CHAIN OF EARTH CHAPTER TEN (PART ONE)
Mar. 28th, 2010 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesI wasn't going to post this yet, but I felt like celebrating my AMAZING new layout! A billion glomps to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faithwood for making it!!!! *dies of bliss*
And it's VERY appropriate timing for this chapter. :D Loads of thanks todraykonis for the awesome artwork. *happy sigh* AND thank you to alaana_fair for the superfast beta and formatting. I LOVE YOU GUYS. PS (Don't kill me for where this chapter ends.) *snicker*
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Ten
Heaven’s gates won’t open up for me
With these broken wings I’m fallin’
And all I see is you.
-Nickelback – Savin’ Me
Draco greeted Granger cordially enough when she entered, although truthfully he had nearly been out of his mind with impatience. Draco had not heard a single bloody word from Potter. And Granger’s morning missive had stated she would be late. Since she was normally the crack-of-dawn type, Draco had expected her at 9:00 or possibly as late as ten. When she finally popped in an hour after noon, Draco was nearly out of his mind with boredom.
“Sorry, Draco, I got hung up with a crisis at the Ministry. Even when I take time off they still expect me to drop everything and rush down there at a moment’s notice.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose if I stopped enabling them they would stop expecting it, yes?”
Draco nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from making a scathing comment. After all, she had ingredients he needed, hopefully tucked into the rucksack she currently held in one hand. She smiled, seeming to appreciate his effort in holding back commentary as she held out the bag for him to take.
“I also dropped off a note for Harry to stop at the Apothecary and pick up some pickled salamander tongue. I found nearly everything else. I assumed you had bilberry roots, so I didn’t spend a lot of time searching for those. They are common enough that you should have them in your stores. I am completely out.”
Draco snapped his fingers and told one of the house-elves to fetch bilberry roots. He began to sort through the other ingredients and nodded with satisfaction. She had done well. Ash from a live volcano, unicorn hoof parings, albatross eggshells, and even the feathers of a Nepalese Cheer Pheasant. Those were definitely rare.
The house-elf reappeared. “Master Draco is having no bilberry roots. Master Draco is having bilberry juice, bilberry leaves, dried bilberries, and bilberry wine, but there is being no bilberry roots in Master Draco’s stores.”
Draco frowned and looked at Granger, who shrugged. “I suppose I can fetch some. There is a patch in the royal gardens at Buckingham Palace.”
“Won’t it be covered by a foot of snow?” Draco asked.
“At Buckingham? Perish the thought! The royal gardeners would never allow the royal bilberry to be covered in snow!”
Draco shrugged. He barely recalled that Buckingham Palace was part of some Muggle societal hierarchy, never having been required to take a Muggle Studies class. Thank Merlin for that, at any rate. “Is it vital?”
She nodded and seemed about to launch into an explanation, no doubt planning to go into detail about the effects of the root on the potion. Draco simply wanted to start brewing.
“Fine,” he said. “You can fetch the damned thing and I’ll start compiling the other ingredients.”
“Can you come with me? I can’t search the entire garden alone.”
Draco scowled. “How large is this bloody place?”
“Large enough that it will take the two of us long enough to locate the bilberry.”
“And what do you propose I do about these, Granger?” Draco asked as he snapped his wings open in agitation. “Or do you think the Muggles will simply not notice the presence of a winged man?”
“There will be few enough people about in this weather,” she said pragmatically. “A simple Disillusionment Charm will handle the rare Muggles that might spot us.”
Draco frowned. He was about to ask how skilled she was at casting Disillusionment Charms, but then he remembered she had always been a spell-casting prodigy. He had to admit the idea of leaving the house had appeal. His brief foray with Potter to Pokeby’s house had been a welcome respite, but it already seemed like weeks had passed since the outing.
“All right, Granger. Let’s go get the damned roots. How do you plan to get us there?”
“There are a few places to Apparate inside the Palace. The Ministry likes to maintain access to Muggle governmental offices, just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
She shrugged. “Opinions on that vary greatly, but it hails back to the day when wizards actually helped Muggle rulers. That ended with Merlin, of course.”
Draco rolled his eyes. Merlin’s love of Muggles was legendary. There had been rumours about Merlin’s relationship with the Muggle king, Arthur. Draco had always suspected the fair Gwen had run off with Lancelot because her husband was shagging his pet wizard…
“Shall we?” Granger asked, pulling him out of his historical reverie. “I’ll Side-Along you, if you don’t mind. Can we Apparate from here?”
He shook his head. “Not without Mother sensing the wards.” He led her on a roundabout circuit through the house and then out onto one of the many balconies. Once outside, Granger took Draco’s arm. He was suddenly grateful that he had taken the time to alter a black cashmere jumper that morning. One thing he did not need was visions—or memories, or whatever they were—of Hermione Granger, particularly if they were in the same vein as those produced by touching Potter.
As they Apparated away, Draco thought of the image that haunted his dreams, of a sweat-soaked Potter wearing a soft smile. Damn. He suddenly wished the cold still affected him.
~~ O ~~
Harry was sent out on a case the moment he stepped into his office. It was a simple shoplifting case in Diagon Alley, but Kingsley liked to prove there was no favouritism by sending Harry out on rookie-grade cases now and again. The culprit was young, barely out of school, and had been caught trying to steal a moke from the Magical Menagerie. The boy was desperate-looking, and thin, but something about his earnest face reminded Harry of Hagrid. He tried not to think about it as he sent the boy away to the Ministry with another Auror while he took a report from the owner.
It was a routine case and required little more from Harry after the initial report, so he decided to stop by the Apothecary and pick up Hermione’s potion supplies. Her memo had fluttered into his hand as he had boarded the lift on his way out of the Ministry Headquarters.
He fished it out of his pocket, trying to remember what it was she needed. Pickled newt tongue? He held up the note and squinted at Hermione’s tiny writing. Salamander. That was it.
He nearly bumped into Molly Weasley when he looked up.
“Why, Harry! There you are! Nice to see you.”
“Um, hello, Molly,” he said politely. She held a shopping bag that clinked when she moved. She held it up and shook it lightly.
“Are you feeling all right, Harry? You look a bit peaked. You’re probably not eating properly, living alone with only that unpleasant house-elf for company. Take care you don’t catch a cold, dear. I just stopped at the Apothecary for some Pepperup Potion for poor Fred. He has a cold again, blast this horrid weather. I’m taking it to him at the shop,” Molly said with a cheerful grin.
Harry goggled at her. “F… Fred?” he asked stupidly.
Molly nodded and sighed. “I know, he might be faking, but as his mother I can’t take any chances. You should come round to the Burrow later, Harry. We don’t see you often enough these days.”
A cold slither of dread slid through Harry as he opened his mouth to remind her that Fred was dead, but he snapped his jaw shut and forced a smile. “That… might be nice,” he said lamely.
“And I know Ginny will want to see you. I do wish you two would stop this silly bickering and get back together.”
Harry’s ability to speak deserted him entirely. Thankfully, Molly seemed to be finished chatting.
“Bye, now, dear.” She gave his head an absent pat, skirted past him, and continued toward Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Harry watched her uneasily and made a note to stop in and talk with Arthur when he returned to the office.
Harry resumed his trek toward the Apothecary, careful with his footing on the icy sidewalks. Before he touched the door handle, the portal opened and Gregory Goyle stepped out. Their eyes locked for a moment.
“Potter,” Goyle said flatly.
“Goyle,” Harry returned.
They stared each other down and Goyle seemed about to say something more, but he finally pushed away from the doorway and stalked down the street, making in the direction of Gringotts. Harry’s lip curled. He would never belittle Goyle in front of Draco, but he would also never be able to utter a kind word about him, despite the fact that he had apparently accepted Draco’s wings and remained a loyal friend.
“Prat,” Harry muttered and entered the store.
~~ >
Harry was beginning to hate his job. He had barely finished Kingsley’s bloody report on the prior day’s incident, plus the morning’s shoplifting incident, when a messenger dropped in and ordered him to Cornwall to investigate a murder. Thankfully there were no Muggles involved—it was a simple case of a love triangle turned violent.
Harry tracked down the estranged husband (who had killed his wife’s lover in a fit of rage) and immobilized him after a short but tiring chase. In the process Harry slipped on a patch of ice and landed painfully, wrenching his thigh. He hauled the man’s unconscious body to the Ministry lockup to await trail and then returned to his office.
He dawdled with the new report while rubbing his wounded thigh and nursing a sprained wrist. He considered seeing a staff Healer, but every bloody minor injury always turned into front page news. It wasn’t worth the bother. He stared at the report without writing a word for twenty minutes before finally giving up and seeking one of the private fireplaces reserved for Aurors. He Fire-called Malfoy Manor.
A house-elf finally answered his summons.
“May I speak with Draco?” Harry asked politely.
“Master Draco is not being home,” the elf replied.
Harry was surprised. “Malfoy left the house? Where did he go?”
“Master Draco is not making Hemlock aware of Master Draco’s plans.”
Hemlock. A charming name for a house-elf. “Is he alone?”
“Hemlock is not knowing. Hemlock was seeing Master Draco leaving the house with Hermione Granger.” The house-elf’s tone was as thick with disdain as any pureblood’s and Harry’s lip thinned with annoyance. He nearly asked where they had gone, but knew the loyal creature would say nothing even if he had knowledge of Malfoy’s whereabouts.
He stared blindly into the flames that surrounded the house-elf’s head. Malfoy was with Hermione. They had left the Manor. Together. He forced down a rush of something that resembled panic. His jaw clenched and he ended the call before stalking back to his office. Malfoy and Hermione. Where could they be?
Harry put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the desk. Damn it all, he had no right at all to be annoyed. Hermione was helping with the case as a favour. And Malfoy despised him.
And yet… the last time they had been together…
Harry sighed. He was reading too much into one short evening. He and Malfoy were not even friends.
Harry stared at his paperwork for another hour without working his way through a full page. He could not stop wondering where Malfoy and Hermione had gone. Four times he grabbed his wand to cast a Patronus and four times he set it back down. He was about to pick it up for the fifth time when the door opened and Ginny Weasley breezed in. She shut the door behind her and sauntered over to park herself on the corner of Harry’s desk after shoving aside a stack of file folders and a framed picture of Harry’s parents.
“Harry,” she said warmly and leaned over his desk. Her blouse gaped open, giving him a tantalizing view of her breasts. Harry wondered when she had started to dress like Pansy Parkinson. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have come to seduce him.
“Ginny,” he replied in a neutral tone.
She smiled. “Harry, Mum insists that you come to dinner tonight, since you cancelled the other evening. She says she won’t take no for an answer. It’s at four and I’ve already been to see Kingsley, who agreed to let you leave early for this special occasion.”
“You what? What special occasion?” Harry wracked his brain trying to remember what he had forgotten. Birthday? Anniversary? Ancient Wizarding Holiday? Close on the heels of that was a sudden memory of his encounter with Molly in Diagon Alley that morning. Had she really said “Fred” and acted like Harry was still in school? It all seemed a bit hazy in his mind and Harry had not made it to Arthur’s office, as intended. In truth, he had completely forgotten about Molly in the rush of events.
“Well, I sort of stretched the truth. Bill’s birthday is in two days, but we’re saving his party for next month when Charlie comes to visit. We’ll celebrate them both together. But Bill is coming tonight and mum is making a cake, since Bill has to work on Thursday, the poor dear. Those bloody goblins have no souls, not allowing a man to have his birthday off.” She sighed. “And Fleur is taking him away somewhere this weekend, so we can’t do it then. Do say you’ll come, Harry.”
Harry suppressed a sigh, but he could not think of a decent excuse. Besides, he genuinely liked Bill and suspected Ron would behave in his presence, and it would give him a chance to talk to Arthur.
“All right. I’ll need to stop at home and change, but tell your mum I’ll be there by quarter past four.”
She sat back with a satisfied smile and flipped her long red hair back over one shoulder. “Great! I’ll see you there.” She hopped off the desk and strode to the door, where she gave him a saucy wink before going out. He had to admit that she was lovely. It was a genuine pity that he simply was not attracted to her. His life would be so much easier if he were. Not for the first time, he wondered if a love potion might be the answer. He could take it, fall in love with Ginny, get married, have a large number of Potter-Weasley children and live happily ever after. Or would he? Would it be feigned happiness, even with a potion? Or would it feel genuine? He would have to ask Malfoy.
He sighed, thinking of white wings and pale, smooth shoulders. Everything came back to Malfoy these days. Harry scowled and focused on his report. Kingsley would be less than thrilled if Harry left to attend a birthday dinner without finishing his work.
~~ O ~~
Draco and Granger appeared inside of a dark, closet-like room. Granger lit her wand immediately and Draco looked around. The place seemed to be an unused storage room. Empty shelves were covered with dust, as was the floor. Draco’s wings drew in close to his body fastidiously. Granger was already at the door, opening it cautiously and peering out.
She motioned at him and slipped outside. Draco followed and wondered where in the damned Palace they had ended up. “How far to the gardens?” he asked in a whisper. She made a shushing noise and Draco’s lips thinned. The darkened corridor reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts. There were no Muggles to be seen. Granger turned and cast a Disillusionment Charm, first on him and then on herself.
“To be safe,” she said. “If they see us at all, they will doubt their eyes. Luckily, these old Muggle buildings are full of ghosts. Did you know that Major John Gwynne, the King’s secretary, shot himself in a fit of shame after his scandalous—?”
“Skip the Muggle history lesson, Granger. Let’s just get the damned roots and get out of here.”
She glared at him. “You are just as bad as Ron and Harry,” she huffed.
“Do not compare me to Gryffindors,” Draco said with a toss of his chin. “I will listen to you recite Hogwarts, A History to me for hours, but do not bore me with Muggle trivia.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just come on,” she said and led the way up a set of dingy stairs. Honestly, did Muggles never clean?
They made their way outside, passing no Muggles at all, and making Draco wonder if they actually lived in the castle or if the place was actually empty and other Muggles only thought they lived there. He supposed he didn’t care, regardless.
In the snow-covered garden, Draco looked at the piles of whiteness with dismay. They all looked like white lumps. Not a single bush was distinguishable from another. The paths had been cleared of snow, but the foliage had apparently been left to fend for itself, despite Granger’s earlier words to the contrary. He debated bringing up the fact that Hermione the Wonder Witch had been wrong, but her warning glare kept him from belabouring the point.
“How are we going to find the bilberry bushes?” he asked instead, doubting she had a Bilberry Detection Charm somewhere in her repertoire.
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Draco, by looking at the plants, of course. They only grow next to pine trees or in acidic soil, so that should narrow our search.”
“Yes, it should be a simple matter to tell which soil is acidic when it’s buried beneath a mountain of snow.”
“Just come on,” she snapped and marched toward a likely-looking set of white hillocks standing near a group of evergreen trees so generously crusted with snow that the green was barely detectable.
Granger peered around for Muggles and then cast a spell to whoosh the snow away from one branch of an ice-coated bush. She frowned. “Viburnum.” She moved on to the next one and then gave Draco a pointed look. “Are you here to assist or just sightsee?”
With much nearly inaudible muttering, Draco moved away to begin the tedious task of searching for a particular bloody bush in a sea of white. He supposed it would help if he could recall what their branches looked like. Frankly, with the leaves gone the twiggy plants all looked the same.
Of course, he would never admit that to Granger.
~~ O ~~
Before he left for the Weasleys’, Harry Fire-called Malfoy Manor once more only to find Malfoy and Hermione still in absentia. He gnawed his lip with worry. Where the hell could they be?
He arrived at the Burrow just as Bill and Fleur did—they nearly collided as they all Apparated to the same point on the porch. Bill steadied Fleur, who laughed melodiously.
“Oh, ‘arry, we nearly Zplinched into each ozhere!” Her breath sent clouds of fog into the cold air.
“Yes, just think, we could have spent the evening at St. Mungo’s instead of here,” Harry said dryly and Bill grimaced.
“Ron is still being an arse, then?” he asked.
Harry shrugged just as the door opened to reveal Ginny’s beaming face.
“Harry, you made it!” She launched herself at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fleur laughed again.
“I t’ink she eez ‘appy to zee you.”
“Very happy,” Ginny purred against Harry’s lips. He suddenly wanted to Apparate back home and hide in his own living room. He cleared his throat and pushed her away gently but firmly.
Luckily, Bill pushed by them both and pulled Fleur inside where he grabbed Arthur in an exuberant hug. Harry followed, although he was not successful in detaching Ginny from his arm. She clung to him possessively and he resigned himself to a long night. His bruised leg throbbed and his teeth clenched with the effort of not limping.
“Harry! Do come in, my boy!” Arthur said. He leaned close to Harry and whispered, “I have a fascinating Muggle device to show you later. I’ve no idea what it does, but—”
“Dad, leave Harry alone or I’ll tell Mum about the fascinating Muggle devices you’ve been hoarding in the garden shed,” Ginny warned.
Arthur pouted and Harry laughed. “I’ll look at it later, Arthur. I promise.”
They migrated to the kitchen where Ron and George were already seated. Molly greeted Harry and eyed Ginny’s possessive hold on his arm with an indulgent smile. Harry clenched his teeth and wondered what he had to do to explain to both women that he was not Ginny’s property. He allowed himself a brief fantasy of showing up with a man on his arm and then let it go farther when the man evolved into a blond with fluffy white wings…
“Harry!” Ginny said sharply, snapping him out of his reverie.
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly and George smiled.
“She has that affect on people,” George said fondly and Harry realized a woman sat next to George, blushing profusely. Harry hoped she had not been introduced while he was in a Malfoy-induced daydream.
“Harry, this is Laurie Bell. Laurie, I am sure you recognize Harry Potter,” George said and grinned at the sandy-haired girl, who stammered and nodded as she gaped at Harry in an awestruck manner.
“Of course she recognizes the famous Harry Potter,” Ron offered from his usual place. His tone was dry but did not sound as bitterly confrontational as was his wont. Laurie’s eyes, however, went to him in surprise.
“Leave it, Ron,” Bill warned.
“Um, I remember Harry from school,” Laurie said quietly. “I started when… well, that year when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…”
Molly coughed as though she had swallowed wrong and everyone began to babble at once. No one ever brought up the war at the Weasley household. It was taboo.
“Everything smells delicious, Mum!” Bill said loudly.
“Laurie was in Gryffindor. She’s Katie Bell’s little sister,” George explained quickly.
“Harry, you sit here by me,” Ginny insisted and pulled out a chair.
Fleur spoke rapidly in French and Arthur made a show of looking for his wand while loudly wondering where he had left it. Harry sat in the chair, assisted by pressure on his arm.
“I remember,” Harry said quickly, although he did not remember her at all. “Didn’t your mother warn you away from men like George?”
Thankfully, Laurie’s giggle seemed to crack the tension. She leaned close to George and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, she did. But, luckily for George, I don’t always listen to my mum.”
Conversation turned to safer subjects and everyone sat down to Molly’s fine meal. As usual, George and Bill monopolized the chatter, which was fine with Harry. He felt almost relaxed except for Ginny’s hand that kept straying to his thigh for an occasional squeeze. She also found it necessary to lean close and speak into his ear whenever she had something to say.
“Working on any interesting cases, Harry, dear?” Molly asked, nearly causing Harry to choke on his pumpkin juice. He was not nearly as fond of the stuff as he had been as a child, but Molly seemed to think they were all permanently eleven years old, except for Ron, of course. His former best friend sipped his ale at the head of the table and glared balefully at the others. Harry cringed inwardly at the idea, aware that Molly had acted like he was eleven just that morning, but she seemed perfectly fine now.
“Not really, no,” Harry said. “Just the same old, same old, you know.” He managed a lame smile.
“Boring old Auror work,” Ron said with a sneer.
Harry raised a hand to his chest. His fingers pressed into the small feather that rested beneath his shirt. He had gone home to change his clothing and spent a few extra minutes boring a hole in the tip of the feather through which he had fed a fine golden chain. He knew wearing Draco’s feather was slightly crazy, but the feel of it steadied him somewhat. It was invisible beneath his thick black jumper, but Ginny noticed the movement.
“Are you all right, Harry?” she asked.
“How is Hermione, Harry?” Ron questioned over her. His tone was surprisingly mild.
Harry shot a surprised gaze at him. He had been wondering the same thing, actually, although for far different reasons than Ron would ever suspect.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her today. Or heard from her, actually,” he admitted.
“Lover’s spat?” Ron snarled.
“What is Ron going on about, Harry?” Molly asked. “How is our dear Hermione? I do miss her so.”
Ron shoved his chair away from the table in a violent movement that nearly upset the water glasses. Molly shot him a disapproving stare, but Ron was unmoved. He glared at Harry.
“Ronald Weasley, you may not leave this table until we have Bill’s cake.”
“I don’t want any cake.”
“You need all the cake you can get, prat,” Bill said mildly. “It might sweeten your disposition.”
“My disposition is just bloody fine!” Ron muttered. Harry knew the comment coming from anyone but Bill would have caused Ron to erupt into a rage.
“Yes, you are the very soul of happiness and joy,” George muttered.
“What the fuck do I have to be happy and joyful about, George?” Ron shouted, turning on his other brother. Laurie Bell cringed against George’s side, obviously not having witnessed an angry outburst from Ron before.
“Ron, you promised not to cause trouble this evening!” Ginny yelled.
“Then you should not have invited him!” Ron bellowed and flung out a hand to point a trembling finger at Harry. “When are you going to get it through your stupid head that he doesn’t want you, Ginny? He’s got Hermione now!”
“That’s enough, Ron,” Harry said quietly as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry for this, Molly. I should not have come. Thank you for inviting me. Bill, happy early birthday.”
The kitchen erupted into pandemonium. Molly begged Harry not to go, Arthur shouted at Ron, Ginny shrieked invectives, and George hexed Ron with some sort of Stinging Spell, causing his brother to bellow and reach for his wand. Laurie screamed.
Harry fled.
He barely made it outside before Ginny caught him, clinging to his arm to prevent him Apparating.
“Harry, wait!” she cried.
He shook his head, wincing as her fingers dug into his swollen wrist. “I can’t do this any more, Ginny. I can’t keep coming back here. Tell your mum she’s sweet to keep inviting me, but Ron hates me now and I can’t stand it!”
“That’s not true, Harry, you‘re part of this family!”
“I am not part of this family!”
“Well, you could be!” Ginny insisted.
Harry’s tolerance snapped. He was tired of Ron and he was tired of Ginny, and he was tired of everyone trying to constantly make him into something he wasn’t.
“Stop it, Ginny! Just stop it! When are you going to quit deluding yourself? Why can’t you just accept that it’s over between us?”
She reacted as if slapped and then shook her head wildly. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Harry. You said you just wanted space! You said you wanted time to think things over.”
“I have thought things over. I’ve thought them over quite thoroughly.” Harry stalked away from the porch and onto the walk that had been magically cleared of snow earlier, but already showed signs of being coated with a new layer.
“Oh, you have, have you?” she demanded loudly and hurried after him. “And what have you decided, Harry? That you want Hermione Granger, after all?”
Harry stopped and turned on her angrily. “This has nothing to do with Hermione. Nothing! This has to do with me, Ginny. With me! This is about how I feel, all right? No one ever bothers to ask my opinion, they just assume that I‘ll keep doing exactly what‘s expected of me.”
“Is that why you were with me?” she asked quietly. “Because it was expected?”
Her quiet tone dampened his rage slightly and made him pause to rake a hand through his hair. It came away wet from the falling snow.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You don’t know?” Her tone was disbelieving and bitter. “Did you ever feel anything for me?”
“Yes!” he cried. “Of course I did. I do! Just not… not what you need.”
“Why not, Harry? What am I lacking, damn you? What’s wrong with me? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? Why am I not good enough for you?”
“Bloody hell, Ginny! It has nothing to do with you! It’s me!”
“You? Why? Because you’re the bloody Savior?”
“Because I like men, Ginny,” Harry admitted angrily. “Not women. Not you, not Hermione. Men! Do you understand, now?”
She stared at him, frozen, as though the ice crystals falling from the sky had transformed her into rigidity. The shock in her eyes transmitted itself back to him and he nearly groaned aloud. Fuck, now he had done it.
“A bloody shirt lifter,” said a low voice from Harry’s left and he turned to see Ron, lurking near a snow-covered bush. “A fucking ponce! How long have you known, Harry? Since Hogwarts? Since we were roommates? Since we spent all that time camping in the forest together?” Ron’s voice began to rise, much as Ginny’s had earlier.
Harry tried to speak, but his vocal cords seemed to have locked up.
Ron laughed unpleasantly. “And here I was jealous of Hermione. Maybe she should be jealous of me, eh? Or probably not me, since you never made any type of pass at me, eh, mate? Or did I just fail to notice, not being a fucking fairy? Does Hermione know?”
After a telling silence, Ron barked another laugh.
“Of course she does. She’s the smart one. I’m the stupid one. Couldn’t tell me, though, could you?”
“Stop it, Ron,” Harry managed, backing away slowly. He had experienced several versions of angry Ron Weasley, but this one bordered on surreal. Harry could feel the wounded rage coming off of him in veritable waves. Ron glided forward in his chair as if stalking him.
“’Stop it, Ron,’” he mocked. “It’s always ‘stop it, Ron. Knock it off, Ron. Don’t be an idiot, Ron’. Looks like I was an idiot not to have kenned to that. My best friend. You never told me all your dirty little secrets, did you, Harry?”
“I didn’t know,” Harry whispered.
Ron laughed bitterly. Harry glanced at Ginny, who had not moved from her frozen stance, although her eyes flitted from him to Ron and back again.
“You didn’t know.” Ron lifted his wand suddenly and pointed it at Harry. His lips twisted in a way that reminded Harry eerily of Voldemort. “Get the fuck out of here, Chosen One. Get the fuck away from my sister and my family, and stay the fuck away from me! ”
Harry took a single shaking breath and Disapparated.
~~ CHAPTER TEN CONTINUED ~~
faithwood for making it!!!! *dies of bliss*And it's VERY appropriate timing for this chapter. :D Loads of thanks to
draykonis for the awesome artwork. *happy sigh* AND thank you to alaana_fair for the superfast beta and formatting. I LOVE YOU GUYS. PS (Don't kill me for where this chapter ends.) *snicker*Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Ten
Heaven’s gates won’t open up for me
With these broken wings I’m fallin’
And all I see is you.
-Nickelback – Savin’ Me
Draco greeted Granger cordially enough when she entered, although truthfully he had nearly been out of his mind with impatience. Draco had not heard a single bloody word from Potter. And Granger’s morning missive had stated she would be late. Since she was normally the crack-of-dawn type, Draco had expected her at 9:00 or possibly as late as ten. When she finally popped in an hour after noon, Draco was nearly out of his mind with boredom.
“Sorry, Draco, I got hung up with a crisis at the Ministry. Even when I take time off they still expect me to drop everything and rush down there at a moment’s notice.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose if I stopped enabling them they would stop expecting it, yes?”
Draco nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from making a scathing comment. After all, she had ingredients he needed, hopefully tucked into the rucksack she currently held in one hand. She smiled, seeming to appreciate his effort in holding back commentary as she held out the bag for him to take.
“I also dropped off a note for Harry to stop at the Apothecary and pick up some pickled salamander tongue. I found nearly everything else. I assumed you had bilberry roots, so I didn’t spend a lot of time searching for those. They are common enough that you should have them in your stores. I am completely out.”
Draco snapped his fingers and told one of the house-elves to fetch bilberry roots. He began to sort through the other ingredients and nodded with satisfaction. She had done well. Ash from a live volcano, unicorn hoof parings, albatross eggshells, and even the feathers of a Nepalese Cheer Pheasant. Those were definitely rare.
The house-elf reappeared. “Master Draco is having no bilberry roots. Master Draco is having bilberry juice, bilberry leaves, dried bilberries, and bilberry wine, but there is being no bilberry roots in Master Draco’s stores.”
Draco frowned and looked at Granger, who shrugged. “I suppose I can fetch some. There is a patch in the royal gardens at Buckingham Palace.”
“Won’t it be covered by a foot of snow?” Draco asked.
“At Buckingham? Perish the thought! The royal gardeners would never allow the royal bilberry to be covered in snow!”
Draco shrugged. He barely recalled that Buckingham Palace was part of some Muggle societal hierarchy, never having been required to take a Muggle Studies class. Thank Merlin for that, at any rate. “Is it vital?”
She nodded and seemed about to launch into an explanation, no doubt planning to go into detail about the effects of the root on the potion. Draco simply wanted to start brewing.
“Fine,” he said. “You can fetch the damned thing and I’ll start compiling the other ingredients.”
“Can you come with me? I can’t search the entire garden alone.”
Draco scowled. “How large is this bloody place?”
“Large enough that it will take the two of us long enough to locate the bilberry.”
“And what do you propose I do about these, Granger?” Draco asked as he snapped his wings open in agitation. “Or do you think the Muggles will simply not notice the presence of a winged man?”
“There will be few enough people about in this weather,” she said pragmatically. “A simple Disillusionment Charm will handle the rare Muggles that might spot us.”
Draco frowned. He was about to ask how skilled she was at casting Disillusionment Charms, but then he remembered she had always been a spell-casting prodigy. He had to admit the idea of leaving the house had appeal. His brief foray with Potter to Pokeby’s house had been a welcome respite, but it already seemed like weeks had passed since the outing.
“All right, Granger. Let’s go get the damned roots. How do you plan to get us there?”
“There are a few places to Apparate inside the Palace. The Ministry likes to maintain access to Muggle governmental offices, just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
She shrugged. “Opinions on that vary greatly, but it hails back to the day when wizards actually helped Muggle rulers. That ended with Merlin, of course.”
Draco rolled his eyes. Merlin’s love of Muggles was legendary. There had been rumours about Merlin’s relationship with the Muggle king, Arthur. Draco had always suspected the fair Gwen had run off with Lancelot because her husband was shagging his pet wizard…
“Shall we?” Granger asked, pulling him out of his historical reverie. “I’ll Side-Along you, if you don’t mind. Can we Apparate from here?”
He shook his head. “Not without Mother sensing the wards.” He led her on a roundabout circuit through the house and then out onto one of the many balconies. Once outside, Granger took Draco’s arm. He was suddenly grateful that he had taken the time to alter a black cashmere jumper that morning. One thing he did not need was visions—or memories, or whatever they were—of Hermione Granger, particularly if they were in the same vein as those produced by touching Potter.
As they Apparated away, Draco thought of the image that haunted his dreams, of a sweat-soaked Potter wearing a soft smile. Damn. He suddenly wished the cold still affected him.
Harry was sent out on a case the moment he stepped into his office. It was a simple shoplifting case in Diagon Alley, but Kingsley liked to prove there was no favouritism by sending Harry out on rookie-grade cases now and again. The culprit was young, barely out of school, and had been caught trying to steal a moke from the Magical Menagerie. The boy was desperate-looking, and thin, but something about his earnest face reminded Harry of Hagrid. He tried not to think about it as he sent the boy away to the Ministry with another Auror while he took a report from the owner.
It was a routine case and required little more from Harry after the initial report, so he decided to stop by the Apothecary and pick up Hermione’s potion supplies. Her memo had fluttered into his hand as he had boarded the lift on his way out of the Ministry Headquarters.
He fished it out of his pocket, trying to remember what it was she needed. Pickled newt tongue? He held up the note and squinted at Hermione’s tiny writing. Salamander. That was it.
He nearly bumped into Molly Weasley when he looked up.
“Why, Harry! There you are! Nice to see you.”
“Um, hello, Molly,” he said politely. She held a shopping bag that clinked when she moved. She held it up and shook it lightly.
“Are you feeling all right, Harry? You look a bit peaked. You’re probably not eating properly, living alone with only that unpleasant house-elf for company. Take care you don’t catch a cold, dear. I just stopped at the Apothecary for some Pepperup Potion for poor Fred. He has a cold again, blast this horrid weather. I’m taking it to him at the shop,” Molly said with a cheerful grin.
Harry goggled at her. “F… Fred?” he asked stupidly.
Molly nodded and sighed. “I know, he might be faking, but as his mother I can’t take any chances. You should come round to the Burrow later, Harry. We don’t see you often enough these days.”
A cold slither of dread slid through Harry as he opened his mouth to remind her that Fred was dead, but he snapped his jaw shut and forced a smile. “That… might be nice,” he said lamely.
“And I know Ginny will want to see you. I do wish you two would stop this silly bickering and get back together.”
Harry’s ability to speak deserted him entirely. Thankfully, Molly seemed to be finished chatting.
“Bye, now, dear.” She gave his head an absent pat, skirted past him, and continued toward Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Harry watched her uneasily and made a note to stop in and talk with Arthur when he returned to the office.
Harry resumed his trek toward the Apothecary, careful with his footing on the icy sidewalks. Before he touched the door handle, the portal opened and Gregory Goyle stepped out. Their eyes locked for a moment.
“Potter,” Goyle said flatly.
“Goyle,” Harry returned.
They stared each other down and Goyle seemed about to say something more, but he finally pushed away from the doorway and stalked down the street, making in the direction of Gringotts. Harry’s lip curled. He would never belittle Goyle in front of Draco, but he would also never be able to utter a kind word about him, despite the fact that he had apparently accepted Draco’s wings and remained a loyal friend.
“Prat,” Harry muttered and entered the store.
Harry was beginning to hate his job. He had barely finished Kingsley’s bloody report on the prior day’s incident, plus the morning’s shoplifting incident, when a messenger dropped in and ordered him to Cornwall to investigate a murder. Thankfully there were no Muggles involved—it was a simple case of a love triangle turned violent.
Harry tracked down the estranged husband (who had killed his wife’s lover in a fit of rage) and immobilized him after a short but tiring chase. In the process Harry slipped on a patch of ice and landed painfully, wrenching his thigh. He hauled the man’s unconscious body to the Ministry lockup to await trail and then returned to his office.
He dawdled with the new report while rubbing his wounded thigh and nursing a sprained wrist. He considered seeing a staff Healer, but every bloody minor injury always turned into front page news. It wasn’t worth the bother. He stared at the report without writing a word for twenty minutes before finally giving up and seeking one of the private fireplaces reserved for Aurors. He Fire-called Malfoy Manor.
A house-elf finally answered his summons.
“May I speak with Draco?” Harry asked politely.
“Master Draco is not being home,” the elf replied.
Harry was surprised. “Malfoy left the house? Where did he go?”
“Master Draco is not making Hemlock aware of Master Draco’s plans.”
Hemlock. A charming name for a house-elf. “Is he alone?”
“Hemlock is not knowing. Hemlock was seeing Master Draco leaving the house with Hermione Granger.” The house-elf’s tone was as thick with disdain as any pureblood’s and Harry’s lip thinned with annoyance. He nearly asked where they had gone, but knew the loyal creature would say nothing even if he had knowledge of Malfoy’s whereabouts.
He stared blindly into the flames that surrounded the house-elf’s head. Malfoy was with Hermione. They had left the Manor. Together. He forced down a rush of something that resembled panic. His jaw clenched and he ended the call before stalking back to his office. Malfoy and Hermione. Where could they be?
Harry put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the desk. Damn it all, he had no right at all to be annoyed. Hermione was helping with the case as a favour. And Malfoy despised him.
And yet… the last time they had been together…
Harry sighed. He was reading too much into one short evening. He and Malfoy were not even friends.
Harry stared at his paperwork for another hour without working his way through a full page. He could not stop wondering where Malfoy and Hermione had gone. Four times he grabbed his wand to cast a Patronus and four times he set it back down. He was about to pick it up for the fifth time when the door opened and Ginny Weasley breezed in. She shut the door behind her and sauntered over to park herself on the corner of Harry’s desk after shoving aside a stack of file folders and a framed picture of Harry’s parents.
“Harry,” she said warmly and leaned over his desk. Her blouse gaped open, giving him a tantalizing view of her breasts. Harry wondered when she had started to dress like Pansy Parkinson. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have come to seduce him.
“Ginny,” he replied in a neutral tone.
She smiled. “Harry, Mum insists that you come to dinner tonight, since you cancelled the other evening. She says she won’t take no for an answer. It’s at four and I’ve already been to see Kingsley, who agreed to let you leave early for this special occasion.”
“You what? What special occasion?” Harry wracked his brain trying to remember what he had forgotten. Birthday? Anniversary? Ancient Wizarding Holiday? Close on the heels of that was a sudden memory of his encounter with Molly in Diagon Alley that morning. Had she really said “Fred” and acted like Harry was still in school? It all seemed a bit hazy in his mind and Harry had not made it to Arthur’s office, as intended. In truth, he had completely forgotten about Molly in the rush of events.
“Well, I sort of stretched the truth. Bill’s birthday is in two days, but we’re saving his party for next month when Charlie comes to visit. We’ll celebrate them both together. But Bill is coming tonight and mum is making a cake, since Bill has to work on Thursday, the poor dear. Those bloody goblins have no souls, not allowing a man to have his birthday off.” She sighed. “And Fleur is taking him away somewhere this weekend, so we can’t do it then. Do say you’ll come, Harry.”
Harry suppressed a sigh, but he could not think of a decent excuse. Besides, he genuinely liked Bill and suspected Ron would behave in his presence, and it would give him a chance to talk to Arthur.
“All right. I’ll need to stop at home and change, but tell your mum I’ll be there by quarter past four.”
She sat back with a satisfied smile and flipped her long red hair back over one shoulder. “Great! I’ll see you there.” She hopped off the desk and strode to the door, where she gave him a saucy wink before going out. He had to admit that she was lovely. It was a genuine pity that he simply was not attracted to her. His life would be so much easier if he were. Not for the first time, he wondered if a love potion might be the answer. He could take it, fall in love with Ginny, get married, have a large number of Potter-Weasley children and live happily ever after. Or would he? Would it be feigned happiness, even with a potion? Or would it feel genuine? He would have to ask Malfoy.
He sighed, thinking of white wings and pale, smooth shoulders. Everything came back to Malfoy these days. Harry scowled and focused on his report. Kingsley would be less than thrilled if Harry left to attend a birthday dinner without finishing his work.
Draco and Granger appeared inside of a dark, closet-like room. Granger lit her wand immediately and Draco looked around. The place seemed to be an unused storage room. Empty shelves were covered with dust, as was the floor. Draco’s wings drew in close to his body fastidiously. Granger was already at the door, opening it cautiously and peering out.
She motioned at him and slipped outside. Draco followed and wondered where in the damned Palace they had ended up. “How far to the gardens?” he asked in a whisper. She made a shushing noise and Draco’s lips thinned. The darkened corridor reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts. There were no Muggles to be seen. Granger turned and cast a Disillusionment Charm, first on him and then on herself.
“To be safe,” she said. “If they see us at all, they will doubt their eyes. Luckily, these old Muggle buildings are full of ghosts. Did you know that Major John Gwynne, the King’s secretary, shot himself in a fit of shame after his scandalous—?”
“Skip the Muggle history lesson, Granger. Let’s just get the damned roots and get out of here.”
She glared at him. “You are just as bad as Ron and Harry,” she huffed.
“Do not compare me to Gryffindors,” Draco said with a toss of his chin. “I will listen to you recite Hogwarts, A History to me for hours, but do not bore me with Muggle trivia.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just come on,” she said and led the way up a set of dingy stairs. Honestly, did Muggles never clean?
They made their way outside, passing no Muggles at all, and making Draco wonder if they actually lived in the castle or if the place was actually empty and other Muggles only thought they lived there. He supposed he didn’t care, regardless.
In the snow-covered garden, Draco looked at the piles of whiteness with dismay. They all looked like white lumps. Not a single bush was distinguishable from another. The paths had been cleared of snow, but the foliage had apparently been left to fend for itself, despite Granger’s earlier words to the contrary. He debated bringing up the fact that Hermione the Wonder Witch had been wrong, but her warning glare kept him from belabouring the point.
“How are we going to find the bilberry bushes?” he asked instead, doubting she had a Bilberry Detection Charm somewhere in her repertoire.
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Draco, by looking at the plants, of course. They only grow next to pine trees or in acidic soil, so that should narrow our search.”
“Yes, it should be a simple matter to tell which soil is acidic when it’s buried beneath a mountain of snow.”
“Just come on,” she snapped and marched toward a likely-looking set of white hillocks standing near a group of evergreen trees so generously crusted with snow that the green was barely detectable.
Granger peered around for Muggles and then cast a spell to whoosh the snow away from one branch of an ice-coated bush. She frowned. “Viburnum.” She moved on to the next one and then gave Draco a pointed look. “Are you here to assist or just sightsee?”
With much nearly inaudible muttering, Draco moved away to begin the tedious task of searching for a particular bloody bush in a sea of white. He supposed it would help if he could recall what their branches looked like. Frankly, with the leaves gone the twiggy plants all looked the same.
Of course, he would never admit that to Granger.
Before he left for the Weasleys’, Harry Fire-called Malfoy Manor once more only to find Malfoy and Hermione still in absentia. He gnawed his lip with worry. Where the hell could they be?
He arrived at the Burrow just as Bill and Fleur did—they nearly collided as they all Apparated to the same point on the porch. Bill steadied Fleur, who laughed melodiously.
“Oh, ‘arry, we nearly Zplinched into each ozhere!” Her breath sent clouds of fog into the cold air.
“Yes, just think, we could have spent the evening at St. Mungo’s instead of here,” Harry said dryly and Bill grimaced.
“Ron is still being an arse, then?” he asked.
Harry shrugged just as the door opened to reveal Ginny’s beaming face.
“Harry, you made it!” She launched herself at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fleur laughed again.
“I t’ink she eez ‘appy to zee you.”
“Very happy,” Ginny purred against Harry’s lips. He suddenly wanted to Apparate back home and hide in his own living room. He cleared his throat and pushed her away gently but firmly.
Luckily, Bill pushed by them both and pulled Fleur inside where he grabbed Arthur in an exuberant hug. Harry followed, although he was not successful in detaching Ginny from his arm. She clung to him possessively and he resigned himself to a long night. His bruised leg throbbed and his teeth clenched with the effort of not limping.
“Harry! Do come in, my boy!” Arthur said. He leaned close to Harry and whispered, “I have a fascinating Muggle device to show you later. I’ve no idea what it does, but—”
“Dad, leave Harry alone or I’ll tell Mum about the fascinating Muggle devices you’ve been hoarding in the garden shed,” Ginny warned.
Arthur pouted and Harry laughed. “I’ll look at it later, Arthur. I promise.”
They migrated to the kitchen where Ron and George were already seated. Molly greeted Harry and eyed Ginny’s possessive hold on his arm with an indulgent smile. Harry clenched his teeth and wondered what he had to do to explain to both women that he was not Ginny’s property. He allowed himself a brief fantasy of showing up with a man on his arm and then let it go farther when the man evolved into a blond with fluffy white wings…
“Harry!” Ginny said sharply, snapping him out of his reverie.
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly and George smiled.
“She has that affect on people,” George said fondly and Harry realized a woman sat next to George, blushing profusely. Harry hoped she had not been introduced while he was in a Malfoy-induced daydream.
“Harry, this is Laurie Bell. Laurie, I am sure you recognize Harry Potter,” George said and grinned at the sandy-haired girl, who stammered and nodded as she gaped at Harry in an awestruck manner.
“Of course she recognizes the famous Harry Potter,” Ron offered from his usual place. His tone was dry but did not sound as bitterly confrontational as was his wont. Laurie’s eyes, however, went to him in surprise.
“Leave it, Ron,” Bill warned.
“Um, I remember Harry from school,” Laurie said quietly. “I started when… well, that year when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…”
Molly coughed as though she had swallowed wrong and everyone began to babble at once. No one ever brought up the war at the Weasley household. It was taboo.
“Everything smells delicious, Mum!” Bill said loudly.
“Laurie was in Gryffindor. She’s Katie Bell’s little sister,” George explained quickly.
“Harry, you sit here by me,” Ginny insisted and pulled out a chair.
Fleur spoke rapidly in French and Arthur made a show of looking for his wand while loudly wondering where he had left it. Harry sat in the chair, assisted by pressure on his arm.
“I remember,” Harry said quickly, although he did not remember her at all. “Didn’t your mother warn you away from men like George?”
Thankfully, Laurie’s giggle seemed to crack the tension. She leaned close to George and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, she did. But, luckily for George, I don’t always listen to my mum.”
Conversation turned to safer subjects and everyone sat down to Molly’s fine meal. As usual, George and Bill monopolized the chatter, which was fine with Harry. He felt almost relaxed except for Ginny’s hand that kept straying to his thigh for an occasional squeeze. She also found it necessary to lean close and speak into his ear whenever she had something to say.
“Working on any interesting cases, Harry, dear?” Molly asked, nearly causing Harry to choke on his pumpkin juice. He was not nearly as fond of the stuff as he had been as a child, but Molly seemed to think they were all permanently eleven years old, except for Ron, of course. His former best friend sipped his ale at the head of the table and glared balefully at the others. Harry cringed inwardly at the idea, aware that Molly had acted like he was eleven just that morning, but she seemed perfectly fine now.
“Not really, no,” Harry said. “Just the same old, same old, you know.” He managed a lame smile.
“Boring old Auror work,” Ron said with a sneer.
Harry raised a hand to his chest. His fingers pressed into the small feather that rested beneath his shirt. He had gone home to change his clothing and spent a few extra minutes boring a hole in the tip of the feather through which he had fed a fine golden chain. He knew wearing Draco’s feather was slightly crazy, but the feel of it steadied him somewhat. It was invisible beneath his thick black jumper, but Ginny noticed the movement.
“Are you all right, Harry?” she asked.
“How is Hermione, Harry?” Ron questioned over her. His tone was surprisingly mild.
Harry shot a surprised gaze at him. He had been wondering the same thing, actually, although for far different reasons than Ron would ever suspect.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her today. Or heard from her, actually,” he admitted.
“Lover’s spat?” Ron snarled.
“What is Ron going on about, Harry?” Molly asked. “How is our dear Hermione? I do miss her so.”
Ron shoved his chair away from the table in a violent movement that nearly upset the water glasses. Molly shot him a disapproving stare, but Ron was unmoved. He glared at Harry.
“Ronald Weasley, you may not leave this table until we have Bill’s cake.”
“I don’t want any cake.”
“You need all the cake you can get, prat,” Bill said mildly. “It might sweeten your disposition.”
“My disposition is just bloody fine!” Ron muttered. Harry knew the comment coming from anyone but Bill would have caused Ron to erupt into a rage.
“Yes, you are the very soul of happiness and joy,” George muttered.
“What the fuck do I have to be happy and joyful about, George?” Ron shouted, turning on his other brother. Laurie Bell cringed against George’s side, obviously not having witnessed an angry outburst from Ron before.
“Ron, you promised not to cause trouble this evening!” Ginny yelled.
“Then you should not have invited him!” Ron bellowed and flung out a hand to point a trembling finger at Harry. “When are you going to get it through your stupid head that he doesn’t want you, Ginny? He’s got Hermione now!”
“That’s enough, Ron,” Harry said quietly as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry for this, Molly. I should not have come. Thank you for inviting me. Bill, happy early birthday.”
The kitchen erupted into pandemonium. Molly begged Harry not to go, Arthur shouted at Ron, Ginny shrieked invectives, and George hexed Ron with some sort of Stinging Spell, causing his brother to bellow and reach for his wand. Laurie screamed.
Harry fled.
He barely made it outside before Ginny caught him, clinging to his arm to prevent him Apparating.
“Harry, wait!” she cried.
He shook his head, wincing as her fingers dug into his swollen wrist. “I can’t do this any more, Ginny. I can’t keep coming back here. Tell your mum she’s sweet to keep inviting me, but Ron hates me now and I can’t stand it!”
“That’s not true, Harry, you‘re part of this family!”
“I am not part of this family!”
“Well, you could be!” Ginny insisted.
Harry’s tolerance snapped. He was tired of Ron and he was tired of Ginny, and he was tired of everyone trying to constantly make him into something he wasn’t.
“Stop it, Ginny! Just stop it! When are you going to quit deluding yourself? Why can’t you just accept that it’s over between us?”
She reacted as if slapped and then shook her head wildly. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Harry. You said you just wanted space! You said you wanted time to think things over.”
“I have thought things over. I’ve thought them over quite thoroughly.” Harry stalked away from the porch and onto the walk that had been magically cleared of snow earlier, but already showed signs of being coated with a new layer.
“Oh, you have, have you?” she demanded loudly and hurried after him. “And what have you decided, Harry? That you want Hermione Granger, after all?”
Harry stopped and turned on her angrily. “This has nothing to do with Hermione. Nothing! This has to do with me, Ginny. With me! This is about how I feel, all right? No one ever bothers to ask my opinion, they just assume that I‘ll keep doing exactly what‘s expected of me.”
“Is that why you were with me?” she asked quietly. “Because it was expected?”
Her quiet tone dampened his rage slightly and made him pause to rake a hand through his hair. It came away wet from the falling snow.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You don’t know?” Her tone was disbelieving and bitter. “Did you ever feel anything for me?”
“Yes!” he cried. “Of course I did. I do! Just not… not what you need.”
“Why not, Harry? What am I lacking, damn you? What’s wrong with me? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? Why am I not good enough for you?”
“Bloody hell, Ginny! It has nothing to do with you! It’s me!”
“You? Why? Because you’re the bloody Savior?”
“Because I like men, Ginny,” Harry admitted angrily. “Not women. Not you, not Hermione. Men! Do you understand, now?”
She stared at him, frozen, as though the ice crystals falling from the sky had transformed her into rigidity. The shock in her eyes transmitted itself back to him and he nearly groaned aloud. Fuck, now he had done it.
“A bloody shirt lifter,” said a low voice from Harry’s left and he turned to see Ron, lurking near a snow-covered bush. “A fucking ponce! How long have you known, Harry? Since Hogwarts? Since we were roommates? Since we spent all that time camping in the forest together?” Ron’s voice began to rise, much as Ginny’s had earlier.
Harry tried to speak, but his vocal cords seemed to have locked up.
Ron laughed unpleasantly. “And here I was jealous of Hermione. Maybe she should be jealous of me, eh? Or probably not me, since you never made any type of pass at me, eh, mate? Or did I just fail to notice, not being a fucking fairy? Does Hermione know?”
After a telling silence, Ron barked another laugh.
“Of course she does. She’s the smart one. I’m the stupid one. Couldn’t tell me, though, could you?”
“Stop it, Ron,” Harry managed, backing away slowly. He had experienced several versions of angry Ron Weasley, but this one bordered on surreal. Harry could feel the wounded rage coming off of him in veritable waves. Ron glided forward in his chair as if stalking him.
“’Stop it, Ron,’” he mocked. “It’s always ‘stop it, Ron. Knock it off, Ron. Don’t be an idiot, Ron’. Looks like I was an idiot not to have kenned to that. My best friend. You never told me all your dirty little secrets, did you, Harry?”
“I didn’t know,” Harry whispered.
Ron laughed bitterly. Harry glanced at Ginny, who had not moved from her frozen stance, although her eyes flitted from him to Ron and back again.
“You didn’t know.” Ron lifted his wand suddenly and pointed it at Harry. His lips twisted in a way that reminded Harry eerily of Voldemort. “Get the fuck out of here, Chosen One. Get the fuck away from my sister and my family, and stay the fuck away from me! ”
Harry took a single shaking breath and Disapparated.