The First Day

little_bird

Story Summary:
The first year after the battle at Hogwarts.

Chapter 18 - To Not Rest On Laurels

Posted:
11/16/2008
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2,574


Ginny yawned and reached out with one hand to pull the curtain aside that surrounded her bed in the seventh year girls' dormitory. It was just her, Demelza, and Shannon, a somewhat quiet girl who mostly kept to herself. Sunlight streamed through the window, and Ginny swung her feet to the floor, gasping as her bare feet hit the cold stone. Coming up to Scotland was always something of a shock to her system, after two months in Devon. She scrabbled for the slippers she'd found in her trunk the first night back. They were adorned with a pair of long ears, button eyes, whiskers, and even a soft, embroidered pink nose. The note Harry had tucked into the package said they were bunny slippers. And they did resemble a stuffed bunny she'd had as a child. They were slightly foolish, but Ginny grinned when she slid her feet into them.

She wrapped her dressing gown around her body, and shuffled quietly across the floor to the window, careful not to wake either Demelza or Shannon. In Devon, Ginny could sleep until noon, if Molly had let her. But here, she woke at sunrise. There was something about the few moments of absolute quiet that she treasured in all the bustle of school. It was something she'd started to do her second year. She hoisted herself into the deep windowsill and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Ginny's eyes drifted shut as she took several deep breaths.

After many cups of tea, Remus had coaxed a heavily-redacted version of the events of the previous year from her when he'd noticed some of the others in her Defense class gave her a wide berth. He'd seen the way her shoulders tensed when he put them into groups to practice some of the jinxes and hexes they would need to learn and how her face had tightened when the rest of her group deliberately excluded her. He had suggested she try something like this. To take the time to put that day, and any other day behind her.

Ever since she'd gotten back Tuesday night, she'd found herself doing this much more than she'd even done last year. Ginny's eyes opened, and she looked out over the mountains, shrouded in early-morning mist, highlighted by the rising sun. Slowly exhaling one last time, Ginny slid off the windowsill and headed into the bathroom. She had a long day ahead of her. Transfiguration, Herbology, double Potions, and double Defense at the end of a seemingly endless, exhausting day.

*****

Ron watched Harry tie the laces of his trainers. 'What's it like?'

'What?' Harry glanced at Ron over the rims of his glasses.

Ron slowly tied the lace of his own trainer. 'Going in there...' he clarified. 'After...' Ron cleared his throat.

Harry straightened up and slid off the camp bed. He turned around and began to make it with the rigid precision he'd learned at the Dursleys'. By the time he was done, he could have bounced a Sickle off the blanket if he'd wanted. He bent and tightly tucked the sheet under the mattress. 'Weird.' He moved around the foot to the other side and repeated the procedure. 'I walk into the Atrium, and I keep looking over my shoulder. Even though I know they've pretty much cleaned it out, you find a random piece of paper or parchment in a file somewhere, with his signature on it. But it's not in ink. He's burned it there. Or someone is just going along their day, and all of a sudden, they remember it's someone else's birthday or anniversary, and they start to run up to their cubicle and halfway there, they realize that person's gone. And they start crying. Or if they're not crying, they're biting their lips trying not to cry.' He carefully tugged the blanket into meticulous lines. 'Sometimes, you find one of their bloody leaflets tucked in a drawer somewhere. And the past few days, I get to sit in one meeting after another, discussing trial dates and trying to locate enough members of the Wizangamot in order to have the damn things in the first place.' Harry snatched up his pillow and began to fluff it with unnecessary force. 'And then, there's Snape...' He dropped the pillow back on the bed, and smoothed the creases from the pillowcase. 'They want to try him posthumously.'

Ron frowned. 'Can they do that?'

Harry laughed bitterly. 'I suppose they can.' He picked up his wand and shoved it into his pocket.

Ron quietly tied the lace of the other trainer before he said, 'What are you going to do?'

Harry moodily slid his wand into his pocket. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'It's complicated.' He left the attic and clattered down the stairs for breakfast, leaving Ron alone.

Not for the first time, Ron wondered what exactly it was that Harry had seen in Snape's memories. He'd been remarkably silent about it. Ron found that to be highly unusual - Harry didn't usually let a chance to disparage Snape go by. For some reason, Ron felt hurt that Harry hadn't confided in him. I wonder if he said anything to Ginny... He might have. The two of them had been awfully tight before Ginny went back to school, spending most of their free time together. While Ron had been relieved they had managed to pick up the pieces of their relationship, he felt more than a little jealous that Harry turned to Ginny more and more. Harry was his best mate. It felt like he was slipping through Ron's fingertips.

George Apparated in the middle of Ron's room with a loud crack. 'You feel all right?' he asked, pressing his palm to Ron's forehead. 'Not running a fever...'

Ron blinked. 'I'm fine.'

'You're about to miss breakfast.'

Ron got to his feet and jabbed his wand at the messy bed. The bedding straightened, and put itself more-or-less to rights. 'Don't know why I do that,' he sighed. 'Mum's just going to redo it anyway after we go to work.'

George glanced around the room. He rarely came up here. 'When did you get rid of the Cannons' stuff?'

Ron shrugged. 'A few weeks ago.'

George's mouth dropped open. 'You stopped supporting the Cannons?'

Ron grinned. 'Never!' He pointed to the poster that still hung on the wall. 'Just thought it was time to grow up a little. Can't live in an orange room for the rest of my life.'

'Who are you?' George asked suspiciously. 'Did you hit your head last year?'

Ron swallowed. 'No,' he said thickly. He started to trudge down the stairs to the kitchen, the weeks he spent at Bill's playing through his head. I wouldn't call it getting literally hit on the head. He had spent most of that time castigating himself for leaving Harry and Hermione, finally aware that his temper had gotten him into more trouble than he thought he could ever recover. He'd been shocked when Harry instantly forgave him and even more so when Hermione had as well, albeit more grudgingly than Harry. He shook his head and walked into the warm kitchen, redolent of the aromas of his childhood. Of porridge, eggs, bacon, sausages, and the scents of cinnamon that seemed to constantly hover under everything else, as if Molly constantly baked apple or pumpkin pies.

'We've gotten a letter from Ginny,' Molly said, nodding toward Harry, who was reading it, his eyes darting from side to side as they traveled down the page.

'She did what?' he bellowed, startling Arthur, who slopped tea down his front. 'McGonagall hired someone the bloody Ministry recommended,' he huffed indignantly. 'For Defense.'

'You are the bloody Ministry,' George said, flicking Harry's shirt collar, making the silver pin dance in the light.

'Not when she did this,' Harry said, brandishing the letter.

'Lemme see that,' George muttered, snatching the parchment from Harry's fingers.

'When I'm done,' Harry retorted, pulling it back. 'She hasn't had a class with him yet. Double Defense on Monday and Friday.' He looked up, frowning. 'She's got him today.'

'Who is it?' Ron asked curiously, piling his plate with eggs and sausages.

'Some Yank,' Harry muttered. 'Gin says McGonagall told them Tuesday night she hired him on his own merits. Not because Kingsley told her to.'

Ron craned his head to the side and skimmed the letter. 'Gin seems satisfied with that.'

'I still don't like it,' Harry grumbled. Delores Umbridge was on the list he'd received by owl last night of cases that would be under review that day. He deeply distrusted any sort of Ministry involvement in the day-to-day operations of Hogwarts.

'Give him a chance Harry,' Arthur admonished. 'Not everyone's like... well... you know.' He refilled his cup with tea. 'And McGonagall's not likely to just roll over and do whatever the Ministry says.'

'I know,' Harry said, slightly stung. Arthur's mild rejoinders smarted worse than any verbal rap on the head Molly could give.

'Makes sense for them to go overseas like that,' Molly said, handing Arthur the milk. 'Percy said they were having a terrible time getting anyone for the job.'

'Where's he from?' George asked, spreading jam on his toast.

Harry glanced down at the letter. 'Some place called Salem Institute in St. Louis.' His brow furrowed in bemusement. 'I thought Salem Institute was outside of Boston?'

'North of it,' Arthur supplied. 'Not too far away, though.'

Harry frowned down at the letter. He would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about other wizarding schools, but this sounded awfully suspect to him.

*****

Ginny trudged into the Defense classroom, dumping her bag on the floor next to a desk. She was exhausted, and she'd only been in class for three days. Nobody in Gryffindor had anything bad to say about Professor Carter. Dennis Creevey, who'd had him Wednesday, was noncommittal about him. So were Ritchie Coote and Jack Sloper. Considering their Defense education had been somewhat spotty prior to this year, Ginny couldn't blame them. She wasn't sure what to expect after Lockhart, the Mad-Eye imposter, Umbridge, Snape, and Amycus Carrow. Remus' class had been the only class that went as it should have. And that had been five years ago.

Hannah slid into the seat next to Ginny. 'What do you think? More like Lupin or Umbitch?'

Ginny shook her head. 'No idea. I'm hoping he falls on the Lupin end of the spectrum.'

'Yeah. Me, too.'

The room bustled with seventh year students. It was a little more crowded than it should have been. A number of students were last year's seventh years who had decided to come back and repeat the year. Most of them whispered amongst themselves about the mysterious new professor.

The buzz abated when the door that led to the office opened and a man of medium build emerged. Ginny's head tilted to the side as she watched him walk to the desk and pull out a sheet of parchment with a class roster. There wasn't anything distinguishing about his appearance. He wasn't colorless by any stretch of the imagination, but he could have easily blended into the background anywhere he chose. It was an interesting characteristic for a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts to have. She gasped as Hannah dug an elbow into her ribs. 'What?' she hissed. Hannah jerked her head toward the front of the room. Ginny's head whipped around and Professor Carter stood in front of his desk, the roster in hand, gazing at Ginny with a raised eyebrow.

'Miss Weasley, I presume?' he asked.

Ginny flushed and nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

Carter made a small mark on the roster and set it aside. 'So, I've spoken to Professor McGonagall,' he began in his curiously flat voice that held a hint of a drawl.

Luna's hand drifted up. 'Professor?'

'Yes?'

'I looked up the Salem Institute in the library Wednesday, in Wizarding Schools of the Western World, and it said there are four schools under the name of Salem Institute.' Luna folded her hands on the desk in front of her, and waited expectantly.

Carter perched on the edge of his desk. 'Fair point, Miss Lovegood. There are actually five, though. Your book's a bit out of date.' The corner of his mouth tipped up slightly. 'What else did it say?'

'That the first Salem Institute was established in 1632,' Luna continued. 'And the Minister of Magic in the American colonies didn't want to draw attention to the area because of the Salem witch trials in 1692, so he drew up a charter to have branches of Salem opened elsewhere in the colonies.'

'Exactly. And later, as the population of the colonies, and later the United States, grew, it was prudent to have more than one location. There are far too many students to keep in one place, like you do here.' Carter picked up a piece of parchment and consulted it. 'As I was saying...' Another hand slowly rose into the air. 'Yes?'

'Where are the other schools?' Zacharias Smith asked.

Carter sighed. 'If I tell you, will you stop askin' me questions about my credentials?' Fifteen heads nodded and he dropped the parchment on the desk. 'Fine. Salem, obviously. Roanoke, Virginia; St. Louis, Missouri; San Francisco, California; and Devils Lake, North Dakota. I went to the school in Roanoke, trained as an Auror with the American Ministry and worked in their offices in Manhattan for five years, then transferred to Chicago for seven years, and spent the last ten years teachin' in St. Louis.'

'That's a first,' snorted a voice in the back of the room. 'A Defense teacher who's actually taught.'

'And on that note...' Carter picked up the parchment once more. 'You've been taught most of the basic defensive magics, and quite a few of the advanced. I understand quite a few of you were part of a student organization devoted to learnin' defensive spells?' He glanced around the classroom. 'I also understand that many of you took part in the battle at the end of last year?'

'And one the year before,' Ginny said, before she could stop herself. 'And another before that.'

Carter, to his credit, just nodded a few times, although as he looked into his students' faces, he saw their eyes shutter, and their faces smooth into expressionless masks. 'So, a major part of Defense is learnin' the appropriate spells for the situation. You won't always want to use somethin' disfigurin' in a crowd, and in that situation, you'll need to make sure your aim is good. So today, we're goin' to practice aim.' He waved his wand toward the walls and several targets appeared. 'Just use somethin' basic, like a Disarmin' charm. The target'll record where it hits. I want y'all to try and hit it, dead in the middle. Like this.' He turned on his heel, and without saying a word, shot a Disarming charm at one of the targets. The middle changed color as the spell hit it. 'If you can do it nonverbally, go on and try that.'

Ginny felt relieved that he didn't press them about the battles or their experiences, just accepted it and moved on. She wondered if that was something in his Auror training, to leave them be, when it was obviously something they didn't want to talk about. She found an empty target on the wall and began to fire spells at it, without too much effort. Harry had been too good of a teacher her fourth year. Most of her attention was on Carter. He reminded her of Remus' attitude toward students. Calm and reassuring, he moved about the room, correcting a student's aim here and there, his light drawl deepening the more he talked. She wondered if that's how he normally sounded, when he wasn't trying to impress a roomful of seventeen and eighteen-year olds. He stopped and adjusted Luna's arm slightly to the left. Blotches of yellow decorated the right edge of the target. After a few more spells, Luna began to hit the middle of the target every few tries, instead of missing it. 'Nice work, Miss Weasley,' Carter said in her ear. 'Let's see if you can hit a movin' target.' He jabbed his wand at the target and it floated off the wall. He flicked his wand at it, and it transfigured into a human-sized mannequin. 'Anywhere in the upper torso. Chest or shoulders.' The mannequin began to float around the room. 'Oh, and try not to hit anyone else, will ya?' he added off-handedly. 'I'd hate to send someone to that hospital wing here my first week.'

*****

George was sitting on the tall stool behind the counter. He'd been unable to sleep and finally, frustrated by his incessant tossing and turning, he had given up, scrawled a note for Ron and come to the shop. To pass the time, he began leafing through the notebook scrawled with ideas for product ideas he and Fred kept since their third year. Several of the products were on the shelves, but a few had been deemed as too dangerous. Out of deference to Fred's wishes - seeing as how the shop was Fred's idea - George hadn't argued too much over the inclusion of Ton-Tongue Toffee. But now... He could quietly take it off the shelves. It had never been much of a seller anyway.

George slid off the stool and meandered to the shelves where the sweets sat. A small box of toffees sat next to the piles of Snackboxes, looking forlorn and dusty. George pointed his wand at them, closed his eyes, and whispered, 'Evanesco.' He pocketed his wand and turned away from the accusingly empty space on the shelf. You never liked them, you know, said the small voice in his head. Especially since you saw how they worked.

He opened his eyes, and blinked. He almost didn't recognize the shop. Products were neatly categorized. Pranks in one area of the room, the Wonder Witch products by the counter. Ron had come up with the idea of putting them by the counter. If witches came with their children, when they went to the counter to pay, the Wonder Witch line would be right there. So easy to put a Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher into their purchases. Sweets categorized by what they would do. Fred had his own organizational system. It worked, but George supposed all that time Ron had spent with Hermione had finally paid off. Everything had a place. Ron argued it made it easier for him to find things. And George agreed it made things run much more smoothly.

But...

But it made him feel like with every change they made to the shop, even if it was for the better, he was burying Fred a little more every day.

Exhaling strongly through his nose, George burst into the quiet street, eager to flee the shop, even if it was for a moment. The sound of a door opening in the otherwise still street caught his ear and George watched as Martin Summerby slipped out of Katie's building and scurried toward the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, his clothing awry. George's eyes narrowed and he swallowed past the lump in his throat, before he turned and stalked back into the shop.

*****

'I'm going to be away a bit,' Harry said as he and Ron trudged to the Apparition point, with George trailing behind them.

'For how long?' Ron asked.

'A few days. There've been some sightings of Death Eaters who managed to escape after the battle.'

'Where?' Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. 'Can't tell you.'

'Is that how it's going to be?' Ron asked. 'After everything...'

Harry bit his lip and scrambled over the stone wall to the paddock. 'Not all the time,' he allowed. 'But it has to be for this one.'

'You know I won't tell anyone,' Ron cajoled.

'I know,' Harry sighed. 'But there're a lot of them left out there. Not everyone was captured at Hogwarts. And I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you or your family because someone decided it would be fun to try and get information about where we are out of you.'

'Merlin's bollocks,' Ron growled, 'but you're paranoid!'

'Helps in my line of work, you know,' Harry said dryly.

'What are you going to tell Mum?' Ron asked. 'She'll have a litter of Kneazles.'

'I know.' Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'And I don't know...' He shook himself a little. 'Let's not talk about it, all right? Let's go meet Neville and have a few laughs, eh?'

Ron stopped, and watched Harry take a few steps. 'You'll be careful, won't you?' He swallowed. 'Ginny'll have my head if you get hurt,' he said hoarsely.

'I promise,' Harry said solemnly. 'Come on...' He turned and Disapparated with a soft pop.

*****

Ron sprawled sideways in a chair in one of the private rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, a pint of bitter cradled in his hands. He blearily tried to count backwards, but lost count after three. 'I's all changin'...' he muttered.

'Wha' is?' asked George.

'Ev'ry thin'.' Ron's head moved slowly from side to side. He swiped his sleeve under his nose. 'Har'y's goin' off on cases... Shop's diff'rent.' His face felt wet, and rubbed his shirt sleeve over his cheeks.

'Y'all right, mate?' Harry asked, leaning from his seat and nearly falling out of it.

'No.' Ron's shoulders hunched miserably. 'When 's it my turn?' he asked, staring into his glass. 'When 's it my turn to b' upse' abou' Fred?' He raised the glass and took a healthy swallow. 'He was my brother, too and I never got to cry. Too damn much to take care of.' He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve again. 'An' Remus an' Tonks...' He lifted the nearly empty glass and gulped the rest of it. 'An' Hermione's not back yet... Maybe she met some bloke in Australia. Someone smarter or with more money...' He savagely bit his lip to keep from crying and set the glass on the floor next to the chair with the exquisite care of a person who'd had too much to drink, but tried to prove they were sober. Carefully, Ron swung his feet to the floor and tried to stand up.

'W'ere d'you think y're goin' y'bloody fool?' George slurred. 'Y're too damn drunk t' go anyw'ere.'

'I dunno...' Ron took two steps toward the door and crumpled to the floor.

Harry crouched over him and shook him a little. 'Think he's jus' passed out.'

'Le' 'im sleep i' off,' Neville advised, picking up Ron's head and shoving a small pillow under it.

George fell back into the cushions of the sofa where he lounged. 'Soun's like a goo' idea t'me...' In seconds, his soft snores joined Ron's.

Harry's wide eyes met Neville's over Ron's head. 'Think we drank too much?' Harry asked.

'Not nearly enough,' Neville snorted. 'We're still talkin'.'

'Righ'.' Harry tapped Ron's abandoned glass with his wand and refilled it. 'Cheers, Nev.'

*****

Ron sat up groaning, holding his head. 'What the hell happened?' he whispered.

'Too much bitter,' Harry replied, pulling his glasses off to rub his eyes. He squinted in the direction of the table and patted blindly for the vials that sat there. 'Here...' He handed one to Ron. 'Drink that.'

''kay,' Ron mumbled, his eyes mere slits as he took the vial from Harry and yanked the cork out with his teeth. He tipped the potion down his throat, wincing at the vile taste. He waited a few minutes and the pounding inside his skull eased. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 'Blech. Feel like the inside of my mouth is coated in bubotuber pus.' He lowered his head to his drawn up knees and rested it on his folded arms.

'Yeah... Makes you wonder why people get pissed like that on a regular basis...' Harry rubbed his hands through his hair, making it stick up even more. He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.' Ron's voice was muffled by his knees.

'You said last night you didn't get to mourn Fred...'

'I did?'

'Yeah... And you said there were too many other things to take care of...' Harry paused, tracing the path of a vine in the rug under them. 'One of them was me, wasn't it?' he asked so softly, Ron had to strain to hear him.

Without lifting his head, Ron nodded. 'But it wasn't just you,' he explained. 'There was George and Ginny. And every time I thought I could just let go, something came up, and I couldn't.' Ron felt his chin tremble and pressed his lips together to prevent the tears welling up.

Harry heard Ron's voice crack a little and scooted the few feet that separated them and put an arm around Ron's shoulders. 'You can now,' he murmured. He felt Ron's shoulders under his arm begin to shake and smothered sniffles wafted from Ron's arms. Harry felt the familiar sensation of guilt well up in his stomach, as his arm tightened around Ron.