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Unbreakable Bonds
By Magnolia Mama

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 8
Summary: Mrs. Weasley's near-death and its impact on her family shed new light on the meaning of love for Harry.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5135







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A/N: As the category says, this is post-OotP, but it was written pre-HBP. Thanks to jenadamson, whose prompt inspired me.

Harry's neck was sore and his knees groaned in stiff agony when he woke up that morning. Groggy, he squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the windows and peered about him. Although his surroundings remained stubbornly out of focus he could see well enough to tell he'd spent the night on the Weasleys' setting room divan.

His memory of the events of the day before trickled back into his fatigue-addled mind. They -- Harry, Ron, Bill and the twins -- had all been outside that morning, degnoming the garden under Mrs. Weasley's direction, when a wasp, disturbe dby the commotion, flew out from a wisteria and stung Mrs. Weasley on the side of her neck. At the time, no one thought much of it. She yelped, slapped the offending insect away, and resumed pointing out favorite hiding spots to the boys.

Five minutes later she lay unconscious, her body giving off enough heat to roast a pig over, an enormous welt covering the side of her neck. Ginny, who'd been relegated to kitchen duty, was the first to see her mum fall and rushed outside to attend to her. Her frightened cry brought Bill running and soon they all clustered around Mrs. Weasley as he frantically tried to restore her breathing. George was dispatched to St. Mungo's to fetch a mediwitch, and Fred to the Ministry of Magic to locate his father and bring him home.

Once Bill was able to stabilize Mrs. Weasley, he Levitated her to her bed, leaving Harry, Ron and Ginny standing in a huddle on the porch. When Ron put his arm around Ginny and led her away to speak softly with her, Harry took his cue from them and sat on the top step to wait to be given something to do.

George returned moments later with the mediwitch, toting a large satchel, hot on his heels. Both of them ran inside without a word to any of the three standing on the porch. Not long after, Fred and Mr. Weasley could be spotted hurrying up the hill from the Apparition point. Mr. Weasley came to a stop at the bottom of the steps and mopped at his sweaty brow.

"You're all here," he said, panting with exertion. "Splendid. Ginny dear, I want you to get a large pot of water boiling and start grinding bezoars for the antidote. We'll need at least six cups. Ron, I want you to harvest any nettles you can find in the garden and scrub them. Fred, you look for monkshood. I believe there's a patch growing down by that grove of trees." He pointed in the direction he meant.

Harry stood up. Ron, who had been about to follow his brother into the garden, paused beside Harry. "What about me, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Mr. Weasley mopped at his head once again as he ascended the steps. "Yes, Harry," he said. "I need you to come with me."

Startled, Harry gave Ron a worried glance, but he just shrugged his shoulders. "Aren't you going to see Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked.

"Of course I am," Mr. Weasley said. "And I need your assistance."

"But --" He gestured toward Ron. "Shouldn't Ron or Ginny or --"

"Nonsense, you'll do fine. Come along, lad."

Harry obediently followed Mr. Weasley inside. The Weasleys' bedroom stood on the ground floor, just off the kitchen through a walk-through pantry. Ron had ruefully explained that this was his mum's way of making sure none of her children could nick food without her knowing about it.

They found Bill, George and the mediwitch gathered around Mrs. Weasley. She'd had several pillows propped up behind her head, presumably to assist her breathing, and the mediwitch was in the process of slathering a thick unguent on the rash that now covered the entire left side of Mrs. Weasley's face. She looked up as Mr. Weasley came in. "You'll be the husband then?"

"Arthur Weasley, yes."

"Did you know your wife was allergic to bees?"

"Yes, but she's never had a reaction like this before."

"Allergies can work that way at times. She's in a state of anaphylactic shock right now. You're fortunate your son here knew to use mouth-to-mouth." She indicated Bill, seated at his mother's feet. "The outcome could have been much worse."

"Will she need to go to St. Mungo's?" George asked.

"She should, but her condition is too delicate for transfer. You'll have to take the responsibility of monitoring her for the next thirty-six hours. I trust you have a good quantity of bezoars on hand?"

"My daughter's grinding it as we speak. I've also sent my sons out to gather nettles and monkshood in case you'll need them."

"Excellent. I'll show your daughter how to brew the tea you'll need to help your wife sweat out the toxins. If we're lucky, we won't need the rest, but it'll be good to have them on hand just in case. In the meantime, is there an active hive on your property somewhere?"

"A beehive?" Mr. Weasley asked.

The mediwitch nodded. "Yes. If you have a large hive, I might be able to extract enough bee venom to start your wife on an immunotherapy regimen once she's recovered. An allergy to bees out in the country like this could prove deadly, as you have already discovered."

She stood up and pointed to Bill and George. "You and you, come with me. I'll need your assistance in finding a large hive and, if we're successful, in smoking out the bees and capturing them."

She then looked at Harry and Mr. Weasley. "I'm leaving you two in charge of my patient for now. Keep an eye on her breathing. If she shows any sign of distress, get her to sit up and give her a few drops of this at the back of her throat." She handed a vial to Mr. Weasley. "That, plus a good whiff of camphor oil, will help clear her airways. Also, if she comes to, don't let her rub off the salve I put on her face." She then led Bill and George out, leaving Mr. Weasley and Harry alone with Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley sank down on the edge of the bed with a sigh and took Mrs. Weasley's hand in his, caressing each one of her work-roughened knuckles in turn, then bending forward to place a kiss in her palm. Then, apparently no longer aware of Harry's presence, he groaned, "Don't leave me, Molly," and buried his face in his hands.

Harry remained in the doorway, unwilling to intrude on this private, intimate moment. At the same time, however, he couldn't tear himself away. He'd never seen his aunt and uncle be so tender with each other, and so being a witness to Mr. Weasley's undeniable affection for and devotion to his wife stirred feelings in Harry he didn't know he possessed. He found himself quite unexpectedly wondering if he'd ever be fortunate enough to love someone with such quiet intensity.

* * * * *

The rest of the day was a blur. Harry found himself being sent on errands for various members of the Weasley family, though for the most part he kept vigil by the door to the Weasleys' bedroom, keeping an eye on Mr. Weasley almost as much as he did on Mrs. Weasley.

There had been a scare near midday when her throat closed, blocking her airway, but Mr. Weasley had been ready with the potion and Harry was able to find the bottle of camphor oil quickly. Later that afternoon, after Mrs. Weasley regained consciousness enough to swallow, Ginny came in with a kettle of bezoar tea and she and her father took turns ladling it down Mrs. Weasley's throat.

After that Harry's chief designation was as towelboy, collecting the soaked towels used to sponge the sweat from Mrs. Weasley's body and replacing them with fresh ones. When they ran out of towels, he was dispatched to do a load of laundry. In the meantime, George, Bill, Fred and Ron assisted the mediwitch in harvesting bee venom and brewing the serum for Mrs. Weasley's immunotherapy regimen.

This had kept them all busy until well past midnight, when Mr. Weasley and the mediwitch had ordered all the children to bed. None of them were in much mood for sleep despite their fatigue, however, and so Fred and George has gone up to their old room to work on more products for their joke shop, Bill went out to his father's shed, Ginny disappeared for parts unknown, and Harry and Ron passed time playing chess. Finally, not long before dawn, Ron went upstairs. Rather than go with him, Harry decided to lie down on the divan.

The image of Mr. Weasley caressing his wife's hand stayed with Harry even after he fell into a fitful doze. Like a strange, silent Muggle film starring himself in the role of concerned husband tending to an adored, ailing spouse, his dreams left him feeling troubled and strangely empty.

A noise from the adjoining kitchen startled him from his daze. He grabbed his glasses from a nearby table and put them on, blinking rapidly as the room came into focus. He was just about to get up when he heard a crash and then a feminine -- and ear-scorching -- curse. He immediately recognized Ginny's voice, but drew his wand before approaching the kitchen, just in case she was angry enough to hit anything that moved with a Bat-Bogey Hex.

He found her on her knees, surrounded by shards of a broken dish, crying. "Ginny?" he said. "Are you okay?"

Tears streamed down her face. She looked as though she hadn't slept all night. "Mum's wedding china," she said. "I broke Mum's wedding china."

Harry went to her side. "It's all right," he said. "We can fix it." He waved his wand over the shards and said a Reparo Spell. The pieces flew together, reforming the platter on the table. "See?"

She gave him a watery smile and let him help her to her feet. "Thanks, Harry. I don't know why I let it upset me so. It's just a ruddy plate."

He had a pretty good idea why, and said so. "Your mum nearly died yesterday, Ginny."

Her face paled. "Thanks for reminding me of that," she said quietly. "I’d almost managed to put it out of my mind." She bent over and started to pull pots and pans from the lower cabinets.

"B-But..." Harry stammered, "I didn't mean it like that! All I meant was that you have good reason to be upset."

She dropped a large iron skillet on the counter with a bang and turned to look at him. Her face was red and he could see the tracks on her cheeks where the tears had dried. "I know you did," she said, reaching over to give him a pat on the arm. "I just didn't really need a reminder."

"Sorry." He curled his toes under his feet, suddenly embarrassed about the large hole in his left sock, and watched as she continued pulling pots out of the cabinets. "Er... can I help with something?"

She looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Can you?"

"Well... what are you doing?"

"Fixing breakfast."

"Yeah, I can help with that."

"You can?" She turned around and leaned against the counter, planting her hand on her hip. "You, Harry Potter, can cook?"

"When you live with the Dursleys," he said with a measure of pride and defiance, "you learn to fend for yourself early on."

Her brief show of amused disbelief faded with her grin. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said with a shrug. "It means I can help."

"Well, cooking for --" She ticked them off on her fingers. "-- five Weasley males isn't quite the same as cooking for yourself. Are you up to the challenge?"

Harry grinned and mimed rolling up his sleeves. "Bring it on."

Her laughter echoed throughout the kitchen. "Don't say you weren't warned, Harry."

She pulled out her wand and Summoned a large loaf of bread from a nearby cutting board, then a basket of eggs, milk, butter, cheese and a large slab of uncut bacon from the antique fridge. From the pantry she pulled a large leek and three plump green peppers.

"How does French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs sound to you?" she asked once everything had settled into place on the counter next to the pots.

"Delicious," Harry said. He took a butcher knife from a nearby block, set up a cutting board, and started chopping the leek and peppers. Meanwhile Ginny ignited two burners on the gas-fed cooker, cut thick slices from the slab of bacon and began frying them in one skillet while a chunk of butter melted in the other. While the bacon sizzled and spat she whisked three eggs in a shallow bowl, added milk and cinnamon and set the batter aside. In another, larger bowl, she whisked the remaining eggs and poured in a large quantity of milk. Harry added the leek and peppers to the mix.

While Ginny kept an eye on the bacon and eggs, Harry sliced the loaf and dipped them in the batter. Ginny'd already melted another pat of butter in a third skillet, so Harry took charge of heating the battered bread into French toast. When the first pieces were done Ginny Summoned the platter Harry had repaired earlier and they set the French toast and bacon on it.

Harry took over turning over the eggs so they'd cook through evenly while Ginny began carving more slices of bacon. The appearance of Pigwidgeon fluttering just outside the kitchen window had diverted his attention so he didn't see what happened next, but suddenly he heard a gasp, the clatter of the knife against the counter, and a choked curse from Ginny. He turned to see that she'd sucked the tip of her index finger into her mouth.

"What happened?"

Her mouth was engaged, so by way of answering she pointed at the knife. Harry saw the streak of blood on the blade and understood immediately. "Give it here," he said, taking her wrist and gently removing the injured finger from her mouth. "That's the last place you want to expose an open wound to."

"Is that so?" Ginny said. She hissed when he extended her finger to reveal the deep gash that had sliced across two segments. "When did you become an expert on first aid?"

"Aunt Petunia," he said. "She was obsessed with germs."

"Germs?" She whimpered and tried to draw her hand away when he probed at the wound. "Stop it, Harry, that hurts."

He looked up and saw tears shimmering in her eyes. "Sorry." He led her over to the sink and, with his free hand, pumped out cold, clear water to run over her finger. "Don't tell me wizards don't know about germs?"

She hissed again and shook her head. "What are they?"

He turned off the water and drew her hand up to his mouth to blow across her finger. "Never mind," he said in between breaths. "It would take too long to explain. Besides, you'd never believe me."

"Why don't you try me?" she said. She tried to pull her hand free but he held on to it. "Harry..."

As he found himself looking into her eyes he wondered how he'd never noticed before what a deep brown they were, or that she had a slightly off-center widow's peak, or that she had a little indentation right between her eyebrows that appeared when she was looking at him as though he'd gone barking mad. Like the way she was looking at him right now, her mild overbite -- something else he'd never really noticed before -- made more prominent as she sucked in her plump lower lip.

A sizzling sound and the acrid smell of smoke yanked Harry's head out of the clouds. "The eggs!" he yelped. He dropped her hand and rushed to turn off the cooker and move the skillet with the now-ruined eggs away from the heat. "Bugger, bugger, bugger!" he muttered, furious and embarrassed. Turning back to Ginny with an apology and an explanation already forming in his head, he found himself at a loss for words at the sight of her standing there, her hand extended as though he still held it, and tears pouring down her cheeks.

"G-Ginny?" He tentatively reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Oh, Harry." She took a shuddering breath. "I-I'm so scared. What if she'd died? What will we do if something happens to her?" She covered her face with her hands and dissolved into sobs.

His first reaction was one of bafflement. What was it about him that drove girls to tears? His second reaction was one of concern, quickly followed by surprise. Cho's tears had always irritated him. Ginny's made him want to comfort her. Giving comfort, however, was an area in which he had little experience, though enough to know he was rubbish at it. Even so, he felt miserable standing there watching Ginny cry.

Later he'd tell himself that she made the first move, that he'd stayed rooted to that one spot and she came to him, she put her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest. Not all the equivocation in the world, however, could disguise the fact that he put his arms around her shoulders, or that when she drew back to look up at him he bent forward to kiss her.

One of these days, he thought at the time, he'd like to try kissing a girl when she wasn't crying. For purposes of comparison, of course.

Then he wondered if that chance, when it came, would be with Ginny. He rather hoped it would. Maybe if they stayed there long enough she'd stop crying and he could find out. When he'd kissed Cho she'd just cried even harder. Even after twenty minutes the waterworks never let up. He didn't reckon Ginny was the sort to cry for twenty minutes at a stretch.

"Are we interrupting?"

Harry wrenched himself away from Ginny so fast he put a crick in his neck. His back was to whomever had spoken, so, rubbing at his sore neck, he turned around. Mr. Weasley stood in the doorway between the pantry and the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley, pale and obviously very weak but nonetheless well enough to be on her feet, leaning heavily on his arm.

"Mum!" Ginny cried with palpable joy and relief and ran to embrace her mother.

"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry exclaimed. He was happy to see her out of danger, of course, but more so he was happy for Mr. Weasley, who was grinning as though he'd just become a father for the very first time.

Ginny's outburst must have roused her brothers, because there was a great drumroll of running feet, then Fred, George, Ron and Bill burst into the kitchen and gathered around Mrs. Weasley, all of them clamoring at once to hold her or inquire after her well-being or guide her gently to the nearest chair or offer her pumpkin juice, coffee, freshly-made French toast, whatever her heart desired.

Harry watched all this from a distance, yet he didn't feel excluded. He could see now that Mrs. Weasley was the glue that held them all together. Each of them, in their own way -- Mr. Weasley, her life's companion; Bill the firstborn, the golden child; Fred and George, the merry troublemakers; Ron the youngest son, still trying to make a place for himself; Ginny, the girl they'd longed for and nearly lost; and even those who were absent, Charlie the rough-and-tumble one, and Percy the striver -- loved and depended on Mrs. Weasley wholeheartedly.

As he saw Mr. Weasley break free and approach him, Harry remembered the dream he'd had. He remembered wondering what it would be like to love someone so much that he couldn't fathom a life without her. A love like that, he thought -- even the promise or hope of such a love -- would be worth fighting Voldemort for.

Mr. Weasley, looking pale and tired but nontheless joyful, smiled at Harry and squeezed his shoulder. "I want to thank you for your help," he said. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"I'm glad Mrs. Weasley's going to be okay," Harry said.

"Me too, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. As he looked away Harry saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Me too."
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