wouldn't have kids. But I s'pose I never figured myself for a long-term relationship, either. It's all a bit different now." She looked at Remus again. "We're a family, the two of us, and it's bloody amazing. But...see all this? Your mum and dad's love is going to live on for centuries. It might live on forever. Isn't that something?" Ginny stared about the room, at her brothers, at her nephews, at the latest addition growing in Fleur's belly. It definitely was something. "Y'know, when I was little, my dad would tell me that I was special. That I was born under a changing star, during one of the short breaks in time when miracles happen." Tonks snorted. "It's not a miracle. It's a mutant gene. Even witches and wizards aren't supposed to do the things that I do." There was no hint of smugness in the words. Ginny traced the patterns of the silk scarf that Fleur had bought her in Paris. "There's no master plan of a perfect world, Tonks," she said after awhile. "Too many people seem to believe that there is, that there're rules for who has the right to be here and who doesn't quite fit the mold. The world is what it is, I reckon. You weren't a mistake; you're just an individual who belongs with the billions of other individuals. And you are special, but it has nothing to do with the morphing." She frowned. "I am sorry that you can't have what you want, though. I really am." Tonks squeezed her busy fingers. "You're a good kid, Ginny Weasley," she said, her voice a notch huskier than usual. "I hope Harry marvels daily at his luck. If he's ever in danger of forgetting, you let me know, and I'll biff the little squirt." A squeal rang out, and everyone turned to see Fleur brandishing a diamond bracelet and smothering Bill with kisses. Her mother sniffed a little, clutching her own gift from Bill -- a set of expensive bath oils. "It would have been more practical to buy something for the baby," she said snippily. "Given that you keep throwing out your things after each birth." Admiring the sparkle of her new acquisition, Fleur made a rude comment about hand-me-downs, and Molly retorted vigorously, "Perhaps you should make this the last one, then, if you intend to be so wasteful." "No, no!" The blonde witch cupped a possessive hand over her bump. "I must 'ave seven," she said firmly, "so I may 'ave my leetle girl." They already knew that the Weasley-to-be was another boy. It wasn't that surprising. Very few girls had ever been born into her father's side of the family. Fleur was determined, however, to get her "leetle girl". Despite the evidence of prior generations and the arguments of her husband, she was adamant that to have six boys first was the foolproof method of a producing a Weasley daughter. Ginny didn't care if they kept trying, though. She loved every one of her nephews, and the rest of her brothers appeared in no hurry to reproduce. Which was probably a good thing in the twins' case. Fondly, she watched the little boys playing with their new toys, almost buried under a mountain of wrapping. Their names had caused great debate in the household, with her mother resolute on having a say and Fleur equally vocal that it was none of her business. Bill had tactfully said nothing at all. Her sister-in-law preferred French or more flamboyant English names. Her mother liked simple English names, end of discussion. They had come to a fortunate compromise with straightforward French names. The result being that Alexandre, Jacques, Piers and Matthieu had joined the family in a steady stream of deliveries. It had been a narrow escape for poor Piers, who could easily have gone through life as Steele Weasley. Fleur had gone through an unfortunate period of listening to soap operas on the wireless during her third pregnancy. "Maybe the next two'll be twins," Charlie suggested, peeling the wrapper from a chocolate house-elf and tossing it in the air. As he caught it in his mouth, he added, "Be easier that way." "You'd be much bigger, though," their mother said ruefully, as Fleur brightened. "Much harder to lose the baby weight." The blonde scoffed. "Me, I don't 'old ze fat." It was a point both truthful and provocative. Ginny leaned in to whisper in Hermione's ear. "Voila - the real reason Fleur stopped going to birthing class. The other mothers tried to smother her with their pregnancy pillows." Hermione snorted with laughter and quickly pressed a fist to her mouth. As she opened the last of her gifts, Ginny was aware that she was sitting tensely. She couldn't resist frequent glances at her paging charm, just to make sure that it was active. They'd all been on-call for the last two Christmases, and both years they'd been summoned to some disturbance or other before the day was out. On her part, it was usually because someone had participated in a fight and needed her to log the paperwork. During the times she'd been at regular training camps, she hadn't been able to get home at all and had spent perfectly miserable festive seasons warding off dirt, bugs and a crabby Seamus. As it stood now, she was fully expecting an interruption to the day and was certain that it would be work-related. So it was something of a surprise when Fleur went into labour over Christmas dinner. It took a good minute of yelling on her part before anyone realized what was going on. Fred and George had designed a new range of particularly explosive wizard crackers, which put a person at risk of losing an eyebrow and which their mother had expressly banned. They'd obviously snuck them in on the sly that morning, and the resulting noise was loud enough to muffle even a roaring Frenchwoman. Bill was the first to understand the situation -- probably because his enlightenment coincided with a brutal pinch on the ribs. He immediately went into a nauseating display of solicitude, while their parents bustled about, gathering up her sister-in-law's things and firing off instructions to those staying behind. Fleur, meanwhile, was informing everyone from Ottery St. Catchpole to London of her distress, swearing in a mixture of French, English, and what sounded like Elvish. She also appeared very upset about something in particular, stamping her foot in response to Bill's shake of the head. "What's she on about?" Ginny asked Hermione, who shrugged, equally mystified. She was starting to wonder if the Delacours were a bit barmy -- it sounded as if Fleur wanted to go for a swim. "I think she wanted to have a water birth," Elizabeth said shyly, and Ginny realized that she must have understood the stream of French. The Cowleys were eyeing the scene warily, and even the nephews had backed away to a safe distance. Little Matthieu was the most sympathetic, shrieking right along with his mother from the confines of his playpen. "She read about it in Parisian Pregnancy," Bill said shortly, over his shoulder. He gingerly slipped his hands under his wife's arms, helping her up from the table. "Take me 'ome!" she burst out bossily, panting for breath. Her cheeks were slightly pink from exertion, her silvery head still immaculate. "I 'ave ze bath prepared." "Nonsense. We're going to St. Mungo's at once," said Molly briskly, opening the front door to shepherd them out. She looked rather scandalized, as if Fleur had proposed something indecent. "It's a baby, not a tadpole." "I hope you're taking notes, Potter," Charlie said cheekily, and Harry gave him a horrified look. "Do you need some help?" George asked his brother. "I could carry her outside." "Better let me take one side," Fred piped up. "George has no upper body strength, and she's a bit lar..." His voice trailed off. Although Bill was fully capable of carrying out the threat he uttered between clenched teeth, the prospect didn't seem to faze Fred at all. The look which Fleur turned upon him, however, caused him to take a step back. "All right, we're off," her father said, ignoring his sons' antics. "If we're not home by nightfall, could you put the boys to bed, please, Ginny?" She nodded, and noticed that Hermione and Tonks did the same. "Owl us when he starts crying," George called out as the party left. "I'm an old hat at cheering up scared babies." "It's early hours, yet," their mother said, fastening the last button on her coat. "It'll be awhile before the little one arrives." "I know," said George amiably. "I was talking about Bill." He recoiled as he, too, was made the recipient of the Veela Death Glare. After the door closed behind Bill, Fleur and her parents, the house settled into post-dinner lethargy. The under-fives were scooted upstairs for a nap; David was the only boy who went without protest. Hermione also went to sleep, tucked up on Ron's lap. Ginny watched her brother smooth down the hair escaping from her friend's plait, his head tilted back against the chair, his eyes closed. Harry pressed a quick, hard kiss to her cheek and went outside with Charlie to toss the Quaffle around. The twins bundled up and followed a few minutes later, prepared to practice their heckling. Remus withdrew to the kitchen, saying that he had some papers to mark, and she, Tonks and Elizabeth were left to chat quietly. Conversation was awkward, as Elizabeth said little, and Ginny didn't want to say anything to upset her. The topic of choice soon became the impending birth, as Tonks seemed set on forgetting her earlier bitterness. "I have to say, that didn't look a whole lot of fun," she commented. Ginny nodded. "It's going to last hours, too. Poor Fleur," she said, meaning it. "It's the crap side of the coin for Veela. They have incredibly long hours of labour. Usually between thirty and fifty hours." "Fifty hours?" Tonks blanched. "Bugger that for a joke." Hermione spoke up suddenly, the prospect of an exchange of facts apparently enough to rouse her from a deep slumber. "When it comes to childbirth, it'd definitely pay to be a house-elf," she commented, rubbing her eyes, and Ron groaned softly. "Most house-elves give birth within an hour of labour commencing," she finished, poking him. "It's one of the reasons why they were easy targets for enslavement," Elizabeth agreed, in her soft, husky voice. "Females could produce babies for the household and be back to their duties within hours of giving birth." Hermione sat up, accidentally elbowing her boyfriend in the gut and inciting another grunt. Her eyes sparked with interest as she looked at the younger girl. Due to Elizabeth's perfectly natural reticence, they'd had very little to do with another thus far. Ginny watched them curiously. The two were destined to be either kindred spirits or bitter rivals. "You're at Hogwarts, aren't you?" Hermione asked eagerly. When the teenager nodded, she continued, "I don't know if you've heard of S.P.E.W., but..." She started talking in a fast staccato, hands moving furiously, and Ginny exchanged looks with her brother. They simultaneously rolled their eyes. Hermione had found the perfect successor for her campaigns at school, and when she starting beating her fists against the arms of chairs, she meant business. The poor kid had no chance of escape now. Without thinking, she glanced at her paging charm again, and Tonks, who was watching the Clash of the Great Minds, caught the movement from the corner of her eye. "Worried we're going to get a call-in?" she asked. "Yes," Ginny said frankly. "I can't believe how quiet it's been the last few days. Not a hint of..." She looked at Elizabeth and caught herself. "Of either of them." "I wouldn't get too used to the peace," Tonks said grimly. "I have a feeling it's the calm before the storm again." Ginny motioned for Tonks to stand up and ushered her out to the hallway, before voicing the issue that had been troubling her. "I've been wondering - why would Delltorio stage the Cowleys' murder as if it were an 'O'Clock Killing'?" she asked, frowning. "It just strengthens the case against him. Does he want us to think that he's responsible for the others?" Tonks pulled the living room door closed and leaned against it. "I think there's a good probability that it's a rather unpleasant warning." "A warning to whom?" "To our other killer. I mean, let's face it. Trying to pin these murders on Delltorio is pretty damn risky. You could call it ballsy, or you could call it incredibly stupid." Tonks cocked a brow. "Look at what the bastard's done in retaliation for an imagined slight, and imagine what he'll do if he catches up with the perp before we do. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes." Ginny winced. "Do you think he knows who it is?" She wouldn't be surprised if the entire criminal circuit knew who it was; their Department was making such a bad showing. "If he knew, we'd be hunting one killer, not two. Simple as that." &&&&& The plan could have -- should have -- been carried out that day. It was absurd to be so sentimental about Christmas. A mistake to let emotions interfere with business. The next task would have to be carried out before the New Year. It was as simple as that. When it was over, the Jester would be apprehended. They'd catch him eventually, surely. And he deserved to be punished. A murderer. Like the others. They had to be punished. It was only just.
|