Disclaim!Disclaim!: I do not own HP or Les Miserables. Nor do I make any money off them..doh!
A World about to Dawn
Turning, Turning, Turning
Chapter 3
Early on the morning of June 3, 1997 both Molly and Ginny Weasley found themselves in the draughty kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. They were used to mornings like these. They were always cold, nervous mornings, when they waited for the other members of the Order to come back after a night skirmish with Death Eaters. Usually, when they all trickled in, Ginny and Molly would start making a hearty breakfast for the weary members, before they all shuffled off to rest up before the next fight. This morning was different though, they should have been back by now; they were always back by now. What had happened?
Ginny sat listlessly at the table, her mind constantly worrying about the safety of everyone who had left last night, and one who had left a long time ago. She hadn't heard a word from him in over two months and she was getting desperate. She knew he was deeply buried in enemy lines and it was difficult to get an owl out to her but still, sometimes no news, isn't good news.
Molly scrubbed the counter over and over again, wearing down the finish with the knitted dish towel she had clutched in her hand. It was habit, something to keep her hands busy while she endured this interminable waiting.
Their reverie was broken by a noise on the staircase. They quickly pivoted their heads towards the noise. Were they back? Were they all right?
Hermione entered the room alone. Her robes were ragged, her face covered in soot and streaked with blood. Her hair, which had started off in a sensible knot, had come loose and wild around her face. Her glazed expression though, was the worst part of the picture that the two Weasley women witnessed. One look into them belayed the terror and sadness that overwhelmed the young witch.
Her eyes met with Ginny's and she whispered to her.
Did you see them going off to fight?
Ginny nodded slowly to the warrior.
Molly broke in wistfully with her own opinion.
Children, in this Wizards' War.
Hermione stunned the two women by adding on,
Who didn't last the night.
Thoughts buzzed through Hermione's busy mind. They had thought it would be a brief skirmish like all the others, but it had turned into the major battle of second Wizard's War. Dozens of battle-hardened Death Eaters, along with legions of goblins, zombies, vampires, and dementors had been waiting for them. It had been slaughter, a gory business altogether. She had seen it all pass before her eyes like a muggle motion picture, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare.
Ginny's eyes filled with tears of desperation. Who didn't last the night? Where was everyone else? She grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and shook her, begging information from the dazed girl.
Did you see them lying where they died?
The images of Molly's strong sons flashed before her eyes, what was happening now was far too similar to what the boggart had shown her almost two years ago. It wasn't fair, they were her babies!
Someone used to cradle them and kissed them when they cried.
She said softly as her only daughter continued to shake and scream for answers from the weary young witch.
Did you see them lying side by side?
Hermione blinked, still in her trance and immune to Ginny's shrieks. They had been right there, lying on the green grass of the battlefield. They had looked so peaceful in death. No! They couldn't be, not Dean, or Hannah or ... Charlie.
Sniffling, she turned and looked Molly straight in the eyes, asking her pleadingly,
Who will wake them?
Molly started to sob, holding onto the counter for support.
No one ever will.
No one ever told them that a summer's day can kill.
Hermione shook her head, unconvinced that they were really gone. It was barely a year since they had all left Hogwart's on the Express. They laughed and ate Chocolate Frogs, played Exploding Snap, and talked of how exciting seventh year would be when it started up in September. But they never got to go back to Hogwarts. They went to battle instead.
They were school boys when the war begun,
Fighting for a New World that would rise up like the sun.
Heroic Gryffindors. Hermione smiled grimly at the thought. The Order had such glorious ideals. They fought for such a noble cause, to have a world free from prejudice and hate. They had truly believed that it was a goal worth risking everything over, but it appeared that last night they had risked too much. Hermione had disapparated from the battlefield when the retreat had been called. She couldn't take it anymore anyway, once she had seen Minerva's prone body she had had enough. Harry and Ron were still out there somewhere, their heroics bordering on stupidity.
The chair creaked as Ginny sunk gracelessly onto the hard wooden frame. Her assault on Hermione relented as her strength ran out. Bitterly she cried, burying her face in her hands.
Where's this new world, now the fighting's done?
It was supposed to have been so different. The good guys were supposed to win and the bad guys were supposed to lose, none of this prolonged grief and worry. The war was supposed to make it easier for her and Draco. This New World was going to allow them to be together without fear or shame. What would happen now? Where was he? Was he dead too?
Molly, her sobs subsiding, looked over to her distraught daughter, and her youngest son's love, with dull eyes. She had been here before. Waiting until word of Gideon and Fabian came through. History was doomed to repeat itself. She shook her head, humanity was so terribly hopeless when it came to living. Why had she brought children into this world to suffer as she had done? Crooning to the young women, she whispered sadly.
Nothing changes, nothing ever will
Every year another boy, another mouth to fill.
She crossed to where her daughter sat, tears trickling down her freckled cheeks. She took Ginny's chin in her hand and brought her head up, gently wiping the tears away with her fingertips.
"Mum, mummy, what if...sniff what if he..hic..."
"Shhh, baby girl, hush." She whispered, not knowing who her daughter was referring to but trying to calm her.
Same old story, what's the use of tears?
The sound of steps on the staircase brought everyone's attention back up to the doorway. Was there more news? More tragedy?
A figure in a heavy black cloak entered, his face obscured by his cowl. He lifted his head and the women in the room screamed in terror. The figure was wearing the white mask of death.
Motionless in fear, they panicked until Ginny noticed a strand of pale hair escaping from the inside of the hood. She looked closer, into the eyes of the specter and wailed with delight, throwing herself across the kitchen towards him. He tore off his mask just before their arms encircled each other.
"Oh gods, Draco, I thought you were.. I thought you were de.."
"I'm all right baby, I promise. I'll never leave again, never."
Molly and Hermione stood still, uncomprehending the happy reunion that was taking place in front of them. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and Ginny Weasley, Freedom Fighter? It didn't make any sense, but then again, did anything anymore? They watched carefully as Draco held Ginny tightly in his arms. Looking over her head, his eyes made contact with Hermione, he tried to speak but stumbled.
"Granger, I tried, I really did. I was so far away, please forgive me for being too slow. He fell. He's hurt. No one knows if.."
Her eyes grew wide and she fell onto her knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Please say it's not Ron. I don't care who or what you are, just tell me he's okay. He's got to be okay.
Draco's grasp tightened on Ginny. His gaze locked with Hermione's, searching their agonizing depths. He wondered if this was what his Sprite felt like every time he went away. He felt the bile rise in his throat. Dirty bastards, how could they cause such innocent people so much pain? He closed his eyes tightly, fighting for control.
"They've done everything they can. It's up to the Gods now, and Ron, he'll fight."
For a man who had never uttered a prayer in his life, the war often drove him to it. It was his only way of keeping his hope alive in the darkest of places.
Molly stepped over to where Hermione knelt and sunk to her knees beside her. Bowing her head, she began to whisper a string of words to whatever deity she believed in, pleading for her son's life.
Hermoine couldn't take it anymore. No! Not him, not my Ron! She stood up abruptly and screamed at those in the dark kitchen, before tearing up the stairs and away from everything. The hurt, the pain, the unknown.
What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears!
Those in the kitchen never moved out of place. Hours later, when an exhausted Severus Snape dragged himself down the steps, he saw Molly on her knees on the cold stone floor mumbling words of hope, and saw his godson, who had Ginny wrapped up in a never-ending embrace.
It was a heartbreaking scene, watching them will the world to stop. But as all wizards know, time is a tricky thing, and cannot be stopped or meddled with. While peace reigned in this kitchen, a war still raged on outside. Potter had done the impossible, he had beat Voldemort, but the war was far from over. Looking over at the two young soulmates, one in a Death Eater robe and the other in a second-hand Gryffindor one, he shook his head in sadness, the war would never end stop for those two.
Turning, turning, turning through the years.
Minutes into hours, and the hours into years.
Round and round and round and round,
And back where you began.
"Draco," his apprentice's head slowly rose to meet his gaze. "You have to get back. It's Potter, he's been taken by the young Serpents."
He nodded slowly at the Potions Master. He whispered to Ginny,
"I'm so sorry, Ginny, so sorry, I've got to go, I promise I'll be back soon. Soon, love."
Snape pulled him away from the clinging grasp and led him up the stairs. Ginny stared blankly after them. Stop, don't go, I love you so much.
Round and round and round and round.
And back where you began.
Turning, Turning, Turning
Chapter 3
Early on the morning of June 3, 1997 both Molly and Ginny Weasley found themselves in the draughty kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. They were used to mornings like these. They were always cold, nervous mornings, when they waited for the other members of the Order to come back after a night skirmish with Death Eaters. Usually, when they all trickled in, Ginny and Molly would start making a hearty breakfast for the weary members, before they all shuffled off to rest up before the next fight. This morning was different though, they should have been back by now; they were always back by now. What had happened?
Ginny sat listlessly at the table, her mind constantly worrying about the safety of everyone who had left last night, and one who had left a long time ago. She hadn't heard a word from him in over two months and she was getting desperate. She knew he was deeply buried in enemy lines and it was difficult to get an owl out to her but still, sometimes no news, isn't good news.
Molly scrubbed the counter over and over again, wearing down the finish with the knitted dish towel she had clutched in her hand. It was habit, something to keep her hands busy while she endured this interminable waiting.
Their reverie was broken by a noise on the staircase. They quickly pivoted their heads towards the noise. Were they back? Were they all right?
Hermione entered the room alone. Her robes were ragged, her face covered in soot and streaked with blood. Her hair, which had started off in a sensible knot, had come loose and wild around her face. Her glazed expression though, was the worst part of the picture that the two Weasley women witnessed. One look into them belayed the terror and sadness that overwhelmed the young witch.
Her eyes met with Ginny's and she whispered to her.
Did you see them going off to fight?
Ginny nodded slowly to the warrior.
Molly broke in wistfully with her own opinion.
Children, in this Wizards' War.
Hermione stunned the two women by adding on,
Who didn't last the night.
Thoughts buzzed through Hermione's busy mind. They had thought it would be a brief skirmish like all the others, but it had turned into the major battle of second Wizard's War. Dozens of battle-hardened Death Eaters, along with legions of goblins, zombies, vampires, and dementors had been waiting for them. It had been slaughter, a gory business altogether. She had seen it all pass before her eyes like a muggle motion picture, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare.
Ginny's eyes filled with tears of desperation. Who didn't last the night? Where was everyone else? She grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and shook her, begging information from the dazed girl.
Did you see them lying where they died?
The images of Molly's strong sons flashed before her eyes, what was happening now was far too similar to what the boggart had shown her almost two years ago. It wasn't fair, they were her babies!
Someone used to cradle them and kissed them when they cried.
She said softly as her only daughter continued to shake and scream for answers from the weary young witch.
Did you see them lying side by side?
Hermione blinked, still in her trance and immune to Ginny's shrieks. They had been right there, lying on the green grass of the battlefield. They had looked so peaceful in death. No! They couldn't be, not Dean, or Hannah or ... Charlie.
Sniffling, she turned and looked Molly straight in the eyes, asking her pleadingly,
Who will wake them?
Molly started to sob, holding onto the counter for support.
No one ever will.
No one ever told them that a summer's day can kill.
Hermione shook her head, unconvinced that they were really gone. It was barely a year since they had all left Hogwart's on the Express. They laughed and ate Chocolate Frogs, played Exploding Snap, and talked of how exciting seventh year would be when it started up in September. But they never got to go back to Hogwarts. They went to battle instead.
They were school boys when the war begun,
Fighting for a New World that would rise up like the sun.
Heroic Gryffindors. Hermione smiled grimly at the thought. The Order had such glorious ideals. They fought for such a noble cause, to have a world free from prejudice and hate. They had truly believed that it was a goal worth risking everything over, but it appeared that last night they had risked too much. Hermione had disapparated from the battlefield when the retreat had been called. She couldn't take it anymore anyway, once she had seen Minerva's prone body she had had enough. Harry and Ron were still out there somewhere, their heroics bordering on stupidity.
The chair creaked as Ginny sunk gracelessly onto the hard wooden frame. Her assault on Hermione relented as her strength ran out. Bitterly she cried, burying her face in her hands.
Where's this new world, now the fighting's done?
It was supposed to have been so different. The good guys were supposed to win and the bad guys were supposed to lose, none of this prolonged grief and worry. The war was supposed to make it easier for her and Draco. This New World was going to allow them to be together without fear or shame. What would happen now? Where was he? Was he dead too?
Molly, her sobs subsiding, looked over to her distraught daughter, and her youngest son's love, with dull eyes. She had been here before. Waiting until word of Gideon and Fabian came through. History was doomed to repeat itself. She shook her head, humanity was so terribly hopeless when it came to living. Why had she brought children into this world to suffer as she had done? Crooning to the young women, she whispered sadly.
Nothing changes, nothing ever will
Every year another boy, another mouth to fill.
She crossed to where her daughter sat, tears trickling down her freckled cheeks. She took Ginny's chin in her hand and brought her head up, gently wiping the tears away with her fingertips.
"Mum, mummy, what if...sniff what if he..hic..."
"Shhh, baby girl, hush." She whispered, not knowing who her daughter was referring to but trying to calm her.
Same old story, what's the use of tears?
The sound of steps on the staircase brought everyone's attention back up to the doorway. Was there more news? More tragedy?
A figure in a heavy black cloak entered, his face obscured by his cowl. He lifted his head and the women in the room screamed in terror. The figure was wearing the white mask of death.
Motionless in fear, they panicked until Ginny noticed a strand of pale hair escaping from the inside of the hood. She looked closer, into the eyes of the specter and wailed with delight, throwing herself across the kitchen towards him. He tore off his mask just before their arms encircled each other.
"Oh gods, Draco, I thought you were.. I thought you were de.."
"I'm all right baby, I promise. I'll never leave again, never."
Molly and Hermione stood still, uncomprehending the happy reunion that was taking place in front of them. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and Ginny Weasley, Freedom Fighter? It didn't make any sense, but then again, did anything anymore? They watched carefully as Draco held Ginny tightly in his arms. Looking over her head, his eyes made contact with Hermione, he tried to speak but stumbled.
"Granger, I tried, I really did. I was so far away, please forgive me for being too slow. He fell. He's hurt. No one knows if.."
Her eyes grew wide and she fell onto her knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Please say it's not Ron. I don't care who or what you are, just tell me he's okay. He's got to be okay.
Draco's grasp tightened on Ginny. His gaze locked with Hermione's, searching their agonizing depths. He wondered if this was what his Sprite felt like every time he went away. He felt the bile rise in his throat. Dirty bastards, how could they cause such innocent people so much pain? He closed his eyes tightly, fighting for control.
"They've done everything they can. It's up to the Gods now, and Ron, he'll fight."
For a man who had never uttered a prayer in his life, the war often drove him to it. It was his only way of keeping his hope alive in the darkest of places.
Molly stepped over to where Hermione knelt and sunk to her knees beside her. Bowing her head, she began to whisper a string of words to whatever deity she believed in, pleading for her son's life.
Hermoine couldn't take it anymore. No! Not him, not my Ron! She stood up abruptly and screamed at those in the dark kitchen, before tearing up the stairs and away from everything. The hurt, the pain, the unknown.
What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears!
Those in the kitchen never moved out of place. Hours later, when an exhausted Severus Snape dragged himself down the steps, he saw Molly on her knees on the cold stone floor mumbling words of hope, and saw his godson, who had Ginny wrapped up in a never-ending embrace.
It was a heartbreaking scene, watching them will the world to stop. But as all wizards know, time is a tricky thing, and cannot be stopped or meddled with. While peace reigned in this kitchen, a war still raged on outside. Potter had done the impossible, he had beat Voldemort, but the war was far from over. Looking over at the two young soulmates, one in a Death Eater robe and the other in a second-hand Gryffindor one, he shook his head in sadness, the war would never end stop for those two.
Turning, turning, turning through the years.
Minutes into hours, and the hours into years.
Round and round and round and round,
And back where you began.
"Draco," his apprentice's head slowly rose to meet his gaze. "You have to get back. It's Potter, he's been taken by the young Serpents."
He nodded slowly at the Potions Master. He whispered to Ginny,
"I'm so sorry, Ginny, so sorry, I've got to go, I promise I'll be back soon. Soon, love."
Snape pulled him away from the clinging grasp and led him up the stairs. Ginny stared blankly after them. Stop, don't go, I love you so much.
Round and round and round and round.
And back where you began.
To Be Continued.
sweetproserpina is the author of 6 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 1 members. Members who liked A World About to Dawn also liked 28 other stories.
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