3
Ginny huddled into a ball, crying softly to herself. She waited like that for hours, hoping she would eventually feel better. She didn't.
Suddenly, her bird flew in, with wings large enough that he wrapped them around her, holding her against him. "What happened, Ginny?" he asked soothingly.
She pressed her head into his feathery chest. "The scaries came by. I still hurt."
"Scaries? What kind of scaries?"
"Whooshing, freezing scaries. With grabbing, bony fingers. Made me see awful things. Things that aren't mine."
"Dementors," the bird mused. "Can you tell me any of the things you saw?"
She nodded tearfully and clutched the bird tighter to her. "Lots of bad things happened to lots of red-haired people. And a bushy, brown-haired girl." Ginny wrinkled her nose. "There was this lanky albino bloke that showed up more than all the rest though."
"Lanky? Don't you mean well-built and mouth-wateringly good looking?"
She laughed a little through her fears. "Nope." A sudden shiver racked her, tears leaking out again. "The worst one was of him. I, or the girl or whoever, was lying on the ground at an odd angle. I couldn't turn my head. But the albino boy stood over me, desperately flinging light from a stick at hordes of scary people." She looked up with sad, uncomprehending eyes. "He was crying, Bird. Like his life wasn't worth living anymore. That was the worst memory."
His wings wrapped tighter around her. "That's my worst memory, too."
. . .
Charlie gently stroked Evrie's sleeping face, tucking the blanket around her. He shook his head at the broom-shaped package leaning against the wall next to her bed. Well, mini-broom-shaped. Draco must've forked out big galleons if that logo was what he thought it was. Knowing Draco, it most definitely was. And it wouldn't be long before the blond tried to hire the head coach of the Holyhead Harpies as her personal tutor, either. That Charlie really would put his foot down on.
A lump entered his throat for his daughter's namesake. Oh, Ginny…
Ever since his baby sister was little, he'd been her favorite brother, and it'd warmed him to the core to know it. Who'd first taught her how to fly? Who'd turned her into a damn fine Chaser? Who'd taught her to be sneaky? Not Fred and George, as everyone thought. Everyone knew the twins were devious, which defeated the purpose, in Charlie's book. With an upright older brother to keep him in line and five younger siblings to rat him out, Charlie the Second-born had banked on being underestimated. And who'd taught Ginny that same principle? None other than himself.
With pain, he recalled that he'd also taught her how to fight. Maybe if he hadn't, maybe if Bill had been the one…
No. What was done was done. He had to move on, no matter how much it hurt. Ten years still left deep, unhealed wounds.
Sparing one last look for his own Ginevra, Charlie tried to focus on the wild game he'd need to import for the new Romanian Longhorn. It didn't work.
. . .
Ginny twirled her stick happily between her fingers, firing off blasts of green light at various plants. The bird fluttered by, examining the withered spots she left in her path.
"What spell are you using?" he asked her.
"The Happy Spell! I learned it from one of the memories the scaries gave me. It's now my goal to make everything happy."
"I'm not familiar with that spell."
"Here, I'll show you." She pointed her magic stick at a squirrel scampering by on a tree branch. "Avada Kedavra!" Stone-dead, it thunked to the ground. "See? I sent him to a happier place."
A huge grin on her face, she couldn't figure out why Bird looked so terrified. "Don't send anyone to a happier place, Ginny. Especially me. I'm still trying to find happiness here."
She wrinkled her nose. "Alright. But you better not give up."
. . .
Narcissa Malfoy considered herself a very reasonable person. She asked for a husband and a child, not love. Having received it from one of the two, she deemed it a fairly good bargain. A large house, a hefty Gringotts account, and a good name (once she'd cleared it) rounded out her fulfilled demands. The only ones she hadn't gotten were a suitable daughter-in-law and an heir to the name she'd so painstakingly cleared.
Of course, a husband who wasn't in Azkaban would be nice, but so would flying mermaids. At least the mermaids would be a nice conversation piece.
But Draco—Draco was always either extremely devastating or extremely rewarding. Never mediocre. Devastating when he betrayed his entire family, rewarding when that betrayal saved the few that were left. Devastating when he fell in love with a blood-traitor, rewarding when her death turned him to philanthropy. The public loved it.
Remaining a scandal-free bachelor, however, was the worst of all. Narcissa tried to keep from talking about eligible women whenever she saw him, but it was so very hard. It was a mother's job to see all her children married. With only one wealthy, attractive, intelligent, well-bred child, it should have been a cinch.
Not when that son was Draco.
A black scruffy owl intruded on her musings, dropping an ominous red letter on her lap. It unfolded, Lucius's voice loud and clear, even from inside Azkaban.
"Narcissa! I cannot understand the idiocy necessary to turn Malfoy Inc. to making medicinal potions! And our son has been seen with the Weasley scum again! How dare—"
Narcissa blasted the Howler with enough Dark Magic to bring down a small elephant. Lucius was an idiot if he thought he was anything but dead to her.
Footsteps tread down the hall and her son slipped in, leaning against the door frame. A smirk toyed with his mouth, something she saw little of after the war. "Another Howler, Mother? Such a shame that inmate keeps pestering us with those."
A smirk grew on her face to match his. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She set her wand back on the table. "What is it, Draco?"
His face grew serious. "Any idea why a Dementor would be at Hogwarts? And what the hell are they even made of?"