Sunshine or Shadows

Chapter 7. The Trouble with Assumptions

A terrible noise in the attic woke Molly up with a razor-sharp jolt to the chest and a shrill sense of terror stimulating all of her nerve endings quite painfully. She sat up and pushed on her husband's shoulder until he too bolted out of bed, collected his wand and his glasses, and strode purposefully to the bedroom door. Her mind raced in a thousand different directions, and Molly had to force herself to breathe. She watched nervously while Arthur performed a handful of complicated spells, sealing the Burrow from intruders and probing for magical signatures as he'd done on countless occasions during the war.

"Death Eaters...hold-outs for the old Ministry regime..." she thought as her husband went about his work. Molly summoned her own wand and trained it on the door: Her mind was spinning frantically to work out who might be responsible for attacking their home so many months after Harry had ended the war, and it hit her -- as she did so -- just how complacent she had become.

After a few more seconds, Arthur lowered his wand and smiled reassuringly. "It's all right, dear," he said. "It's just the ghoul."

"Oh, thank heaven," Molly gasped, clutching at the neckline of her nightgown and laboring to catch her breath while her heart continued to beat in rapid tempo. "I wonder what's got him all in a tither at this hour," she said. She looked through the window out into the yard to see if a stray animal were perhaps to blame. The moon was only faintly visible in the hazy sky, highlighting the Burrow's back yard in soft indigo light, and it wasn't quite bright enough to get a good scan of the property.

With another gasp, Molly froze again. "Arthur," she shouted to her husband, "something's out there."

Mr. Weasley hurried to the open window and trained his wand on the sight: There in the garden, only thirty or so paces from the back porch entrance, was a figure dressed in a light shirt and dark trousers, lying on the ground. It seemed to be struggling and there were four dark figures encircling it. In an instant, Molly recognized what the four figures were and she lashed her wand at them, hastily.

"Expectro Patronum," the two Weasleys shouted in unison, sending a silver weasel coursing after the four Dementors with a bright beaver bounding behind it. One of the Dementors took flight and the others faltered a bit while the Patronuses gave chase.

"Go on, shoo! Go away you sorry tossers!" said the figure in the yard, laughing as his pursuers backed off slightly in the silvery glare of the weasel and badger. " 'specto Patro...something,..No, no...that isn't any good. Think, George. Think!"

Molly gasped as she listened to her son laugh uncontrollably while the three remaining Dementors were chased off of their property into Merlin knows where. "Arthur," she muttered, "it's George!"

"Yes it is," Arthur replied. He lowered his wand and Molly watched as the yard returned to darkness. Footsteps were pounding on the stairs now and a bright, yellow light filled the hallway as someone had lit the candle sconces. "Woke the whole house up," Arthur admonished. "What was he thinking, showing up like that in the middle of the night. He could've been -- "

Arthur didn't finish the sentence, but Molly knew what he'd been about to say. Killed. Had they almost lost another son tonight? A Dementor's kiss performed right under their bedroom window? She shuddered at the thought -- that George's soul could've been taken so easily, not even allowed to join his brother's as he'd no doubt assumed it would one day do.

Molly hooked her arm in her husband's and they walked together down the stairs and out onto the back porch. Ron and Harry were already in the yard and were both struggling to pull George up from the ground where he lay: each with one hand on the older boy's shirt and one hand brandishing a wand, guardedly.

Ginny and Hermione flew into the family room toward the door, grasping at their dressing gowns. They were whispering furiously to each other and both looked to be quite frightened.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked, panting. "Who is it?"

"It's all right," Arthur reassured. "It's George, he's been attacked by Dementors out in the yard."

George, who was now upright on wobbly legs and was leaning heavily on Harry and Ron, made his way slowly into the house, grinning sloppily at the crowd. "Oy! Hello there everyone! I didn't know you would still be up!"

"Still be up!" Molly shouted, anger boiling now within her. "Still be up! George, what do you mean by coming here in the middle of the night in this state." She looked her son over -- rumpled shirt, muddy shoes and a wand dangling loosely in his hand. "Did you Apparate like this?"

George smiled again. He looked rather proud of himself, despite his raggedy appearance. "I got hungry. Thought I'd check the ice box for leftovers," he said. "What was going to happen anyway?" he asked, addressing his mum. "Was I going to lose an ear?"

Arthur stepped forward and took George's wand, pocketing it. "You could have lost something more useful than an ear, George, and it would have served you right. Remind me, when you've sobered up, to introduce you to my friend Shagless O'Shea and have him tell you just how he got that nickname."

Giving no indication that he had heard his father's warning, George aimed a goofy grin at Hermione, stepping forward to ruffle her hair. "Cute one you got there, Ron. Well done." He allowed his father to shuffle him up the stairs into his old bedroom, muttering, "'specto Pastrami! No, no, that isn't it either..." on the way up, chuckling to himself.

"Well," said Ron, who had returned to the family room along with Harry, breathing deeply due to the effort he'd had to exert in getting his brother off of the ground, "at least he's a happy drunk."

"He's going to be hurting in the morning," Ginny said. She was staring at the stairs, where her father and brother had just ascended, and frowning.

"Not if I can help it, he won't!" said Molly, her anger giving rise to a deep-seated sense of purpose. With impressive, almost artistic dexterity, she directed her wand toward the kitchen's scullery and retrieved a tapestry bag, filling it with clinking bottles of various potions and magical herbs. Another flourish sent a large chunk of chocolate flying out of a cupboard and lodging itself in the bag, settling in among the bottles and vials. Molly surveyed the contents quickly and then stuck her chin up in the air, marching up the stairs with the bag floating along importantly behind her.

The next morning, Ginny woke up to a house full of guests. Lee Jordan, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson had all stopped by to check in on George and were sitting on the sofa in the family room with their heads down and pointed toward each other, deep in conversation. In the kitchen, she'd found Percy, her father, Hermione, Ron and Harry all huddled around a pot of coffee and discussing quantities of Dementors and one of the Ministry's new initiatives, which related to trying to control them. She sighed as she took a seat at the table and summoned a cup of her own.

"Were there many of them?" she asked. "Last night? I forgot to ask."

Harry looked up and gave Ginny a little smile - a private gesture which never failed to warm her heart. "Four," he said before lifting up the coffee pot and filling her mug. "Your father said that he had seen four of them."

"But," she began. "But, how did George fend off four Dementors? He was as drunk as Uncle Buck at happy hour!"

"He didn't," Ron answered. "Mum and Dad drove them off."

Ginny scrunched her face, picturing her brave parents fending off the daemons from the Burrow. She had seen George, last night, flourishing his wand wildly like somebody from the mental ward at St. Bartholomew's, and had just assumed that he had somehow managed to produce a Patronus: Perhaps, she had reasoned, all of the alcohol George had obviously consumed had somehow supplied him with cheerful thoughts.

"Still though..." she said.

"We think they were...young ones," Harry added. "Not quite adults, possibly adolescent. That's why that hadn't attacked George directly before your mum and dad were able to wake up."

"They were what?" Ginny asked. She hadn't ever considered that Dementors had ages before, given that she'd never heard of one dying. It had always been more or less a given, to Ginny, that they simply existed.

Hermione blew steam off of her coffee, and made a little "hmm" sound. The tiny noise caught Ginny's attention, and she watched her friend for a moment, wondering how much the girl had already found out about Dementors over the years while Ginny and everyone else took their despicable nature more or less for granted.

"Young Dementors," Hermione said quietly, "are unable to perform the kiss."

'Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" said Ron.

Percy, who was standing now and buttoning up the top set of fastenings on his Ministry cloak, gave Ron a slightly admonishing look. "Dementors," he said, "are never a good thing. George needs to be more careful. What if they had been fully developed?"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Mr. Weasley interjected. He stood up to leave the kitchen, donned his bowler hat and collected a dark gray cloak by summoning it. "Your mum and I were awoken before they would have had a chance to perform a kiss...no matter their age." With those words, he twisted and disappeared from sight.

Percy followed his father, leaving the younger Weasleys, Hermione and Harry alone in the kitchen. Harry turned to Ginny as she took a sip from her coffee mug. "Good morning," he said with another sweet smile.

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny returned.

It was strange, she thought, that the boy had such power over her. The simplest gesture, the smallest hint of a dimpled cheek, the faint scent of his aftershave: these things sometimes collided within her and she was afraid that someday she would suffer some kind of physical damage. Or extreme embarrassment. Even as they discussed something as sobering as George's run-in with a pack of Dementors, she couldn't help but be distracted.

"Take a picture, why don't you?" Ron asked, interrupting Ginny's musings. Harry lowered his eyes, embarrassed, and Ginny directed a sneer toward her dear brother.

"I expect George will be sleeping in, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," answered Ron. "Mum gave him a full dose of sleeping draught last night. That plus whatever else he's got in his system should keep him out for the better part of the day, I expect."

"We should let them know then," Hermione advised, giving a nod toward the three well-wishers in the family room. "They were already here when I got up, and they are likely expecting to see him."

"I'll go and have a chat with them," Ron offered, scooting his chair back and yawning. "I expect they'll have some lively tales to spin anyway. When Mum asked earlier why one of them hadn't side-along'd George instead of letting him Apparate in the condition he was in, Lee said, 'Well, Mrs. Weasley, at the time we felt that George was the soberest of the lot.'"

Ginny shook her head. "What are we going to do?" she asked vaguely, thinking about her poor, lost brother and wondering how on Earth he was ever going to find within himself all that Fred had taken away. The twins had always seemed, to Ginny, to be giant walking clichés: sometimes dressing alike, always rising together each morning, finishing each other's sentences and laughing simultaneously at their shared jokes. It was hard to see George, earless and twinless, meandering through the days without any worldly idea on how it was ever going to get easier.

"He'll be fine," Harry said. "He needs time, lots of time. Angelina and Katie are keeping tabs on him daily, and he's got Lee and loads of great friends."

"I know but..." Ginny began. She wanted to be able to help, wanted to be able to give something to her brother, or do something for him and in some way be actively involved, instead of watching passively as George's friends and Father Time did all the work. "I just..."

"He will be fine, Ginny," Hermione added. "I promise you."

Ginny sipped her coffee, keen to change the subject before she gave voice to her belief that people shouldn't go around making promises they had no control over. "So who's going to Diagon Alley with me today?" she asked, her voice a cheery contrast to her rather gray mood. "I've got loads of stuff to buy this year."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, but neither responded to Ginny's question. The odd response hung in the air like an obscure, secret code, waiting to be cracked. "You have loads of stuff to buy as well, I would assume?" Ginny continued.

Again, no response came from either her boyfriend or Hermione, and Ginny's brain zeroed straight in on what was going on. They weren't going back to Hogwarts: Harry, Hermione and -- of course -- Ron were not going back and she, Ginny, was once again left out of the whole charade. She slammed her coffee mug down on the table -- a little harder than she had wanted to -- and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to try and keep her pulsing arteries from exploding all over her mother's best table linens.

"Ginny," Harry said.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes closed and trying to think of what she should say. Whatever it was that her supposed boyfriend had to say wasn't of particular interest at the moment.

"Ginny, we've been talking this morning about maybe staying behind," Harry continued. "Hermione might be able to organize correspondence studies...with Professor McGonagall's help."

"It's something that I've been thinking about all summer anyway...for myself," Hermione added. "My parents don't have jobs, and we still don't know if their memories will ever be completely recovered. I just can't leave them now, I just can't. And after last night, Ron wants to stay and help George out with getting the shop up and running again. And Harry..." Hermione paused and looked at Harry, who gave a nod. "Harry would like to be able to visit Teddy more often and is thinking about volunteering a few days a week at the ministry with your father."

Ginny drew in a breath and marveled at the way Hermione made everything sound so...predetermined -- as if leaving her again was not only logical and sensible, but ultimately inevitable.

"But we will have to make a decision this week, I'm afraid," Hermione continued. "And we'll need to seek permission from Headmistress Tuttle. Then there's the whole problem of finding a suitable place to live...We can't stay here at the Burrow forever, and this morning we talked about possibly moving closer to George. We'll need jobs, of course..."

With an icy stab, Hermione's words penetrated Ginny. "They are going to London -- Diagon Alley, probably - to live together while I go off to Hogwarts," she thought. Hogwarts...where she'd watched her friends get tortured by so-called teachers, where she and Neville had to set up an escape route for Muggleborns... where she watched in numb panic while Hagrid lumbered of the Forbidden Forest, carrying Harry's body ...

"We can ask your mum and dad if you can stay as well," Harry said, though he did not sound reassuring as he said it. "We all want you with us, you're only a month or so behind us in your studies after all and..."

Ginny interrupted him. "They'll never let me," she mumbled. She knew that her parents were traditional people, and would never support their daughter living in some flat in Diagon Alley when it was expected that she be in a school somewhere; not even considering the fact that she would be living with her boyfriend - or at least in close vicinity to him at any rate. Ron was eighteen and under normal circumstances should already have been graduated, so they wouldn't be able to keep him from doing it, but Ginny knew that she would be boarding the Hogwarts Express next week as sure as the gnomes would be stealing from the vegetable garden.

"Well, I guess I'll be going alone today, then," she said, and she got up from the table and left the kitchen.

Throughout the day, Harry and Hermione kept trying to involve Ginny in their conversations, begging her to talk to them, but she kept herself locked, safe and sound, in her bedroom until it was time to leave for Diagon Alley to collect school supplies. It was immature of her, she knew, but Ginny just couldn't muster up enough strength to be courteous and polite. She felt like aiming a few well-practiced Itching Powder curses at the lot of them, throwing Ron in for good measure. An overpowering sense of self-pity had taken hold, and she knew that it would be days before kind phrases and understanding words were going to exit her mouth. Added to the fact that her wand hand kept twitching every time she pictured the three of them -- the illustrious trio -- sitting together in the living room of some sordid old rented flat, Ginny had decided that it was best to remain scarce for a while.

She sorted through her Hogwarts trunk, tossing out old scrolls of parchment containing half-written essays and Scourgifying the bits and pieces of candy and broken items from her brothers' store stock that littered the bottom corners and stuck to the leather lining. Humming softly to herself as she worked, Ginny thought about Neville. She tried to find solace in the fact that he'd written, saying that he would be staying on at Hogwarts as an apprentice Herbologist, working with Professor Sprout. Luna would be there as well, and there would be Quidditch, of course. Life wouldn't exactly be pointless, she thought, this year at Hogwarts, but it was going to be a far cry from what she'd been hoping for: she and Harry strolling the halls hand in hand between classes; Harry, Dean, herself and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team beating the pulp out of their opponents; finally getting to copy off of Hermione and having a real chance of doing well on her Newts, despite having missed so much school last year.

"Ginny!" Ginny jumped when she heard her mum's voice ringing from downstairs, causing her heart to jump. "Ginny, it's time to leave. Hermione and the boys are going to Apparate straight there. You and I will take the Floo network."

"Great," Ginny thought. The thee Amigo's invited themselves along. "That's just perfect." She drew her wand and summoned a scroll, whistling for Errol, who was perched upstairs in Ron's room. When the owl arrived at Ginny's window sill, she fastened two notes: one to Neville and one to Luna, asking them both to join her for dinner in Diagon Alley. She closed her eyes and winced when her mum called again, and stood up to brush herself off. Another picture came to her mind of Harry and Hermione, huddled around a book, reading out loud by a warmly lit fireplace while Ron copied down notes, biting on his tongue and looking to be deep in thought.

"Well," she muttered, walking to her door, "I've got friends of my own. I'll get through the year...one more year." When she arrived in the family room, she caught a brief glimpse of Hermione before the girl twisted and disappeared from view. Turning quickly to Ron and Harry, Ginny flicked her wand and sent a quick Itching Powder spell just in time to catch both boys before they too disappeared. She smiled, marching over to the fireplace and grabbing a handful of Floo powder from its pot.

"But I don't have to be pleasant about it," she said as she stepped into the blue flames and gave in to the strange stretching and pulling sensations and chilly licks of cold flame that always accompanied a Floo trip.