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Butterflies and Black Eyes | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:None Genres: Humor, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 20 Summary: Mrs. Weasley refuses to let Hermione's black eye wait until they go to Diagon Alley. This small change results in a butterfly effect that changes Harry and Ginny's relationship in a way that neither anticipate. Canon through chapter 5 of HBP. Hitcount: Story Total: 7127; Chapter Total: 1191 |
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Harry was tortured that night by dreams where Ginny kept cropping up in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency. When he awoke, he cast a fearful glance over at Ron’s unmoving form. He had forgotten Hermione’s command to keep an eye on Ron. Fortunately, Ron’s snores evidenced his survival through the night. Hermione and Harry had already finished breakfast when Ron and Ginny made their belated appearance. Harry put down that day’s edition of the Daily Prophet, glad to have an excuse to stop imbibing its barrage of depressing news. Ron’s eyes were bloodshot. He winced as he sat at the table and reached for a bowl of cold eggs. Ginny let out a groan as she gingerly lowered herself into the chair across from Harry. She closed her eyes in pain, allowing Harry a few seconds to study her. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she was paler than usual. She was still beautiful. Butterflies sprang to life in his stomach, and he quickly averted his gaze toward Hermione. She had put down her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation and was looking at Ron and Ginny with a compassionate expression. “Can I get something for you?” Hermione asked quietly. “A new head,” Ginny whispered. “Water,” Ron rasped. Hermione sprang to her feet and returned with two glasses of water. The Weasleys drank them in sync. Mrs. Weasley came inside from the garden with an armload of vegetables, which cued everyone to go outside to avoid any awkward questions. They sprawled on a blanket in the shade of the orchard. Harry and Hermione spent their time reading, while Ron and Ginny remained in their fugue state, slowly returning to normalcy around lunchtime. When Mrs. Weasley called them inside, Ginny stretched slow and languidly, arching her back in a feline pose. Harry stared at the exposed skin on her stomach. “Control yourself!” Harry furiously told himself. “She’s Ron’s sister!” Everyone was tucking into Mrs. Weasley’s delicious cottage pie when Fleur descended the stairs. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully, smiling radiantly at Harry. Ron choked on a large piece of meat. Hermione allowed him to struggle for a few seconds before pounding quite vigorously on his back to dislodge it. “Oh, uh, good morning!” Harry managed to reply. “It’s afternoon,” Ginny muttered darkly, rolling her eyes as she finished her plate. Fleur’s smile disappeared when she saw the pie on the table. “Ooh, I cannot eat zis ‘eavy food for breakfast. Per’aps I will find a fresh apple in ze orchard. ‘Arry, would you like to walk wiz me?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment as everyone else at the table turned to see his reaction. “Sure, I guess.” Ginny curled her lip in scorn. Hermione crossed her arms and exhaled sharply through her nose. Ron gave Harry a subtle nod of approval. Harry rose and followed Fleur outside into the warm sun. “You do not know me well,” Fleur said as they walked toward the apple trees. “It may surprise you to learn I am a proud woman.” Harry did not know Fleur well, but the fact that she was quite prideful was one of the few things he did know. He kept silent. “I am proud of ‘oo I am,” she continued. “Proud of my family, proud of my ‘eritage, and proud of my country. I do not apologise for ‘oo I am.” Harry continued to follow, utterly perplexed. “I do not care for what ozzers zink of me.” Fleur halted and stared off into the distance. “Except for now. I love Bill. We are to be married.” Fleur glanced at Harry with the most vulnerable look he had ever seen on her face. “The Weasleys love you,” Harry lied. “I am not stupid, please do not ‘umour me. I know what zey say about me be’ind my back. ‘I am stuck-up. I zink I am too good for zem. I do not really love Bill.’ Zey call me ‘Phlegm.’ I would not care what zese people zink, except zat I love Bill and ‘e loves zem very much. I do not want zis to cause trouble in our marriage.” “Ron likes you,” Harry pointed out. Fleur laughed, making a noise like a tinkling bell. “Yes, I suppose so.” “Why are you telling me this?” Harry asked. Fleur turned to face Harry and placed her arm on his shoulder. An electric shock shot up his arm and radiated through his body. Harry barely managed to keep his legs from buckling underneath him. “Because I need your ‘elp. You are not family, but zey treat you as if you were. I want zem to treat me ze same way.” “Hermione isn’t one of the Weasleys, and they treat her like family. Why don’t you ask her? She’s a lot smarter than I am.” Fleur scoffed. “She does not like me eizer.” “What do you want me to do?” Fleur removed her hand, and they resumed walking. “Perhaps you could say some zings about me to zem. Positive zings.” Harry remembered his earlier attempt at defending Fleur. “I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ‘Arry, do you?” Ginny had said scornfully. “I’ll try,” Harry said, not optimistic he could affect much change. Harry watched as Fleur searched the branches for a ripe apple. Any imperfection caused her to impatiently toss it aside. “Zese trees need to be pruned; zey are a tangled mess.” Fleur complained. “Back ‘ome, we shape our trees so zey do not grow out of control.” “Fleur,” Harry said with a tremor in his voice. “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t try to compare how things are here to how they are back home.” Fleur looked at him, puzzled. The thought had apparently never occurred to her. “I should not say what I zink?” she asked. “I should lie?” Harry shook his head. “No, don’t lie. Just don’t. . . tell the whole truth all the time.” Fleur pursed her lips. “I will give it a try.” Fleur finally selected an apple. She conjured a bench with a flourish of her wand and sat. She indicated that Harry should sit next to her. Harry tried to keep the leg that brushed against hers from shaking. He looked back toward the Burrow. Something golden flashed in one of the windows. “’Arry,” Fleur said, placing her hand on his knee. “I am quite fond of you.” Harry gulped audibly. She leaned in. “Please do not tell anyone about zis. I especially do not want to upset Bill. Promise me.” Harry nodded. Harry left Fleur to ponder her situation in the orchard and returned to the Burrow. As soon as Harry entered the living room he was confronted by Ginny and Hermione. Ron was sprawled on the sofa with his eyes closed. Ginny elbowed Hermione and muttered something. “What was that all about?” Hermione asked suspiciously. “Nothing,” Harry said hastily. He noticed Mrs. Weasley at the sink with her head slightly turned toward him. She paused in her task of washing the vegetables. The girls stared at him unblinking. “None of your business,” Harry added heatedly. “Were you just waiting around for me to get back?” “Not me,” Ron said. “I was in the bathroom the whole time you were gone. You would not believe what Firewhisky does to your guts.” “Do I need to tell Bill that you’re moving in on Phlegm?” Ginny snarled. “Actually,” Ginny tapped her chin, “that might help get rid of her . . . “ “I’m not having this discussion,” Harry snapped. “Frankly, I think you lot are treating her quite horrid. She’s a perfectly nice witch and you’re acting like she’s Umbridge.” Ginny sceptically raised an eyebrow. “Perfectly pretty, you mean,” she muttered. Harry was annoyed both by her insinuation and by how attractive she looked while doing it. Hermione took a deep breath. “Harry,” she said haltingly as she twisted her hands together. “Fleur isn’t, you know, she isn’t charming you or anything?” Harry stared at her, dumbstruck. “What are you on about?” Ron said, quickly rising to a sitting position. He peered at the back of Hermione’s head. “Why do you care so much about Fleur hanging out with Harry?” Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, determining who would speak next. It was Hermione. She sighed. “Harry, just be careful. You don’t want to get distracted.” Harry’s ears burned with anger. He stormed past them without a word. Harry simmered with frustration as he threw his copy of Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts down at the foot of his bed, unable to focus. He had tried three times to read the same page before giving up. He had just wanted a nice, relaxing holiday at the Burrow before going back to the real world. Instead, he was getting caught up in family squabbles and teenage crushes. He lay on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. A knock sounded at the door. “Come on in,” Harry called, assuming it was Ron before realizing Ron would never bother knocking. He looked up to see Ginny skulk in, her head bowed to the floor with long red hair covering her face. She took a seat on a box without looking up. “I’m sorry,” she said dully. “We shouldn’t have cornered you like that.” Harry stared at the sunlight dancing on her hair without saying anything. “She just frustrates me,” Ginny said, looking up. Harry quickly looked away out the window. Ginny sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. I didn’t come in here to talk about her, but I did want to apologise.” Harry turned back toward her. “It’s okay,” he said. “Forget about it.” Ginny smiled and Harry’s heart did a flip inside his chest. She got up from the box and plopped down on the edge of the bed. His heart did two flips. That flowery scent was wafting into his nostrils quite strongly now. “We need to get back at them.” “Who?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Fred and George. We can’t let them get away with this.” Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to get into a prank war with them. They didn’t do anything to me.” Ginny mockingly shook her head in response. “Sorry, you don’t have a choice. I’ve decided I need you.” Harry twitched at the last three words. “Why is everyone asking me for help?” he wondered. “What about Ron and Hermione?” he asked. “Don’t be stupid. You know Hermione would never help, and Ron would be worthless.” Harry disagreed but didn’t want to argue with the feisty redhead sitting in his room. He was enjoying the conspiratorial nature of their conversation and desired it to continue. “Alright, I’m in.” Ginny’s eyes brightened. “Great! We need to hit them where it hurts. You know what that means.” “I don’t.” Ginny tilted her head and looked at Harry patronizingly. “Harry. What is the thing the twins care about more than anything else?” “Their joke shop.” “Exactly.” “What are you planning to do, burn it down?” “I’m talking about a prank, not a crime.” “So, what then?” Ginny tossed Harry’s book at his face. “I don’t know! That’s what I need you for, you git!” Harry opened his mouth to reply when Ron bounded into the room. “Hey, Harry, you ready for two-a-side?” Ron did a double-take at Ginny. “What are you doing in here?” “Apologizing to Harry,” Ginny replied. Ron accepted this explanation and turned back to Harry. “Quidditch sounds great,” Harry said, vaulting to his feet. The game was going well when a distraction arrived in the form of Hedwig. Hermione saw her first, pointing her out to Harry as the snowy owl glided toward the Burrow. Unfortunately, the momentary distraction caused Hermione to fly out of the makeshift pitch and straight into a tree branch. The thick bough slammed into her stomach. Hermione’s body instantly decelerated, but the broom kept its previous trajectory. With nothing underneath her, Hermione plunged forty feet toward the ground. Harry instantly dove toward the falling body, Ginny’s screams and Ron’s shouts fading into the background as he tuned everything out but Hermione. Moments before disaster, Harry was able to grab her and slow their descent. They ploughed into the ground. Harry and Hermione rolled in a tumble of arms and legs until they slowed to a stop, Hermione resting on top of Harry. Harry tried to inhale and panicked as oxygen refused to enter his lungs. Ron and Ginny arrived a few seconds later. “Are you okay?” Ron and Ginny both asked anxiously. “I’m okay,” came Hermione’s muffled response. “Just a few bumps and bruises. Nothing Mrs. Weasley can’t fix.” Harry continued to try to breathe without any success. “Harry?” Hermione asked. “Can you let go of me?” Harry realized he was holding Hermione in a death grip. One of his hands rested on a sensitive area of Hermione’s backside. He let go. Ron frowned as he looked at the place where Harry’s grip had been. Relief flooded into Harry as he regained his wind. He took several deep breaths and slowly rose to his feet. “Thank you!” Hermione cried in gratitude as she pulled him into a deep hug. Ron’s frown deepened. “Nice flying,” Ginny said with a smile of relief. “You really must be the chosen one.” Mrs. Weasley predictably fussed over them for a few minutes, but she was able to mend their injuries almost as well as Madame Pomfrey. After it was clear there were no lasting injuries, Ginny excused herself to go read Dean’s reply which Hedwig had left on the table. At the mention of Dean, it was as though large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides: Hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Mrs. Weasley’s voice as though from a great distance away. “What do you mean letter from Dean? Your father hasn’t arrived home with the post yet.” Harry managed to wrestle the monster away and return to sanity. “I used Hedwig,” Ginny explained nervously. “Harry, did you tell Hedwig about the post?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Harry remembered Dumbledore’s remark that all the Weasley’s post was being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. A flash of guilt shot through Harry. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize I needed to.” “That’s alright dear,” Mrs. Weasley said in a kind, motherly tone. “Please let her know for the future.” She turned to Ginny, the kind tone instantly disappearing. “But you, young lady! You knew! You intentionally used his owl!” “What’s so secret about these letters?” Ron demanded. “I’ll go talk to Hedwig,” Harry said, grasping for an excuse to leave. He went up to his room and let Hedwig in the window. A few hours later, Mrs. Weasley informed him that dinner would be ready soon. Harry went to the bathroom to wash his hands and then continued down the stairs. He heard the din of Mrs. Weasley cooking while also instructing Ginny and Ron on how to set the table. He paused outside of Ginny’s door as he was struck by a wave of curiosity. What was in the letter that Ginny was so anxious to keep from the Ministry? If it was anything that bad, shouldn’t Ron know about it? After all, Ron had a responsibility to keep his younger sister safe, didn’t he? Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry found himself slowly turning the knob to Ginny’s room and tiptoeing past the threshold. He had never been inside it before. It was small, but bright. There was a large poster of the wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A desk stood facing the open window, which looked out over the orchard. Harry wanted to sprint back into the hall, but something compelled him forward. He looked quickly around the room but couldn’t see anything that resembled a letter. He turned to leave when something glinting gold under the bed caught his Seeker eye. He knelt and pulled a pair of Omnioculars out from under the dust ruffle. He put them to his eyes which then widened in shock. It was Fleur and him sitting on the bench in the orchard. Ginny had been spying on him! He fingered the replay knob on the side. There wasn’t any sound, but the picture was so clear Harry could easily read Fleur’s lips. “’Arry,” Fleur mouthed while looking into his eyes and placing a hand on his knee. “I am quite fond of you.” Fleur leaned in even closer. “Please do not tell anyone about zis. I especially do not want to upset Bill. Promise me.” Harry was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. He frantically tossed the brass Omnioculars back under the bed and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion. “Harry Potter!” Ginny roared, her face bright red. “What the bloody hell are you doing in my room?!” |
| Reviews 20 |
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