The First Day

little_bird

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

Chapter 30 - Word Of Your Wanting

Posted:
04/08/2009
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2,036


'What'cha reading?'

Katie glanced over the top of her book. Timothy peered at her, clutching his old and battered teddy bear. 'A book, Timmy,' she said patiently.

'I wanna see it!' he demanded, dropping his bear and reaching for the book with sticky, grubby fingers.

Katie snatched the book away from Timothy's hands and held it in the air over her head. 'No, Timmy. It's not a book you'll like.'

'Wanna see it!' Timothy snarled, stamping his feet in frustration. The cup of tea at Katie's elbow shattered, spraying them both with cold tea and china.

Katie jumped up from the corner of the squashy sofa, holding the book aloft, examining it for damage. 'Timothy Bell, I said no.' She stalked into the kitchen and rooted in a deep drawer for a clean tea towel, Timothy's howls trailing after her.

'What's that all about?' Belinda asked, laying the top crust over a pie.

'Nothing,' Katie muttered, gingerly opening the leather-bound book. She grimaced at the tea stains splattered over the creamy page and dabbed at them. 'This was a gift...'

Belinda wiped her hands on her apron and held out a hand. 'May I?'

Katie wiped the remains of the tea off the cover and surrendered the book to her mother. 'George gave it to me...'

'George...?' Belinda's eyebrow swept up in inquiry.

'Weasley.'

'Yes, I know Katie... How many other Georges do you know?' Belinda snorted. She looked down at the book and her eyes widened and a rosy flush crept over her cheeks. 'Oh my...' she breathed. 'This is... Erm...' She coughed slightly. 'And you say George gave it to you?'

'Yeah. For my birthday a couple of years ago.' Katie retrieved the book and ran a thumb gently over the title. 'You know this book?'

Belinda laughed. 'Katie, your father lives and breathes books and literature. Yes, I know it.' She began to crimp the edges of the pastry together. 'It's just a bit unusual for a platonic friend to give someone that particular collection of poetry,' she added knowingly.

Katie shrugged. 'Don't read anything into it, Mum,' she warned. 'And George and I are just friends.'

'If you say so, dear,' Belinda murmured.

'Doesn't matter anyway. I think I've managed to upset him enough to damage our friendship.' Katie glanced down at the book in her hands, biting her lip.

Belinda slid the pie into the oven. 'You really like him, don't you?'

'Who? George?' Katie's laugh sounded forced to her own ears. 'Sure, he's a good friend.'

Belinda gazed at Katie with something resembling sympathy and gently patted Katie's cheek. 'There are none so blind as those who will not see,' she quoted.

'I don't feel anything for George beyond friendship,' Katie stubbornly maintained.

Belinda wrung a dishcloth out and began to wipe the flour off the counter. 'If you say so.'

Peter lumbered into the kitchen. 'What set off Timmy?' he asked wearily.

Katie turned on her heel. 'I am not having this conversation again.' She swiftly kissed her parents. 'I'll see you next weekend, all right?' She grabbed her coat from a hook by the door and Disapparated. She stood on the stoop of her building, staring in the direction of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Katie stuffed the book into a coat pocket and strode down the street to the darkened shop, glancing at her watch. It was just after closing. She shoved the door open and nodded curtly to Ron. 'Is he here?'

'George? Yeah, he's in the back.' Ron gestured toward the curtain.

Katie burst through the curtain, ignoring the acrid clouds of greenish-yellow smoke hanging heavily in the air. 'Are you done being angry with me?' she said, without preamble.

George jabbed his wand at the back door, letting the frosty December air in with a whoosh. He rubbed his sleeve over his face, smearing soot over his cheeks. 'What?'

'You. Are you done being angry with me?'

George sighed. 'I wasn't angry at you, Katie. Well, maybe a little. I never pegged you for the non-commitment type. And here you are carrying on with a bloke, knowing it's not going to end up anywhere. I just don't think that's going to make you happy.' He turned to a set of shelves and rummaged behind a box. 'Here.' George set a pair of bright red heeled shoes on the table. 'You left them here...'

Katie picked them up by the straps between her thumb and forefinger, squinting at the chartreuse film that covered the shoes. 'Ugh. What is that?'

'Tergeo.' George sighed and put his wand in a pocket in the sleeve of his robes. 'You know the Canary Creams?'

'Yes.' Katie set the shoes on table as far away as she could reach.

'I've been trying to do something for the holidays... You know - a partridge in a pear tree sort of thing...? It's not going well at all... I get exploding pear-flavored goo everywhere. Even in my pants,' George muttered.

'Oh, too much information!' Katie exclaimed, clapping her hands over her ears.

'Well, it was only the one time last week,' George explained. 'I still can't explain how it happened.' He shuffled to the door and pulled it shut, shivering slightly. 'Had a terrible time explaining to Mum how I got bright green goo inside my trousers.' George leaned against the closed door and gazed at the mess on the table with narrowed eyes. 'Maybe I'm not cut out to do this without...' He pressed his lips together in a thin line. 'Every time I try to do something with one of the products, like try to change it up a bit for a holiday or something, it just explodes and creates a terrible, sticky, smelly mess.'

'But I thought it was going well with Ron?' Katie asked in confusion.

George slid onto a tall, rickety stool. 'It is, I suppose. If I want it to stay like it is.'

Katie chewed a fingernail for a moment. 'But...?' she prompted.

George gulped. 'If I keep it like this, it just turns into a monument to Fred,' he admitted in a choked voice. 'I want it... to be... more...'

'More...?'

George hooked a foot around another stool and pulled it from under the table, offering it to Katie. 'I can't keep it the same,' he said softly. 'I can't just keep the same products on the shelves, never updating them or changing them.' His chin trembled briefly, and he clenched his teeth together for a moment. 'If I keep it just like this, it reminds me of Fred. But if I change it, it feels like I'm betraying his memory.' He stared moodily at the scarred table. 'I'm... stuck...' he sighed.

'And you're basing this on...What? The exploding sweets?'

George huffed pointedly. 'You're not usually this obtuse,' he observed.

'I also haven't been round in a couple of weeks,' Katie countered.

George laced his fingers together, and spent several long minutes contemplating a myriad collection of brightly-colored stains on them. 'I can't think of anything new. I can, but if I try to actually execute the idea...' George waved a hand around the room. 'Well, you've seen the result. I can't do this alone...'

'You're not alone,' Katie said firmly. 'You have Ron.'

'It's not the same,' George argued.

'So what are you going to do? Pack it in? Just like that?'

'I don't know.'

'Hey, George?' Ron poked his head through the curtain. 'I'm done up front, and the Gringotts deposit is under the counter. I'll take it in on Monday morning. And the inventory list is on the counter. I think we need to come in tomorrow after lunch. The Skiving Snackboxes are really low, especially the Fever Fudge and the Puking Pastilles. I can handle those, though. And I've got this really brilliant idea. I think it's brilliant, I'm not sure, but maybe after dinner you and I can talk about it. It's sort of like the trick wands, but not really, and I'm not quite sure how to actually make it, but it might work,' Ron rattled off. His mouth snapped shut. 'I mean, we don't have to do it, of course,' he added stiffly.

George rubbed his hands over his face. 'We'll talk when I get home, yeah?'

Ron's face fell noticeably. 'Yeah, all right.' He pulled his head back through the curtain.

'Oi! Ron!' George called.

Ron's head slowly emerged through the curtain. 'Yeah...?'

'I promise, we will talk about it,' George tried to assure him. His eyes drifted shut. 'Tell Mum I'll be home by dinner, will you?'

'Yeah, sure...' Ron's arm snaked through the curtain, and hung up his robes. Presently, George and Katie heard a muffled pop signaling Ron's Disapparition.

'Do you think he heard me?' George asked Katie, burying his face in his hands.

'Probably,' Katie told him.

'Well, there goes seven-and-a-half years of development. Must've set him back four years...' George muttered. 'We used to be horrid to Ron. Because we could get away with it. And I'm still doing it... No wonder he doesn't think he's capable of doing anything.'

'I think you just answered your own question,' Katie mused.

'How?'

'Ron. You want someone to work with you, whatever is the matter with Ron? He's got ideas. He's been the one making the sweets since you opened for the most part, and no offense, but they taste so much better now. And he seems to have thrown himself into working here. So, the question for you is: do you want an employee or a partner?' Katie picked up her still-sticky shoes gingerly. 'So, I'm trying out this fruitcake recipe for the magazine,' she began. 'And I hate fruitcake...'

'So do I.'

'So if you're not doing anything, maybe you can come help me sample the cake?'

George slid off the stool and walked to the hook where his coat hung. 'I take it What's-His-Name doesn't sample cakes, either, eh?'

'What's-His-Name doesn't eat sweets,' Katie sighed. 'Doesn't even like to be at the flat while I'm doing my research.'

'You don't make any sense at all, woman,' George grumbled, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat. 'You tell me you're with him for laughs, but you don't seem to have anything in common.'

'We have plenty in common,' Katie huffed.

'Sex doesn't count,' George shot back.

Katie gaped at George. 'That was low,' she murmured. 'Even for you.'

'While we're pointing out each other's flaws,' George muttered. His shoulders slumped at the stricken expression on Katie's face. 'Does next Sunday afternoon work for you? I can come by after lunch, if we don't have to come here first and do anything.'

'Sunday afternoon is fine,' Katie murmured. She seemed to lean forward a little, but checked the motion. She spun around and darted through the curtain, the only sound of her departure was the echoing sound of Charlie's drawn-out belch.

George rested his elbows on the table and propped his head in his hands. 'I must be mad,' he sighed. 'And making a colossal cock-up of everything else...' He straightened and followed Katie out of the shop.

*****

George knocked quietly on Ron's bedroom door late that night. 'Hey...'

Ron looked up from where he'd been sorting his clean laundry to put away, then wordlessly returned to his task.

George rubbed his gritty eyes with his fingers. 'The silent treatment isn't usually your style,' he muttered. 'What was it you wanted to show me?'

Ron shrugged. 'Never mind.'

George dropped on the end of the camp bed still set up in Ron's room. 'Is Harry still sleeping in here?'

'Most of the time.' Ron jerked open a drawer and tipped an armful of socks into it, sullenly shoving it closed.

'Ron... I really want to see your idea...'

'It's stupid.' Ron snatched the pile of lumpy maroon jumpers on the bed and nearly threw them into the small wardrobe in the corner. 'Fred would have thought it was stupid,' he added, almost too indistinct for George to hear.

'I'm not Fred.' It fell from George's lips before he had given it more than half a second's thought. For all that they were identical in appearance, it often had annoyed George that people assumed he would behave in a similar manner to Fred. Ron stopped cold in the middle of the room, a pair of trousers dangling from his fingers. They stared at each other in silence that grew increasingly more and more uncomfortable until Ron began to painstakingly refold the trousers.

'What did you say?' he whispered into the gulf of silence between them.

'I'm not Fred...' George's arm reached out and snagged the pillow at the other end of the bed. He hugged it to his chest, fingers blindly seeking the edge of the pillowcase, twisting it between them once they found it. 'I'm not blind. Fred...' George took a deep breath. -Sorry, bro... but it's true... 'Fred could be a git,' he said in a rush. 'And I want to see your ideas.'

Slowly, Ron stowed the trousers in the wardrobe next to the jumbled pile of jumpers and retraced his steps to his bed. He opened a drawer in the night table and pulled out a small journal and began paging through it. 'I got Hermione to show me how to work the charm...' he mumbled. 'It's not too hard, and I know it's a bit late in the season for it, but you know there's always going to be some bloke who waits until the last minute to do this sort of thing...' He held the opened journal to a rough sketch of a small, brightly wrapped parcel, complete with a jaunty bow on top. 'When you open it, there's about a ten second delay, and a six-foot tall tree pops out. Completely decorated and everything.'

George's eyes flicked over the charms listed under the drawing. They were all pretty simple, nothing a bright sixth-year at school couldn't handle. 'So what's the joke?'

The corner of Ron's mouth curved upward momentarily. 'The larger the box, the smaller the tree.'

George pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it, making a pencil appear in mid-air. 'How big of a box are you thinking?'

'About like this...' Ron sketched a large box with his wand, the glowing lines floating in front of them. 'Deep enough so some pathetically small tree is sort of hidden inside. The small boxes ought to be able to fit in the palm of your hand. They can have really simple decorations, like all those paper chains Ginny's so mad about doing, or they can done up with fairy lights.'

George studied the smudged page in the journal. 'And Hermione helped you with this? Seems like this falls under her definition of unnecessarily deceptive...'

Ron snorted. 'She says if you're waiting until the last minute to get something, then you get what you deserve, especially if you think the best things are in the biggest boxes.'

'Have you tried it yet?' George asked.

Ron nodded. 'Yeah. It worked all right. The charm wears off and the whole thing disappears in a few days, though.'

'A selling point, that,' George chuckled softly. He sobered and read through the page again. 'Think you can walk me through it while we do the Snackboxes tomorrow afternoon?'

Ron's eyes widened, startled, but he regained his composure. 'Yeah...' he said almost too casually.

'Brilliant.' George stood up and handed the journal back to Ron. 'Thanks...'

*****

Tap-tap-tap

Harry snorted and rolled over, pulling the quilt over his head.

Tap-tap-tap

He pushed his head under the pillow.

Tap-tap-tap

Irritated, Harry flung the pillow to the floor and tried to glare at the cot on the other side of the room, but all he could see was a blurry rectangular shape. He snatched up his glasses and shoved them on his nose, picking up his watch. It was just after one in the morning.

Tap-tap-tap

Teddy had taken to smacking the rails of the cot when he woke up in the middle of the night to amuse himself until he went back to sleep. It usually didn't annoy Harry, but he'd been in the throes of a particularly delicious dream. Harry turned his head toward the cot, but Teddy still slept, his hands flung over his head, soft snores occasionally coming from his open mouth.

Tap-tap-tap

The sound was coming from the window. Harry squinted at the frosty window and threw the bedding back, swinging his feet to the floor. He hissed as his bare feet came in contact with the cold wood, and he scurried to the window, opening it just enough to allow the small tawny owl to enter the bedroom. 'Rather late for you, Ariel, isn't it?' he asked Ginny's owl softly. She hooted in what sounded like a laugh and held out a leg. Harry took the letter and set it aside. 'Come on and I'll take you down to the kitchen. It's warmer and you can stay there the rest of the night.' He offered Ariel his arm, and she fluttered up to his wrist, claws gently pricking his skin. Harry padded across the floor and opened the door and stole down the stairs.

The kitchen was almost startlingly warm after the chill of the bedroom and staircase. Ariel gratefully swooped to the perch next to Errol, who merely shuffled over a bit to make room for her without opening his eyes. Harry added fresh water to the water dish and offered her an Owl Treat. She thirstily drank the water, but ignored the treat. 'Well, all right then,' Harry muttered. 'I'll just leave it here, if you want it,' he told her, setting the treat on the windowsill. He ran a hand over Ariel's soft feathers. 'You can go ahead and go back in the morning. You needn't wait for me to write back.' Ariel's large eyes narrowed and Harry chuckled a little. 'Unless she's told you to wait for me to write back?' he guessed. Ariel nibbled his fingers in response. 'Right. I'll have something for you after breakfast, then.'

Harry gave Ariel one last pat, then ran back up the stairs and dove for the bed, hoping the Warming charm hadn't worn off yet. He flicked his wand at the lamp on the night table and picked up the letter. Ginny didn't sit down and write one long letter. She wrote a bit every day for a week, then sent it all on Friday or Saturday. He sent a fleeting glance toward Teddy to see if the light bothered the baby, but Teddy had become a rather deep sleeper as he grew older. Harry reckoned he could set off a Conflagration Deluxe next to the cot, and Teddy might wrinkle his nose, but he would probably sleep through that, as well.

Satisfied that Teddy would continue to sleep; Harry picked up the letter and ran a finger under the seal.

-6 December 1998

Dear Harry,

It's starting to get ridiculous. Not the classes, although they're ridiculous on their own. The Quidditch recruiters. Every week, someone's sending a letter to the school. I now have four from Falmouth (ugh, no!); three from the Cannons (sorry, Ron, but I'd prefer to be on a team that wins every now and then...); three from the Harpies (might not be too bad, but I can't imagine being around nothing but women all the time...); two from Montrose (that's surprising), Puddlemere (interesting), and Portree (but he's only just started - sounds a bit desperate, if you ask me); and finally one from Appleby. The recruiter from Falmouth is offering more gold each time, even though I haven't really given them an answer one way or another. The Harpies' recruiter doesn't just write to me, she includes notes from Gwenog Jones. Who, apparently, is also writing to Mum and Dad. As if I can't make my own decisions. As if going away to Wales at the age of eighteen is a bad thing! It's not like there's much to do in Holyhead, and besides, Charlie will be there at the dragon reservation, so it's not as if I'll be completely away from the family.

But seriously, enough is enough. I'm getting a letter from a different team every couple of days. Ever since the first Quidditch game.

Did you meet the owner of the Falcons? The owner keeps hinting that if I sign up with them, and promise to bring you on as their Seeker, I'd receive a sizeable bonus. Apparently, he seems to think if he lands me, he gets you as well.

My eyes are closing as we speak...

G'night.

8 December 1998

Harry...

Did you have Professor Carter investigated?!? He mentioned it in class the other day, said he had to go to the Ministry for a meeting with the Aurors about his background check. I can only assume it was you that initiated it. I mean, nobody else has bothered to look into the background of any of the other Defense teachers, and you're the only real new Auror.

So...? Did you find out anything interesting?

We know the basics, but nothing else. He sort of keeps to himself around school. He seems kind of sad, though. I wonder what made him come from America to teach here.

Hermione just told me to leave the poor man alone. He's got a difficult enough job without students speculating on his past...

Hmph. She's no fun.

Here Ginny's handwriting gave way to Hermione's distinctive hand.

I am fun, I just prefer to not spend my time needlessly digging into other people's past lives.

Harry smiled and continued to read.

9 December 1998

I just got the letter you wrote last week. How soon after Christmas do you have to leave? How long will you be gone? And I thought you had to testify at Draco Malfoy's trial...?

Will I be able to write to you when you're gone? Wait, that was silly, probably not...

You are going to be around when I get home for the holiday, won't you? They're not going to suddenly change their mind and send you off to Merlin-knows-where before then, do you think?

I hope not... I missed you terribly last year.

11 December 1998

I finally got to practice all-out today! Madam Pomfrey's had me on restricted practice since the game against Slytherin, but she made me come see her after lunch today and pronounced me healthy enough to do more than just hover on my broom at practices. Which is excellent, because I've been trying to get poor Dennis to improve. It's a lot harder to try and tell him, when he seems to learn better if he can see what I'm talking about.

Next week's going to be awful. Every class is reviewing everything we've learned since we got here our first year. I think they think we might forget over the holiday. And not only that, they have decided we need homework for the holidays. Maybe if I make it worth your while, you can help me with the Defense portion of it?

So the train comes in at six next Saturday. Maybe you can come meet me? Ron's going to meet Hermione and then have dinner with her at her parents' house. But I'm sure you knew that. You and Ron talk about everything.

I'll see you in a week. I know you have to work most of the time, and it won't be like last summer, but it'll be better than the few times we've been able to see each other this past term. I really miss that period between the end of dinner and when we went to bed. And while the letters are okay, it's not the same as talking.

Okay, I need to wrap this up. Demelza and Hermione are threatening to hex me. They say the sound of the scratching is keeping them awake.

Love,

Ginny

Harry smiled a little and set the letter aside. He leaned over and blew out the lamp, then slid down into bed pulling the quilt up to his chin. He fell asleep mentally composing his reply to Ginny.

*****

Harry walked into a large room with a full length mirror. Ginny stood in front of it, turning to and fro; examining the fit of a dress Harry had never seen her wear before. Slinky, shimmering black, it skimmed over Ginny's curves, molding to her torso, before flaring out over the swell of her hips. 'That's a nice dress,' he said.

'You think?' she asked, slowly turning around to face him, smoothing the material over her waist. She began to pace a little. 'I'm not sure about it.'

'You look great.'

Ginny stopped and stood directly in front of him. 'Really?' She spun in a slow circle. 'You don't find it too... grown-up?'

'It's nice.' Harry could feel his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Ginny returned to the mirror, her head tilted to one side. 'I don't know...'

'Stop teasing me, Ginevra.'

Ginny laughed. 'I'm hardly teasing you.'

Harry grabbed one of her arms, and spun her around, roughly pushing her against the wall next to the mirror. His body pressed against hers, one hand tracing the line of the bodice across her breast. 'Tell me how this isn't teasing me, Ginevra,' he growled, his head dipping down, mouth slanting over hers.

Ginny pulled away slightly. 'It's not teasing,' she murmured, her teeth closing gently around his earlobe. 'This is teasing,' she added.

*****

Harry stood in the bathtub, under the shower, his hands braced on the wall.

It had been a long night, punctuated by dreams that left him gasping for breath, clutching at the bedding. He'd hoped that once he woke up, the aching need that gripped him would dissipate, but even the bustle of changing Teddy and preparing a bottle for him didn't completely push it aside. He deposited Teddy in the playpen in the sitting room, where Arthur was reading the Sunday -Prophet, before dashing back upstairs, and bolting into the bathroom, checking the lock repeatedly.

He bent an elbow and rested a forearm on the wall, pillowing his forehead against it. The other hand slipped downward, making Harry smile with grim humor. Sharing a dormitory with four other boys for six years had at least taught him to take matters into his own hands and see them through with an astonishing rapidity that Harry hoped wasn't an omen of things to come later, when he didn't have to fly solo. He was grateful the sound of the rushing water muffled any sounds that might have inadvertently escaped. Not only had he learned to be quick about it, he'd learned to stay quiet about it.

Harry reached for the soap and washed, mindful of the time he'd been in the shower, highly aware any of the others might be waiting on the landing. He ducked under the spray and rinsed the lather away. He turned off the taps and reached for the towel he placed just so that he could find it without needing to actually see it. He dried himself and threw his clothes on, grabbing his wand and sending a quick Scouring charm at the bathtub.

He unlocked the door and yanked it open to find George leaning against the wall. 'Leave any hot water?' George asked, peering into the bathroom. 'Not that I need any,' he sighed.

'Feel all right?' Harry asked, looking closely at George. He was pale, with dark smudges under his eyes.

'Fine... Just didn't sleep very well,' George yawned. 'Dreams...' His ear turned pink, the tip visible under the sleep-tousled hair.

Harry cleared his throat, mindful that George would cheerfully kill him for saying so, but he traced the pattern of his pajama bottoms, and replied, 'I know the feeling...'

George glanced sharply at Harry and lurched away from the wall. Harry stepped back quickly, flinching a little. 'Don't ever tell me anything like that ever again,' George sighed. 'I don't care if you and Ginny are married for twenty years with a dozen sprogs, that's not something I want to hear...'

'Erm... yeah...' Harry darted down the stairs and disappeared on the next landing.

George trudged into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, reaching for the cold water tap in the bathtub. He slowly stripped his pajamas off and left them in a heap on the floor. He stepped into the frigid water with an explosive gasp. 'Guess it's a good thing Timothy doesn't understand...' he murmured ruefully. 'He'd probably want to pound me into dust for what I was thinking last night...'