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Author: Cera Story: Eólach Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 16 Words: 10,981
Ginny hated being fussed over. It turned out, though, that her mother seemed to love fussing. It was quite the dilemma that Ginny was in—she found herself being constantly annoyed and weary of the attention she was receiving. It wasn’t that it was just her mother, it was everyone. Hermione, who was sleeping in the room off of the first landing in the house, was constantly at her side, except for when she was holed up with Ron and Harry. They thought that she didn’t notice, but Ginny did. For the past three days they’d ‘secretly’ met in Ron’s room for a few hours. This was usually the time that her mother was trying to engage Ginny in some sort of small talk. Not wanting to appear rude or ungrateful, she was as enthusiastic as she could be—which wasn’t much at times. It was just so hard to bond with her mother when it felt so forced. She wanted to be alone, wanted to think, but it seemed like she never could get the chance. Sitting at the breakfast table, she planned out in her mind how she would attempt to be alone today. Any minute now, she knew that Ron would finish eating and go upstairs. He was always the fastest at meal, barely talking as he gobbled up his food. Next, Harry would excuse himself and join Ron, leaving Hermione and Ginny at the table with Arthur, who was reading The Daily Prophet, and Molly who was most often cleaning or baking. Hermione would wonder aloud what she and Ginny would do today, and Molly would pipe in that she had a new recipe she wanted to try, and ask Ginny to help her with it. Of course, Ginny would agree politely, and Hermione would leave them to it, so that she could go and ‘read in her room’. Their pattern was simple to see. Today though, she was going to change it. Right on cue, Ron stood up. “I’m going up to my room,” he muttered as he took his plate to the sink. Ginny continued to eat her eggs and three minutes later, Harry rose. “Thanks for breakfast, Mrs Weasley.” “You’re welcome, Harry.” “I’m going to go and see what Ron’s up to.” Ginny glanced up just as Harry’s gaze swept over her. She smiled as he did. It appeared as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, he nodded and turned to leave the room. Once he was gone, Molly turned to Hermione. “What are you up to today, dear?” “Oh, I think that I’ll do some reading this morning. I’m not too sure about this afternoon, though. I was considering going into Diagon Alley tomorrow. There are a few books I wanted to pick up at Flourish and Blotts. Harry mentioned that he wants to run to Gringotts and I’m sure Ron wouldn’t mind stepping into Quality Quidditch Supplies. I thought that maybe the four of us—that’s including you, Ginny—could make a day of it.” “Really?” Ginny’s attempt the hide the excitement in her voice was a dismal failure. She would get to see something other than The Burrow! “I’m not sure Ginny would be up for that—“ Molly began. “Yes I would!” “We can leave after breakfast and have lunch there. There are a lot of places for Ginny to see, so we may be there for quite a while.” “Oh, well then—“ “I’ll talk it over with Ron and Harry; I’m sure they’ll be up for it. In fact, I’m going to go upstairs right now and do that. Thanks for breakfast, Mrs Weasley.” “Oh, you’re welcome, dear.” Ginny had to hand it to Hermione. She had a way of breezing by Molly’s objections, something that Ginny hadn’t managed to do yet. She didn’t care about that at the moment, her mind was focused on the next day. It was silly to be so excited, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe she’d see some friends from school—that was assuming that she had friends at school besides Hermione. Entertaining the thought that she didn’t was depressing, so Ginny pushed it aside, focusing on her excitement. Maybe her memories would be triggered by someone or something at this alley. She could only hope. Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s voice. “All finished, Ginny?” Ginny cursed inwardly. She was supposed to have left the room with Hermione, thereby breaking the daily cycle of baking lessons. “Yes, I’m done. It was delicious, thank you.” Her mother blushed slightly at the compliment, and Ginny wondered how often she got them. “You’re welcome, dear.” There was still a chance to join Hermione, Ron, and Harry. She just needed a good excuse to run upstairs. Tomorrow. That was a good reason. She could join them to talk about the next day, make some plans. She opened her mouth to say just that, but her mother spoke first. “Arthur, why don’t you show Ginny your shed?” Ginny’s eyes turned to her father, who was looking at her mother. “Don’t you have to go to work?” she asked him. Everyday after breakfast, her father had excused himself, patted Ginny’s shoulder, kissed her mother, and left for work. “I, uh, have the day off.” “Oh.” Molly was clearing the plates from the table as she spoke. “Your father wanted to work in his shed today, and thought that you’d like to help.” “I did?” At Molly’s look, he cleared his throat. “Right, yes I did. I thought you might like to see the… shed, Ginny. Of course, if you have something else…” “She doesn’t.” “I don’t.” “Oh, well then, I guess we should go before it gets too hot in there.” “Okay.” “There, that’s all settled. Have fun, Ginny. I’ll have lunch ready when you’re finished.” Ginny stood and followed her father out of the house. He didn’t look too happy with the situation, which wasn’t at all comforting. She was nervous, which was probably natural. She hadn’t really spent any read time with her father in the past few days, his work seemed to keep him very busy. She wondered how he managed to get the day off, secretly hoping that he wanted to spend some time with her. Judging by the look on his face, though, maybe he didn’t want to do this. Then again, maybe he was nervous, like her. Either way, Ginny was cheerful. She was always up for a change of pace. ** “It’s really quite hopeless, isn’t it?” Harry sighed as he closed yet another book. His remark was met with silence from Hermione who was pouring over another tome. Ron tossed his own book onto the pile in front of him. He was sitting—rather, lounging—on the floor next to the end of his bed. His posture may have exuded an air of indifference and nonchalance, but Harry knew better. Ron was almost quivering with the temper that hadn’t left him for days. “Nothing in that one, Ron?” asked Hermione, her disapproval of his treatment of a book evident on her face. “No, nothing,” he muttered. “Harry’s right. We won’t find anything, so what’s the bother?” It was the same conversation they’d had the day before, when the three of them had gathered in Ron’s room to search through books that Hermione had brought, looking for anything that might be relevant to Ginny’s condition. They were now on their fourth day of searching, and so far they had nothing. The strain was starting to show—Hermione and Ron looked as weary as Harry felt. “Your sister is the bother, Ron,” she snapped. “Or have you forgotten that she can’t remember anything about us?” Ron’s head shot up, and he swung his arm out, toppling a pile of books on the floor beside him. “How could I possibly forget when you keep reminding me, Hermione?” “I shouldn’t have to do that, Ron. I can’t believe you’re acting this way! She’s your sister!” “I know that. What do you think, that I’m stupid? That I’d forget?” “Of course not, Ron. I just don’t understand why you’re ready to give up so easily.” “Easily? You think this is easy?” “Ron—“ “We’ve been up here every day for hours looking through these useless books. How is that easy?” “I didn’t mean… I just think that we should keep looking.” “Well, I don’t. It’s a waste of time.” “But she’s you’re sister, Ron.” “Stop saying that! I know who she is! She’s my sister. Not yours, not Harry’s. Mine!” “Ron,” Harry started only to be silenced by Ron’s angry glare. “Just because she’s not my blood doesn’t mean I can’t care about her. I’m just trying to help, Ron, I don’t see—“ “Well you’re not helping. Don’t you get it?” Ron picked up a book and tossed it on the bed beside a startled Hermione. “All these stupid books?” He threw another. “They’re not going to do anything!” Another. “So just stop!” Harry saw Hermione tremble slightly as Ron stormed out of the room. She slid to the floor and started to pick up the books that had toppled over, placing them neatly back into a pile. Unsure of himself, Harry joined her on the floor, picking up scattered books as he went. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I never should have started—“ “It’s nothing, Harry. Ron’s just upset, that’s all. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything.” She gave him a smile that looked altogether fake, and Harry was sure he heard a sniffle after she turned away from him, picking up an armload of books. “Hermione, let me—“ “No, I’ve got them.” She waved his hand away as they stood up. She didn’t look at him as she continued. “I’m just going to… go outside for a while. It’s such a beautiful day, really, and I… well, I’d like to get some sun. Not too much, of course, I don’t want to burn. I’ll do a sun block charm, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Not that I’ll be out there long enough. I just want to do some reading. There has to be something useful, right? Even if there isn’t, we have to try. Well, I have to try. It’s the only thing I know how to do.” Her last words were only a whisper before she, too, fled the room, leaving Harry alone with piles of books and a heavy heart. ** Ginny slipped out the kitchen door as silently as she could manage. Stealing a glance behind her, she was relieved to find that no one was around to notice her departure. She was sure that if they had, someone would be accompanying her, and that was definitely not what she wanted. She needed space, needed air. After being cooped up in the house for four days, Ginny felt as if she were going to suffocate. Jogging slightly—lest someone catch her—she made her way past her mother’s garden. A few burly gnomes, afraid of being tossed over the fence, fled for cover as she brushed past. They needn’t have worried, as Ginny had no intention of stopping until she was out of the sight range of the house. Although not entirely comfortable with her reasons for seeking this solitude, she made her way to a small grove of trees about 100 yards from the house. It wasn’t that she didn’t relish the alone time she was taking, it was the feeling of guilt that crept inside of her for sneaking away. She’d left the moment she realised that she was alone in the kitchen. Lunch had just ended, and everyone had scattered. It had been a tense affair, although Ginny certainly had no idea why. Ron, Harry, and Hermione barely spoke to each other, especially Ron and Hermione. It was clear that they’d had some sort of row while they were convening in Ron’s room. About what, Ginny didn’t know. Nor did she really care at the moment, as long as it didn’t ruin the plans for the next day. Settling herself down against a tree, Ginny pulled out her notebook and quill, thinking about the morning with her father. ** Harry watched her from where he sat, only ten feet away. He knew that he should alert her to his presence, but couldn’t make himself lower the cloak. It was obvious that she wanted to be alone—why else would she come out by herself? He didn’t say anything, nor did he leave. He simply couldn’t seem to help himself. It had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to watch Ginny when she was unaware of him. Not that he had done it often—just a few times from across the common room at Hogwarts. He himself hadn’t been entirely cognoscente of his actions until Hermione had pointed them out. That had been embarrassing to say the least. He had no explanation to give as to why he was always watching Ginny, at least not until much later. Even then, he never shared those thoughts with anyone, as they were confusing and conflicted. When the war started in full force, he still hadn’t sorted them out. Now it didn’t seem like there was much of a point. Her life was a mess, and she certainly didn’t need him complicating it even more. He watched Ginny bite her lip and jot something down in her notebook. He wondered what she wrote in there, if there was anything about him. Resting his head back against the tree he closed his eyes. He couldn’t very well get up and leave now—he’d have to explain why he didn’t show himself right away. He didn’t want to have to explain his actions. No, he would stay where he was and watch over her. In a way, he was just protecting her, making sure that nothing happened to her. You never knew when something would happen. For all he knew, Ginny could be attacked by remaining Death Eaters, or a Lethifold, or a rampaging Hippogriff. It was a good thing that he was nearby in case that happened. ** She’d spent entire the morning with her dad, hanging around in his shed while he tinkered with things and generally looked uncomfortable—at least to start. Once they’d been pushed out of the house by Ginny’s mother, the conversation was jilted and awkward. Thinking of it now, Ginny wondered if their relationship had always been that way. Was she comfortable talking to her father about anything, or was she more prone to seek guidance from her mother? Staring at her notebook, in which she was compiling her facts and questions, she added a new one to the list. Daddy’s girl? It was possible that she was. Once the initial awkwardness had passed between them, Ginny had been delighted by her father. Arthur Weasley was—in Ginny’s mind—simply adorable. She wrote those words on a new page, dedicated solely to her father. Clearly, he was fascinated with Muggles, as his shed demonstrated. Gadgets of all shapes and sizes lined the dusty shelves, and as he’d pointed certain ones out to her, his voice had been laced with pride and schoolboy excitement. Ginny was sure that he would start bouncing on the balls of his feet when he uncovered his latest acquisition—a microwave oven. At first, Ginny humoured him, voicing the occasional ‘oooh’ and ‘aaaah’ where it seemed appropriate, but in no time, she had been caught up in his fascination. He was right, Muggles were fascinating creatures. They had the neatest tools. Then again, living without magic must be very difficult for them. She couldn’t get over the genius it must have taken to invent some of the things her father had—like a wand type instrument that started fires. It seemed just like magic. Ginny shook her head, she was sounding just like her father. The thought made smile as she continued writing in her notebook. Arthur Weasley was a fascinating man. She couldn’t help but fall in love with him as he babbled over the merits of electric versus handheld can openers. ** Authur Weasley sat slumped on a stool inside his shed—his Aladdin’s cave. He felt foolish and silly now that Ginny had left. A microwave. He’d shown her his new microwave oven for Merlin’s sake. Couldn’t he have come up with something else to say to her? She was his daughter, his youngest child, and he’d been unable to utter a word, save for some bumbling explanations about his newest gadgets. Now that she was gone, he could think of many things he’d like to say to her. Of course, he’d never had a way with words, so his lack of finesse shouldn’t have been a surprise. He could still recall, with utter clarity, the moment she had entered their lives, wailing like a banshee. A daughter. He and Molly had hoped for a girl for so long, and when she’d finally come, he’d wept in gratitude and awe. She was beautiful, and as a little girl, she had been everything that a father could hope for—inquisitive, imaginative, and full of energy. He only wished that he could have kept her in pigtails forever. He couldn’t, though, and she’d grown—much faster than she should have. Her childhood ended with Tom Riddle, and Arthur could still remember that utter helplessness he’d felt upon learning of all that she’d gone through. They hadn’t known—he hadn’t known—that his youngest was suffering alone. Watching her from beside her hospital bed, for the first time in his life, he’d felt like a failure as a father. At that moment, he had vowed to be a better parent, to protect his children from the horrors that youth should never witness. “Failed again, Arthur,” he muttered with a sense of disappointment only a parent could understand. Once again, his baby girl had been at the hands of a madman, and he hadn’t been there. Rationally, he knew that it wasn’t possible for him to keep her near all of the time, but a part of him couldn’t forgive himself for being away when she needed help. Most likely, he wouldn’t have been able to prevent what had happened. He was Authur Weasley, a wizard of no extraordinary talent. Draco Malfoy, a boy more than half his age, would probably have bested him in a duel. “Maybe I could have challenged him to a bicycle race,” he murmured. “I’m quite good at those.” Pulling out his swinging pendulum, he set the balls in motion. It was one of his favourite Muggle objects, watching the pendulum swing back and forth always seemed to cheer him up when he needed it. Today, though, he couldn’t make himself smile and forget the visit with Ginny. He’d shown his seventeen year old daughter, who had no memory of herself or him, his microwave. He’d rambled on about his bicycle and his can openers like a child. She must think him the biggest fool in the world. And he wouldn’t blame her. _
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