I want to hear what you have to say about me
Hear if you’re going to live without me
I want to hear what you want
What the hell do you want?
- Damien Rice “I remember”
September 26, 2005.
He could hear her voice filled with bursting excitement.
I just can’t believe they appointed me, Harry. Well I know that dad and mum have been expecting this for years now, but I never would have dreamed…
A proud smile clings to his chiseled features and his eyes sparkle with amusement. There is a voice echoing softly in the background.
“The planner said that we should be thinking of flowers now darling. I want them to be colourful but I can’t seem to decide on the conventional or…”
There is going to a ceremony as well. It will all be very exciting. I believe that I’m expected to give a speech and the thought of this is just making me tremble. You know how awful I am at public speaking…
“Then again I do want them to match the dresses. Oh! You absolutely have to see them. They’re the most gorgeous things…”
Ron says that it’s about time they appointed me, what with all the hard work and hours I put in. Though I don’t think I work too hard “Harry scoffs at this- I’m just happy that I’ve been recognized. The letter went on about diligence and dedication and all that rubbish. Oh, who am I kidding? Enough with the modesty. I’m completely ecstatic!
“I’ve completed the guest list and the number comes up to a total of 105. Is that too many?”
I just hope you can come to the ceremony, Harry. Ginny is throwing an after party at her flat. It’s supposed to be the bit without all the pompous, stiff necked formalities. Please say yes…
“Harry? Is it too many? Harry, dear, are you listening?”
“Hmm? What?”
He looks up from the sheet of parchment in his hands. Gwen is standing before him with her hands on her hips.
“What have you got there?”
“What, this? Oh, it’s just a letter from Hermione. She’s been appointed chief of medi-care at St Mungo’s.”
Gwen bites her lip, and he is surprised to see a hurt look on her face. Alarmed, he bolts up from the couch and tries to take her in his arms.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulls away from him.
“What wrong? What’s wrong?!” Her cheeks are aflame and her velvet eyes well up with tears. “You haven’t been listening to a single word I’ve been saying, have you Harry?”
“What? No, that’s not true. I’ve been listening.”
“Oh really? Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
There is a heart beat of silence in which she looks at him incredulously. Her mouth opens then closes and a single tear rolls down her cheek.
“Gwen-”
“No! I don’t want to hear it!” she bursts out and he stays silent. “I’ve been patient with you, Harry. God knows how patient I’ve been, but I don’t think I can take much of this any longer.”
His voice is quiet and filled with confusion. “Take much of what?”
“Us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have been planning, Harry. Planning for our wedding with everyone’s help but yours. You’re always here, but you’re mind is somewhere else. Your heart isn’t in it and I am sodding tired of pretending not to notice.”
“Notice what, Gwen? Stop beating around the bloody bush and tell me what’s wrong!”
“You don’t love me anymore!”
A shocked silence hangs between them.
“That’s bull and you know it.”
“Open your eyes, Harry. For god sakes just open your bleeding eyes and look at what’s happening! I’m here going out of my way to make things absolutely easy for you and you haven’t said a word on a single plan I’ve made. You haven’t given a single suggestion to anything at all, and I’ve been left to decide everything. Now I thought in the beginning that you were being a gentleman. I thought you were being the most wonderful, considerate husband, tolerating my every wish. But I understand now. You’re not being kind or considerate. You just don’t care.”
“Don’t care? Hell, Gwen, I proposed to you. I’ve given you my bed, my time, m-my bloody heart! What else do you want from me?!”
Gwen looks at him incredulously, her graceful features heating with anger. “I want an action, Harry! I don’t care about the dresses, or the money or-or the damn wedding! I…I want you, Harry. I want you to give me a sign; some indication that you care about our future. That you care about us!”
He clenches his jaw in anger and confusion as to what she wants him to do or say. He turns away briefly and runs a shaking, agitated hand through his hair. The tears streaming down her face make him want to crush her to him, but his fingers itch to smash an object against the wall and watch the broken shards litter the ground.
They are faintly aware of a voice continually shouting his name, but by now he is far into the argument to care, and she is far into him to notice.
He steps closer to her, his voice cold and growing in volume as he says, “What do you want from me, Gwen? If you will do me the favour of gracing me with a straight answer I’ll die a happy man. I’ve given you everything. I’ve done all I could. What more do want? A letter? A song? Words painted in the sky? Do you want a bloody fanfare?! If I could, Gwen, I would lay the world at your feet, but at the moment I’m finding the task a bit hard to accomplish! ”
“Don’t you dare give me sarcasm, Harry because I won’t have it!”
His mind registers the voice calling out his name.
“What?!” he shouts and wheels towards the fireplace and for a fleeting second his eyes flare in mild surprise. Seamus’ head sits in the middle looking rather flustered at having interrupted them.
“What is it, Seamus?” he asks. His voice sounds tired as he swallows his irritation.
In the background, Gwen turns, furiously dashing what is left of her tears away, feeling embarrassed to have displayed herself in such a way before his friend. Seamus’ face looks pallid as he swallows.
“It’s Ron.”
Flashback
The doors to the infirmary burst open and a tall young man, his robes billowing behind him, dashes toward the bed occupied by a pale figure. His flaming hair frames his ashen features.
“Oh, Merlin. Ron,” Harry groans.
A rather bushy haired young woman throws herself into his arms, her body still trembling from a mixture of both shock and relief.
“He’s going to be okay, Harry. Madam Pomfrey says that all he needs is rest and he’ll be alright,” a weary looking Ginny states with a hint of relief in her voice. She sits at Ron’s side, holding his hand tightly in her own.
“I should have been there,” he whispers in a voice writhing with anguish. “I should have known.”
“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Hermione murmurs into his chest.
“Yes it is. Ron would be fine if it wasn’t for me. He would be safe in the common room with Seamus and Dean playing a game or even starting Snape’s essay. It’s my fault he’s here. If he wasn’t my friend, MacNott wouldn’t have attacked him. He-”
She pulls away from his arms drawing his head down to look at her. He could still see traces of tears streaking her cheeks, but her eyes look determined.
“You listen to me, Harry. What happened to Ron is no fault of yours. Now don’t you dare go on blaming yourself and saying that if you hadn’t met us we would be far safer than we are now because all that is a load of rubbish. Voldemort is alive, Harry,” she ignores Ginny’s wince at the mention of the name and continues, “and that means that people will get hurt. Ron just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he fought bravely and won. Would he have known what to do in that situation if he had not been acquainted with you? Would he still be alive right now, if he had not gone through all the troubles you have and fought along side you in the past?”
He shifts his head out of her grip, and turns to look at his best friend. Ron looks like an empty shell. His chest slowly rises and falls in a steady rhythm reminding Harry that he is still clinging onto whatever strands of life he has. Harry’s face crumples. He reaches out to the helpless figure on the bed, now seeming to be only a shadow of the lively being lying dormant within. She quickly takes his outstretched hand and holds it tightly within her own, simultaneously turning him back to face her. Their eyes meet and hold. A torrent of fear sweeps through her as she notices the far away look in his eyes and the hint of a scowl shadowing his features.
Oh, Merlin, not you too. Don’t leave me, Harry. Not now when Ron needs you most. When I need you most.
“Harry?” She watches as a series of emotions flash through his eyes only causing her fear to heighten. “Harry look at me,” she pleads desperately. “Look at me, Harry! Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this because it was our choice- not yours- to befriend you. Do you hear me? It was our choice. None of this is your fault because it was our decision! Oh, Merlin, Harry please look at me!”
“I am,” he answers in a voice unlike his own.
She shivers uncontrollably, her hand strokes his cheek.
“No you are not. If you are even thinking of doing something stupid, which I know you are, you had better stop this instant!”
She inwardly breaths a sigh of relief as she notices his eyes finally focus on her own.
“What do you want me to do, Hermione? Let him get away with what he’s done?” he hisses, eyes blazing.
She shakes her head.
“No.”
“I have to face him!”
“And you will, with me and Ron at your side.”
His voice softens and his eyes mirror the sorrow and regret he knows that he cannot hide from her.
“No, love. I have to do this alone.”
“But not now. What you have to do is stay here with Ron. With me. Please, Harry. Don’t o.”
Flashback Ends
“I am sorry Mr. Potter, but I simply cannot allow you to see our patient at the present time,” a plump and freckled nurse says gently yet firmly as she looks him in the eye with much trepidation. Her only consolation is the desk separating her from the very angry, very famous Harry Potter who looks as if he can at any moment throttle her or any innocent doctor that so happens to pass by.
He takes a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm himself and looks at the name tag adorning her immaculate uniform. In perfectly bold letters, the gold rectangle screams MARTHA. Seeing the absolutely fearful look in her eyes completely betraying the calm composure she manages to accomplish, he softens his voice with some strain.
“Martha, I just need to know if he’s okay.”
At this, Martha opens her mouth and shakes her head to once again tell the infamous man before her that she simply cannot allow him in the patient’s room, but she is cut off from the sudden look of utter fear that masks his features, for he takes her negative response in the wrong way and automatically assumes that a fate so horrific has befallen his best friend.
“Tell me he’s okay!” he bursts in a rage filled with desperation. At this sudden exclamation, the entrance hall of SPELL DAMAGE grows completely silent. Both patients and doctors alike stop and stare at the alarming sight of an extremely angered wizard towering over the quiet Martha who in turn, from this sudden and unexpected outburst is completely taken aback.
He ignores the hand at his arm and the voice in his ear pleading for him to calm down. The woman standing at his side lets go of him and smiles somewhat fleetingly at the spectators pleased with the exciting spectacle playing before their eyes. Gwen flushes and looks at the poor nurse with an apologetic smile.
Martha manages to find her voice in a matter of minutes and stutters, “I-I’m sure Mr. Weasley is alright. He is in the finest of care and Dr. Granger is seeing to him as we speak, so if you will please have a seat and-”
“Boss?”
He whirls around at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Tonks!” he exclaims in relief and hurries toward the woman, hoping for information. A nurse passes behind them, holding the hand of a man looking quite affronted at the shocking blue that is Tonk’s hair. Harry ignores the insulted patient and in concern goes on to ask, “What happened?”
“We were ambushed during surveillance. We never saw it coming. If it wasn’t for Weasley we’d all be dead.”
A gasp of surprise is heard from the stunning woman standing behind him, but she is regarded with not so much as a look in her direction.
“Is he alright?” he asks stepping forward and not daring to take his eyes of her features in fear of missing a single reaction betraying an answer. There is a painful silence between them as Tonks struggles to figure out how to tell him the news. His throat goes dry as he waits anxiously. A part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and dash into the room to see for himself instead of helplessly standing outside expecting an answer from someone’s lips.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Harry. He looks like hell.”
The world around him falls away and all that he is aware of is room 412 and the words ‘he looks like hell’ a steady chant in his ear.
Not again.
“Granger is in there with him right now. Finnegan is assisting her.” Tonks adds placing a comforting hand on his arm.
Oh god, Hermione.
“She’s the finest doctor in the wizarding world, Harry. Ron’s going to be fine,” she assures. Finding himself unable to say a word, he merely nods in answer to this.
Completely silent, he trudges to the chairs by the wall and sinks into one of them, placing his head in his hands. The women leave him to his thoughts.
Moments later he becomes faintly aware of a woman desperately demanding something of Martha. Her voice sounds as if she is on the verge of tears and increases in volume with every question and demand. He lifts his head and speaks a single broken word.
“Ginny.”
A streak of red shoots into his open arms and he holds her tightly to him.
“He’s going to be alright. Don’t worry. Hermione and Seamus are with him. He’s going to fine,” he whispers his mantra to her and holds her hand, all the while a part of him frantically struggles to believe his own words.
Minutes pass and one by one the rest of the Weasley clan appear in twos and threes. Tonks and Gwen excuse themselves from the mourning party, and they go off in hopes of finding tea for all.
A door opens and a woman dressed in a white coat steps shakily outside and closes the door softly behind her. She stands for a few moments, her back to the door and shuts her eyes in relief. He is the first to spot her. He jumps up. Ginny sits on the edge of her seat, her hand clinging to her husband’s. Nigel, in turn, squeezes her hand reassuringly.
“Is he…” Harry breaths, daring to hope.
“The worst is over. He’s going to be alright,” she assures them all.
A jubilant cry is sounded. He folds her into his arms as waves of pure relief crash through him.
“Can we-”
“Yes, Ginny. You can see him now,” she interrupts with a weak smile.
The Weasleys pour into room 412.
“Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”
He hears Ginny reprimand her brother. Before the door shuts behind them all, the sound of Ron’s voice reaches his ears.
“Oh sure, Gin. I’ll be sure to tell the nice mercenary to next time place a comfortable cushion on the ground before he decides to check if blood really is red and tosses me off a building.”
The bustling room becomes clear to his senses once again and he sighs. “How close was he?”
“Very.”
He expels a long breath, clenches his jaw and swallows.
“We almost lost him, Harry. Again.”
“But we didn’t,” he whispers, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent and promptly losing himself in her. “Thanks to you,” he continues.
“And Seamus. If not for him, I would not have gotten to Ron in time.”
“Remind me to buy that man a keg when all this is over.”
She smiles at this and says, “Why not a pub while you’re at it?”
He chuckles. “A pub will do nicely.”
He becomes faintly aware that he is still holding onto her, but he makes no move to let go. She is content to simply close her eyes and listen to the steady beating of his heart.
This is how Gwen found them.
She watches as he whispers to her and tenderly smoothes her hair away and places a kiss on her forehead. Gwen watches her murmur in turn, making him chuckle as he looks at her. He doesn’t look at me like that. Gwen thinks mournfully to herself and is just about to step forward, steaming cups trailing behind her, when the door opens and a stream of cheerful Weasleys exit the room. They admit the once embracing couple into the room, and the door closes behind them, barring her from him.
“Gwen! Did you hear? Ron’s going to be fine. You can see him now if you like.” Fred declares merrily and thankfully accepting one of the steaming cups.
Gwen puts on a smile torn between her feelings of happiness and sorrow. “That’s wonderful, Fred. I think I’ll let the three of them alone first.”
There is a sudden cheer at the sight of Tonks and Butterbeers. Gwen gratefully accepts one and swallows, smiling and laughing with the rest. George quickly excuses himself to head off the nurse now curiously and disapprovingly looking at the bottles gripped in the relieved family’s hands. All the while, Gwen forces herself to keep the smile and not shed a single tear fighting to pour and cascade down her elegant features with abandon. For she knew, as she continues to glance at the closed door, that the man she is willing to spend every waking moment of her life with, the man that she desperately loves with all her being, is and never will truly belong to her.
I can’t let you go, Harry. I can’t loose you.
An image of the two of them embracing, lost to their surroundings save for each other suddenly springs forth before her mind’s eye. And in that very moment, she knew that she was already far too late.