Losing Harry Chapter 29
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Twenty-Nine
Word Count: 2,856 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language;; occasional and/or eventual strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, and mild violence
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Written in British English. Beta-ed by the dear cymonie. I am so sorry for the delay. Real life, computer crashes, and flakey internet have been a great hindrance in the past months. Thanks to anyone who is still reading.
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.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
--
It was a Saturday and Ginny was at the Burrow, helping her mother with the garden jobs that spring brought upon them. Her parents were getting older, and with seven children between them, the kids could take turns making sure their mother and father were cared for. De-gnoming the garden was easier than it used to be now that she could use magic, although, rarely had it ever been her job. The boys were usually given the ugly task.
She had agreed to stay for tea, her mother certain that she needed the company, though her mother didn’t know that Ginny’d had to notify Lennart about the change in plans.
A year ago, such a Saturday afternoon would have found her at her own home, finishing an assignment for the paper while Harry slept in, later busying himself with jobs around the house, or garden cleaning and trimming. Sometimes, Harry even did it the long Muggle way - but usually only when he was frustrated or upset, sometimes at Ginny, sometimes because of his job, and sometimes just in general, anger with the world at large, with some current injustice occupying his mind.
He used to pester Ginny about playing one-on-one Quidditch, or having a broom race on Saturdays. He had stopped asking after awhile. Once given up, Quidditch wasn’t something Ginny wanted to do again. It was difficult to sit on her faithful, worn-in broom and remember what she’d had - the victories, the games in foreign countries, the friends she’d now grown away from. She had loved the game, and never understood why Harry, such a star Seeker at Hogwarts, had never wanted the thrill of being a world famous Quidditch player.
But she did understand, partially. He loved Quidditch, but he needed to be an Auror. As much as Ginny would have enjoyed seeing Harry approach his adult life with the carefree whimsy he’d never been allowed in childhood, she witnessed instead that he would never be able to. His young life had formed him in such a way that he couldn’t live without purpose. He couldn’t live without the fight between good and evil. It was all he’d ever known.
She loved him. She thought she knew him and understood him. Looking back at the Burrow, remembering their childhoods and Harry’s constant companionship with Ron and Hermione - she knew that something was missing. She had always known it. Ron and Hermione held parts of Harry that she never would. Parts of him she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to hold.
He was her hero, and he was a mystery, but she feared that parts of that mystery went into deep, dark places. Places he would forever protect her from. And places, if she were honest, that she didn’t want to know existed.
Ginny sat on the back step of the Burrow, wand dangling in her hand as the garden remained half-cleared from the winter’s havoc. She could smell a fresh brew wafting through the back door, her mother being the caring mother she always had been. The mother Ginny wasn’t sure that she, herself, had ever been. She frowned in thought as she considered her husband, and her children, and the turns her life was taking, or had taken.
She remembered the announcement of engagement she’d read in the newspaper two weeks ago. Astoria was moving on with her life, seemingly convinced that her ex-husband was not returning. Ginny wondered if her own husband would return, and if their marriage was headed toward divorce as well. Her eyes stung as she ducked her head, wanting to force the tears away, but finding herself unable to do so. She was her own worst enemy, seeing another man while her husband was off Merlin knew where, probably doing something noble and brave and heroic - because that’s the sort of thing Harry Potter did. And she was at home, lost, confused, cold, and seeking comfort from the first warm body she could find.
Lennart wasn’t just a warm body, though. Ginny rubbed at her eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears. Lennart was a good man. She had known him for some time, and had kept in touch with him and his cousin even years after Ginny had left the Quidditch team. He had always been clear about his feelings - even knowing she was married. He had never tried to stop himself from loving her, and he hadn’t seemed to mind if she never could love him back. He remained faithful as ever, providing whatever kind of relationship Ginny was comfortable with. It had always been friendship… until recently.
“Ginny, love, are you all right?”
Her mum’s voice came through the door, her footsteps echoing after as she approached the back step and pushed the door open. Ginny rubbed her eyes and nodded.
“Yeah, Mum. Fine. Just a bit more to finish,” Ginny said, not turning around in an effort to keep her red eyes hidden.
“Well, hurry up then. I’ve got a brew ready, and we can start making supper soon,” her mum said.
Ginny cast several more spells over the garden, tidying it up so that the spring flowers could bloom among the freshly growing green grass. She imagined her mother and father sitting outside for an afternoon picnic, enjoying what nature had to give them. She regretted that her own home held few memories of the same.
Just one memory came to her, framed in a window as Ginny finished an article for work, and her children’s voices rose through the air outside. She had peeked through the window to find Harry and Lily lying on their backs on a blanket in Grimmauld Place’s back garden, gazing up at the clouds and pointing into the air. Around them, James and Albus ran circles, chasing each other, James with a toy plane in his hand, Albus with a piece of cloth tied around his head and flapping in the wind behind him.
She blinked and the memory disappeared. She forced fresh tears away and headed into the house, closing the door behind her.
..:..
Ron and Hermione were going to join Ginny and her mum and dad for tea. They arrived fifteen minutes before the meal was ready, and Ron told their mother he needed to look through some of their dad’s books. Their dad had spent the larger portion of the day in the garage tinkering with his Muggle toys, but had apparently spoken to Ron and Hermione before they’d come to the house.
Ginny watched as Ron and Hermione disappeared up the stairs. Her brother had found happiness; he had done all right for himself. She had teased him mercilessly as a child when she could get away with it, and even at school, in front of his friends and classmates. But the joke was on her now.
“I think I can finish up here,” her mum said a few minutes later as she pushed Ginny out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you go collect your brother? Let them know it’s time to eat.”
Upstairs, Ginny quietly moved down the hall on the third floor, listening for indications as to which room Ron and Hermione were in, locating them inside the small study where books of all varieties had tended to pile up over the years. Though her father wasn’t particularly bookish, the volume of books there seemed to be ever increasing, whether they were left behind from friends or family members, given as presents or “borrowed” after a raid on a Dark wizard’s personal library; really the “study” was nothing more than a spare room full of books. Ginny crept down the hallway, finding the door to the study hanging open a small gap. She was about to push the door open further when she heard Hermione mention Albus’s feather. Ginny frowned and halted in the hallway, listening for more. Al had never mentioned a feather to her.
“No, look, Ron! Al wrote about it in his letter!” Hermione was insisting. Ginny heard a shuffling, rummaging sound, and then the flattening of a piece of parchment. “There! The letter he wrote me when he received the broom! A black feather!”
“But without seeing the feather, how do we know-” Ron began.
“We can’t know, of course, but I’m starting to doubt the existence of coincidences, myself. Look at the photos taken from Malfoy’s home,” Hermione continued. Several light thwacking sounds followed, and then, “There, look on the mantle.”
“It’s just a quill, Hermione.”
“No, look harder. There’s a single black feather in the quill.”
“I think you’re reaching,” Ron replied, sounding doubtful.
“Ron, trust me,” Hermione ordered. There was more shuffling and then the sound of a book being set on a hard surface. “I borrowed this book from the library at work. I had to do a search to find out what kind of bird this particular feather might belong to. Luckily the lab assistants were able to adjust the crime photos and zoom in on the quill. The feather matches this one, here.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Ginny strained at the door to hear.
“Who the hell is Medahedion?” Ron asked.
“Well, to tell the truth, she’s fascinating.” Hermione’s answer was accompanied by more shuffling. “Your father’s book contains some of the most detailed history on her that I’ve found anywhere. Her name is probably the most famous wizarding name from her time.”
Ginny fidgeted as Hermione went on to detail a brief summary about the witch - her development of spellwork, her superior Transfiguration skills, and her advancement in healing potions.
“Although, apparently she was so adept at healing because she often had her own victims to practice on.” Ginny could almost hear Hermione frowning after that statement.
“So, how does the feather and this witch help us find Harry and Al?” Ron asked.
“I’m thinking the feathers could be indicative of a wizard or witch, or possibly even a family, involved in both situations. Why else would the person attach a feather to Al’s broom? The problem is, as famous as Medahedion is, her bloodline is really difficult to track. Plenty of pure-bloods claim famous ancestors, but most of the bloodlines are so muddled because of the intermarriages, wars, and undocumented family history dating back to Medahedion’s time.”
“But you think,” Ron replied, “that whoever has done this to Malfoy and Albus might be a blood relative to Medahedion?”
“It’s a guess,” Hermione said with uncertainty. “It could just be someone who fancies Medahedion. Or someone claiming a specific characteristic shared with Medahedion.”
Ginny waited for more but hardly a second passed before she heard her mother calling up the stairs. She sighed and pushed the study door open.
“Tea’s ready,” Ginny said to Ron and Hermione, who both looked up from a small table where they had books, papers, and photos strewn.
“Cheers, I’m famished!” Ron said at once, grinning. Ginny offered a small, unfelt smile back.
“I need to come back to this after supper. There’s more I need to read here,” Hermione said aloud as she stood to follow Ron.
..:..
Ginny lay in the overlarge and lonely bed that night, stuck in the contemplative mood that had overcome her for the larger portion of the day. She was glad, actually, that Lennart wasn’t around. His company was distracting - usually a good thing. But she thought tonight was a good time to let her mind wander into those spaces she had kept carefully pushed away. In fact, she had been putting it off for far too long.
When Lennart had accompanied her to the Ministry two weeks ago, she had finally been allowed access to the letter Harry had written her some six months ago. Apparently, Ron and Hermione had also been given permission to see their letters as well, however none of the correspondences were allowed to be taken home. Ginny had tried hard to remember the entire contents of her letter - though it had not been too difficult, as Harry’s message hadn’t been very long.
His letter began with an apology for not explaining where he was going, or why, or for how long. He spoke of his task as though it were a mission from the Ministry, though obviously they all knew it wasn’t. He felt it was urgent. He said it was unsafe for him to allow owls access to his location, but that he would wait for her return owl, giving her one full day to respond before he would need to close himself off again. He insisted he was safe, and would return as soon as he had finished what he was doing.
He sent his love to his children, and to Ron and Hermione.
Even now, Ginny still didn’t know what to make of the letter. He hadn’t really left her, but after seven months, she couldn’t help thinking that he really had, even if that wasn’t what he had intended back when he’d written the letter.
At the Ministry, Ginny had also been shown the Christmas letters for her children - which were just that. Kind letters from a loving father, wishing them a happy Christmas, and apologising for being away. Promises of a quick return and presents when he was home again.
She wondered why he had not sent one to her. Perhaps he had expected her to respond to his first letter, and maybe after she didn’t, he’d thought her too angry at him. Still, selfishly, she wished for her own Christmas love note.
Ginny shared the summary of Harry’s letter with Hermione, though Ron had been too angry with her on that particular day to agree to coming over. He had been busy, anyway - some project with George. Hermione, in response, told Ginny that Harry’s letters to them had been much of the same. Apologies, promises, even a hint at possibly needing their help. He hadn’t yet tried to contact them again though, as far as they knew; additionally it seemed from his letter to Ron that Harry didn’t know the Ministry was intercepting his owls. Hermione had been frustrated that Harry wouldn’t say more, and worried that he was getting himself into trouble - especially after the incident at St Mungo’s.
It was late, and Ginny tried to force herself to go to sleep, but sleep didn’t want to come.
The next morning, she was sitting at the table having breakfast and reading a morning owl from Lennart with a suggestion to meet for lunch when her kitchen suddenly erupted in angry Floo flames. She squeaked and her hands flew to the table, her heart racing as a voice shouted at her from the hearth.
”Ginevra Weasley Potter! You explain to me right now why I had to find out from my wife, who heard from her sister, who said that her daughter was concerned about your Albus and wanted to know if he was all right?” Bill’s voice yelled through the fireplace.
“You can bet Mum sure filled me in since not a single one of you saw fit to let me know your fourteen-year-old son had run away from school!” He paused, sounding a tad more reasonable as he continued, “Now, I know Gringotts has had me back in Egypt since the holidays, but still you promised to let me know anything you found out about Harry, and yet you didn’t think that included the well-being of your son, too? What on earth is wrong with you?” he demanded.
Ginny tried to stammer out a response but was unable to before Bill plowed on.
“And are you to tell me that if my niece was asking about Albus, that means he’s running around on his own in France? He doesn’t even speak a word of French!” Bill exclaimed.
“We didn’t know where he was!” Ginny insisted in sudden hysterics. She hated it when Bill was angry with her, and he had so rarely in his life shouted at her that it scared her half to death. A scolding from her eldest brother was even worse than one from her mother, only to be beaten out by the almost never-occurring scolding from her father.
“How could you let him run off like this?!” Bill demanded.
“Let him?!” Ginny squeaked. “He was at Hogwarts! And I hadn’t a clue where he went!”
Bill paused, his eyes calculating Ginny carefully.
“Do you,” she began meekly, “do you really think he’s in France?”
“Well, I’m not sure why else my French niece, currently in school at Beauxbatons, would be asking about him,” Bill said and then frowned in thought.
“But…France?!” Ginny asked. “He’s only fourteen! They wouldn’t even let him onto a train by himself, would they?”
“Well, not without a passport or some kind of identification,” Billy answered slowly. “Unless he found a way to get past that. Your Albus is very clever.”
Ginny moaned into her arms, on this one occasion wishing that her children weren’t so clever.
“Look, Fleur and I will take a trip to visit Amélie, and see if we can get any more information out of her. If she’s worried about Albus, it’s less likely she’ll keep her secrets. She’s devious, but not so much as to endanger someone else.”
By lunchtime, Ginny couldn’t help needing to sit that much closer to Lennart, clinging to his arm until he kindly wrapped it around her, and held her close until her worries seemed less overwhelming. She even started to make a plan - whom to notify, and which pictures to dispatch to the wizarding villages in France and especially in Paris, and at the train stations. Still, having received no post from Albus in over two weeks, she couldn’t help the heightened fear that Bill’s Floo-call had brought her. Lennart kissed the top of her head, and she tried to push the fear away.
Albus, in France? It couldn’t be possible…
Next: Chapter 30
Chapter: Twenty-Nine
Word Count: 2,856 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language;; occasional and/or eventual strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, and mild violence
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Written in British English. Beta-ed by the dear cymonie. I am so sorry for the delay. Real life, computer crashes, and flakey internet have been a great hindrance in the past months. Thanks to anyone who is still reading.
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.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
--
It was a Saturday and Ginny was at the Burrow, helping her mother with the garden jobs that spring brought upon them. Her parents were getting older, and with seven children between them, the kids could take turns making sure their mother and father were cared for. De-gnoming the garden was easier than it used to be now that she could use magic, although, rarely had it ever been her job. The boys were usually given the ugly task.
She had agreed to stay for tea, her mother certain that she needed the company, though her mother didn’t know that Ginny’d had to notify Lennart about the change in plans.
A year ago, such a Saturday afternoon would have found her at her own home, finishing an assignment for the paper while Harry slept in, later busying himself with jobs around the house, or garden cleaning and trimming. Sometimes, Harry even did it the long Muggle way - but usually only when he was frustrated or upset, sometimes at Ginny, sometimes because of his job, and sometimes just in general, anger with the world at large, with some current injustice occupying his mind.
He used to pester Ginny about playing one-on-one Quidditch, or having a broom race on Saturdays. He had stopped asking after awhile. Once given up, Quidditch wasn’t something Ginny wanted to do again. It was difficult to sit on her faithful, worn-in broom and remember what she’d had - the victories, the games in foreign countries, the friends she’d now grown away from. She had loved the game, and never understood why Harry, such a star Seeker at Hogwarts, had never wanted the thrill of being a world famous Quidditch player.
But she did understand, partially. He loved Quidditch, but he needed to be an Auror. As much as Ginny would have enjoyed seeing Harry approach his adult life with the carefree whimsy he’d never been allowed in childhood, she witnessed instead that he would never be able to. His young life had formed him in such a way that he couldn’t live without purpose. He couldn’t live without the fight between good and evil. It was all he’d ever known.
She loved him. She thought she knew him and understood him. Looking back at the Burrow, remembering their childhoods and Harry’s constant companionship with Ron and Hermione - she knew that something was missing. She had always known it. Ron and Hermione held parts of Harry that she never would. Parts of him she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to hold.
He was her hero, and he was a mystery, but she feared that parts of that mystery went into deep, dark places. Places he would forever protect her from. And places, if she were honest, that she didn’t want to know existed.
Ginny sat on the back step of the Burrow, wand dangling in her hand as the garden remained half-cleared from the winter’s havoc. She could smell a fresh brew wafting through the back door, her mother being the caring mother she always had been. The mother Ginny wasn’t sure that she, herself, had ever been. She frowned in thought as she considered her husband, and her children, and the turns her life was taking, or had taken.
She remembered the announcement of engagement she’d read in the newspaper two weeks ago. Astoria was moving on with her life, seemingly convinced that her ex-husband was not returning. Ginny wondered if her own husband would return, and if their marriage was headed toward divorce as well. Her eyes stung as she ducked her head, wanting to force the tears away, but finding herself unable to do so. She was her own worst enemy, seeing another man while her husband was off Merlin knew where, probably doing something noble and brave and heroic - because that’s the sort of thing Harry Potter did. And she was at home, lost, confused, cold, and seeking comfort from the first warm body she could find.
Lennart wasn’t just a warm body, though. Ginny rubbed at her eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears. Lennart was a good man. She had known him for some time, and had kept in touch with him and his cousin even years after Ginny had left the Quidditch team. He had always been clear about his feelings - even knowing she was married. He had never tried to stop himself from loving her, and he hadn’t seemed to mind if she never could love him back. He remained faithful as ever, providing whatever kind of relationship Ginny was comfortable with. It had always been friendship… until recently.
“Ginny, love, are you all right?”
Her mum’s voice came through the door, her footsteps echoing after as she approached the back step and pushed the door open. Ginny rubbed her eyes and nodded.
“Yeah, Mum. Fine. Just a bit more to finish,” Ginny said, not turning around in an effort to keep her red eyes hidden.
“Well, hurry up then. I’ve got a brew ready, and we can start making supper soon,” her mum said.
Ginny cast several more spells over the garden, tidying it up so that the spring flowers could bloom among the freshly growing green grass. She imagined her mother and father sitting outside for an afternoon picnic, enjoying what nature had to give them. She regretted that her own home held few memories of the same.
Just one memory came to her, framed in a window as Ginny finished an article for work, and her children’s voices rose through the air outside. She had peeked through the window to find Harry and Lily lying on their backs on a blanket in Grimmauld Place’s back garden, gazing up at the clouds and pointing into the air. Around them, James and Albus ran circles, chasing each other, James with a toy plane in his hand, Albus with a piece of cloth tied around his head and flapping in the wind behind him.
She blinked and the memory disappeared. She forced fresh tears away and headed into the house, closing the door behind her.
..:..
Ron and Hermione were going to join Ginny and her mum and dad for tea. They arrived fifteen minutes before the meal was ready, and Ron told their mother he needed to look through some of their dad’s books. Their dad had spent the larger portion of the day in the garage tinkering with his Muggle toys, but had apparently spoken to Ron and Hermione before they’d come to the house.
Ginny watched as Ron and Hermione disappeared up the stairs. Her brother had found happiness; he had done all right for himself. She had teased him mercilessly as a child when she could get away with it, and even at school, in front of his friends and classmates. But the joke was on her now.
“I think I can finish up here,” her mum said a few minutes later as she pushed Ginny out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you go collect your brother? Let them know it’s time to eat.”
Upstairs, Ginny quietly moved down the hall on the third floor, listening for indications as to which room Ron and Hermione were in, locating them inside the small study where books of all varieties had tended to pile up over the years. Though her father wasn’t particularly bookish, the volume of books there seemed to be ever increasing, whether they were left behind from friends or family members, given as presents or “borrowed” after a raid on a Dark wizard’s personal library; really the “study” was nothing more than a spare room full of books. Ginny crept down the hallway, finding the door to the study hanging open a small gap. She was about to push the door open further when she heard Hermione mention Albus’s feather. Ginny frowned and halted in the hallway, listening for more. Al had never mentioned a feather to her.
“No, look, Ron! Al wrote about it in his letter!” Hermione was insisting. Ginny heard a shuffling, rummaging sound, and then the flattening of a piece of parchment. “There! The letter he wrote me when he received the broom! A black feather!”
“But without seeing the feather, how do we know-” Ron began.
“We can’t know, of course, but I’m starting to doubt the existence of coincidences, myself. Look at the photos taken from Malfoy’s home,” Hermione continued. Several light thwacking sounds followed, and then, “There, look on the mantle.”
“It’s just a quill, Hermione.”
“No, look harder. There’s a single black feather in the quill.”
“I think you’re reaching,” Ron replied, sounding doubtful.
“Ron, trust me,” Hermione ordered. There was more shuffling and then the sound of a book being set on a hard surface. “I borrowed this book from the library at work. I had to do a search to find out what kind of bird this particular feather might belong to. Luckily the lab assistants were able to adjust the crime photos and zoom in on the quill. The feather matches this one, here.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Ginny strained at the door to hear.
“Who the hell is Medahedion?” Ron asked.
“Well, to tell the truth, she’s fascinating.” Hermione’s answer was accompanied by more shuffling. “Your father’s book contains some of the most detailed history on her that I’ve found anywhere. Her name is probably the most famous wizarding name from her time.”
Ginny fidgeted as Hermione went on to detail a brief summary about the witch - her development of spellwork, her superior Transfiguration skills, and her advancement in healing potions.
“Although, apparently she was so adept at healing because she often had her own victims to practice on.” Ginny could almost hear Hermione frowning after that statement.
“So, how does the feather and this witch help us find Harry and Al?” Ron asked.
“I’m thinking the feathers could be indicative of a wizard or witch, or possibly even a family, involved in both situations. Why else would the person attach a feather to Al’s broom? The problem is, as famous as Medahedion is, her bloodline is really difficult to track. Plenty of pure-bloods claim famous ancestors, but most of the bloodlines are so muddled because of the intermarriages, wars, and undocumented family history dating back to Medahedion’s time.”
“But you think,” Ron replied, “that whoever has done this to Malfoy and Albus might be a blood relative to Medahedion?”
“It’s a guess,” Hermione said with uncertainty. “It could just be someone who fancies Medahedion. Or someone claiming a specific characteristic shared with Medahedion.”
Ginny waited for more but hardly a second passed before she heard her mother calling up the stairs. She sighed and pushed the study door open.
“Tea’s ready,” Ginny said to Ron and Hermione, who both looked up from a small table where they had books, papers, and photos strewn.
“Cheers, I’m famished!” Ron said at once, grinning. Ginny offered a small, unfelt smile back.
“I need to come back to this after supper. There’s more I need to read here,” Hermione said aloud as she stood to follow Ron.
..:..
Ginny lay in the overlarge and lonely bed that night, stuck in the contemplative mood that had overcome her for the larger portion of the day. She was glad, actually, that Lennart wasn’t around. His company was distracting - usually a good thing. But she thought tonight was a good time to let her mind wander into those spaces she had kept carefully pushed away. In fact, she had been putting it off for far too long.
When Lennart had accompanied her to the Ministry two weeks ago, she had finally been allowed access to the letter Harry had written her some six months ago. Apparently, Ron and Hermione had also been given permission to see their letters as well, however none of the correspondences were allowed to be taken home. Ginny had tried hard to remember the entire contents of her letter - though it had not been too difficult, as Harry’s message hadn’t been very long.
His letter began with an apology for not explaining where he was going, or why, or for how long. He spoke of his task as though it were a mission from the Ministry, though obviously they all knew it wasn’t. He felt it was urgent. He said it was unsafe for him to allow owls access to his location, but that he would wait for her return owl, giving her one full day to respond before he would need to close himself off again. He insisted he was safe, and would return as soon as he had finished what he was doing.
He sent his love to his children, and to Ron and Hermione.
Even now, Ginny still didn’t know what to make of the letter. He hadn’t really left her, but after seven months, she couldn’t help thinking that he really had, even if that wasn’t what he had intended back when he’d written the letter.
At the Ministry, Ginny had also been shown the Christmas letters for her children - which were just that. Kind letters from a loving father, wishing them a happy Christmas, and apologising for being away. Promises of a quick return and presents when he was home again.
She wondered why he had not sent one to her. Perhaps he had expected her to respond to his first letter, and maybe after she didn’t, he’d thought her too angry at him. Still, selfishly, she wished for her own Christmas love note.
Ginny shared the summary of Harry’s letter with Hermione, though Ron had been too angry with her on that particular day to agree to coming over. He had been busy, anyway - some project with George. Hermione, in response, told Ginny that Harry’s letters to them had been much of the same. Apologies, promises, even a hint at possibly needing their help. He hadn’t yet tried to contact them again though, as far as they knew; additionally it seemed from his letter to Ron that Harry didn’t know the Ministry was intercepting his owls. Hermione had been frustrated that Harry wouldn’t say more, and worried that he was getting himself into trouble - especially after the incident at St Mungo’s.
It was late, and Ginny tried to force herself to go to sleep, but sleep didn’t want to come.
The next morning, she was sitting at the table having breakfast and reading a morning owl from Lennart with a suggestion to meet for lunch when her kitchen suddenly erupted in angry Floo flames. She squeaked and her hands flew to the table, her heart racing as a voice shouted at her from the hearth.
”Ginevra Weasley Potter! You explain to me right now why I had to find out from my wife, who heard from her sister, who said that her daughter was concerned about your Albus and wanted to know if he was all right?” Bill’s voice yelled through the fireplace.
“You can bet Mum sure filled me in since not a single one of you saw fit to let me know your fourteen-year-old son had run away from school!” He paused, sounding a tad more reasonable as he continued, “Now, I know Gringotts has had me back in Egypt since the holidays, but still you promised to let me know anything you found out about Harry, and yet you didn’t think that included the well-being of your son, too? What on earth is wrong with you?” he demanded.
Ginny tried to stammer out a response but was unable to before Bill plowed on.
“And are you to tell me that if my niece was asking about Albus, that means he’s running around on his own in France? He doesn’t even speak a word of French!” Bill exclaimed.
“We didn’t know where he was!” Ginny insisted in sudden hysterics. She hated it when Bill was angry with her, and he had so rarely in his life shouted at her that it scared her half to death. A scolding from her eldest brother was even worse than one from her mother, only to be beaten out by the almost never-occurring scolding from her father.
“How could you let him run off like this?!” Bill demanded.
“Let him?!” Ginny squeaked. “He was at Hogwarts! And I hadn’t a clue where he went!”
Bill paused, his eyes calculating Ginny carefully.
“Do you,” she began meekly, “do you really think he’s in France?”
“Well, I’m not sure why else my French niece, currently in school at Beauxbatons, would be asking about him,” Bill said and then frowned in thought.
“But…France?!” Ginny asked. “He’s only fourteen! They wouldn’t even let him onto a train by himself, would they?”
“Well, not without a passport or some kind of identification,” Billy answered slowly. “Unless he found a way to get past that. Your Albus is very clever.”
Ginny moaned into her arms, on this one occasion wishing that her children weren’t so clever.
“Look, Fleur and I will take a trip to visit Amélie, and see if we can get any more information out of her. If she’s worried about Albus, it’s less likely she’ll keep her secrets. She’s devious, but not so much as to endanger someone else.”
By lunchtime, Ginny couldn’t help needing to sit that much closer to Lennart, clinging to his arm until he kindly wrapped it around her, and held her close until her worries seemed less overwhelming. She even started to make a plan - whom to notify, and which pictures to dispatch to the wizarding villages in France and especially in Paris, and at the train stations. Still, having received no post from Albus in over two weeks, she couldn’t help the heightened fear that Bill’s Floo-call had brought her. Lennart kissed the top of her head, and she tried to push the fear away.
Albus, in France? It couldn’t be possible…
Next: Chapter 30