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The Flat Above the Wheezes | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Genres: Angst, Comedy, Fluff, General, Romance Warnings: Mild Language, Negative Alcohol Use Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 15 Summary: All is not well in the flat above the Wheezes. Ginny's determined to get her brother's shop up and running before he loses it for good, but George's refusal to help complicates matters. Add on the ghosts of her previous year at Hogwarts, handling her grieving family, and the Harry Potter of it all, and it's starting to feel like she's in over her head. Hitcount: Story Total: 4963; Chapter Total: 1507 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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There was a stain on the ceiling of the flat above the Wheezes. Ginny wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at it, but the fact that she had watched it change colors with the rising sun suggested it had been far too long. Her eyes were heavy in her head and her head was heavy on her shoulders. But her mind knew better than her body that sleep wasn't all it was cracked up to be. So instead, she studied the stain. From the increasingly faded circles along the edge of it she concluded that whatever it was had been bubbling when it made contact with the ceiling. She pictured her brothers shouting in half-distress, half-excitement as they scrambled to contain it. It made her smile. She shifted until she was sitting up in the armchair she was using for a bed. She was more tired than ever. However, George would be up soon and no matter what emotional state he was in, there was no way her finely tuned Weasley instincts would let one of the twins catch her sleeping. One of the twins. Ginny sighed. The thought wouldn't send her spiraling, not anymore anyways. Back at the beginning of May it would have her feeling miserable and out of sorts. But now, several weeks out, she had a higher tolerance for reminders of her late brother. Still, if she didn't get her mind off the topic soon, that fog was going to settle in her head for the rest of the morning. She curled up against the back of the armchair, pressing her forehead into her knees. Eventually, she did doze off that way, but it wasn't long before she was rudely awakened. "Go home, pest," George grumbled, lifting the back of his armchair in an attempt to tip her out of it. "Before I have you hauled off by the aurors." Ginny shrugged and stretched her arms high over her head, rolling her shoulders to loosen the crick in her upper back. Feet together, she flattened her knees to either arm of the chair and pressed herself tight to the plush, brown fabric. When her brother came to the realization that she wasn’t budging, he dropped the chair in defeat. The resulting rocking was violent enough to make her cling to the arms to keep from falling. “The aurors are busy,” she said brightly. “If you want me out, you’ll have to fight me yourself.” He sighed. “We were too nice to you growing up, gave you a big head.” They were equally aware of how ridiculous that claim was, so Ginny didn’t bother disputing it. She trailed behind her brother as he made his way into the kitchen. “I assume you’ve made yourself useful and whipped something up for breakfast- like a good little unwanted houseguest.” Ginny snorted. “I’ve been here for two weeks; I don’t see why I’d start now.” She prepared her tea and toast in silence. As she sat down to eat, her eyes hovered on George, who was fixing himself a more elaborate breakfast, then lingered on the food on the stove. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, there’s enough for you, too.” Breakfast was quiet, as it usually was. George hardly spoke nowadays, and while Ginny tried her best to be chipper and uplifting and all that other rubbish, it mostly came out irritating to the both of them. So, she'd learned to embrace the silence. A couple of times, she would lapse into small talk before thinking better of it and trailing off. Those times, her brother would smile and muss her hair, like he appreciated the effort but equally appreciated the surrender. The washing up was hers to do. She'd never fussed much over it, afraid that if she did, he would give in without giving her a hard time and of how that would feel. He did sit at the table until she was done. Quiet and withdrawn, but at least he was there. Looking at George, you'd never guess he slept for hours on end. Mum always said the twins were all Prewett, and now Ginny could see it in the tightness around his eyes. She could barely picture her uncles but when she did, she thought about the newspaper clipping her mum kept tucked away in her nightstand. The somber-faced photo accompanied their death announcement. War heroes, the paper called them. It was fitting that George most resembled them now. "Oi." She blinked when she felt a finger flick the side of her head. George smirked. "You're staring." She shook her head, marveling at the fact that she hadn't noticed him get up from the table. "Pardon me," she quipped. "It's just that I've never seen anyone quite so hideous before." Oh. It was an old joke of theirs- one that usually ended with Fred as the punchline, jumping out and declaring that he hadn't either, only to be spooked by a nearby mirror. It hit Ginny a moment before her brother recalled the same thing. George's eye sort of twitched. Ginny lunged for the kitchen sink, certain she was about to be ill. She heaved once and then stopped, leaning over the sink until she could identify the feeling in her stomach as grief (and a little guilt) instead of nausea. George yanked on the back of her jumper until he had her manhandled into a chair. "Sit down before you fall, yeah?" He filled a glass from the tap, and Ginny accepted it gratefully. She'd downed half of it before George fell into the seat across from her. "So that happened," he observed. "Shut it," Ginny breathed, taking long sips of water. When the water was gone, she desperately searched for something else to look at, anything else so long as it wasn't George's face. She came up empty and eventually met his eyes. Her brother had an empty smile on his face and was looking at her much too softly for her liking- like she was a little lost first year, stuck in the trick step. "It's time to go home, Ginny," he said. He'd said as much dozens of times over the past week, but something in his tone made this one different. "I'm fine now." She frowned unconvincingly. "I know you're fine, what does that have to do with anything?" Rolling his eyes, George kicked her under the table. "You came here with me so I wouldn't be alone in the flat-" "No," she recited dutifully. "I came here to help you get the flat cleaned up-" "I had it magicked clean by the time you managed to drag your trunk up the stairs.” "-so that I would have a quiet place to catch up on my studies-" "The only books you brought have brooms on the covers." "-and for some third reason mum told me to say that I can't remember right now." “To keep you out of her hair,” George supplied, grinning wryly. She huffed. “Yes, that one.” The custom clock above the fireplace tolled twice and they both turned to watch as a tiny version of George popped out and announced the odd hour. They both dreaded the evens. George sighed. Her thumb sought out the slight line of the scar on her collarbone. It was fairly recent, just barely scabbed over when she got off the train for Easter break, but she’d settled into the habit of rubbing it when she got nervous, like it had been there for years. She could feel George’s eyes following the movement and dropped her hand into her lap. “I could help you get the shop opened up,” she offered eventually. He waved her off, already getting out of his chair. “Don’t worry about that. Sod it. When mum wants you home, she can drag you back by your little toe for all I care.” She trailed behind him, rubbing at her temples when he stopped abruptly and flung open the door to the hall closet. “George, what are you doing?” she asked, resigned. She was not running on enough sleep for whatever this was shaking out to be. The door swung closed with a bang. Ginny jumped back and winced as the sparks flew from the keyhole and the gap near the hinges. Don’t be nutters, she begged her brother silently. Please be doing some kind of normal magic alone in the coat closet, I don’t think I can take anything else. As she was contemplating blasting away at the hinges, the door opened again. Curious, she crept closer. A hand stuck out through the hanging cloaks and grabbed ahold of her, yanking her inside. Ginny stifled a shriek. “George!” she complained. But she shut up quickly when her mind finally registered what she was seeing. The closet had been expanded to be about the size of her bedroom at home and the color looked to be a near perfect match as well. There was a soft rug that bore a suspicious resemblance to the wrapper to a Ton-Tongue Toffee spread out on the floor, and the whole room was flooded with natural light, coming from a window on the far wall. There was a wooden crate in the corner, stamped with bold red letters that spelled out, ‘NOT TO BE SOLD TO F&G WEAS. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.’ Her brother was smiling as he clapped his hands over her shoulders and shook her slightly. “What do you think?” Eying him pointedly, she prodded at the dangerous-looking crate with her toe. "Don't open it," George advised. "That is, if you're emotionally attached to your fingers and would like to remain physically attached to them as well." Ignoring that, Ginny moved to the window and tilted her head at the bustling view of Diagon Alley below. "I thought the loo was on the other side of this wall. Where's this window to?" George's eyes lit up and a slow grin pulled across his face. For a moment, Ginny was thirteen again, huddled behind the locked door of the twins' room and sworn to secrecy over a new invention. "Anywhere you want!" He moved in swiftly and tapped his wand firmly to her forehead. Ginny grimaced and swatted him away, but she stilled when she caught sight of the window again. The pane misted over and when it cleared, they were looking out over the Quidditch pitch from school, faceless players zooming in the distance. She moved closer and ran her fingers over the glass just as a chaser dressed in red sank the quaffle through a green-guarded hoop. George snorted. "Figures. You'll have to get someone to bring a bed over. Transfiguration isn't my thing, and you don't want that popping out from under you in the middle of the night." "Transfiguration isn't your thing?" she repeated, gesturing wildly at the room around her. She shook her head in disbelief. Though she'd always known the twins were far more capable than they let on, this was nothing short of amazing. She was touched that he went to such great lengths to make her comfortable considering he didn't want her there in the first place. "I'm afraid so," George teased. "Just wait until those cushions turn back into my old quidditch pads." Sputtering in pretend horror, Ginny tried her best to dodge his arm, but George managed to wrestle her into a headlock anyway. He mussed her hair rather thoroughly before disappearing through the hanging cloaks and robes and out the closet door. She smiled. Things were looking up in the flat above the Wheezes. - Not long later, George was off to do what he described as 'none of her nosy little business.' When questioned, he stated that he would return 'before she starved but not by long' and that she should 'think very hard until she found a way to make herself useful and then try that for a change'. Nonplussed, Ginny had waved him off and decided to use the afternoon to go over some of her sixth year coursework. Despite her brother's teasing, she had brought her textbooks with her. Normally, she was avidly against the idea of schoolwork in the summer, but the amount of school-related information she learned and retained from the previous year could fit on the back of a chocolate frog card. That didn't sit well with her. The memory of arriving at Hogwarts her second year and being profoundly behind the others in her classes stuck out in her mind. The feeling was awful and she would do anything to keep from repeating it. She'd floo'd the Burrow first thing, to ask her mum to send her bed over and let her know that George wouldn't be tossing her out on her arse anytime soon. Her mum agreed right away, missing her daughter but happy that someone was there to keep a proper eye on her grieving son. She got the impression that her mum thought she did a lot more cooking and cleaning and comforting than she actually did. Try as she might, she couldn't muster up any indignation at the assumption. Maybe that was what she ought to be doing, considering she had precious little else to do with her time. The thought made her feel rather useless and more than a little guilty. So schoolwork was starting to seem more and more appealing. Ginny was halfway through the third chapter of her charms textbook when the floo fired up and spat someone out onto George's awful paisley throw rug. It was what she had been waiting for all morning- a visit from someone at the Burrow. But still, the air stuck in her chest and her fingers wrapped hard around her wand. “Ginny?” Harry. She’d expected Ron or maybe her dad. She hadn’t expected Harry. The surprise was slight but it was apparently enough to completely disconnect her mind from her mouth. "Come in!" she urged, internally cringing upon the realization that he was very much in already. "I mean...you should sit down." "I should?" "Unless you-" "No, I will!" He looked around the flat, eyes falling on the two armchairs in front of the fire. One was covered in her revising, scraps of parchment stuck in between the arm and the cushion. The other had a blanket thrown over the back, embroidered ‘F’ standing out in a flat now filled with ‘G’s. She wondered if he could tell it hadn’t been touched since the twins fled to Muriel’s. After a moment’s hesitation, he flung himself down to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the rug and leaning back against the coffee table. She grinned and joined him there. “I’ve never been here before,” Harry said. He was eyeing a nearby footstool with a healthy mistrust. “I was expecting something a bit more…elaborate.” “And dangerous,” Ginny added. “I know what you mean. It looks like normal people live here.” It really did. The flat’s large picture windows were covered with heavy, velvet curtains in a shocking shade of purple, and the fixtures in the kitchen and bathroom were golden and shaped like various jungle animals. But other than those and a few other small accents, there were few traces of the twins’ enormous personalities. White walls, wooden floors, and a massive brick fireplace dominating one wall. “It feels a little strange,” she admitted. “Like all my memories of them were just them putting on a show for the rest of us. I don’t know much about what they were like when it was just them.” She winced, once again unimpressed with her conversational ability when it came to Harry Potter. For one thing, she was talking like she’d lost two brothers instead of one, and for another, she was prattling on about her feelings to the most repressed person she’d ever known. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Harry, who’d wandered away to take a closer look at the gallery wall of bizarre amateur paintings at the end of the hall, turned and frowned. “For what?” Shaking her head, Ginny drew her knees up under her chin and used the opportunity to really look at him for the first time in ages. He looked good, she decided. Healthy even. He’d lost weight, sure, but she’d had to shrink the shorts she was wearing two sizes before they would catch on her hips so she wasn’t one to judge. And he’d clearly been enjoying the special kind of sun that seemed to only shine on the Burrow. But the most noticeable difference was the way his head didn’t sink into his shoulders like they were made of quicksand. She’d seen him with his head held high before, but he could never sustain it for long before another rug was pulled out from under him. She could only hope that he’d finally made it down to bare but steady floorboards. “Oh! Before I forget!” He dug through his pocket and unearthed a tiny, shrunken bed which he placed gently in the palm of her hand. Ginny squinted at the unfamiliar bedframe. “This is-” “Percy’s,” Harry nodded. “Yeah. Yours is…erm…” “Hermione’s using it,” she finished absently, fluffing the miniature pillow with the pad of her pointer finger. “Yes!” he cried, sounding oddly relieved. “That’s right, Hermione’s using it.” Odd. Ginny got to her feet and placed the bed safely on the mantle, studying Harry out of the corner of her eye as she moved across the room. Maybe he wasn’t doing as well as she thought. She knew he’d hate to hear her ask it but suddenly the urge was too strong to be shoved down under the rest of her feelings. “How are you, Harry? Honestly?” she asked softly, fully prepared to be patching a Harry-shaped hole in the wall when he inevitably turned tail and bolted. He paused and seemed to genuinely consider that, which was far more than she had even hoped for. She shoved her revising off of George’s chair and sat down, squashing herself against the left arm. “Come here,” she urged. “We can share.” Harry watched her notes flutter to the ground as he settled in next to her. His thigh pressed against hers, and she was thankful that he couldn’t feel her gooseflesh through his jeans. “What I think I’ve landed on is…strangely grateful,” Harry said slowly. “I know things are sort of-” Ginny supplied an appropriately vulgar adjective. He smiled. “Yeah. That. But while I was away, I kept imagining all these awful things I could be coming back to.” “Like house elves with dark marks and me married off to Gregory Goyle?” Harry snorted, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. “Yeah. Addressing you as Mrs. Goyle would definitely be rock bottom for me.” “Don’t laugh!” Ginny cried, smiling widely. In actuality, hearing him laugh again made her feel like she did scoring a goal in front of her classmates- delighted and secretly more than a bit pleased by the approval. “I could do worse than Goyle. Not by much, mind you, but if I’ve learned anything at all this past year, it’s that things can always get worse.” She half-expected another laugh, but Harry was looking at her oddly. His hand moved to cup her knee. “I feel like I don’t know anything about what last year was like for you,” he said. Because you don’t. “Not much to tell,” she lied easily. “Really?” “Tell me about the lovebirds,” Ginny demanded. She reluctantly pulled away and jumped up from the chair. She threw her arms out dramatically as she tried to think of something suitably cloying to describe her brother and his new girlfriend. “Is the glow of their admiration for each other as radiant and inspiring as it was when I left?” “I’m inspired to stick my head down the loo and flush whenever they speak to each other, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ginny grinned. “That counts. I suggest you stock up on ear plugs before the three of you go traipsing off to Australia.” “I’m not going to Australia.” “You’re what?” she frowned. “Not. Going. To. Australia,” Harry said slowly and clearly, like he was explaining arithmancy to a blast-ended skrewt. “Oh. Huh.” “Yeah.” “I just thought-” “Well, you thought wrong,” he smirked, shooting up to dodge the kick she aimed at his ankles. “They’re going away, and I’m staying here. So if you need anything, I’ll be around.” “If I need anything…” Ginny repeated. Harry nodded. She frowned. “What exactly would I need?” “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. He squinted at her, eying her like she was a storm and he wasn’t sure if he ought to be securing the shutters. “I’m just telling you!” “Well, I don’t have any bloody idea what you’re driving at, that’s what I’m just telling you!” She blew out a long, slow breath as she realized she was getting angry over something that wasn’t really worth getting angry over. It was a miserable feeling, especially now that she was living with George, who was the only one of their siblings who didn’t inherit their mum’s filthy temper, save Bill possibly. It made her feel out of control in comparison. Maybe she was out of control because while she sort of understood why she’d kicked off like that, the intensity of her reaction had been unexpected. Harry paced in front of her. His mouth was tight and frustrated, but his eyes were confused, like he couldn’t figure out exactly how he’d gone wrong. “I’ll leave then, if that’s what you want,” he said heatedly. He took a few steps vaguely towards the floo, without any real motivation to make it there. A puzzle piece rattled inside Ginny’s head. It was dusty from a year of disuse but it felt good when it finally slid into place in her ‘things she’d figured out about Harry’ puzzle. “Harry, are you asking because you want an excuse to come back here?” “No,” he said too strongly. “I just didn’t want you to need something and not…” He gestured wildly with his hands, trainers moving a floorboard or two closer to the fire. Ginny smiled. “Well, if I need something, I’ll probably just take care of it myself. But I could let you know if I wanted something. Like if I wanted you to come over and…be here sometimes?” He’d been looking like he was still unsure about how things had devolved, but Harry brightened when she said that, the way he always did when she put something into words so that he didn’t have to. It felt good to know that after all their time apart they weren’t as lost to each other as they could have been. “I’d like that,” he said kindly. “I want to come over and be here sometimes, too.” |
| Reviews 15 |
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