Chapter 9: Breakthrough

For the first time, Jack understood how someone like Gordon Welby could get lost wandering the halls at the Ministry of Magic. It seemed this intricate network of passageways and corridors rivaled even that of Hogwarts in complexity and sheer number, and he was fast losing his patience as he came upon dead end after dead end, only to look on his map and find that, according to the bloody thing, he was allegedly on the right track. He knew it was possible for people to eventually learn to navigate through these halls (his parents certainly seemed to know their way well enough), but at that moment, he couldn�t help but wonder just how one ever reached that elusive level of mastery.

He was already late for this meeting. Ten minutes late, to be exact, but that would surely be enough to further tarnish his already spotty reputation in the eyes of Richard Keating--not that he would even be there to meet with Jack today. Apparently, he was too busy to carve out time for the likes of Jack, or else still nursed a grudge over the way Jack had dared to stand up to him before, but whatever the case, he had learnt that he would not be meeting with Keating himself this morning, but rather, with a lowly clerk in the department, whom Keating would be sending in his place. Jack just hoped his trip here wouldn�t be wasted.

At last, after finding his way through the maze-like twists and turns, he came upon the correct set of double doors at last. The Improper Use of Magic Office turned out to be relatively hidden away in the North end of the Ministry building, the oldest of the wings and the only one that had never been renovated. Indeed, the office looked as if it had been completely left behind by the other, more modern offices--the Department of Magical Sports and Games, for instance, had just opened the doors to its brand new facility just last month (to much pomp and circumstance, Jack remembered begrudgingly, the memory of Uncle Fred�s and Uncle George�s Magical Multi-Coloured Party Confetti turning his brand new sapphire blue robes orange still fresh in his mind).

He pushed the heavy oak doors open and slipped inside. There was no one at the reception desk, and though he could hear a low hum of voices round back, no one seemed to be eager to come out here to greet any visitors in their midst. Jack had been prepared for a chilly reception; no doubt Keating had instructed the entire staff to regard him with caution, an Auror who was trespassing on their territory, and he reckoned that there would be very few--if any at all--in this office who would be extending more than common courtesy towards him today.

Regardless, he was ready for anything, if it meant that by the end of this, he would be one step closer to unraveling this time-turner mystery.

�Hello?� he called out, craning his neck above the rather obtrusive Dinggleberry Tree by the wastebasket to see if he could catch the eye of any one of the people working away in the adjoining room.

The sound of a distinctly annoyed throat-clearing behind him got his attention.

�May I help you?�

A plump old woman, with her silver hair pulled so tightly in a knot that her eyes seemed drawn back, wearing robes that were hideously patterned, gave him a once over glance before she came behind the desk and sat down.

�Er... yes,� Jack said, wilting under her stare, in spite of himself. �I�m Jack Weasley, from the Auror Unit. I�m to meet with a Mr. Marks this morning-�

�Follow me.�

Before Jack could even get his sentence out entirely, she had already sprung up from her seat and was well down the hall, not even bothering to turn around to see if he was trailing her. Luckily, it took only a few strides for Jack to catch up to her.

�Mr. Marks was expecting you at eight o�clock,� she said.

�Yes, I�m afraid I got a bit lost this morning. I do apologize.�

Her expression remained unchanged, and finally they came to a stop just in front of a small, cramped office in the back that had no windows and whose only light came from a lamp that seemed in desperate need of more oil. There were shelves that covered every wall of the room, filled with objects that all seemed to be tagged and categorized; Jack could only assume this was some sort of evidence room.

�Jack Weasley�s here,� the plump woman announced, then, apparently satisfied with having done her duty by depositing him here, she turned and walked away without any sort of goodbye.

Quite a friendly lot they�ve got here.

There was a young man in the office, and Jack could only guess that he was the clerk Keating had arranged for him to meet. He certainly didn�t look to be any kind of high-ranking official: he looked no more than a few years older than Jack, with ruddy skin and dishwater blond hair that came down to his collar, his longish fringe falling in his eyes as he hunched over at his desk, furiously writing something. He didn�t seem to have even heard the plump woman�s words, because he looked engrossed in whatever he was doing, completely oblivious to the fact that a perfect stranger had just walked into his office.

A. Marks, said the nametag on his desk. Well, at least Jack could be sure he�d been taken to meet the right person.

�Excuse me,� he said. �I believe we�re supposed to meet?�

Marks looked up, and seemed a bit startled.

�Are you the Auror?�

�Yes,� Jack said. �Mr. Keating had told me I should talk to you in regards to my investigation about the time-turner.�

�Oh, of course...�

His voice was so quiet that Jack almost didn�t realize he�d responded, until he rose from his seat and began to shift stacks of papers and other random objects out of the way.

As if by apology, he said, �I don�t know if I�ll be of much help, but I�ll do what I can.�

It just figured Keating would send someone like him. He would then be able to claim that his office did everything it could to help this investigation along, though the time and effort put in would be minimal at best. Jack had been told by his father to watch out for the internal politics within the Ministry; he didn�t quite know what that had meant until now.

�Thank you, I�d really appreciate whatever information you can provide.�

Marks nodded, but seemed to be waiting for a cue to speak. This was going to be a long morning.

�All right, I s�pose we should start at the beginning,� Jack said. �The raid on Herbert Crane was conducted last week, is that right?�

�Yes. We�d been getting reports of illegal activity from him for months, but no one from the office has ever seemed to be able to catch him red-handed with anything. Some of the time-turners he�d managed to sell on the black market were confiscated, but he was a slippery fellow, that one. Tough to link any of this directly to him.�

�Until the raid?�

�Until the raid,� Marks said. �I�m afraid I�m not really well-versed in the details of it--I was only brought in later, when the evidence needed to be catalogued.�

�But you remember exactly how many time-turners were confiscated?�

�Mr. Keating had recorded that number, yes,� Marks said. �But that�s where it gets confusing... You see, Mr. Keating had indicated in his initial report than there were forty-three time-turners that were confiscated. When I started to tag them, however, there were only forty-two. Either someone had miscounted, or somewhere along the way, one went missing.�

If the situation weren�t so dire, Jack might have actually laughed out loud. Miscounted. If only that were really what happened. But he knew all too well that wasn�t the case at all.

�I think we can work on the assumption that it was the latter,� he said.

�Mr. Keating seems to think so,� Marks said. �He�s convinced Crane hid one from us deliberately. You�ll be searching his house again, won�t you?�

�We�ll be looking into all avenues,� Jack said simply.

There was no need to disclose any more than that. Much of the investigation was still confidential, after all. Few people outside the upper brass even knew about his father�s assertion that the time-turner had in fact been stolen by a supporter of Voldemort�s, and Jack felt it best to keep it that under wraps for the time being.

�Will there be anything else, then-�

�Excuse me.�

The plump woman from the front desk was back. She stood at the door, and seemed to be holding something in her hand: what looked to be a piece of parchment rolled up into a scroll.

�Yes?�

�Mr. Weasley has received an urgent message from a Mr. Foster.�

Jack stood immediately. �What is it?�

�Here you are,� she said, shoving the scroll in his hand, then she turned and walked out before Jack even had a chance to thank her.

Jack unrolled the parchment. It was a short, terse note, not unlike other notes he�d received before from his boss, but this one gave his stomach an odd lurch for a reason he couldn�t quite put a finger on.

Weasley,

Please come to the Riddle house in Little
Hangleton as soon as you receive this. It is
urgent.

Foster

Folding up the piece of paper, he turned back to Marks. �Thank you,� he said. �I do appreciate you telling me what you know. I�m afraid I�ll have to cut this short now, though. I�m being called away on an emergency. I hope you understand.�

�Of course,� Marks said. �Is everything all right?�

But Jack was already halfway out the door by then.

�I�ll be in touch...�

Jack apparated to Little Hangleton before Marks ever had the chance to respond.

The pensieve swirled endlessly, white light and silver air, blending together in incandescent memories that Ginny wished she could somehow bottle and keep with her forever. Inside, she knew there was a chance, though--perhaps even a good chance--that in time, this would be all she would have left: images, rather than genuine memories. Pictures of a life she would not remember living, a husband she would not remember marrying, children she would not remember bearing or raising.

It was a bitter pill that she did not want to swallow. Had she fought through hell to have it all come to this? Had she endured and persevered, and survived everything, just to face prospect that she would lose everything that had ever meant anything to her?

There didn�t seem to be any justice in that. No rhyme or reason whatsoever.

Ginny reached a finger into the pensieve, knowing she could neither touch, nor feel the images within, but wanting to prove it to herself nevertheless. She heard muffled footsteps nearby, coming closer, towards her, and though she knew that was not the distinctive sound of her husband�s gait, she whispered his name anyway.

�Harry?�

�No, it�s me...�

Ginny shifted in her seat, turning behind her to see Hermione standing at the doorway to the study, leaning her shoulder against the frame.

�Am I bothering you?� she said.

�No, of course not...� Ginny got up to wave her in. �I could use some company as a matter of fact.�

Hermione smiled wryly. �I was about to say the same thing.�

She came in, but didn�t sit in the extra chair; instead she settled on the window sill and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she tipped her head onto the pane of glass. Outside, the sun had already edged its way out, bleeding orange and gold into the sky, and Hermione seemed almost like a little girl this way, absently looking out into the garden, yet there was a quiet strength about her as well, a grace and poise she held that Ginny wished badly that she herself could have at the moment.

Everyone said Ginny was being strong--Ron, Hermione, Sirius--but the truth was, she felt anything but at that moment. It was all an illusion, and a pretty damn good one at that. She had learned to play the part well over the years: to shield people, to avert their eyes and deflect their worry. But only rarely had she ever let anyone into her private hell, especially the one she was suffering through now. Her children would need for her to be a rock for them, and so would Harry.

If only Harry would let her.

Desperate to hear the sound of voices, Ginny said, �Did you get much sleep last night?�

Hermione shook her head. �Not much,� she said softly. �But I probably would have got even less if the girls and I had stayed back at the house. I reckon we would have gone nutters there... waiting...�

Her voice trailed off at that point. Ginny waited for her to continue, but she seemed reluctant to do so, as if deliberately holding herself back from saying any more than she already had. Perhaps she felt selfish in voicing her own concerns in the light of what Ginny was going through at the moment; it would be just like her to feel that way. Whatever the reason, she grew quiet once more, and deftly changed the subject when she spoke again.

�Ellie ended up falling asleep in Luke�s room last night,� she said after a while. �She wanted to keep him company and keep his mind off things. I heard them talking until the wee hours of the morning. When I went in to check on them, she had curled up on the floor with one of his blankets.�

�Poor dear,� Ginny said. �I should have told her we keep a trundle bed in the closet.�

�Oh, I don�t think she minded,� Hermione told her. �I think she�s just happy to get to spend time with him. You know what she said to me last night? She said, �Mummy, d�you think Luke would like some company?� I told her he would probably appreciate that.�

�She really is a sweetheart,� Ginny said. �I�m so glad you and the girls are here, Hermione. It�s been so... quiet here lately...�

Hermione tore her eyes from the window to turn back at Ginny, then she uncurled her legs and came to sit by her.

�He�s still being the silent hero, is he?�

�I don�t really know what to say to him right now,� Ginny said softly. �I keep telling myself that he just needs space right now... that he just needs time to deal with everything, but...�

�But... it�s hard to stay away...�

Ginny nodded, then got up from the chair and walked towards the window. �He�s my husband, Hermione. What he�s going through, I go through too. But he won�t let me share this with him.�

�Maybe he doesn�t want to burden you, Ginny.�

Ginny let out a small laugh. Hermione was probably right, of course. In fact, Ginny knew she was. And that was exactly the problem.

�Who said chivalry was dead then, eh?� she said. �I know I�m the last person who should be complaining about him shutting me out. I know he�s still hurt about me doing the same thing when Riddle was hounding me--he swears he�s got past it, but I know it�s still there, Hermione. I know it is. Maybe... this is his way of getting back at me...�

�You don�t really believe that, do you?� Hermione said.

Softly, Ginny said, �I really don�t know what to believe anymore, to tell you the truth.�

�He loves you, believe that,� Hermione said. �He loves you and Em and Luke more than anything in this whole world, but you know him--he thinks he�s being noble by keeping this all bottled up. There were so many things he had to face all alone when he was growing up. I don�t think he�s ever really got over that...�

�Not even with us reaching out to him,� Ginny said.

�Not, not even then, I s�pose. But I do know one thing. I know he�s not doing this to hurt you. He�d never hurt you for the world, Ginny.�

�I know he wouldn�t,� Ginny said. �But the problem is, it hurts anyway.�

�I know, but-�

Something about Hermione�s face just then made Ginny turn around to see what had made her stop mid-sentence. It was Harry. He was standing just outside the room, but he wasn�t saying anything, only looking at both of them in silence, and Ginny wondered just how much of their conversation he had heard.

Hermione cleared her throat. �I�ll... leave you two alone-�

�No.� Harry�s voice was firm, emotionless, though his eyes betrayed him; there was no mistaking the deep hurt in his stare. �There�s no need to do that.�

�Harry, you two need to talk, and I shouldn�t-�

�Well apparently you two have found that it�s not necessary to even have me in the room to discuss me,� he said. �Please don�t let me stop you, by any means-�

That was it. Ginny had heard enough. If he didn�t want to open up to her, she certainly wasn�t going to force him, but by God, she wasn�t going to apologize for trying to find some outlet for her concerns either.

�I�m going to go check on our son,� she said curtly.

Harry�s face softened immediately, but she didn�t wait for him to get any words out. She just couldn�t deal with this right now. She walked past him, and just as she started to make her way up the stairs, she heard Hermione say �Are you daft? Go after her!!�

She stopped just at the foot of the staircase. A few seconds passed, though, and he didn�t come out; it was clear he wouldn�t anytime soon. Ginny sank down onto the bottom step, leaning against the banister, and finally, allowed herself to cry. They were silent tears, sobs that wracked her body but didn�t betray her in sound, and she let them come out. She felt a hand caress her shoulder in the next moment, and when she looked up, she saw Harry standing over her. He knelt down beside her, then drew her into an embrace, letting her bury her face in the curve of his shoulder.

�I�m so sorry,� he murmured, saying it over and over as he held her.

Ginny didn�t need his apology, though; she didn�t even want it. What she wanted was for him to let her in, but it was something he just couldn�t give her right now, no matter how much she wished he could, no matter how badly he probably wanted to if he only knew how.

But he let her do something that she needed just as much: he let her cry, and for now it would be enough.