Based on the Harry Potter Series By J. K. Rowling
Chapter 34 “ Friday Night with Fred
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Ginny went to wake Harry for dinner Thursday evening but he would hardly stir. After a few minutes she gave up and went downstairs to dine with her parents. When finished, she helped her mother clear and clean. Saying she was going up to see Harry and then go to bed, she kissed her father goodnight and then climbed the stairs and walked to Harry’s room.
Harry was still sleeping soundly and Ginny debated whether she should wake him or not. Deciding to try to administer the evening treatment with Harry sleeping, Ginny sat next to him in bed and tried to raise him up to where she could get her arms around him. Her efforts were futile; Harry was completely limp and too heavy to move by herself.
After removing Harry’s socks (Ginny knew he hated to sleep in them) and loosening other tight pieces of clothing, Ginny went to her room and got ready for bed. Reading a magazine, waiting for sleep to come, she heard a Thump on her bedroom door and then saw Harry, still half asleep, stagger into her room.
Whatever had happened since Ginny saw him fifteen minutes earlier must have been traumatic. As Harry approached, Ginny saw he was crying and had one hand to his head. He fell across the bed and started calling out something unintelligible. Ginny immediately called for her parents and tried to move Harry into her bed so he could lay down comfortably. By the time she had him repositioned, Molly came into the room followed shortly by Arthur.
Ginny recapped the past few minutes for her parents as she tried to comfort Harry. Based on the few words they could understand it was his head causing the pain. Arthur went down for a damp towel and Molly was thinking about a spell or Potion for headaches when Harry tried to get himself up, but Ginny held him back; for her trouble she received a bed full of sick. Then Harry passed out completely.
Ginny returned with a Healer from St. Mungo’s a quarter-hour later, Flooing into the parlor. Harry was still being cleaned-up by Molly and Arthur but had started to come around.
“Harry, it’s me, Ginny, can you hear me?”
Harry slowly nodded yes, pointing to his head and eyes. The Healer, during this time, had taken Harry’s vital signs and listened to Arthur and Molly explain what had happened.
“It sounds like a migraine, has he ever had them before.”
Ginny started to answer before her parents began their reply. “No, not like this. He had a lot of problems with his scar when Voldemort was alive, but not since then.”
“No, it’s not the scar,” the Healer responded, “he’s pointing to the other side of his head. He has all the classic signs of a severe migraine. I have Potions for this but I’d like to give him an injection, the medicine will get into his blood much faster.”
At the same time Molly said “No,” Ginny said “Yes.” Then Ginny looked at the Healer and told him to do it immediately, saying she was his fiancé and had the responsibility for him. Molly kept silent, but it was clear she was not happy with her daughter’s decision. Ginny questioned the Healer about the migraines, their causes, and treatments. As she suspected, they were almost exclusively a Muggle ailment, though not completely unheard of in the wizarding world.
The medication given to Harry worked quickly and within minutes he was able to verbally respond to questions, but kept his eyes shut. The Healer recommended that Harry check into the hospital if he had any more problems, but over the next thirty minutes it was clear Harry would need no further care other than rest. There was a constant tension between Molly and Ginny about what Harry should do, finally Arthur gently pulled Molly out of Ginny’s room telling her to “let the two kids take care of it themselves.”
Mostly Harry just wanted to sleep, so Ginny walked him to his room and helped him get ready for bed. Stripping to his boxers, Harry crawled into bed. Sitting next to him, Ginny touched his forehead and stroked his cheek. Within seconds he was sleeping peacefully. Returning to her room, Ginny changed back into her night shirt and sat on the bed wondering what to do. Two hours ago she was in the same position, ready to go to sleep, now she was exhausted but wide awake, wondering why a Muggle ailment like migraines was affecting Harry. She suspected she knew the answer.
After a few minutes, Ginny went back to Harry’s room, intentionally leaving the door ajar so her mother would not completely freak-out. Then she climbed into bed with Harry and clung to his arm, waiting for sleep to come.
Hermione was excited about work Friday for reasons other than the usual ones associated with the last work day of the week. She fully expected to work through the weekend translating as many of the parchments as possible. Arriving at her cubicle before seven, she found a small package on the desk addressed to her in Keric Albemarle’s distinctive handwriting and green ink. Opening the accompanying envelope, she read the brief note.
Hermione, you should find this useful. Be certain to read the directions. KA.
Opening the long box, Hermione saw a pair of quills, one with “C.L.” on it, the other with “K.E..” Looking at the directions in the box top she laughed and immediately set her things down, proceeding downstairs with the box of quills. Arriving at the “cave,” Hermione noticed a small stack of copies on Patty’s desk and the completed work order at the very top. All the remaining parchments from that batch had been copied.
Organizing her desk for the extra space she would need, Hermione set out two pads of paper, two bottles of ink (one Black, one red) and then placed the “K.E.” quill next to the red ink bottle and the “C.L.” quill next to the black ink bottle in front of her. Finally, she removed the first page of the Latin text she had started translating Thursday, picked up the “C.L.” quill, dipped it into the blank ink bottle, and began transcribing the Classical Latin document. As she did, the quill next to her inked itself and began translating the Latin words Hermione was writing into the King’s English on the other pad of paper.
“Bless you, Keric!” Hermione said, smiling. Her boss had found her the most trusted translator she could ever need.
By the time Patty arrived an hour later, Hermione had finished the first two sheets and had started working on the runes of the first newly copied sheets.
“And I thought I was getting in early!” Patty said, seeing Hermione writing away.
“Merlin, Patty, you gave me a fright!” Hermione jumped, she had not heard the clean room door open, being so engrossed with her work.
Laughing, Patty walked over to Hermione’s desk and looked at what she was doing.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the quill writing in red ink as Hermione wrote in black.
“Keric sent it down, it’s for translations; you won’t believe how fast it is.”
Hermione went back to translating the runes to Latin.
“Hermione, do you think it would work for me?”
“What, the quills? I don’t know, give it a try. As far as I know the magic is in the quills, not the user.”
Patty waited for Hermione to finish the word she was translating, then rising to give Patty a spot to sit, she watched as her friend tried the quills. Preferring ball-point pens to quills, Patty had never really used one and found the scratching and dipping more of a bother than it was worth, until, that is, she looked at the translation.
“Hermione! Look at this, it’s amazing!”
Her friend looked like a kid at Christmas, all smiles, playing with a new toy. This gave Hermione a thought.
“Patty, why don’t I do the rune to Latin translations and you can do the Latin to English? I see this stuff all the time, you can have fun with it.”
Patty smiled back at Hermione and went back to writing.
By late in the day, Patty and Hermione had completely translated eight pages, seven of which appeared to belong to the same manuscript as the first two pages they had worked on the day before. Hermione stopped their work at three-thirty to move to the next step; quenching her curiosity.
“Patty, let’s see what these say, I’ve been dying to read them all day.”
Patty agreed, saying she would finish up the page she was working on first.
Hermione retrieved the first page, which was really page number eighteen, and started to read. After Patty finished, Hermione was ready to move on to page nineteen. As she started reading her smile faded and she ‘speed read’ through the document. Patty heard Hermione gasp and go to the next page, but she put it down and grabbed the manuscript from her coworker. Lying as best she could, Hermione told Patty that Keric had to see these immediately.
“I’m sorry, Pat, I’ll explain later.”
Hermione took off at a run. By the time Patty reached her cube a few minutes later, Hermione was gone. Finishing up the week with an inter-office memo to housekeeping, Patty left the building to go home and wait for Fred Weasley to arrive.
Patty accepted three suggestions Hermione had offered about her presentation for the date. She wore a red skirt with a beige blouse, pulled her hair back into a pony tail and wore the contacts she hated. Checking herself out in the mirror, she thought, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.
The doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock and Fred immediately earned a number of well-deserved demerits when Patty opened the door and he announced that he was “here to pick up Patty.” He then went back into the positive column by doing a double-take, apologizing profusely, and offering a number of sincerely spoken compliments with the words wow, sorry and amazing liberally scattered throughout.
Trying to ease Fred’s obvious embarrassment, Patty laughed and extended her hand in a more formal greeting. Fred went to shake her hand but completely missed it and jabbed Patty in the hip; his eyes and mind being completely distracted.
“I think I’ll just go home now,” Fred whimpered, face and ears rapidly turning crimson. He started to turn away, but Patty laughed all the harder and pointed down the hallway.
“The exit is that way, but you’re taking me to dinner first.”
Patty lived on the southeastern edge of Dover so she suggested a nearby strip of popular restaurants, but Fred had done his homework and memorized a number of pricey spots they could cab to.
“There’s the Taste of India, if you like Indian. Champion Chinese, if…”
“No, please! No more Chinese, Fred. Your brother already treated Hermione and I to some vile beef and broccoli yesterday and I’m still recovering.”
Going through the list, they chose one that sounded good to both of them and Fred hailed a taxi, directing the driver to the Wallett’s Court Inn and Restaurant. After thirty minutes Fred told Patty that it might have been a good idea to check the direction as well as the cuisine. Overhearing Fred, the driver said they were almost there.
“There” turned out to be just off the Cliffs and in the middle of nowhere. Apart from the inn, the only remotely modern structure visible was a large radio tower that looked as if it were left over from the blitz fifty years earlier. Several large partially eroded craters in the ground, barely visible in the distance, seemed to confirm this assessment.
Exiting the taxi, Fred paid and tipped the driver. Thanking Fred, the driver noted, “Say, you want me to stick around? Not much chance of you getting another taxi way out here.”
Seeing the driver’s logic, Fred discretely offered to buy him dinner if he waited. The drive found this completely agreeable and drove off to the car park. Escorting Patty to the entrance they entered the Inn to find that it was closed for renovations.
Right about this point, Fred was cursing the inability to Apparate. Patty, on the other hand, was tearing, trying not to laugh. Feeling sorry for the two guests, the Innkeeper offered to cook them a breakfast meal and throw in a bottle of Champaign. With no other real option, they accepted.
Fifteen minutes later, Fred had borrowed a damp towel form Clyde, the Innkeeper on duty that evening, and cleaned off a table and two chairs at one corner of the dusty dining room. Seeing their driver at the opposite corner, Fred walked over and left the towel for him to use. The ambiance left much to be desired; however, if they ignored the plastic “curtains” which closed off part of the room, the meager heat, an ever-present haze of dust, and the occasional leer from the cabbie, it was quite nice. There were no crowds, either.
“Dinner” was served at 9 o’clock. Patty had tried to strike up a conversation with Fred only to be interrupted by events one would only consider “normal” inside a building under renovation. Their conversation was first cut short when a strong gust of wind blew in one of the thick plastic curtains separating the dining area from the construction zone. Fred and the cabbie fixed that one by piling two tables against the wall, pinning the plastic down. Next, just as Fred was sitting back down, Patty commented dryly on his jacket’s collection of dust and particulate from the work area. Fred managed to keep some semblance of dignity as he walked out the front entrance to shake off his coat. When he returned, Patty did not have the heart to tell him that he had forgotten to brush out his hair. Finally, as they were both becoming engaged in a conversation about Ron and Hermione, the Innkeeper brought in their food.
The main course was scrambled eggs with cheese, two slices of ham, toast, something that looked like fried potatoes, and a side of fruit salad. The best part of the meal was the Champaign. After a few bites of the meal, Fred started apologizing again; actually, he was just continuing the one long apology he had started an hour earlier. Patty was doing her best to look like she was enjoying herself, but far more than the meal, she was enjoying Fred’s discomfort. The shoe’s on the other foot now, eh?
With their dinner finished, and the Champaign hardly touched, Patty could tell that Fred was very uncomfortable and just wanted to leave. For her part, she agreed, but was truly sorry the circumstances were so bad; she was actually enjoying Fred’s company. Shaking the cabbie out of a light sleep, the three left the dusty room and began the trek back to Dover. Fred’s only words for the next forty minutes were variations of “I’m sorry.”
Patty tried to wave it off, but finally became tired of Fred’s apologies and told him, “Just shut up, Fred. It’ll make a grand story some day.” That worked, a little too well; Fred said nothing the rest of the drive.
Walking Patty back to her apartment, Fred gave Patty a half-hearted wave and started to apologize, again, but stopped himself. When Patty looked into her purse for her flat’s key, Fred took this as a queue to exit, and started walking away.
“FRED! Stop” Patty shouted. Fred turned around with an embarrassed look on his face.
Walking to her date, Patty looked at his head and gently brushed a good amount of building material out of his hair. Fred was horrified, but Patty smiled, gave him a light kiss on the cheek and made a suggestion.
“Fred, how about we try this again next Friday?”
Smiling when she saw the surprise on Fred’s face, Patty said “Good night” and returned to her apartment.