Making Mistakes

Ginny watched Harry Disapparate, her breath coming in shallow pants. This was the first time they had really been separated since her sixth year. He had been on a few assignments, but nothing longer than a few days since she had moved into his small flat in Soho a few months after her first season with the Harpies began. She turned and began to walk back into the kitchen, but stopped at the bench outside the door. Ginny braced her hands on the back of the weathered oak. I will not cry, she thought fiercely. Not now. I'm not going cry. She inhaled slowly and let it out even more slowly. Ginny released her grip on the bench and stumbled into the kitchen. She left the untouched cup of tea on the table, quite forgetting about it. Ginny put one foot on the first riser of the stairs, to go back upstairs and so she could go back to bed.

That was as far as she got.

Ginny stepped away from the stairs and blindly made her way to the battered sofa in the sitting room. She sank heavily to the cushions, her eyes burning with tears she hadn't let herself shed when Harry was in the kitchen. She picked up a throw pillow, hugging it to her chest, her eyes shut tightly to the still house. Ginny pulled her bare feet onto the sofa and lay down, coiled into a comma of misery, still hugging the pillow.

*****

Molly came down the stairs to the first floor and poked her head into Bill's room to check on James. He was still asleep. The door to Ginny's room was ajar, and feeling slightly guilty, Molly peeked into the room. I'm not checking up on her, she told herself. The bed was empty and unmade. She went to the kitchen and saw the cup on the otherwise empty table. Molly dipped a fingertip into the liquid. It was cold. She heard a muffled sob come from the sitting room, and quietly opened the kitchen door.

Ginny lay curled on the sofa, her face buried in a throw pillow, gasping for breath between the choking sobs. Molly quickly crossed the room, and Summoned an armchair from across the sitting room, and sat down next to the sofa. 'Ginny?' Molly's hand began to stroke Ginny's tangled hair. Molly had rarely seen Ginny cry like this. Only once in recent memory, and that had been thirteen years ago.

Ginny just shook her head, lips pressed so tightly together, they were white. She shivered, as if she were freezing.

Helpless, Molly remained on the chair, stroking Ginny's hair until the sobs quieted and the urgent gasps for air were replaced by Ginny's deep, even breathing, marred by an occasional hitch. She felt a hand land on her shoulder, and reached up to grasp it, knowing it was Arthur's. 'He'll be fine,' Arthur murmured. 'And she will be, too.'

Molly rose from the chair and picked up the afghan draped over the back of it. She spread it over Ginny and motioned to Arthur to go into the kitchen. 'Should we call everyone and cancel lunch today?' she asked worriedly, once they were in the kitchen.

Arthur tilted his head to the side, taking in his sleeping daughter's tearstained face through the open door. 'No.' He looked down at Molly. 'Let's keep things as normal as possible.'

*****

Ginny pried her eyelids open. She slowly sat up, pressing her fingers to the ridge of her skull beneath her eyebrows. Her hands were like blocks of ice, but they felt soothing on her hot, swollen eyes. She squinted at the clock on the mantle. Eight-thirty. Groggily, Ginny pushed herself to her feet, and trudged up to Bill's room. James was sitting up in the cot, nearly frantically sucking his dummy. Ginny could tell he knew something wasn't right. She lifted him from the cot and held him tightly. 'Mummy,' James said softly, patting her face. 'Owie, Mummy.'

Ginny released her hold on James slightly. 'Sorry, James.' She tried to smile and kissed his cheek. With forced cheerfulness, she changed his nappy and dressed him for the day in something that could handle the rigors of a Weasley family lunch. The scent of bacon wafted up the stairs and Ginny took James into the kitchen, depositing him into a chair next to Arthur. 'I'll just go get dressed, then,' she told Arthur. 'Could you keep an eye on him for me?' Without waiting for an answer, Ginny went back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Ginny turned on the taps, and waited for the water to heat up, slipping out of her dressing gown as she did so. She caught a whisper of something in the folds of heavy blue silk. Holding it up to her nose, she breathed in the scent of Harry that clung to the fabric. Tears welled up again and she hung the dressing gown on a hook on the back of the door, and then ducked into the spray of the hot shower, allowing herself to cry as she washed her hair, letting the tears mix with the water on her face. She was grateful nobody could hear her cry over the rush of water. Having Molly catch her earlier was beyond mortifying.

Ginny leaned against the wall, and let the water cascade down her back. I hate this, she huffed to herself. I hate feeling like this.

*****

Harry Apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry. He glanced at his watch on his way to the lifts. Five thirty-five. The trainees would be here at six. He hoped none of them were here yet. He needed a moment to collect himself. Leaving Ginny and James had been harder than he had expected. He knew it would be difficult. They were his life.

He didn't expect it to feel like a blow to his solar plexus. Being on the receiving end of one of Riddle's Cruciatus curses was a walk in the park compared to this.

He stabbed the button for the lift and waiting, trembling with the need to indulge in a few brief tears, but unwilling to do so in a public area, wanting to wait for the privacy of his office.

The lift chimed softly, and Harry got on, not seeing the witch who stood in the back corner. He let the knapsack drop to his feet, and leaned against the wall.

The witch recognized him, of course. She wondered for a moment why on earth Harry Potter would be at the Ministry at a time when only the night shift of Obliviators was here. Privately, the witch thought Harry looked like his best friend had died, but as far as she knew Ron Weasley was still amongst the living. 'Mr. Potter?' she said quietly. When he didn't answer she repeated herself. When he didn't respond, she gently touched his shoulder.

Harry jerked at the unfamiliar touch on his shoulder and spun around to see a vaguely familiar witch standing behind him. He had worked with her a few times when the Aurors needed an Obliviator around. She was good at her job, and more importantly, she was discreet. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

Harry was tempted for a moment to tell the witch, No, I'm not all right. I'm leaving my wife to go on an assignment and she will have no idea where I am. Oh, and she's nearly seven months pregnant. And I hate not being able to be with the one person who makes my life make sense. But he just nodded. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' he said, clearing his throat a few times. The lift stopped at Level Two, and he snatched up his knapsack, darting down the corridor to the trainees' room. It was still blessedly empty.

He went into his office and slammed the door shut, leaning against it, shuddering. Harry slid to the floor, and rested his forehead on his knees. He drew in gulps of air and let the tears that had stung his eyes since Friday night drip down his cheeks. 'Oh, Ginny,' he moaned softly.

After a few minutes, Harry slowly exhaled and swiped his sleeve over his face and pulled his wand from his pocket. He conjured a face cloth, and like the night Rosie was born, used his wand to soak it in cold water. He pressed it to his face, hoping the trainees wouldn't notice his reddened and swollen eyes when they arrived. He looked at his watch. Five forty-five.

He pushed himself to his feet and picked up the knapsack. Harry stood for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to collect himself. He opened the door and closed it behind him, locking it with his wand. It wouldn't open for anyone except himself or Shacklebolt. He went down the corridor, the thick carpet muffling his steps as he approached the trainees' room.

He pulled out a chair at the round table facing the door, and sat down to wait for the trainees. He didn't have to wait long. The six second and third year trainees came in silently a few minutes later, each bearing a schoolbag in varying degrees of shabbiness. They stood around the table, looking at Harry. Harry flicked his wand at the door, and cast several Silencing charms on the room. 'We're going to Inverness,' he told them.

*****

Charlie slid into his chair next to Bronwyn, his eyes gliding around the table. He frowned, carefully counting mentally again. Someone's missing, he thought. He absently spooned sprouts on his plate, forgetting he hated sprouts. He picked up the platter of chicken, and looked down in surprise. The legs were still there. Harry usually snatched the legs off the platter at their end of the table before anyone else could. His head snapped up and he took another look around the table. 'Ginny? Where's Harry?'

Ginny turned her dark eyes on Charlie. He reared back a little at her nearly expressionless face. 'Mum, may I be excused?' Ginny asked. 'I'm not very hungry.' She pushed her chair away from the table and left the kitchen before anyone could say another word.

As the door swung behind her she heard Charlie ask in bemusement, 'What did I say?'

Ginny's first impulse had been to run up to her room, but when she opened the door, she saw Harry's t-shirt from the night before, lying crumpled on the floor next to the bed. She clattered back down the stairs and crept out the front door, walking toward the River Otter.

Ginny eased down on the bank, and pulled her shoes off. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

*****

Arthur watched Ginny bolt from the kitchen. He gave Charlie a reassuring look. 'It's all right, son. You don't know.' Arthur pushed a few peas around his plate for a moment. 'Harry's away on an assignment.' He held up a hand, forestalling the expected torrent of questions. 'No, we don't know where, and no we don't know for how long. Ginny's not... She's not...'

Charlie flushed and looked down at his plate, pushing it away. He glanced at Bronwyn, and she just nodded. He briefly squeezed her hand, and left the kitchen as well, knowing just where Ginny was headed.

He had taught Ginny to swim in the river. The tree house had been Bill's refuge, but the river was his. Ginny's too. He espied Ginny's bright head, leaning against a tree. Her eyes were closed. 'Gin?' Charlie sat on the grass next to her. 'I'm sorry.'

Ginny opened her eyes. They were dry. 'You didn't know.' She shrugged and closed her eyes again. 'I didn't sleep much last night,' she said by way of explanation. 'I'm horribly hormonal right now. And I'm scared out of my bloody mind.' She reached for Charlie's hand. 'What if he doesn't come back?' she whispered. 'I can't do this alone.'

'You're not alone, Gin.'

Ginny smiled sadly. 'Could you imagine going into your house if Bronwyn died?'

Charlie started. Bronwyn's touch was all over the house. She was the one who kept the Spartan house on the dragon reservation looking like a home. If Charlie had been unmarried, he fancied he'd be one of those blokes who ate cold tinned beans straight from the tin, over the sink.

'I've been with him since I was seventeen. I've slept with him every night just about since...' Ginny let her head fall back against the tree trunk. 'Since before I was nineteen.' Her grip tightened on Charlie's fingers. 'I can't imagine raising our children or doing anything without him.'

*****

Ginny sat at the table the a few mornings later, next to James, peeling a banana. James looked around the table, perplexed. 'W'ere Dahdee?' he asked Ginny, tugging on her sleeve.

'Daddy's at work,' she said. James only frowned at her. 'He'll be back soon,' she assured him. Her hands shook as she sliced half of the banana into a bowl. James asked every morning at breakfast, every evening at dinner, and every night when Ginny put him to bed. It was the same querulous question: where's Daddy. Ginny gave him the best answer she could. It was pointless to try to explain to a twenty month-old child that his father was an Auror, who was on a clandestine assignment trying to track down an idiot who felt it was appropriate to threaten family members of said Auror.

Ginny sat back and began to eat the rest of the banana, watching James. When Harry was around, she was always struck by how much James resembled Harry. But now that Harry wasn't here, Ginny could really see the flashes of Weasley in him. The eyes for one. Arthur's dark blue eyes. Charlie and Ron were the only ones out of all of them to get their father's eyes. And so far, James was the only grandchild to have them, too. He had her nose, but Harry's mouth. He looked like he might be tall and lanky like Arthur, Bill, Percy and Ron. His head tilted to the left when he was examining something new, like Percy's. But the hair. Oh, that hair. It was pure Potter. Ginny had held a photograph of Harry and James next to one of Harry's father, to compare the hair down three generations.

Bunny rolled lazily around, making Ginny rub her hand over her stomach. She wondered about this one. Would it be a girl this time, or another boy? Would it have red hair or black? Her dark brown eyes or Harry's vivid green ones? The baby wasn't due until August third. It was only May twenty-fifth now. He'll be home way before that. Maybe this one would be nearly two weeks late, like his older brother. Ginny snorted. She hoped not. She had enough memories of being pregnant in August with James. It was a miserable month to be pregnant.

*****

Harry leaned against the lichen-covered boulder several feet from the door of the parchment-maker's house. He had spent most of the past two weeks, watching this door. There were Anti-Apparition jinxes on a twenty-yard radius around the house, so one had to Apparate at the end of the lane leading to the house. Only three people had come to the house the past two weeks, and all of them elderly men. Harry supposed she could be using Polyjuice, but he doubted it. Over the last fifteen years, Harry had learned to trust his instincts. She was so damn sure of herself anyway that Harry thought she wouldn't be bothered to use a disguise when she came to buy more parchment. She had to come soon. Iain said the man only made and sold parchment in small batches. Maybe three feet at a time. Shacklebolt had brought the latest batch of notes up the other day. All together they measured two-and-a-half feet of parchment. A thorough magical examination of the pieces of parchment revealed they had been torn from the same scroll.

He hunched his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that settled permanently across his shoulder blades. Harry was sure the constant drizzling damp wasn't helping, either. He sighed soundlessly, checking that the edge of the Invisibility Cloak still covered his trainers. When he wasn't keeping watch on the house here on the Isle of Skye, he was in Inverness, looking for her. She was no longer at the address they had. Of course not, Harry snorted. That would be too easy. But she was still in Inverness. That much they knew. She had been seen in Inverness as recently as a week ago. Harry knew there were witches and wizards in Magical Law Enforcement who itched to get their wands on her. It'll be too damn bad for them, he mused. They'll have to take a number and wait in line until after I'm done. I doubt there will be much left once Hermione gets through with her, too.

The magical community in Inverness wasn't large, and they tended to keep to themselves for the most part. Not out of a sense of moral superiority, but they lived fairly quiet lives, and didn't like to draw attention to themselves. She had to come out some time. There was one building in particular, close to the magical community, but firmly in the Muggle part of Inverness. It had an abandoned air about it that caught Kathleen's attention the first few days they were there. Abandoned, yes, but Kathleen thought she saw a flicker of light behind the windows. Brianna noticed the Muggles on the sidewalk just walked by it, as if it wasn't there. Clever of her to use a Muggle-Repelling Charm. That made it easier for her, and whoever she worked with, if she wasn't working alone, to get in and out without being detected by the Muggles. They could easily Apparate in and out of the back garden, and never use the front door. Hell, they could Apparate in and out of the bloody house, and nobody would ever know.

The few times Harry had watched the house, he swore at times it was too dark behind the smudged panes of glass. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, maybe? It would work, especially if they worried about wizards noticing anybody was in the dilapidated house.

Harry shifted his weight to his other foot, smirking. One thing Mad-Eye hadn't told them - a lot of Auror work was waiting for something to happen. The trick was to anticipate it. Some people thought Aurors were always chasing Dark wizards on the run, like that show on the wireless he knew Fleur listened to. Or like those American police television dramas Ron was hopelessly addicted to.

The sound of a wren drifted to his ear. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the faint shimmer of a trainee under a Disillusionment charm. It was Andre. He could mimic birds. He had a different signal for each of them. Harry performed a non-verbal Disillusionment on himself and pulled the Cloak off. The Disillusionment charms were best at night, overcast days, or rainy days. The faint distortions couldn't be seen. Harry didn't like Apparating under the Invisibility Cloak. 'Anything?' Andre murmured.

'No.' Harry took the opportunity to stretch. He felt, rather than saw, Andre's short nod. Andre folded his spare, compact frame against the boulder and began to watch the house. 'Be careful, all right?'

He Disapparated into the back garden of the small house they rented in wizarding Inverness. There were three rooms - four if you counted the tiny scullery off the kitchen/sitting room - and a bathroom. The girls slept in one room, and the boys in the other. Harry had set up a camp bed in the scullery. Not that he slept much, but he had started having nightmares again. At the very least, he could put Silencing charms on the scullery, so he didn't wake the trainees.

Harry removed the Disillusionment charm and slipped inside the back door. It was warm inside the kitchen area, and a pot of soup simmered on the back of the stove. Harry ladled soup into a bowl and hoisted himself to the counter to eat it, huddled next to the warm stove. He was chilly and damp from being outside all day. He looked inside the open scullery where a photograph of Ginny and James perched on the window sill. Ginny would have his hide if she knew he didn't either dry his damp clothing when he came inside or change into something dry. Even from his position on the counter, Harry could see the smudges his fingers had made on the glass in the frame. When he did manage to sleep, he often fell asleep with the frame clutched in his hands.

Harry looked into the sitting room area. Kevin and Moira were bent over a chessboard. Iain was stretched out on the sofa, a book propped open on his chest. Andre was out at the house near Totternish. Harry mentally checked the schedule. It was Brianna's turn to watch the Muggle house. 'Kathleen back yet?' he called to the others.

'She got back a few minutes before you did,' Kevin replied. 'She took some Pepper-Up and went to bed. Coming down with a cold,' he added, as he nudged a bishop into a new square.

Harry nodded and felt a little of the tension leave his shoulders. Everyone was accounted for, then. He finished his soup and washed the bowl before gathering his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. The three trainees in the sitting room would be up for a while longer, so Harry generally took a long shower about now. He had come out shirtless one night, to the howls of laughter from the trainees. He looked down and saw his skin was so pink, he resembled a boiled shrimp. The water had to be nearly unbearably hot. It was the only way Harry could relax.

Harry turned on the taps, once again silently thankful for magic, and being able to have instant hot water. He stepped into the tub, wincing as the steaming water hit his still-chilled skin. He grabbed a bottle of shampoo and closed his eyes as the lavender-sage scent wafted around him. It was as close as he could get to the scent of Ginny's hair. He'd nicked a bottle of her shampoo and tucked it in his bag before the left the Burrow. He knew it made him smell slightly girly, he didn't care.

He spent several long minutes leaning against the wall, letting the hot water sluice down his back. It soothed his aching shoulders and back. When he felt his knees start to turn to jelly, he turned the taps off and managed to dry himself and pull on his pajamas. Harry shuffled into the kitchen, and slipped into the scullery, closing the door behind him.

He collapsed on the camp bed, and picked up the picture of Ginny and James. It had been taken at Teddy's birthday party at the beginning of April. They were both laughing. Harry's fingertip traced the contours of Ginny's face. He missed her. He hadn't realized just how much he depended on her for his emotional equilibrium until now. Harry tiredly pulled his glasses off and set them on the window sill. The photograph blurred and he pulled it up closer to his nose. It didn't coalesce into something resembling a focused image. He blinked and the tears he was too exhausted to try and hold back trickled out of the corners of his eyes and into his damp hair.

He hoped - no, prayed - that Ginny was all right.