trees of green Who: Ginny & Barty-as-Uma (later cameo by Harry) When: Thursday July 31, sunrise Where: The park What: Ginny tries to help a stranger in need Status:COMPLETE; linked to Ginny's journal entry
Freedom. The word seemed to ring over and over in his head, drowning out any other sensation; sight, smell, touch. He was free.
Blearily he tried to focus. Somehow he had fallen to his knees. Would someone not drag him upright? “Father…” he tried to croak, but nothing came out. He remembered the silencing charm. Was he alone?
Green. Freedom was very green. He stared and blinked and stared again. Soft, green. He was kneeling on grass. But there was no grass surrounding the wizard prison; nothing grew at all on that hellish island. He expect to feel rock and shale, to hear the waves crashing against the cliff, to taste salt in the air. Instead there was green grass, and bird song, and a fresh summer breeze.
And the sun. Oh the sun was shining on him! He tried to look up, moaned a little as the light hit his eyes, and let himself fall to one side, curled up on the springy softness, letting the warm rays bathe him. Warmth. Freedom was warm and green.
He must really have gone mad, he thought. Less than a year behind those bars and he had lost his mind. No one had come to rescue him. It had all been a dream, and he was still in that place, but he was crazy and seeing grass and feeling sun. He decided he was going to stay crazy, if this was what it was like. He had forgotten what it was like to be warm and comfortable; any good feeling had been driven from his memory. This was surely heaven.
He risked opening his eyes a crack. It was still bright, but gradually, painfully gradually, his eyes adjusted enough that he could see his fingers curled up between blades of grass. But the fingers were not his fingers. A lady’s fingers? Polyjuice Potion. But no, that had been a dream. You’re mad. You don’t even know your own hand. He closed his eyes again. It was much easier this way, in the dark, warm, soft hollow of madness. He could lie here and sleep, sleep forever….
---
It had been a long night. Everyone had been so happy to finally get out of the damned cabins that most of them came out to All Night Long for the party Ginny had decided to throw. It was one of the perks of being a manager. Getting to pick the theme nights and all. However, one of the downsides of being the manager meant that she had to stay to clean up after the party was over. Which meant that instead of wandering back to her and Harry’s house around 3am, which was usual, she didn’t get to leave the building until around 5am. She shouldn’t have kept the place open for an extra hour and a half. But everyone was having such a good time and she hated to be the one to send them all home…
In any case, now she was dead tired and was dreaming longingly of curling up in her bed for a few hours before it was time to head over to the pitch. Maybe she’d be a little late to camp today. There were enough people who knew what they were doing that they’d be alright without her for a little while, right?
She was shuffling home, her feet dragging on the dirt road, still wearing her denims and blouse from the night before, her hair looking a little mismanaged. She couldn’t help the small grin that pulled on her face when she thought about all the other times she’d dragged herself home from a night out at an unreasonable hour. Oh to be young again.
Her nostalgic daydreams came to an abrupt end when she caught sight of a figure up ahead, laying in the grass. Her heart sank and she wondered if it was someone who’d had too much to drink at the club and was regretting staying open past closing even more now. She was wide awake, very suddenly and she sped up to see if she could help the person--woman, it looked like.
“Excuse me.” She called out, gently, not wanting to sneak up on whoever it was
“Hey, are you alright?” When she was close enough, she knelt on the grass beside the woman, realizing very quickly that it wasn’t anyone she recognized. “Miss, are you alright?” She asked quietly, a hand hovering just above the woman’s shoulder, not wanting to startle her or appear threatening. “I’m Ginny, do you know where you are?” She was sure she hadn’t seen this woman around the village before, which meant problems on top of whatever her physical condition was.
--
Barty allowed a soft, low moan to escape. He was warm and comfortable and there was a breeze on his face and someone was trying to talk to him. A female someone? That wasn’t right. There were only two women in all of Azkaban and he was nowhere near either of them. And they wouldn’t speak to him so softly. Dreaming. Just as he was about to drift away again, a cough rose up in his chest and wracked him; he let out several sharp, painful bursts. He could still feel the pain, he realised, whimpering. He was so weak. The body he was in felt frailer even than usual; he braced his forearm against the ground and tried to rise a little, to ease the cough, but he was barely strong enough to hold his own weight.
In mother’s body. She’s dying. Am I dying? Was I dying before, or only now I look like her?
---
Ginny started and flinched when the woman coughed violently. That certainly didn't sound good. When the redhead noticed the stranger was trying to sit up, she lent an arm and then realized that the woman wouldn't be able to support herself. Carefully, Ginny wrapped her arm around the fragile woman and helped her to sit up.
"Here, you're okay." She fumbled a little clumsily for her wand, conjuring up a cup and filling it with water. "Have a drink."
--
Barty felt completely disoriented, but he recognised the word ‘water’, and fumbled for the cup. Suddenly he had never been so thirsty in his entire life. He gulped greedily, spilling some down his chin and onto his robes. The robes were loose, he realised through the haze - because his mother had lost so much weight, or had they chosen them so they would be easy to change in and out of in the confines of his cell. He remembered it now; his father tugging the fabric over his head, then watching as he much more gently eased Uma into Barty’s prison uniform. Except Uma had looked like Barty, so it was like he was watching himself from outside his body. No wonder he felt so confused.
---
Ginny watched anxiously as she drank. When the cup was emptied, she refilled it quickly. And again. "Careful not too fast." She said softly. Too fast and the poor girl would make herself sick. She waited until it looked as though the woman was sated enough for the moment.
"Alright, love?" She asked, "Can you tell me your name?"
---
Barty opened his mouth again, but only rasping breaths came out. He looked blearily up at the stranger who had given him water; he saw a blurred face surrounded by red hair. He put a shaking hand to his mouth and shook his head, hoping she would understand, then in a fit of inspiration and seeing the wand in her hand, pointed to it and then back to his mouth again. He didn’t know what had happened, perhaps his father had Apparated him once they were outside the wards and left him somewhere. He wouldn’t be surprised. But already the urge, the need to survive was coming back to him - with no Dementors to smother it, he clung to the prospect of survival with every harboured breath.
---
Ginny frowned in confusion as she tried to work out what the woman was trying to convey. Simultaneously, she was trying to figure out if the woman looked familiar. If she was new to the village there was a small chance she could be related to someone. But there was no resemblance that Ginny could see. And she looked so frail.
When she pointed to Ginny's wand and then back at her mouth, the redhead finally worked out what it was. Or at least she hoped so. With a flick of her wrist and a mutter of the counter-charm that she hoped would help, she gave a small smile. "Better?"
---
Barty swallowed. “Thank… you…” he managed. The voice that came out was familiar but not his own. He blinked to clear his vision. It was still too bright, and getting brighter, and it hurt to open them all the way. That was strange, he thought. It was his own eyes that weren’t used to the light, not his mothers. But then, his mother rarely left the house. He had seen her outside only twice in the last ten years - once at his trial. Again in Azkaban, less than an hour ago. “Where…?” he asked, breathily, every word an effort.
---
"That is kind of a long story, but I promise you're safe." Ginny said, figuring that telling the woman that she was in a magical village outside of time and space might just do her in. "You need a healer and there are a few around, but they're likely asleep and it might be just as easy to set you up at my house until I can get one for you." She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. "We'll get you sorted and then I'll explain about the village, yeah?"
---
Safe. Barty clung to the word like a lifeline. “Safe,” he repeated. In life, real life, he would disdain a helping hand from anyone. But he was desperate. He felt the way he had at his trial, desperate for any avenue, willing to big, willing to scream and cry if he could be saved. Only worse. “Please,” he added, barely audible over the harsh sound of his own breathing.
---
Ginny nodded with a gentle smile. "Of course." However, after a beat she frowned again. There was no chance of this woman being able to walk the distance to the cabin. "Erm...I'm going to need to conjure a stretcher. The house is a ways and I don't want you to hurt yourself worse." She wasn't sure what the woman was suffering from, but she figured a bit of warning before performing magic was probably in order. Just in case.
With a wave, the stretcher appeared and Ginny offered a hand to help the woman onto it.
---
Barty somehow managed to half climb, half roll onto the stretcher with the stranger woman’s help. It must have helped that he seemed to weigh practically nothing. He closed his eyes again and let himself drift in and out of conciousness. Time? There was something important he had to remember about time. No, it was gone. Where? Had his father really abandoned him? He shivered as the stretcher moved under the shadow of something, blocking out the blissful morning sun. Cold! Dark, cold, the incessant pounding of the waves…
---
Ginny carefully guided the stretcher in the direction of the cabin, keeping an equal eye on the path and on the woman who was now in her care. She wasn't quite a healer, but she was a mum and so she'd picked up a few tricks. This woman was best off in the hands of Edgar Bones or Lily, but Ginny could at least stop any imminent death and make the woman comfortable.
It took longer than usual, but eventually they did make it and Ginny managed to get them both inside. "I'll set you up on the couch." She said quietly. "And make some tea. You should probably have something to eat. Something small. An egg and some toast?"
She guided the stretcher to the couch and fixed it up like a sort of bed, with enough pillows that the woman could sit up and be well supported.
---
Barty recognised the words for food, and felt his stomach rumble instantly. He didn’t know if he was even strong enough to eat, but the hunger he had long ago stopped feeling as a separate piece of the overall misery brought on by the Dementors now returned in force. He shivered again more forcefully as he was moved expertly from the stretcher to the almost unbearably soft cushions of the sofa. “C-cold,” he stammered, though it was probably a comfortable enough temperature in the room. He had felt the cold for so long, with nothing to protect him but a ragged blanket and the occasional mad, terrible fit of throwing himself against the walls. It had seeped into his very bones, into his very soul, and without the sun it was as though he had been dunked in ice.
--- "Oh! Of course!" Ginny said, moving quickly to grab the soft throw off of the arm chair. She tucked it around the woman on the couch. "Accio quilt." She murmured, summoning the blanket from the extra bedroom. She tucked that one around her as well and gave a soft smile. "Better I hope?" She glanced towards the hall again, hoping they wouldn't wake Harry too soon.
"I'm just going to put the kettle on."
---
Barty nodded with a little hiss of indrawn breath as the blankets began to leech the cold from his body. He lay back into the cushions as she moved away, trying to take in this place that he had been brought to. It looked like the small, comfy sitting room of a house - not his house, that was for certain, but the walls were painted, not stone, and there was furniture and a rug and a fireplace. Safe.
He coughed again, but this time with less panic; he let it pass. He was safe, at least for now. The longer he was away from the Dementors, the clearer his mind became, though he was still weak and dazed, and had no memory of coming here. At least he was almost certain that whatever was happening was real. Dreams, even mad dreams, could not be so tangible. Safe. Free
He had to find someone, he thought, as he half listened to the sounds of crockery in the distance. Someone to help him. But everyone he knew, trusted, they were in Azkaban and he had left them behind… he had heard that Lucius was free, had escaped judgement by claiming he had been coerced, under the Imperius curse…
Even as dazed and ill as he was, he felt a flame of anger light under all the pain and confusion. How dare Malfoy? To cast aside their Master in that way…
He felt a stab of real sadness then, an echo of the terrible misery of the wizard prison, but real, so real. His Master was gone. Not dead - no, he would never believe that - but he was gone, and without him, and without his mentors, Barty had never felt so alone.
---
Ginny was trying to hurry along in the kitchen as best she could. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the woman out on her couch for too long on her own. She set the kettle on the stove and set about scrambling an egg, figuring some protean would do the lady a world of good. She was trying to be as quiet as she could, not wanting to wake her husband at this unearthly hour, but speed was a necessity and volume was not, so. She could hear coughing again and frowned. Whatever was troubling this woman, the healers would be able to tend to, but it wasn’t good. Or at least, it didn’t sound good.
When everything was quite finished, she made a little tray, piling on the teapot, a couple of cups, a glass of water, milk and sugar and the plate with the egg and toast. She levitated the whole lot of it out into the living room and set it down on the coffee table, taking a seat on the very edge of the couch so she could help the woman.
“Right. So I did go ahead and make that egg. If you’d like anything else you just let me know.” She said quietly. “Have another drink of water though, I heard that cough, it doesn’t sound good.” She handed over the glass. “And how do you take your tea? My mum always says that there’s nothing a good cuppa can’t fix and I’ve yet to see her proven wrong.”
---
Barty shrugged - a barely perceptible movement under all the blankets. He didn’t think he had the energy for any more words. He brought one shaking hand out of his cocoon to take the glass and sipped from it - more carefully this time. It was fresh and sweet, no bitter tinge of salt or grime. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. He closed his eyes for a moment in bliss, but opened them again as the smell of food reached his nostrils. Whether he could stomach it he didn’t know, but suddenly he didn’t care at all.
He forced himself to look away for a moment to observe his rescuer again. In the dimmer light of the room he could see her clearly. Not someone he knew, but clearly a witch. That was something. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had he been taken in by Muggles. He managed a twitch of the lip which might have passed for an attempt at a smile. It was not something he did often. It was not something he had done for over a year. But now he was free. He would smile a thousand smiles if it led to a warm bed and real food. After a couple more sips he thought perhaps he could speak again.
“No tea,” he managed, in a soft rasp that once again came out much higher and lighter than he expected. He flinched a little, but pressed on. “Food… please?”
---
Ginny nodded and picked up the fork. She wasn’t new to feeding people--she had three children after all. Not to mention all the nieces and nephews. She took a small bit of the scrambled egg and carefully navigated it towards the woman’s mouth. It would probably be easier than her trying to manage for herself. She’d had enough trouble with the water and Ginny didn’t want her to exhaust herself. The redhead moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to chew and swallow and breaking to take a sip of something every few bites.
“How’re you feeling?” She asked, once the egg was finished, which had taken quite a bit of time. “You’re looking a little better, I think.”
---
Barty could not believe how good the simple dish tasted. If she hadn’t been feeding him he might have wolfed down the whole lot in seconds, if he had the strength. He didn’t even feel too humiliated at having to be fed. By the last few bites he was no longer hungry, but ate them anyway, relishing the taste and texture of something that wasn’t cold gruel and dry bread.
He nodded. “Tired,” he managed. “But…” he faltered, not knowing how to explain that he didn’t want to sleep, when he could wake up back in his cell, or anywhere. He fought to keep his eyes open and swallowed hard, tasting the echo of the scrambled egg on the roof of his mouth. He looked at his arms peeking out from the overlarge robes, the small, feminine hands with their slim narrow fingers and neatly trimmed nails. Mother Inexplicably he felt tears come to his eyes. He had not thought of her in so long. She had sat by and let his father through him in prison, and he had hated her, but now… she was dying. She would die, soon. And he had let her take his place in that… that hell. His own mother was going to die there and no one would know. He reached up to let those fingers touch the soft cheek that was also not his own, and felt them come away wet.
---
“Oh. Oh, it’s okay, love.” Ginny said, mistaking the emotions on the woman’s face. “It’s alright. I’ll be right here and I’ll make sure everything is alright. Whatever’s the matter, we’ve got healers nearby and they’ll see to you. You’re safe. You’re alright.” She gently wiped away a tear off the woman’s face. “You get some rest. I’ll be right here when you get up and I’ll get Mr. Bones or Lily to come and have a look and see what they can do for you.” She realized how scared and worried the woman must be, and she was trying to be as assuring and kind as she could. Honestly though, she was a little frightened. She seemed awfully weak. “You get some rest, I’m just going to pop in, see if my husband is awake yet so that if he comes out here, he doesn’t have a heart attack himself with a stranger on the couch, yeah?” She gave a kind smile and patted the woman’s leg gently. “We’ll take good care of you. I promise.”
---
Barty nodded faintly, still caught up in his own fears and miseries. Freedom was not all happiness. In fact happiness was still a considerable stretch. He watched the woman get up and leave. He closed his eyes.
There was something he had to remember, he thought, even as blissful unconsciousness settled over him again like an untrustworthy blanket. It was important. Some reason he couldn’t stay here, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t….
Something tugged in the middle of his stomach as if he was travelling by Portkey. He groaned, though hardly any sound actually came out. He doubled up, still drifting in and out as he felt his body change, growing taller, broader, but not much heavier. His hair shrank back into his skull until it was hanging limply around his eyes, his jaw extended and grew a year’s stubble that was not quite a beard. When he looked at his hands, they were his again, the nails torn and stained with drying blood. Shakily he drew back his left sleeve a few inches until he could see the slightly raised, red curve of the Mark on his skin. With a sigh of relief he let the sleeve fall back. Already he felt a little stronger. He was still weak and lightheaded from starvation and his own intermittent madness, but he had lungs that could breathe. Legs that could walk. He hoped.
He knew he should move. Knew he should run. He would not be free forever if they found out who he was and where he had come from. They would give him back to the Dementors! Panicking, he tried to sit up, tried to disentangle himself from the blankets. He still didn’t know where he was or where he could go, but he had to -
His frantic movements threw him off the edge of the sofa and onto the floor with a thump. He went limp. It was almost a relief to feel the darkness finally closing in. Perhaps if he went to sleep now, he would die, and then he would truly, finally be free…
---
Ginny had gone quickly to the bedroom. She knew Harry liked to be up early and she didn’t want the first thing he saw to be a strange, fragile and sickly woman sleeping on the couch. But when she popped her head in, there was no sign of him. The bed had been slept in, she was pretty sure--she couldn’t remember if she made it yesterday or not--but her husband wasn’t in it. Perhaps he’d already gone for his morning run? She must’ve just missed him when she’d come in.
Just as well. She’d fill him in whenever he got back.
She grabbed the journal off the nightstand, figuring she could leave a note for Mr. Bones or for Lily to come to the house whenever they got up and she’d go back in and keep an eye on the mystery woman.
Just as she was reaching for the door, she heard the loud thump which sounded suspiciously like a small person hitting the floor in the living room. Her heart in her throat, she wrenched open the door and ran down the hall, trying not to panic. She saw the heap of blankets and felt her stomach drop. “Miss….bugger!” She didn’t even know the woman’s name! She ran to her side to see if she was still breathing, kneeling down and finding---this was a man.
This was a man dressed in the same robes that the woman had been wearing and...looking almost as worse for wear.
But definitely a man.
He was taller, broader and had a chin full of whiskers and how was that even possible?
She gave a look around, as if something in the room might help explain what had happened to the woman she’d been taking care of. But obviously nothing there helped. Remembering that whoever this man was, he was also clearly in need of help and currently knocked out on her living room floor, she pulled out her wand and eased him back onto the couch. Then she started pacing, trying to come up with an explanation. Or a plan. Or something.
The journal was still in her hands and she did what any sensible person would do under the circumstances and wrote a quick journal explaining what had happened and asking for help. What else could she do? She looked again at the man’s face, he looked...familiar wasn’t quite the right word. She didn’t know him. But maybe she’d seen him somewhere before? It was impossible to tell. In any case, this seemed to be a much bigger problem than a woman with a severe chest cold on her couch.
---
Barty stirred with a little moan. Passed out again. Without warning his entire body gave another shiver so violent it was almost a spasm. He coughed weakly and tried to roll onto his forearms. He had to fight against his mind as well as his body - the sofa was so soft and comfortable that he just wanted to close his eyes and sink back into the abyss. No… Dementors… can’t go back there…
---
Ginny jumped and let out a small scream when the man stirred. Her heart was now racing and any bit of tiredness had left her body as a small amount of panic had taken over. He didn’t seem to be in much better shape than the woman had been though, so if it came to it, she could probably take him in a fight. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. She had to try and approach this rationally.
She’d been willing to help the strange, sickly woman. And now that she’d turned into a man--it must’ve been polyjuice--was she really willing to put him out? But the question was why had he been polyjuiced as anyone to begin with? There weren’t very many circumstances in which polyjuice potion was used for something benign.
She checked her journal for any sort of help and frowned when she saw Harry’s urgent warning to get out of the house. Whatever the man was, he wasn’t currently particularly dangerous, was he? And how could Harry even know who it was without being there?
---
Barty gasped for air. He felt like he was at the top of a high mountain, where the air was thin and the cold was so strong it was part of him. It’s in your head he tried to tell himself. He pulled himself up slightly and managed to drag himself a few inches before collapsing again. “Please…” he wheezed, not knowing who he was speaking to, but surely someone somewhere out there must listen. “Don’t… don’t let them take me…”
---
Ginny froze for a moment. Torn between listening to her husband (which she did do more than she was given credit for, really) and helping the man who was clearly in need of it. She hated to doubt Harry. Especially when he seemed adamant. about it. But she couldn’t just let this man...He was already in the house and he was clearly in need of help. She worried her lower lip and looked back at the journal before setting it down on the coffee table.
“No one is taking you anywhere just yet.” She said softly. “Just...lay back on the couch for me, okay?” She tucked the blankets around him again. “There. You’re safe here. Get some rest and I’ll get you a healer as soon as I can.”
---
Barty gave up. There was no way he could get further than a few steps, even if he could stand. And even though he might not admit it, it was just… so nice to have someone take care of him. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone tucked him in. A nanny, perhaps, when he was very young, or his mother. Of course he was still only nineteen. He stared blearily up at the redhaired woman. From what he could tell, she did not seem overly concerned that he had changed form, though it must have confused her. Unless she had been expecting him, perhaps? Maybe his father had arranged for her to find him. For the first time he managed to relax a little. Safe. “Thank you,” he said again, all the breath he had going out in one long sigh.
---
Okay. Right. So. Strange, no-longer-polyjuiced man on her couch who may or may not be on the brink of death. He was awfully weak in any case. She knew he needed a healer and she’d written a note to Edgar Bones and Lily, but she couldn’t just leave him there. Not even if Harry was choosing right now to be equal parts cryptic and protective. She didn’t see the danger in it. She wasn’t even sure he had a wand on him, and if he did, she doubted he could lift it.
She paced the floor for a moment or two, trying to come up with a plan. Well, a plan past soup, which was next on her list of things for him to try to eat. The egg she’d scrambled wasn’t enough, he was clearly malnourished, but she didn’t want anything too heavy too quick. Soup. But then what? She’d just have to wait for someone else to show up.