Ruminations

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Seven

Holly was gone, she could feel it in her bones, her baby had been taken.

She didn't need to go to the empty crib and back again as Harry felt he had to, she just sat on the end of the bed and stared at herself in the floor length mirror on the opposite wall.

Ginny remembered this clearly, looking into her own eyes and seeing nothing but emptiness. No hate, no fear, nothing. Just like the mirror she only reflected the world around her. Much later, when she returned to her own rightful consciousness, when she could talk about the war years without flinching, she likened the state to that of hibernation. Her body still worked but her soul did not.

Harry bustled around her, masking his pain by trying to attend to hers. But she didn't feel pain any longer, she didn't feel loss, or sorrow, or happiness and so his attempts fell on frozen soil, on a love impossible to recover.

Within weeks Harry and her barely exchanged a word, she had nothing to say, he was saying nothing. The search parties trailed through all thinkable places, but Ginny knew that her baby was somewhere where nothing could touch her, somewhere they'd never find. But she was not dead, no; at one year old Holly was too strong to be easily killed.

Harry left her then, drowning his sorrows in drink and other women. Part of Ginny regretted how things had gone, how they had ended up, but most of her just coexisted feeling and knowing nothing.

That was until her mother and father; her two rocks in the whole universe, were killed in the crossfire of a Gringotts robbery. Ginny didn't miss the irony that both her parents had been fighting on the front line for decades and in the end were finished by something as minor a theft. Their passing away jerked part of her back to life, she had to mourn them, had to respect their memory. And so she did.

Burying a parent is possibly worse than anything else save burying a child. Burying two parents was almost enough to send her and her four remaining brothers almost to the edge, it was like watching everything that had made you, everything that you remembered, every kiss and hug, fade into the cold, impersonal earth of the graveyard. Like watching your childhood being hollowed out and thrown away.

After that, her memories faded, blocked out by pain and loss. There were many times that she almost threw away her life just to escape the loneliness, to escape the knowledge that death came to them all. And she would have done, had she not know that her death would cause unnecessary pain to her lasting loved ones.

So she went on, day-by-day, hour-by-hour. Just functioning, one step in front of another, until the day came when the wizarding world shattered.

The last to be taken had been Bill, he had always been the strongest one of them, and Ginny still hadn't come to terms with his death yet.

Her sleeping was roused by screaming for another morning in a row, the wailing echoed through the tiny hut, bouncing off her diaphragm, vibrating through her wild, forgotten dreams.

She woke to find a baby in her arms, a crown wreathed in fire, an army of shadow, blood still glistening. Blinking twice she cleared the sleep from her eyes. There was no kingdom of flames, just the early morning light venturing to cast shadows across the simple hovel.

And a yearning.

A yearning to capture the ebbing magic that slipped away as the remnants of her dream did. A yearning she'd vowed against, something she'd never thought she would feel again.

Finally, the screaming pierced her thoughtfulness. She quickly guided Arthur's searching mouth to her nipple, feeling - rather than hearing - his measure of relief and contentment.

As the immediacy that Arthur presented had been taken care of she was alerted to a gaping hole in her tiny home.

Draco was out. Although this in itself was not unusual, there was a different feel this time, as though he'd hurried or had been anxious. Minute details such as there being only one roe-wood arrow taken from the quiver on the peg on the wall, there were tiny spillages where hot water had been dripped as it was thrown away, the door was left a fraction open...

It was probably nothing to worry about she rationalised, but Draco was usually painstakingly careful when leaving her alone. Something must have alerted him.

Ginny clutched a now-peaceful Arthur to her and used the wall to help her into a standing position. The wood rubbed off, grimy, on her hands. A repressed part of her recoiled in disgust, this was no place to raise a child. As ever, she ignored the voice. Choices had their consequences; gifts had their price to pay.

She looked out of the window, vaguely cautious as to what it was she would see. The familiar trees at the edge of the clearing greeted her, bending in a light breeze, their bared arms mocking their aura of strength. Nothing appeared to be amiss though, nothing obvious anyhow, except for the feeling lodged deep in her bones.

She was overly tempted to investigate, to track Draco, she knew she could do it - you don't live in a forest without evolving the vital set of instincts that man had tried to substitute with technology. Or magic.

But it was not just her anymore. Today Arthur would be one week old. One day, a New Year, the same circumstances. It would be ridiculous to take him into the cold of the first of January, but also she would not leave him alone, could not leave him alone. She would never put Arthur at the same risk Holly had been.

The fact remained though that Draco could be in trouble, Draco could be dead.

Since the first day when she had resolved to follow her feet, wherever they led her, she was filled with uncertainty, bubbling and knotting inside of her.

Doing something had to be better than doing nothing.

Responses

Poky - a bit hyper eh? Lol, thankee kindly for your comments.

Victoria27 - I hope this clears up the child thing! And you'll be happy not to have to wait for this chapter!

Skygazing - yes the plot is slowly brewing and thickening :)