Ginny sighed as she crossed the street, self-consciously wringing her hands together.
Why would they send her? She wasn’t any good at this - and Ron and Hermione were his best friends. What made them think that she of all people could get through to him?
But Ron hadn’t been able to do it. Nor Hermione. Not even her own mother, or Remus Lupin for that matter.
Surely Remus would be able to.
But no.
So they had come to Ginny - pleading for her to try. And Ginny couldn’t say no. Not after seeing both Ron’s and Hermione’s crestfallen faces after they had returned to Grimmauld Place.
But it was the desperate look in her mother’s eyes that had really made Ginny do it. Being desperate was not a thing of her mother’s, and it had startled Ginny to see the tears in her eyes.
No ordinary tears, but tears of a mother. A mother in disparity.
Ginny had promised to try, but made no guarantees - no matter how hard it was to see the hurt flash her mother’s features.
So here she was.
Ginny closed her eyes with another sigh, stepping up to the doorstep of Number Four.
She looked over to see that the Dursleys’ car was gone.
She looked over her shoulder to the dark cat watching on the opposite side of the street, and gave a small wave of her hand to show that everything was all right.
Her Head of House gave a swish of her tail, giving Ginny the signal back, and Ginny pulled out her wand.
Glancing up and down the street, she pointed it at the doorknob and murmured, “Alohomora!”
A small click and she was in.
She stepped into the hallway. . . A rather clean hallway. There was not one piece of Muggle post out of it’s place, not one umbrella out of it’s stand, not one speck of dust on the hallway table.
The dark hard wood floor of the hallway shone in the bright sun, as if it had only just been mopped.
It probably has, thought Ginny with disgust.
It was . . . disturbing to see so much cleanliness.
Ginny turned up the stairs, noticing the photos the Muggles had mounted on the wall.
They were all of that boy . . . Dudley, was it?
There were no pictures of Harry. None at all.
Pictures of Dudley on his many birthday parties, pictures of Dudley with his mother and father, pictures of Dudley with his friends -
No pictures of Harry.
This wrenched at Ginny’s heart angrily. . .
He was still a part of their family. . .
She reached the landing to see more pictures of Dudley, upon which she squeezed her eyes to keep her temper in check.
But it had only worsened when she dared to open them again, this time to see a door with a dog flap on it.
That must be his room. . .
This was sick.
She neared the door, bringing her hand to rest on the handle, only to find that it was locked.
Ginny had been forewarned about this by Fred and George, but nevertheless pulled out her wand and muttered another spell.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door with a shaking hand.
And she nearly cried at the sight of him. It had been worse than she thought.
Harry was lying on his bed, his blankets twisted around him like a ball. He seemed thinner than usual, his hair certainly messier than usual, and paler than ever as he stared blankly at the wall his bed was against.
She could tell how haunted his eyes were from here.
“Harry?” whispered Ginny in a shaky voice.
Startled, he looked around at her, and his eyes widened.
“Ginny?” he asked.
His hand self-consciously went to his hair as he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest in protectiveness.
“Hi,” said Ginny, forcing a smile.
But he didn’t smile back.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a voice scratchy from disuse.
It wasn’t rude, but it stung nevertheless.
She was his friend, too, wasn’t she?
Ginny pulled up a chair next to his bed and sat down. On closer inspection, she noticed the dark circles around his eyes.
Harry snatched up his glasses, turning his eyes away from her obvious gaze.
“I just thought I’d visit,” said Ginny.
There was an awkward silence as both downcast their eyes.
“How - how have you been?” Ginny asked before she could stop herself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. . . Of course he’d be feeling terrible, you dolt!
She mentally slapped herself.
“Erm - fine,” Harry lied in his croaky voice. “Look, Ginny - you -”
“Harry, I came because I wanted to come, all right?”
Which was true - however anxious she was.
It suddenly struck her that she was in Harry Potter’s bedroom.
And she felt her cheeks flame, but she didn’t think they went that red.
She heard a rustle of feathers behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Hedwig perched on top of her cage.
Ginny smiled while the snowy owl hooted, and she felt encouraged.
“So - erm - where are your aunt and uncle and cousin?” Ginny asked Harry.
“Some - some convention all the way in Whales,” said Harry.
Ginny grinned.
Thank you, Tonks!
“Oh no,” said Harry. “Tonks - Tonks is the one who sent them that letter, isn’t she?”
Ginny smiled widely.
“Yup,” she said proudly.
“The Dursleys are going to be so angry when they get back!” said Harry. “They’ll -”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Ginny. “You’ll be gone before they get back. Three more days, remember?”
Harry nodded, but did not make a comment.
Then, she heard his stomach growl.
“Are you hungry?” she asked with a frown. “When did the Dursleys leave?”
“Yesterday,” said Harry.
So that meant they locked him in yesterday.
“And you haven’t eaten since?!” asked Ginny in outrage.
She stood up quickly, making him jump.
“You get in the shower,” she said. “I’m going to make you something to eat.”
“But -”
“Now, Harry,” Ginny said firmly, moving the chair and taking him by the arm.
She watched him get a change of clothes and followed him out of the bedroom, where he crossed the hall into the bathroom.
As soon as he closed the door, she hurried downstairs into the kitchen.
Muggle cooking couldn’t be that hard, could it?
But once she stepped into the kitchen, eyeing the fairly new appliances, she felt her heart sink.
“How in the world -” began Ginny.
But - she would be optimistic. Harry needed to eat.
So, after about five minutes of searching, she found a pan and set it on the burner.
Nothing happened.
“Oh - forget this,” said Ginny.
Thank Merlin Bill had set a guard over the house, or else she would be hauled in by the ministry by now.
She took out her wand once more and waved it, bringing the pan to hover over the stove.
She opened the . . . what was it? The reckfringenator and took eggs out of the carton, cracking them in the pan and using her wand to heat it.
She then found a couple pieces of toast as the eggs sizzled in the pan, being scrambled by a fork, and fried those after the eggs.
It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.
She hurried back upstairs, the plate of food and orange juice in hand, back into his room, where he stood at his mirror, running a comb through his messy raven-colored hair.
“Here,” she said, handing him the plate. “It’s not much - as I don’t know how to use those things down there.”
“Er - thanks, Ginny,” said Harry.
She watched him silently as he ate, slowly but surely.
The jeans and T-shirt simply hung off of him. She was startled by this.
“Harry - you need to eat more,” said Ginny as he finally set down the plate, only halfway eaten.
He shook his head, his eyes on the floor.
Ginny tilted her head downwards to peer into his eyes, finally grasping his wrist with a firm, yet gentle touch.
“It’s not your fault,” she said in a low voice.
He did not say anything, tensing up and pulling away from her touch.
Ginny frowned, her head bowed, picking up the plate.
She brought it back downstairs into the kitchen, not even bothering to clean it once all the leftover food had been thrown away.
That was the least the Muggles deserved - and Harry wouldn’t be forced to do it.
She was just returning to the stairs when she spotted something.
A small door beneath the stairs. A cupboard.
“They kept him in a cupboard, those Muggles. . .”
Was this what Hagrid had been talking about?
Curiosity getting the better of her, Ginny pulled at the latch and opened the door.
She gasped as she saw the inside.
A small, small cot, with a beaten quilt upon it and a single pillow. Accompanying the cupboard were lined shelves on the wall. On these shelves were a few forgotten items, including a miniature toy soldier.
As if in a trance, Ginny’s hand went up to the ragged fabric of the quilt and traced it seams.
As she did this, she could sense the sad tales of neglect . . . and abuse by the Muggles, especially when it came to Harry’s uncle.
Ginny furiously wiped at her eyes, standing up from the cupboard with shortened breath.
How could one human being do this to another? Especially a child?
She let the cupboard door slam, hurrying up the stairs two at a time.
She couldn’t let this by. She wanted answers from Harry, and she wanted them now.
But when she returned to his bedroom, she found that he had taken to lying on his bed again, only this time, his hand seemed very tense on the blankets, and his breathing seemed shallow, his eyes closed.
“Harry?”
She was startled as he opened his eyes to reveal them to be red-rimmed and glassy.
“Ginny can you go now, please?” he asked in a strangled voice.
But Ginny approached nonetheless as he turned to his wall with a shuddered breath.
“Please, Ginny,” he said in that same strangled voice.
She felt his muscles tense under her hand as she touched his arm.
“Harry, it’s okay,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“Do you really want me to go?” Ginny asked, sitting on the bed and leaning over to whisper in his ear.
He looked up at her, his eyes puffy and still red-rimmed. It only made her heart ache more.
She watched his mouth form, “No,” as he looked away from her.
Seeming shamed, he rolled back over, but Ginny took the initiative to lay down behind him, reaching her arm through his to grasp his hand as she pressed her face between his shoulder blades.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” she whispered as she squeezed his hand.
She clasped her eyes shut as she felt a gentle squeeze back.
-
A/N: Quick question - should I continue it?