4: Love Unveiled
Harry was about to see the Weasleys for the first time in almost a week. His heart thundered so loudly that he thought it might break his ribs. He had not felt so anxious since he’d walked into the Forbidden Forest; walked to what he’d expected would be his death.
The Weasley’s had always been so good to him, in return he’d given them: one son, Fred, dead; and two sons, Bill and George, maimed. Ron still had scars from the Department of Mysteries. Ginny, Ron and their father had all had narrow escapes from death. He’d caused the Weasleys so much suffering. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to look at Molly, or George, or Ginny.
Kingsley held out his arm. Harry shook his head. ‘I know where I’m going, thanks,’ he told the Minister, ‘I’ll Apparate to the orchard myself.’
Kingsley looked searchingly into Harry’s face, nodded impassively, and Disapparated. Harry hesitated, terrified. For a moment he considered fleeing, returning to Grimmauld Place. Instead, steeling himself, he twisted through space and followed Kingsley to the Burrow.
Arriving at the edge of the orchard Harry looked down at the ramshackle house for the first time since the day of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After everything that had happened, both at the wedding and during the following months, it seemed to Harry that he was remembering events from several lifetimes ago; in a way, he realised, he was. As he stared at the house, and at the chickens pecking their way across the yard, the Weasleys’ home looked as untidy, and welcoming, as ever.
He stood for a moment, taking in the scene. Mr and Mrs Weasley were standing at their kitchen door, their arms around each other; Kingsley was already striding down the hill towards them. Harry took a step forwards but, once again scared, he stopped. He began to pull his watch from his pocket, hoping to delay himself for a few more seconds. Before he had the chance to check the time a strained, carefully neutral voice to his right said:
‘It’s two o’clock exactly. The Minister is on time.’
Ginny!
Harry dropped the watch back into his pocket and turned to face her. She was sitting on the gnarled root of an old apple tree, her face hidden in the shadows of the blossom-covered branches.
Kingsley, Harry realised, had stopped at the sound of Ginny’s voice.
‘Er, you go on ahead,’ Harry said, glancing over his shoulder to address the Minister. He was having difficulty speaking and his heart was beating a fast march. Harry cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice calm. ‘Ginny and I will follow you down.’
He returned his gaze to Ginny. She was on her feet, striding downhill towards him. The afternoon sun was behind her, almost directly above her head. Because of its glare, he could not clearly see the expression on her face. Her long hair was swinging freely; it was copper red and shining. The sun made it glow and Harry was reminded of a brightly shimmering autumnal dusk. She stopped suddenly, about two yards away from him and he could finally see her clearly. She was wearing a plain, calf length, green dress belted at the waist (a cut down old robe?) and sandals, her freckled arms and legs were bare. She looked breathtakingly beautiful.
Ginny looked him up and down, her face impassive, it was as if she was examining some strange creature she’d never seen before. He, on the other hand, simply watched the sunlight dancing and gleaming in her hair as she carried out her examination.
‘Er, hello.’ Harry stammered, marvelling at his own ineptitude.
He had imagined many different emotional and passionate reunions with Ginny over the past week and had suffered so many nightmares of rejection while he slept. Now, faced with her in the flesh, words failed him. What could he possibly say to this flame-haired force of nature? How could he express his sorrow over the death of her brother? No words were enough.
‘Er…’ he again failed to speak … say something to her … he thought desperately.
Ginny stood with her legs slightly apart and her hands behind her back, her face was determinedly unemotional, but every muscle he could see, from her face to her calves, was tense. She stood in silence, watching Harry as he struggled to find something to say. Finally, she spoke.
‘You don’t look well, Harry,’ she observed, ‘you’re not eating properly and it doesn’t look like you’re sleeping well either. Why didn’t you go to Australia with Ron and Hermione? And when you didn’t go with them, why didn’t you come here instead of hiding yourself away in Grimmauld Place?’
Harry said nothing. This day was always going to come he realised. He had delayed it for a week, why?
‘I’ve … We’ve been worried about you,’ she continued.
Harry looked at her in silence. He began to panic as he tried to think of something to say. Several ideas flashed through his mind. How are you? (He dismissed it - a trite thing to ask someone whose brother is dead.) Are you all right? (Just as bad.)
Harry realised that his panic was probably showing on his face. Ginny was watching him with obvious concern and curiosity. She took another step towards him. She was now so close that he could smell her. She was within his grasp.
Perhaps if he just stepped forward and kissed her; it had worked before. Her brother has been killed! And it’s your fault! his inner demon whispered to him.
They looked at each other in silence for some time. Harry found himself captivated by her eyes. He tried to decide what to do, what to say.
‘What’s the matter, Harry?’ Ginny asked.
‘Fred,’ replied Harry helplessly, hopelessly. Her face creased into a frown. One word, one name, that was all it took to make her sad. She looked determinedly into his eyes.
‘No one blames you, Harry,’ she said gently, ‘we’re all grieving. You are too, I can see that. But we’ve got to keep going.’
Ginny paused, giving Harry an opportunity to speak. He found himself unable to say anything else. One simple word had exhausted his vocabulary.
‘I’m going to be helping George over the summer,’ Ginny continued, when it became obvious that Harry was again going to remain silent. ‘He’ll need help in the shop. He’ll need a great deal more help than the rest of us. We’ve got to think about the living, too, haven’t we?’
Harry nodded, but remained silent.
‘You’ve been visiting everyone, haven’t you?’ she tried again. ‘You’ve seen everyone who lost someone during the battle?’ Harry nodded again, too frightened to open his mouth.
Ginny continued to look at him carefully. Her silence was inviting, but still, he could not bring himself to say anything.
‘You’ve been listening to everyone, and not talking to anyone; haven’t you, Harry?’ Ginny observed. ‘And Grimmauld Place has been disconnected from the Floo network, so I couldn’t visit.’
‘If I were old enough to Apparate, I’d have come down there and made sure that you were all right,’ she added.
‘When Dad first went into work, three days ago, he found out that you hadn’t gone to Australia with Ron and Hermione. I tried to persuade Mum or Dad to go fetch you, but no; –He needs time to himself … He’ll come when he’s ready … He’s busy with the Minister. It’s best not to bother himâ€.’ she mimicked her mother.
‘So, you’ve been sitting by yourself; brooding, making yourself feel worse … please talk to me Harry, tell me what else is wrong!’ she asked gently. ‘Ask me something, ask me anything.’
They looked at each other in silence for about a minute; it became obvious to Harry that Ginny wasn’t going to move until whatever was wrong was resolved. Something inside him snapped.
‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ he blurted.
Shocked at his own stupidity, Harry put his head in his hands. It was the only question he really wanted an answer to, but how could he have been so idiotic as to just come out with it like that?
There was silence. Harry didn’t move; he kept his eyes closed, his head in his hands, and listened anxiously. He heard the staccato beat of his heart; he heard birdsong and leaves rustling in the breeze. He did not hear scornful laughter, or the sound of her walking away.
He felt Ginny’s hands cover his own. Cautiously, softly, her fingers slid around onto his palms and gently gripped them. Her hands were trembling, he realised. Slowly, carefully, she eased his hands from his face. Harry opened his eyes; Ginny was looking up into them.
‘Well, that was unexpected,’ she said. Her voice seemed to be catching in her throat. Harry’s heart was now trying to jump through his ribs. Why was he such an idiot? He still could not speak!
‘Before I answer your question, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if that’s all right?’ She was now holding his hands so tightly that it hurt. Her fingernails were pressed deep into his palms. She was fighting to keep her voice even. She spoke haltingly, her voice deep and husky. Harry swallowed; Ginny, he realised, was almost as nervous as he was.
He took a deep breath.
‘Ask them,’ he urged, fighting to hold back tears. Her grip on his hands loosened. He tried concentrating on the feel of her hands in his, and on looking into her bright brown eyes.
‘Did you meet any Veela on your travels?’
Harry was stunned. Hope rose within him. Perhaps everything was going to be all right between them? He tried feeble humour.
‘We stayed with Bill and Fleur for a while; does that count?’
‘No.’
‘Then, no! No Veela.’
‘So, Hermione?’
Harry was puzzled.
‘What about her?’ he asked.
‘On Sunday Bill told Mum that Ron had left you and Hermione alone for a few weeks, just before Christmas. Bill seemed to think that you and Hermione were…’ Ginny hesitated, and her eyes bored into his, ‘…together … and that’s why Ron left.’
Harry’s surprise must have showed on his face. He thought - hoped - that the flicker in the corner of Ginny’s eyes was relief.
‘Hermione is Ron’s girl; she has been for years I think. They finally got together last week.’
‘Hah!’ for a second, Ginny looked triumphant. ‘It’s about time! You can tell me the details later.’
Harry looked at her carefully. ‘You won’t tease Ron, will you?’ He asked.
‘No more than he deserves,’ smirked Ginny. Harry’s hopes rose further.
‘I was afraid of that!’ Reassured, Harry was about to laugh, but he did not. Ginny’s smirk had vanished, she again looked very serious.
‘Last weekend, in the lull between the battles I was out in the grounds with some of the injured.’ Ginny continued, ‘I was sure that someone walked past me. Was it you, under your cloak?’
Honesty, Harry realised, was his only option. ‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you talk to me? You should have talked to me!’
‘Because I would have had to stop, and if I had stopped, I didn’t think I’d have the strength to leave you again … I had to go,’ he pleaded, ‘to leave you, to face Voldemort. If I hadn’t gone into the forest Voldemort would still be alive, and more people would have died.’
‘You had to go?’
‘Yes,’ he told her, gazing honestly into her eyes.
‘There was absolutely no alternative?’
‘No,’ he assured her sadly. ‘It’s a very long story, but I will tell you. I’ll tell you now, if you want.’
Ginny shook her head. Her eyes were glistening. It was her turn to take a deep breath.
‘Ask me again,’ she demanded.
‘What?’ Harry was momentarily confused.
‘Your stupid question, ask me again!’ ordered Ginny.
Hopeful, yet fearful, Harry asked.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Ginny, smiling happily.
Harry was horrified! He tried to let go of her hands, but Ginny kept a firm grip and continued speaking, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘I’ve been going out with him for a year; he tried to tell me that we were finish…’
She got no further, Harry had realised what she was saying. Early in May last year had been the Gryffindor - Ravenclaw Quidditch match, their first kiss.
Without stopping to think he stepped forwards. He placed one hand on the small of her back and slipped the other into her hair, holding the back of her head. Then he pulled her forwards and kissed her. It was a kiss that Harry didn’t want to end. He savoured the soft warmth and sweet taste of her lips. The smell of her hair was mingled with the smell of apple blossom on the trees. He held her tightly and felt her arms wrap around him, one between his shoulder blades; the other in the small of his back. She was holding him as though she would never let go. Harry wondered if she, too, wanted this kiss to go on forever.
He felt tears trickling down his face, and not only his own. They were both crying; but Ginny didn’t pull away, so he did not either. He tasted the salt on his lips, it was another sensation to overwhelm his emotions, but he remained lost in the kiss.
After some time, Harry had no idea how long, the hand on his hip moved down to his bum and squeezed it. Startled, his heart now beating rapidly for an entirely different reason, he wondered if he dared do the same. He had just decided to risk it when he became vaguely aware of whistles and cheers in the distance. He immediately changed his mind and kept his hand where it was; but he ignored the noises and concentrated on kissing Ginny.
The whistles continued. Harry felt the hand between his shoulders let go of him for a second. The movement of Ginny’s elbow against his ribs left him in no doubt that she was making a rude gesture to the whistlers.
‘Ginny Weasley, what DO you think you’re doing?’ Mrs Weasley’s voice rang out loudly.
Very reluctantly, they broke apart; both breathing heavily. Harry looked at Ginny; she was flushed, and the look on her face was an unsettling mix of happiness and grief. They smiled at each other through their tears.
‘Leave this to me, Harry,’ Ginny whispered. She pulled him towards her and wiped her tears on his sweatshirt sleeve. Harry forgot the handkerchief in his pocket and followed her example.
They turned together and began to walk down the hill towards the Burrow. Harry took Ginny’s hand and squeezed it gently; she smiled up at him and returned the squeeze. He was elated. Now I can cope with anything, he thought, why didn’t I come here sooner?
Standing just outside the door to the Burrow were three of the Weasley brothers; Charlie, short, stocky, tanned and calloused; Percy, lanky, pale and bespectacled; and burly one-eared George. In front of them, hands on hips, stood Mrs Weasley.
‘Mother,’ shouted Ginny, as they walked down towards her family, ‘wasn’t it obvious what we were doing?’
George burst out laughing. Harry was puzzled by the apparent unfamiliarity of what should have been a familiar sound; the twins were always laughing. Mrs Weasley spun round and the disconcerting laugh stopped. At that moment Harry realised why the sound had seemed strange; it was a duet sung solo, a lonely, unaccompanied laugh. He couldn’t remember ever before hearing only George’s laugh. Fred’s counterpoint was missing from the melody. The realisation crushed him. Involuntarily, he squeezed Ginny’s hand tightly.
‘Are you all right?’ Ginny asked, concerned.
‘I missed Fred’s laugh,’ he told her.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it, just hearing George?’ she murmured sadly. ‘But at least he laughed, that’s only the third time I’ve heard him laugh since…’ Ginny was unable to end the sentence; instead, she squeezed his hand tightly and entwined her fingers in his.
Hand in hand with Ginny, Harry walked down to meet the Weasleys. It was, he realised, a glorious day. As they approached the Burrow, he smiled. He was home at last, even if he was uncertain about the welcome he'd receive. Harry felt oddly calm; he was elated, desperately sad, grieving and apprehensive all at the same time. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, whether he’d be laughing or crying, but he was walking towards the Weasleys and holding Ginny’s hand and, for the moment, he didn’t care.
Molly Weasley waited in silence as they approached. She moved her hands from her hips and folded them in preparation for battle.
Ginny gently pulled Harry to a halt a few yards in front of her mother. Behind Mrs Weasley, Charlie’s face was a worrying mask, and Percy was looking stunned, his ears pink. George, directly behind his mother, winked and beamed happily at the two of them. Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand again, emboldening him.
‘I feel like I’m coming home,’ Harry announced.
Mrs Weasley flicked a glance at him and, for a moment, her stern expression faltered. With an effort she returned her gaze to her daughter and re-set her face into a look of disapproval.
‘Ginny,’ Mrs Weasley began.
‘Harry and I have been going out with each other for a year,’ said Ginny, interrupting her mother before she could get started. Behind Mrs Weasley’s back, George was giving Ginny the thumbs up. ‘We got together last May. We pretended to break up at Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. I knew I couldn’t go off with Harry, Ron and Hermione, I had the Trace on me - I still do - and Harry knew he’d be going on the run. If Voldemort thought I was Harry Potter’s girlfriend it would have been bad news for us all.’
Mrs Weasley was astonished. She seemed lost for words, a first, so far as Harry could remember. George opened his mouth to speak but Ginny silenced him with a warning glance. She continued before her mother took the opportunity to interrupt.
‘And, unlike my brothers, I actually listened when you told us about your’s and Dad’s escapades at school. So don’t try any of that –you’re not old enough†nonsense on us. We’re older than you and Dad were when you started going out with each other.’
Ginny paused while her speechless mother looked from Harry to Ginny and back again.
Harry tried his best to look contrite, but he was amazed and impressed by Ginny’s performance and he suspected that it showed. He looked at Mrs Weasley and said, ‘She’s wonderful isn’t she?’
This was too much for Mrs Weasley, who burst into tears and pulled both Harry and her only daughter into a tight hug. Harry clumsily returned the hug, trying to express both gratitude and shared grief to the woman who was the nearest he had to a mother.
‘I am so sorry about Fred,’ he whispered to Molly.
‘Percy told us what you did for him; afterwards. Thank you!’
With those words Harry felt the tears flow again. He could not stop himself. The grief he felt for all of those who had died finally came flooding out. The two Weasley women held him. They supported him though they, too, were crying. After several minutes he pulled his handkerchief from his jeans pocket and wiped his eyes. It took longer for him to regain some composure. Eventually, he looked over Mrs Weasley’s head at the Weasley brothers. Charlie and Percy looked solemn and serious, but in control. George, however, looked as though he too had been crying.
‘George,’ he began, both Ginny and Mrs Weasley released Harry. He stepped between them; stretching out his hand he greeted George, who gave him a brittle smile.
‘You’ll need to be careful with her,’ he nodded towards his sister, as he shook Harry’s hand, ‘she goes through boys at a tremendous rate.’
‘Says Ron,’ snorted Ginny, ‘three in three years! Would you like me to count your ex-girlfriends, George?’
‘George,’ repeated Harry, ignoring the attempt to change the subject, ‘you and Fred did so much for me.’
‘Not as much as you did for us, Harry. I dunno what we’d have done without you.’ George looked down at his feet. The old, ebullient, loud and lively George was gone.
‘How’s business? Harry asked, suddenly sensing that it would be wrong to push George into talking about his twin.
‘It’s been dreadful. We had to close the shop. Dad tipped us off just minutes before the Death Eaters raided us. Still, things might start getting back to normal now. We’ve -– I’ve got a few ideas for new products. We - I should be able to reopen in a couple of weeks.’ At every corrected reference to –we†Harry felt a knife twist in his heart. He winced at George’s loss. It was impossible to have a conversation with George without Fred’s shadow looming large over it. For almost seven years he realised, since he’d first met the Weasleys, there had never been a Fred, never been a George, there had only been –the twins,†FredandGeorge, one word; almost one person. Harry again found himself unable to speak. He found himself being pulled into a clumsy, rib-cracking hug by George.
There was an awkward silence until Mrs Weasley said, ‘Come on, inside all of you. I’ve left Kingsley and your Dad in the kitchen.’
To Harry’s relief, it appeared that Molly had decided not to cross-examine him about Ginny.
Harry followed Ginny up the steps into the cosy kitchen of the Burrow. He was ushered into one of the chairs at the large kitchen table by Mrs Weasley. She looked him up and down worriedly.
‘You look tired, dear; you’re still working too hard. You’ve been through so much, you should be resting.’
She glared accusingly at Kingsley, as if Harry’s tiredness was entirely the Minister’s fault.
‘Harry can do what he wants, Molly,’ Kingsley rumbled, ‘he is seventeen after all. If you want a holiday, Harry, take one; take as long as you want.’
‘You will stay for dinner,’ Molly commanded, ‘that house elf of yours isn’t looking after you properly. And you’re staying here tonight, too.’
‘Yes, Mrs Weasley,’ Harry nodded obediently.
‘Now,’ she continued, ‘would you like some tea and biscuits?’ Inwardly, Harry smiled; grief, tea and biscuits, even here.
Even as Mrs Weasley asked the question Ginny was moving to fill the kettle. Harry sat quietly, happy to watch Ginny put the kettle on the stove and glide around the kitchen putting mugs, a biscuit barrel, milk and sugar onto a tray. He was only half listening to the conversation between Arthur Weasley and Kingsley. After making the tea and pouring mugs for everyone Ginny handed out the mugs, passed around the tin full of home baked biscuits, and then sat down on Harry’s lap.
Arthur Weasley completely lost the thread of his conversation with Kingsley. He glanced at his wife, who shook her head. Arthur said nothing and resumed his conversation with the Minister as though nothing had happened. However, he continually cast sidelong glances at Harry and Ginny.
Harry sat contentedly, an arm around Ginny’s waist, savouring his closeness to her. Occasionally he would look at George, silent and morose, and he would feel guilty about feeling happy.
As he sat, Harry listened to what had become familiar conversations to him; a series of awkward silences and strange switches between grief, joyful reminiscence, and meaningless small talk. Something similar had happened in almost every house he’d visited over the past three days. Occasionally Harry joined in the conversation; mostly, he simply relished the sensation of Ginny sitting on his lap.
Time passed slowly. Fred was eulogised. Again and again everyone assured Harry that he was not to blame. At about four o’clock Kingsley stood and announced that he really must leave.
‘Harry, please remind everyone of the cover story for tomorrow. I will see you at three o’clock,’ he nodded to Harry, Ginny and George, ‘at the funeral. And I’ll see you all again on Sunday. But now, I must deal with this security breach at Azkaban.’
Ginny was still sitting on Harry’s lap; her right arm was resting lightly on his shoulder, his left arm was around her waist. At the Ministers parting words Harry stood quickly, holding a surprised Ginny tightly round the waist. As she slid off his lap he swung her round and she landed lightly by his side.
‘Neat move,’ chortled George.
Harry ignored him, but kept his arm around Ginny’s waist. Her hand now gripped his shoulder tightly.
‘I didn’t read the paper this morning,’ admitted Harry, ‘what’s happened?’
Kingsley stopped; he was almost at the door.
‘It’s nothing for you to worry about Harry.’ He pulled a copy of The Daily Prophet from his robes and showed Harry the headline: –Senior Undersecretary Umbridge Speaks Out - another Rita Skeeter exclusive.â€
‘Umbridge is nasty and vindictive, but most of the things she says aren’t true.’ observed Kingsley placidly.
‘Just like Rita,’ Harry snarled. ‘They were made for each other.’
‘I’ve had dozens of Muggle-borns and their families contacting the Ministry about the article, all baying for Umbridge’s blood; their stories will be in the paper tomorrow I expect. The story is nothing, nonsense! Like a lot that the Prophet has been printing this week! I’m not sure whether the editor is a Riddle sympathiser or an idiot, though I’m inclined to believe the latter.’ Kingsley paused. ‘I’m more worried about the security breach,’ he continued. ‘Frankly, without the Dementors we’re struggling at Azkaban. We’re short-handed everywhere. Even so, I’ve no idea how Skeeter got her interview, I thought all of the wizard guards were trustworthy.’
‘They probably are,’ Harry said, ‘Skeeter’s an unregistered animagus, she can turn into a beetle.’
Kingsley was startled. ‘How long have you known?’ he frowned.
Harry thought hard, ‘A couple of years, maybe more, sorry.’
‘Well, at least we know now,’ said Kingsley with a sigh. ‘I’ll have her brought in for questioning. Thanks for the tea and biscuits Ginny. Bye Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Percy; take care of yourself, George. Now, I really must go.’
Kingsley reached the door and opened it.
‘Goblins’ said Harry; then wished he hadn’t.
Kingsley turned in the doorway, ‘Goblins?’
‘Replace the Dementors with goblins. They’d be keen to do the job’ Harry smiled grimly, thinking of Griphook. ‘They might even pay you for the privilege,’ he added.
‘Ridiculous,’ said Percy, ‘No wizard would want to be held prisoner by Goblins.’
‘That’s rather the point, Percy,’ asserted Ginny waspishly. Harry squeezed her waist in thanks.
‘It’s something to consider,’ said Kingsley, scratching his chin thoughtfully. ‘Now, I really must go, goodbye, everyone.’ With that he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Harry sat back down and Ginny again sat on his lap. There was an uneasy silence when Ginny put her arm around his shoulder.
‘There are plenty of other seats, Ginny.’ Mr Weasley said, a little sharply.
‘I’m comfortable here, and Harry doesn’t mind, do you?’
Harry didn’t mind, and shook his head to affirm the fact. However, now that Kingsley had gone the atmosphere had changed subtly. He was the only outsider. He began to feel less comfortable under Mr and Mrs Weasley’s scrutiny. Charlie and Percy looked rather hostile, too. Perhaps the Weasleys had just been waiting; perhaps they hadn’t wanted to create a scene in front of the Minister; perhaps now he was going to be in trouble.
Grave Days by Northumbrian
Chapter Notes: Six days after the battle, Harry and Kingsley visit the Weasleys.
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks once again to my wonderful and patient beta's Andrea and Amelie for their comments, corrections and input. Constructive criticism is always gratefully received.