Sunshine or Shadows

Chapter 3. Sifting through the Ruins

How much time had passed, Molly wondered as she calmly stroked her daughter's soft hair, since she'd had a real conversation with Ron? And had it really been years, before their reunion, that had gone by with Percy only bothering to send a few errant, repulsed sneers her way? She lifted her head slightly to look through the doorway to the kitchen, looking for signs of life. It was empty, she thought; everyone must have gone to bed early again.

The atmosphere at the Burrow was its usual dismal blend of somber and quiet. All of the inhabitants, even the old ghoul and Hermione's pet, Crookshanks, seemed still unable to come to terms with the losses incurred during the last year of Voldemort's rise and fall: the tragedy of the Battle of Hogwarts leaving the deepest and most incomprehensible wounds. In the midst of all of the murky gloom, Molly sat in front of a warm fire in the front room, comfortable on the dearly loved, down-stuffed family sofa, and smoothed her daughter's shiny hair as the girl caught a much needed nap.

Losses. A sharp pang caused Molly to gasp, and she let her hand linger momentarily on Ginny's shoulder while she willed her heart to return to its normal speed. The shrill jolts to the center of her chest were commonplace now, and she had learned, in the past few weeks, to do her best to ignore them. Soon, she would either succumb to tears or force her mind to move on...to forget Fred for the moment...and in this manner she would piece together strings of moments, and then days - eventually weeks - where she would manage to survive the incalculable pain.

Ginny stirred a bit and then relaxed back into slumber, making enough of a distraction to quell the threatening wave of emotion, and Molly seized the opportunity. It filled her with guilt, caustic and infectious, whenever she succeeded in avoiding a breakdown, but she and Arthur had promised each other that they would find a way to pull through their horrible grief. George needed them, Arthur kept repeating, and Molly knew in her heart that he was right. They all needed their mum and dad, she thought, and she allowed the feeling of importance to encircle her grief and hold it in its place for the time being.

"I wonder whether she's reliving the battle," Molly thought. Though Ginny had been quite still since falling asleep on her mother's lap, having agreed to a dose of sleeping potion, her eyes kept flinching every so often, and her mouth was drawn into a little frown. "Of course she is," her mother decided, "what else is there to dream of these days?"

A few thumps resonated through the house and Molly looked to the stairwell, the source of the noise, where there followed a few more thumps and some whispering.

"...couldn't sleep either," Hermione's loud whisper echoed, filling the shadowy space in between the high walls of the stairwell. "I wish I could, but..Merlin, all we do is sleep anymore."

"Yeah," grunted Ron, causing Molly to smile inwardly. Her son, the comforter.

"Didn't either of you take the potion that Ron's mum gave us?" Harry whispered softly as more footsteps fell lightly on the stairs and a bit of blue chenille slipper finally revealed itself to Molly: Hermione breaking into view and peering into the kitchen with her wand lit and held aloft.

Molly listened reproachfully, and assumed that the silence meeting her was meant as a confirmation to Harry's inquiry from her son and his...What was Hermione to Ron now, she wondered, interrupting her own thoughts in a sudden rush of comprehension. Was she his girlfriend? They certainly stayed close to one another at the many funerals and memorial services that had already taken place, and didn't they always sit side-by-side at the dinner table?

"Goodness," she marveled, "how did I miss that?"

She watched the three emerge from the stairwell at last: Hermione in her dressing gown and slippers; the boys barefoot in their boxers and t-shirts, and none bothering to look into the front room to notice her there. Molly fought another press of emotion: this time of pride in her son's selection and gratitude for Hermione's apparent willingness to return his long-held feelings toward her. Everything brought on such strong emotions these days, from watching an ant get inadvertently squashed under her foot -- another death -- to directing her wand to peel potatoes -- Fred always teased her for pushing potatoes on the family. Now, happiness for her youngest son was piled onto the fray, and it caused Molly just as much pain as the other feelings for some reason.

"Might as well get something to eat," Ron said, not bothering to whisper anymore, "as long as we're all up."

Hermione laughed lightly and Harry sighed. "I'll never get used to eating like this," he said. "After all those nights when all we had were wild mushrooms..." As Harry spoke, Molly crinkled her nose in disgust and latent concern.

"Fungus is not food," Ron replied. "It's disgusting. "But in a good way," he added quickly, "I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't found them, Hermione. You were brilliant."

"Stuff it," Hermione said, still with a bit of humor in her voice. "Stuff it all of you!"

"Guys?" Harry said, his voice sounding further off than before. "You'll never guess what's in the icebox."

Molly smiled, guessing that Harry had found the appetizers Fleur had brought for the family to share. She hadn't found the energy to heat them up for dinner, and rather doubted anyway whether they would be eaten.

"No way!" snorted Ron, laughing openly now.

"Stuffed mushrooms!" Hermione giggled. "Brilliant!"

Molly lifted Ginny's head and gently scooted out from under her. She shuffled quietly over to the stairs and resigned herself to get some sleep as well, yawning as the effects of her sleeping draught finally took hold, and smiling for the first time in weeks.

When Ginny stirred, it took a full minute for her to regain her bearings. She seemed to be lying on the sofa in the front room, uncovered and still in her clothes from the previous day. Blinking her eyes and stretching, she observed a flickering candle on the kitchen table - just visible from her current position - and her growing realization that she wasn't alone downstairs was confirmed by a chorus of hushed giggling.

"Never!" Ron was saying. "I never in a million years would have put those two together. Ewe!"

"I think it's cute," Hermione whined, giggling in a way that Ginny would never have thought her capable of. She sounded a bit more like a school girl now at eighteen than she ever had in her youth, Ginny mused.

"Cute isn't how I'd describe what I saw," Harry retorted. "I don't think I'll ever be able to erase the memory of it."

The sound of Harry's voice spilled over Ginny, perking her interest and compelling her to give in to the inevitable and allow her brain to wake up fully. She couldn't sleep while Harry was around - with that sweet-tempered, husky voice of his and probably looking quite rumpled and sexy in his night clothes.

"Who are we talking about?" Ginny asked as she propped herself up on the sofa and peered out into the kitchen. She grimaced and rubbed her eyes when Ron lifted the candle and caused its sphere of flickering, yellow light to enlarge, extending into the front room where she sat. "Neville and Luna again?"

"No," Harry replied. Ginny wished that she could see him, but he seemed to be situated on the far side of the kitchen table, and all she could make out in the light was her brother's strangely illuminated face. "No," Harry continued, "we're on to bigger and better things now. Much bigger."

"Do I have to guess?" Ginny asked. She stood up as she spoke, and trudged into the kitchen, smiling at the three sleepy friends. Harry, Hermione and Ron were all sitting in a loose triangle around the table, looking drowsy and in various states of untidiness.

"Yes," said Harry as the other two smirked. "I'll give you three."

"Three guesses?" Ginny asked. She was suddenly aware that this was the first casual conversation she'd been involved in since...she couldn't remember how long it had been. Since the Battle? Since she'd been sent to stuffy Aunt Muriel's stinky old house last spring?

"Okay, I'll bite," she said, smiling at Harry and noting that he did indeed look dangerously sexy in his disheveled, late-night look. His hair was as thick and out of place as always, sticking up in the back which always gave him that sort of "I've been up to something" look. And, she thought, he was looking very manly indeed in his boxers, with long legs and hairy calves that disappeared under the table. Ginny cast her sleepy gaze upward to Harry's face just in time to catch that he also looked rather uncomfortable.

"Right," Ginny said, laughing at her own wanderings, "three guesses. And what do I get if I guess correctly?"

"Oh no," Ron blurted, giving both Ginny and Harry a start. "Hermione and I aren't going to be subjected to any more of you two and your disgusting flirtations at two in the morning." He wrinkled his nose, apparently quite put off, which gave Ginny an urge to throw in another saucy phrase or two, just on principle.

"No prizes," Ron continued, now directing his comment to Harry, "No 'I get two minutes to do whatever I want with you' consequences. Just guess, all right?"

"Ron!" Hermione chastised. "Calm down, will you? They're just having a little fun. We could all use some of that, don't you think?"

Ron didn't answer, but sank back in his seat, looking pensive for a moment and then giving in to a charming grin. "I'll never get used to it, though."

"If you prefer," Harry said, grinning back, "I could go wake up Fleur and Bill. Their flirtations put all four of us to shame."

"Yuck!" Ron said, grimacing. "It's more like foreplay with those two. The war doesn't seem to have dampened their spirit any, has it?"

The reference to the war sobered the foursome immediately and Ginny felt her conscience instantaneously tamed. Thoughts of Harry and his handsome face were replaced swiftly and cruelly with her mind's favorite hauntings: little Collin Creavey being moved to a vacant room as Ginny, Neville and others sought to dignify the bodies by getting them out of the way of the battle; Tonks and Lupin laid out, side by side in the great hall; Fred, always Fred, laid out in similar fashion but adorned with a pile of weeping redheads.

"Come on, then," Harry said, reaching his arm out to touch Ginny's elbow and pulling her out of her morbid reverie. "What's your first guess?"

Ginny took a breath and considered the question, glad to be distracted. "Hagrid," she said, "it has to be Hagrid, that's obvious."

"Yes," Hermione affirmed, giving a slight nod of encouragement and looking a bit far off herself. "But who did Harry catch Hagrid with?"

"Is Maxime back?" Ginny asked, smiling at the thought of good old Hagrid renewing his enormous crush on the similarly enormous Headmistress.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not Madame Maxime. Second guess?"

"You walked in on them? Hagrid and this person?" Ginny asked, amused now. She couldn't picture Hagrid with anyone other that his half-giant former girlfriend, and even that was a disturbing mental picture to bring up.

Ron snorted. "You could say that, couldn't you, Harry?"

Shaking his head vigorously, Harry donned a pained expression and squinted up at Ginny. "Yeah, the other day in Hogsmeade. Kind of ruined my appetite, to be honest. I've asked Hermione to perform a memory charm on me but she refuses."

"I'm not good enough at them yet," Hermione chimed in. "Anyway, I think I'm done with memory charms for the time being." She laughed at Harry's sneer and raised her eyebrows at Ginny. "Okay, we've dragged this out enough, I think. Do you have a second guess?"

Ginny pursed her lips. "Professor McGonagall?" she asked, laughing as the name came out. That was absurd. McGonagall and Hagrid. Wasn't it? She hoped that it was, as she watched the three tired friends react violently to her suggestion.

"No!" Ron said. "But thanks for the image. That's all I needed to see in my head before going to bed."

"I give," Ginny relented. She couldn't think of a proper partner for their beloved Hagrid, and her heart just wasn't up for any more banter. They'd tried, and had managed to smile -- that was something. But, the conversation was already beginning to wear thin and she could feel her mind retreating back to its state of mourning: depression, despair, worry -- these were all she seemed capable of feeling anymore. Perpetual mourning, in fact, had taken hold of her, and seemed intent on poisoning any and all efforts to find a bit of humor in the world. She was quite sure everyone felt the same.

As her spirits wilted, Ginny felt a tug on her arm and looked over to see that Harry was beckoning her to sit beside him, pulling a chair out and grinning up at her. She took the seat and smiled back at Harry. He was so solid, her Harry. Of all the people who'd suffered during the war, and of all the people who'd had their lives mangled in the carnage, she would have expected Harry Potter to rank among those most affected.

She'd pictured herself, months ago as she whiled away the hours at Auntie Muriel's, as a Florence Nightingale of sorts, tending to Harry's wounds as he fought his daemons and clung to the last vestiges of his mental health. But Harry wasn't what one would call damaged these days. As she watched him return to his conversation with Ron and Hermione, and felt his hand reach over to caress hers - discreetly under the table - Ginny couldn't help but wonder at the man he'd become. At funerals, it was Harry who comforted the widows with wonderful words about what a strong fighter so-and-so was, or spoke poetically about how we mourn not for the dead, but for the living: those left behind to miss the ones who have moved on. He sounded almost like Dumbledore sometimes, Ginny acknowledged, and the thought made her giggle for some reason.

"I know," Ron retorted, obviously mistaking the cause of Ginny's laughter. "I thought the same thing, but Madam Rosmerta has always been said to prefer large men."

Ginny drew in a breath and jerked her hand in Harry's, inadvertently. "What?" she said.

Harry smiled at her, his eyes full of mirth, which brought Ginny full circle to admiring his face again. "I've been saying," he said, "that it was Hagrid and Madam Rosmerta who I walked in on...She was on his lap, and there was the bit about sharing the bottle of old mead...Or haven't you been listening?" Harry ran his thumb up and down Ginny's knuckle as he spoke and his eyes crinkled mischievously.

"Of course I was listening," Ginny said, trying to look offended, but ultimately giving in to laughter as Harry's words finally registered their mark. Rosmerta. And Hagrid. "Is it mean to want to puke right now?" she asked, turning her head, finally, to address her brother and Hermione. "Because I think I may have to."

"It wouldn't be mean, exactly," Hermione responded, "but I think we should all be happy for Hagrid." She took a deep breath and sighed. "It isn't like any of us thought he was a priest, right?"

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, laughing loudly now. "Stop, or I'll have to join Ginny in the bathroom, and I've eaten all those mushrooms."

For another hour, Ginny listened to the three friends share funny stories of their great adventure. She was certain that the trip was more harrowing than they were letting on, but supposed that it wasn't healthy to dwell on how close they'd come to "moving on" themselves, or how isolated they were, at the time, from all that was going on. If they were recreating history a bit in order to lighten up the mood in the house, then Ginny could understand. The dreariness was beginning to seem boring anyway: she knew that she shouldn't think this way, but it had felt like such a needed release just to sit and laugh for a small portion of the evening.

Some day, some time in the future, Ginny thought, she would ask Harry to help her to see what he'd really been up to while she had been at Hogwarts with the rest of their friends, doing their best to cope and to fight back. But for now, it was enough to watch her boyfriend share a few laughs with his friends, especially while he continued to caress her fingers as he was. Ginny turned her hand in Harry's and gave him a squeeze. "I really do love you," she thought.

A door squeaked upstairs, and all four of the impromptu gang of all-nighters jerked their heads toward the stairwell: wide-eyed and smirking. "Mum's up," Ginny said. She knew it was her mum, without question or analysis. Her mother always closed her door carefully, rather than throwing it shut as every other Weasley did, and she had a characteristic shuffle-step that was easy to recognize. And then, Ginny thought as a slow, writhing ache developed inside her chest, there was the fact that her mum was always the first up in the house.

It had always been that way: her Mum rising with the rooster outside to begin to fix up the kitchen for breakfast or to get an early start on her various, motherly chores. But Ginny knew, as she listened with the others for the noises upstairs to settle out, and for the trek down the stairs to begin, that rising early was no more the action of a dutiful and loving wife and mum. It was the inevitable cross, born by a mother who grieved: not able to sleep and not really wanting to be awake, just moving through the day because it had to be done.

Ginny felt Harry's hand grasp hers strongly and realized that she was crying. She looked up at Harry, his handsome face displaying all the trademarks of concern, and then flashed a glance over at Hermione and Ron. They nodded in unison -- they seemed to do that sometimes, Ginny had discovered -- and all four stood up together to greet Ginny and Ron's mum, offer some apologies for having missed out on a good night's sleep, and then head up to their respective rooms for a lie-in.