Chapter 8 – Heartache At The Hospital

Chapter 8 – Heartache At The Hospital

Harry gathered his children and took the Floo to The Burrow as soon as he could after Ginny had set off for St. Mungo's. This was no small feat, as Lily was still distressed and would not be placated after being awoken from her slumber. James, meanwhile, had insisted on packing a bag full of toys and was dithering about whether to take his roaring dragon or his miniature Gobstones for at least five minutes. Plus, travelling by Floo with two small, agitated children turned out to be very tricky indeed. There was no chance of using Apparition, as there was a big risk of Splinching with small children. And, whilst James had got used to the Floo and enjoyed it, the short trip just made Lily scream all the louder. By the time Harry had arrived in the Weasleys' fireplace, his adrenaline levels were so high that he felt as highly-strung as his daughter.

Emergency pandemic measures had been issued by Shacklebolt in the Daily Prophet and stated that anyone with suspected exposure to Augurey Flu needed to stay in their homes, and if symptoms developed, should go straight to St. Mungo's. Harry, however, had figured that Molly, who saw the children nearly every day, would be in no greater danger than she was already. Taking the children to Molly's was the only option available to him.

Harry hurriedly explained the situation to Molly, who instinctively took the wailing baby from his arms and began to shush her whilst listening in horror. Molly said she would contact Hermione and Ron and tell them to stay at home, too; Hugo and Rose spent a great deal of time with their cousins and were also potentially at risk. After reassuring Molly that he and Ginny would update her with news once they had it, Harry stepped into the grate once more to take the Floo to St. Mungo's.

The Welcome Witch swiftly and politely greeted Harry on his arrival and explained that Al was on the Second Floor undergoing tests in the Magical Bugs ward and that his wife was currently in the waiting area. As she escorted Harry down the sparkling white corridor that led to the Quarantine Holding Area, Harry's mind began to buzz with thoughts.

Becoming a father had been one of the most challenging things that had ever happened to Harry, second only to defeating Voldemort. As he'd never known his own father, he had no frame of reference of what to do or how to act. Sirius and Dumbledore were the nearest father-figures he'd had in life, and they had only been around for a fleetingly short amount of time. Uncle Vernon could hardly be described as a role model when it came to fatherly behaviour, spoiling Dudley rotten whilst treating him like mud. The Weasleys, of course, had always been like a second family to him and indeed now were his own family by marriage. And as much as he loved them dearly, it wasn't exactly the same.

Harry found that he had been in no way equipped for the feelings that had overwhelmed him once baby James had come into the world. He had felt the urge to protect and care for his child, but it had also stirred up many unresolved feelings about his own relationship with his father, and his father-figures.

For a short time after James' birth, Harry had the almost surreal feeling of actually being his father and holding himself, Harry, as a baby. From what he had been told, James Potter senior had been a good and loving father. Would he, Harry, be a good father, too? Could he provide his son with the love, care and guidance he deserved?

As little James had grown older, the relationship between them had flourished. Harry found that he took to fatherhood like a Grindylow to water. James could be stubborn at times, but he was also loyal, funny and inquisitive, and liked nothing better than to be with his father. James was a Daddy's boy, and they would always share a special bond together. He felt as if he was completing the circle somehow, by being the kind of father to little James that Harry had imagined his own father would have been to him. And Harry, to his shame, could not help but feel some small shred of relief that it was not James that was now lying in St. Mungo's.

As the sound of his clicking boots echoed down the deserted corridor, Harry felt like the worst father in the world for admitting that to himself. Of course he loved Lily and Al, unquestioningly. He would fight to the death to defend them, and the mere thought of Al lying in a hospital bed when Harry was helpless to do anything nearly made him roar aloud in frustration. But occasionally he wondered if he and Ginny had taken on too much in starting a large family at such a young age. He could see Ginny was struggling sometimes, but he didn't know what to do to make it better. If he confronted her about it, she would think he was being disparaging of her mothering abilities, and he already knew that was a sore point for her after the arguments she'd had with Molly after James was born. Molly had been well-meaning, of course, but to Ginny she had come across as interfering and critical, and Harry had taken a stance of "Ginny knows best" when it came to raising their children thereafter.

Harry had been very supportive when Ginny had been offered a job at the Daily Prophet. He could see that, like him, she needed to strive to prove herself. Harry assumed it had something to do with being the youngest of seven successful children as well as the loss of her bright yet brief Quidditch career. Something in Ginny had changed since she had become a mother though, Harry had noticed. The playful, spirited side of Ginny seemed to have diminished, somehow. He did not know whether that was a natural part of becoming a mother, or whether it was a reaction against giving up on playing Quidditch. Either way, the children arriving had certainly altered the relationship between them. Gone were the days of romance and spontaneous al fresco sex and long holidays abroad. Harry loved Ginny very much, but often she felt more like a friend than a wife these days, and he didn't know what he could do to change that.

But they had to be strong together now, Harry reminded himself as the Welcome Witch gestured him through the plastic sheets that covered the entrance of the Quarantine Holding Area. Al, their youngest son, was critically ill. They had to pull together, for his sake. But the question of how Al had managed to catch the virus in the first place was something Harry could not explain. The last confirmed case was Harbottle, a Ministry employee. Harry couldn't really remember the last time he saw him at work. Could there be a remote chance that he, Harry, was the one who had potentially infected his own son with Augurey Flu? He shuddered at the thought.

Harry glanced around the shabby seating area and immediately saw Ginny sitting forwards on one of the rickety chairs, her head in her hands and her long, flaming red hair cascading down in front of her face, obscuring her from view like a veil. He was relieved to notice that the only other inhabitant of this rather grim and isolated room was a tweed-clad old witch, who currently had her nose stuck in a rather battered-looking copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography, Magical Me.

Harry approached his wife slowly, eventually coming to stop a few paces in front of her. If he was feeling anguish about Al, he could only wonder what it must be like for her, as Al's mother. A mother's bond with her children was a curious thing, after all. It was that very bond which had saved him from Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby, and that same bond which had forced Molly Weasley to strike down Bellatrix Lestrange at the Battle of Hogwarts when her only daughter had been threatened.

'Ginny,' he whispered, surprised to hear that his voice sounded hoarse.

Ginny's head shot up, and she tossed her mane of hair behind her, unflinchingly meeting his gaze. Harry was not prepared for the depth of anguish which reflected in her chestnut eyes. She looked wan and drawn, and the rims of her eyes were pink from where she had been crying. Harry was very unused to seeing Ginny cry. In fact, one of the things he'd always admired about her was that she rarely did. She had always been strong; a fighter, just like her mother. But seeing her now... she looked nothing short of broken, and it crushed him to see it.

'Love,' he croaked and sat beside her, his arms outstretched to pull his distraught wife to him and embrace her. He wanted to comfort her, to do something to take away her pain and make this horrific situation right. But to his shock and dismay, Ginny flinched and pulled away from him as if burned.

'Don't touch me!' she hissed, and Harry saw that the grief in her eyes had given way to a fierce glare of pure anger.

Harry's eyebrows knotted together in confusion, and his mouth gaped open for a few moments at Ginny's unexpected outburst. 'Love, what's the matter?' he managed to whisper once he'd regained the use of speech.

'What's the matter?' Ginny repeated, her voice trembling with barely-concealed rage. 'Our son is lying here in hospital, critically ill, because of the germs you brought home from work, and you dare to stroll in here and ask me what the matter is?' She had now begun to shake in cold fury.

Ginny's accusation stung Harry like a branch from the Whomping Willow, and she was now looking at him with the kind of contempt she'd usually reserved for Draco Malfoy.

Harry reeled. He, too, was concerned that he was to blame for Al's illness. In truth, it could just as well have been Hermione, Ron, Arthur or Percy. Or even Molly, as she had the most contact with her extended family. But Ginny, for whatever reason, had already made up her mind that it was all Harry's fault. It felt as if he'd been hit in the gut by a Bludger.

'Ginny... Don't you think I blame myself for this, too?' he murmured slowly, trying to keep his voice low and unchallenging as Ginny gave a derisive snort. 'Yes, it could have been me. And I will never forgive myself if that's the case. But we don't know that for sure. It could have been anyone.... Ron. Percy. Even your mum.'

If he'd thought this would pacify Ginny, he was sorely mistaken. Ginny looked, if possible, even more incandescent with rage.

'Don't you dare blame my family!' Ginny said shrilly, before her face contorted into a grimace. 'I can't even look at you anymore. Get away from me,' she ground out through gritted teeth.

'Ginny...' Harry began. He had to make her see sense. He'd never seen her so angry.

'I mean it,' Ginny growled, her hands balled so tightly into fists that her knuckles had whitened.

'Ginny, please...'

When looking back on this moment, Ginny would not be able to remember it with any kind of clarity. All she knew was that all the frustrations and pent-up emotions she had been keeping a lid on for so long seemed to spill out of her like a burst water main.

A red mist had descended upon Ginny. The force of rage which she directed towards a stunned-looking Harry was so intense that it actually made the ends of her hair crackle. It all came out in a non-stop, angry tirade: Harry's workaholic tendencies, Ginny's juggling of the kids and her own high-pressured job, and Harry's lack of interest in Ginny romantically. The old woman was now poking her nose over the top of her book, watching the pair of them intently, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She stared from Ginny to Harry in amazement and only retreated behind her book when Ginny glared at her pointedly.

By the time Ginny had finished her tirade, Harry felt as if he'd gone three rounds with a Hungarian Horntail. He couldn't understand where all this resentment had come from. Harry found himself dumbfounded by the sheer force of her rage. There was absolutely nothing he could say to defend himself, not when she was so worked up. Her accusation about Al's illness was one thing; Harry supposed it was natural to try and look for someone or something to blame. But her allegations about their relationship and Harry being a lousy husband and father cut Harry to the core.

Harry gazed in shock his wife. How had it come to this? Where did it start to go wrong? And why hadn't he approached Ginny before? Whatever happened to Gryffindor bravery, confronting difficulties head-on? When he'd first stepped into St. Mungo's, his main concern was the possibility of losing his son. And now, it seemed as though there was a very real possibility of losing his wife, too.

Author's note: Thanks again as ever to my fab betas, Agnus Castus and Apple Blossom, for their hard work, and to morgaine_dulac and Phoenix 13 for their encouragement.