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Author: passionflower89 Story: Hope Keeps the Fire of Love Burning Rating: Everyone Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 22 Words: 11,357
Adela sighed contentedly in her comfortable surroundings. She sat, with her feet curled beneath her like a cat, in a large, soft armchair. Her head was resting lightly on the cushioned back of the chair, and a heavy book lay open on the armrest. Outside, the weather was bitingly cold. The wind whistled through the dark streets and the windowpanes creaked every now and then from the pressure. She had come back from another walk to find an empty house and she had not been able to resist a snug reading fest. Beside her a huge fire crackled and the flames danced around the pieces of coal majestically. She could feel the warmth rush into her body and she relished the wonderful fuzzy feeling she got as her fingertips felt the light pages of text and the heat tingled in her cheeks. On her lap was a large bar of chocolate that she had felt was a must. Every other page she reached down to break a piece off and slip it into her mouth, moaning slightly as the sugary sweetness covered her taste buds. It felt strange to her that, despite living in the apartment for almost half a year, she only ever felt home when she was in a corner reading. She had found that reading could easily take away her pains and anxiety. The public library in particular was a sanctuary for her and she loved the way her mind raced when she was open to the vastness of literature. John had found her intense cravings for knowledge amusing and had suggested that she craved it merely because she also craved the knowledge of who she really was. She knew better though. Something inside her told her that somehow she always liked to read. Perhaps this was why it had become so much of a comfort to her, because it was a fraction of a link to her past. At the moment she was holding a very large, very old volume of text that she daren't show John. It was titled, Sorcery and the Ancient Crafts. Whilst perusing the aisles, shelf after shelf, this particular book stood out to her. It was nothing extraordinarily different. The cover was brown and peeling and the title was embossed in small-defined gold letters. The pages were yellowing in age and sometimes a dusty residue would wipe off from her fingertips. A musty smell emitted from the pages and she breathed it in wholly, whilst flickering her eyes over the words. The content was interesting to say the least; it covered many aspects of witchcraft and symbolic rituals. Adela had so far learnt of ancient history and culture surrounding the topic from places such as South Africa and India. She traced a finger lightly over a drawing of a dragon, scales a dulled red and eyes piercing. She felt a shiver run down her spine and she shut her eyes. Her head was throbbing, but as her eyes clapped shut another image unfolded before her. A dragon, a huge black dragon, rearing its large ugly head, shooting fire, swinging back and forth a long spiked tail, for some reason a wave of panic surged through her body and her hands flew up to her face covering her eyes and pressing hard into her cheeks. In a matter of seconds the dragon was gone and she peered into the depths of the fire, squinting slightly as the blaze of light attacked her senses. Dragons? She shook her head lightly in confusion, raising her hands to now tinged pink cheeks and winced as she felt a few small welts where her fingernails had dug into her flesh. She did not want to even contemplate why she was having visions of a huge black dragon, and she pushed aside the feelings of horror and fear from her. This whole thing was ridiculous. Each vision was getting weirder and weirder, yet somehow she could not seem to toss them aside as nightmares -- they felt extremely real -- and this fact alone truly terrified her. She shut the book and put it aside. She plucked up the last piece of chocolate and bit into it. The fire had made it soft and creamy. She concentrated on chewing, and on the taste, and soon enough her rough feelings ebbed away. Standing up, she placed her book on the chair and stretched, pulling her arms high above her head. She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fire and stared unabashedly at herself. Her brown hair was radiant in the dancing firelight and her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat. Her hair, in all its bushiness, was completely a mess, more so than usual. She had attempted to tame it in a large thick plait of curls, but the shorter hairs had escaped in clumps at the front and was now fraying in all directions, making her look slightly like a lion. She sighed exasperatedly and reached to quickly try to redo the plait. Unsuccessful, she tied it in a knot at the nape of her neck, tucking the frizzy tendrils falling around her face behind her ears; she went into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of cold water. She sat down lazily on a stool. She felt her mind wander to the red headed man once more. She felt so lost and confused and thoroughly frustrated, a part of her wanted to know who he was more than she wanted to know who she was herself. She twiddled her fingers and grasped a pen from the workspace lightly. She imagined being near the man, pulling her fingers through his fiery hair. She imagined with a small twitch at the corner of her lips what it would be like to kiss him… This whole situation was a mess. She kept having visions from her past that were so strange that they were unlikely to be true and now she was fantasizing about a man she not only didn't remember, but also didn't even know if he was a real person at all. She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, squeezing her eyes shut. She jumped slightly as the door clicked opened and shut. "Adela?" John's voice was soft and questioning. "I'm awake," she grumbled in reply. He walked through the partition and tilted his head at her. "Anything wrong?" She knew better than to tell him about the dragon so she just shook her head softly. "Just confused as usual." Her mind drifted away once again, but she was brought out of her stupor as she felt John's shadow tower over her. "What's this?" With a huge effort she lifted her head to look at what John was motioning to. It was an old envelope that had been lying on the workspace but it was covered in little doodles that she had subconsciously been making, during her line of deep thought. Frowning, she reached up and took it from his hands. Staring at the picture closely, her eyes widened and she mumbled something to John about rubbish doodling, and with an exclamation that she was in fact very tired, she moved quickly to her room and shut the door. She lifted the picture up to her eyes once more. She could not understand it, for the life of her. Shaking her head slightly, she tossed it aside onto her bed and moved into her bathroom to brush her teeth. The envelope drifted slowly through the air and wafted until it hit the sheets. The front was covered in little scribbles, but the main part of the drawing, though sketchy, was unmistakably an old key. What was strange about it, however, was that it seemed to have sprouted wings. **** It was soon around one in the morning, and Adela still hadn't fallen asleep. The moon shone brightly through the gap in the curtains and cast a faint silvery glow about the walls. Her eyes were glazed over as she absentmindedly stared at the light. She had now become accustomed to a dull ache in her head. She knew it wasn't a physical problem, she didn't know how, but she did. The reason that she was so unhappy had to do with her past and the fact that it was still lingering within her, with her powerless to uncover it. John didn't seem to understand. He was her friend and he tried, but there was something mysterious happening in her mind. She had researched amnesia, and forgetfulness of one's past and she knew that it was normal to feel unsettled, perhaps as if she was incomplete. She also knew that the level of her symptoms were higher than they should be. John had marvelled how she seemed so adept at analysing and deciphering concepts that she put her mind to. "You have a great mind," he had said. She didn't care. If her mind was so great then why couldn't she figure this all out? Her past was a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. She had a strange feeling that as young as she seemed to be, she had been significantly important for something. She reached to her bedside table, for the envelope with her drawing on it. She had not even realised that she had been drawing anything in the first place. She grimaced as she saw the artistic detail enamoured into it. The key was old looking and seemed rusty, it was hard to tell in a biro drawing. The wings were firm, but looked slightly cramped as if it had been tightly enclosed within a fist. Leaning back on her pillow she closed her eyes and let her mind wander to the most recent visions of her past. She remembered that when she had first been discovered, bruised and alone, by John that she had not had a glimpse of a flash for around two months. Then as time had passed they had become more and more frequent. This week she had seen three in two days. She thought about the meeting with the psychologist in a few days. John had said something about the use of hypnotism. This encouraged Adela. This seemed like a very good method of learning facts about her past that her conscious mind would not let her uncover by herself. What frightened her to the pit of her stomach was that her visions didn't seem possible. They didn't seem to be reality. Her mind wandered to the black dragon as she thought this. Perhaps they were symbolic. It was entirely possible she thought, but a small voice in the back of her head strongly disagreed. Some small part of her mind thought that these visions had really happened. Was she going completely insane? **** "Mum?" Ginny called lightly as she looked around her old home. She sighed as she took in her surroundings. The comfy looking chairs and the homey clutter of cookery books, photographs and knitting that lay scattered on the mantle pieces and in small corners. It was funny, she was eighteen years old, and had been forced to grow up so quickly. Her generation would always be deprived of that. The careless recklessness that you were supposed to have being young, but being in the midst of a War had changed everything. Not that she minded too much, now that she had Harry, but all the same coming to the Burrow always gave her old memories. "Ginny, precious!" Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen, wearing a chocolate brown apron and a grin. Ginny embraced her mother warmly, clinging to her more than was entirely necessary. "What's wrong?" Her mothers voice was tinged with great concern, and Ginny lifted her face upwards to stare into her mother's eyes. "It's Hermione, isn't it?" Ginny marvelled at how her mother could always seem to pinpoint the exact problems Ginny had been having, and she felt a lump in her throat as her mother's voice broke in remorse as she said the name. She didn't know what was wrong, that was entirely the problem. She needed to tell someone about Ron. Ginny was so worried about him, and all this talk about Hermione not being dead had unsettled her, she knew that. Usually, she would have told Harry her problems but not with this. She understood more than most the pain he had endured after losing Hermione. Her throat hitched thinking about it. She also knew that as much as she wanted to, that she couldn't tell her Mum either. It was true that Hermione had been a part of this family as much as Harry was, but until this very moment, Ginny had never truly realised the full extent of the love that her mother felt for her "other" daughter. Ginny was wondering what to tell her mum when the door creaked open. Ginny had never in her life been so happy to see her brother. "Bill!" She screeched before running to him and jumping into his outstretched arms. "Hey, Gin." He smiled warmly, though she could see the brotherly love within him rise and his suspicions fortify within his eyes. Keeping a firm arm around Ginny protectively, he moved aside and Ginny smirked. Fleur entered, holding a beautiful child in each arm. Mrs. Weasley was in her element. They were, after all, her first grandchildren. Letting out a soft "oh," Mrs. Weasley embraced Fleur before outstretching her arms towards one of the twins. Annette giggled and moved across to her grandmother, fingering the chocolaty apron curiously. "'Ow nice to see you, Mrs. Weasley. I am 'oping zat you are well?" "Molly, please. Fine fine, wonderful to see you both as well!" Mrs. Weasley blissfully answered her and tickled the chin of Aurora, still with her mother. Ginny's heart swelled as she looked at her nieces. Annette and Aurora were both thirteen months old and exotically pretty, even for young children. They each had identical wispy strawberry blond curls, which shone like the sun. It flickered a golden colour in the light as Aurora turned to look at her. Their cheeks were rosy and their eyes were an exquisite indigo colour. She supposed it was the Weasley genes mingled with Fleur's Veela bloodline that gave them the look, and it was incredibly adorable. "We've come to stay for a little while," Bill said grinning, and Molly squealed with delight. Bill and Fleur had married about two years previously, when Ginny was in sixth year, and had been very happy since, despite the troubles of the war. Fleur herself was looking radiant as usual, her long silvery blonde hair plaited prettily down her back. She smiled at Ginny, who grinned back. "And 'ow are you, Ginny?" Ginny giggled at the strong French accent and hugged her sister in law. "She's coming for a little chat aren't you, Gin?" Bill tightened his grip around her shoulders and steered her out to the door once more. Ginny gave in and let out a little wave over her shoulders to the two women behind her. Once outside, Bill pulled her towards the old willow at the back of the garden and sat her down on the wooden bench. The air was crisp, and an autumn wind whistled past them, swaying the leaves and rejuvenating her body. She closed her eyes and her lungs filled with blissfully cool air. She shivered, and a single salty tear tickled along her rosy cheeks, leaving a soft trail on her skin. Bill sat down next to her, and wiped the tear away. "What's the matter, Gin? It's not Harry is it?" His voice sounded strained. "Oh, of course not! Don't you get all protective of me, please!" Her voice was slightly shrill, and Bill quickly apologised. "God, Bill, I'm so worried about Ron!" There, she had said it. Bill's demeanour changed extremely quickly, and his protectiveness switched to his youngest brother. "What's wrong?" His voice was calm but sharp. Ginny looked into his face. She realised with a jolt that he of course wasn't the young mischievous Bill she had grown up with. He was an adult. He had matured. She felt her breath relax, Bill would help her. "It's Hermione." At saying the name her voice broke and another tear fell down her cheek. "He's so sad, Bill. He's having nightmares!" Bill brought up a hand to his face, placing it over his forehead. His eyes closed in a pained expression. "He won't accept that she's..." Ginny hesitated, as her voice ran away from her. "He won't accept that she's gone!" She shouted the words, and above her there was a flurry of birds as they flew from the branches of the tree startled. She bit her lip, blinking back the tears, and she suddenly felt very cold in the September air. Shivering, she twiddled with her fingers. Bill embraced her and she cried into his shoulder. "Hey," he said softly to her. "I wondered when you were going to break!" She let out a choked laugh. "What with Harry being so upset-" She broke off as she remembered a day in particular when Harry had been particularly upset, Hermione's twentieth birthday, a week ago. **** Ginny Apparated to Harry's apartment early on the morning of the nineteenth of September, remembering the very likely possibility that Harry would be distraught. It would have been Hermione's second birthday outside of school. She had a feeling that Ron would be here too, but she couldn't find him. She figured he'd come when he had cried a little, away from the family. Harry had been up. Sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. In his lap was a photograph. In it Hermione was smiling, her arms wrapped around Harry and Ron. She smiled softly as she saw the Hermione in the picture lean over and kiss Ron on the cheek. Ron had that picture. He kept it under his pillow every night. "Harry." She moved cautiously to sit beside him, and squeezed his hand encouragingly. She was startled to see his eyes filled with tears. Up until now, the only emotion he had outwardly shown in regards to Hermione's disappearance was anger and guilt. She had never seen him cry. He didn't look at her, he simply stared back into the fire, as if it held all the answers, as if he were watching something extremely interesting that he couldn't pull is eyes away from. She rested her head gently on his shoulder and let him cry. They must have sat there for hours before he spoke. "We were all together last year." His voice sounded rough and full of remorse. Ginny lifted her head to look at him, his hair as unruly as ever and his face reddened and swollen from the tears he had shed. His eyes, a startling green colour, were wide open. "Harry," she whispered softly, squeezing his hand once more, but he pulled away softly. "We were just out of Hogwarts." The tears started to fall again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry." He kept repeating it, his voice quivering with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Hermione." "Harry, stop it." Ginny stood up and took both of his hands with hers. He looked at her directly for the first time. Ginny knew exactly what had been going on in his head for the past few months and it was going to stop. Now. "Harry, it wasn't you fault." She said the words quietly but firmly. "Hermione going missing was not your fault." Harry pulled away from her in anger. "Yes it was!" Ginny froze as a few more tears made a path down his already damp cheek. "Don't you see? Of course it was my fault, she shouldn't have been there, none-" He broke off, and steadied himself before continuing. "None of you! It's the price everyone has to pay for being near me, it's all because you're near me! People just get hurt." He stopped being angry then, he looked utterly defeated and this scared Ginny. "Harry, Hermione was your best friend. She loved you and Ron very much, nothing could have kept her away. She would have done anything for either of you." Ginny blinked rapidly, she would not let the tears fall, not when Harry needed her. "I should've, I-" Ginny cut him off entirely, and forced him to look at her. "You couldn't have done anything" Her voice was determined and when she continued it was trembling. "You know Hermione, Harry. You know her, would you have been able to stop her?" Harry was shaking his head and looking anywhere but at her. "Would you?" She cupped his face with her hands, bringing his eyes to look unwaveringly into her brown ones. "No." Both Harry and Ginny turned at the new voice. Ron stood at the door, wrapped in a warm cloak. His eyes were red also, and Ginny had never seen him looking so sad. She turned a blind eye as they embraced. **** "I couldn't break down too." Bill hugged her closer to him. "But he won't give up. Why can't he move on, Bill?" "I don't know, Gin. You say he's been having nightmares?" "Yes, he wakes up yelling, or crying or in a sweat. He's gone, Bill." "What do you mean?" "Do you remember when we were younger, when Fred and George would always pick on me, like when they turned my hair green or jumped out from behind a bush and scared me when I was playing?" She brought a hand roughly to her eyes and brushed away the tears still resting on her cheeks. Bill chuckled at this. "Hey!" Ginny swiped him on the arm. "It wasn't funny!" She let out a faint laugh just the same. "Well, Ron would always stick up for me. You know we'd play games, and he'd tell me just how to get them into trouble." Ginny smiled a watery smile. "Bill, he used to be so fun-loving, and funny, but its all gone. I can't remember the last time I saw him smile properly, let alone laugh." "He's still in denial Gin, he won't accept that he won't ever see Hermione again. He's just not ready yet." "But it's not healthy!" She was beginning to border on hysteria again. "OK, listen, remember in a couple of weeks it's Mum's birthday right?" Ginny nodded. "Well how about you keep an eye on him and if you're still worried about him, then I'll have a word, okay?" Ginny smiled and hugged her brother. "Look, Ginny. Hermione gave Ron all his strength. I don't think even he knew how much he loved her. It's just going to take a very long time, but eventually he'll get that spark back, he'll be our Ron again. Okay?" Bill smiled gruffly and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. As they walked back to the Burrow, Ginny heard squeals of laughter coming from the kitchen. She wiped at her eyes again, getting rid of every last tear, and followed Bill through the door to greet her nieces. **** When she arrived back at Harry's flat, the hallways were dark, and an odd smell was wafting through the rooms. "Harry?" She called out questioningly, as she hung her coat in a cupboard. There was no answer. She pricked her ears and froze as she heard some noises coming from the room at the end of the corridor. She peeled her wand out of her pockets and with it raised, reached for the doorknob to the kitchen. She flung it open. "Bloody Hell!" A voice echoed through the room and a huge pan dropped to the floor with a loud clanging noise. "Harry?" Ginny looked up at her boyfriend who currently looked thoroughly shocked to see her and was resting on the worktop, hand clutched against his heart. "Ginny! You scared the hell out of me!" He lifted his hand to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and then to run through his hair in embarrassment as she looked around the room. Pots and pans lay all over the place, ingredients scattered over the tables, and a large cookbook lay propped against the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. "What are you doing?" Ginny smirked with a giggle, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Well, I was errr-" he gestured wildly to the pots and she peered slowly into a bubbling pan over the cooker. "I was trying to cook you dinner, but you're early." Harry sounded lost and nervous. Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. Harry looked very affronted, and crossed his arms across his chest. "What," he said very sourly, "in the name of Merlin is so funny?" Ginny only laughed harder. "Why didn't you use magic?" She gasped, clutching her sides. Harry looked at her sheepishly. "What is it?" "It's Spaghetti Bolognese, your favourite!" Harry said pointedly. "For breakfast?" "It's lunch!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Harry!" She giggled lightly, "Of course it is." She felt bad laughing at his meagre attempts to cook Italian, and brought him down into a warm hug. He relaxed in her grip and returned the hug. "So," he said with a grin, "want to try some?" He lifted up a wooden spoon and ladled a spoonful, putting it near her mouth. She smiled hesitantly and opened her mouth. It was the least she could do after laughing at him. "Hey, this is pretty good Harry!" "Of course it is, I followed the book exactly!" She laughed again, and reached behind her to grab plates for them both. When she turned back again, she found herself being intently watched. He leaned for her again and hugged her tightly. "Thanks." She was thanking him for more than the food, and she hoped he knew that too. She hadn't laughed this much in a long time. "You're welcome," Harry smiled back at her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He tasted like spaghetti. She smiled into him and broke away softly. In the background they heard a soft knock at the door. "I'll get it." Ginny pulled away from him and he nodded, starting to serve the food onto the plates. Ginny smiled, and almost skipped to the door. With all her problems today, she was happy to start to unwind a little. Her happiness turned to worry however, when the door opened to reveal Ron, looking very sickly and weak. She cursed loudly. "Ginny, what's wrong?" Harry poked his head out of the kitchen door and upon seeing his best mate crumbling at the entrance rushed forward and lifted him by the shoulder, and pulled him into the living room. Ginny clicked the door shut and followed quickly. "Ron, what the hell?" Ginny sat down next to him whilst Harry tried to find out what was wrong. Ginny already knew. "He went to Azkaban, Harry." She said it softly and turned her head slightly to address her brother. "Didn't you?" Ron nodded and then stood up so abruptly that he staggered slightly. Harry looked shocked. "To see who?" "Malfoy." Ron's voice was shaking and Ginny saw his eyes glaze over just a little. "Why?" Ron started to pace across the room, muttering things, and running a hand through his hair. Tired but strong and full of hate. Ginny recoiled from him as he said the name. Harry looked defeated, and utterly lost. "Ron?" She said a littler louder. "He says that he was the one who took Hermione. He says he didn't kill her, and that she…" he broke off and looked directly at Harry. "That she might still be alive."
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