Surfacing
Title: Surfacing
Author: mizBean
Genre:Drama
Audience:[Almost Anyone]
Pairing: Gen
Warnings: none
Length/Complete?:4500 words/Complete
Summary: Molly Weasley suffers a stroke. How does her family cope. Written for wizard_traumas Ficathon: Character A has a stroke. How does this affect Character B?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic is currently in beta. Since fic is overdue for the ficathon, I thought I'd post here now to get feedback rather than wait.
Surfacing
Denial. Noun. 1. refusal to admit the truth or reality (as of a statement or charge) 2. assertion that an allegation is false
“There was a haemorrhage in her brain.” The Healer waved his wand and series of pictures lit up in front of Ginny. “See. Here it is.” He tapped his wand impatiently at the centre of what looked like very large blob. “It began to bleed and put pressure on her brain. The unfortunate complication is that those brain cells in the way of the haemorrhage die.” He looked at her to see if she was following along and she nodded half-heartedly.
“Here is another view.” He waved his wand again and the pictures vanished, replaced by ghostly image of a brain. “As you can see here-“
“I - I don’t understand,” Ginny interrupted. Her own brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly either. What exactly was he trying to say? Her eyes fell on her father who was staring bleakly at the floor. “Where’s mum? Why can’t I see her?” she cried, panicking.
“Your mother had a stroke,” the Healer replied. “We are doing the best we can.”
“But-“ She stopped, finally beginning to understand. But her mother couldn’t be that sick, surely. They had gone shopping together yesterday. She had been as annoyingly vigorous as she had always been. The sudden thought occurred to Ginny that they might have spent their last day together bickering over the cut of Ginny’s new dress robes. “She isn’t going to die, is she?”
“Ginny.” Hermione appeared suddenly at her elbow and Ginny shook her off. She could see Harry lurking back in the shadows of the room. She had the sudden urge run to him, but… she shook her head. They weren’t exactly speaking at the moment.
Ginny made no effort to hide the shrillness in her voice, “I need to know if she is going to be all right.”
The Healer looked at her soberly. “I won’t lie to you. The situation is grave.” He hesitated as if wondering if she were strong enough to bear the news.
“Go on,” she snapped impatiently.
He pointed at the brain again. “In strokes like these the patient runs the risk of paralysis, impaired judgment, speech and language problems…”
Ginny mouth dropped open. This didn’t seem possible. It was all too much to comprehend.
The Healer gave her a lingering look before continuing, “Before you think all is lost. Recovery is possible with diligent therapy. It just will take time. I’ll let you know if her condition changes.”
“Okay,” she replied thickly. She let herself be directed to a chair and vaguely heard someone ask if she was all right. She wasn’t. This can’t be happening, she whispered. She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. It was George’s and she allowed herself to be pulled closer.
“I know, love,” he whispered, kissing the top of the head.
+++
Anger. noun. 1. a strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism 2. rage
Ron jabbed the lift button impatiently, ignoring the glares of the passengers still trying to get onboard. “Bloody hell,” he said loudly. "You’d think this is the only lift in the goddamned Ministry.” He jabbed the button again and finally, the doors closed and the lift lurched downward.
“Ron, I think you should calm down,” whispered Harry beside him.
Ron ignored him. He was going to calm down when he bloody well felt like it. And he wasn’t bloody well going to calm down until he said his piece with Percy.
Sometime in Ron’s adolescence he had come to terms with the notion that he would never be just Ron. He was ‘Harry’s best friend’ or ‘Hermione’s boyfriend’ or the brother who was never as exceptional or clever as his siblings. The point being nobody expected much of him, they just expected him be there. It was what he was good at.
Except he wasn’t there when Mum needed him.
Nobody was.
Dad said she had been acting funny. Forgetting things. But Dad didn’t want to worry anyone and it probably wasn’t anything anyway. Perhaps if Mum had been an unadorned Muggle, Dad might have paid closer attention.
But then he wasn’t much better, was he? He worked too much, yet he always had time for his mates and for Quidditch.
The lift continued to stop and take on more people and Ron found himself pressed between Harry and a sour-smelling wizard who reminded him unpleasantly of Mundungus Fletcher. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic which was doing nothing for his mood.
When the door opened again to let on a flock of memos. He had had it. He clamoured off the lift and ran for the stairs.
Harry caught up to him at the heavy oak doors guarding the stairwell. “Ron.” he panted. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m taking the stairs.” He pulled the door open only to have Harry slam it shut again.
“I can see that. Why are you running through the Ministry like a madman?”
Ron turned around to glare at Harry. “I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. “Ron, you’re upset. You’re not thinking straight. If you go see Percy like this, you’re liable to make things worse.”
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. Harry of all people was counselling him not to act rashly. “Worse? How can it get any worse? My mother can’t even say my name to my face. She calls me Radley. She thinks I’m kooky Uncle Radley, but she can remember Percy’s name all right and the fucker won’t even visit her in the hospital.”
“The Healers said-“
I don’t give a fuck what the Healers said!” His voice ricocheted off the stone walls. Further down the corridor a group of workers turned around and stared.
“Ron.”
“Don’t ‘Ron’ me, Harry,” Ron spat, his voice rising even higher. He took a step forward. “You know, you’re beginning sound just like everybody else. Nobody wants to do anything or say anything. Well I’m sick of doing nothing. I’m going to do something. So back the hell off!” For all the years that they were friends, he never once felt compelled to physically hurt Harry, but his already tenuous grasp of control snapped and he pushed Harry backward, hard. Harry’s eyes widened with surprise as he tottered backward against the opposite wall.
Ron sucked in a nervous breath as Harry straightened himself up and glared back at him. For a moment neither of them said a word.
“This is a family matter,” said Ron in as icy of a tone as he could muster. “You have no business interfering.”
For a moment Harry did nothing. Then ever so slight Harry’s composure cracked. Ron had hit in the one spot where he knew Harry was vulnerable. This time when Ron yanked open the door. Harry didn’t try to stop him.
+
Percy’s office was only two floors below the one Ron worked on, but they were about as opposite as night and day. While the Department of Magical Games and Sports exuded a spirited atmosphere that matched its employees’ zeal for sport, the Department for the Regulation of Policy was cold and workmanlike, all sharp, unequivocal surfaces and sombre tones. Ron remembered why he never felt the need to visit.
He hurried across the granite-clad lobby to the heavy glass doors enclosing the inner offices. No sooner than he reached to pull open the one of the doors he found himself slammed against the thick glass. For a horrible moment the glass above him buckled and he thought it was going to crash down on top of him. “Fuck, Harry,” he said, after he finally found his voice. “I’m not bloody Malfoy.”
Harry’s mouth wavered and he looked away, abashed. “I’ll go with you, okay?” he murmured. His grip on Ron’s collar loosened and he worried the folds of Ron’s robes as he spoke. “I’m just worried about you. And- I’m here for you, if… you want me to be.”
It was as if all the emotions that had been coursing through Ron had suddenly flooded out and he visibly sagged against the glass. It wasn’t lost on him that if it weren’t for Harry’s hands, still propped on his shoulders that he might have simply fallen to the floor. “I’m sorry. I cocked everything up.”
Harry protested, but he waved him off. He suddenly felt very foolish.
“Maybe I should just go home.”
“Maybe,” Harry answered noncommittally.
Ron made no effort to move, however. He could feel tears prickling his eyes and he looked away. “I thought it was bad enough when Charlie died.”
“It’s because it’s your mum,” Harry replied simply.
Ron nodded. Harry was right. It was different. Even when his father was attacked by the Basilisk, he didn’t feel this bereft or lost. He tried to focus on a large potted tree just off to Harry’s shoulder. “I can’t stop thinking about that damn clock. Mum used to lug that thing around everywhere. Even after the war, we had a hard time prying it from here. She watched over us. But nobody was watching her.” His voice cracked and he let out a shuddering breath. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until now.
“Ron, it’s not your fault.”
Ron scowled, but he didn’t to argue anymore. “I just want to do something. To make it better.” He finally looked at Harry and was buoyed that he at least seemed to understand. “That’s why I have to see Percy.”
Harry looked quickly to his left. “We should go see him now before we get tossed out of here.”
Ron noticed for the first time that a crowd of onlookers had been following their discussion. Obviously, disappointed that the show was over, many turned to go, leaving just a handful of people, one of whom was a tall, bespectacled redhead.
+++
Bargaining. verb. 1. to negotiate over the terms of a purchase, agreement, or contract 2. to come to terms
The sugar cube bobbed briefly on the surface before sinking like a stone to the bottom of the cup, trailing tiny spray of bubbles. Percy picked up another cube and watched that one sink too. He had no interest in drinking the tea. It just gave him something to do with his hands and to keep his mind free of other things.
Other things like sitting alone in the St. Mungo’s tearoom at 8:30 in the evening, staring into space. Two nurses walked by carrying heavy trays of food, their loud gossip jostling him out of his thoughts. He turned and scowled at them as one of them broke out into shrill peals of laughter. Neither of them seemed to notice his displeasure, however, and they continued to cackle loudly in the corner of the tearoom.
Surely, St. Mungo’s could afford a more professional staff, he thought as he picked up another sugar cube and toyed with it in his fingers. He contemplated going home for the night. There was no need for him to stay. Visiting hours ended an hour ago. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like he had to stay.
His earlier visit with his mother had been short as was his custom designed to prevent him from accidentally stumbling upon other members of his family. He resented mightily the implication by other members of his family that he wasn’t concerned about his mother’s health. The days following Mum’s stroke had been confusing to say the least and not at all helped by the terse missives Bill sent him, explaining Mum’s condition in the briefest of terms. He quite frankly thought no one wanted him there.
And he was not at all prepared to see how serious Mum’s condition was when he finally did come to St. Mungo’s. Ron had been right. She need help to move around and he wasn’t quite sure she understood everything he said. Thus their visits were for the most part quiet with Percy occasionally relating his day.
The noise of heels against the hard surface of the floor startled him and he looked up. Ginny was standing there, staring at him. She held a stack of books in one arm while her other hand was perched on her hip. Percy noted that she had a look of disapproval that made him think uncomfortably of Mum and he suddenly trespassed back to when he was a young boy who had broken his arm while flying on Charlie’s broom. It had been the first and last time he had broken one of Mum’s rules.
“It’s you,” she sneered as she dropped her pile of books on the table, jostling his cup of tea and landing half of it in his lap. If she noticed she didn’t seem to care as she sat down in the chair opposite him and regarded him bluntly. “Ron told me you might be here tonight.”
“And good evening to you too, Ginevra,” he replied. He didn’t bother keeping a note of derision out his voice. He was used to this behaviour by his family. He had come to expect it.
“So you and Ron are friends now.” She sounded disappointed.
“No, we are brothers,” he corrected. “Like we’ve always been.” His head began to throb and remembered why he found being around his family to be so exhausting. He looked down at the dregs of his tea at the bottom of his teacup. Perhaps it really was time to go home. “Why are you here?” he asked instead. “It’s after visiting hours, I mean. And it’s hardly a pleasant place to read.”
“Oh,” She looked a little embarrassed. “I read to her. I used to just come and sit with her so that Dad could go home at night and rest. The Healer thought it might help her relearn her vocabulary.”
“And you come here every night.”
She shrugged. “More or less.”
“I had no idea.”
“I don’t like to make a big deal about it. It’s just a thing between me and Mum.” She twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe I just feel guilty. I promised myself the night she had her stroke that if she survived, I would do anything I could to make her better.”
“That’s an awfully large task.”
She shrugged, looking a little put upon. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have a busy life anyway.”
“Still. You’re young. You must-“
She sat up suddenly and stared at Percy. Her eyes glittered in the muted torchlight and he found himself recoiling just a little. “Why are you here, Percy Weasley?” she demanded.
Taken aback by her abrupt change in tone, he stammered in reply, being more honest that he probably would’ve otherwise, “Sort of the same thing, really.” He made a face at his teacup again. The frankness of her stare was making him uncomfortable. “I come and visit every night at 7:30 and come up here and have tea, until they kick me out. I’ve been trying to avoid running into you and Dad, which is why I stay up here. You caught me unawares.”
A look of satisfaction crossed Ginny’s face. “Good.”
“Good?”
“I mean ‘good’ that I’m not the only one. Bill thinks I need to go live my life.”
“Oh,” He fiddled with his spoon while she watched him silently. “Everyone is doing well, I trust. Considering the circumstances, of course.”
“You mean when we’re not crying our eyes out because Mum’s not coming home from the hospital.”
Percy reddened. “We don’t know that for sure. The Healer I talked to said that with time and therapy she may be able to resume her old life.”
Ginny waved him off. “Whatever. She’s never going to be able to cook Christmas dinner again or knit sweaters or-“She stopped. “I suppose she’ll still be able to nag us into submission even if nobody can understand a word she is saying.”
“There’s always magic,” replied Percy gently. “And Mum could get help.”
“Yes, but she liked to do those things herself. And I don’t know how much magic she’ll be able to do. But they’re trying to teach her anyway. Hell of task to considering she’s even having trouble saying the word ‘Scourgify.’” She suddenly looked angry. “So, yeah, everyone’s swell.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t-“
“No, I’m sorry. You were just being polite. Ron told me to make an effort. So let’s see…” Ginny began counting on her fingers. “Dad is Dad, acting more like a lost little boy than a sixty-year old adult. Fleur is pregnant and she’s staying at The Burrow with Bill. So that means she’s driving me absolutely mad. Fred and George are making more money than God. Ron and Hermione are still bickering about setting a wedding date and I broke with Harry again.”
“Oh,” he said, wondering if Ginny was always this difficult to talk to or if he had just forgotten.
“We weren’t really together anyway,” she blathered on. “Sort of in name only, I guess. I finally made it official. If I waited for him for him to commit, I’d be old and grey and still waiting to have those Potter-Weasley babies I’ve wanted so badly.” She rolled her eyes. “Kidding.
“He’s seeing someone else anyway and I’m not really in the mood for romance right now.” She grinned lazily. “I could use a good, empty fuck, though.”
Percy blanched. There were certain things about his sister he did not want to know. He pushed back his chair and began to stand. “I think it’s time I went home.”
Ginny suddenly looked upset and Percy was confused. “Do you need someone to take you home?” He realized he wasn’t sure she still lived in the Burrow or not.
“No. No, I’m fine. I can catch a floo connection back to The Burrow.” She began gathering the books into her arms and Percy began to help her as some of the books fell back to the table. “I think I’ll go down and read Mum another chapter before she goes to sleep, anyway. Mum likes these stupid romance novels. They’re really quite horrid, actually. I always have these strange dreams after I read them.” She stopped awkwardly, burdened by her load of books. “It was nice talking to you again, Percy Weasley.” She gave him short smile and turned before Percy could reply.
He watched her sadly as she disappeared through the door. He couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted to follow. He sank back down in his chair instead. He glanced up at the clock. It was nearly nine. The janitor would kick him out soon. He poured another cup of tea, spelled it hot and reached for another sugar cube. He had time to wait.
+++
Depression. noun. a psychoneurotic or psychotic disorder marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty in thinking and concentration, a significant increase or decrease in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness
Bill dragged his eyes away from the old grandfather clock in the sitting room and shuffled into the kitchen. He lit the hearth with a quick flick of his wand and summoned a container of loose tea. It was before dawn but the air already felt stagnant and thick. He wasn’t too sure if the oppressive atmosphere was entirely due to the weather.
He grabbed a dirty teacup out of the sink and spelled it clean. He never really liked tea, especially the way Mum and Dad liked it. Sugary with lots of cream. Ever since he moved to France with Fleur he acquired at tasted for strong bitter coffee laced with milk. But Fleur made it the way he really liked and she had returned home a week ago.
Had it really been over a month since Mum had her stroke? She was still in hospital. Still unable to walk or care for herself. No one had any idea when she could come home. If she could come home.
‘If’ was a word nobody spoke out loud in this house.
He shook his head. He could feel himself getting frustrated again. He pushed aside leftover containers of takeaway (Ron’s dinner, from the look of it) and sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and stared morosely at the empty kitchen.
He couldn’t ever remember The Burrow ever looking this cheerless. Even after Charlie had died it never got this bad. The war had been in full swing then and Bill remembered an almost manic energy to his family’s behaviour. Plans had to be made, strategies to be discussed. There simply hadn’t been time to mourn and all the while Mum cooked and cleaned after the endless stream of Order members that took refuge in her home. Now The Burrow smelled unpleasantly of Tandoori spices and sour milk.
He watched the dark sky turn to orange as he at his breakfast and his thought turned to his house in France where Fleur was undoubtedly still asleep.
+
The sun had finally crested the tall trees surrounding The Burrow when Bill watched Ginny shuffle into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot and the t-shirt she wore hung loosely from her thin shoulders. She looked tired and wan and underfed. Mum would have solved that by tying Ginny to her chair and force-feeding her kippers and porridge. Despite his size, Bill somehow thought that that wouldn’t go over quite so well if he tried to that himself.
She opened the cupboard door, made a frustrated sound and closed it again, turning around to stare at Bill. “Why the odd face?” she asked after a moment.
He smiled sadly. “I was thinking about Mum.”
“Ah,” she replied sarcastically. “That’s your problem. If you think too much about Mum you’ll want to go hex yourself. Save yourself the pain.”
Bill glared at his sister. “I’m serious. We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
“Fine. Talk, then.” She grabbed a box of corn flakes off the shelf and leaned against the counter to look at her brother. “We’re almost out of food, by the way.” She gave him a pointed look.
Bill rolled his eyes. “There’s a Muggle shop down the road that Ron says is open 24 hours a day. I’m sure there’s something you can find there.”
Ginny snorted. “Just because I’m the only female living here doesn’t mean that I have to be stuck with all the shopping.”
“I’m not stick- Never mind. Here.” He waved his hand at the containers of take-away still sitting on the table. “We have all this left over curry. Eat some of that.”
She made a face. “I will not.” She stuck her hand into the box of cornflakes and ate a handful instead.
Bill’s eyes drifted out the window again. He could see the road leading into Ottery St. Catchpole just down the hill. “I’m worried about Dad too. He spends more time in the hospital then he does here.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s my point. This house is a wreck. When I agreed to move back home to take care of Dad, this is not what was supposed to happen.”
“This is not my fault,” Ginny cried. “Ron lives here too and you never complain about him even though he leaves his shit all over the place.”
“I didn’t say it was, did I?” Bill snapped. “But something’s got to be done.”
“Dad doesn’t come home because he’s worried about Mum. He loves her.” Ginny’s last word came out in a sob and she shut her eyes and turned away.
“Ginny, I’m sorry.” He felt like a heel. It was unfair to take his frustrations out on her. He stood up and folder her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay. All right?” Ginny nodded into his shoulder. “We’ll fix it.” Somehow.
“Blimey. What did I miss this time?”
Ron was standing in the kitchen doorway regarding them with a look of abject horror.
“Bill was just being mean to me,” replied Ginny, as she pulled away and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Nothing new, then.” Ron poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. “Dad’s not still at the hospital, is he?”
Bill nodded. “I guess the night-nurse finally gave up on trying to get him to go home and transfigured a bed for him.”
“That’s so sweet that he doesn’t want her to sleep alone,” said Ginny.
“It’s a little mad, I think,” replied Ron, between mouthfuls of cereal.
“Maybe that’s why your girlfriend won’t marry you,” Ginny sneered.
“Yeah, that’s why. Because I won’t sit all night with my Mum at the hospital,” Ron replied angrily.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point and you know it.”
“Enough!” Bill shouted. Ginny and Ron suddenly quieted. “Thank you. We need to talk about Mum. And what we need to make happen so she can come home.”
+++
Acceptance. noun. 1. the act of accepting, to regard as proper, normal, or inevitable 2. to recognize as true
“Catch.”
An open bottle of Butterbeer flew threw the air. Fred caught it easily and tipped the bottle to his twin who levitated more bottles across the room.
He turned to Harry and Ginny talking quietly on the sofa. “Okay, Are you two together or not,” he interrupted genially.
“Not,” replied Ginny, swatting him on the thigh. “I told you that already.. She stood up and mock-glared at Fred. “Besides, I’ve moved on. I found someone better.”
“Better than Harry Potter. Is that possible?” asked George appearing over Fred’s shoulder.
Ginny threw him a disgusted look and flipped her hair. “I think Aunt Gertrude needs me in the kitchen.”
“Say hello to ugly Aunt Gertrude for me and tell her to stay out of the whiskey." Fred waited until she got out of earshot. If you ask me, you’re lucky you got out while you still can,” he said to Harry, flopping down on the sofa next to him.
“Come now. That’s no way to talk about your sister,” George admonished.
Fred mused for moment and then pulled a face. “Bugger that. So, today’s the big day.”
“Do you think Percy will show?” Harry asked.
“He might.” Ron replied, joining the conversation.
“Are we really sure Mum’s ready?” Fred asked in all seriousness.
“I’m more worried about Dad, if you ask me,” Ron replied. “I’m not sure how much he can handle by himself.”
“Come on,” George cried. “This what we’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? And Ginny is going to stay on for another month and,” George grinned, “we’ve talked Dad into hiring a part-time house-elf.
“What?” Harry cried. “Are you serious? Does Hermione know?” he added quietly.
“We’re paying it, of course,” George replied in tone that suggested that he was well aware of the dangers of angering his future sister-in-law. “And I’m more worried about Mum’s reaction, honestly.”
“Oh, she’s not going to be pleased.” Fred replied sagely.
“She’ll pitch a wobbler,” said George.
“Hit the roof,” said Fred.
“Have a fit.”
“Go mental.”
“It’s not going to be pretty,” mused George.
“But it’s be so much fun to watch,” replied Fred.
“Cheers.” George raised his bottle “Here’s to having the old mum back.”
Final version: Surfacing
Author: mizBean
Genre:Drama
Audience:[Almost Anyone]
Pairing: Gen
Warnings: none
Length/Complete?:4500 words/Complete
Summary: Molly Weasley suffers a stroke. How does her family cope. Written for wizard_traumas Ficathon: Character A has a stroke. How does this affect Character B?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic is currently in beta. Since fic is overdue for the ficathon, I thought I'd post here now to get feedback rather than wait.
Surfacing
Denial. Noun. 1. refusal to admit the truth or reality (as of a statement or charge) 2. assertion that an allegation is false
“There was a haemorrhage in her brain.” The Healer waved his wand and series of pictures lit up in front of Ginny. “See. Here it is.” He tapped his wand impatiently at the centre of what looked like very large blob. “It began to bleed and put pressure on her brain. The unfortunate complication is that those brain cells in the way of the haemorrhage die.” He looked at her to see if she was following along and she nodded half-heartedly.
“Here is another view.” He waved his wand again and the pictures vanished, replaced by ghostly image of a brain. “As you can see here-“
“I - I don’t understand,” Ginny interrupted. Her own brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly either. What exactly was he trying to say? Her eyes fell on her father who was staring bleakly at the floor. “Where’s mum? Why can’t I see her?” she cried, panicking.
“Your mother had a stroke,” the Healer replied. “We are doing the best we can.”
“But-“ She stopped, finally beginning to understand. But her mother couldn’t be that sick, surely. They had gone shopping together yesterday. She had been as annoyingly vigorous as she had always been. The sudden thought occurred to Ginny that they might have spent their last day together bickering over the cut of Ginny’s new dress robes. “She isn’t going to die, is she?”
“Ginny.” Hermione appeared suddenly at her elbow and Ginny shook her off. She could see Harry lurking back in the shadows of the room. She had the sudden urge run to him, but… she shook her head. They weren’t exactly speaking at the moment.
Ginny made no effort to hide the shrillness in her voice, “I need to know if she is going to be all right.”
The Healer looked at her soberly. “I won’t lie to you. The situation is grave.” He hesitated as if wondering if she were strong enough to bear the news.
“Go on,” she snapped impatiently.
He pointed at the brain again. “In strokes like these the patient runs the risk of paralysis, impaired judgment, speech and language problems…”
Ginny mouth dropped open. This didn’t seem possible. It was all too much to comprehend.
The Healer gave her a lingering look before continuing, “Before you think all is lost. Recovery is possible with diligent therapy. It just will take time. I’ll let you know if her condition changes.”
“Okay,” she replied thickly. She let herself be directed to a chair and vaguely heard someone ask if she was all right. She wasn’t. This can’t be happening, she whispered. She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. It was George’s and she allowed herself to be pulled closer.
“I know, love,” he whispered, kissing the top of the head.
+++
Anger. noun. 1. a strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism 2. rage
Ron jabbed the lift button impatiently, ignoring the glares of the passengers still trying to get onboard. “Bloody hell,” he said loudly. "You’d think this is the only lift in the goddamned Ministry.” He jabbed the button again and finally, the doors closed and the lift lurched downward.
“Ron, I think you should calm down,” whispered Harry beside him.
Ron ignored him. He was going to calm down when he bloody well felt like it. And he wasn’t bloody well going to calm down until he said his piece with Percy.
Sometime in Ron’s adolescence he had come to terms with the notion that he would never be just Ron. He was ‘Harry’s best friend’ or ‘Hermione’s boyfriend’ or the brother who was never as exceptional or clever as his siblings. The point being nobody expected much of him, they just expected him be there. It was what he was good at.
Except he wasn’t there when Mum needed him.
Nobody was.
Dad said she had been acting funny. Forgetting things. But Dad didn’t want to worry anyone and it probably wasn’t anything anyway. Perhaps if Mum had been an unadorned Muggle, Dad might have paid closer attention.
But then he wasn’t much better, was he? He worked too much, yet he always had time for his mates and for Quidditch.
The lift continued to stop and take on more people and Ron found himself pressed between Harry and a sour-smelling wizard who reminded him unpleasantly of Mundungus Fletcher. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic which was doing nothing for his mood.
When the door opened again to let on a flock of memos. He had had it. He clamoured off the lift and ran for the stairs.
Harry caught up to him at the heavy oak doors guarding the stairwell. “Ron.” he panted. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m taking the stairs.” He pulled the door open only to have Harry slam it shut again.
“I can see that. Why are you running through the Ministry like a madman?”
Ron turned around to glare at Harry. “I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. “Ron, you’re upset. You’re not thinking straight. If you go see Percy like this, you’re liable to make things worse.”
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. Harry of all people was counselling him not to act rashly. “Worse? How can it get any worse? My mother can’t even say my name to my face. She calls me Radley. She thinks I’m kooky Uncle Radley, but she can remember Percy’s name all right and the fucker won’t even visit her in the hospital.”
“The Healers said-“
I don’t give a fuck what the Healers said!” His voice ricocheted off the stone walls. Further down the corridor a group of workers turned around and stared.
“Ron.”
“Don’t ‘Ron’ me, Harry,” Ron spat, his voice rising even higher. He took a step forward. “You know, you’re beginning sound just like everybody else. Nobody wants to do anything or say anything. Well I’m sick of doing nothing. I’m going to do something. So back the hell off!” For all the years that they were friends, he never once felt compelled to physically hurt Harry, but his already tenuous grasp of control snapped and he pushed Harry backward, hard. Harry’s eyes widened with surprise as he tottered backward against the opposite wall.
Ron sucked in a nervous breath as Harry straightened himself up and glared back at him. For a moment neither of them said a word.
“This is a family matter,” said Ron in as icy of a tone as he could muster. “You have no business interfering.”
For a moment Harry did nothing. Then ever so slight Harry’s composure cracked. Ron had hit in the one spot where he knew Harry was vulnerable. This time when Ron yanked open the door. Harry didn’t try to stop him.
+
Percy’s office was only two floors below the one Ron worked on, but they were about as opposite as night and day. While the Department of Magical Games and Sports exuded a spirited atmosphere that matched its employees’ zeal for sport, the Department for the Regulation of Policy was cold and workmanlike, all sharp, unequivocal surfaces and sombre tones. Ron remembered why he never felt the need to visit.
He hurried across the granite-clad lobby to the heavy glass doors enclosing the inner offices. No sooner than he reached to pull open the one of the doors he found himself slammed against the thick glass. For a horrible moment the glass above him buckled and he thought it was going to crash down on top of him. “Fuck, Harry,” he said, after he finally found his voice. “I’m not bloody Malfoy.”
Harry’s mouth wavered and he looked away, abashed. “I’ll go with you, okay?” he murmured. His grip on Ron’s collar loosened and he worried the folds of Ron’s robes as he spoke. “I’m just worried about you. And- I’m here for you, if… you want me to be.”
It was as if all the emotions that had been coursing through Ron had suddenly flooded out and he visibly sagged against the glass. It wasn’t lost on him that if it weren’t for Harry’s hands, still propped on his shoulders that he might have simply fallen to the floor. “I’m sorry. I cocked everything up.”
Harry protested, but he waved him off. He suddenly felt very foolish.
“Maybe I should just go home.”
“Maybe,” Harry answered noncommittally.
Ron made no effort to move, however. He could feel tears prickling his eyes and he looked away. “I thought it was bad enough when Charlie died.”
“It’s because it’s your mum,” Harry replied simply.
Ron nodded. Harry was right. It was different. Even when his father was attacked by the Basilisk, he didn’t feel this bereft or lost. He tried to focus on a large potted tree just off to Harry’s shoulder. “I can’t stop thinking about that damn clock. Mum used to lug that thing around everywhere. Even after the war, we had a hard time prying it from here. She watched over us. But nobody was watching her.” His voice cracked and he let out a shuddering breath. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until now.
“Ron, it’s not your fault.”
Ron scowled, but he didn’t to argue anymore. “I just want to do something. To make it better.” He finally looked at Harry and was buoyed that he at least seemed to understand. “That’s why I have to see Percy.”
Harry looked quickly to his left. “We should go see him now before we get tossed out of here.”
Ron noticed for the first time that a crowd of onlookers had been following their discussion. Obviously, disappointed that the show was over, many turned to go, leaving just a handful of people, one of whom was a tall, bespectacled redhead.
+++
Bargaining. verb. 1. to negotiate over the terms of a purchase, agreement, or contract 2. to come to terms
The sugar cube bobbed briefly on the surface before sinking like a stone to the bottom of the cup, trailing tiny spray of bubbles. Percy picked up another cube and watched that one sink too. He had no interest in drinking the tea. It just gave him something to do with his hands and to keep his mind free of other things.
Other things like sitting alone in the St. Mungo’s tearoom at 8:30 in the evening, staring into space. Two nurses walked by carrying heavy trays of food, their loud gossip jostling him out of his thoughts. He turned and scowled at them as one of them broke out into shrill peals of laughter. Neither of them seemed to notice his displeasure, however, and they continued to cackle loudly in the corner of the tearoom.
Surely, St. Mungo’s could afford a more professional staff, he thought as he picked up another sugar cube and toyed with it in his fingers. He contemplated going home for the night. There was no need for him to stay. Visiting hours ended an hour ago. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like he had to stay.
His earlier visit with his mother had been short as was his custom designed to prevent him from accidentally stumbling upon other members of his family. He resented mightily the implication by other members of his family that he wasn’t concerned about his mother’s health. The days following Mum’s stroke had been confusing to say the least and not at all helped by the terse missives Bill sent him, explaining Mum’s condition in the briefest of terms. He quite frankly thought no one wanted him there.
And he was not at all prepared to see how serious Mum’s condition was when he finally did come to St. Mungo’s. Ron had been right. She need help to move around and he wasn’t quite sure she understood everything he said. Thus their visits were for the most part quiet with Percy occasionally relating his day.
The noise of heels against the hard surface of the floor startled him and he looked up. Ginny was standing there, staring at him. She held a stack of books in one arm while her other hand was perched on her hip. Percy noted that she had a look of disapproval that made him think uncomfortably of Mum and he suddenly trespassed back to when he was a young boy who had broken his arm while flying on Charlie’s broom. It had been the first and last time he had broken one of Mum’s rules.
“It’s you,” she sneered as she dropped her pile of books on the table, jostling his cup of tea and landing half of it in his lap. If she noticed she didn’t seem to care as she sat down in the chair opposite him and regarded him bluntly. “Ron told me you might be here tonight.”
“And good evening to you too, Ginevra,” he replied. He didn’t bother keeping a note of derision out his voice. He was used to this behaviour by his family. He had come to expect it.
“So you and Ron are friends now.” She sounded disappointed.
“No, we are brothers,” he corrected. “Like we’ve always been.” His head began to throb and remembered why he found being around his family to be so exhausting. He looked down at the dregs of his tea at the bottom of his teacup. Perhaps it really was time to go home. “Why are you here?” he asked instead. “It’s after visiting hours, I mean. And it’s hardly a pleasant place to read.”
“Oh,” She looked a little embarrassed. “I read to her. I used to just come and sit with her so that Dad could go home at night and rest. The Healer thought it might help her relearn her vocabulary.”
“And you come here every night.”
She shrugged. “More or less.”
“I had no idea.”
“I don’t like to make a big deal about it. It’s just a thing between me and Mum.” She twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe I just feel guilty. I promised myself the night she had her stroke that if she survived, I would do anything I could to make her better.”
“That’s an awfully large task.”
She shrugged, looking a little put upon. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have a busy life anyway.”
“Still. You’re young. You must-“
She sat up suddenly and stared at Percy. Her eyes glittered in the muted torchlight and he found himself recoiling just a little. “Why are you here, Percy Weasley?” she demanded.
Taken aback by her abrupt change in tone, he stammered in reply, being more honest that he probably would’ve otherwise, “Sort of the same thing, really.” He made a face at his teacup again. The frankness of her stare was making him uncomfortable. “I come and visit every night at 7:30 and come up here and have tea, until they kick me out. I’ve been trying to avoid running into you and Dad, which is why I stay up here. You caught me unawares.”
A look of satisfaction crossed Ginny’s face. “Good.”
“Good?”
“I mean ‘good’ that I’m not the only one. Bill thinks I need to go live my life.”
“Oh,” He fiddled with his spoon while she watched him silently. “Everyone is doing well, I trust. Considering the circumstances, of course.”
“You mean when we’re not crying our eyes out because Mum’s not coming home from the hospital.”
Percy reddened. “We don’t know that for sure. The Healer I talked to said that with time and therapy she may be able to resume her old life.”
Ginny waved him off. “Whatever. She’s never going to be able to cook Christmas dinner again or knit sweaters or-“She stopped. “I suppose she’ll still be able to nag us into submission even if nobody can understand a word she is saying.”
“There’s always magic,” replied Percy gently. “And Mum could get help.”
“Yes, but she liked to do those things herself. And I don’t know how much magic she’ll be able to do. But they’re trying to teach her anyway. Hell of task to considering she’s even having trouble saying the word ‘Scourgify.’” She suddenly looked angry. “So, yeah, everyone’s swell.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t-“
“No, I’m sorry. You were just being polite. Ron told me to make an effort. So let’s see…” Ginny began counting on her fingers. “Dad is Dad, acting more like a lost little boy than a sixty-year old adult. Fleur is pregnant and she’s staying at The Burrow with Bill. So that means she’s driving me absolutely mad. Fred and George are making more money than God. Ron and Hermione are still bickering about setting a wedding date and I broke with Harry again.”
“Oh,” he said, wondering if Ginny was always this difficult to talk to or if he had just forgotten.
“We weren’t really together anyway,” she blathered on. “Sort of in name only, I guess. I finally made it official. If I waited for him for him to commit, I’d be old and grey and still waiting to have those Potter-Weasley babies I’ve wanted so badly.” She rolled her eyes. “Kidding.
“He’s seeing someone else anyway and I’m not really in the mood for romance right now.” She grinned lazily. “I could use a good, empty fuck, though.”
Percy blanched. There were certain things about his sister he did not want to know. He pushed back his chair and began to stand. “I think it’s time I went home.”
Ginny suddenly looked upset and Percy was confused. “Do you need someone to take you home?” He realized he wasn’t sure she still lived in the Burrow or not.
“No. No, I’m fine. I can catch a floo connection back to The Burrow.” She began gathering the books into her arms and Percy began to help her as some of the books fell back to the table. “I think I’ll go down and read Mum another chapter before she goes to sleep, anyway. Mum likes these stupid romance novels. They’re really quite horrid, actually. I always have these strange dreams after I read them.” She stopped awkwardly, burdened by her load of books. “It was nice talking to you again, Percy Weasley.” She gave him short smile and turned before Percy could reply.
He watched her sadly as she disappeared through the door. He couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted to follow. He sank back down in his chair instead. He glanced up at the clock. It was nearly nine. The janitor would kick him out soon. He poured another cup of tea, spelled it hot and reached for another sugar cube. He had time to wait.
+++
Depression. noun. a psychoneurotic or psychotic disorder marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty in thinking and concentration, a significant increase or decrease in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness
Bill dragged his eyes away from the old grandfather clock in the sitting room and shuffled into the kitchen. He lit the hearth with a quick flick of his wand and summoned a container of loose tea. It was before dawn but the air already felt stagnant and thick. He wasn’t too sure if the oppressive atmosphere was entirely due to the weather.
He grabbed a dirty teacup out of the sink and spelled it clean. He never really liked tea, especially the way Mum and Dad liked it. Sugary with lots of cream. Ever since he moved to France with Fleur he acquired at tasted for strong bitter coffee laced with milk. But Fleur made it the way he really liked and she had returned home a week ago.
Had it really been over a month since Mum had her stroke? She was still in hospital. Still unable to walk or care for herself. No one had any idea when she could come home. If she could come home.
‘If’ was a word nobody spoke out loud in this house.
He shook his head. He could feel himself getting frustrated again. He pushed aside leftover containers of takeaway (Ron’s dinner, from the look of it) and sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and stared morosely at the empty kitchen.
He couldn’t ever remember The Burrow ever looking this cheerless. Even after Charlie had died it never got this bad. The war had been in full swing then and Bill remembered an almost manic energy to his family’s behaviour. Plans had to be made, strategies to be discussed. There simply hadn’t been time to mourn and all the while Mum cooked and cleaned after the endless stream of Order members that took refuge in her home. Now The Burrow smelled unpleasantly of Tandoori spices and sour milk.
He watched the dark sky turn to orange as he at his breakfast and his thought turned to his house in France where Fleur was undoubtedly still asleep.
+
The sun had finally crested the tall trees surrounding The Burrow when Bill watched Ginny shuffle into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot and the t-shirt she wore hung loosely from her thin shoulders. She looked tired and wan and underfed. Mum would have solved that by tying Ginny to her chair and force-feeding her kippers and porridge. Despite his size, Bill somehow thought that that wouldn’t go over quite so well if he tried to that himself.
She opened the cupboard door, made a frustrated sound and closed it again, turning around to stare at Bill. “Why the odd face?” she asked after a moment.
He smiled sadly. “I was thinking about Mum.”
“Ah,” she replied sarcastically. “That’s your problem. If you think too much about Mum you’ll want to go hex yourself. Save yourself the pain.”
Bill glared at his sister. “I’m serious. We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
“Fine. Talk, then.” She grabbed a box of corn flakes off the shelf and leaned against the counter to look at her brother. “We’re almost out of food, by the way.” She gave him a pointed look.
Bill rolled his eyes. “There’s a Muggle shop down the road that Ron says is open 24 hours a day. I’m sure there’s something you can find there.”
Ginny snorted. “Just because I’m the only female living here doesn’t mean that I have to be stuck with all the shopping.”
“I’m not stick- Never mind. Here.” He waved his hand at the containers of take-away still sitting on the table. “We have all this left over curry. Eat some of that.”
She made a face. “I will not.” She stuck her hand into the box of cornflakes and ate a handful instead.
Bill’s eyes drifted out the window again. He could see the road leading into Ottery St. Catchpole just down the hill. “I’m worried about Dad too. He spends more time in the hospital then he does here.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s my point. This house is a wreck. When I agreed to move back home to take care of Dad, this is not what was supposed to happen.”
“This is not my fault,” Ginny cried. “Ron lives here too and you never complain about him even though he leaves his shit all over the place.”
“I didn’t say it was, did I?” Bill snapped. “But something’s got to be done.”
“Dad doesn’t come home because he’s worried about Mum. He loves her.” Ginny’s last word came out in a sob and she shut her eyes and turned away.
“Ginny, I’m sorry.” He felt like a heel. It was unfair to take his frustrations out on her. He stood up and folder her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay. All right?” Ginny nodded into his shoulder. “We’ll fix it.” Somehow.
“Blimey. What did I miss this time?”
Ron was standing in the kitchen doorway regarding them with a look of abject horror.
“Bill was just being mean to me,” replied Ginny, as she pulled away and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Nothing new, then.” Ron poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. “Dad’s not still at the hospital, is he?”
Bill nodded. “I guess the night-nurse finally gave up on trying to get him to go home and transfigured a bed for him.”
“That’s so sweet that he doesn’t want her to sleep alone,” said Ginny.
“It’s a little mad, I think,” replied Ron, between mouthfuls of cereal.
“Maybe that’s why your girlfriend won’t marry you,” Ginny sneered.
“Yeah, that’s why. Because I won’t sit all night with my Mum at the hospital,” Ron replied angrily.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point and you know it.”
“Enough!” Bill shouted. Ginny and Ron suddenly quieted. “Thank you. We need to talk about Mum. And what we need to make happen so she can come home.”
+++
Acceptance. noun. 1. the act of accepting, to regard as proper, normal, or inevitable 2. to recognize as true
“Catch.”
An open bottle of Butterbeer flew threw the air. Fred caught it easily and tipped the bottle to his twin who levitated more bottles across the room.
He turned to Harry and Ginny talking quietly on the sofa. “Okay, Are you two together or not,” he interrupted genially.
“Not,” replied Ginny, swatting him on the thigh. “I told you that already.. She stood up and mock-glared at Fred. “Besides, I’ve moved on. I found someone better.”
“Better than Harry Potter. Is that possible?” asked George appearing over Fred’s shoulder.
Ginny threw him a disgusted look and flipped her hair. “I think Aunt Gertrude needs me in the kitchen.”
“Say hello to ugly Aunt Gertrude for me and tell her to stay out of the whiskey." Fred waited until she got out of earshot. If you ask me, you’re lucky you got out while you still can,” he said to Harry, flopping down on the sofa next to him.
“Come now. That’s no way to talk about your sister,” George admonished.
Fred mused for moment and then pulled a face. “Bugger that. So, today’s the big day.”
“Do you think Percy will show?” Harry asked.
“He might.” Ron replied, joining the conversation.
“Are we really sure Mum’s ready?” Fred asked in all seriousness.
“I’m more worried about Dad, if you ask me,” Ron replied. “I’m not sure how much he can handle by himself.”
“Come on,” George cried. “This what we’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? And Ginny is going to stay on for another month and,” George grinned, “we’ve talked Dad into hiring a part-time house-elf.
“What?” Harry cried. “Are you serious? Does Hermione know?” he added quietly.
“We’re paying it, of course,” George replied in tone that suggested that he was well aware of the dangers of angering his future sister-in-law. “And I’m more worried about Mum’s reaction, honestly.”
“Oh, she’s not going to be pleased.” Fred replied sagely.
“She’ll pitch a wobbler,” said George.
“Hit the roof,” said Fred.
“Have a fit.”
“Go mental.”
“It’s not going to be pretty,” mused George.
“But it’s be so much fun to watch,” replied Fred.
“Cheers.” George raised his bottle “Here’s to having the old mum back.”
Final version: Surfacing