Fury

Fury

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Waiting Game

Cate walked on unsteady legs up the stairs to the apartment she shared with George - Oh Merlin, George! - and pushed the door open. After their marriage, with much giggling and kissing, he'd added her to the security wards that protected the apartment, and so she didn't even have to touch the doorknob if she didn't want to. She went straight to their bedroom, with its clothes on the floor and shoes under the bed and fell onto the heavy mattress, letting loose the sobs that had been boiling up in her ever since the woman had dropped her at the entrance of Diagon Alley and had handed her wand back.

"Nothing foolish, hear, because I'll know," she'd whispered menacingly before Apparating out again. The spider moved slightly, reminding Cate that it hadn't been an idle threat.

Cate shuddered at the memory, curling her fists around an old shirt of George's that she could remember him throwing on the bed after work, and that they'd ignored after falling into bed, laughing. They were always laughing, it seemed. And kissing. What she wouldn't give to have him hear with his arms around her. But then, he would tell her not to let that mad old woman badger her, and just tell Harry, that he, George, would be fine, and they'd find a way to fix everything before anything bad happened. But he wasn't here. She was alone.

She glanced at the annoying little clock next to the bed, her tears making the numbers blurry. Nearly eleven in the morning, and only Wednesday. Wednesday. Merlin, she only had two days until...until that mad old woman did something she, Cate, would never recover from.

She straightened, swallowing, and sat up, pulling his shirt around her shaking frame. She would save George's life single-handedly, and damn the consequences. She didn't matter in the scheme of things; only he did.

~*~

The rest of the day, she cleaned the apartment. Of course, she could have been planning the... the unpleasantness, but she couldn't think, and there was no where she needed to be, no where she wanted to go without George. So she cleaned, even though she'd done the exact same thing yesterday, and it didn't really need it. By nine that night, the apartment sparkled, even under the couch. She'd done it all without magic, of course, and was curled up in a ball, staring at their closet. His robes and shirts were hung neatly next to hers, and clashed comfortably. She'd never thought there would be a time when clashing colors offered her a sense of rightness, but somehow, George brought that out in her.

When there was nothing else to clean, the laundry folded and put away, even the refrigerator clean and smelling fresh, she pulled out an old scrapbook that she'd shoved under her bed, one of the few things that she'd taken from the Manor upon marrying George. She flew past the first few pages, of her as a baby, as a child, with her brothers and sister, some alone. Some showed her grandmother, and that brought a different kind of pain.

She skimmed through the pages of her Hogwarts years until she came to her fifth year. She scanned each image carefully, waving at sober picture-her and her friends. She hadn't seen her classmates in forever, it seemed. She should...but no. She was on the fifth picture before she found it.

For some reason, she had never really been sure why, one of her classmates had decided that a picture of each year was in order. As she was the only one with a magical camera, they'd used hers. Every Ravenclaw from the school was represented, by year, and a proud Professor Flitwick was evident in the corner of each one; one of the Seventh Year boys had even hoisted the tiny professor onto his shoulders, and that was an individual shot. Since the camera was hers, she'd gotten a copy of every picture.

In the third row of First Year boys, there was her little brother, Charles. He looked so puffed up and proud, and he was one of the few children that didn't fidget or start a fight or try to sneak out of the image. She skipped past the Second Years, where Peeves had gotten in and dropped a couple of ink bombs, something he'd found rather hilarious and the girls had sobbed for days about. She skipped the Third Years, where one of the boys was trying to balance a set of books on his friend's head, and the Fourth Years, who'd all succeeded in looking utterly pretentious. She stopped, heart hammering in her chest, on the Fifth Years.

She was sitting on the end of one of the benches, hands neatly in her lap, trying not to laugh as one of the boys poked her. She'd always liked that boy, but she could barely remember his name, now; he'd been a Muggle-born, and hadn't returned to Hogwarts after that year. In front of her, staring dreamily into space, was the exasperating Luna Lovegood, who hadn't been a good Ravenclaw and should have been a Hufflepuff. Cate was sitting next to three of her yearmates: Aisling McKay, a tiny blond girl with an attitude twice her size, Feng Tao, who'd been on the Quidditch team as a backup Seeker, but who'd never played, and Maggie Ripley, her best friend, whom she hadn't really spoken to in six years, since they'd turned seventeen and Maggie had married a Muggle that she'd known for five weeks. And there, sitting next to Maggie, encouraging the boy and at the same time flirting with his friend, was Sukie. Sukie, the beautiful. Sukie, the popular. Sukie, who had died when she hadn't.

She traced the image of her friends' faces, and they all waved at her, grinning. She waved back, blinking away tears. Smiling one last time at Sukie, she turned the page, looking for the well-worn spot in the upper right where her brother stood.

Leo had helped her organize this little project, once the House had decided to do it. He'd wanted to start a tradition, he said, to record the history of their very proud House, but she doubted anyone had kept it up after that dreadful year. He stood in the back, behind the rest of his classmates, and yet, he looked popular, and wanted. She ran her finger next to him, not touching his image; she didn't want it to fade. It was an oft repeated gesture. She smiled sadly at him, not wanting to say anything, but the words tumbled out. "You would have known what to do, now. You were always so clever. I miss you."

"I miss him, too."

She shrieked, dropping the book to the floor, as her brother Nathan appeared behind her, looking rather the worse for wear. She pressed against her chest, trying to still her pounding heart.

Her brother raised an eyebrow, but she realized, perhaps for the first time, that he looked older. Older than she remembered, and certainly older than he had looked the last time she'd seen him. "How did you...?" she began, trailing off.

He shrugged. "George added me to the wards. I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me. Talking to your favorite brother?" he added, with a slight twist of the mouth.

She shook her head. "No." She waited a beat. "He's at home."

Nathan laughed, and it felt genuine, for once, for a heartbeat, to smile back at him. She waited, but he seemed content to just stand there in the silence. She couldn't, however, let him stay too long. He'd wonder where George...

"Why are you here, Nathan?"

He glanced down at his feet, frowning, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Well, Mum and Dad wanted to talk to you about...well, about the arrangements, and it's not really something you can do by owl, so I told them I'd come and tell you, just so you know. They want you there. You and George. And then, after, Mum said you're more than welcome to bring him to the Manor. There's to be a dinner, I guess. The whole family, and whatever guests Gram..." He sighed. "So, here I am."

Cate fought the urge to cry again, remembering suddenly, with a sharp pain, of the death of her grandmother. "Wh...when is the funeral? Where?" She couldn't look at him without tears forming.

Nathan paused, and then, his voice cracking, said, "Friday. At the Ministry."

Cate heard a roaring in her ears, and she barely heard him say that their grandmother had apparently donated quite a bit of money to the new ministry, and she was being honored, and they had a nice little room, not on the main floor, of course, but out of the way, and everyone would be there...

She didn't know how she got Nathan to leave. She didn't remember saying anything particularly poignant, but she must have managed somehow, since he left without a fight. She'd promised to go, of course. As soon as he left, she shut the door behind him and slid down the wall. She couldn't really cry; she was too worn out and too shocked to cry again.

"Hello? George? Cate?"

She squeaked as she heard another familiar voice. She closed her eyes for a second, pushing her anger and fear and desolation down, wiped her dry eyes, and stood, brushing off her knees. "Mrs. Weasley?" she asked, going towards the fireplace.

George's mother smiled back at her. "Hello, Cate, dear. Is George there?"

Cate's heart skipped a beat, and she was sure her smile slipped, just a bit. "Not at the moment. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Molly grinned. "Of course, dear." But she had a sudden look of awkwardness, and Cate sympathized.

"Do you want to come through?" she asked, grateful that she'd cleaned the place up.

Molly hesitated. "Well..."

Cate grinned. "Please do. I want to show off. New wife and all."

Molly nodded. "Yes. Well. I'll be right through." She pulled her head back, and the flames flared a brilliant green. Molly stepped into the apartment, and Cate watched her expression as she examined every inch of the spotlessly clean apartment. "I must say, Cate, this place has never looked better." She beamed.

Cate felt a rush of pleasure. "I agree. I've kept some things the same, of course, but I can't wait for George to see it." She'd nearly stumbled over his name, but caught herself. Molly didn't appear to notice.

"To be a fly on the wall when that happens," Molly grinned, clapping her hands together, and suddenly looking very much like her son. She turned to Cate, who noticed that there were smears of flour on Molly's apron, and her wand was stuck in her hair, holding it off her face. There were more grays than Cate had remembered, but Molly looked younger. "Now, dear, I've just gotten a notice from my husband that your grandmother had passed on."

Cate blinked, surprised at the sudden turn of conversation. "Oh, yes. I didn't realize..."

Molly swept her into a bone-crushing hug, and Cate let herself enjoy it, even if it was brief. "And, well, with the funeral arrangements, I just don't think... that is, it's entirely up to you..."

Cate blinked. "Mrs. Weasley, whatever you have to say, it won't hurt my feelings. Honestly."

Molly grimaced. "Well, I had planned on celebrating your marriage this Saturday. Just a family event, you know, with perhaps a few friends, but now, so soon after your grandmother's passing, I just don't know if it's appropriate. I was wondering if you'd mind if we postponed it, just a bit, until you're feeling more up to it. And your family, dear, of course. I'd like to invite your parents, and your brothers and sister, and just now..."

Cate held up a hand. "Mrs. Weasley..."

Molly grinned. "Call me Molly, dear. You're a Mrs. Weasley, too, and if we stand on formality, it'll get a bit confusing, after all."

Cate grinned back, suddenly feeling better. "Molly, then. Thank you for telling me about all this. I'd completely forgotten about the party, and you're right. But I would like..." She paused, blinking back tears. If all went to plan, she wouldn't be free after Friday; she'd likely be dead. She fought to push the smile back into place. "I would love it if we could have the reception before my little brothers go back to Hogwarts. And by then, my father should be, if not alright, then certainly he will have dealt with the shock of my grandmother's passing."

Molly gave her an odd look. "And you, dear? How are you feeling?"

Cate blinked. "Me? I...Well..." She frowned. "I don't really...know. I'm glad that George and I could speak to my grandmother before she d...died, but I wish... I wish that I'd been here, the last two years. I can't take it back, but I wish I'd known... well, if wishes came true, then the blind would see."

Molly patted her on the shoulder. "If there's anything I can do to help, dear, just let me know. I'm your mother now, too."

Cate didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Molly." She glanced at the clock above the fireplace; it was nearly seven, and she'd be wondering why George wasn't back yet. She gently led the older woman towards the fireplace, and the Floo pot on the mantle. "Just let me know when you want to have the reception, and I'll ask my parents. And..." Here she hesitated, remembering something George had told her, and she'd heard his little sister complain about. "And if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to ask you a favor."

Molly tilted her head, birdlike. "What is it?"

Cate felt a sudden blush rise up. "Could you...could you teach me to cook?" The words came out in a mumbled rush, and just as she'd anticipated, Molly swelled with pride.

"Of course! I'd love to help you. Just come over any time, dear, and we'll arrange something. Oh, you have no idea...my own daughter just wanted to play with brooms and Quaffles, and my sons... well, you've met them. Oh, and I've left the bread in the oven!" she said, rushing to the fireplace. "Give me a Floo anytime. I'm always home."

She flung a handful of powder, and the flames turned green, and she was gone. Cate sucked in a breath. If only...

If she hadn't been bitten when she was fifteen...

If she hadn't met George...

If she hadn't fallen in love...

If she hadn't run away...

If, if, if...

She shook herself. Friday was coming.

At the thought, she felt a slight tingle in her fingertips, and the knife, the deadly, beautiful knife appeared in her hand. The metal was cool, and slick, and she wanted nothing more than to melt it into a puddle of nothing.

If only Harry hadn't been so good to her...

If she had died, and Sukie lived, none of this would have happened.

~*~

Thursday dawned gray and muggy, but she didn't notice. She was curled in her bed, George's shirt pulled around her, half-sleeping, half-crying. She felt numb.

She couldn't make herself do much of anything, today. Yesterday had been a haze of busyness, of cleaning away her fears, scrubbing the agony away. But there was nothing to do today. There really hadn't been anything to do yesterday, either, but she'd made it work.

Cate was staring at the wall when she made a sudden, snap decision. She hurled herself out of bed and made her way to the fireplace. She threw a handful of powder in and yelled, "Auror's Office!"

The pleasantly bland face of a welcome witch stared at her as she thrust her head into the flames. "Can I help you?"

Cate sucked in a smoky breath. "Auror Potter or Weasley, please?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

Cate frowned. "Their sister-in-law. Cate Weasley."

The woman shrugged. "I'll see if they're available."

She sat back on her heels, head bent at an awkward angle. When she saw Harry turn the corner in front of her, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Harry waved, grinned, and said something to the witch, but Cate didn't hear it.

She'd forgotten about the silver spider. It was crawling, tearing and poking, and she couldn't make a sound. It felt as though hundreds of needles and knives were at work, but there was nothing to do and nothing to say.

She saw Harry frown. "Cate?"

She forced a pained smile and shook her head. Closing her eyes for a second, she pulled back, gagging. Harry made a face, and said something to the witch. He pushed Cate's forehead back slightly, and she slid on her knees away from the flames, which died out instantly.

There was a pop, and Harry was suddenly beside her.

"Cate, are you all right?"

She shook her head, groaning as fresh pain spread throughout her body. It wasn't as bad as the change that came upon her once a month, but it was deeper, somehow, and she couldn't scream.

Harry frowned decisively. "Let's get you to St. Mungo's."

Cate shook her head furiously, pushing him away. He stumbled back, but kept on his feet. She scrambled to hers and headed for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before vomiting noisily into the toilet. Harry knocked on the door, and he was saying something, but a fresh wave of pain stole over her.

She passed out.