PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: rich.sanidad

Story: One Blink

Part: 07: Picking Up the Pieces

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-DH

Status: Completed

Reviews: 4

Words: 5,165

Updated: June 30, 2009, 8:54pm

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07: Picking Up the Pieces

Ginny barely had time to recover from the gut-wrenching feeling of Apparition when she heard her mother’s frantic voice approaching from the direction of the house.

“GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!” she shouted as she stomped out of the back door. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

The young witch winced as her mother approached, fury etched in her face. By the time she had reached her daughter, Molly had built up a full head of steam and showed no signs of ending her tirade any time soon.

“... and after all of the precautions we’ve taken to keep this family safe, you just rush off after Ron and Hermione, ignoring my calls from the kitchen. If I hadn’t taken time to get your father I would have—What were you thinking? I have half a mind to—”

“I was with her,” interrupted Fleur.

Molly stopped abruptly and turned to the once-beautiful young witch. She blinked in startled realisation that Fleur had been standing there all along. Looking at the long scar that always drew everyone’s attention, Molly’s face softened, her heart obviously aching for the young woman. There was a time when she went out of her way to avoid her would-be daughter-in-law. Now, she wanted nothing more than to bring her home.

“Would... would you like to come inside?” Molly asked hopefully.

Unfortunately, Fleur just shook her head gently. “Sorry, Maman, you know I can not. I am already late for my next... appointment.”

“Please, just this once...” Molly never got to finish her protest as Fleur threw the hood of her cloak over her head, turned away, and ran for the paddock. Seconds later, a soft pop indicated that she was gone.

Off to the side, Ginny watched the unusual interaction in confusion. Did Fleur just call her mother “Maman”?

“Come on then, Ginny,” said her mother tiredly after staring at the paddock for a few seconds. “Let’s get inside. I’m sure your father would like to speak with you.”

As she shuffled into the kitchen, Ginny's eyes were cast downward. Suffering through her mum’s yelling was one thing, but having to deal with the disappointment she expected to see in her father’s face was another. Arthur Weasley rarely raised his voice, and there were times when his children wished he would just unleash his anger as their mother did. But that was simply not who he was. Besides, Molly had enough of a temper for the both of them.

As Ginny sat down, her mother placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

“Thanks, Mum.”

Molly’s only response was a tired sigh as she poured a cup for herself and sat down next to her husband. “Fleur was here,” she said softly.

Ginny did not hear her father respond in any way, nor did she see any reaction as she continued to avoid his eyes. She rotated her cup in her hands, wishing the tea was a bit cooler so she could drink it down in one gulp, giving her one less reason to remain at the table. It was definitely one of those times where she would have preferred getting scolded and sent to her room so she could get lost in her own thoughts. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel Harry’s hand in hers, gently stroking the spot he had kissed all those months ago. Part of her knew it was folly to get lost in her memories of him so often, but there were so precious few of them to enjoy. Just as she was working out what she could say to excuse herself, her father cleared his throat.

“Are... are you all right?” he asked gently.

She nodded penitently. “Yeah... sorry. Fleur... took care of me. ”

Arthur nodded slightly. He looked down at the table as he gathered his thoughts. Molly was wringing her hands slowly, the cup of tea she had brought to the table for herself untouched. She was probably only half-aware of what she was doing.

“And... the others?”

“They’re... fine.” Ginny swore silently in her head for using Harry’s annoying standard answer.

Her father nodded again, although his eyes had a distant look about them.

“Mum, Dad... I... I’m sorry,” offered Ginny quietly. “I just... when the—”

She was interrupted when she saw her dad raise his hand. “The less we know about how you found Harry or where he is now—and especially where he may be going—the better.”

“Oh... o-okay...” Ginny could not help the surprised look on her face. Ever since she stepped off the Hogwarts Express, her parents had been displaying unusual behaviour—for them, anyway. Of course, she had been quite distracted from it all by Ron and Hermione’s unexpected presence, but it was well past time to find out what had been going on while she was away.

“You’re wondering why we’re not more... intrusive,” he continued.

The young witch nodded, thankful that they were suddenly open to discussing things.

“Your mother and I have had many long, difficult talks since... since we lost Bill.”

Ginny swallowed thickly, her eyes focussed on a spot in the centre of the table. From the corner of her eye, she could see her mother wiping the corner of hers.

Her father was obviously struggling with how to put his thoughts into words. “We decided that it was time to be more... realistic with our expectations of this war. Although we’ve always loved Harry as one of our own, we knew we could never really hold him back when he decided that it was time to do his part, whatever it may be. And, to be honest, a part of me was eager to see him go.”

Ginny started to open her mouth to protest, but her father raised his hand once again. “Please, let me finish. I don’t mean to imply that we wanted to send him out to face You-Know-Who like some sort of sacrificial lamb, but I can’t deny that we want to see this war end sooner rather than later. And quite frankly, anyone with a modicum of intelligence can see that Harry has a pivotal role in that.”

Arthur looked up for confirmation that his daughter understood his point. A simple nod conveyed her assent, and he ploughed on.

“Of course, the corollary to all of this is that we had to come to terms with Ron and Hermione leaving too. Like Harry, we have no claim on Hermione, though we love her dearly, but I...”

Molly sighed as she wiped away more tears.

“Well, quite frankly, your brother is of age now—a man in his own right... and one that I’m quite proud to call my son.”

Ginny needed a few moments to digest everything her father had just told her. “So... you... approve... of them going with Harry?”

Her father shook his head in the negative. “That’s probably too strong a word. It’s one thing to accept that they have to go out and do their part in the war,” he said tightly. “I helped with the ghoul and the spattergroit story after all... But nothing can prepare you for actually living with those decisions.”

He seemed to sense how much he was adding to his wife’s distress and gently took her hand; she eagerly accepted it and clasped it firmly in both of hers. Silence descended upon the table. Ginny knew that they were all thinking of their three lost sheep, as it were.

“M-Mum?” she said after several minutes.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Molly gave her daughter a wan smile. “Of course, dear.”

“Why did Fleur call you ‘Maman’?”

The Weasley matriarch took a deep breath. “Well, the short answer to that question is that it’s a familiar way of addressing one’s mother, just as you kids call me ‘Mum’—except for Percy, of course.”

“But—”

“... why would she call me that?”

Ginny nodded.

“There’s no short answer to that question, I’m afraid. You recall that the Order has been trying to locate Fleur ever since we suspected her of doing those rogue attacks?”

Ginny nodded again, maintaining her silence.

“I happened upon her one evening when I was retrieving a basket I’d left in the back garden. I was quite startled, to say the least.”

“Did she say what she was doing there?” asked Ginny.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask her,” replied her mother. “Once we made eye contact, she started going on about how we needed to vary our schedules a bit—that we were too predictable.”

“Too predictable? For what?”

“For an ambush, apparently. She was worried that it would be too easy for any Death Eaters who wanted to attack us to do so.”

“So... Death Eaters have been watching the house?”

“I really can’t say. But I’m fairly confident that she took measures to keep us safe.”

“Rather pointless advice then, wasn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. We can’t be too careful in these times. Unfortunately, she left before I had a chance to say anything else. But... she came back.”

“She did?”

“Oh, yes,” said Molly with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Once I knew to look for her, it became easier to find signs that she’d returned. Somehow, she’d taken it upon herself to act as our guardian angel, of sorts. It became rather like a game for us, I suppose, her trying to find a hidden place to stand watch over us and me trying to find her. It was only a matter of time before I had worked out her favourite spots; I began leaving her things to eat and would find the remains in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you just invite her inside?”

“I did... many times.” At this point, her mother’s face grew sadder. “Especially when...” She sighed. “It seemed like each time I saw her, she had a limp... or some new scar...”

Her mother’s voice weakened on her last few words, and Ginny nodded sadly. She took a few moments to ponder what she had learned, and her parents were content to let her do so.

“Er... I think I can understand why she’s been attacking Death Eaters, but why does she always come back here? She’s not... I mean... we lost Bill before they could...”

When her mother did not answer right away, Ginny furrowed her brow. She was not finding the right words to ask what she wanted to know.

“I did get her to stay for a bit once,” Molly began after a few minutes, “and I asked her that very question.”

“What did she say?” Ginny did not notice that she had leaned forward in her anxiousness.

“She said... she said someone had to make them pay for taking Bill away from us too soon. And she... she vowed that we wouldn’t ‘lose another child while she still breathed.’”

It took several moments for Ginny to realise that her mouth was open. That did not sound like Phlegm at all.

“I couldn’t believe it either, at first,” said her mother, who seemed to be drawing strength from her husband’s hand, still held tightly by her own. “But then I looked into those crystal blue eyes of hers, and it dawned on me how much I had underestimated her... how much she had truly loved Bill.

“Later that night, your father’s words finally started to break through to me.” After a pause, she added, “... and here we are.”

“Here we are,” repeated Arthur with a squeeze of her hand.

Ginny leaned back into her chair, her mind swirling with various thoughts and emotions.

“Are you all right, dear?” her mother asked worriedly.

“Yeah... I just... it’s a lot to take in all at once.” Ginny looked up as she said this and saw her mother give her a weak smile.

Quiet reigned over the kitchen again. At first, Ginny felt as if she was going to stay up all night thinking over everything that had happened to her in the last few hours. But her adrenaline eventually dissipated almost as quickly as it had come to her, and she was soon beginning to nod off in her seat.

“Perhaps you should go to bed,” said her mother.

Ginny yawned as she pushed her seat back and stood up. “Yeah... thanks, Mum... Dad.”

“Sleep well,” said her father, his face now back to its usual kind expression.

Just as she was about to reach the stairs, however, she turned back to the kitchen. “Can I ask one more thing?”

Her father had raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Go on.”

“How does Fleur think she can watch over all of us? I mean... the twins are in Diagon Alley, Ron is... with Harry, and I’m usually at school.”

“And Percy’s in London,” her mother added. Ginny ignored this.

“She has her ways,” said Arthur. “She’s there when it counts.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that George and Remus owe her one.”

Harry looked deep into the forest as each of his hands played idly with a slender piece of wood. He still could not comprehend everything that had happened over the last few days. For the first time in weeks, he was thinking clearly—and most importantly, on his own. The part of it that felt most surreal was the fact that when he was still under the influence of the locket, he thought that he was acting freely and purposefully. But it was only now that he realised how powerful the illusion of control really was. And as much as he did not want to admit it, part of him missed it.

Ron and Hermione—well, mostly Ron, actually—had spent the morning filling him in on everything that led up to last night’s rescue, including everything they had learned about the latest events at the Ministry during their brief respite at The Burrow. He remained silent throughout their report, often pursing his lips instead of blurting out the questions on his mind; he did not feel he had a right to know everything yet. Harry kept his head down the entire time, blatantly avoiding eye contact and never voicing his curiosity as to why Hermione was being so quiet. Even now, he found it uncomfortable to be around them and had made up a story about investigating a noise he had heard outside the tent—not that he could have done anything about it if he had actually found trouble. He looked down at the two halves of his beloved wand and sighed.

He could still remember Hermione’s scared, penitent expression when she finally told him about his wand and their narrow escape from the Bagshot house. Half of him was scared to death of what its loss implied, while the other half considered it penance for his earlier sins. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was going to need to acquire another wand before he even thought of going after any more Horcruxes.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” said Ron’s unexpected voice from the doorway of the tent.

Harry looked up and back over his shoulder. “No... of course not.”

The lanky young man nodded as he took a seat on a flat rock across from his brooding friend. Harry half-expected him to say something, but was glad when Ron let the silence linger for a bit. After several minutes, it was actually Harry who decided to start the inevitable conversation.

“So... I’m... uh... sorry. You know... about everything.” Harry could not help but notice that he needed new laces for his trainers. And that Ron’s legs seemed to be longer than he remembered. And that the thing that just crawled under the log he was sitting on looked vaguely like a Moke. He guessed that Ron had nodded or something when he did not say anything right away.

“Hermione said we underestimated how powerful You-Know-Who’s influence really is. It’s probably best if we keep the locket in her bag for now,” said Ron quietly.

Harry nodded his agreement. He was in no position to argue, after all.

“You’d think we’d know better by now,” continued his best friend.

“Yeah...” Harry fidgeted in place. He had thought it was going to be easier talking to Ron first, but he could not even summon a weak smile at his friend’s small attempt at humour.

“And... erm... just so we don’t have too many things in her bag, I’m going to keep the Deluminator with me.”

Harry nodded. Ron did not have to lie. They both knew that Ron was going to make sure Harry never ran off on his own again, and certainly not with the opportunity to grab the locket and the Deluminator in one fell swoop.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” said Ron after a few minutes of silence.

“Do what?” Harry let his curiosity get the better of him as he finally looked up to make eye contact with Ron.

“This... blaming yourself for everything that happens.”

“But, it was my fault.”

“No... it wasn’t.”

“Are you mental? I almost got you killed!”

“Wrong again.”

Harry shook his head. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. It’s just too bloody obvious what started everything.”

“So, you’re the one who killed Bathilda Bagshot?”

“What? No, of course not—”

“Then you must have been the one who hid the snake in her carcass.”

“Well, no—”

“So you must have been the one to create the Horcrux.”

“All right, all right,” said Harry exasperatedly. “Volde—”

“OI!” interrupted Ron. “The jinx!”

“Right,” said Harry apologetically. “Sorry.”

Ron sighed tiredly. “You were saying?”

Harry let out a tired breath before continuing. “I was just trying to say that I get it. He’s the one to blame... not me.”

“And?” Ron arched an eyebrow as he said this.

“And... erm... I can’t do it alone?”

Ron nodded, obviously satisfied by his friend’s response. Harry frowned during the ensuing lull in the conversation.

“You drew the short straw, then?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” said Ron.

“This... making sure I’ve got my head on straight. It’s tough to imagine that you wanted to... you know, talk about things.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders and looked away. He seemed to be searching the forest for something on which to focus, anything except Harry.

“It’s not like we had a lot to do while we were at The Burrow, except talk—or argue, I guess, if I was with Hermione.”

One of Harry’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. Ron and Hermione’s bickering had diminished greatly since they had officially become a couple. The last thing he needed was to learn that he had become a source of division for them.

“Besides,” Ron continued, “we decided that it would be... easier on you this way.”

“In other words, you didn’t want to see me do a runner again.”

“Well...”

“It’s all right,” said Harry with a frown. “I wouldn’t trust me just yet either.”

Ron tried to respond, but nothing satisfactory came to mind. He looked at his friend with a sad frown. He and Hermione were going to have to come up with something to bring back the Harry they used to know: the one who did not shy away from eye contact, the one that would lead them to find and destroy the rest of the Horcruxes, the one who would be able to face Voldemort without flinching.

Ginny stared at the ceiling of her bedroom as she lay in bed. She was quite comfortable, with her hands behind her head and her legs crossed at the ankles, but she certainly was not enough at ease to have a kip, as she had told her mother she wanted to do. In the past she would have been surprised that her mother was not nagging her to perform one chore or another, but last night’s conversation had changed all that. Before climbing the stairs, Harry had hugged her mother in thanks for letting her have some more time to continue trying to come to terms with everything she had recently learned.

One of the first things that came to Ginny’s mind was how difficult it was going to be to return to Hogwarts now that she had seen Harry. On the one hand, it was a relief to know that he was alive and that Hermione and Ron would be taking care of him—better this time, hopefully. However, it was going to be more difficult trying to deflect inquiries on their whereabouts. Earlier in the year, when she had said that she had no knowledge of where they were, she was telling the truth. Now... well, she was just going to have to put her acting skills to good use. Her life would probably depend on it.

She wondered if it was going to be more difficult trying to fall asleep at night without her fantasies to fool her into thinking that Harry was all right. She sighed out loud, and her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. He had looked quite dreadful, even with the serenity that came with being asleep. She shook her head, trying to remove the image of his emaciated frame from her mind, but it was no use. There was just no denying the harshness of his situation. But Ginny hoped that this time, Harry would find something more tangible to see him through the darkness.

Harry stared at the parchment he had unfolded and read it for what must have been the hundredth time. He did not know why he kept bringing it out. By now he had memorized every slanting loop and stray ink mark that had been left by I’s quill. But every time he read it again, he could almost hear her voice saying the words into his ear, and the daydream was intoxicating.

He exhaled audibly as one of his fingers traced her signature. To say that he had been surprised to find the folded note under his pillow would be an understatement. And after he had actually read it...

“Staring at her dot again?”

Harry’s head whipped around at the sound of Hermione’s voice. He could almost hear Moody shouting, “Constant Vigilance!”, at being caught unaware for the second time in as many days.

“Sorry?”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to hide it. We know you’ve been staring at her dot on the map for months.”

“Oh! Right... well...”

“It’s all right. I think it’s rather sweet, actually.”

“Erm... right,” said Harry uncomfortably as he tried to surreptitiously fold and tuck the parchment into his back pocket.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry had to force himself to make eye contact with his bushy-haired friend. He and Ron had begun to come to terms with things yesterday, but he had not yet begun reaching out to Hermione.

“Would you like to come inside for some supper?”

“Erm...” Harry looked at his friend as he tried to come up with an excuse to delay having his meal until later, but the anxious expression on her face stopped him. She looked almost exactly as she had when she had first told him of his wand. It was then that he realised that she was probably just as apprehensive about beginning the healing process with each other as he was.

“Yeah, sure... I’m quite hungry, actually,” he lied.

But he was rewarded by a small smile as she turned and headed back into the tent, and he knew that he had done the right thing.

Five minutes later, Harry was lifting a spoon to his lips, bracing himself for what he was about to put into his mouth. He took one sip of the stew and was utterly shocked.

“What is this?”

“You don’t like it?” Hermione’s face was the picture of disappointment.

“On the contrary, it’s quite good.”

Hermione’s face relaxed visibly, and she returned her focus to her own meal. “It’s a simple chicken stew—not that there’s much chicken in it. I even used some of those mushrooms we always find in the forest. I’ve just added some leeks and other herbs to it to make it more palatable.”

“That’s great, Hermione. Thanks,” said Harry. He saw another small smile, this time with a slight tinge of colour in her cheeks as well. Harry almost cracked a smile himself.

“When this is all over, you can thank Mum too,” said Ron as he stood up to fill his bowl with a third helping.

Harry looked at his best friend in confusion, silently asking him to elaborate, which Ron did as he walked back to the table.

“Well, one of Mum’s first questions when we showed up at The Burrow was about how we had been getting on with food and all. I tried to stretch the truth a bit, but she wasn’t having any of it. Said it was pretty obvious that things weren’t going well because of how much weight Hermione had lost.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“What about you? Didn’t she say anything about you losing weight?”

“Nah. I’ve always been somewhat thin. Anyway, one thing led to another and before we knew it, she had filled another enchanted bag with all sorts of food supplies so that we wouldn’t suffer as much when we found you again.”

“But... you mean she...” Harry’s brows were knitted in confusion as he looked down at his bowl.

Hermione opened her mouth but closed it again without speaking a word. She briefly made eye contact with Ron, and then ate another spoonful of stew.

Ron frowned at Hermione’s silence, but answered Harry’s unfinished question. “A lot’s changed, mate. My parents still aren’t thrilled about us having to do this... but they’ve more or less accepted that it needs to be done.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m s—”

“Harry...” Ron’s voice had that odd quality that could normally be found in parents’ voices when they were warning their offspring to cease and desist before any actual mischief occurred.

The raven-haired young wizard looked up from his food and at his friend. There was a slight frown on Ron’s face, one that he had not seen since yesterday morning. Harry sighed.

“Right. Sor—erm... it’s not an easy habit to break.”

Ron shrugged a single shoulder as he sat back down.

“It’s just tough to imagine your parents—your mum especially—being all right with everything.”

Ron grimaced. “I wouldn’t say that exactly... but they’re eager to see the end of the war.”

Harry sighed again. “They’re waiting for me to end it.”

“Come on, Harry... It’s rather obvious that you’re going to be a big part of it; even Mum could see it.”

“I suppose...”

“She said she couldn’t wait for you to kick his arse.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit involuntarily, and his eyebrows rose as a result. “I suppose next you’ll be telling me that the twins are closing the joke shop and opening their own branch of Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“No... Gladrags.” Ron’s face remained stoic.

The two friends looked at each other solemnly for a few moments, before bursting into laughter. Their mirth was so infectious that Hermione could not help but join in. Once the levity had played itself out a bit, she and Harry happened to pick up their napkins to wipe their mouths at the same time. When their eyes made contact, a giggle escaped Hermione’s lips, and before they knew it they were lost in laughter once again. When normal conversation resumed, Harry was finally asking the questions he had been wanting to ask, and much to his delight, both Ron and Hermione were answering him. They even began making plans for finally leaving the Forest of Dean. It was already dark when they finally ran out of things to say.

“All right, I’ll go ahead and take the first watch tonight. Thanks, you two... for everything.”

Ron waved him off. “Just hold up your end like we talked about yesterday.”

Harry nodded, with a smile for once.

“Does this mean you’re not... angry at us?” Despite the progress they had made that evening, Hermione’s voice still had not regained its normal assertiveness.

“No. It’s time for us to look ahead at what needs to be done, so we can get on with our lives... together.”

Hermione beamed at him. “So, you admit that you’re glad to have us back?”

“Of course,” replied Harry as he put on his cloak. “I forgot the tent.”

Ron laughed heartily as Harry was chased out of the tent by several angry canaries.

Harry felt a slight chill when a light breeze blew through their campsite, and he pulled the cloak tighter around himself. He looked back over his shoulder at the entrance to the tent; it was the fourth time he had done so in the past half hour. He had also stood up from his post three times during his watch to investigate noises he had heard deeper into the forest. As he exhaled, he shook his head at his own paranoia. How was he going to lead his friends through the remainder of their mission if he was as jumpy as Professor Quirrell?

He heard a twig snap in the distance, and for once he knew it was not his imagination playing tricks on his mind. He pulled out Ron’s wand and slowly stood up. As he crept around the side of tent, his breath caught at the unexpected vision in the distance.

It was a doe. But not just any doe. It was ghostly white and was emanating a silvery glow. A Patronus. But whose? Kingsley’s was a lynx. Wasn’t Tonks’ Patronus a wolf-like creature? Had he ever seen Professor McGonagall conjure one? He was reasonably sure that no Death Eater would have such a gentle creature as their Patronus. Could Death Eaters even summon a Patronus? Harry took a chance to take a quick glance behind him at the tent. There was no noise coming from it, and he wondered if he should wake the others.

But the doe suddenly made a gesture with its head as it turned to its left, as if imploring Harry to follow it. Instinctively, he tightened the grip on the wand in his hand, even as the perspiration in his palms countered that action. Indecision racked his mind. He had promised to include his friends in everything, but he also knew that he was lacking in his confidence to lead them. His free hand made its way into his pocket, and he fingered the well-worn parchment he had read another dozen times during his watch. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Ginny was no fool. He took a couple deep breaths, and then his face tightened in determination as he set off after the silver doe.

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