For Jaq....
|
Salvation | ||||||
|
Category: December Engagement Challenge (2006-6) Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Humor, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 38 Summary: Post HBP: Life is everchanging, expect the unexpected. Secrets are revealed, wrong assumptions are made. Hitcount: Story Total: 12034; Chapter Total: 3579 Author's Notes: |
Next |
|
||||
|
Chapter One: Life. Various moments strung unceremoniously, continuously together. Some are taunt, ragged, or bits and pieces knotted and bound to make a whole. Speckled and banded, the rainbow of colors that litter each individual thread mark where we have been and what we have done; the darkness of sorrow, the glorious brilliance of joy. And in the infinitesimal spaces between them, before color bleeds into color; it is in these intimate moments that life seems to stop. This was not how he had imagined it; this was not the time, nor the place. It just was. “Gin?” It was barely a whisper. He sat facing her; waiting, expecting some sort of response– anything. Conveniently, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were spending the evening at Bill and Fleur’s flat in London and were not due back until ten o’clock. Exactly who he had to thank for the arrangements, Harry wasn’t sure and quite honestly wondered if he should be wary of such an occasion. Ron and Hermione, though unofficially officially together, provided themselves with errands of their own. Hermione had made sure to periodically mention throughout the week that she had not finished her holiday shopping and stressed the importance of finding just the right gift and that to do so would take a great deal planning, time and effort on her part. The fact that Christmas was only two days away, virtually sent her into panic mode, or so that’s how she presented the matter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over lunch earlier in the day. If it wasn’t for her crooked smile in his direction, Harry would have believed the very convincing act. Even Ron was playing along nicely. Completely cool, calm, and collected, throwing in a roll of the eyes or a snort here and there for good measure, his usual method of handling an over-zealous and sometimes uptight Hermione. Harry appreciated the fact that he took it all in stride, considering Ron knew the particulars of just why the charade was being played. Two hours ago, after a strenuous tournament of Weasley Snap, a new and improved, perfectly twisted game of Exploding Snap, Fred and George bid their adieus with obvious winks in Harry’s direction. He was sure he heard George mutter something about all night and a merry sunshine-something or another. Either way, Harry and Ginny had been left alone at the Burrow, together. What started out as playful banter became much more serious, though how it came about, Harry was unsure. For the first time since the funeral, he talked to her. Not just the civil, polite, completely sterile conversation two estranged friends would have upon a chance meeting in a shop or hall, but open, truthful, and heartfelt dialogue. One subject lead to another and then another, building unexpectedly to what Harry had been planning all along– just not like this– but the moment felt right and barring any intrusions or sabotage, this was the best opportunity he had and he could no longer keep it to himself. He watched anxiously as the slender redhead sank further into the threadbare, gold velour cushions of the sofa. Her once rosy cheeks had lost their color; her eyes glazed and distant. Swallowing his pride to make room for concern, he nervously asked again, “Gin?” She took a quick, shallow breath and paused, leaning over as if she were going to stand and leave. Slipping the ring he held delicately between his fingers into his front trouser pocket, Harry knew what was coming. “I know…” Sighing, he turned away from her dejectedly and focused his attention on a small crack in the keystone brick above the dying flames, “I don’t know what– I don’t blame you for–“ No sooner than he could stumble out the rest of his apology, Ginny divulged exactly how she was feeling. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said, and proceeded to do so all over the hearthrug. “I’m sorry.” Wide-eyed, Harry took her response to his proposal quite literally. He never fathomed that asking the love of his life to marry him would garner such disgust. Granted, it wasn’t the most romantic or even the most eloquent of proposals, but every bit of his declaration was sincere. He felt every word and knew– no, he thought he knew– that she felt the same. “Ohh…” Ginny whined, now with a slight tinge of green in her complexion and made a mad, pell-mell dash up the stairs for the loo, skipping several steps as she went, rapidly disappearing out of sight. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered over and over again to himself, pacing the space between the sofa and the hearth, pausing for a moment to cast Scourgify on the pool of sick below his feet before continuing his rant. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He ran his fingers through his mess of hair and tugged at the nape of his neck, letting loose a deep sigh as his arms fell back to his sides, dangling pointlessly back and forth. Harry made the long journey up to the second landing and gingerly knocked on the door. “Gin?” His voice cracked, “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?” From behind the door, he could hear her retch again followed by the whoosh of the toilet being flushed. “Nuh-uh,” was all he was able to make out before she was drowned out by the tap. “Can I get you something, a potion maybe?” Desperate to undo what he had done, Harry remained hopeful, wondering if he dared to try to obliviate the last ten minutes from her mind and if doing so would help her current, sudden illness. “Uh,” Could be heard as the spigot squeaked closed. “OH!” Harry’s forehead hit the cool wood of the bathroom door with a dull thud, “I’m sorry, Ginny,” he spoke into it amidst a new bout of heaving, “I think its best if I go.” Pausing for a reply that would never come, Harry finished, “I’ll send word to your mum that you’re feeling a bit under the weather.” With a final thud against the door, he turned and walked away. Four Months Earlier…. The musty tang of the dirt floor, mingled with the acrid scent of old chewing tobacco and wool, stirred through the air within the rough hewn walls of the old storehouse as they creaked and groaned; a late summer storm beat against it without remorse. Harry’s cries were indistinguishable from the howl of the wind. “Just hold tight, Ron,” Hermione took command of the situation and tore off another strip from what was left of a lilac t-shirt tucked inside her rucksack. “Keep the pressure on it and don’t move or pull it out.” “I wasn’t going to,” Ron bit back, both his hands covered in blood, firmly pressing on the left side of Harry’s abdomen where there was a rather large shard of wood protruding from it. Harry hissed from the pain and tried hard not to move. This was bad and he knew it. After the wedding, they had traveled around the upper portion of England and into Scotland in their hunt of the horcruxes. An old steamer trunk that they believed to have contained the cup once belonging to Hepzibah Smith, one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, blew to pieces as Harry approached it near the back of the building; a bad tip from a somewhat reliable source. He would pay for this one. If there was a bright side to his current predicament, it was the relief of knowing that Ron and Hermione remained, for the most part, uninjured thanks to the crates responsible for such a distinctive stench. It was his fault this had happened; a simple mistake he knew better to make. He hoped to live long enough to regret it. Harry was glad that he had discussed a contingency plan with Ron and Hermione. Their first night out on their own, after Ginny’s birthday, Harry made arrangements– his final arrangements– that if something should happen to him, they were to carry on with their lives the best they could. Not wholly unexpected, Ron and Hermione promised to keep the fight, find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and if they survived long enough, kill Voldemort in Harry’s stead. And with much reluctance on their part, equal portions of Harry’s money was to be split between Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lupin, the twins, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, with a modest sum earmarked specifically for Dobby. Harry pulled Ron aside later that evening while Hermione slept and sternly whispered his last request of him. “Ron, I want you to have Grimmauld Place.” “Me?” Ron was taken back. “Shh,” Harry raised his hand to quiet him; they both glanced toward Hermione, who was comfortably curled up in the only bed of the room. “Don’t wake her.” Ron screwed up his face and leaned in closer, matching him eye to eye. “Why? Straight up, Harry, why?” “Well, it has a lot of rooms for one thing,” Harry opened his eyes wide and lowered his head as he said the last bit hoping Ron would understand what he was trying to say, “and I’m sure you’ll need it.” “For what, the Order?” Ron squinted, not following Harry’s train of thought. “This doesn’t have something to do with S.P.E.W., does it? Is that why you don’t want Hermione to know? Am I supposed to start up some kind of House-Elf halfway house or something?” Completely straight-faced, Harry spelled it out for him, “Just so you and Hermione can have a place of your own if you want it and room enough to fill it.” Ron’s eyes glanced up and to the right as he fell back on his heels. Harry could see the cogs in motion until an unpretentious smile stretched across his face. “Thanks, Harry.” “Just don’t name one after me.” Harry patted him on the shoulder as he passed on his way to his improvised bed on the floor. Following his cue, Ron blew out the lamp and took up his space on the floor. Before resting his head on his rucksack, the redhead whispered across the room, “Just so you don’t curse me from beyond, I reckon I won’t have much of a say in the matter.” Handing Ron the new makeshift bandage, Hermione frantically thumbed through a small Medi-Witch guide to first aid. She knew enough to be aware that she couldn’t physically remove the splinter and that Harry needed more than just a simple healing spell or potion. She was looking for something to just get him by; they were a long way from Hogwarts and any trusted help. “Tell Ginny I love her.” Harry held back a groan. “I always have, never stopped.” “You tell her, mate.” Ron tried to smirk. “I’m certainly not going to.” “I was going to marry her.” Harry let a small, painful laugh escape. “I wanted to marry your sister.” “He’s delusional,” Ron whispered to Hermione out the side of his mouth, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Where’s the potion already?” Harry mustered the fight, pausing after every other word or two. “I may be bleeding all over the place, and I may be skewered through the middle, but I’m not delusional.” “Okay, Harry.” Ron carefully shifted the pressure, still trying to stop the bleeding from the other side. “You want to marry my sister, who says she wants to marry you?” “Ron!” Hermione shook her head, still scanning the miniature pages. “You’re not helping.” “I’m up to my elbows in Harry’s blood and I’m not helping?” “Hey, I thought you were arguing with me.” Harry’s eyes were barely open and he was slowly gasping for breath. “I am!” “You and Hermione.” Harry’s eyebrows wiggled slightly, recalling their late night conversation. “Never mind me and Hermione, I believe we were discussing how you want to make my sister your little woman– your ball and chain– Mrs. Harry Potter of all things.” Ron tried to spur him on, but Harry slipped from consciousness. “Oh no,” Hermione whispered, holding the vial of blood replenishing potion between her thumb and index finger, “there’s not enough, I don’t know what to do.” “It’ll have to do.” With one hand, Ron took the near empty vial, uncorked it and dripped what remained of the purple contents into Harry’s pale, parted lips. “Let’s get him to Madam Pomfrey; nobody else is good enough to marry my sister.” “Hey.” Slightly groggy and blurry-eyed, Harry recognized the swirl of red in front of him. “About time.” Ron closed the book he was reading, slouched forward in his chair, and grabbed Harry’s glasses from off the bedside table and handed them to him. With his glasses on, he could see his surroundings and knew exactly where he was. “How’d you manage?” “We just did.” Ron left it at that. “Hermione’s in the library of course, she got special permission from the Headmistress to use the Restricted Section. That is, until school starts in three days.” Harry pushed up from the bed and threw the bedclothes off him, revealing a patch of gauze on his bare chest where he had been injured. “Oh.” “It was cursed,” Ron said matter-of-factly, “Apparently someone was tired of us poking around. We were set up.” “I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Harry carefully peeled away one side of the gauze revealing a slightly oozing, pink wound about twice the size of a galleon. “Great, another scar.” “Madam Pomfrey said that it’ll fully heal in a couple of days, but yeah– you’ll have another scar.” “Where is she, anyway?” Harry pressed his finger along the edge of the plaster, resealing the gauze against his skin, and swung his legs off the side of the bed. “She and McGonagall left about an hour ago.” Ron stood up and slid the chair back into its place next to the bed. “They kept whispering. Well, McGonagall was doing all the whispering and Madam Pomfrey did a lot of nodding, to be exact. She asked me to stay here with you until she got back. Hungry?” “Starved.” Harry tried out his legs and felt a slight pull in his stomach and back. He felt around to the other side where there was another square of gauze. “Dobby?” Ron asked the empty hospital wing. Instantly, the clothed House-Elf appeared with a small pop and upon seeing Harry upright, leaped and wrapped his arms around Harry’s legs. “Harry Potter Sir is all right!” “Yeah, I’m all right.” Harry grabbed his pajama trouser strings and quickly tugged them tight around his waist. “I’m just fine, Dobby,” he said and pried the exuberant elf off his legs. “Thank you.” “Harry Potter Sir didn’t look so good when Dobby was summoned, Sir. You’s was sleeping in a bad way; lots and lots of blood–” Dobby recoiled at the thought of it, “and Mr. Wheezy and Miss Granger didn’t look so good either, but Dobby knew how to help Harry Potter, Dobby brought you to Hogwarts.” Astonished, Harry glanced to Ron and then back to the beaming elf. “I owe you my life again, Dobby.” “No, Dobby would do anything to protect Harry Potter Sir. Dobby owes Harry Potter his life.” Ron coughed quietly and asked, “Dobby, how about some breakfast for Harry, all his favourites?” “Dobby knows just the thing!” And with that, Dobby Disapperated to the kitchen. “Here,” Ron took out a shirt and a pair of jeans from the lowboy at the foot of Harry’s bed and tossed it to him. “You might need these.” “Thanks.” Harry eased the shirt over his head and shoulders, taking particular care in pulling it over his wounds. “I’ll stand guard.” Ron turned around and sat on the dresser facing the door to the hospital wing, giving him his privacy. “So, did you mean what you said, or were you delusional like I thought you were?” Stepping out of the blue-ticked trousers that were now crumpled on the floor, Harry pulled on his jeans and replied, “Every word of it.” “Don’t make me tell her.” Ron kept his eyes on the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t make me be the one to–” “I wasn’t planning on it.” Harry zipped his pants and threaded the button through. “I just don’t know when.” “The sooner the better,” Ron shrugged. “It’s complicated.” Harry sat back down on the bed letting Ron know he was safe to join him. “I said some things that I shouldn’t have. I’d be going against every reason and excuse I told her at the funeral.” Ron turned to face him, ready to offer up any advice he could give. “I don’t even know if–“ “Oh, she loves you.” Ron shook his head, dispelling Harry’s doubts. “How do you know?” Harry asked, scooting up against the headboard. “Did she say anything?” “Hermione.” Ron smirked. “Nothing gets by her.” “How did that subject come up?” Pulling his knees up, Harry wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin in the space between. “Uh, it just did.” Ron shifted a bit and looked uncomfortable. “You were right about me and Hermione. We–uh–Hermione didn’t want to end up like Ginny.” “End up like Ginny?” Harry looked up, believing that he had hurt her more than he imagined. “Like Ginny how?” “Without knowing– without knowing that–” Frustrated, Ron sighed. “Hermione and I, well, she knows how much I love her, she knows that after all of this, if– when we survive, she knows I won’t leave her. I’ll always be–” “Be what?” Harry was beginning to feel like he had been left in the dark. “Do you really want to marry Ginny?” Ron avoided the question and futilely tried to get back to the original topic. “Be what?” He wasn’t going to let it drop. “Be Hermione’s what?” Ron glanced to the door, got up off the lowboy and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Harry. “I’m sorry.” “About what?” Harry was thoroughly confused by this point. “It should be Mrs. Weasley,” Ron whispered. “Your mother?” “I promised I wouldn’t say–she didn’t want it to be ‘weird’ between the three of us.” Ron whispered all at once. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell you, so technically I’m not.” “Are you sure you’re not delusional?” Harry asked skeptically, “At least I had a good reason to be at the time, but what does your mother have to do–” “Don’t be weird,” Ron pleaded, checking the door again for intruders. “She’ll kill the both of us.” “Mrs. Weasley…” Harry said wonderingly. It was like being speared through the gut again when he finally caught on to what his best mate was trying to tell him. “Mrs. Ronald Weasley! When? How?” “This summer, after the wedding.” Ron flushed slightly. “The same day?” Ron merely nodded while Harry recounted the day in his mind, looking for a possible time it could have occurred. “Who else knows, and where was I?” “Only Dobby. You were preoccupied with Ginny at the reception. Mum and Dad were doting over Bill and Fleur and thanking guests.” Uneasy with all he was revealing, fearing the pending wrath of his best mate and his bride even more, Ron muttered out the final details. “In the garden. We were already somewhat dressed for the occasion, the Sealer was there... we had made all the arrangements before, nobody knew and it worked out rather well. I asked Dobby to help out, to keep watch and promise not to tell anyone as a personal favour.” “No wonder he came when you asked.” Harry was still in awe. “Yeah, well… being your best mate does have some perks other than getting into life and death situations on a regular basis. Just remember, I didn’t tell you anything.” Pop! Dobby reappeared with a tray piled high full of Harry’s favourites, so much so that a thick ham steak teetered precariously over the edge. “Mr. Wheezy,” Dobby set the tray down on the bed, “Miss Granger is on her way back to the hospital wing.” Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the mention of Miss Granger, which earned him a dirty look. Ron snatched a sausage link off the tray in reprisal. “Thanks, Dobby.” “Dobby, would you mind escorting her to the hospital wing? Harry and I need to discuss a few things.” “Dobby would be honoured.” The elf bowed deeply and disappeared again. “Nuw, batch twu d’poynt,” Ron mumbled through partially chewed sausage and swallowed audibly. “Ginny?” “Well, since you seem to be experienced in secret weddings of which your best mate, let alone your family, wasn’t even aware of…” Harry sliced thought the ham steak that had caught his eye earlier. “It’s obvious I’m going to need your help.” “You can’t marry her yet.” Ron eyed another sausage link. “She’s not of age. Mum and Dad would have to approve, which won’t be a problem, but I’m guessing that you’d like to keep it quiet. It’s complicated.” “Tell me about it.” Harry chased down his ham with ice cold pumpkin juice. “I can’t let him know–I can’t let anyone know–she’d be as good as dead, but I don’t want her to–” He took a quick swig and set the glass back on the silver tray, giving himself a moment to find his words but the sound of the door swinging open told him his time was short. “–if a promise is the only thing I can give her, it’ll have to be enough. You or anybody else for that matter shouldn’t have to tell her how much I love her.” “All right then.” Ron popped an apple wedge into his mouth. “Lebts jib toob ibt.” “Hi, Harry.” Hermione walked in carrying a pile of old, leather-bound books. “Feeling better? Dobby said he’ll be back to visit later. Professor McGonagall had an errand for him.” “Yeah, thanks.” It was hard not to blurt out his congratulations; Harry wasn’t sure how long he would last without saying something incriminating so he kept his answer short, bit hard on the inside of his cheek, and made sure, at least for the time being, not to meet her eyes. “What were you two talking about?” she asked suspiciously, setting her books down on the lowboy and taking a seat on the bed next to Ron. In mock astonishment Ron declared, “He wasn’t delusional.” AN: A most sincere thanks to Cwarbeck who has worked her magic for me yet again. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. This is a three chapter entry, so all the gaping holes will be filled in. I've never tackled a timeline like this before. Here's hoping I can decently wrap it up and tie it off with a big red bow. Thanks, ~Patrony :) |
| Reviews 38 |
Next
|
