Disclaimer : You know the drill ... Harry Potter is JK Rowling's.
Chapter 20 - Ginny's Fury
Ginny was aghast by what she saw. Nothing could have prepared her for that and she could not begin to think what to think.
It was a shrine. Not only were there paintings of Hermione, there were Muggle and wizard pictures and newspaper articles dating all the way back from Hogwarts to the present. She could not believe that the man she was married to for five years was obsessed with her best friend.
Were they having an affair?
Was that why Hermione had been so distant?
Was that why Dean was becoming more distant?
She noticed this more when Harry arrived but that was also the day Hermione escaped. Maybe they broke up and were now back together.
All the images of Hermione started spinning around her as her mind raced thinking about her life and her children's lives, and how that had just changed. Her heart was pounding. Her chest was tightening. Her insides were churning. She couldn't breathe. She was going to pass out…
Finally she willed her feet to run, stumbling out of the room and out into their backyard. She threw up in their rose garden, fittingly, as it was something she and Dean planted together. She noticed she was crying and when she did, she began wailing uncontrollably.
Ginny did not know how long she was there. She lost track of time. Finally, her tears were spent and what was left was this aching void inside her. She knew what she had to do. Of course she would confront him. She would confront him first and then take the kids and leave him. She was a firm believer of trying to do everything to make a marriage work but even if he wanted to do that, what she just saw was lunacy. What wife could get past the image of her husband's obsession with another woman?
Calmer and more composed, she was almost thinking normally now. Hermione was her best friend and in her heart she knew Hermione would never cross that line. Ginny was just with her at St. Mungo's this afternoon, as she spent some time with Ron. Ginny did not sense anything amiss between them. Maybe Hermione knew about it and that was why she was avoiding them for the past five months.
The sound of a twig breaking behind her caught her attention and she turned around. It was her husband. Her ex-husband.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, and sensing that she had been crying, "Are you okay? Are the kids okay?"
He tried to touch her and she withdrew.
"When were going to tell me? Were you even going to tell me?" Ginny's voice was as calm as possible.
"Tell you what?" Dean seemed confused, "What's going on?"
"Your room, the room with her pictures!" How could he stand there and deny knowing what she was talking about!
"What room?! Whose pictures?!" Dean sounded equally angry, "Are you talking about the unfinished room in the back?!"
"Yes, the room in the back, but from what I can tell, it's definitely finished!"
"What are you so upset about? I told you ages ago I was going to do that so I could spend more time with the kids at home. You agreed to it, remember?"
"Well, if I agreed to something, I'm sure it wasn't for you to create a place to worship Hermione Granger!"
Ginny's face was scarlet with rage. She was breathing hard and glaring at Dean, who looked dumbfounded. His look infuriated her even more. She had never been this enraged since Hogwarts.
"Show me," Dean said calmly.
"No, I've seen enough!" Ginny thought he was definitely crazy if he believed she was going to go in there again.
"No, show me," he repeated.
"I didn't think you could be this cruel," she said as she walked past him and went into his studio. Dean followed her in.
As Ginny approached the room, she felt her chest tighten again. Why did he have to do this? What sick satisfaction was he going to get from humiliating her even further?
The door was slightly ajar and she stopped right in front of it. No matter how much she tried, she was never going to be prepared to see the room again. Sensing her hesitation, Dean pushed to door open and Ginny could not believe what she saw.
It was just as Dean said it was, an unfinished room with planks of partitions, unopened pails of house paint and bags of unmixed plaster. She was flabbergasted.
"But I know what I saw…" Ginny said more to herself than to Dean. The room was real.
She looked at Dean and saw tears in his eyes. He looked heartbroken.
"Ginny, you know I love you, and I didn't want to say anything all these years. If this is about wanting to be with him you could have just told me."
Ginny couldn't believe what she just heard, "Who? Harry? No, I don't want to be with him! I'm married to you!"
"That doesn't seem to matter," he said quietly, "I'll spend a few days at Seamus'. If you can take the kids to day care, I'll pick them up and drop them off at Molly's."
Then Dean was gone, leaving Ginny thinking, how could her seeing a roomful of Hermione's pictures make Dean think she wanted to be with Harry? That did not make any sense! Did he think she made it all up? She had just about had it with his insecurity!
And, what happened to all the portraits and pictures? She knew that was not a figment of her imagination because never in her wildest thoughts did she ever consider that possibility. Ginny felt her face grow fiery hot again. There was just no other logical explanation. Dean must have seen her go into the room and he got rid of everything as she was bawling her eyes out and throwing up in disgust. What angered her more was that he had the gall to shed crocodile tears and accuse her of wanting to be with Harry! He painted himself the victim so he could leave and tell everyone it was her fault! It was nice of him to tell her where he was going to be! Well, as far as Ginny was concerned, he could stay with Seamus forever!
Just outside one of the windows to the studio, Inspector Richard Tilly was crouched in the bushes. Dean Gray a.k.a. Dean Thomas had just disappeared. How was Ritchie supposed to trail him now! He cursed in his head, chastising himself for being so inept. He hated not being able to do anything about the fact that he was not one of them. And he hated that he had earlier stepped on what smelled like puke.
Ritchie was waiting for the wife to leave. He did not want to risk being seen or heard. He could only imagine what dire consequences would arise when an angry witch finds a Muggle eavesdropping on her private property, particularly after a row with who was now their number one suspect in the Muggle stabbing case.
A few minutes earlier, he had just turned off the car ignition when he heard husband and wife arguing. He quickly moved in closer to listen in but couldn't really see their faces from where he was. Something about a place of worship and he heard Jane's name. As they went into the shack, he found the perfect spot to eavesdrop further. Then he heard the wife say she did not want to be with 'Harry'. He felt it safe to assume they were talking about the same Harry who was currently the bane of his existence. What was going on?
He finally saw the red head stomp back to her house. Ritchie thought she looked familiar as he slowly and quietly walked back to his car. He got in, taking care to wipe off the vomit from his shoe, and drove back home.
As he got to a stopped traffic light, he pulled the folder that the Chief's personal informer hastily handed him about half an hour ago. It surprised Ritchie that the Chief had an informer who straddled both worlds.
Dean Thomas was born Dean Gray in one of the local orphanages. His mother was underprivileged and his father was a suspected Death Eater who left his pregnant wife months before. There were complications at childbirth, and his mother was hospitalized for a long time. Recovery took even longer and it was felt best to leave Thomas to spend a lot of his childhood in foster homes. Details were sketchy at best about what happened to him after he turned eight years old but at some point his father came back and took him from foster care. Soon after, Mr. Gray died suddenly of unknown reasons. At that time, Thomas' mother had remarried and his stepfather, one Stephen Thomas, formally adopted him.
He looked at the rest of the information on Thomas. Thomas was a Gryffindor around the time Harry and Jane were at Hogwarts. They definitely knew each other. Seamus, he read, was Seamus Finnegan, his best friend. Thomas had married just after graduation and had twin sons. His wife was Ginevra Weasley. Weasley. Thomas called her Ginny. Of course, she looked familiar because she was Ron's sister. This was getting to be too complicated. Though she would not be thrilled at the reason why, at least he could tell Jane he finally saw her best friend. Her best friend who she did not want him to meet and who she had not seen for quite some time.
A loud honk behind him made him realize the traffic light before him had been green for quite sometime. A large muscled man in the car that just passed him was giving him the finger. He returned the greeting in kind as his mind drifted back to the events of the night.
After Harry left, Ritchie got ready to leave too to meet the Chief's informant. Jane came back to the study following what Ritchie thought was an inordinate amount of time just to see someone out. He really didn't want to leave Jane, having not seen her for quite some time. Not only did he miss her, they needed a good talk, alone. He was aching to talk to her about what Harry Potter's return meant.
Jane's phone call two months ago was a jolt. He never expected to hear from her again, not after what happened four years ago. He had to thank the Cardinal for that. Admittedly, at first he felt that their parent induced romantic interlude had a lot to do with the physical attraction they had for each other, and the fact that he was insecure after just being dumped. She helped him move on and they really did have a good time.
Of course, that changed when she showed him she was a witch. He freaked out, not so much because he saw her perform magic for the first time (though admittedly that was part of it), but more so because she was taking their relationship to the next level. He just ended one very badly and was not ready for another soul sharing commitment. Surely, though he had no past experience to draw from, a witch revealing herself to a non-magical person meant she was very serious about him. That was the real reason he broke it off with her.
Ritchie was more depressed than ever a week after getting back from that vacation. He realized that he was actually smitten by her and he had just given up a chance to get to know Jane better because he was afraid he would get hurt again, preferring to wallow in self-pity. He tried to woo her back but she ignored him. He sure blew that one and he wasn't about to mess up this second chance to be with her.
But it's funny sometimes how fate works. After four years of dead end relationships, here he was, eager to give it his all to have a meaningful relationship with someone he knew was worth the commitment, and it was now Jane's turn to feel as he felt before; only the situation was worse. Four years ago, it was more of his ego that was bruised. In Jane's case, her heart was broken, very badly. It wasn't that she shunned commitment; she wanted to commit but just couldn't.
That first night after leaving Ron at the restaurant, they talked about almost everything, except the reason for the frequent fleeting moments of sadness in her eyes. She seemed to avoid any conversation that would lead Ritchie to ask her about that. When he dropped her off, she invited him to come up to her place for coffee.
The second they stepped out of the elevator they were making out. It felt to him that she had a lot of pent up sexual energy just about to explode. He had no illusions about what he was to her that night. She made it perfectly clear that she had nothing to give him and that all she wanted was for him to make her feel alive.
As they lay naked kissing and touching each other on her bed, Ritchie felt the difference immediately. She would not allow him to look into her eyes and noticed that she kept them closed for the most part. Her kisses were full of melancholy and deep longing he knew for sure they were not for him. Ritchie understood that that night, he was not Ritchie, not to her. She was making love to someone else with such sorrow it felt as if she was loving him one last time, saying goodbye and letting go.
And Ritchie was a willing participant. He wanted to help her heal and move on as she had helped him four years ago. If that meant she needed him to be somebody else for her, he would allow it. He was not a complete moron but he would allow it that one night.
She asked him to make her feel alive and he certainly was up for the challenge. He blocked off the fact that she was not as invested as he was and made love to her like he did four years ago. He was familiar with her body and knew how to please her. And please her, he did. She came; he did too. And right after their release, still out of breath, she met his concerned gaze. With tears in her eyes, she apologized.
"I'm sorry," she said to him in all earnestly. She knew he knew what she just did and was big enough to come clean.
"I understand," he replied as he tried to brush her tears away.
"I won't do that again," she declared to him.
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
He held her as she slept, thinking to himself as her scent filled his entire being, he would probably stay even if she did that again. He would be unhappy and miserable, but he was in, neck deep, and flapping his arms, swimming for dear life. Jane had just awoken the Saviour complex in him. Thankfully, true to her word, she never did.
Over the next few weeks, in the midst and because of all the Cardinal murders, he got to know her more intimately and he fell in love with her more deeply than ever before. She was quite easy to love.
Ritchie remembered the first time he told her exactly how he felt about her. It was about a month ago, they were in bed, spent, her brown eyes looking into his with softness and affection. It took some time but she could do that now with so much ease. She could look into his eyes and allow him to look into hers.
"I wish to confess," he started, rolling her body onto his.
"I don't think a priest would appreciate confession in your birthday suite," she quipped mischievously.
"To you," he smiled.
"In that case, you don't have to get dressed."
"You're a most amazing woman, Jane."
"That's not a confession, that's a fact."
"I love you."
And there was silence. The smile left her face and her eyes betrayed regret and concern. She got up, put on his shirt and sat beside him. He leaned against the headboard on a propped up pillow.
"You can't do that. You shouldn't do that," Jane spoke.
"I can't help it. I can't choose who I love," he answered.
"I don't want to hurt you. You know I can't love you the same way back."
"Maybe not right now," Ritchie was hopeful.
"Maybe not ever," Jane was pessimistic, "What if it's not ever? You deserve better."
"You deserve better. What do you think we're doing here? Are we passing the time away so we can be with someone better?"
Jane knew he had a point.
"Listen," Ritchie took her hand in his and lifted her chin up so he could look into her eyes, "Stop worrying that you can't ever love me back the way I love you. Life's too short. I could as soon as tomorrow pack up and leave you for a girl named Olga," he saw her smile, "Or whatever his name is may come back and sweep you off your feet again. That may or may not happen. Let's just enjoy what we have and be as happy as we can be right now, no what-ifs, no maybes and no regrets."
She knew he was right. The one maybe Ritchie was hoping for was that she would eventually fall in love with him.
"I don't want to hear it," she said.
"Hear what?"
"You know, those words about how you feel."
He smiled, "You mean you don't want to hear that I love you? Why not?"
"Well, isn't it obvious?"
Ritchie frowned. It obviously was not.
"Say it," she asked him, and repeated when he hesitated, "Say it a few times so you'll understand what I mean."
"I love you."
"Thanks, I care about you too."
"I love you."
"Nice weather we're having."
"I love you."
Jane froze and was silent. He got the point.
"Fine, so it feels terrible not hearing you say it back."
She had this I-told-you-so expression that had grown on him.
"You will let me know when you start feeling that way about me, right?"
"Of course," Jane replied, "You'll be the first to know."
Ritchie had not heard her say that to him yet. And now, Jane's 'someone better', the person she had said goodbye to that first night, was back. Ritchie had never been in such a predicament all his life; definitely unchartered waters. So this was how it felt to be jealous, insanely jealous.
Ritchie knew he behaved like an ass the entire night and made a mental note to apologize to Jane about that. He really could not help reacting to him that way. Ever since Ron showed him that memory a couple of days before the Cardinal put Ron in a coma, Harry Potter's ghost haunted him.
"That should answer your questions about her and Harry," Ron said after the memory ended.
Ritchie asked, feeling hurt and angry at the same time, "Why did you show it to me?"
"So you know not to ask her about it anymore," Ron replied, "And because I have a favour to ask of you."
Ron took the silvery substance from the Pensieve, bottled it in a phial, and gave the phial of his memory to Ritchie.
"Why are you giving me this? I don't want it."
"If something bad happens to me and he comes back, I trust you to know what to do with it."
Ritchie was annoyed that he was being asked to do this, "If you think I'm going to do Potter any favours, you misjudge me."
Ron reiterated, "I know you love her and you're a decent guy. I haven't seen Harry in years and I don't know how he feels about her. He could be a complete git by now for all I know. I trust that you will do the right thing when the time comes."
And now that Harry was back, Ritchie had to make a decision as to what to do with the bloody phial! He would pay a million pounds not to be decent or trustworthy at the moment. He wished he did not see the memory. He wished he could smash the phial. He wished he did not have to choose between what he wanted and the right thing to do.
It was obvious, seeing them together earlier tonight, that she still loved him and it was evident Harry felt the same way about her. That was why he wanted to talk with Jane, or at least allow her to talk to him about Harry. He did not want to regret his decision.
It was one in the morning when he drove into the carport and went into the study, knowing that was where he would find her. Leaving the Thomas file on his desk, he walked over to the couch where Jane had fallen asleep. She was in pyjamas. He took a thick half read file from her lap and scooped her up in his arms, taking her to the bedroom they virtually shared the past month. As he set her down their bed, she stirred.
"You're back," she said half asleep, "How did it go?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
"I smell vomit," her eyes were still closed, "Is that yours or mine?"
It was a private joke involving five bottles of firewhiskey at the Screeching Moon on a Friday night. He smiled, "Definitely mine. I stepped on some woman's puke."
"Can't wait to hear all about it," she heard him smile through his voice and she smiled as well. She was a good listener and made all those little things interesting enough to talk about. She made him feel connected.
"Tomorrow. Go back to sleep," and he kissed her on the forehead and she did as she was told.
XXXXXXXXXX
The 11-year-old was sitting quite uncomfortably outside the Office of the Minister for Magic. There were three important men inside, talking very noisily about He-Who-Must-Not Be-Named and Harry Potter.
"Harry is fine, he is at the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey will take good care of him," Professor Dumbledore spoke, "There is, however, the matter of the child that is currently sitting outside your office."
"Miguel Gomez will take care of everything," Cornelius Fudge, then Minister For Magic said and the doors to his office opened. Professor Dumbledore, Minister Fudge and a thin well-dressed wizard came out, "He will make sure everything will remain confidential."
"I will not disappoint you, Minister, Professor," the thin man replied and approached.
"Hi, my name is Miguel. I used to live in foster homes too."
"I don't like foster homes," came a soft timid reply.
"Well, you don't have to go back if you don't want to," Miguel said.
"Really?"
"Really," and Miguel smiled.
Miguel Gomez was a mentor and a friend but his support for the Cardinal was wavering. He talked about ending it all. He talked about linking the Muggle murders to Granger and the Cardinal disappearing as she rotted in Azkaban. Miguel Gomez did not understand. He needed the Cardinal to get what he wanted and now that he did, he was abandoning the cause.
Why could he not understand? There had to be seven. Seven curses, seven deaths. And it would be sweeter and more rewarding if closure involved getting even with those responsible for Voldemort's death.