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Summer Story | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 392 Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined. Hitcount: Story Total: 135416; Chapter Total: 4248 |
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Chapter 14: Harry’s Birthday The Burrow’s kitchen was hot. There was no other word for it. The oven had been going full blast since seven o’clock and it was now a quarter past ten. Ginny’s ponytail hung limply down her back as she wiped the sweat from her brow, shook more flour on her board, and began kneading her fourth batch of bread dough of the morning. Bread making was another passion she shared with her mother, who loved mixing and kneading bread by hand; spells never seemed to knead the dough thoroughly enough, leaving it dense and very tough to chew because the gluten in the flour hadn’t developed enough to support the loaf. It was hard work, but Ginny enjoyed it and she hummed while she worked. She was thinking of Harry, too. He had written to her on Tuesday with the news that Professor Dumbledore was feeling much better. He had also told her about their plans to go on an excursion together on his birthday. He was hoping Dumbledore would take him to see Godric’s Hollow. For her part, Ginny was glad Professor Dumbledore’s health had improved to the point that he was willing to spend the time with Harry. She smiled; Harry was seventeen today. The kitchen door slammed, making her look up. Ron, so sweaty she could smell him across the room, walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water. Downing the water in one large gulp, he then smiled crookedly at her and said, “Morning, Ginny. Where’s Mum?” “Good morning to you, too. She’s upstairs changing beds,” she said, going back to her kneading. “What have you been doing?” He mopped his sweaty face with his handkerchief and refilled his glass. “Mum had me weeding and degnoming the back garden. When I finished that, I went for my morning run. Blimey, it’s hot!” he exclaimed. He turned on the faucet again and stuck his head under the running water. “Ahhh! That feels good!” he commented, raising his head just enough for some of the water to cascade down his back. Now shaping her dough for rising, Ginny commented, “Ew! Go take a shower. You stink!” “I wish I could,” Ron said ruefully. He dried his hair with a spell before stepping away from the sink. “There’s a hole in the fence around the chicken coop that needs fixing. Mum doesn’t know about that yet, but she will if I don’t take care of it soon and the chickens escape. I think something got in there last night. From the looks of it, whatever it is was after eggs.” “How do you know?” “All the hens are there, but they look a bit ruffled, you know what I mean?” Ginny did know. At least once a summer, a fox gained access into the chicken yard and scared all the chickens half to death. “How come we didn’t hear them?” she asked. “Beats me,” Ron said, pushing away from the sink. “You almost done with that? I could use some help.” “Almost, but I can’t go out until I finish tidying the sitting room. And I still have to wait for the bread,” she told him, plopping the dough into a large bowl and pushing it aside. She turned round, opened the oven and tapped the loaves inside. “Not done yet.” “Not hollow enough?” Ron asked knowingly. “Nope. You’d think that on a day as hot as this they’d rise and bake twice as fast as they do in winter, but nothing doing.” “How come you’re making bread anyway? I thought you and Mum made some on Monday.” “We did, but that was for the family. Harry’s birthday dinner’s on Saturday and Mum wants plenty of fresh bread for the meal. This’ll keep for two days easily,” Ginny said, punching down another batch of dough and emptying it onto her board for final shaping. “She’d bake it fresh Saturday morning, but she needs the kitchen for creating Harry’s cake and making dinner.” “Why’s she making such a big fuss over his birthday?” Ron asked, moving out of Ginny’s way so that she could put her bowl in the sink. Ginny frowned. “It has everything to do with making up for all the birthday parties Harry never had at the Dursleys,” she said, slamming a cupboard door. A bowl hissed as the dough in it deflated. Ginny swore under her breath, making Ron smirk. “She wants this to be the perfect celebration for him. His favourite foods, loads of presents, an enormous cake, lots of friends to help him celebrate ... You should see the guest list–it’s huge. Mum’s pulling her hair out over that plus worrying that the Dursleys will actually come. Can you believe she invited them?” she ranted as she splashed washing powder into the sink and began washing dishes. “You’re kidding! Why would she do that?” Ron asked. He grabbed a cup towel and began drying the dishes for her. “Did you wash your hands?” Ginny snapped. She grabbed the towel and plate he was holding and gestured towards the dish water with her elbow. “Mum seems to think that now that the Dursleys have been living amongst wizards for a month, his aunt and uncle will be more accepting of us and want to celebrate Harry’s seventeenth birthday with him.” Ron snorted. “Fat chance that will happen,” he said, dunking his hands in the soapy water. “Thanks.” Ginny grinned and gave him back the towel. “I don’t think it will happen either, but there is the chance Dudley will come.” “How do you know?” “I heard Mum talking to Dedalus Diggle yesterday afternoon. Dudley’s been asking about what wizards give each other for their birthdays. As if we were any different from them! I really think he’s serious about coming to the party.” “Why? He’ll stick out like a sore thumb!” Ron stacked several bowls and gently put them away in a cupboard. “Well,” Ginny said thoughtfully, “he did make that effort to help Harry get well by teaching him weight lifting, and Harry said in his last letter that Dudley’s been writing to him regularly at Hogwarts. I don’t know... Dudley seems to be making an effort to actually be nice to Harry.” Ron took a chef’s knife from the sink and dried it carefully. “So if Dudley’s on the guest list, who else is coming? Ginny ticked off her fingers. “Professor Lupin can’t come, but Tonks can. So can Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley, Mrs Chang, Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey. Then, there’s Neville, everyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, all of us, Seamus, Dean, Hermione and Luna. Lavender, Parvati and Padma were invited, too, but they’re not coming because the Patils are in India visiting their grandmother and Lavender doesn’t want to come alone. Oh, and Bill’s bringing Fleur.” “I hope we’re eating in the garden,” Ron chuckled. “With that many people here there won’t be any place to sit in the house.” “We are,” Ginny said, going back to her board to shape her dough into loaves. “Oh, that reminds me, Ron. Mum asked if you’d go up to the attic and find all the folding chairs and tables and bring them down for me to dust. She wants the clean ones stored in the scullery.” Ron groaned as he put the last wooden spoon in its drawer. He took his time hanging up his towel. “I guess I’d better get out there and fix the fence, then. See you in a bit.” Ginny refilled Ron’s glass and cast a cooling charm on it. He wagged his finger at her as he took it. “Thanks.” When he’d gone, Ginny took the loaves from the oven, put another three in to bake and then went to the sitting room to begin tidying it. As she straightened the sofa cushions, a sudden, unfathomable sadness engulfed her. She sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands until the feeling passed. As soon as she felt better, she resumed her task, wondering what had come over her. A little later, the sadness returned, although not as strong and with a certain amount of curiosity attached as well. Again, she sat down on the nearest pouf and this time she concentrated on the feeling by closing her eyes. Fuzzy images floated to the surface of her mind’s eye; a graveyard, a barren hill, an elderly wizard, a crypt. The crypt seemed to have more significance than the other images; it was clearer than all the others and was lasting the longest. “Ginny, are you all right?” her mother’s voice called gently. Feeling somewhat irritated by the disturbance, Ginny turned towards her mother, who stood in the doorway. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, feeling her wet cheeks. Had she been crying? Mrs Weasley came round the sofa, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. She bent down and dabbed gently at Ginny’s face as she asked, “It doesn’t look like it. What’s wrong?” She sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. Ginny joined her. It took a moment for Ginny to gather her thoughts. Finally, she said, “It’s really weird. All morning I’ve been experiencing emotions that aren’t mine.” She paused, fiddling with a hole in the hem of her shirt. “They started out rather nice, kind of like little wisps of pleasant feelings like excitement and intense joy. But now... now all I’m getting is sorrow. It’s a little scary because I don’t know whose they are.” Mrs Weasley asked, “Who have you been thinking about most today?” “Harry,” Ginny answered quickly, without having to think about it. “And is it true that there’s some sort of bond between you two?” Startled, Ginny asked, “How do you know about that?” “There’s not much a mother misses, Ginny. I’ve known for a long time there was something wonderful about your relationship with Harry. Why else would he go to such lengths to try to convince us that there was a forgotten fund for Quidditch players at Hogwarts when it’s really him who made sure there was gold for your recovery? Hmmmm?” Ginny just stared at her mother. “Oh, yes, Ginny, your father and I figured that one out long ago, but we will wait until Harry chooses to tell us, if he ever does. In the meantime, injured Quidditch players at Hogwarts will benefit from Harry’s generosity just like you did.” “You’re not angry or embarrassed?” “On the contrary, we’re very grateful to him,” said Mrs Weasley with a tender look at her daughter. “The fact remains, darling, that Harry is one very special young man who cares very deeply about many things, including you. You share something magical with him and, from what I’ve heard, it’s something that connects you two in ways your father and I cannot imagine.” She paused as if to let her next words have more effect. “Do you suppose, on the day that Professor Dumbledore was to take Harry to Godric’s Hollow, he is unconsciously opening up his feelings to you?” Ginny nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Somehow, her mother had found a way to explain what was happening between her and Harry and make it a beautiful thing instead of something to be scared and confused over. “Have you seen anything besides the emotions you’re feeling?” Ginny told her what she had seen and Mrs Weasley said, “I’m sorry I interrupted you. Hopefully, knowing how Harry is feeling today will help the two of you talk about his experiences.” “Maybe it will. I just hope whatever else Harry sees today is happier than what he’s experienced so far this morning. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be so sad on a day that’s supposed to be one of your happiest. What else is in Godric’s Hollow besides his parents’ graves?” “If I remember correctly, the Potter family home,” Mrs Weasley said with a faraway look in her eyes. “After James and Lily were buried there was talk about making the place into a shrine of some sort. I never heard whether or not it was.” “I’ll find out if it has if Professor Dumbledore takes Harry there, right?” asked Ginny, looking hopeful. “The emotions might need to be very strong for him to send them to you without his knowledge. But no matter what, if the two of you need some time together when he gets here, I’ll make sure you’ll not be bothered by your brothers,” Mrs Weasley said, her mouth turning up in a understanding smile. She opened her arms and Ginny leaned into her mother’s embrace. “Thanks, Mum.” Mrs Weasley rose with a sigh. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Ginny. You’ll be all right now?” “I will, Mum. You’ve helped me a lot,” she said, and turned her back to re-evaluate what needed to be tidied next. All throughout the afternoon, Ginny thought about Harry as she worked. While she finished straightening the sitting room, she thought about what to give Harry for his birthday. She knew her mother was worrying about that, too. Her mother’s biggest concern was whether or not to give Harry the traditional gift of a wizard’s watch or something more modern; Ginny was certain her parents wanted to give Harry the traditional gift because she’d seen her mum going through her Uncle Fabian’s effects on Tuesday evening. She had been turning his watch over and over in her hands before putting it back in its box. It would be a special gift, Ginny was sure of it, because Harry had told her once about his picture of the original Order of the Phoenix that included pictures of her two dead uncles. That didn’t solve Ginny’s problem, however. There were only so many boxes of sweets one could give year after year before the repetitious gift became commonplace. Besides, this was supposed to be a very special birthday for Harry and she wanted her gift to be worthy of his coming of age. Finally, as she finished dusting and stacking the folding chairs in the scullery, she decided that she needed a quick trip to the village to see if she could find something more lasting, even though she had very little Muggle money. Abandoning her dust rag on the washing machine, she went in search of her mother. She found her in Fred and George’s old room shrinking boxes of Wheezes to make room for Harry’s trunk. “Mum, can I go into the village to look a gift for Harry? Please?” she added, hoping the emphasis on the last word wouldn’t escape her mother. Mrs Weasley’s answer to Ginny’s request was reluctant and laced with concern. “I’ll let you go into the village on one condition, Ginny,” she said. “Take Ron with you. It’s not safe to be wandering around by yourself, even in the Muggle world.” Grinning, Ginny sprinted up the stairs towards the bathroom where Ron was finally getting to take a shower. She yelled through the door, “Ron, would you go into Ottery St Catchpole with me?” “Why?” he called back. “I need to find Harry a birthday gift,” she said, a calculating grin spreading over her face. “We could go to that sweet shop you’re so crazy about when I’m done.” Ron answered, “Well, if you put it that way, yes, I’ll go with you. Give me ten minutes.” Fifteen minutes later, Mrs Weasley handed Ginny and Ron five pounds each from her special cache of Muggle money. “Add that to your pocket money. You’ve both been a big help this week and I appreciate it. Now run along and go find something nice for Harry,” she said, shooing them out the kitchen door. Ginny exchanged grins with Ron as they started down the lane towards the village. It felt like old times, before either of them went to Hogwarts, when their mother needed some time to herself and sent them to the village on errands. As she walked along, not really listening to Ron’s enthusiastic monologue about what he wanted to get most at the sweet shop, more emotional transmissions came from Harry along with fleeting, fuzzy images of a lovely garden, two different houses and a huge field. She felt his peace and melancholy and deep regret, but not the uncontrollable sorrow of the morning. Harry seemed to be enjoying this part of his day. They had just crossed bridge over the River Otter that led into the village when she felt it: fear so deep it made her stop and grab Ron’s arm for support. “Ginny, what’s wrong?” he asked alarmed. “Help me sit down,” she whispered. She was shaking from head to foot and her head was throbbing badly. Ron guided her to a shady spot under a tree and helped her to lean against its trunk. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. Briefly, Ginny told him about the images. Then, she said, “Something’s really wrong, Ron. Harry is scared, really terrified. He needs help and Dumbledore can’t give it to him!” Ron jumped to his feet and attempted to pull Ginny up as well. “No! Stop that, Ron!” she pleaded. “We can’t help Harry. I just know it. He’s hundreds of miles away. There’s no way we can get to him fast enough!” “We could Apparate,” Ron suggested. “That won’t help. I think they’re flying and they’ve been ambushed in the air somehow,” Ginny said miserably. “Then what can we do?” he demanded, frustration evident in his voice. “Just let me sit here a moment. I want to see if I can see anything, get any clues to Harry’s whereabouts,” she said. Ron nodded and sat down next to her. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the sounds of the village and the occasional passing vehicle. It was difficult, but eventually more than Harry’s overwhelming terror began flashing through her mind. What she saw made her feel sick to her stomach. Harry and Dumbledore were flying for their lives and Harry was desperately worried they wouldn’t make it to the Hogwarts boundary. Whoever was shooting spells at them was Disillusioned. The sun was low in the sky, making it easy to see the coloured light of the individual spells because they were so far north. Harry was angry, too, both at those he was fighting and at Dumbledore for wanting to fly back to the school from Glasgow. He was also beginning to panic. Ginny concentrated hard on this feeling and even tried to send Harry calming thoughts. Show me where you are, Harry. She pleaded. Who are you fighting? Harry didn’t answer. Instead, she heard his frantic thoughts. Shouldn’t we fly faster? Am I visible, too? That last spell must have cancelled my spell. I’ve got you, sir, hold on! How far to Hogwarts? I must get to Hogsmeade! I can’t hold them much longer! Oh, God! Ginny! A sudden flash of red light exploded in Ginny’s mind and the images stopped abruptly. “No! Harry!” she cried. Ron’s arm was around her shoulders instantly. “What is it, Ginny?” “Harry’s been Stunned,” Ginny whispered. “Oh!” she gasped as a very familiar object suddenly appeared in the air in front of her. It dropped to the ground before she could get her hand around it. “What the–” Ron cried. “No! No, it can’t be!” He seemed almost in denial. “Harry’s wand,” Ginny murmured, picking up the slim length of holly lying in the dirt where it had fallen. Her hand shook badly. “They’ve really got him,” Ron said in a strangled voice. “I–I don’t want to believe it.” “Believe it, Ron!” she snapped. “Harry sent me his wand so the Death Eaters won’t get it. He’s defenceless now.” Tears began coursing down her cheeks, even though she was trying hard to contain them. She turned into Ron’s shoulder and began to sob. “Crying won’t help Harry, Ginny,” Ron said gently. “Can you stand? I’m going to Apparate us home. Mum will know what to do.” He stood up and gently tugged Ginny to her feet. She clung to him as they walked into some bushes that flanked the road and braced herself for Side-Along-Apparition. Moments later, they landed at the gate leading to The Burrow’s property. Ginny’s knees buckled as soon as her feet touched the ground. She struggled to her feet and let Ron lead her inside the gate before he pried her fingers from his arm. “Stay here. I’ll get Mum,” he said. “No, Ron. I can make it. Getting help for Harry is more important than how I’m feeling right now,” she said, wiping her eyes determinedly. They took off together, sprinting across the yard towards the house. Their mother must have seen them for she burst out the front door and met them halfway across the garden. “It’s Harry, isn’t it? Something’s happened to him and Dumbledore!” she cried, coming up to Ginny and placing her hands upon her arms. “What did you see? Did you hear anything? Tell me all you know. It’s important!” “Harry and Dumbledore were Stunned,” Ginny moaned. “I think they were ambushed someplace in Scotland between Edinburgh and Hogwarts.” She pulled Harry’s wand from her pocket and held it out for her mother to see. “Harry sent me his wand.” Mrs Weasley breathed deeply before she spoke. “Come inside, Ginny, Ron. I’ve got to contact your father and he’ll want the whole story.” Mrs Weasley hurried them into the house where she stopped in front of the fireplace. Ron and Ginny continued on into the kitchen as their mother stuck her head into the green flames. “Do you need anything, Ginny?” Ron asked. “Maybe some water,” Ginny said weakly. She groped for a kitchen chair and fell into it, still clutching Harry’s wand. Ron hurriedly pulled out his wand and Summoned a glass of water for her, not bothering to go to the sink. “Thanks, Ron.” She smiled wanly at him as he pulled out his own chair and sat down to wait with her. An hour later, Mr Weasley emerged from the kitchen fireplace. “It’s been confirmed,” he announced gravely. “Dumbledore and Harry have been kidnapped by Death Eaters. They found Dumbledore’s broken broom, an old Moontrimmer, and his wand in the forest outside Hogsmeade. There is no trace of Harry.” A/N: When I started this chapter I had every intention of writing a very nice Weasley birthday celebration for Harry. However, the more drafts I wrote, the more I became dissatisfied with how the chapter was shaping up: I found that it was turning into one big list of birthday presents with no real action aside from a few tried-and-true pranks by Fred and George. Then, one night I was watching one of my favourite TV shows about the testing of urban myths and there was a segment that fit very well into where I really wanted this story to go. The new outline suddenly became several pages long, stretching out the action and giving me time to develop the new parts of the plot and give you, my readers, some great suspense. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter and will continue to stick with me. I thank every one of you who took the time to comment on my last chapter. Your words of encouragement keep me going and wanting to rewrite chapters several times, like I did this one, until I’m satisfied with it. I also want to thank my pre-beta GhostWriter for all his valuable suggestions for ways to better word certain sentences and who comes up with wonderful synonyms for words that really don’t want to use. Finally, Aggiebell, your reaction to this chapter has encouraged me the most about this chapter. Thank you for your comments. They all made me smile. |
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