Chapter 3 - The Letter
The house was disconcertingly quiet, Ginny thought.
Of course, that really wasn’t much of a surprise. Bill had returned to Egypt, Charlie was on his way back to his dragons in Romania, and her dad was still working overtime at the Ministry of Magic. Ginny didn't know what he was doing there, but figured he was most likely trying to deal with the repercussions from the disastrous Quidditch Cup. Percy was there as well, trying to impress his boss, the high and mighty Bartimaeus Crouch, by finding new ways to kiss his bum. Her remaining brothers, Harry, and Hermione had reboarded the Hogwarts Express several days ago. Ginny had gone to the station to see them off, and just seeing the old red steam engine had been like reopening old wounds. Finally, although Mrs. Weasley was usually at home, she was in Diagon Alley on this particular morning, on one of her infrequent shopping trips.
So, what with one thing and another, the Burrow’s population had dwindled from eleven to one. Because of the flurry of cleaning that had taken place before the guests arrived, there was little to no now. Nothing to do, Ginny thought bitterly, but think.
The Quidditch Cup had been rough. It had been Ginny’s first time back in wizarding society in sixteen months, and it had seemed like everyone was either staring at her from a distance and avoiding her eyes, or just plain avoiding contact with her altogether. Ginny had studied enough history to know that it was very similar to the way lepers had been treated in olden times, by wizards as well as Muggles, at least until Helga Hufflepuff had discovered the cure, shortly before she and the others founded Hogwarts.
And, Ginny thought wryly, she hadn’t even had to ring a bell and shout “Unclean!” every few steps.
She had not known at the time, but Ludo Bagman, who had given her father the tickets, had initially refused to provide one for her, and only relented when Arthur had expressed his intent to let Ginny have his. And, back at home afterward, he had admitted that he had probably made a mistake doing so.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he had said. “I truly am. I knew that you loved Quidditch, and I was afraid that leaving you behind would make you feel bad. I never once thought about how they would treat you, and I should have."
Ginny had known that her father would never even consider hurting her. And in truth, the thrill of the game had more than compensated for the treatment she had received before and after. But it had also brought back memories of her days at Hogwarts, and watching the house teams duke it out. Especially Harry Potter, the boy who lived, and the object of her silly crush. She wondered if he had felt anything for her, or if he had just come to her rescue because it was the right thing to do. Given Harry’s principled nature, it could have been either.
Ginny sighed, then rose. It was daytime, but it was also overcast. As long as she didn’t go too low, she could take the broom out for another spin. It would give her something to do, maybe take her eyes off the memories that her recent experiences had brought to the surface. Flying seemed to do that. Sooner or later, she supposed that she would push the Bluebottle beyond its limits, and wind up losing control and splattering herself all over some remote hillside somewhere.
As she headed for the door to get the broom, something struck her in the back of the head. It was a letter, a very light one, probably no more than one piece of parchment in it. And (Ginny’s heart froze up in her chest for a moment) it was on Hogwarts stationery and written in the emerald-green ink that was a Hogwarts trademark. Two years ago, she had read and reread her letter from the school fifty times, relishing every detail of it. Hands trembling, she unfolded the parchment and read it. It was very short and to the point, but it still gave her a wild surge of hope.
The note read:
Dear Miss Weasley,
Be at the Leaky Cauldron at 9:00 PM tonight. Your parents are welcome to join you; this concerns them as well.
A. Dumbledore
* * * * * * *
The day passed with agonizing slowness, as though time itself had been slowed down. Each minute seemed like two, each hour like three. Ginny spent a long time trying to decide which of her few nice robes to wear, and what to do with her hair. She knew that Dumbledore was a man who cared less than nothing for appearances, but she wanted to look decent anyway. Or, at least, look like someone who had weathered a year of exile without breaking.
As the clock downstairs (not the grandfather clock that indicated the location of each family member, the small one on the mantel that gave the time) struck 8:30, there was a knock on her bedroom door. She opened it, and her father was there, also neatly dressed and carefully groomed. “Are you ready?”
Ginny nodded.
"You look good," he added. And it was true, she did. Her hair was carefully brushed and braided, and she wore the dark purple robes she had worn at her cousin Natalie's wedding.
Resolutely, the two of them headed downstairs. Molly fell in beside them as they passed through the kitchen. Arthur had used his influence to get a ministry car for them, he seemed to understand that using Floo Powder would cause them to arrive dirty and mussed up, which would not be a good thing. The car had no magical modifications, but it was late and traffic was light, and they made good time, arriving with a few minutes to spare.
The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was as warm and inviting as Ginny remembered, plus it was dark. If anyone knew who she was, no one seemed to care. As the family seated themselves at a handy table and Arthur ordered cakes and Butterbeer for the three of them, a landmass in a moleskin overcoat seperated itself from the crowd of drinkers and proceeded to approach them. “Evenin’ folks,” it said cheerily.
Ginny smiled. “Hello, Mr. Hagrid.”
“Hello, Ginny,” the huge man said softly. “You’ve been missed.”
Ginny wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it was the first nice thing anyone outside the family had said to her since she had left Hogwarts that terrible morning. She couldn’t help feeling choked up. “Thanks,” she managed.
“Are you the one we’re here to meet?” Arthur queried.
Hagrid shook his head. “No. I jus' had the day off. Dumbledore’s on his way. He jus' went to pick up somebody at the Portkey station.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. Their order arrived. He selected a large cake and took a bite of it.
Hagrid returned his attention to Ginny, who was sipping her butterbeer. “I know how you feel,” he whispered. “I got tossed out on my ear when I didn’ do anything wrong, jus’ like you. And Dumbledore stood up fer me. Jus' as he stood up fer you.”
With that, he patted her head gently and returned to the bar, presumably to refill the huge tankard in his hand. As Ginny watched him go, the clock above the bar struck nine. Seconds later, two figures materialized in front of the fireplace. One of them was unfamiliar to her, but the other. . . she’d have recognized the flowing silver hair and beard, and those kind blue eyes, anywhere. Albus Dumbledore had arrived. He looked around, saw the Weasleys, and led the way to their table, “Good evening, Miss Weasley,” he said.