“Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to be involved with them. Love is not a bandage to cover wounds.” ~ Hugh Elliott
Just as Ron suspected, the Post Owl that Ginny sent to Hermione returned with no reply. When Ginny determinedly maintained that she would march over to Hermione’s house and bang on the door until it was answered, Ron was forced to take her to the house, but again they received no answer.
“Well, we’ll just have to turn up on Saturday and hope for the best,” Ginny said as she sat on the sofa, a bunch of bananas on the table and an open jar of peanut butter in her hand. Ron stared at her morosely.
“Hope for the best?” he repeated hollowly. “That makes me confident.” Ginny snorted.
“What else are you going to do? Don’t you remember what Dad always said?”
“You mean apart from, ‘I love Muggles and I’m going to go and be one’?” Ron grumbled, reaching over to eat some of the peanut butter.
“Apart from that; he always said, ‘What’s the use of giving up when you haven’t tried everything?’ Of course, that was always when he was attempting to encourage wizard-Muggle relations, but still, I feel it’s applicable.” She scooped out a lump of peanut butter and examined it closely. “And he also said, ‘So things went wrong once, twice, seven times, it doesn’t mean they will the next.” Ron looked at his sister, a puzzled look on his face.
“He never said that to me,” he said slowly, eyeing her shrewdly. Ginny shrugged and ate the peanut butter.
“He said it to me all the time,” she replied nonchalantly. “He used to write it in letters to me, all through second year and some of third.” Ron was silent, still carefully contemplating his sister. Ginny’s face was smooth and unreadable, her eyes looking out of the window ahead, the peanut butter jar in one hand and the other resting subconsciously on her bump. The index finger was lifted into the air so as not to get the sticky peanut butter on her clothes. He’d never really spoken to her about what had happened in her first year. She never brought it up, and he didn’t like to mention it. He wondered suddenly what it must be like to go through something like that, to live knowing that a whole year of your life had been stolen by someone, all of your thoughts and memories taken, manipulated and abused. And suddenly Ron felt ashamed, ashamed that he’d never asked his sister whether she was alright, never offered her a big brother’s shoulder to cry on, never just given her that warm, comforting smile.
“Do you still think about it?” he asked now, softly. “About, you know… Riddle.”
Ginny did not look surprised. Instead she let out a tiny, knowing sigh, and her fingers gently rubbed her bump.
“Sometimes,” she said finally, still staring out of the window. “Not as much as I used to. But back then, in my second year… Everybody knew, you know. I’d walk into the Great Hall and I could feel people looking at me, and even if they’d only heard it as a rumour, I just felt that they knew. I felt so guilty, so ashamed.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ron reminded her quietly. Ginny shook her head.
“I know, and I can tell myself that. But back then, I was spending all my time thinking about it. I wouldn’t walk down that corridor, the one where I left the messages. I never went back down it in all my time at Hogwarts. Stupid, I know. I just kept trying to remember what happened, and I would see the people that I knew I had attacked, and I’d be wondering, ‘What did I do to you?’ And I couldn’t trust anyone, not even myself… not for years.”
“But you trusted Harry,” Ron pointed out. Ginny smiled happily.
“Yes. When we went off to the Department of Mysteries, and we were riding those Thestral things in mid-air, I just thought, ‘You’re doing it again, Ginny, putting your life in the hands of some guy and just hoping that he won’t take it away.’”
“Harry wouldn’t do that to anyone,” Ron said, almost harshly. “He could never do it, especially to you.”
“I know,” Ginny said quietly. “And then I knew that was the difference between him and Voldemort. Plain and simple. They’re both powerful, they’re connected by that Prophecy, they’re both half-bloods… They’re so similar in so many ways. But then I knew the most important difference between them; Harry loved and respected people, he loved and respected life. Even though Voldemort desired life so badly that he split his soul to keep it, Harry cared about living the one life given to him, using that life, and he cared for the lives of others. So I knew that I was safe with Harry.”
“You do have a way with words,” Ron told her, laughing to cover the true feelings he was experiencing. He couldn’t tell Ginny that he understood completely what she had just said, that she had expressed more eloquently, succinctly and simply everything that made Harry who he was. “You’re lucky.”
“Yeah, I am,” Ginny sighed, rubbing the bump again. “Let’s just hope that you get lucky with Hermione. She means just as much to you, I know.”
Ron made no reply to this, but no reply was necessary. He was still processing the sudden realisation of just how much his little sister had grown up and he had never noticed, as if one day she were a little girl, and the next a woman.
“Love’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” Ginny said now, leaning back into the sofa. Ron let out a slight humourless laugh.
“It certainly is,” he muttered. “What if Hermione does marry Alex?”
“Then I think we’ll either have to think of another plan, or… we accept it,” Ginny said firmly, patting him on the knee. “But I think this might just work. I’ve got a feeling.”
“In your waters?” Ron asked jokingly. Ginny swatted at his arm.
“In my heart,” she assured him and he stuck his tongue out at her.
“Speaking of our favourite saviour-of-the-world,” Ron said, glancing at his watch, “where is the Chosen One?”
“He went out to do the shopping,” Ginny replied, looking slightly worried. “I felt a bit tired, so he offered to go. I wrote him a list, and it’s not that I don’t trust him, but still…”
“He can save the world but can’t find his way around a supermarket?” Ron quipped.
“Something like that.”
At that moment there came the sound of the front door opening, followed by the sound of someone who was clearly trying to negotiate their way inside with many shopping bags. A few moments later and Harry entered the room, rain dripping from his coat onto the floor.
“Horrible weather,” he said in greeting. Ginny leapt up to help, but then clutched at her side suddenly with a painful wince.
“Ginny? What’s wrong?” Ron said hurriedly, grabbing her elbow and lowering her back down to the sofa, as Harry quickly set the bags down and came to her side.
“It’s nothing, I think I must have pulled something,” Ginny said, waving him away but still with a slightly concerned look on her face. “I’m fine, honestly. Here, let me help you.”
“You’re staying there,” Harry told her firmly, looking concernedly down at her. “We’ll do this. You can entertain our guest.” Ginny stared at him, eyes narrowed.
“Guest?”
“I invited someone around, just for a short while,” Harry said, with a mysterious grin on his face. “She should be arriving in a few seconds…” Just then there was a bang from the fireplace and a short, middle-aged witch appeared in the grate.
“Mrs Potter?” she asked cheerily, brushing ash from her robes.
“Madam Malkin!” Ginny exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you said you wanted a new dress, I thought I’d pay for some new dress robes for you. She’s here to measure you, then I can pick up the robes tomorrow morning,” Harry told her. Ginny beamed at him excitedly.
“I wasn’t being serious!” she laughed, but still (with the help of Ron) got to her feet. “But I’m not complaining.”
Ron and Harry carried the shopping through to the kitchen, and they could hear the sounds of Ginny and Madam Malkin already chatting away, about the baby and when Ginny was due and what names they’d been thinking of.
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Harry asked Ron, as he piled peanut butter jars into the larder. Ron shrugged.
“I feel like it’s all or nothing,” he admitted, emptying an entire bag of bananas into the fruit bowl. “Tomorrow’s ‘The Day’, you know?”
“You’ll be fine,” Harry told him. “I bet everything works out.”
“Let me guess, you’ve got a feeling in your heart,” Ron said sarcastically. Harry shook his head and clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Nah. In my waters.”
*
Dinner at the Potters’ that evening was a quiet affair; Ron, Harry and Ginny all seemed to be preoccupied with the prospect of the next day’s events. Ginny in particular seemed distant, eating hardly any of the shepherd’s pie that Harry and Ron had managed to cook. Harry, scrutinising his wife closely, ordered her to go and sit down in the living room while he and Ron cleared away. They were successful insofar as clearing the table, but when it came to actually washing all of the pots and pans, both boys bailed. Leaving the dishes in a sink full of boiling soapy water, they joined Ginny in the living room. Ron thought the smile she gave the pair of them was a little forced, but was too preoccupied with thoughts of Hermione to bring it up. The three of them merely sat quietly, until Harry dozed off in his armchair, leaving Ron and Ginny both staring thoughtfully into the fire. A sharp intake of breath from Ginny made Ron look up. She was clutching her side, a pained wince etched on her face.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, not wanting to wake Harry. He suspected that this was what had been preoccupying Ginny all evening, but knew how irritated she got when she was fussed over.
“I keep getting this pain right here.” Ginny indicated the right hand side of her bump, still frowning. “I thought it was just a strain, but it just won’t go away.”
“Do you want to go to St Mungo’s?” asked Ron, as calmly as he could. He didn’t want her to fly off the handle.
“Not yet,” Ginny said slowly, and Ron saw her glance at the sleeping Harry. “It’s just a twinge. If it’s still there in the morning, we’ll go then. I don’t want to worry Harry over nothing,” she added suddenly. “Everything’s so busy at the moment and you know what he’s like.”
“If there’s something wrong he should know,” Ron told her firmly. “He’d hate it if something happened to you or to the baby. He’d hate himself for letting it happen.” Ginny nodded, turning back to the fire.
“If it gets any worse at all, even in the middle of the night, I promise I will wake him up and make him take me to St Mungo’s,” she assured him. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed, big day tomorrow and all that.” Ron helped her out of her chair and she shuffled, yawning, over to where Harry was sleeping.
“Harry?” She shook his elbow gently and kissed him tenderly on his forehead. “Harry, love, are you coming to bed?” Harry jerked awake, his glasses slipping to the end of his nose, and glanced around to see his wife smiling back at him.
“I might stay up for a while,” Ron muttered. “Stuff to think about.” Ginny nodded and, as Harry got up and stretched, yawning widely, she surprised Ron by giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Ron was left alone, watching the few remaining flames dance and flicker in the grate. He allowed himself to get lost in thought; thoughts of Hermione, thoughts of the dancing competition, thoughts of his sister and of Harry. He realised suddenly that so many things rested on tomorrow. Would Ginny be alright? Would he dance in the show? Would Hermione get married? It seemed that there was only one day in the world that mattered and Ron was counting down the seconds to its dawn.
And so it was that he awoke early with the dawn next morning slouched on the sofa, having fallen into a restless sleep somewhere around one o’clock. The sun was just peeking through the trees around Harry and Ginny’s house, casting slanting silvery rays across the living room. The house was silent; Ron supposed Harry and Ginny were still asleep. With a stretch, he got up from the sofa and shuffled out to the kitchen, where he was greeted with the sight of last night’s washing up still sitting in its “ now freezing cold “ bowl of water. Ron set to work with a resigned sigh, unable to remember the charm for washing up; better to force himself to wash the dishes than face Ginny’s wrath when she realised that they hadn’t done them. By the time he’d finished, the sun had risen properly and Ginny and Harry had emerged though, luckily for the two boys, Ginny arrived in the kitchen moments after Ron had put the last glass away in the cupboard.
“Did you get any sleep?” Ginny asked incredulously as she opened the fridge to get the milk. Ron shrugged.
“A little,” he admitted, truthfully. Ginny said nothing, but raised an eyebrow as though she didn’t believe him. Harry was sitting at the breakfast table, looking possibly more tired than he had the night before. He and Ginny had a pact that, since she was not allowed to drink coffee, Harry too would abstain for the duration of the pregnancy, and it was safe to say that he seemed to be feeling the effects more than Ginny. Apparently having found no milk in the fridge, Ginny glanced at the calendar and, with a sigh of realisation that Ron took to mean that the milkman was making his delivery today, she closed the fridge with an irritated snap.
“D’you want me to-” Ron began, but Ginny had already marched from the kitchen and out towards the front door. They heard the sounds of the front door opening, bottles clinking and the door shutting again. Then, suddenly-
“OH!”
The crash of glass sent both Ron and Harry sprinting to the hallway, all tiredness forgotten. Ginny was clutching the bottom banister of the staircase, doubled over and grimacing in pain, while the milk bottles she had been carrying lay smashed on the floor around her feet, milk oozing into the carpet.
“Ginny?” Harry asked urgently, rushing to her side and grabbing her arm. “What is it?” Ginny did not reply; her face contorted with pain as she shook her head wordlessly. Ron stood motionless in the kitchen doorway, stricken, unsure of what he should do.
“St Mungo’s,” Ginny managed to gasp, gripping onto Harry’s shoulder with her free hand. “Please…” She didn’t have to say anymore; Harry half-carried his wife into the living room, where Ron was now already throwing Floo Powder into the grate.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want, mate. We don’t know how long we’ll be,” Harry said hurriedly to Ron, looking around at the clock, but Ron shook his head firmly.
“I’m coming with you,” he said resolutely, barely glancing at the time. “She’s my sister.”
Strictly Ballroom by goldenprincess
Chapter Notes: As Ron counts down the days until Hermione's wedding, life at Harry and Ginny's shows him the value of what he already has. But is he in danger of losing even that?