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Author: Kathryn Story: Lost Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 21 Words: 61,881
Disclaimer: All the characters you recognise belong to JK Rowling and I'm just borrowing them. The others and the plot are mine for my sins. The tent was brimming with so many people that there was hardly any room to breathe. Witches and wizards, from all over the world, had gathered together in hopes of receiving any information about Harry Potter. It had been over a year since he had gone missing and the press was still like piranhas, looking for whatever scrap of information they could dig up on The-Boy-Who-Defeated-The Dark-Lord. Their favourite target to extract these details was a young witch, who was his girlfriend when he had disappeared. The fact that she was opening herself up for questions was too good of an opportunity to miss. Frowning at her audience, Ginny was getting tired of their questions, especially those pertaining to her mental state. All they wanted was a piece of meat and she refused to give it to them. If she ever met the Healer who had 'accidentally' released her file to the press, she would hex him into next year. Ever since that day, the press had been buzzing around her, waiting for her to crack so they could get their next big news story. She hadn't realised until today how desperate they had become for a story, knowing that they circulated the story every few weeks. She had never witnessed the press at their worse ever since her mum threatened every reporter and came near The Burrow. Not that she should have been surprised after the articles about Harry written by Rita Skeeter during her third year at Hogwarts. The reporters had been relentless for the last hour. Only the first five minutes had been devoted to questions about the workings of the Wizarding Red Cross. The rest were her opinions of the comments made by the same Healer, who released her file and her thoughts on Harry. She let out a small sigh as the next round of questions started. She'd had enough of this. "Look," her voice was tense as she tried to control her temper that was on the verge of exploding. Her hand already was twitching towards her wand in a natural defence to their words so she took a long deep breath to try to regain her composure. "I know you're all fascinated with the state of my mind, but I can assure you that I am as sane as I have ever been. This camp is not about me or what I have done in the past. It makes no difference who my boyfriend is or was, and whether he is still out there somewhere." Her mouth dried up as she gave the briefest of pauses, recognising the witch in the front row. Her eyes stayed fixed upon Rita Skeeter as she spoke, hardly believing that she had the nerve to show up after everything she had said and done. "I'm just one of many people who want to do the right thing, and I shouldn't be treated any differently than anyone else here. In fact, the volunteers should be given more respect as they have been doing it longer." She found herself gesturing to the people at the back, trying to take the attention off her. "So if you lot want a story, you should be following these volunteers around, and revealing the amazing jobs that they are doing trying to help people recover their lives, not focusing on me and how long it will take me to crack. They are the real heroes in this world, and I just want to play my part and help out." Coughlan's hand fell on her shoulder. His skin was rough and had blisters and scars scattered from the tips of his fingers to the edge of his palm. His hand had the same kind of marks that Charlie's had from five years of working with dragons. Her shoulder gave a little shudder under his weight; there was no doubt that Liam Coughlan was a powerful man. "I think we had better be off," he told her as he got to his feet, indicating for her to do the same. "Miss Weasley." Automatically getting to her feet, she shot him an apologetic glance. Ginny had a feeling that Coughlan was not a man to cross, and she didn't want to start off on the wrong foot. She hardly had the energy for the battle that would ensue, but at the same time her anger at the reporters did not stop. The older man led her out of the tent with a cluster of reporters at her heels. She glanced over her shoulder as she felt a small pull on her arm. Coughlan led her through the camp; people scattered in his presence. There was an aura around him, one of respect but it wasn't just that aura that made her feel slightly nervous; it was the silence that was now filling the thin air. Growing up with it, she could deal with the noise, but silence had always slightly unnerved her. It just didn't seem natural for someone to stay quiet when they were angry. There was no doubt from the lines that had formed on his face that Coughlan's current feelings were anything but happy. Her mother had always shouted at them whenever they had done or said something inappropriate. Harry hadn't been known for hiding his feelings or frustrations; in fact, he had been very vocal with his anger at times. When Professor McGonagall had lectured her on more than one occasion about her behaviour and conduct, the room had been far from silent. Coughlan shepherded her through the gateway and into another tent. This one was just smaller than the massive one that had been used for the meeting. However, this had all the hallmarks of being an office; there was a large oak table in the centre, with a mass of papers scattered all over it and two chairs on either side of the desk. Several overflowing filing cabinets filled the space, showing exactly the huge nature of the task. The only thing that detracted from the business-like air was a small camp bed in one corner. "Please sit," he invited, gesturing to the chair on one side of the desk while taking the other one. She did as he requested. His eyes were fixed on her, as if he was trying to penetrate her thoughts. Her brown eyes locked with his sparkling blue ones; she was not going to hide away from anyone. "Well," he started again. He spoke quietly, but there was a powerful energy contained within his voice, showing that he did not need to shout to get his level of authority across. "The press." "I'm sorry," she uttered automatically. "Hmm," he replied sceptically, keeping her gaze. "We rarely get press attention, Miss Weasley and when we do get it, we make sure they come back. In short, we do whatever it takes to keep them happy and get favourable accounts. After all, funding is everything, and the best way to get it is through the media coverage." She bowed her head, breaking the eye contact for the first time. "I'm sorry," she repeated, meaning the words this time. "I guess I was just frustrated." "Take them out elsewhere, not in my camp then," he told her in stern qualities that reminded her very much of Professor McGonagall. "Not everyone wanted you here. 'Too much baggage' they said, but I believed you could do a job. When I agreed to take you, you assured me that you were okay and could leave those burdens behind you." "And I will." Coughlan jotted down a note on a piece of parchment. "Good, then we'll say no more about it." He glanced over her shoulder and signalled to someone by the door. "So, let's get on with work. I'd like you to meet Jerome Campbell." She turned around to see a tall, dark man in his mid to late twenties standing in the entrance to the tent. He was well built, his body packed with muscles, not the type of man you'd like to cross. In fact, his skinhead and piercing brown eyes reminded Ginny of a dark skinned Victor Krum. He was dressed simply but even with her current attitude towards men and enjoyment, she could see his many attractive qualities. He had on a pair of knee-length sport shorts, his wand was sticking out of the back pocket, and a long sleeved variety of the same red t-shirt that everyone was wearing. "Miss Weasley," he said, in a thick cockney accent that made her feel at home amongst the mass of northern voices. He offered his hand to her, and she took it, feeling his hard palm that was covered in scars and cuts. As she had learnt from Charlie, a hand with contusions showed the trademark signs of someone who had spent the last couple of years working outside. "It's Ginny." "Charmed," he replied with a grin. "Jerome." "Jerome is one of our more popular volunteers," Coughlan explained as Ginny raised her eyebrows., "and one of our rising stars." He continued, as he smacked the younger man on the back. "Since we have placed you in his tent, he's sportingly agreed to show you around." "It's an honour really, sir." "Atta boy," Coughlan said, offering a small nod to the volunteer, who smiled back. "If you're ready," Jerome said, picking up her rucksack from the floor. "I thought we'd dump this at the tent first." Ginny nodded her approval, as he opened the tent doors onto the masses. She sighed to see that the press had not returned to their holes in the ground yet. Instead, they were hovering around to get another glimpse of her. One of the advantages of a camp this size was that it provided an escape from the intrusions. It was much harder to stalk a camp packed with people than a small house, and hopefully, once the induction period was over, the novelty passed, and her work started, the paparazzi would disappear. She shrugged her shoulders and remembered Coughlan's words. Sending the photographers a quick smile, she glanced at Jerome. "Which way?" "This way," he replied, placing his hand on her shoulder and smiling quickly into the flashing lights of the camera. Resisting the urge to stick two fingers up at the reporters, they slipped away. Within minutes, they were lost in crowds of people. Jerome led her through the camp as they weaved through a series of tents. The path they took not only helped confuse her mind even more, but it made sure that all the reporters were lost. "I'll show you around properly, once they disappear." "Thanks," she muttered with a small smile. He grinned back at her, "You know you have a beautiful smile; you should use it more." "There aren't many things left to smile about." He shrugged his shoulders, "Then maybe we should find some things," he offered, his smile extending from his lips to his eyes. "Finding a knut, flying a broom, helping someone." "You sound like my mum," she told him. The last thing she wanted was another lecture about how she should be feeling. She did not need to see the concerned looks of pity. They were almost as bad as the stories about how she belonged in a ward at St Mungo's. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." "It's okay," she replied quickly, before changing the topic. "So, what made you come here?" "The same as everyone else really. Just trying to sort out the mess we caused," he explained, avoiding her gaze as he pulled open a door to a tent. "We're just through here." She walked into the tent to find three bunk beds and six trunks in various states of disarray, which took up most of the space. There also was a small kitchen and a bathroom area blocked off to one side of the tent. A couple of seats and a table completed the room, but they were currently occupied by three people playing cards, while listening to a battered radio. The minute she stepped inside the tent, three sets of cards were dropped, and the radio was switched off. Jerome placed her rucksack down on the floor. "This is Deon Carson." A stringy man with braided black hair and slightly darkened skin in his mid twenties waved over at her. "Curtis Brunt." His arm moved to direct her to a slightly shorter and stockier man with shoulder length dirty blond hair. "And finally, last but by no means least, Neve Corr." He pointed to a woman with fair skin and long brown hair that was plaited together. "Hey," Ginny said, holding her hand up in a wave. "Hey back at ya," Deon replied. He had a round face with a kind smile that extended to his eyes. "How's your day been?" "Hectic," she told him. "Well, that's a trend that's not going to stop as long as you're here," Neve explained, in a soft Irish accent that had almost a dreamlike quality to it. "But before you enter the madhouse, let's at least get you sorted out with a bunk and trunk, so you'll have somewhere to call yours when you get those tiny moments of alone time." "Thank you," she said so quietly, her voice was almost lost into the air. "Take the one over me, top bunks are better than the bottom ones," Neve spoke in a motherly tone, pointing at the upper bunk with a small smile. "And the free trunk is the one next to Frankie's at the end. The one in a complete mess with the Weird Sister's stickers on it." "Where is Frankie?" Jerome called over from the seating area. "She should be here." "She's with Jack," Deon replied, with a small shrug. "Her boyfriend," he added for Ginny's benefit. "He's one of the camp refugees. Nice bloke; appalling memory." Ginny sent a confused look over to Neve, who looked the most likely to answer her questions honestly. Granted, she didn't know Coughlan well, but he seemed like a man not to cross. She knew that he took ethics and diplomacy, especially with the press, very seriously and very straightforward. Somehow, she thought that inter-camp relationships were somewhat frowned upon. "Naturally, they are banned," Neve told her, as she helped Ginny with her trunk. "Relationships, that is." She paused and let out a small sigh. "But if anyone can get away with it, it's Frankie." "It should be reported, she's spending too much time with him," Jerome said bitterly, glaring at her trunk. "She's exploiting her position." "Ah, haway," Curtis interrupted in a strong voice. "She's just having a bit of fun, if you ask me. A bit of a crack." He dropped the cards that he had been placing back in their packet and fixed his blue eyes upon Jerome. "Besides, you only want to report her to further your own career." "That's enough!" Jerome glared back at him. The tent was filled with tensions between the two men that had been brewing over a substantial period of time. Before anything else was said, he turned his attention back to Ginny and forced a smile on his face. "So are you ready for the rest of the tour?" "Yeah, okay," she said, confidently. "Let's go then," he said in a business-like tone, already striding over to the door. "If you need anything, just ask," Neve offered in a hopeful tone, sending a disapproving glance in Jerome's direction. "We all know how it feels to be new, especially in a place as huge and demanding as this." The rest of the day seemed to fly by, leaving hardly enough time to think. Neve had been right about the place; it was massive and not just in terms of the land. Ginny had seen the list of names of displaced people after being released from St Mungo's, but it was very different to see a list of names and to see all those people in person. There was just so many; more than she ever could have imagined. To make matters worse, every witch and wizard knew her name. They expected so many things from her, almost as if she had all the answers to their problems, and a flick of her wand could bring their previous lives back. In all honesty, she was beginning to feel doubtful if she could give them the attention and help they needed. This was going to be a much bigger task than she had dreamed. Ginny was exhausted by the time dinner had been finished, and there would be another full day of jobs tomorrow. Coughlan had been true to his word; there was no easing into the process here. Lying on her bed less than half an hour later, her mind started to relax. The feeling of loneliness came flooding back to her and in the dark, she realised that no matter how helpful and supportive people had been, she was here completely alone. "Is trouble your middle name or something?" Fifteen-year-old Ginny Weasley looked up from her Charms essay. Her quill resting lazily in her hand, she looked up. She sent her boyfriend a curious look, as she racked her brain for what she could have possibly done this time. Granted, a day never went by without her having a little fun, but with the upcoming OWL exams and a new distraction, in the form of a bespectacled, black haired boy in front of her, she hadn't had time to cause trouble recently. She sent him a small smile that extended to her eyes. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped her quill, causing the parchment to blot. "I actually thought it was yours." "Really?" He shot her a grin that lit up his entire face. "So it was me who dropped stink pellets in Snape's classroom at lunchtime?" Ginny allowed herself a small grin, before adopting a look of shocked surprise, a look that she had used many times before to proclaim her innocence. A smile that usually got her out of bother as the person she had managed to enrage looked for guilty faces instead of her sweet one. It always sent Ron mad when they both were guilty of something and, as their mother cornered them, Ginny would offer a sweet, angelic smile that would see her get out of trouble. She honestly had no intention of dropping stink pellets at the start of her Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, but as the hour had progressed, she had gotten increasingly annoyed and frustrated. Snape's teaching style was shocking; he never checked if his pupils understood the lesson or not, leaving them to suffer and then, berating their mistakes. Not only that, but there had never been one class, Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which he hadn't passed a comment on who she was. These comments had only increased in their vile content since she had started dating Harry. The only way she could have stood a chance with him was if she dyed her hair and changed her surname. So, after an hour of loathsome words that escaped the greasy-haired Professor's mouth, all she had to do was pick up a few stink pellets, and he'd gotten off lightly in her book. Especially since she had been wanting to use some of Fred and George's products, but unfortunately, she was still waiting for her next delivery. "I have no idea what you are talking about," she said innocently, offering him a sweet smile. "You're not fooling anyone," he told her with a grin. "But," she said, as if he hadn't interrupted her, "if you find out who did it, do thank them for me." "Oh, I will," he said, making his way across the common room toward the big armchair by the fire, in which she was seated. "Anyone who can send Snape that mad and cancel my lesson with him, deserves high praise, indeed." Harry climbed over the side of the huge, cushy armchair. She shifted forward slightly, as he swung his legs over the armrest. He eased in behind her back as she rested her body against his. She turned around to look at him, her head against his shoulder. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around her waist, kissing her on the top of her forehead. She never felt more at home than when she was in Harry's arms. His strong body fitted perfectly against her petite one. Those powerful arms gave her such a warm feeling of protection and all the world's problems disappeared when they were like this. Even their list of troubles seemed to get smaller. It was where she belonged. It was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life. He was the best form of comfort and support she had. It was great to just be herself, without any worries, even if they were both aware of the problems they faced. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "On behalf of every student in Gryffindor, who has ever had that git teaching them." He kissed her neck. "Let's just hope that he doesn't work things out, seeing as you wagged your last lesson." "He won't," she replied confidently, "and you're very welcome." He traced her neckline with his kisses, brushing against her soft skin and sending shivers of excitement up her spine. Gently, their lips met in a soft kiss. He pulled her closer to him, as adrenaline filled her body. Moving her tongue against his lips, she deepened the kiss. As her mouth opened, his tongue slipped inside. Slowly, their tongues danced together as she explored his mouth. The best kisses were not meant to be rushed, and Harry was a damn good kisser. Slowly, he broke the kiss, "I love you, Ginny Weasley." "I love you too, Harry," she whispered into the thin night air, before turning on the uncomfortable camp bed. She reached under her pillow and pulled out a worn photograph. There he was, smiling back up at her like he didn't have a care in the world, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. "I'm not going to give up on you."
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