Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time and attention and always catching my comma errors.
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Contagion | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 210 Summary: Muggle and magical illnesses are separate. Until they’re not. Harry has always had a discernable enemy. This time, he’s fighting an invisible and indiscriminate threat. Part of the Cuts universe. Hitcount: Story Total: 112761; Chapter Total: 5303 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Irritability G inny stared at her reflection, eyes skimming over her exposed flesh for any sign of a blemish. She saw lots of freckles, but no hint of a pustule, or even so much as a red mark. Vivian was due today for her scan, but Ginny wanted to be the one to find something if it was there. She’d been in quarantine for over a week, but these inspections still rattled her. It was always the same. Vivian would arrive all decked out in her Bubble-Head Charm and protective clothing, and greet them with minimal pleasantries. Vivian had been the only visitor they’d had at Grimmauld Place, and she always came dressed as if she was entering a contaminated plague zone. In a sense, Ginny supposed she was. She’d proceed to look Ginny over for any sign of a pustule, then ask her a series of questions to test her memory and mental clarity. Finally, she’d have her perform some basic spells. Once that was done, she’d cast some sort of medical diagnostic spell that Ginny could neither read nor understand. She wasn’t certain if Vivian could, either, as she always put away her wand once it was done and let her know the results on the following visit. Ginny imagined there were some Healers looking at the scans. Vivian never said much once it was finished. Physically cleared: check. Mentally cleared: check. Magically cleared: check. Vivian would leave with a nod that left Ginny feeling so relieved that she’d want to collapse in a puddle. By the following day, however, the anxiety of the next visit would begin anew. It was an endless cycle of dread, fear, and relief from which she couldn’t break free. She tried to hide her worry from the others since their concern only made it worse, but the longer this confinement took, the harder it became. If she was a rational person, wouldn’t she think a longer stretch of normal was a good thing? Why did she feel as if the walls were closing in on her? Not to mention that she couldn’t shake the nagging worry that they weren’t telling her everything. Vivian claimed she didn’t have any information about the rest of her team, but she’d promised to check. Ginny didn’t believe that Vivian didn’t know exactly what was going on with everyone involved, so that meant she simply wasn’t telling. The only reason for not telling was that the news wasn’t good. Hermione assured her that there were restrictions on what medical information could be shared. Ginny didn’t want her own medical history discussed with anyone else, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t want her teammates informed if she, too, had fallen ill with this Spattergroit enigma. They should have the right to know as it would definitely increase the odds that they were going to get it, too. Which is why, she was certain, Vivian wasn’t telling her. She’d tried to contact Willow through the Floo, but the call hadn’t gone through. She’d wondered if the Ministry was controlling who could contact them, but again Hermione had interrupted her diatribe with reason. Of course, the Ministry was monitoring the Floo else there would be reporters looking for statements nonstop. Would she really want fans of both her and Harry able to contact them at whim, even if it was just to wish them well? Ginny had countered that it didn’t mean they had the right to monitor outgoing calls, but Hermione said it was more likely that similar restrictions had been placed on Willow’s Floo along with the rest of the team. Ginny hated when Hermione was right. The story of a Holyhead Harpies’ player being diagnosed had caused a media circus, never mind the fact that one of the team’s members was being quarantined with the Dark Lord Vanquisher. Fortunately, the enchantments on the house kept out any unwanted visitors, and they were all rather insulated from the hysteria blooming in the outside world. They did get the paper as Hermione insisted it was better to be informed of what people were saying. The illness had spread like Fiendfyre, and it was suspected that the rapid increase was down to the Quidditch exhibition match. A player from the Magpies had also fallen ill, and the Ministry was discouraging any and all gatherings outside of those with people whom you lived. The public was panicking, and the Ministry was losing control of it. In the Muggle world, they’d shut down travel and basically told everyone to stay at home unless they were considered essential workers. The poor Muggles had the added hysteria that this illness wasn’t like anything they’d ever seen. They were calling it rapid spread dementia, or RSD, and they had no idea how to stop it, so they were trying to contain it. It would be up to the magical world to find a way to stop it, then leak a cure into the Muggle world in a way they could understand. The entire world had gone mad. This was evident in the frequent and growing-more-hysterical Floo calls from her mother. As expected, Molly had been beside herself when she’d learned that three of her own children plus her two bonus ones were all basically confined to house arrest. She’d wanted to come over immediately to check on them, and not even Arthur’s pleas to see reason were going to stop her. Arthur had finally pulled out his winning Snitch and had Kingsley forbid her from going. Apparently, the Minister for Magic was the only one with enough sway to convince her that her children were safe. If she went in, she wouldn’t be allowed out again. He’d promised to let her know if anything changed, but for now, she could speak to them and send them food, but under no circumstances was she to enter Grimmauld Place. Ginny was thankful for small favors. It was only the thought of leaving Arthur and her other children — Victoire, mostly — on the outside that had done it. Molly would’ve preferred them all together, but at least they were all in one place. Ginny couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be holed up with her mum without any chance of escape for the entire time. It was bad enough as it was. The first few days had been all right. They’d made elaborate meals and played games and imagined what everyone else was doing. Hermione had read a lot of books, and George began work in his temporary workroom. She and Harry had frequently snuck away for sex. A lot of sex. Still, the days had all begun to blend together. In fact, she wasn’t even certain if it was Tuesday or Wednesday… but what did it really matter? Someone from the Ministry had done their grocery shopping for them, and they’d definitely found they’d been going through a lot more beer, wine and Firewhisky than normal. There really wasn’t much else to do. The worst had been being stuck here for her birthday. The others had all tried to make the best of it. Hermione was the only one who’d already bought her a present, so she presented the pretty new top with a lot of fanfare. George had given her some Weasley Wizarding Wheezes he’d had lying around; Harry had made her a delicious cake, even if it was slightly lopsided; and Ron gave her one of his very own Chudley Cannons match hats. It was all rather touching, but still not the same. Each member of her family who wasn’t stuck here with her had Floo-called, but she’d missed the annual gathering at The Burrow. Sighing, Ginny dressed in track pants and a T-shirt — really not all that different from what she slept in, but at least it was clean — and went downstairs. Harry, Ron and Hermione were gathered around the kitchen counter, listlessly finishing their breakfast. “Where have you been?” Ron asked, sounding belligerent. The restlessness and boredom were making them all irritable, but Ron in particular. “Having a shower,” Ginny said. “You ought to try it some time.” Although she’d never admit it to Ron, she was only washing her hair on the days she knew Vivian was coming. “What time is Vivian going to be here?” Harry asked, sliding a plate of toast and eggs in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, scooping up a forkful. “She usually comes around ten.” Harry nodded, although she knew he was already perfectly aware of Vivian’s schedule. He wasn’t coping very well with not having a definable enemy in front of him to face. Harry had always been a more ‘tackle the issue head-on’ type of bloke. He hated all this waiting, and his anxiety over his inability to protect her was only making him cross. “Where’s George? Is he taking bets on how many questions she evades this time?” Ginny asked. “He’s in his workroom. I told him I’d be in to help once Vivian arrived. I have a few questions for her,” Hermione said. “Good luck with that,” Ron mumbled quietly. Hermione heard him nonetheless, and she narrowed her eyes. “And exactly what do you have planned to do today, Ron?” “Same thing as yesterday, I expect,” Ron replied, grabbing an uneaten slice of toast off Harry’s plate. “So, basically nothing,” Hermione said waspishly. “For your information, George and I came up with several new ideas for some products last night after you buried your nose in a book,” Ron said, straightening imperiously. “Well, then, you can work on plans for manufacturing them today, can’t you? We need to keep our brains occupied, or they’ll become sluggish,” she said. Ginny glanced over at Harry, who had already tuned out their bickering friends. “How about you?” he asked, smiling. “More piano lessons after Vivian comes to call?” Ginny’s attempt to learn to play the piano hadn’t gone at all how she expected. It was rapidly becoming a chore rather than a pleasure, and the sparkle that materialized in Harry’s eyes whenever he teased her about it only made her more determined to stick it out. Hermione’s enthusiasm wasn’t helping, either, and she wished she’d never mentioned the idea to any of them. “Ooh, yes — we do need to work on the next lesson,” Hermione said, overhearing them. “How are you doing on the last one? Have you been practicing? I didn’t hear you yesterday.” “Hermione, as I’ve told you, I’m going to set my own practice schedule, thanks,” Ginny said firmly. Sometimes, Hermione’s enthusiasm for learning only succeeded in putting Ginny off, rather than encouraging her. “I know,” Hermione said, looking a little hurt. “It’s just that the more we practice, the more intuitive it will become.” Harry stood and began clearing some of the breakfast dishes away, trying to cover his grin. Ginny narrowed her eyes. Two could play at that game. “You’re right, Hermione. I need to practice more. How about you, Harry? How is the yoga coming along?” After Ginny’s teasing over Harry’s brooding when quarantine first began, Hermione had purchased several books on the benefits of meditation during yoga. She’d been trying to convince Harry ever since that he could redirect his brooding phases toward a healthier outlet. Harry was having none of it. He spun toward her, eyes widening. He wasn’t fooling her — he was well aware she’d just thrown him under the Knight Bus. “Ooh, yes, Harry. Are you finding it helpful?” Hermione asked eagerly. “It’s coming along great,” he said, staring directly at Ginny rather than Hermione. “In fact, I think I feel more energized every time after I try.” Ginny knew that was an outright lie. He hadn’t tried it at all, but he’d obviously looked at one of the books Hermione had given him for she seemed delighted. “That’s wonderful. Research has indicated it can have that effect, not only relaxing and rejuvenating your mind, but your whole body, as well,” she said, beaming. Harry quirked his eyebrow at Ginny. She’d clearly not given him enough credit for his years of experience in sidestepping Hermione. “It still looks like brooding to me, only now he does it whilst contorting his body into the most interesting positions,” Ginny said, smirking. “Ginny! I’m eating, here,” Ron shouted, eyes wide. “When aren’t you eating, Ron? Have you mastered the waistband alteration charm, yet?” Ginny asked with mock-sincerity. Ron scowled, scooping up another forkful of eggs. “I’ve often thought about trying it myself, only I was worried about the various positions. I don’t have a lot of physical strength,” Hermione said, squirming. They all knew that Hermione hated to admit there was anything she couldn’t do. “Maybe you and Harry could do it together. You know, so he could show you,” Ginny suggested, hiding her grin behind her cup of tea. Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, that might work. How often are you doing it, Harry?” Hermione asked, oblivious to the silent sparring match being waged by her two friends. “Actually, yoga is something best done alone. I don’t think I could tune everything else out with someone else in the room,” Harry lied smoothly. “Is there a waistband alteration charm?” Ron asked suddenly, causing them all to burst into laughter. “So, things getting a bit tight, there, Ron?” Harry asked, grinning. “The only foolproof charm I know is a few less meals.” Ron responded with a two-fingered salute. “Not my fault your barmy relatives didn’t allow you to appreciate a good meal.” “Ron!” Hermione said, scandalized. “Ended up being good training so I could skip a meal or two without going batshit mental,” Harry said, shrugging. Ginny shook her head. She sometimes envied how the two could give each other grief over horrible events and still find amusement in them. “That’s enough,” Hermione said, scowling. It always made her very uncomfortable when the boys went at each other this way. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand that Harry’s caustic humor was how he dealt with some of the more unsavory aspects of his past. Both Ron and Harry adopted contrite expressions. They also both gave each other the finger once she’d turned her back. Boys! They all finished up their breakfast and walked up to the sitting room to await Vivian’s visit. Hermione had pulled out several large medical tomes and stacked them on a side table along with her quill and some parchment. Ginny amusedly thought she was readying for her own Hermione-esque battle. Ginny took a deep breath. She wasn’t as much of a preparer as Hermione was, but she felt just as determined to get some answers. She suddenly wished Vivian would hurry up and arrive to get this over with. Typically, the Unspeakable arrived promptly at ten on the dot wearing all her protective gear. Ginny suspected she’d never been tardy for anything in her life. She’d traded her purple Ministry robes for an impeccably-tailored, forest-green business suit that would’ve blended in perfectly with any of the Muggles outside along the pavement. Her hair was pulled back in its traditional bun, but stray wisps had pulled free, haphazardly framing her face beneath the Bubble-Head Charm. That was remarkably unlike her. Perhaps it was just from the heat outside, but Ginny felt an ominous pit form in her belly. “What’s happened?” Harry asked baldly. Obviously, he’d sensed it, too. Ron and Hermione looked at him quizzically, but Vivian pursed her lips, and met his piercing stare unflinchingly She stretched her hand toward the sofa. “Why don’t we all sit down?” Ginny felt a flash of annoyance over being asked to sit in her own home, but she held her tongue and sat next to Harry. Her hand immediately sought out his, and he took it without hesitation. He squeezed it reassuringly, but his was body was taut and rigid, and she could feel the concern emanating off him. He was coiled as if a snake about to strike. “There have been several… developments,” Vivian said slowly, her eyes skimming over all of them. Something indefinable flickered in her expression. “What sort of developments?” Hermione asked, picking up her quill. “Did you find something on Ginny’s last diagnostic scans?” Harry asked, unable to contain himself. He’d been very familiar with the scan when Ginny had told him about it as he’d been hospitalized so often in the past. He’d told her it was usually the first thing Madam Pomfrey did when she saw him, whether he was injured or not. “No,” Vivian said. “The scans were fine.” Ginny released a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding, her body slumping slightly into Harry, who tightened his grip on her hand. “What then?” Ginny asked. “There’s been another Harpies’ player diagnosed with the illness,” Vivian said. “There are also two members of the coaching staff and a medical trainer who are displaying symptoms.” Ginny shut her eyes, heart pounding so heavily in her chest that she could feel it all the way into her throat. She barely listened as Vivian listed the names of all the people she knew, her voice slightly distorted through the Bubble-Head Charm. Was it only a matter of time, or had she somehow escaped it as she had Bellatrix’s Killing Curse on that fateful night so long ago? The pressure of Harry’s hand on her own was the only thing keeping her present in the moment. Although his attention was focused on Vivian’s words, she knew he was thoroughly aware of her turmoil. He was paying close attention so he could inform her of anything she missed whilst she processed this new information. Hermione was firing off a list of questions that Ginny couldn’t even begin to focus on. Five people she worked with were now ill, and she’d been in close proximity with all of them. Ginny wasn’t as good a chess player as Ron, but she knew those odds weren’t in her favor. “How’s Theresa?” she asked suddenly, pulling herself out of her own head. “Has she shown any signs of improvement, or has she continued to deteriorate?” “Unfortunately, she’s very unwell. Her mind is gone. She doesn’t recognize anyone, and we’re unable to reach her to even ask simple questions. It’s as if she’s lost the ability to understand speech. She’s also having difficulty breathing, so we’re using several enchantments to assist her,” Vivian said gravely. Hermione made a soft, whimpering sound. Or maybe she’d done it herself, she couldn’t be certain. “Breathing?” Harry asked sharply. “I didn’t know this illness is also affecting the lungs.” Vivian pressed her lips together, her eyes shadowed. “It’s not, per say. Her lungs are fine, but her brain has simply forgotten how to breathe, so we must do it for her. If it continues, eventually her brain will forget to tell her heart to beat, and there’s nothing we’ll be able to do about that.” Her words hung in the air ominously. The rest of them glanced at one another warily from across the room. “But…” Hermione began, her words trailing as if she didn’t know where to begin. Vivian sighed. “I’m not telling you this to alarm you—” Ron interrupted her with a bark of strained laughter. “I’m not telling you this to alarm you, but you need to be prepared. The prognosis for Theresa isn’t good,” Vivian said firmly. “She most likely won’t survive it.” Her clinical detachment was infuriating. Vivian knew nothing about Theresa — her sense of humor, or her biting, pre-match trash talk. She was just an interesting case study to Vivian and the rest of the Ministry, and it was so unfair. There wasn’t anyone in this room who didn’t understand the randomness of life and how instantly it could be snuffed out forever. This, though… this waiting and slowly watching it happen was unnerving. “And what are we doing about it?” Hermione demanded, eyes bright and voice filled with un-restrained anger. Ginny felt a kindred link with Hermione, knowing her friend felt the same powerless rage that Ginny felt. “Ms. Granger, do you honestly believe everyone at the Ministry and at St. Mungo’s isn’t doing everything in their power to combat this illness?” Vivian asked quietly. Ginny felt her face burn with chagrin. Of course, she knew Vivian wasn’t the one at fault, she was just the messenger. They needed an outlet for their anger, and Vivian was there. From Hermione’s contrite expression, Ginny knew she felt it, too. Harry stood stoically beside her, watching the exchange between the witches. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “No, I didn’t mean — of course, I know that,” Hermione said, abashed. “I understand that you’re concerned. Of course, you are. We all are, and I’m aware that being confined doesn’t help the situation. We’ve seen firsthand how much being cooped-up stresses the mind and even causes physical symptoms in the body. However, our best hope of fighting this is to confine it in order for it be eradicated,” Vivian said. “You’re all playing your part by staying put.” Ginny realized that the emotion she’d noticed flickering in Vivian’s eyes was sympathy. She wasn’t immune to what they were all feeling, she just couldn’t allow it to interfere with her work. Despite her annoyance, Ginny knew Vivian had been the one on top of this all along, and she was their best hope of coming out of it on the other side. “What about those already infected? Have you found anything that can help them?” Harry asked. “Very little, unfortunately. There are some who get very unwell, but then come out of it on the other side with little to no complications whilst others, like Ms. Grant, continue their downward spiral despite all our efforts to slow it. We’ve yet to determine any mitigating factor to separate the two outcomes,” Vivian replied. “For now, we’re merely doing our best to keep everyone comfortable.” “D’you have any good news to share?” Ron asked glumly. “Anything at all?” The ghost of a smile travelled across Vivian’s face so quickly, Ginny couldn’t be certain she hadn’t imagined it. “Auror Savage found a link in some of the notes from St. Mungo’s in regard to the Death Eater experiments. He’s uncovered notations linking Mandragora roots.” “Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes widening, but Vivian held up her hand to temper her excitement. “As of yet, Unspeakable Bowman has had no significant progress using them in any of her potion samples,” she said. “So, that’s still nothing, then,” Ron said, his shoulders slumping. “What about the Magpies? Wasn’t one of their players infected?” Harry asked, a furrow in his brow. Vivian nodded. “Unfortunately, they’re having about the same level of infection as the Harpies.” “What does that mean in English, if you please?” Ron asked irritably. “Six Magpies’ players have either been confirmed or are suspected,” Vivian said, but appeared to stop herself from going any further. Ginny suspected she was holding something back. Harry apparently thought so, too. “What else?” he demanded. Vivian’s thin lips formed a grim line. “There have now been confirmed cases of employees at the Quidditch stadium, as well as the referee responsible for the Exhibition match.” Damn. /* /* /* /* Harry lay flat on his back on the sofa in the sitting room, repeatedly tossing one of Ginny’s Quaffles in the air and catching it as it came down. It had been two days since Vivian had shared her news, and this was the first time she’d been back. She and Ginny were upstairs doing one of Ginny’s regular checks. Harry always found waiting intolerable while they conducted their tests. Ginny had been ill-tempered all morning, but she usually worked herself into a state whenever Vivian was due to call. Harry couldn’t blame her for that. His anxiety tended to ratchet up a notch on those days, as well. They’d filled George in on everything Vivian had shared, but it had been a tense household ever since. They’d closely followed all the updates in the papers, which grew more somber every day. The public had got wind of more Quidditch players becoming ill, and panic had spread. Hundreds of those who’d been spectators at the exhibition match were flooding St. Mungo’s looking for help and reassurance where there was none to give. All Ministry-approved methods of travel and been prohibited, but there were still reports of wizards attempting to cross borders in other ways. A cargo ferry crossing the channel into France had been halted and searched, revealing a wizarding family huddled inside. Harry kept thinking about the little family they’d run into on the lift the day of the match, the one where the little girl had recognized Harry as Ginny’s boyfriend. He wondered how they were faring and if they’d tried to flee, or perhaps been crammed into the waiting area at St. Mungo’s. Another news article had speculated that Harry had been exposed and was currently lying comatose in a private room at the hospital. Another one theorized that he’d already died, and the Ministry was covering it up. No one had seen him since he’d entered quarantine, and it was as if the papers had realized they had free reign to make up anything they wanted. Not that it was really any different to what they’d always done. Harry couldn’t be bothered with them, but it was driving Ginny spare. Honestly, the Muggles seemed to have done a better job at containing the sickness than the Ministry. So far, the cases were confined to Ireland and the United Kingdom with one isolated breakout in Scandinavia. That one had been caught and isolated quickly, so no further spread had been detected. Harry wondered if — since Spattergroit had been a magical disease to begin with — if it spread more easily amongst the wizarding population than it did the Muggles. He'd asked Vivian about it, and she appeared very intrigued by the idea, but she said she’d have to investigate further. Harry wanted to be certain that the Muggles weren’t being overlooked in all of it, so he’d also made Mr. Weasley aware of his theory. He knew Arthur wouldn’t allow it to drop and would be more than pleased to advocate for the Muggles. Harry turned his head as Ron slouched into the room, dropping heavily onto one of the armchairs opposite the sofa. He looked grumpy and petulant as he always seemed to be lately. Whenever Ron was in this mood, Harry was uncomfortably reminded of their time hiding in the tent on the Horcrux hunt. To be fair, he had to concede that it wasn’t nearly as bad. Food was plentiful, for one thing, and to give Ron credit, he seemed to realize it himself more often than not and would force himself to chipper up. “What’s up with you?” Harry asked, tossing him the Quaffle. Ron caught it, but didn’t toss it back, instead letting it drop listlessly to his side. “I’m sick of being cooped-up,” he said, letting his head fall back against the chair dramatically. “I wish we could go out for some ice cream.” “There’s ice cream in the cold cabinet, I think,” Harry said, already knowing Ron wouldn’t be satisfied with that. “That’s not the point. I want to go out for it. I want to sit in the sunshine and let it dribble down my arm. I’m sick of being stuck inside,” Ron said testily. Harry sighed. They’d had this conversation a hundred times already. “It’s not that bad,” he said wearily. Ron scowled. “Don’t tell me it’s not bad. There’s bloody nothing to do. I’m even tired of sex. I mean, how many times can you have sex in a day?” Before Harry could even begin to work out an answer, Ron jumped to his feet and stood over him menacingly, his wand pointed directly at Harry’s nose. “Don’t you dare answer that,” he snarled. Harry smirked, pushing the wand away. “Hey, at least I’m not the one who’s shite at Silencing Charms.” Ron cocked his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Ron. We can all tell whether you or Hermione does the Charm. Do us all a favor and let her handle it from now on.” “Handle what?” Hermione asked, entering the room and staring perplexedly at Ron standing over Harry, glowering. “Silencing Charms,” both Harry and Ron said together. Hermione’s face colored brightly as she gaped at them. “Apparently, Harry thinks the burden should be all on you, Hermione. I don’t think that sounds very fair, do you?” Ron asked, looking at Harry triumphantly. “Partners should take mutual responsibility for these things.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Does he? At least we have the courtesy of keeping it to our bedroom. Tell you what, Harry, I’ll handle the Silencing Charms if you Scourgify the loft,” she said waspishly. Harry felt his face flaming as brilliantly as Ron’s hair and wondered how long a lecture Hermione would give him if he hexed Ron’s mouth shut. “Er…” he said, flummoxed. “What’s wrong with you? You’re all flushed, so either you ate too much Fever Fudge, or you walked in on Ron and Hermione doing something improper again,” George asked, entering the sitting room and stopping short to gape at Harry. “Improper,” Ron repeated, scoffing. “Yes, as a fine, proper English wizard, I’m an expert on impropriety, and you, my lad, are the epitome of it,” George said, wiping imaginary dust from his sleeve. “If you’re an expert, it’s only so you can make some gold off impropriety,” Harry said. “Exactly!” Ron said. Harry and Ron shared a grin while Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ve made a fortune on impropriety, but it’s dwindling because I can’t get reliable help in quarantine,” George said pointedly. “Ron, weren’t you supposed to be helping me this morning?” “Oh… right,” Ron said. “Now he remembers,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Harry. If you come, too, we can finish the orders in no time,” Ron said, jerking his head toward the door. “I’ll be there in a bit. I want to see Ginny when she’s finished with Vivian,” Harry said, glancing at his watch, the same watch that had once belonged to one of Ginny’s uncles who’d died in the first wizarding war. Molly had told him he should get a new one now that he was working at the Ministry, but to Harry, it was one of his most treasured possessions. He valued it as much as he did his Invisibility Cloak or the Marauder’s Map. “I’ll go with you,” Hermione said. “Harry, let me know if you learn anything more about Ginny’s teammates.” Harry nodded absently as they left. He retrieved the Quaffle and tossed it the air a few more times, but his restlessness became too much to bear. He pulled himself off the sofa and started to climb the stairs, listening for the sound of his and Ginny’s bedroom door opening. They must be nearly finished with the examination by now. He passed the landing where their bedroom room was located, but the door was still tightly closed. He continued to climb, finally stopping when he reached the landing holding the two doors that had once belonged to Sirius and Regulus Black. Harry pushed open the door to Sirius’ old room, which Harry had converted into a nursery for Teddy. The mural Dean Thomas had painted on the walls was strikingly vivid. Seeing the stag, wolf and dog roaming through the forest trees always brought Harry a sense of peace and belonging. He’d hoped to instill those same feelings in his godson as he grew older. He wanted Teddy to always feel some connection to the parents he had lost. Harry could use a bit of peace now. His insides felt as if they were caught in a vice grip, and they had since Vivian had left from her previous visit two days ago. Five members of the Harpies’ staff were infected, including two players. Ginny appeared perfectly healthy, but he hated these times when Vivian came to check on her. It brought it all crashing back down, and he felt as if he were waiting for the hammer to fall. And there was absolutely nothing Harry could do about it. He hated feeling so absolutely powerless. He crossed the room to the small bed tucked into the corner. They’d transfigured it from Teddy’s cot the previous year, and it was covered with a turquoise blanket that Mrs. Weasley had made. Harry missed Teddy very much. He spoke to him by Floo each day, but it wasn’t the same, and Teddy’s pleas for Harry to come over felt like shards of glass being knocked into Harry’s heart. The young boy couldn’t understand why he could no longer spend time with his godfather. Hell, Harry could barely understand it himself except that he knew he’d never do anything to put Teddy’s life in danger. Never intentionally, anyway. After all, he had invited Teddy to that now-infamous Quidditch exhibition match. That was where an abundance of cases had originated and spread all across the United Kingdom. Andromeda promised they were both fine, and she was keeping an eye out for any irregularities. She had Kreacher for help, but it wasn’t the same. Even Kreacher was complaining about being unable to visit his Master’s home. He insisted that elves didn’t contract the same ailments as wizards did, but that had been true for Muggles up until now, as well, so Harry wasn’t taking any chances. The door opened wider and Ginny entered the room, looking startled. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, peering into the corners of the room suspiciously. Harry was taken aback by her sharp tone. “Er… nothing. I was waiting for you to finish up. How did it go?” he asked. Ginny shrugged, looking sullen. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. “What happened?” he asked warily. “Nothing. She just asks me the same stupid questions and refuses to answer any of mine,” Ginny said, folding her arms across her chest. “Has Vivian left already?” he asked. Usually the Unspeakable stayed for a few minutes after each check to inform Harry of what was happening at the Ministry. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but Vivian had to leave in a hurry. You’ll just have to settle for me,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you.” Harry blinked, taken aback by her tone. “Ginny? That’s uncalled for, don’t you think?” That familiar red coloring was spreading across Ginny’s cheeks and chest. A sure sign of her temper, but Harry was clueless over what had set her off. “No, I don’t, obviously or else I would’ve said it,” she snapped. Harry took a breath, trying to keep his own temper in check. His quick fuse was battling with his own concern. Why wouldn’t she just tell him what was troubling her? “What happened? Did something go wrong during your exam?” “Oh, right — it must be something I’ve done, huh?” Ginny asked, unleashing her temper. “Couldn’t be that lovely Vivian rushed through the check because she had someplace better to be rather then listening to me ramble-on about what day I thought it was, or who’s the current Minister for Magic. She asks the most stupid questions. As if Kingsley hasn’t been over for dinner loads of times since I was fourteen.” “Did she? Is that truly why you’re so upset?” he asked. “Who said I’m upset?” she sneered. “Ginny. What the hell? Clearly, you’re upset about something, and taking it out on me isn’t going to change anything if I don’t know what’s troubling you,” he said. Was she really just spoiling for a fight? Ginny didn’t appear to be listening, or at least she didn’t care what he’d said. “All I asked her was how Theresa was doing. She’s only my teammate — someone I’m with every day. You’d think I have the right to know, but noooo. Precious, perfect Vi-vi-an says she doesn’t know. What a load of dragon dung. Does she think we’re all stupid?” she ranted, drawing out each syllable of Vivian’s name. Harry knew that Vivian rubbed people the wrong way, and that Ginny had quite a temper, but he honestly hadn’t expected them to clash like this. “Isn’t one of the other Unspeakables monitoring Theresa’s case?” he asked. Ginny’s eyes flew open wide for a moment before narrowing dangerously. “Oh! Big surprise there. I might have known you’d take her side,” she hissed in a soft, dangerous voice. Harry’d had enough. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. I don’t even know what happened, or why you’re so bloody hacked off with me,” he shouted. “I’m not hacked off with you. Oh, I dunno, maybe I am, but I’m hacked off with everyone right now,” Ginny said, beginning to pace. “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks,” Harry said. Ginny threw a scathing look over her shoulder. “Don’t be such a tosser, Harry. You knew I had a temper. I’m just in a bad mood today, all right? You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be a moody git on occasion, you know.” “Yeah? Well, when I do get that way, you’re usually the one who calls me out, so I thought I ought to return the favor,” he snapped. “Poor Harry, always the hero,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ginny!” he said, absurdly stung by these words. He forced himself to get a grip on his own temper. Taking a deep breath, he said calmly, “Please tell me what happened during your exam that you’re unhappy about.” “For the last time, it was nothing different. Vivian didn’t answer my questions, but she expected me to answer all of hers, and I’m ruddy tired of it,” Ginny said, exasperated. He noticed that she didn’t quite meet his eyes when she said it, however, and it sent that tingle of trepidation down his spine again. “Were you able to answer her questions?” he asked warily. “What? Of course, I was. They’re not difficult, and I’m not an idiot, no matter who might think so,” she said. Harry couldn’t let that one go. “I’ve never thought you were an idiot.” “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she said, her eyes glistening. He took a step towards her, alarmed, but she moved out of his reach. “Ginny—” “Never mind,” she interrupted. “Look, I know it’s not your fault, okay. I’m just feeling cross. I’m sorry I shouted at you.” Harry nodded, not quite able to let his concern fade that quickly. He’d never been able to hide his emotions from her, and he was aware she could read it all over his face. She scowled. “I’m going to go have a kip. Maybe I’ll wake up in a better frame of mind.” He nodded. “I told George I’d give him a hand,” he said, searching lamely for a new topic. “All right. You go do that, and I’ll see you later,” she said, leaving the room without a backwards glance. It was a tetchy sort of day after that. Harry helped the others in George’s temporary workroom, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He always hated when he and Ginny rowed, but he was well aware that it was him who was the more likely to sulk over things. Ginny would lash out like an angry chimera, but her anger could dissipate just as quickly. Ron blew it off as a fit of temper, and Hermione told him he’d been rather tactless in trying to defend Vivian when Ginny was obviously upset with her. Of course, Hermione couldn’t quite contain her glee that Ginny and Vivian were rowing, either. Harry knew Vivian liked to keep her thoughts to herself, but he didn’t think she would’ve just left had it been anything serious, so he was left stymied. Even George’s humor was dulled as he kept trying to get all of them to quit their moaning and get back to work. Harry was so preoccupied, he kept having to refill his orders after he’d done them incorrectly. Harry really wished he could just grab his broom and go for a fly. Quarantine sucked. |
| Reviews 210 |
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