The Beginning of The End

Chapter Three

Broken Souls

            The next morning was an unusually subdued one.  The Weasley’s, except for Ginny, were all sitting at the breakfast table eating and talking, but not in the usual lively and confusing way Harry had become used to this summer. Over the past three years, Harry had seen the Weasley’s at their lowest point; the summer before Harry’s fifth year of school Percy had been killed.  That night, a normal Sunday night, was now etched into Harry’s mind as one of the most horrific times in all of his life.

Harry had finally been allowed to stay at the Weasley’s for the last three weeks of the summer.  One casual Sunday night, Percy had gotten into some minor difficulties at the Ministry which caused him to stay late.  This had been against Mr. Weasley’s judgment… however he and Percy hadn’t shared the same views of the Ministry that sumemr. That Sunday night, a section of the Ministry of Magic had been invaded by Death-Eaters. Percy, along with nearly thirty Ministry members had all been killed, the dark mark rising high into the sky over the destruction.

Harry had never seen Fred and George cry, but there they’d been, sobbing along with the rest of the family. Harry never wanted to see it again. 

            The present morning found everyone restrained, remembering that there was a war going on and any pretense of the contrary was exactly that.  After Mr. Weasley and Bill left for the Ministry directly after breakfast, Fred reminded everyone that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was closed that day and Harry was grateful when George said loudly, “How about a game of Quidditch?”

            The boys agreed and scattered around finding their brooms and equipment.  As Harry descended the stairs with his Firebolt in tow, he glanced at the door to Ginny’s room.  It was closed. He paused a moment on the steps and wondered if she had gotten any sleep last night.  He knew he rarely did after a bad nightmare. 

            Flying helped turn the subdued morning into a loud and raucous scene.  They didn’t get around to playing Quidditch for quite some time with Harry’s new book of Broom Charms to keep them occupied.  They tried many of the charms including the roller coaster spell. They used Harry’s Firebolt since it was only broom that could really handle all the moves. Ron’s broom wasn’t fast enough to make the loop in the roller coaster, so the broom wound up sliding backwards through the entire course.  Harry’s particular favorite was one that turned the broom’s actions into a racing horse; Harry could actually hear hooves galloping at top speed.

After playing with the spells and enchantments for over an hour, the four of them got down to serious Quidditch.  They couldn’t play a proper game because they only had four people, so they each played Chasers and divided into two teams: Fred and George verses Harry and Ron.  It turned into a brutal game where the four boys found themselves working off the tension from breakfast and throwing all of their strength into the game.  They played rough, fouling each other constantly and flying at breakneck speed to score goals.  Harry’s blood was pumping and he was glad for it. 

When Ron called for a time out, Harry felt a stab of disappointment.  He could have played all day at this rate, if it would keep his head clear.  However when Harry’s feet hit the ground, he was actually pleased to be there.  At once he felt famished and exhausted, but in a good way, and he could see that Fred, George and Ron felt the same. 

“It’s about time,” Mrs. Weasley said, glancing over her shoulder as they piled into the kitchen for lunch.  “Go on upstairs and wash off, I’ll get everything ready for lunch.”

They trotted out of the kitchen, Harry was trailing the group behind Fred and before Fred had left the kitchen, Harry saw him casually place a hand on Ginny’s head and ruffle her hair. Ginny didn’t look up from her drawings at Fred’s careless gesture, but Harry saw her lips curve in a tiny smile.

When they were all clean and sweat-free the four boys clambered back into the kitchen and sat around the table. 

“What’s that you’re drawing?” Ron asked Ginny as she continued with her sketch, unruffled by they’re appearance.

Ginny lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.  “Stupid, really,” she muttered, but hadn’t lifted her eyes from the paper.

“Let’s see then,” Ron leaned over and peered at her paper and frowned.  “What are they?” he asked.

Harry and the twins leaned over to see the drawings.  Harry could make out weird looking creatures of all sorts, some with big eyes and button noses, some with floppy ears and furry bodies

“Yeah, what are they, Gin?” George asked.

She sighed.  “They’re nothing.  Just doodles.”

“Yeah, but . . . did you make those things up yourself?” Fred asked.

She nodded briefly and added a squiggly line to one of the creatures to give him a tail. 

Harry was about to compliment Ginny on her drawing skills when Mrs. Weasley put a plate piled with a huge sandwich and crunchy potatoes in front of him. 

“Ginny, do you want potatoes as well as your sandwich, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“I’m not-“ She was about to say “I’m not hungry,” but was stopped by a look from her mother.  “Just the sandwich then,” she muttered, closing her sketchpad and placing it on the countertop.

“Your letters from Hogwarts came today,” Mrs. Weasley said as they all dug in.  All except Ginny who, Harry noted, was playing with her sandwich rather than eating it.  “After lunch, Ron, Ginny, Harry, I recommend you figure out which new supplies you’ll be needing to restock for school.  Thank goodness the letters came today, you two are meeting Hermione in Diagon Alley tomorrow?” she asked Harry and Ron.  They nodded.  “Good, then Ginny can go with you.”

“What if we don’t want her with us?” Ron asked smugly, sending Ginny a grin to let her know it was a joke. But Ginny didn’t return his smile. 

“I’ll be sure to keep out of your way,” she muttered.  And before Ron could say anything, she slid back her chair and got up.  “Sorry, mum, I’m really not that hungry. Excuse me.”

Ron gaped after her.  “It was a joke.” 

~*~

Harry had a difficult time falling asleep that night.  He lay awake, staring at the ceiling of Ron’s room, the thoughts in his head turning from one insignificant thing to the next.  He thought of telling Ron that the ridiculous tint of intense orange, which made up every aspect of the bedroom was getting old.  He thought of the Chudley Cannon’s, Ron’s favorite Quidditch team, and how hideous their loosing streak was.  He thought about riding on his roller coaster broom tomorrow and the book Hermione had given him.

Harry found himself smiling suddenly.  He would be seeing Hermione tomorrow.  It felt as if he hadn’t seen her in ages and he remembered the letter he’d received in answer to the letter he’d sent her after the attack on Privet Drive.

Dear Harry,
Thanks for your letter.  Of course, I knew that you were
fine and that whatever happened, you could take care of.
However, it was a huge relief to see Hedwig flying through
my window this morning.  She arrived rather soon after
I saw the news about Privet Drive. I imagine she was eager
to spread the word that you were okay.  There is nothing
new here.  It’s very tedious living in the muggle world, as
you know, and not being able to do anything about what’s
going on. Anyway, I better finish this letter as Hedwig
looks impatient to get back to you.  I’ll be in touch.

Love From,
Hermione

Harry yawned and imagined that she’d probably been very worried indeed when she’d seen Privet Drive on the news.  And he understood how that felt very well: not being able to do anything, stuck in a world where he couldn’t contact the people he loved or find out if anyone had been hurt because he’d dreamt of them the previous night.  Harry turned over and closed his eyes, thinking he would be very glad when all of his friends were in one place.  Tomorrow suddenly couldn’t come soon enough.

******************************************

Harry was in his old bed in his old bedroom on Privet Drive, sleeping peacefully…  Without warning, a huge ball of fire swooped through the window and landed on his bed…  He sat up in fear…  The flames in front of him grew higher than his ceiling…and suddenly his room had no ceiling, it was nothing except a dark night with flashes of green lightning.   All of a sudden, there was a huge stone cauldron…  Lord Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron, all billowing robes and piercing red eyes…  Fear gripped Harry with an iron fist…  He scrambled out of bed and reached for his wand.  All he could grasp was his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages…  He threw it at Voldemort who laughed, a high piercing sound that rattled Harry’s soul …  He heard a sudden cry coming from downstairs…  Harry raced down the steps and found himself standing in a nursery…  His mother was screaming, holding the baby close to her, trying to hide.  Harry stepped over Cedric’s dead body and reached for his mother…   Lord Voldemort emerged from the cauldron again, laughing… Voldemort raised a wand … Harry tried to block his mother…  But she was screaming and Voldemort was laughing… 

******************************************

On a flash of green light, Harry sat strait up in bed, gasping for breath. Slowly, like sand through an hourglass, the picture in his head slipped away leaving his eyes to focus on the tiny, messy bedroom he was in.  He was alive.  His mother was dead.  He was at the Burrow in a dark, safe room.  He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling sweat mingled with tears.  And he stumbled towards the door.

~*~

Ginny sat awake in the living room, her legs curled under her on the sofa as she sketched silently in her sketchbook.  Sleep had been out of the question tonight, at least yet.  She’d laid awake upstairs, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom painted with shooting stars and moons. She’d thought of Harry sleeping in the next room completely oblivious to her feelings for him and the restlessness had taken over her.  She’d gotten up, thrown on her dressing gown and made her way downstairs to the living room where she could draw and think without any shooting stars getting in her way. 

And now as she sat, completely immersed in concentration, her mind fell on the events of the last twenty-four hours.  She thought of Ron’s casual comment at lunch when mum had suggested that Ginny go with them to Diagon Alley.  Not suggested, Ginny corrected herself, imposed.

Ginny had never minded tagging along with her older siblings, but now that she was older, she felt that she didn’t have to. Ginny didn’t know when it had happened, but sometime in the past few years, she’d become incredibly independent.  She enjoyed time to herself, and would much rather attend Diagon Alley by herself than with Ron, Harry and Hermione.  

That wasn’t true, she corrected.  She enjoyed their company.  Being around Harry was sometimes like a full-time job on her heart, but he made her laugh. Hermione and she had gotten close over the years and Ginny was grateful for her friendship.  But Ron, Harry and Hermione shared a certain chemistry that Ginny knew she’d never be able to touch. And this afternoon at lunch, when mum had stated that Ginny would simply go along with them, Ginny had felt not only out of place, but quite honestly embarrassed.  

All day long she’d been feeling as if the spotlight were on her.  Even though she’d kept herself shut in her bedroom for the better part of the day, Ginny couldn’t help feeling that everyone was thinking about the scene she’d caused the previous night.  A great flush rose in her cheeks as she thought of everyone waking up at her screams.  It had happened twice before this summer and Ginny silently prayed that it never happened again. 

She hated the dreams and what they stood for.  She never wanted to be used like that again, a willing pawn in helping evil gain power.

Ginny sighed, trying to shake the sinister thoughts from her head.  She closed her sketchbook and ran her hand over the soft brown leather cover.  It had been a birthday gift from Percy in her second year and to this day she still hadn’t used up all the pages.  Ginny opened the book and ran her fingertips over the words that appeared on the inside cover.  Percy had written those words.  It read:

Dear Ginny,
Perhaps now you will be able to keep all your drawings in one place rather than leaving them all over the house.  Only joking, of course!
Happy Birthday, Youngest One,
From Percy

The words were not overly sentimental, but Ginny knew better.  “Youngest One” was a title Percy had come up with for her and he’d only used the name very scarcely.  Not because he hadn’t wanted to; when Percy had been involved in something, nothing else could be held of any importance.  If Percy had been in the middle of his homework or a report for the Ministry, he wouldn’t have given Ginny the time of day, let alone remember a pet name for her.  But he did remember sometimes and that had been enough for her. Ginny knew that her ironically calling him “Oldest One,” had meant a lot to him as well.  He’d never said it did, but she’d known.

Ginny let the tears well up in her eyes.  She suddenly ached for her brother, for the pretentious, bigheaded boy she’d looked up to her entire life.  She would have gladly stayed out of his way for as long as he liked, just to hear him call her Youngest One again.

Wiping the tears from her face with the sleeve of her dressing gown, Ginny flipped to the first page of the sketchbook.  She saw Bill’s face, grinning up at her.  Ginny almost winced at her drawing skills from that time.  Bill’s nose looked incredibly off-center and his eyes were way too far apart.  Still, Ginny found herself grinning through her tears at her brother’s lopsided face.

With each page she turned, Ginny saw her skills getting slightly better. She’d tried to bewitch some of the drawings with moving charms. Some had been successful, however, many of the sketches had been changed a bit when the charms had gone wrong.  She giggled softly at a particular drawing, which depicted a ballerina she’d seen in her Muggle Studies book. Ginny had tried to charm the picture to make the ballerina twirl around gracefully as her book depicted.  But all the dancer could do was turn once, loose her balance and fall flat on her bum.

She turned the pages slowly and stopped suddenly.  On the page she’d turned, was a drawing of Harry on his broom.  She’d done this one summer as the boys had played Quidditch in the field.  Ginny had been watching them as she always did and the inspiration had struck her.  She’d raced into the house, grabbed her sketchbook and started sketching very quickly, trying to capture his fluid movement.  The rough sketch had turned into a highly detailed drawing.  She even recognized the specially curved handle of the Nimbus Two Thousand, Harry’s old broomstick.  Ginny remembered sitting outside in the garden, under a bright patch of sun for hours and hours while they played, her eyes darting from the scene in the air back down to her paper thousands of times, working longer and harder than she ever had on a drawing.

A sudden movement from across the room broke Ginny's concentration.  Ginny sat up and with her heart in her throat, watched Harry descend the steps, taking sharp, gasping breaths.  She watched him sit down on a step close to the bottom and put his head in his hands, his entire body shaking violently. 

Ginny held her breath. He only had to look up and glance to the left to see her sitting on the sofa.  But he didn’t look up.  He sat on the step, gripping his hair, breathing in that harsh, unnatural way.

It frightened her far more than any dream to see him like this, to see anyone like this.  She prayed that he wouldn’t look up, hoping against hope that he would find the strength to go back to bed.  Nobody should ever be witnessed in this state, Ginny thought wildly.  She should look away, shift ever so slightly so that it appeared she was asleep. 

But she couldn’t take her eyes off him.  He wore no glasses now, his black hair stood on end, and he was clad in a tee shirt and pajama pants. She watched him rub his eyes with the palm of his hand and then press hard against his scar. 

Ginny did not know how long she sat there watching him in agony. But she watched, willing the demons in his head to go away, at least for the night.  She almost gasped out loud when he stood very suddenly.  But he didn’t see her.  Instead, he made for the kitchen. 

Ginny moved quickly, taking long, silent steps to the stairs.  She could hear water pouring from the sink and then the sound of him gulping it down.  Ginny turned the knob of her bedroom door and quickly slipped inside, making as little noise as possible.  When she finally closed the door behind her, she leaned back against it, closed her eyes and hugged her sketchbook to her.  After a few minutes, she made her way, shaking, to her bed and climbed mechanically under the covers.  She lay awake for a long time after she heard footsteps climb the stairs and the door to Ron’s room open and close.

 Chapter Four

The Hidden Tower

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