The Forging of the Bonds

Chapter 36. The Aftermath of War.

"So, do you think Potter's right?"

"About what?"

"About that big speech on authorities."

"I guess so... I mean, he and my parents, during the war, operated entirely outside the Ministry structure."

"But is that the only reason why? The Ministry was also thought to leak like a sieve."

"True. But I've noticed something else."

"What?"

"Potter almost always attaches specific individuals to specific deeds. But he refers to the Ministry collectively."

"That's interesting, but then, it could be a coincidence. I'm not going to base conclusion on something like that."

"Oh, you're no fun."

"Fun? You think taking obscure details about a person and speculating on their motivations is fun?"

"Well... yes!"

She shook her head. "I'll never understand you, Weasley."

Potter entered the room. "Good evening," he said grimly. "Shall we?" By his tone, he was making it clear that no questions would be tolerated.

He got out the Pensieve, and, before they approached close enough to enter, stopped them. "This is after you were born, Miss Malfoy. Your mother was dead, and your father... went nearly mad with grief. And then... well, you'll see."

As Mike looked into the Pensieve, he found himself once again in St. Mungo's. His parents and Potter were the only two people in the room. His mother, pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep, sat in a chair, shaking. His father held her hand, as he whispered, "It'll be all right, Hermione. It'll be all right." Potter paced the room.

A door opened, and Hannah Longbottom entered. She looked even more tired than his mother, with her blonde hair a terrible mess and bags under her eyes. The three friends rushed to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a barely audible whisper.

"Ginny isn't--" Potter asked.

Hannah nodded. "There was nothing we could do."

His mother fell, with neither his father nor Potter reaching quick enough. "Ginny!" Potter whispered. "Oh, Ginny."

"Hermione," his father said in a hollow voice. His tears fell on her face and mixed with hers. He looked at Hannah. "We should have gone to the maternity ward--"

"I needed to know, Ron," she sobbed.

"Ginny..." Potter kept repeating, as if in prayer. "Ginny..."

As Hannah led his mother away, his father turned to Potter. "This is all your fault," he said.

Potter turned and met his father's fist with his face. He was too shocked to react.

"That was for my sister. If you hadn't gone to rescue Malfoy's slut, she'd be alive!"

"What?"

"You heard me. Why'd you marry her, anyway? 'Cause you couldn't get in a shag otherwise?

"In fact, you've been nothing but trouble for my entire family. All my injuries, Ginny's possession, Percy's estrangement, Dad's bite, Mum's madness, Charlie's death--"

"Go take care of your wife, Ron," Potter snapped. "Unlike me, you've got one."

"You're not the one to give out that kind of advice, Potter. Go be bosom buddies with Malfoy and his offspring. If the little brat is even his. From--" Potter Disapparated.

The scenery changed. Elizabeth's father, Draco Malfoy, was pounding on the wall.

"Pansy!" he shouted.

Potter opened the door and entered.

Malfoy turned. "You! What the hell are--"

Potter wordlessly held up the Daily Prophet. October 19^th, 2002. HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED DEFEATED! blared the cover story.

"Are you mocking me, Potter?"

"No. But soon, we'll be the only two people in wizarding Britain who won't be celebrating."

"Of course I won't. Pansy died! Do you understand how that feels, Potter?" Malfoy shook his fists and approached him.

"I'm afraid I do, Draco. All too well."

"You don't mean--" The statement seemed to deflate him.

Potter nodded. "Ginny's dead."

That shocked Malfoy. "Harry?" he said.

Potter lowered himself into a chair. "How can you live?"

"How can you?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I want to. Ginny's dead, Ron blames me for it--"

"What?"

"We fought. He blamed me. He said... well, he said many things, but one of them was that Ginny would be still alive if we hadn't gone after Pansy. He may even be right." He slumped.

"I hate this," Malfoy said. "I've got a daughter, and--"

"She needs you, Draco. Even if we--"

"Don't mention that to me!"

"All right. I won't. For now. But Elizabeth needs you. And I need a purpose in life."

"I'll grant that, Potter."

"Thank you, Draco." Potter stopped and looked up. "Good-bye, Ginny," he said.

"Good-bye, Pansy," Malfoy echoed.

And the Pensieve scene ended. Potter put away the stone bowl and looked at them. "I tried to make things up with your father," he told Mike. "Eventually, he almost welcomed me back. But he wanted me to admit that Ginny would certainly have lived if I hadn't gone after Pansy, and to break off my new friendship with--" he turned to Elizabeth "--your father. I didn't do the first because it wasn't true, and the second because I never sold out one friend to get in favor with another. So we were stuck with this.

"We sent each other friendly, polite letters for some time," he said. "But that ended when I met Stephanie. Your father accused me of betraying Ginny, and of wanting to replace her. He didn't come to our wedding, despite being sent an invitation. That's when we stopped contact, until this year."

He led them out of his office. "Feel free to judge me," he said. "I certainly made my share of mistakes over the years. You asked--" he looked at Mike "--why your parents and I are no longer best friends. Well, there is your answer. Voldemort took away someone we all loved, and we grieved in different and incompatible ways." With that, he dismissed them.

As Mike and Elizabeth walked down the corridor, arms around each other's shoulders, they didn't speak. Mike felt Elizabeth getting tense as they approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. As she prepared to leave, she looked at him. "What are you thinking about?"

"How do you know I'm thinking?"

"Oh? You're not?"

"I'm thinking about how to get my parents and Potter back together."

"What?"

"Look, I get the feeling they miss him even from letters. Potter certainly misses them. They just--"

"Mike--"

"What? You don't like the idea?"

"I don't care, but my father probably wouldn't. And why don't we get through the Tournament first, okay? Goodnight, Mike."

"Goodnight, Elizabeth." Mike continued thinking as he headed to his dorm. He didn't even have a vague plan of how to accomplish the goal. Fortunately, while neither he nor Elizabeth was good at such things, he knew someone who was. Katherine Alice Longbottom.