1. Ron Writes

For two years, from the day the twins left for Hogwarts, I had watched Ron and Ginny grow up, and grow closer. It was astonishing how quickly those two years had flown by. Now, suddenly, it was just the two of us.

Ginny no longer had any brothers at home. It had only been a few weeks, but I’d become used to the fact that Ron was no longer there to interrupt us. That night however, despite the fact he was at Hogwarts, he had managed to silence his sister. Silence did not come naturally to Ginny. Normally she would be chattering about our day.

My baby was growing up. Next year she, too, would be gone, and I would be alone in this house. I sighed to myself. The Burrow had echoed with the sounds of children for more than twenty years and suddenly it was coming to an end. Bill’s twenty-first birthday was approaching. Next year I’d have no children to care for. What on earth would I do?

It was evening and Ginny and I were in the kitchen. We were ignoring the rain which lashed against the windows and quietly carrying out our regular bedtime ritual.

Under her dressing gown, Ginny wore her favourite nightdress. It was almost ankle length and had once been bright blue although it was now patched, worn and faded. She sat at the table. I sat directly behind her. While she was drinking her hot chocolate, I brushed my daughter’s hair until it shone.

‘Ouch!’ my daughter’s protest was more a cry of annoyance than a howl of pain.

‘If you would just stop fidgeting, Ginny, it wouldn’t tug so much,’ I told her as I continued to pull the brush through her hair.

‘I’m not fidgeting, Mum. I’m drinking, and reading,’ she told me. ‘I told you that he wouldn’t forget about me, I told you that he would write, like he promised. I was right, wasn’t I?’

Ginny would never admit it, but she missed Ron. He had promised to write to her but until that day, early in October, he hadn’t. He hadn’t written to me, either. So, three days previously, I had written to Ron, and added a postscript to my letter:

Ron, I’m sure that school is very exciting and interesting, but you must write to Ginny. You promised your sister, and you promised me, that you would write to her. It has been five weeks! If you don’t write to her soon, expect to receive a Howler.

‘Yes, Ginny, you were right,’ I said, grateful that she couldn’t see my face.

My threat had worked. His letter to Ginny had arrived this morning and it was apparently a good one; it was six pages, and very private, or so Ginny claimed. She’d read it so many times that I was certain she could recite it from memory. She was reading it again. My daughter, the girl who would never shut up, was silent as she pored over every word.

‘Do you think it’s all true?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, Ginny, as you haven’t let me read it,’ I told her. ‘Ron does embellish his stories sometimes. But although he exaggerates, he won’t lie to you.’

‘All boys exaggerate,’ my daughter told me knowledgably. I heard my own voice in those words, and I wondered when I’d first imparted that snippet of wisdom to her.

‘Yes, but girls do, too,’ I said.

‘He says that he’s friends with Harry Potter,’ said Ginny, her voice a mix of hope and disbelief. I tilted my head sideways and glanced at her profile. I could see the rapt hero-worship. The boy with bright green eyes had made quite an impression on her when we met him at King’s Cross Station.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived! He was the saviour of the wizarding world, or so they said. It was a story which had fascinated Ginny; it was a story which had fascinated most of us, and with good reason. The most powerful evil wizard tried to kill a baby, but failed and instead destroyed himself.

Ginny was only just ten years old and somehow, when we met Harry Potter on Platform 9¾, she managed to see the “Hero of the Wizarding World� standing in front of her. I didn’t see a hero. What I saw on that platform was a nervous and rather malnourished little orphan boy. A boy whose foster parents, whoever they were, had simply abandoned. They had left him alone lost in a busy Muggle railway station.

He had no idea how to catch the train. Thank goodness we were there to help him. Thank goodness I asked Ginny what the platform number was. I knew the platform number, of course, but until that year I’d never taken Ginny. However, she’d insisted on seeing Ron off, so we’d all gone.

Until that meeting Harry Potter was unreal. He wasn’t a person; he was no more than an idea, a figment, or even a legend to us. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the reality was not awe inspiring. Why should it have been? He was an eleven-year-old boy who was going to a new school, and he was as worried and anxious as Ron.

According to Witch Weekly, according to all of the stories, he was supposed to be rich, but the Muggle clothing he wore was even shabbier than Ron’s. I felt sorry for the poor little mite. At least Ron’s second-hand clothes and hand-me-downs actually fitted him.

‘Do you think Ron really is friends with Harry Potter?’ Ginny asked. The hope was obvious in her voice.

I tried to lower her expectations. ‘Well, I do know that Harry Potter is in Gryffindor, because the twins and Percy have already written to tell us,’ I said. ‘So Ron will certainly be sharing a dormitory with Harry Potter, but there will be other boys that dormitory too, Ginny. I’m sure that Ron and Harry will know each other and it would be nice for Ron to make some new friends. Just remember that it might be that one of the other boys, and not Harry Potter, who becomes Ron’s best friend. Do you know what the other boys are called, or who they are?’

She flicked through to the third page. ‘Neville, who’s blonde and a bit podgy, Dean who’s dark, and Seamus who’s Irish,’ she told me. It was obvious that those three boys hadn’t made much of an impression on Ron, perhaps he really was friends with Harry Potter.

‘Did Ron tell you about the train ride?’

‘Yes, he shared a compartment with Harry Potter all the way to school. Just the two of them,’ said Ginny. Her eye’s flickered down the first page and on to the second.

‘Read that bit aloud, Ginny,’ I suggested. I was curious as to what Ron had told her, and why I wasn’t allowed to read the letter.

Ginny started near the bottom of the first page. ‘We talked and talked and talked for the whole journey. He bought loads of sweets and we shared them, and I shared my corned beef sandwiches with…’

‘Corned beef!’ I interrupted. ‘Ron doesn’t like corned beef. I made him cheese and pickle, the corned beef sandwiches were for Percy.’ I said. I thought back to our hectic departure. ‘The twins! Always up to mischief! They know that Percy doesn’t like cheese and pickle, too!’ I said. The rigidity of Ginny’s back told me that she was annoyed at being disrupted in mid-flow.

I realised that, several weeks after the event, there was nothing I could do about Ron’s sandwiches. No doubt Percy would be blaming me for his, too.

‘Sorry, Ginny, I should not have interrupted you. Do go on, please.’

‘Okay, Mum, but don’t do it again. You tell me off for interrupting, unless it’s really important,’ she told me firmly. I listened with interest as she unconsciously mimicked Ron’s voice while reading his words.

‘It’s amazing, Ginny, but he didn’t know who he was. Well, he knew he was Harry Potter, obviously, but he didn’t know who Harry Potter was, if you know what I mean. He didn’t know about Hogwarts, or anything. I had to tell him about the houses, and all sorts of stuff. He was raised by Muggles. They didn’t tell him anything. They didn’t even tell him he was a wizard. I don’t think that they like him much.’

That’s obvious, I thought to myself.

‘We’d almost got to the school when a nasty little blond kid called Draco came into our compartment. He was really smarmy and rude, but Harry told him to get lost, even though he had a couple of big uglies with him. We’ve decided that he’s our enemy!

There was a girl turned up in our compartment, too. Twice! She was really bossy and very screechy and enormously rude. Unfortunately, she got sorted into Gryffindor so she’s in all of my lessons, and she always seems to end up sitting next to me! She’s a real pain in the bum and a teacher’s pet. She’s even worse than Draco, because she’s in all of our lessons, and in our Common Room. We can’t ever escape from her. Ever!

‘Anyway me and Harry and I are always getting lost…’ Ginny stopped. ‘Grammar, Ron,’ she said, shaking her head before continuing. ‘There are loads and loads of secret corridors here, and some of the stairs move. It’s a great place. You’ll love it when you come next year.’

Ginny’s reading came to an abrupt halt. I peered over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of a few words: … Granger, that annoying girl I told you about… and … We were lucky, we nearly got caught out of bounds… before Ginny folded the letter and put it into the pocket of her dressing gown.

‘The rest is private, Mum,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘But I think that Ron really is good friends with Harry Potter. Perhaps I’ll meet him again.’

‘Of course you’ll meet him again, Ginny. You’re going to Hogwarts next year. And he’ll be there, too.’

‘Do you think he’ll like me?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure that everyone will like you,’ I assured her. She wrinkled her nose. I’d obviously given her the wrong answer. ‘Bedtime,’ I told her.

2. Harry Who? (August 1992)

Arthur was sitting up in bed, waiting for me. Often, by the time I’d finished in the bathroom, he’d be lying on his side half asleep. It was unusual for him to be sitting waiting for me, and as he’d been working the previous night and he hadn’t slept for over thirty-six hours, it was more than unusual; it was unheard of. After such a long night, he should have been snoring by the time I crept into our bedroom, but not that night.

His eyes were wide and his face was anxious and urgent. The questions began the moment I closed our bedroom door. I hadn’t even had time to hang up my dressing gown when he started.

‘What in Merlin’s name is the matter with Ginny?’

‘Harry,’ I told him.

‘Harry?’ said Arthur. ‘Harry who? You can’t mean Ron’s friend, Harry Potter?’ There was an edge of surprise in his voice. He was wondering whether he’d misjudged Harry Potter; I decided to let him worry.

‘There are no other Harrys in the house, Arthur,’ I reminded him with a smile.

‘I know that, Molly,’ he said. ‘But that’s not what I meant; you know it isn’t.’

I nodded, but said nothing.

‘She’s clumsy, she’s nervous, she’s quiet,’ he said. ‘She isn’t behaving at all like Ginny! Are you sure that she isn’t ill?’

I nodded again. ‘Certain,’ I said as I climbed into bed alongside my husband.

Arthur slid down the bed and threw his right arm across my pillow. I rolled onto my side, put my head on his shoulder, slid my arm across his chest, and curled my leg over his. He brought his right arm down, placed his hand on my hip, and squeezed it gently. His left hand moved across to my knee. It was our “bedtime discussions� position, and it was as comfortable and familiar to both of us as our marriage. Arthur’s face was only inches from my eyes. His chin was covered in the fine stubble of almost two days of beard growth. I watched his jaw tense and his lips twitch as he thought.

‘When the boys were de-gnoming the garden, she simply stood at the window and watched. When I asked if she wanted to go out and join them, she shook her head and ran upstairs to her room. What has Ron’s friend done to her?’ Arthur demanded.

‘Nothing, Arthur,’ I assured him. ‘Harry isn’t at fault. If you want to blame someone for Ginny’s behaviour, perhaps you should blame me.’

‘I’m sure that it isn’t your fault, either, Molly,’ he told me staunchly.

‘I’m very much afraid that it is,’ I said, sighing.

‘How?’ he asked. ‘What is the matter with her?’

‘Remember when Ginny was six, when my mum died?’

‘Of course I remember,’ he told me. His hand gently squeezed my knee and he turned his head to plant a bristly kiss on my temple.

We lay in silence, remembering. Grandma Prewett had spoiled Ginny; she had showered her only granddaughter with expensive presents. My mother’s favouritism had been blatantly obvious, making the boys jealous. She had visited us regularly and had told Ginny stories about the family. My mother had fussed over Ginny, and her sudden death had come as a shock to us all.

‘Ginny cried for days after her Grandma died,’ I reminded Arthur. ‘And then the twins started making fun of her, so she stopped. Since then, she hardly ever cries, you know that. She bottles it up and pretends that she’s okay. But sometimes, she isn’t.’

Arthur nodded.

‘She was six, and she was confused and worried. Her Grandma had died and she was thinking about death. Ginny was always asking questions, you know that. She was always asking the difficult questions. Almost as soon as she could talk, it was questions. Why is the sky blue? Why are girls different from boys? Things like that. When Mum died, it was: where had Grandma gone, and what happens when we die? I told her, as best I could, you must remember. You know how she was, how she still is.’

‘Yes.’ Arthur nodded, and I could see the guilt on his face. ‘I know what you told me, Molly. But I didn’t see much of it. I missed so much,’ he sighed.

‘We needed the money,’ I reminded him. ‘We still do, Arthur.’ I kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and again squeezed my hip.

‘Sorry about the car,’ he said. ‘I suppose I should have considered the twins. It was a huge temptation for them. If I hadn’t enchanted it they wouldn’t have taken it…’

‘But Harry would still be here,’ I said. ‘I’d have gone for him myself. There’s something odd going on, Arthur. Harry wasn’t replying to Ron’s letters, and according to Ron, he wasn’t replying to the Granger girl, either. Ron was beginning to worry about his friend, and so was I. Those Muggles don’t treat him well, I’m sure of it. Besides, I rather hoped that when he arrived, Ginny would see him as an ordinary little boy, but she doesn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘As I was saying, I’d managed to answer her questions, and then Ginny asked the hardest question of all. What would happen to her if we died? I really didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t tell her the truth, that some of my relatives, and a few of yours, might take one, or two of them in, but that they would be split up, that no one would take all seven. So I waffled a bit, and tried to change the subject. But…’

Arthur chuckled, and I hugged him, simply because he knew what I was going to say next.

‘Exactly, Ginny wouldn’t let me get away with that. She wouldn’t let me change the subject. However, I’d been clearing out Mum’s house, and I had found a huge pile of newspaper cuttings and magazines. They all dated back to the year Ginny was born. Mum had … she’d started collecting them when Fabian and Gideon were killed, and that was only weeks before You-Know-Who vanished... I was teaching Ginny to read, remember, and she wanted to know about death.’

I watched my husband think. As I expected, he came up with the correct answer without any prompting. He held me tightly, and spoke softly and tenderly.

‘And not long after your brothers were killed, every paper and magazine was full of stories about a one-year-old whose parents had been murdered,’ said Arthur.

‘Yes, so I used Harry Potter as an example. I told her what the papers said, and I used some of the articles to help to teach her to read. I let her read the speculation about what might happen to little Harry Potter. She read about what had happened, and how he was now being cared for by relatives. You can guess what she said.’

‘Anyone but Aunt Muriel,’ said Arthur promptly.

I chuckled, and kissed his chin.

‘She practiced her reading skills with those articles, Arthur. It was free, new, reading material for a little girl who had already read every book we had in the house. I really didn’t give it much thought at the time, but she got interested in the story, and she read everything she could find about him. The boy is almost a myth to her. She knows a lot more about Harry Potter than Ron does. In fact, she probably knows more about Harry Potter than he knows about himself. And now he’s here. For her it’s like…’ I struggled for a comparison. ‘It’s like having someone famous - like Celestina Warbeck coming to stay with us! She’s on edge all of the time.’

‘What are we going to do?’ Arthur asked me.

‘I don’t know, Arthur,’ I admitted. ‘We can only hope that, eventually, she will see that he’s only another ordinary little boy, just one of Ron’s friends, nothing more.’

‘What do you think of the lad, Molly?’ he asked. ‘He struck me as being polite, and rather quiet.’

‘I think that we’ve overwhelmed him,’ I said. ‘He’s not used to a magical house, to a family like ours.’

‘No one is used to a family like ours,’ said Arthur proudly.

‘True!’ I hugged him.

‘Ron and Harry seem to be very close,’ said Arthur. ‘And there’s the mysterious Granger girl too. You know, I’m certain that the Headmaster didn’t tell us everything that happened at the end of term. The twins claim that Harry defeated Voldemort, again! And he’s only eleven. Unfortunately, that won’t help Ginny at all, will it? What can we do for her?’

‘I really don’t know, Arthur,’ I said. ‘I’ve done my best to make Harry welcome. I hope that, if he stays here often enough, this silly hero-worship will wear off.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘I don’t know, Arthur. I really don’t know.’

‘Then all we can do is make Harry welcome, and hope that Ginny comes to her senses and sees Harry for what he really is,’ said Arthur.

‘She’s bound to, eventually,’ I said. ‘After all, she’s a Prewett and a Weasley.’

‘That’s the problem. I worry that, one day, you’ll see me for what I really am, Molly,’ he told me.

‘I did that years ago, you silly man,’ I told him. ‘Why do you think I married you?’

‘For my money,’ he said promptly.

I laughed, and kissed him. ‘If only half of what Ron has told me is true, then Harry has had a hard life, poor mite. When Ron and the twins “rescued� him, those Muggles had locked him in his bedroom, and they were starving him! Can you believe it?’

‘Unfortunately, I can,’ he said, running his hand up my back.

‘How tired are you?’ I asked.

He kissed me.