|
Imperturbable | ||||
|
Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 19 Summary: Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter would not hug, they would not kiss; they rarely ever spoke. They simply held on. They could not allow each other more than this. Hitcount: Story Total: 5835 Author's Notes: A/N: Many many thanks and much love to wandrin_dreamer and ladytonks for thier tireless, multiple draft beta services. Written for the hpgw_otp One Year Spells Challenge on livejournal. |
|
|||
|
It was a simple fact of magic that one cannot Apparate within the Hogwarts grounds. It was also a fact that the Death Eater, Severus Snape, knew that there was a secret passageway below the Hogwarts’ Whomping Willow that led to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. It was a fact known to the staff of Hogwarts, including Severus Snape, that the year before his death, in his efforts to make the castle and the students safe, Albus Dumbledore had magically blocked the passageway to the Shack with a great deal of stone, dirt, and enchantments. It was an extremely little known fact that Ginny Weasley was now the rightful owner of the infamous Marauder’s Map, it having been handed down to her, the last Weasley at Hogwarts, via Harry Potter for her own protection. The fact that Albus Dumbledore had been wise enough to block the passage three meters beyond the boundaries of the Hogwarts’ grounds was known only to Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, and of course one Miss Ginevra Weasley. The fact that she was not of age to Apparate on her own was of little consequence to Miss Weasley, because every other member of the Order of the Phoenix was. This was one of the reasons that Ginevra Weasley was holding tightly onto the forearm of a grumpy, grey-bearded wizard who smelled slightly of goats and strongly of fire whiskey. The other reason was that she had come to rather enjoy the company of Aberforth Dumbledore. The aroma of goats, she was willing to admit, was a bit off putting until one got to know him; but aside from that, he was a rather interesting and valuable companion. “Ready Miss Weasley?” She nodded at the older wizard’s gruff, yet polite question. “Yes Mr. Dumbledore. I am.” And with that the young witch felt as though her body was being squeezed through a hosepipe while being simultaneously turned inside out. When she opened her eyes, she found exactly what she had expected to: a crowded private room at the Hog’s Head Inn. Miss Weasley gazed around the room and smiled at her parents and brothers who were able to attend. Molly Weasley enveloped her daughter in a strong, comforting hug, and Miss Weasley willed back the tears that threatened to fall as she breathed in the scent of home on her mother’s robes. Arthur Weasley kissed the freckled forehead of his youngest child and still Ginevra Weasley did not falter. She kept her smile as she rounded a table of butter beers to make small talk with her twin brothers. They spoke of the shop and of school, and gave veiled assurances that all was well. Miss Weasley did not permit herself to beg for more information than was necessary. She swallowed her questions when Ronald asked her to bring him a butter beer. He was sitting in a chair with one leg immobilized by a splint as Kingsley Shacklebolt passed his wand over and over Ronald’s right leg. Miss Weasley did not ask the questions that were burning her mind of what and who and when and where, instead she handed the dusty bottle to her brother and smiled. She gave Miss Granger a half-hug as the other young witch’s arm was around Ronald’s shoulders. Miss Weasley pushed the weariness that she saw in her friend’s eyes to the back of her mind. She did not permit concern to wash over her. Now was not the time for worry. Bill Weasley gave his sister a warm gaze and a slight smile that creased the jagged lines of deep scars that crossed his face and Miss Weasley accepted an only slightly patronizing wave from her brother’s wife. The young witch did not stop to wonder if the child her sister-in-law carried would be able to grow up in safety and peace, or if newest Weasley would be able to grow up at all. The meeting was about to begin and there was little time left for pleasantries among family and friends. Miss Weasley needed to find a chair. The young witch began to search the small room through the mass of bodies trying to find an empty seat. Miss Weasley’s gaze did not waver in the brief moment that she caught the brilliant green eyes of Harry Potter. She did not allow herself to linger there, to savor the jolt of joy and want that filled her when she met his eyes. She did not allow herself to take the time to search for wounds or bruises on his face. She did not allow herself to visually trace his lips or betray any hunger for his kisses with her eyes. Instead Miss Weasley’s eyes came to rest on Nymphadora Tonks, whose hair happened to be a bright magenta. The Auror patted the wooden chair next to her smartly and Miss Weasley sat down, dropping her rucksack to the floor behind her. Mad-Eye Moody cast the prerequisite Imperturbable Charm on the door and windows of the already stuffy room and the meeting began. It was time to focus on the business of saving the wizarding world, time to focus on her responsibility, her job. Ginevra Weasley had been asked to do one job, and one job only to do at meetings of The Order of the Phoenix. She was granted this position for three reasons: One, she had lived at the previous headquarters for an entire summer and was well acquainted with a majority of the members. Two, while Minerva McGonagall would never admit it to Miss Weasley’s face, it was an opportunity for the young witch to be able to see her family while remaining at school during these uncertain times. The third reason was that Miss Weasley had a very good memory. As the Headmistress of Hogwarts felt that it was not appropriate for her to leave her half-empty school for any amount of time whatsoever, Ginevra Weasley was assigned to go to the meetings in the older witch’s stead. There was a second job Miss Weasley had taken on that the esteemed Headmistress was not aware of, as it was known only to Miss Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and, of course, Harry Potter. It was the reason that Miss Weasley dropped her rucksack, which appeared empty, right next to an identical one that belonged to Hermione Granger who was sitting in the chair directly behind her. It seemed that one of the three Hogwarts dropouts, as Miss Weasley referred to them in her mind, must have had words with Mad-Eye Moody. She had never once seen the ex-Auror’s magical eye pass over either rucksack in all the meetings that she had attended. The young red-haired girl herself was not quite sure exactly what the importance of her research was, or might possibly be, in the future of this fight. She knew only that when she had asked Hermione Granger what she, a girl still stuck at school could do to help the war effort, Miss Granger had begun to give the sixth year student “assignments.” Miss Weasley noticed that there was a pattern to the assignments that she had completed so far. She had been doing research on the founding Fathers and Mothers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had found out several interesting facts about their lives and legacies. She had researched Salazar Slytherin; his powers as well as his family line. She had researched Godric Gryffindor and had some very interesting facts about his house and descendents confirmed by her newest friend, the barman. She had researched Helga Hufflepuff, and finally found out why exactly Zacharias Smith was not sorted into Slytherin as well as some interesting tales about a cup that had been passed down through the ages to her family. These assignments were not graded, but Miss Weasley always received a simple heartfelt thank you, an acknowledgement that her efforts were indeed “more helpful than she could know,” and another assignment from Miss Granger. The latest one had seemed to confirm one of the younger witch’s theories about why she was doing all of this. There was no small amount of power among the artifacts that the Founders had left to their children. She thought that Mr. Potter and friends might be trying to access these powers to give themselves some kind of advantage, but Ginevra Weasley kept all of her theories to herself. If she were wrong, it would not be worth her breath to discuss them and if she were right, the fewer people who knew of it the better. Currently, the rucksack at Miss Weasley’s feet contained a detailed and lengthy transcript of a series of four interviews with The Grey Lady of Ravenclaw. This quiet, unassuming shade had been taught by Rowena herself and had been able to give Miss Weasley a great deal of information about the founder of her house. The Grey Lady had been reluctant to divulge anything to a Gryffindor, until the ghost’s fellow house mate and Miss Weasley’s dear friend, Miss Lovegood, had asked ever so kindly for the favor. Miss Weasley was greatly indebted to Miss Lovegood, not only for her friendship, but also for her strong mind. The sixth year Ravenclaw had assisted Miss Weasley on the majority of these assignments. After many thin-lipped glares and unanswerable questions on the part of Minerva McGonagall, Ginevra Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom had received the permission that they needed to help the Order’s cause, or at least the cause of Harry Potter. Miss Weasley thought that this was perhaps because the older witch had seen the edge of recklessness seeping in behind her students’ determination to help win this war. It was this or risk losing three more of her students when they left the school to fight. The Headmistress had given the two Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw free reign of the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. And much to the dismay of Madame Pince, they were allowed to stay in its confines until all hours of the night and early morning. And Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood would, of course, be present when Miss Weasley gave a full report of today’s meeting to the Headmistress. After which, unbeknownst to the Headmistress, the trio of friends, the remnants of the first and hopefully last Hogwarts battle, would meet in the nearly deserted seventh year boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor tower. Mr. Thomas was always kind enough to stay in the common room when Miss Lovegood entered the tower. It was an agreement that had never been discussed. The ‘other three,’ as many students referred to them in whispers, were already given a wide berth in the corridors. They had fought Death Eaters—twice. Few others fancied friends that were obvious targets. Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom would discuss the next assignment and set schedules for research that would have made Miss Granger proud. During these meetings high in the Gryffindor boys’ tower, Miss Weasley often caught herself being too aware of the unslept-in bed where she sat, the absence of the warm body that had occupied it for the six years previous, and the empty space that should have been taken up by a trunk overflowing with wrinkled robes and the first ever non-Weasley-owned Weasley jumpers. Still, she did her best to return her focus to the task at hand. Miss Weasley now turned her attention to the front of the small room above the bar as Professors Lupin and Moody began to the review of the past two-week’s Death Eater attacks. The young woman kept her eyes forward as she felt the chair next to her fill with a warm body. She knew without seeing that the rucksack behind her chair was being replaced with the identical one that would be empty save for one piece of parchment: her next assignment. She also knew without looking that the chair next to hers was now occupied by Harry Potter. She knew the way he smelled almost as instinctively as she knew her mother smelled of home. Miss Weasley kept her face forward, and focused on the business of the meeting, even as a warm rough hand slipped into hers. Miss Weasley memorized the locations of possible hideouts, the names of Death Eaters and Order members taken in the last fights. She committed the names of Ministry officials who were under suspicion, the names of the dead, the name those in hiding, and the names of those in prison to memory. She concentrated on theories and the reasoning behind them as they were spoken. She took mental note of all possible sightings of Severus Snape. She did not try to memorize the calluses on his hands or the curve of his fingers against hers. She did not commit the heat of his palm or the faint rhythm of his pulse to memory. She did not concentrate on the way his fingers threaded perfectly between her own or how they would feel tangled in her hair. She did not take mental note of all the possible ways he could have touched her if they only had the time. Ginevra Weasley had a job to do. She was here to report to the Headmistress about the plans and information of the Order of the Phoenix. She was here to get her assignment. She was here to pass on her research and information to Miss Granger. She was here to help fight a war. And Miss Weasley did all of this as she also felt Harry Potter’s grip increase its pressure on her hand and responded by her own fingers tightening on his. Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter would not hug, they would not kiss; they rarely ever spoke. They simply held on. They could not allow each other more than this. To do more would make for one the absence of the other too real. Miss Weasley knew this, and she believed Mr. Potter did as well. To do more would not permit her to go on day in and day out without him and stay sane. This brief reassuring connection to each other was all that they could do to help each other without hurting, to reassure each other without worrying, to love each other without losing their minds with longing. They needed to keep their heads on straight. When the meeting ended and Miss Weasley stood, there was a last squeeze of her fingers and a thumb grazing ever so slowly down the back of hers before the connection was broken. She gathered ‘her’ rucksack and headed to the corner where the barman stood waiting for her. She did not allow her body to jump from her seat at the end of the meeting to grasp Harry Potter’s face and kiss his mouth, to pull him to her and feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek, to feel how much he loved her through his embrace, to believe that love would bring him back to her. She did not allow herself to wish the meeting to go longer, just so she could feel his pulse between her fingers and know that he was alive. She did not allow herself to beg for Harry to Apparate her back to the passage, as she watched him make his way to the door, a fleeting glance thrown backward in her direction. She would not allow herself to linger over the red half-moons left by his fingernails, pressed for over an hour into the pale skin on the back of her hand. She would not allow herself to wonder if he would do the same, wherever he was going when he left her. She would not allow herself to wonder if she had just touched Harry Potter for the last time, walked away without saying or hearing “I love you.” She would not allow herself to waste time crying into pillows, locked in her dorm room hiding from the injustice of war, bemoaning that this was all they had when they deserved days and months and years. She would not allow herself to spend the precious hours that should be used up in research and assignments on daydreams of happily-ever-after’s or fear of what-would-I-do-without-him’s. She would not allow herself to lose much needed sleep over his mysterious whereabouts and mission; wondering if he was still breathing, moving, living, whole. She would not allow herself to live whatever might be left of her life in constant states of worry, self-pity, weeping, heartbreak, and longing for things, for the man, she could not now have. She would not allow herself to be overwhelmed, unhinged, paralyzed to a point of uselessness and incapacity that belonged to those too weak to fight, to win, to survive. She would not allow herself to be moved to that point. To be overwhelmed. To be unhinged. To be paralyzed. She would not allow herself. She would not. She had a job to do. There was a war to win. And though she would not allow herself to dwell on it, savor it, or escape into it, deep within her, Ginevra Weasley held tightly, just as she held Harry Potter’s hand for those all too few hours, to the source of her strength: Ginevra Weasley loved Harry Potter. And he loved her. It was this simple fact that allowed her to be imperturbable. |
| Reviews 19 |
|
