Disclaimer: They belong to JKR, I'm only playing.
A/N: Another miserable chapter, I'm sorry. Also very businesslike, lots of comings and goings. An important chapter too, but hmm, maybe not for the obvious reason. You'll still be confused by the end of it. Don't worry, next chapter should definitely help ;) This would be the halfway mark, the no-turning-back chapter. Thank you for reading, for ploughing through, and for leaving me a word at the end. Please feel free to pick and grumble.
And many thanks to beta, Ai. *blows endless kisses*
***
--Chapter Six--
On Sunday he watches her leave, cloaked in crimson. Her face and hair hidden behind the heavy hood, she walks quickly, body angled against the wind. What would she do if he called out? Would she stop and turn around? Would she scold him to go inside, wear something warmer, find somewhere else to sit for goodness sakes, not so close to the edge of the roof? And don't tap your feet against that eave, it's upsetting the starlings, can't you see?
Fat chance, Harry, he jeers at himself. Chances are she'll keep walking.
He leans against the chimney and picks at his bandage. She's cleaned him out and wrapped him up afresh, quick and precise, not too tight nor too loose, no stray ends and not a single word in almost two days. Nothing for him to catch and tug to get her unravelling, to get her to rage at him, to yell, scream, hit him.
He watches her disappear round the corner, feeling hollow and tired. Something rattles below and he peers down over his knees. The kids are back. They count, call out, then dart across the street. Hide and seek. There are four of them and scarcely anywhere to hide in the stark street. They scramble about giggling and shouting, kicking up dirty, scant snow. One of them runs towards the end of the street and collides with a group of people turning in.
Two counts of red hair and one lanky blue.
Harry straightens up and takes a deep breath. He leans against the chimney and hauls himself to his feet.
*
"Mum made this for you." Ginny uncovers a large cake stuffed with raisins. "She said to say hello, and to come and see her sometime."
Harry tries to pretend she's talking to Ron, but her eyes are on him. He nods without looking up. She draws out the chair next to him. The cake looks as if it might stick to his palate at first bite, syrupy and cloyingly sweet. Fred reaches for a knife, digs out a raisin and tosses it in his mouth.
"Mmmm. This is good. The sweetening charm must have worked this time." He settles more comfortably in his chair and points the knife at Harry and Ron.
"So what've you two done to Hermione? We ran into her at the station and I'm telling you, she did not look happy." He gestures at Harry's right arm, grinning. "She finally had enough and punched you, did she?"
Ron stays silent and Harry shrugs carelessly, aware of Ginny's glance again. "She's having lunch with her Mum." He turns to Tonks.
"So, what did you find out about Snape?"
Tonks stretches in her chair, almost toppling it back, yawns loudly and shakes her head. Her hair's been blue for months now. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She rubs her face. "Either he was never there or he was long gone when we got there. I couldn't stay on any longer or I'll be out of a job."
"Who gave you the lead?"
"Kingsley. And don't ask me how he knew." She glances at Harry. She looks decades older. "And I'm sorry we sort of kept it covered. Fred says you were a bit...upset."
Fred snorts and Harry shrugs. "It's all right." He looks out the window. "So, what do we do now?" The glass is so grimy that he can barely see anything outside.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I have no idea. Malfoy hasn't tried anything else?"
Harry shakes his head. He feels that if he let himself, he could spend his entire life in this chair, in this kitchen, in this mouldering house, slowly becoming a part of the peeling wallpaper and rotting floorboards.
Fred leans forward. "So, is that all that's left of the death squad? Ferret boy and Snivellus?"
"Yes." Says Tonks. A little too quickly, thinks Harry.
"Interesting." Fred leans back. "So, Harry, remind me, why is Snivellus after you?"
Harry throws him a look. "For the same reason he's always been after me."
Fred's fingers drum on the table. "Hmm."
Ron snorts. "Just spit it out, Fred."
Fred makes a mock-thoughtful gesture. "I'm just saying, it all seems a bit…odd to me. I can understand why Malfoy would like to chuck a curse at you, since you did away with his folks. But he had the chance, didn't he, when he broke into the house? I mean, you had no idea he was in the house until he was trying to get out. Snivellus, on the other hand--sure, he hates you and it breaks his heart to see you alive but…don't you have more reason to want him dead than the other way round?"
"I don't want anyone dead." Harry says brusquely.
"What's your point?" Ron leans across the table, glowering at his brother.
Fred scratches his chin nonchalantly. "I dunno. May be that Malfoy and Snape are actually trying to keep out of your way? I mean, we all know you can be a one-man death squad yourself--"
Next to Harry, Ginny flinches aloud. "Fred!"
Ron growls. "Yeah, of course. That would be why Malfoy decided to break into the house. To stay out of Harry's way. Just shut up, Fred."
Fred holds his hands up, about to say something more. Tonks intervenes wearily.
"Just give it a rest, will you? Look at you, growling at each other like a bunch of alley-cats over a scrap of rotting fish!"
Harry leaves the table pretending to get more tea. The kettle's lifted a little too quickly, the water poured too fast. A plume of steam clouds his glasses, a few droplets searing his skin.
As he returns to the table, Ginny clears her throat. "Ron, Fred said you had an appointment with the Healer yesterday. Mum wanted to know how it went."
Still bristling, Ron shrugs. "There's nothing more he can do…for the moment. Not until they figure out what exactly the curse was and then find some way to reverse it." He fiddles with a wizard chess set he'd found among their school things in Buckbeak's room. Half the pieces are missing.
"Ah well, Ronnie, you know what they say, time is after all the greatest healer."
"Fred!" Ginny scowls. "You're so horrid!"
Ron snorts dully. "Please, don't start fighting over me."
"No, I'm serious." Ginny continues to glare at Fred. "You think you're funny but lately you've just been…just vicious." Fred flicks a raisin at her.
"Don't mind her, Ron. Look, this'll cheer you up." He fumbles in his pocket and brings out a small battered box tied with string. Ron frowns at the peace offering. Fred tosses it across the table, and Tonks catches it. A rare look of delight flashes across her face.
"The original Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs." She grins at Fred. "I'd no idea you still had these. You know, having moved on to bigger and better things."
"Yeah, well, neither did I." Fred shrugs. "And I don't know about bigger and better. My shop's burnt to a crisp and my partner's dead."
Tonks sighs and sets the box on the table in front of Ron. He makes no move to pick it up. "If it's any consolation, Ron, Ethelbert Bellamy is the best in all of Europe for this kind of thing. If anyone can do something, it'll be him."
"That's what Hermione keeps saying," Ron mumbles.
"Is this the same Healer who invited Hermione for an Apprenticeship?" Ginny's voice is a little too casual.
"Yeah." Ron reaches for a fork and begins to mangle a piece of cake. "He mentioned it again."
"And what did she say?"
"Nothing. I don't think she's interested. Why are you so curious?"
"No reason." She shrugs. Harry turns to Tonks.
"Luna's bringing a friend of her Dad's who works in the Department of Mysteries. It would be great if you can hang around. They're working on some project and they want me to help them with it."
Tonks tips her head. "The Ministry? I thought you'd sworn off Scrimgeour and his lot."
Harry shrugs uncomfortably. "Well, Mr Lovegood's in on this one and I trust him. Besides, I haven't really given my word yet."
Tonks nods. "Well, all right. I'll stay. But don't you need Hermione around for this type of thing? I may work for the Ministry but she can cut through most people's codswallop a lot better than any of us."
Harry tries hard not to look away. "I'm sure she'll be back then. Luna won't be here for another few hou--oh. Where's the clock?" He stares at the rectangle of unstained wallpaper on the wall where the old bolt-shooting clock had hung.
"Ron, the clock's gone," he says needlessly.
Ron shrugs. "Hermione must have taken it down. Remember how she was going on about how dangerous it was?"
Tonks rises from the table with a groan. "Well, if I'm staying, I need to find me a bed first. I feel like I haven't slept for months." She clatters across the kitchen, bumping into half a dozen things in less than a minute.
Harry throws another puzzled glance at the wall, then turns to face the Weasleys.
"You, too, are staying, of course. Care for some lunch?"
*
She's falling asleep, the sofa so warm, the rain lilting against the window. Her mother's been quiet and thoughtful, now nowhere to be seen. She ought to think about getting back now, but her body feels weightless, her eyes swimming in and out of afternoon light and the gloom of a dreamless sleep. A faint rustle and footsteps, then a blanket settles over her. She pushes her bare feet and cold hands gratefully into its warmth. She really should get back. Time drifts by. She opens her eyes. Out of habit her glance falls towards her door, always left half open, just so she can see Harry move about in the house, silent and sleepless through the night. Sleepless but safe, where she can see him. But the door's not where it's supposed to be and no candlelight spills through the hallway, and a moment later, she realises she's still at her Mum's place. She means to check the time, to get up, catch the train. But she's too tired, so warm. Sleep pulls her again and she relents, a faint traitorous thought whispering in her mind. She'd never spent a night away from Grimmauld Place since the end of the war; unimaginable to leave Harry to his nights.
But tonight, just for one night, what a relief it would be to not to have to meet his bruised eyes.
*
"It's hard to explain…harder to understand. Magic covers the earth like a web without a centre, with enchanted strands. At certain places the strands are thicker or are intertwined and at these places magic's stronger. I suppose you could call magic a natural property of the earth…like gravity, perhaps."
Harry barely registers the words but he is keenly aware of the speaker, Sally Page, Unspeakable Grade 2, resident archaeologist of magic at the Department of Mysteries. She has short jaw-length hair that twitches around her face, and amber eyes with enlarged pupils as if she's just come indoors from a bright day. Something about her seems intensely, urgently familiar and he finds himself drifting constantly trying to put a finger on it.
"…But it would also be wrong to call magic everlasting. It simply…waxes and wanes…"
They're all gathered in the kitchen again, the fire roaring away and tea poured out. A flighty wind snaps at the window; Luna and Sally have arrived with a sweep of rain. Hermione still hasn't returned. With effort, Harry turns his attention back to the Unspeakable.
He thinks she's the most unlikely Unspeakable he's met, though he's not sure what he expects from an Unspeakable. He's only ever known Bode and Croaker, and that was only from a distance. There had been something sinister about them whereas Sally seems merely nervous, sitting very still as if by the slightest motion she might startle herself. Harry gets the feeling that the words she's laying before them have been through many rehearsals.
"So there's an end to magic? Is that what you mean?" Tonks swats at a moth.
Sally hesitates. "Well, not really. There have been times in the past, long ago, when due to some great upheaval in the magical world, magic became…unpredictable. Sometimes it's only for a short time…often it returned to form just a few years later like a...like a healing limb, I suppose. But there have been other times when it took decades, or even longer."
Tonks scratches her head and screws up her face. "When, for instance? And how come we've never heard of such…occasions?"
Harry feels something brush against his legs. He pushes his chair back and Crookshanks hops up to his lap, curling carefully away from the injured arm. Sally looks at him, drawn by the movement in the still room. For a moment, it seems as if she's about to lose her confidence. Then she turns back to Tonks.
"Well, for instance, when Hogwarts was built, the magic used in the construction and concealment of the castle was so great that for many years afterwards, not a single spell could be summoned within fifty miles' radius of the castle."
Harry taps his teaspoon against the table. "So, that's mentioned in Hogwarts: A History?"
"No. Of course not." She smiles, a quick flurry.
Harry raises an eyebrow.
Sally clears her throat. "Well, Hogwarts was built at a time when people seldom wrote things down. Written records are very rare from that time. This is why we're not even certain of the exact date the castle was built."
"Hogwarts; A History was compiled very recently, when compared to how old the castle could be. Besides,"--she smiles again--"despite claiming to be the authority on Hogwarts, the book is very…selective in the information it gives, isn't it? It never mentions house elves, does it?"
Ron makes a small sound next to him. Harry scratches behind Crookshanks' ear vigorously enough to make the kneazle squirm.
"Well, if there's nothing recorded anywhere, how do you know about this…this waning of magic or whatever you call it?" Ginny scowls. She seems to have taken an instant dislike to Sally; Harry has no idea why.
"There's no record of it in Europe. But there are records of similar occurrences in a few other wizarding cultures. Some of which have long since died."
"Sally's just returned from Egypt," Luna chimes in.
"I can't prove that these cultures declined because magic itself did, but--" she shrugs barely noticeably "--it's a possibility. Especially since the dwindling of magical ability was one of the last things they recorded. You can't go for decades without magic and still expect to remain a magical community."
"Which year were you again?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Fred squints at Sally as if trying to remember something. "You look familiar, but I don't remember you at Hogwarts."
"I didn't go to Hogwarts."
Fred waits for an elaboration, then lifts a shoulder.
"So, magic is running out then?" Harry asks the archaeologist, a quick look taking in the bemused faces around him. He glances at the spot where the clock had hung, thinking about trains to London.
Sally hesitates. "Yes and no. I wouldn't call it running out--"
"All right, waning, then?" Crookshanks lays his front paws and hairy chin on the table, contemplating a ring of moths circling a candle-flame.
"Yes."
"Only in England?"
"Yes."
Rain picks up speed, spurred by lightening. Harry listens to its steady grumble, idly wondering why no one's asking the most obvious question. Tonks leaves the table to rummage in a cupboard, muttering about 'something stronger'.
Luna's voice winds through the silence. "Isn't it obvious? There have been lots of incidents across the country…the latest is that The Ministry's had to change hours of work for employees, just to stagger Apparation. Apparently one morning half the staff couldn't get to work because they were all trying to Apparate at the same time. The Floo Network's beyond repair, of course." She shakes her head.
"It's a mess. The reconstruction work around the city is also coming along very slow. The Minister promised the Muggle government full support to rebuild London…but he's having trouble keeping his word. Charms don't hold, spells are going haywire…"
"Well, I wish he'd do something about his own bloody Ministry first." Tonks says over her shoulder. "Doesn't help matters when the departments are scattered all over London, does it? I'm sure that it adds to the fuss about Apparation, with us having to pop in and out all across London to get the simplest thing done."
Having knocked off a crockery stand and a couple of books, she returns to the table with a bottle of Firewhiskey. Her palm lit up a pale blue, she tries to open the bottle without success. With an oath she passes the bottle to Harry. Fred throws a spoon in the air in an elaborate spin and catches it deftly, eyeing Sally.
"So…if magic is running out--waning, I suppose we're just going to have to live like Muggles until it's all sorted and magic's back to normal?"
"No." She sounds distracted, and Harry looks up to find her eyes on him.
"Why not?" Fred persists.
"Well…we can't tell when it'll be back to normal--"
"Oh, yes, I get that," drawls Fred. "But it'll be quite an adventure--living like Muggles for a while. We don't give them half as much credit they deserve, they're quite a clever bunch of people you know, given how limited they are. For instance, they have this thing called an anti-gravity suit--"
Harry interrupts. "Yes, but what if by the time you're sick of being a Muggle, there's no wizarding world to return to?" He turns to Sally, passing the open bottle of Firewhiskey to Tonks.
"Isn't that right? Isn't that what it's all about?"
Suddenly, Sally looks even more nervous. "Exactly…exactly." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, watching Tonks dump a careless quantity of Ogden's into her mug of tepid tea.
"I mean, there are lots of questions, not just how long it's going to last. Will it come to a point when we can't use any magic? Does it affect everyone? What about power? I mean, what if some can still keep using magic while other cannot?" Her words tumble thick and fast as if she's trying to get them out before being interrupted.
Ginny frowns. "But if magic's running out in general, why would it affect people differently?"
Sally takes a breath and clears her throat. Harry watches her, faintly exasperated, thinking that she might have had half a chance at convincing her audience had she been less jumpy.
"You see, humans aren't naturally magical. Not in the way truly magical creatures are. Some of us are born with certain degrees of sensitivity, or responsiveness to magic, but we have to learn to use it. And we need various props--wands, words, etcetera. Wandless magic makes up a very small proportion of our total repertoire." She picks up her teaspoon and sets it down.
"In fact, all the magic we ever use is a very tiny amount compared to the possibilities out there, to the strength of magic inherent in naturally magical species such as dragons or centaurs…or even a kneazle like this one." Crookshanks blinks a wary eye, his ears twitching.
"But anyway, what I'm getting at is…well, at a time like this…" She throws a quick, hesitant look at Harry. "Just a second ago you opened that bottle without…without even blinking. The most banal of spells are failing to hold but you can still do wand--"
A sharp rattle rings out through the house. After a second of startled silence across the kitchen, Fred jumps to his feet. "The door--I'll get it."
Crookshanks scampers after Fred, toppling the candle over the table. Harry groans and re-lights it with a wave of his hand, looking up to find Sally's eyes on him again. The fire hisses into the silence. Fred returns, clanging through the house, followed by someone tall and brown haired.
"Nick!"
Harry straightens up. His heart takes a dive. Nick grins and raises a hand.
"Hey, Harry. Sorry to barge in like this." His eyes sweep across the kitchen, nodding vaguely at everyone. Harry and Ron have been in Nick's company a few times before, around the time of Mr Granger's funeral.
"Is everything all right? Where's Hermione?"
"She's fine, mate. She's fine. Aunt Helen just telephoned--I work across the road from here, you see, in the St Pancras branch of the Library, I don't know if Hermione's told you--anyway, she just said to tell you guys that Hermione's staying with her for a while, a couple of days, I assume. But, yeah, everything's fine, I'm sure."
He smiles and nods, shifting on his feet. Ron leans over the table and calls out.
"Thanks Nick, thanks for that. We, erm--" He elbows Harry discreetly. "We were getting a bit worried."
Harry starts, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. "Yeah…yeah, thanks, Nick." He runs a hand through his hair.
"Erm, why don't you take a seat, we've got tea…and…and you've already met Fred, Ron's brother, and this is Ginny, Ron's sister, Luna, and Sally…and Tonks…"
Nick readily makes his way to the table and settles down next to Fred. Ginny collects more cups from the dresser and Tonks throws a log in the fire. The sharp, oddly sour smell of Firewhiskey mingled with tea fills the kitchen. Harry tries to look as if nothing's amiss.
She's not all right, he knows that. If she is, she'll be home. Is she that angry at him? Or is disgusted a better word? Does she hate him? She hates him, without a doubt, and despises him. If she's in a rage, she wouldn't stay away, she'd confront him. Should he tell Ron the truth? When will she come back? How long can he bear it? A couple of days…that could mean anything from two days to a week. Is Nick telling the truth? What if she decides to stay longer, what'll he do then? What if she…what if--"
"Harry? Harry!"
"What?"
He blinks and adjusts his glasses. Several pairs of eyes watch him. Ron hastens to the rescue again.
"Um, Sally was asking if you'd noticed any trouble with your magic at all?"
"What? Oh, yes, here and there…but mostly I'm okay."
His eyes move to Sally, trying to clear his head, trying to remember why she's there, who she is, why they are all there with their waiting eyes turned on him.
"So…erm…how do you want me to help you?"
Sally looks startled. " Well, I--" Her eyes shift around the room and waver back towards Harry. Tonks clears her throat.
"Harry, Sally hasn't yet finished telling us about her…her theory. I think we should--"
"It's fine." He shakes his head. "It's fine. How do I help?"
The room is too bright, too open, he needs the dark to think, he needs to be alone. A sharp crackle and a whiff of smoke burst at the far end of the table; Fred hasn't lost any time. The box of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs lies open on the table, and Nick chuckles appreciatively as a particularly noisy sample makes fiery dancing garlands along the grimy walls.
"I need your help to convince the Minister that this is something we need to pay attention to."
Sally pauses as if certain of Harry's refusal. Hearing nothing, she swallows and continues.
"According to the Minister, all these instances of magic failing can easily have other causes. Various things can disturb the magical ability in humans and in this case, the war. "
Harry sets his jaw, willing himself patience. Several strands of noises tangle and twist around him, the fire, Sally's voice, Fred and Nick in the corner, the thump thump of Ginny's foot against the table. He rubs the back of his neck and tries to concentrate.
"There's a certain pattern I'm following, you see…With other people, normal witches and wizards like us, yes, the Minister maybe right. But look at you. You were as emotionally affected as everyone else, probably even more--I know that your Muggle relations died, the ones who brought you up, and many others close to you….but you just performed wandless magic."
"Right. So. You want me to come into the Ministry one day?"
"Harry! Are you sure? Half of this doesn't even make sense--"
"Yeah, I'm sure, Ron."
Ron whirls on Sally.
"What're you going to be doing with him?"
"Just leave it," Harry warns. He pushes his chair back and holds his hand out.
"Nice to meet you, Sally. It's been great. And Luna, we'll see you around, yes?"
A wave and a nod at the smoke-ridden, glittering far corner of the table where Nick seems right at home, a brief glance at Ginny and Tonks, lost amidst the sparks, then he's out the door. The fish scuttle in agitation as he bounds past the landing, the creaking stairs shifting the tank's balance. The rooftop glistens in the rain, the night foggy, London matted around lampposts and parked cars like dirty cotton. For a moment he thinks of Apparating; but then her walled eyes and silence comes to mind and his courage fails. He huddles against the chimney. There had been no explicit promises so he can't really complain; there are a million reasons why he can't complain.
But this would be the first night she'd spent away from Grimmauld Place since the end of the war, away from him.
--end chapter six--