Chapter 13 Part 2 The Light In The Four Corners
A/N: It's been a while, I know. Some of you forgot where we left off so to recap:
Ginny read the inscription on the key in her bedroom late at night and was transported to Summerville. Meanwhile, Harry and the Weasleys find out she's gone and start thinking she was abducted by the gang that Harry and Ron recently put inside Azkaban.
Special thanks to Iscubatoo for asking me when I would finish this story, because it pushed me to continue writing this last bit. And to all the others who reviewed last time - I hope I was able to reply to you all. If I wasn't, here's to you: Thank you.
"Of course," Ginny couldn't help muttering to herself in her reinstated feeling of calm. Of course, it was weird. And ridiculous. And, okay, a little bit funny, that she found herself in Summerville, of all places, in the middle of the night. But she also remembered Fred and George sporting identical whiskers and purring like kittens when she was four years old. So there, this wasn't insane at all, she convinced herself.
A sharp lightning struck the evening sky followed by a booming thunder, reminding Ginny that she had to get a move on or she'll have to endure the night on that doorstep while it rains.
There was only one way she could think of and that was to go inside the house. She had the key so that would not present any problems (if it worked) and the owners being Harry's friends would surely understand her plight.
Ginny debated with herself a few more times before knocking on the door twice, just to make sure there really was nobody inside. When there was no answer, she inserted the heavy metal key into the lock, twisted it clockwise once, counter clockwise twice, and said a silent prayer before turning it. To her surprise, a lot of different clicks emanated from the door, taking almost a minute before ending with a final clang. The door opened to a brightly lit room.
"Self-turning lamps. Very cool," she observed as she let herself in. Just as she expected, there were no grand staircases, gigantic chandeliers or huge portraits of ancestors long gone. Instead, there were walls the color of sunshine yellow surrounding everyday things like a broom stand next to the door, shelves of books flanking both sides of a simple yet elegant fireplace, chairs and sofas upholstered in the same green, yellow, white and red motif of the room and a watercolour painting of the sea. The center table, aside from the empty vase, was littered with a few weeks-old copies of The Prophet and several issues of Quidditch Quarterly. All in all, the room looked cozy, just what a home should be, except everything seemed to be in order. Like the owners haven't lived there long enough to acquire clutter. Or maybe it was just because they weren't there presently. It probably looked like a beautiful mess on a regular day, with a cloak slung on the back of a chair, shoes on the doorway, wands lying around the house and delicious smells coming from the kitchen.
'Hmm, wonder what that looks like,' she thought. She had the most curious urge to see the rest of Summerville and yet she could also see the pot of Floo powder on the mantle of the fireplace, insisting she go back home.
"I'll ask you again," Harry said, clenching his teeth with the last bit of self-control he could muster. "Where did you take her?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Goran Nast calmly replied, not bothering to conceal the smirk on his face.
Harry quickly went out of the dungeon, and unable to stop himself, pound his fist into the first table he could find. "Damn it!," he spat out. It's been an hour since she went missing and they haven't got a clue where she was taken. Dozens of Aurors had been set out to recover Ginny but there are no good news as of yet. He had to find her. He couldn't live if he lost her.
"Harry," Ron said softly. "I don't think Nast took her."
"What do you mean? You saw the look on his face."
"Not the same one I saw when I took him from his cell earlier," Ron explained. "He looked confused when I picked him up, kept denying allegations about the Sidle kidnapping. It's not him, mate."
"But if it isn't Nast, who took Ginny?"
"I don't know," Ron sighed. "Sanders and Stokes just reported to me and they said none of the security implements at the Burrow were breached. Even the records from the Floo network did not register activity during the hours when Ginny went missing. No signs of struggle, no defensive spells cast by her wand, nothing."
"Maybe we missed something," Harry insisted, racking his brain of what else they could use to track her down.
"I don't think so. But if we did, we should probably go home and find out."
It wasn't a hard decision at all, Ginny concluded as she walked across the archway leading to the dining room. The Floo wasn't going anywhere and nobody at the Burrow knew she wasn't sleeping in her bedroom. She wasn't staying long anyway. She was leaving as soon as she finishes exploring the kitchen, she promised.
The dining room was even more sparsely decorated than the living area, albeit having more character. A dark-stained rectangular wooden table dominated the space surrounded by six chairs of different sizes and designs – there was one with a high back and plaid green and white cushion, another one dainty with floral patterns and cream block seat, a couple of them plain-looking with varying colored cushions and the last two throne-like covered in crimson and emerald velvet. A lamp adorned with shells and stained glass pieces illuminated the room, empty shelves lined one side, yet to be filled with decorative china, and the wall adjacent to it framed with double doors leading to the porch. Located on its opposite was the way towards the kitchen.
The kitchen was the most important room in the house, as she learned from living with her family throughout the years. Food wasn't just for eating but for bonding. The Weasleys talked, laughed, and cried with each other while devouring heaps of dishes, toasting with champagne (on special occasions) or sipping hot cocoa on odd nights when they couldn't sleep. Therefore, what was in the kitchen was an indication of the relationship of the people living in a house. She knew it wasn't exactly a science but the few times she tested this theory, her assumptions were spot on. Like the time she visited her friend Linda and her boyfriend's apartment and saw the empty and unkempt kitchen. She bet they were having troubles and she was right. A month later, they broke up. Or her cousin Amanda's family home where everyone were cheerful and she found their kitchen bright and filled with lots of good things. The Summerville kitchen would tell her what kind of people the owners were.
'They were a happy couple' was what she concluded when she set foot in the room. It was clearly the favourite hangout in the house. There was a cookie jar and a cake platter in the center aisle, as well as a fruit bowl and a flower vase. A couple of stools stood on one side and on the other sat a huge block of chopping board and a set of knives. Overhead hung a collection of pots and pans. On the far wall were the gas range and a shelf of cookbooks, some of which she recognized from her Mum's library, an apron (printed with "I'M TOUGH BUT I CAN COOK") and oven mitts hanging nearby. There were cabinets and windows all around, letting lots of sunlight in the daytime, and two doors to her right - one leading outside, the other probably a coat closet.
It was perfect. It was a home. Just what she could envision herself living in with Harry.
There never was a doubt in her mind that he was The One. She might have been foolish all these years for not seeing him that way but now she was certain he was special. They have a future together and when the time comes, she would want to build a home with this in mind.
Her gaze fell upon the closet door once again. She didn't know why but it felt familiar to her. Like she's seen it before, the same closet lined with shoeboxes on the floor and white wooden hangers and a small strawberry shaped stain beside the doorknob from the inside.
'That's silly,' she thought, dismissing the idea and instead moved towards the refrigerator. The door was plastered with lots of Talking Post-Its, making it look like a corkboard. She remembered when it came out the year after she graduated from school and it became all the rage. Apparently, a Hogwarts student came up with it and it never went out of style. They even have ones that light up now, as well as customized sheets and a whole host of voices to choose from.
There were more or less two dozen pieces sticking on the door, all of them not talking anymore. On one side was a small box where old notes were kept.
She read one written with a hasty scrawl, a man's writing.
G,
Got called early to work. Didn't want to wake you.
Have a great day at practice.
Love,
H
'That was sweet,' she thought. She read the next one.
G,
We're out of milk. And eggs. And laundry powder.
Grocery? Great. I'll make pasta when I get home.
H
'A man who cooks, just like Harry,' she muttered, smiling. 'And the same initials as the two of us! Weird!' She looked for ones written by the lady.
H,
Puddlemere today! Wish me luck!
Love,
G
HAIRY,
I tripped again this morning! There's a broom stand there for
a reason. Ugh!
G
She couldn't help but laugh at this and read the reply.
GINEVRA,
I'm sorry. And by the way, the white socks you washed
yesterday, they're BLUE!
H
Ginevra? That couldn't be right. She was the only Ginevra in these parts that she knew. And it was a family name that's been used by the Weasley clan for generations and currently, she's the only one holding the title. And Hairy? Who the hell is Hairy?
She scanned the Post-Its until she found one at the bottom with a name. It said:
Ginny,
I love you.
Harry
Ginny and Harry. Harry and Ginny. She's repeated it a few more times, sitting down on one of the stools, and it still has not sunk in. She and Harry had already been together before the accident. They had a house. They lived together. How long has it been? Have they gotten married already? Surely she didn't forget the most important man in her life?
But there seemed to be a truth in it because even before she read the Post-Its, she knew Harry was special. Her brain may have forgotten. Her heart didn't.
"There has to be something we can use," Harry told Ron for the fifth time as they combed the perimeter of the Burrow, in between casting detective spells and charms. "She couldn't have disappeared through thin air."
"I know," replied Ron as he cast a spell with his wand in the shape of a W. "I keep thinking where she might be if she's not here at home."
'At home,' Harry thought, and instantly, a flashbulb went off in his head and he went running towards the house, screaming "Ron, you're brilliant!"
His chest was heaving by the time he got to Ginny's room but he didn't care. As soon as he laid eyes on her side table and found what was missing, he knew. He knew why the detection spells weren't working. He knew how she disappeared from the Burrow without her wand. He knew where she was.
She went home.
Her gaze wandered back to the door once again and this time, she realized she wasn't just imagining a coat closet. And when she turns the knob, just as she was doing now, she knew she will find all the things she saw in her mind's eye before.
She was right. They were all there – the shoes and shoeboxes, the hangers, the strawberry stain, and at the far corner, her aquamarine jacket.
"Oh, my...! I've finally found it!" she couldn't help squealing, pulling the clothing from the hanger and excitedly putting it on.
It felt great, the material hugging her skin and keeping her warm, like finding a long lost friend. Harry bought it for her last year when they went to Paris, even when she objected that it was too expensive.
And that's what he promised when he proposed to her. He vowed that he will try to provide everything she needed and wanted, that he will make her happy. She remembered him going down on his knees, telling her he will love her forever.
She remembered everything.
She was startled as she heard a loud pop coming from the outside, and then a door opened and Harry was calling out "Ginny? Ginny?," the sound of footsteps growing nearer. Then he was there and he was hugging her and she started crying and laughing at the same time.
"I'm so glad you're here," Harry whispered, not wanting to let go just yet. "You're crying. What's the matter?," he asked, looking at her tear-stained face. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"No, no," she said, trying to summon the best smile she could. "I'm just happy we're home." And then she kissed him.
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it...
At all.
A/N: Whew! It's finished. Can you believe it?
Anyway, I'd just like to thank everyone of you who read this piece. It's been gratifying to know someone cared enough to spare some time to read and more especially, comment, on what I wrote. Also, credits go to Demi Lovato and the Jonas brothers for writing the lyrics of the song that inspired this story.
Hope to see you soon, guys! Peace out!
Marge
P.S. I'm thinking of writing an epilogue for this, just to tie up some loose ends, so don't take it out of your alerts list just yet.