Cicatrices - Marks That Remain

“We already cast detection and reversal charms on it. The hair hasn’t been tampered with magically. It’s curly and dirty-blond, just like Goyle’s.”

“Oh, Harry! Come on. In you get. We’re glad you could make it.”

Harry turned his attention to the present moment, pasting on a smile and greeting Molly Weasley with a hug. 

“Hello Molly, thank you for having me.”

“Of course, dear! Our home is your home.” She turned and began toward the kitchen. “The boys are in the sitting room, by the way. Go say hello.”

Harry began the walk to the sitting area, where he could see Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Percy, and Charlie.

“Hello.” 

“Harry, mate! Glad you were able to come. They approved having someone else watch Malfoy, right?” Harry smiled,  taking in a breath. 

“Yeah, just like you said.” Though the two of them had a nasty row over ‘neglecting your duty to protect’ just before he’d left.

Just then, Charlie and Percy stood to greet him. General smiles and courtesies going around. Harry turned to Ginny then, who merely gave him a smile and a wave, quietly greeting him. Harry did the same, not wanting to cause tension at dinner.

 Harry and Ginny had barely spoken since they broke up. They were not on bad terms by any means, but it hadn’t been quite long enough for them to pretend nothing was ever there. And if she wanted to be subtle about it for now, he was more than fine with following along.

“Andromeda and Teddy are in the dining room. She’s trying to get him to eat, if you want to say hi.” Hermione stood to guide Harry in the direction of the table, as though he hadn’t been there for many years before. She held him by the bicep as they walked away. 

“Ginny hasn’t quite been herself lately, With being rejected from the Magpies. Maybe you should give her some words of encouragement later. Don’t be ignorant,” she whispered. 

“Ah.” Harry had forgotten about that. He supposed that made him a bad ex-boyfriend, or a bad friend. Hermione had just saved him loads of torment by reminding him. Just then, Andromeda and Teddy were in their line of sight. Harry and Hermione arrived just in time to witness a plastic spoon flying across the table. Andromeda huffed, getting up from her seat to grab it. Hermione rushed after her, retrieving the spoon and handing it to her. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you, dear.” Then,  Andromeda looked up and saw Harry. “Oh, hello Harry. Fancy seeing you here.” 

Harry smiled shyly, waving hello. “Yeah, I haven’t been here in a bit,” he chuckled. 

“A bit? Try half of a year, at least!” She went over to him, arms wide for an embrace. “It’s good to see you. Would you like to say hello to Teddy?” 

“Yes, please.” Harry turned to Teddy, and it was then that he felt a genuine smile creeping across his face. 

“I’ll leave you three to catch up,” Hermione said, making her leave back to the sitting room. 

Two-year-old Teddy was grabbing fistfuls of yoghurt from a blue plastic bowl and smacking it into the table with utmost concentration. His hair was morphing from orange to a deep, brick red. Harry couldn’t help the feeling of joy at seeing him anyway. His smile broadened and he moved to sit in front of his Godson, attempting to push the case from his mind if just for a moment. 

“Hi, Teddy.” He spoke gently, attempting to get the young child’s attention. However, he was far too engrossed in the process of smearing yoghurt across the table. Andromeda brought out her wand to spell away the mess. 

“We don’t play with our food, Teddy. We eat it.” She put her wand down and moved to get a new spoonful of what remnants of the snack she could gather from the bowl. “Open up.” 

Teddy did not show any signs of acknowledgement until the spoon was against his mouth, which caused him to smack it away, yoghurt-covered hands flailing as his face scrunched itself up. Not a moment later, he was crying out loudly, banging his fists on the table. 

“Hey, hey, Ted,” Harry tried to calm him but to no avail, as Teddy was too lost in his frustration. Soon, Harry began to worry that he was possibly distressing the child. Andromeda swept in with a plush penguin toy that she seemed to have produced magically. As soon as Teddy caught sight of it, he immediately calmed down and stopped crying, his bright red face slowly regaining natural colour. 

“Here, have the penguin. Have your penguin.” She shook it a little bit, gesturing towards Teddy’s hands. He silently grabbed the penguin and began playing with it. Andromeda sighed. 

“Hannah says I’m supposed to allow him to play with his food. When I was a little girl you either ate what was offered or went to bed hungry. No nonsense, no tantrums…” 

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, glancing towards Teddy with his penguin toy, then turned his attention towards Andromeda. 

“How is that going, by the way?” 

“It seems to be going well. He sees her every day. Their sessions are four hours long and he usually seems to come out of it happy. Thank Merlin that Teddy inherited his mother’s abilities. I can’t imagine having to learn how he may be feeling or what he may be communicating without any sort of physical indication.” 

“So he still doesn’t speak, then? Is Hannah working on that as well?” 

“He rarely speaks, but he’s learned to call me mum. Just breaks my heart whenever he does. I told Hannah to teach him about his real mum, you understand. I’m his grandmother. He deserves to know that. Hannah said that she needs to start with him identifying the people in his life,  that he can learn the difference later. A load of rubbish if you ask me. All this Muggle healing is too confusing for an old woman like me. But enough on that. How are you doing, Harry?” 

“Oh, well… I’m sure you’ve heard about the murders, with it being in the paper. Erm… Other than that, not too much. Just a lot of stress, really.” Harry was still trying to wrap his head around Teddy, though. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to talk about Teddy and his progress with Hannah as his mind healer. He wanted to ask what where his toy penguin is from, and what flavour of yoghurt he liked to eat. 

“And you haven’t been locking yourself up in that dirty flat of yours again, right? Because I’ve been sending Owls-”

“Oh, uh, no, no… I’m in the middle of a witness protection round, actually. And I’ve been meaning to change the terms of it so that I could be in my own flat.” 

“I see. So you’ve just been ignoring my Owls,” she replied with a mischievous smile. 

Harry faltered, feeling flustered. “I’ve been busy, Andy, I-” 

“Oh, don’t fuss. I understand. I was just pushing your buttons.” She stood. “I’m not quite old enough to live a life of boredom. I’ll be right back. Watch Teddy for me?” 

“Alright,” he responded. Teddy was still playing with his plush. He no longer looked upset, though, and his hair had turned blue. Harry noticed the mess of yoghurt that was still on the table and now on Teddy’s plush. He pulled out his wand, casting a quick scourgify on it all. 

“How are you, Teddy?” 

The young child barely showed signs of responding. Harry shifted in his seat, then tried again. 

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand? May I see?” Harry reached out and put his hand on the plush, which did get Teddy’s attention. He looked straight at Harry, and Harry felt a certain warmth bloom in his chest. He smiled. 

“Hello. Do you remember me?” Teddy’s hair turned jet-black, and slowly, Harry noticed some curls forming. 

Harry knew he wasn’t going to get much of a response from Teddy, considering he barely speaks, and Harry also knew it was unlikely that Teddy remembered him to any extent. It had been almost half a year since he’d gone to visit, and he only minorly kept in touch with Andromeda, enough to let her know that he isn’t dead and still cares about Teddy. But Teddy’s hair changing to look like his, that was all the acknowledgement he needed. 

Andromeda returned and shortly after, the rest of the household piled in, taking their seats as Molly levitated a roast to the table. The room was filled with warmth and laughter, and dinner began promptly afterwards.

As the meal progressed, Harry couldn't help but notice the way Teddy's eyes darted around the table, taking in the faces of each member of the family. However, he seemed to be particularly interested in the lines that stretched across the table, running his fingers over them and occasionally looking away from the hustle and bustle of the dinner table to press his face up against it and get an extra close look. 

Harry watched as Teddy's hair changed colours, settling on a deep shade of purple. The child's fascination with the world around him was endearing, and Harry felt a sudden urge to protect him from the dangers of this life. He knew that Teddy had already lost so much in his young life, and he didn't want to see him suffer anymore.

As the dinner conversation turned towards the recent murders that had been occurring, the entire table began to listen acutely. It wasn't long before people started giving their two cents on the topic. Harry listened to the voices around him but couldn't bring himself to participate in the conversation. His thoughts kept drifting back to Teddy, and he couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that came with being the godfather of a child who had lost both of his parents.

He watched as Teddy's hair turned yellow, a sign of his curiosity, and wondered what kind of world he was going to grow up in. Harry knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike at any moment. He had faced them himself, and he knew that Teddy would one day have to face them too.

As the conversation at the table continued, Harry's mind drifted back to everything that had been happening. He wondered about Draco, if he was treating the temporarily assigned Auror with the same coldness and volatility as he had treated him.

“-I don't care about how bad things may have been in the past. That gives him no right to be out killing people! He is no better than they used to be.” Molly was close to fuming, Aurthur’s hand on hers the only thing keeping her from practically boiling over. There were several nods and murmurs of agreement. 

“I agree, mum, I’m just saying,” Percy spoke between spoonfuls of food, “It’s not completely outlandish for all of those people to think that the murderer shouldn’t be persecuted.” 

“They’re hurt, and rightfully so. They just need help getting past it. Murder in our streets is not the way to go about things,” Andromeda chimed in. 

“They served their time. They have adjusted to society’s standards. A murderer chasing after them isn’t the best solution.”

One after another, everybody spoke, piggybacking off of each other’s commentary. Harry watched as Molly made futile attempts to stop their comments from affecting her- taking a forkful of mash, picking up a steak knife to cut up a piece of meat… Harry was silent, letting everybody get their opinions in, sighing and eating his own food. The chatter didn’t stop. It didn’t, until: 

“They’re getting a taste of their own medicine.” 

It was quiet. He said it under his breath. But that didn’t stop everybody at the table from hearing it. Heads turned. 

“George,” exclaimed Molly. 

He turned to face his mum “What? It’s true.” He cast wary glances at everyone sitting around him, then took another forkful of food. “You know Parkinson has her eyes gouged out-”

“George-” 

“-Malfoy had his feet crushed with a metal clamp.”

Thunk.

Everyone held their breath in reaction to the thunk that sounded across the room. Molly was heaving, white knuckles surrounding the handle of her steak knife, which had been jammed into the wooden table. 

“George Gideon Weasley! That’ll be enough from you… Get out of my sight!”

The table was stunned into silence. Molly was boring holes into George with her vision, and you could practically see the steam coming from her ears. George stood abruptly. 

“Fine. Good day to you all… Soon you’ll all see. They deserve it. Every last one of them-”

Harry stood from his seat abruptly, the chair being pushed back with such force that it tipped over. He stared silently at George, eyes wide. George held his gaze, leaving the room without another word. 

The rest of dinner went by in a blur. Harry’s heart was beating erratically in his chest, and all he could think was I need to talk to Ron. Now. 

It wasn’t until later, when dinner itself had ended and people were just lounging around, that Ron went to the backyard and Harry was able to slip out behind him. 

The air was warm and humid, yet a shiver went down Harry’s spine. What had happened at dinner with George had left a knot in his stomach, and a suspicion he wished he didn’t have. 

“Hey, mate.” Harry’s voice betrayed him in showing his nervousness. He paused and took a steadying breath, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. 

“Hey. I’m just out for a bit of fresh air,” he responded, looking out across the field into the distance. 

“Yeah.” The two of them went silent for a bit, only the sound of crickets humming could be heard. 

“Listen…” he finally said, his breath leaving him in one go, “About George.” 

“I know… I’m sorry about him, mate. You know how he’s been since… It’s just tough.” 

Harry’s throat suddenly went dry. He didn’t know how on earth he was supposed to say what he was thinking.

Hell, for all he knows he could be absolutely mad for thinking it. 

But he just had to say it. It was bothering him too much. 

“Erm, well, see, Ron. The things he said…” Ron turned to look at Harry, listening intently. “They sounded… well, they- they seemed a bit suspicious. Don’t you think?” 

Ron’s expression turned serious as he considered Harry’s words. Slowly, he turned to face him. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you think he’s involved in this?” Ron asked quietly.

Harry stayed silent for a moment. He could sense that he'd angered Ron, and he didn't quite know how to proceed.

“I... I don’t know, Ron. It’s just a feeling I have... I mean, he was practically justifying the murders back there, I...” Harry stumbled through his reply. Ron’s expression darkened with anger.

"Harry, George is my brother-"

"I know, I know. It's just..." Harry sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. 

"Y'know, Harry, I have no idea what has been going on with you lately. I mean, first my mother-"

"Your mother? What did I say about Molly?"

"That it would be bollocks to mourn her today if she died during the war? Or do you not remember?"

Harry felt his face go cold.

"You mean... at the bar with Neville? Ron that was- it... you didn't seem so mad, I mean- you walked away but you- afterwards you seemed fine."

"Yeah, because you're my best mate and sometimes you just say stupid shit. But now you are walking up to me and accusing my brother of murder?!" 

Harry took a step back, feeling Ron's anger like a physical blow. He hadn't meant to upset him, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I really am. It's just that... I don't know, something doesn't feel right, you know?" Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. He didn't want to upset Ron even more, lest he scream and have somebody inside the house hear him.

Ron let out a loud sigh, his anger dissipating slightly. "Yeah, I get it. It's just... George has been through a lot. Losing Fred, everything that happened during the war... but he's not a killer, Harry."

Harry couldn't tell if Ron had regained what little anger that had seemingly gone away. He trod carefully.

"I know," Harry said softly. "But we can't ignore the possibility that he might be involved in this. We've seen how gruesome these murders have been. We know they're driven by some sort of vengeance or... higher moral- something- just. I know that he's not the only one who is justifying the murders but you heard the way he said it!"

Ron took a deep breath, glancing away for a few moments, then turning back to Harry, who felt that Ron was simply masking his anger now."

"So then should we make Ginny a suspect, too?"

Harry took a step back, surprised.

"What?"

"Yeah. I mean, if George's feelings towards everything is enough to make him a suspect, then we should be doing the same to Ginny- hell, to just about half of Wizarding Britain. Yeah? Brilliant idea, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "Ginny? no. I... why?"

"Well haven't you heard, she's pretty much agreed with George on almost everything concerning whether the murderer is justified in their actions. The two of them have gotten in nasty rows with Mum... Oh, but wait, you wouldn't know, would you? Because you never care to visit. And the one time you do, you go and accuse George of being the murderer."

Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Ron had a point. He had been distant for a long time, now. Too long. He stood there, silent, as Ron continued his tirade.

"You come here, expecting me to believe that my own brother is a murderer? That he's capable of doing something like this? Don't you think that I would know if something was up with him? George may have his issues, but he's not a killer, Harry."

Ron's voice was starting to crack, and Harry could see tears forming in his eyes. He felt terrible for upsetting Ron, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said quietly. "I don't know what to think. The murders have been getting worse, and I just can't shake the feeling that something's not right. I didn't mean to upset you."

Ron took a deep breath, composing himself. The air stilled, not a sound could be heard. When Harry squinted, he could see the film of unshed tears on Ron’s eyes reflecting in the moonlight. Neither of them acknowledged it. A breeze blew past them, allowing for the atmosphere to feel slightly less stiff.

In the distance, the burrow's back door could be heard opening. Hermione's voice called out.

"Ron, Harry, Molly's brought out some pudding!"

Ron sighed, moving to walk towards his girlfriend, back to the burrow. Before he did, though, he spoke.

"George is not the killer. And neither is Ginny." He pursed his lips, blinking a few times. "I know that the case is tough, and I'm sure living with one of the victims doesn't help your psyche, but making thoughtless accusations isn't the way to go about this... If you manage to find meaningful evidence that points to somebody, then I will take it seriously."

Harry watched silently as Ron walked away, back inside.