Lilies In Autumn

Hermione gingerly slid out of bed and padded down the corridor to Hugo's nursery. The small lamp in the corner threw long shadows across the room and over the rocking chair. She leaned over the cot. Hugo was awake, gnawing gummily on one fist, drool coating his chin. 'You're making a terrible mess,' Hermione cooed, using the edge of the blanket to wipe Hugo's chin. She glanced over her shoulder and reached into the cot, lifting Hugo with a slight grimace of pain. 'Are you hungry, baby boy?' She slowly eased into the rocker, biting her lip. The pain wasn't as bad as it had been two weeks ago after Hugo's birth, but it was still present, lingering as a constant reminder.

'What do you think you're doing?' Ron mumbled from the door, rubbing his hands over his face.

'Feeding Hugo. What does it look like?' Hermione loosened her dressing gown and began to unbutton the top of her pajamas.

'You're not supposed to pick him up!'

'Can we not have this discussion now?' Hermione asked softly, not wanting to disturb Hugo. 'Not today.'

'Fine.' Ron turned to leave. 'Dad's coming over later to help us get Rosie and Hugo to the school.'

Hermione nodded, a muscle in her jaw twitching. She could hear Ron in the next room, swinging Rose from her cot, holding her aloft over his head, making her giggle in the quiet morning. She settled back against the rocking chair, wondering what had made them accept Shacklebolt's invitation to attend the memorial service this year. The normally didn't attend, preferring to gather as a family, closing ranks around George and Harry, to mourn and reminisce in private.

Her eyes drifted shut in an attempt to block the faces and memories that she knew would surge to the surface later.

*****

Harry knelt in the bathroom, wielding a wet facecloth in one hand, while his other clamped around the back of James' head. 'I don't know why I told Kingsley we'd come today,' he told the boy. He swiped the rapidly cooling cloth over James' face, wiping a dried smudge of egg yolk from the corner of his mouth. 'At least I won't have to speak.'

'We can send an owl to Kinglsey,' Ginny said from the door. 'Say you're not well, or the boys aren't.'

Harry shook his head. 'No. We need to be there. If Andromeda or George can go, so can I.' He scrubbed at something caked in James' hair. 'How did you get jam in your hair?' he breathed in exasperation.

James shrugged exaggeratedly. 'I donno.'

Harry's hand dropped from James' head. 'You could slow down at meals, you know,' he told James, irritation clearly written in his voice and on his face. He glanced back at Ginny. 'I'm fine here.'

Ginny reached over his shoulder and tugged the facecloth from his lax fingers. 'Go get dressed. I'll take care of the boys.'

Harry shook his head. 'It's fine, Gin.' He took the facecloth back from Ginny, and turned on the tap, rinsing it out. 'I'll clean up Albus if you dress James.'

She nodded and beckoned to James. 'Come on, Jemmy.'

Harry bent and picked up Albus, lifting him up to the counter. 'It's just the day, Gin,' he said softly.

'I know.'

She disappeared down the corridor with James, and Harry looked down at Albus' small, somber face. 'I owe it to your Uncle Fred to be there,' he admitted to his son. 'And to Remus and Dora.' He wiped a dab of marmalade from the end of Albus' nose. 'And to your namesake. Both of them.' He wiped Albus' sticky hands clean. 'I'll be better tomorrow,' he promised.

*****

Katie sat Fred and Jacob on the sofa. 'If either of you move from the sofa, neither of you will get pudding after dinner tonight,' she threatened. 'Do you understand?'

Fred shook his head solemnly. 'No puddin' for Jacob an' Fred,' he intoned.

'Or Sophie,' Jacob added pointing accusingly to his baby sister, sitting on the other end of the sofa.

'Fine.' Katie rolled her eyes. 'Or Sophie.' She sighed and began to walk toward the bedroom door. She stopped at the sound of a knock on the front door. 'Oh buggering hell,' she muttered. 'What now?' She strode to the front door, and yanked it open. 'Molly...'

Molly smiled tremulously. 'I thought you could use some help getting the children up to...' She cleared her throat. 'To the service.'

Katie massaged her temples for a moment. 'That would be great,' she said. 'I just have to check on George...' Katie turned toward the bedroom door once more. 'I don't know why he insisted on going today. We could have gone any other day, but for some reason, he wanted to go.' She took a deep breath. 'It's almost like he forgot what he's like this time of year...' A knock interrupted her. 'Oh, for God's sake... What is this? King's Cross?' She pulled the door open to discover Percy on the steps.

'I thought... George...' he motioned with a vague gesture into the sitting room.

Katie's eyes closed and she took a long breath through her nose. George had been adamant about going to the memorial this year. But last night, he had gone to bed early, and refused to speak to Katie at all. And so far this morning, nothing she could say or do would convince George to get up.

'Katie...?' Percy sounded uncertain.

'Yeah... Go on...'

Percy knocked softly on the bedroom door. 'George?' He pushed the door open, and walked into the darkened bedroom, closing the door behind him. He blinked a few times, and the indistinct shapes sharpened into George huddled under the quilt on the bed. Percy sank to the edge of the bed. 'I know it's hard for you today, and I'm not going to try and convince you to do something you don't want to do.'

George didn't reply, merely turning his head on the pillow, transferring his unblinking gaze to the wall, looking away from Percy.

'I wish,' Percy began with difficulty. 'I wish I had had more time,' he mused softly. 'I did and said so many things I regret, that I can't even begin to list them all.'

'Why are you telling me this?' George asked, his voice rusty and dull.

'No reason. I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize you should have gone.' Percy's hand landed on George's shoulder and squeezed it gently. 'You're not alone today, George. Regardless of what you decide to do, I'll be here.'

George's eyes squeezed shut and he slowly rolled over, placing his feet on the floor, as if it cost him every last bit of strength he had.

*****

'Do we have to go?' Teddy asked mulishly, as Andromeda sat on the edge of her bed, straightening Teddy's dark tie.

'Do we have to?' Andromeda repeated. 'No, dear, we don't have to.'

'Then why are we going?' he asked petulantly. 'I don't even remember them.'

Andromeda rubbed her finger under her nose. 'That's why we're going,' she said softly. 'So you can remember them.'

Teddy pulled away from his grandmother. 'It's not fair!' he shouted. His face twisted in anger as he yanked the tie loose and threw it on the floor. 'I hate them for dying!'

'Teddy... You don't mean that...' Andromeda said.

'Yes, I do!' He darted from the room and ran into his bedroom, the door slamming behind him. A muffled crash soon followed.

Andromeda swore under her breath, and picked up the tie. She padded down the corridor to Teddy's room tried to open it. 'Teddy, open the door, please.' She waited a few moments, then pulled her wand from her skirt pocket and tapped the door knob. Teddy was lying on his bed, face buried in the pillow. The framed photograph of Remus and Tonks that usually sat on the windowsill next to his bed lay on the floor, its glass smashed into pieces. Andromeda flicked her wand at it, and the glass silently repaired itself, as the fame floated up to the windowsill. 'Teddy, darling...' The words died in her throat. There wasn't anything she could say to Teddy about Remus or Tonks that would make him feel better. She sat on the bed next to him, stroking his heavy, sandy hair.

'I want my mum,' he sniffled into the pillow. He sat up and spun around, throwing himself into his grandmother's arms. 'I want my mum...'

*****

Bronwyn slid her feet into the heeled shoes she rarely wore, and clattered down the stairs to find Charlie with his head in the fire. He pulled his head from the flames and looked up at her. 'Can you manage Izzy by yourself?' he asked abruptly.

'Is something wrong?'

Charlie shook his head. 'Bill needs some help with the twins.'

'How did they get overlooked?' Bronwyn asked in minor confusion. The Weasleys were legendary for their ability to organize the family and an oversight such as this was rare.

'They weren't.' Charlie picked up his shoes and shoved his feet into them, and tied the laces quickly. 'Dad was supposed to go over and help them get the boys to the school, then the whole thing with Hermione happened...' He shrugged. 'Plans changed, and Bill thought he and Fleur could get Vic, Maddie, Nicky, and Alex up by themselves, but the boys aren't being cooperative.' He glanced at Bronwyn, sitting huddled next to him. Charlie's large, blunt hand rested on her forehead. 'Do you feel all right?' he asked worriedly. 'You don't feel warm,' he commented. 'You look awful, though.'

Bronwyn moved Charlie's hand. 'That's now how you take a temperature.'

'You don't have to go if you don't feel up for it,' Charlie murmured.

'I'm fine,' she insisted. 'Just been a long week in the infirmary.'

Charlie picked up the jacket of the suit he hardly wore. 'You know the last time I wore this was when Hermione's father died...'

'We'll have to find a happier occasion for you to wear it, then.'

Charlie snorted. 'I'll believe it when I see it.' He turned to Bronwyn and gently kissed her. 'I'll see you at the school in half an hour?'

'Yes. We'll save you a seat if we get there before you.'

'Thanks,' Charlie muttered, stuffing a small sketchbook and a few pencils into the pocket of his jacket. Bronwyn bit her lip. Charlie normally sketched in his free time, and didn't do it much around the family any more, but it was a sign of his emotional distress that he took the sketchbook with him.

*****

Bill sat on Victoire's bed with Madeline between his knees, her back to him. His fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons that rose from the small of his daughter's back to the base of her neck. He twirled her around so she faced him, pulling her closer so he could look over her shoulder. 'Why does girls' clothing have to have all these damn buttons?' he muttered.

Victoire looked up from the floor, where she was in the process of buckling her shoes. 'You could use magic,' she pointed out.

'I'm not using magic to button your sister's dress.'

Victoire shrugged and slid the strap of her other shoe through the buckle. 'Mum does.'

'That's because your mum can do it without getting the buttons in the wrong buttonholes,' Bill retorted. He pushed the last button through its buttonhole, and picked up the hairbrush on the bed next to him. 'Don't say it,' he warned. 'I know your mum can do all sorts of fancy things with your hair, but you'll just have to deal with me today.' Victoire's eyebrows rose and she fiddled with the strap of her shoe. Bill grimaced, feeling the scars on his face twist as he did so. He began to draw the brush through Madeline's straight hair, teasing out the tangles. Bill gathered her hair into one hand and wound an elastic around it, feeling a faint sense of accomplishment as he adjusted the ponytail.

Fleur walked into the room, adjusting the dark robes she chose to wear that day. 'You do not have to snap at ze girls,' she said in a low voice. She knelt on the floor and helped Madeline fasten the buckles to her shoes. 'Ze girls and I will go now. Charlie is on his way?' Bill nodded. 'Ze boys are in zeir cots. Try not to let zem get dirty.' She ushered the girls downstairs, leaving Bill sitting on the bed, staring at the hairbrush cradled in his hands.

*****

Harry stood in front of the memorial in one of the front corridors off the Great Hall. Portraits of the people who had died in the battle lined the wall, but unlike the other paintings in Hogwarts, they didn't move, nor did they talk or interact with the people that walked slowly by. Underneath each portrait was the person's name, with the dates of their birth, followed by either May first or second. There was something almost ethereal in the paintings, in how the artist had managed to capture how each person looked while they were alive, as if they were in motion.

Harry shifted his grip on Albus, hefting the sleeping boy into a more comfortable position. 'You did a great job, Dean,' he said softly.

'Thanks. I did them all by hand, no magic, no enchantments...' Dean replied, his fingers grazing over the top of a small bronze plaque set into the wall. In memoriam - Anthony Quinn

Harry saw the motion and gestured toward the plaque with his chin. 'Who's Anthony Quinn?'

Dean hesitated, but replied, 'My father.' His fingertip traced over the letters of the name. 'I never knew him.' He glanced at Harry. 'He died a few months after I was born. I guess he did. My mum wasn't sure. He went to the market one day for nappies and never came home. Mum reported him missing to the Muggle police, but obviously, they never found him.' Dean's shoulders hitched a little. 'I didn't know any of this until after the war,' he said quietly. 'My mum had my father declared dead when I was two and remarried. Laurence Thomas is my stepfather. He adopted me and I grew up thinking I was Muggle-born. After the war, I did some research and tracked down an Anthony Quinn who had married an Olivia Baptiste. I looked all over the Muggle resources and when I exhausted those, I started searching the wizarding ones. And I found him. In an article of the Daily Prophet. He was an illustrator. All those drawings in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi - those are his. I wish I knew what really happened to him.' Dean's eyes darkened with an expression Harry knew well. 'So when I agreed to do this, I asked the school governors if I could put this in here. So someone can remember Anthony Quinn used to be part of all this. Since he was never on the official lists of the missing in the wizarding world.'

Harry reached out a hand and squeezed Dean's shoulder. 'I'm sorry... I wish I'd known.'

Dean's gaze swept over the wall. 'Wouldn't have changed anything, mate...' His hands slid into his pockets and he slouched away from the corridor, back into the quiet noise of the Great Hall.

'God, it looks just like him,' George whispered, standing in front of the portrait of Fred. His fingers traced the contours of his twin's face, as tears streamed unheeded down his face. His hand splayed over Fred's mischievously grinning face and George's head sank to the wall, as he gasped for breath. Percy's arm wound around George's shoulders, gently embracing him.

'Here, let me take him,' Ginny murmured, lifting Albus from Harry's arms. 'Teddy won't come in here, and he won't let Andromeda bring him.'

Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his gritty eyes. 'Okay...' He followed Ginny into the Great Hall, and found Teddy sitting morosely poking at a piece of treacle tart, systematically demolishing it into smears of pastry and filling across the plate. Harry slid into the seat next to Teddy. 'Hey...'

'Hey...'

Harry's hand gently massaged the ridges in the back of Teddy's neck. 'I know it's hard. Especially since you never got to know them. But this will help... I promise.'

Teddy sniffed and shoved the plate away. He slid from his seat and nodded. 'Okay.' He took Harry's hand, and the two of them walked out of the Great Hall. Harry led Teddy into the corridor and folded himself to the floor, pulling Teddy down into his lap. Teddy silently looked up at the wall. 'Why did Mum always have pink hair?' he whispered loudly.

Harry let his head rest against the wall. 'Because she liked it. And when she was happy, it was pink. Well, when I knew her, that is.' Harry bent his head and pressed his lips to the top of Teddy's head. 'Your dad liked to read. Anything he could get his hands on. Your mum could barely walk and chew gum at the same time.' Harry chuckled softly. 'She could trip over a level sidewalk. She couldn't tidy anything to save her life. But she was a bloody good witch.'

'If she was so good, why did she die?'

Harry wrapped his arms around Teddy. 'It's not because she wasn't good enough,' he murmured. 'She was amazing. But that doesn't stop someone from sending a spell at her back.'

'What about Dad?'

Harry smiled against the top of Teddy's head. 'Your dad could make it all look so easy. He'd flick his wand and all the bad things would disappear. He was brilliant.'

Teddy slid out of Harry's lap and shuffled closer to the portraits of his parents. He reached up to touch them in turn, and as his hand fell away, he felt the merest brush of something against his head, like when Ginny came into his room at night to check on him. He whirled around, but the only other person in the corridor was Harry. 'Who did that?' demanded Teddy.

'Did what?' Harry asked.

'Touched me.'

'It wasn't me,' Harry replied.

Teddy looked down the corridor suspiciously, his hair darkening several shades.

*****

Arthur stood a little away from Molly and Andromeda, looking at the two of them, rather than the wall. They were a study in contrasts - Molly was somewhat short, with a wealth of curly red hair, that she derisively termed frizzy, and expressively emotive; while Andromeda was taller, her hair almost always tamed into a sedate chignon, and even after all these years, she still exuded the cool exterior of her childhood. Molly repeatedly dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, while Andromeda was seemingly impassive. Arthur knew better. Her fingers were wrapped around a small bouquet of wolfsbane and columbines, knuckles chalk-white from gripping the stems so tightly. She took a few steps forward, and knelt to gently lay the flowers underneath the portraits of her daughter and son-in-law. Arthur felt his lips turn up in a small smile. Remus, he knew, would not be offended by the wolfsbane. He would find it highly amusing. Arthur lifted his eyes to the wall, slowly taking in each portrait. Some were far too young, cheeks still round with childhood, while others had died with no one to remember them. He noticed the single lily under Snape's portrait and wondered who had left it. He let his fingers trail over the frame surrounding Fred's portrait in a brief caress, imagining for a moment it was his son's hair.

*****

Hermione got up from the table and abruptly walked out of the Great Hall without a word to anyone. She was hot, tired, and getting a headache from tension of not speaking to Ron. She needed to nurse Hugo soon, but he'd gone to sleep, and nothing short of an earthquake would wake him up, unless he wanted to wake up, and Hermione wasn't in the mood to fuss with a breast pump. The memorial dedication didn't bother her, really. Not in the way people seemed to believe.

It had been Ron's chastisement to her that morning that she wasn't to pick up Hugo. She'd been barred from picking up either him or Rose for six weeks. It irritated her to have to depend on someone else. It didn't really matter that it was Ron, Molly, or Jane.

A hand closed around her elbow. 'What is the matter with you?' Ron pulled her around to face him.

'Nothing,' she said shortly, attempting to pull her arm from Ron's grasp. 'I'm fine, all right?'

Ron dropped her arm and studied her face for a moment. 'You ever notice the more you say you're fine, the less fine you are?' he commented. 'You've been saying you're fine for two weeks. No "I'm tired" or "I'm upset". Not even an "I'm so mad I could take on a hippogriff with my bare hands".'

Hermione crossed her arms tightly over her chest. 'I can't pick up my own son,' she ground out. 'My son cries and I can't pick him up. My daughter has a nightmare and I can't be the one to pick her up and comfort her, even if I'm the one that hears her cry out.' She swiped a hand over her cheeks. 'Damn it, Ron! Have you any idea what that's like? And I'm so angry about it, I don't even know where to begin!' She began to pace along the shore of the Black Lake, her hair escaping from the careful knot she'd wound it in that morning. 'Bloody hell, Ron, I don't even know who to be angry with - me or you! I don't even know if I'm supposed to be angry at anyone! But it should have been my choice and my decision, and God, or, fate, or whatever you want to believe took it away from me!' she raged. 'It's not fair!' She turned her back to Ron, tears falling down her face. 'It's not fair,' she repeated.

Ron stared at the back of her head, his mouth open. He took a step toward her and reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder. She jerked away, and Ron let his hand fall to his side. 'What would have been less fair, Hermione, would have been for both you and Hugo to have died,' he said quietly. 'I know you're angry. But look at what we have,' he beseeched.

'I know,' Hermione rasped. 'We have Rose and Hugo, and that makes it feel so much worse, because why should I be upset when I - we - have them?'

Ron closed the distance between them, and put his hands on either side of her waist. 'Because you lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the ones you'll never have.' He slid his arms around his wife. 'God, I hate this day...'

*****

Harry walked into the house, breathing a sigh of relief. Soon, it would be over. He carried Albus up the stairs to begin the process of chipping away the layer of grime he had acquired over the course of the day. 'Do you want to put both of them in the same bath?' he asked Ginny, who was herding James up to the bathroom. 'Get them both done at the same time.'

'Sounds good to me,' Ginny replied, tiredly.

Harry went into the bathroom, and set Albus on the floor, jabbing his wand at the taps in the tub. The water would shut off automatically when the level reached the desired depth. Harry began to strip the soiled and stained clothing off Albus, tossing it into the small laundry basket in the corner. As soon as he sat Albus in the bath, he perched on the edge of the counter and stripped off his socks. One red with broomsticks, and one green with Snitches. Ginny dropped James' clothes into the basket and Harry lifted him into the bath with a grunt. 'You ate too many biscuits today,' he informed his offspring, giving James' round belly a gentle poke.

Ginny picked up Harry's discarded socks with an inquiring expression. 'I haven't seen you wear these in ages...'

'I wore them for Dobby,' Harry murmured, lathering a facecloth.

Albus brow furrowed. 'Who Bubbie?'

Harry smiled. 'Dobby,' he corrected. He began to wash Albus' back. 'Have I ever told you about Dobby?' he asked the two boys.

'No...' James shook his head.

'Oh, well, then...' Harry cleared his throat. 'Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry...'

'Tha's your name,' James informed Harry.

'That's right. And one day, he received a most unusual visitor...'

*****

George shivered a little in the spring chill. He clutched a spray of pansies in one hand and laid them against the headstone that marked Fred's grave. He could feel Percy standing behind him, just like he had done all day. George took a step back and wrapped his arm around Percy. 'Thank you,' he said, barely above a whisper.

'You're welcome.'