On the Turning Away

Her eyes were glued to the clock that hung on the far side of the room, watching in silence as the time for her endeavor grew ever closer. A part of her wanted to bail on the surveillance, just for the night. She could fake a cold, perhaps claim that her grief had finally caught up with her, but as appealing as those excuses sounded, she couldn’t bring herself to actually jot down a note and send it off with the family owl. She had given her word, sworn that she would do whatever necessary, in order to aid the Order in their cause. What would people think of her if she were to make up an excuse on her second day on the job? What was she think of herself? She would think she was foolish – a coward, and Gwen wasn’t about to think that about herself. There were very high standards that she held herself to and she would live up to them. Which was why, when the clock struck 5:40, she forced herself out of bed. She took a moment to stretch, first turning one way, then another, and after she felt limber enough, she walked over to her closet to grab some clothes for the night.

There was nothing very exciting about the outfit; black pants, black shirt, and a warm black enchanted windbreaker jacket that would keep her warm throughout the night. On her feet, there was a pair of running shoes, in case things got hectic and they found themselves forced into a duel or forced to run. It was a basic outfit that anyone would wear while surveying at night. It was an outfit that she was very well acquainted with and after pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. She grabbed her wand off the dresser, stared at it for a moment and then walked out the room. She moved through the long hallway in silence, lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to focus on what the goals for the night were.

The first goal was to observe the Dolohov brothers, to monitor their every movement. The second was to not physically harm Bill Weasley or emotionally . . . though there was a good chance that she might slip up and tell him off. He had a way of getting under her skin, always had, but she was determined to show restraint, and when Gwen was determined to do something, it usually happened.

“Gwen? That you?” came her father’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she stopped in front of his study. “How was work?”

“Tedious,” he said. “But at the very least it was a change in scenery. And you?” he inquired. “How was your . . . your mission?”

Gwen leant against the doorframe. “Was alright, nothing much happened. We just stood there, in the shadows, observing them through the glass.”

“Appears both our endeavors were tedious,” Henry attempted at a smile, wanting to offer some sort of affection, but his lips refused to curl all the way and he gave up, allowing his lips to resume their usual positioning.

“Hopefully they won’t continue be so. I'm sure things will pick up at St. Mungo’s and who knows, maybe tonight there’ll be some development with the Dolohov’s or they might even have one of their guests pay them a visit.”

“Tonight?” his right brow rose, ever so slightly. “You mean to say, you’re going to be out there, tonight?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s a full moon out tonight . . .” he whispered, his voice strained, unsure as to how to continue. “Remus is an extraordinary man, very educated, very capable, but on full moons, he . . .”

“He’s a werewolf, I know. Mum told me once and as for tonight, he won’t be there. Didn’t say where he was going to be, but he made, it very explicit that he would not be able to join me in the night’s surveillance. And that Bill Weasley would take his place.”

“Bill Weasley?”

“Yes. Bill Weasley.”

“I . . . he . . . you . . . is that alright?” he stuttered.

Gwen remained unfazed by his question. “Of course it is.”

“But –”

“That was years ago. Ancient history and I can manage working with him just fine.”

Henry was unconvinced. “Well, just remember not to hurt him . . . he’s not as trained as you are and Molly was such a help to us throughout the funeral process. Wouldn’t want to upset her, would we?”

“Come on dad, have a bit of faith in me, he won’t get hurt.” Gwen paused for a moment before adding, “And if he does, it’ll look like an accident. Never be traced back to me!”

For the first time since his wife’s death, Henry laughed. He tilted his head slightly back and let out a hearty laugh that echoed throughout his study. It felt strange to laugh, foreign and to be honest, a bit uncomfortable to be doing it after so long a break. But there was a warmth to it, a feeling strongly reminiscent to the feeling he’d get whenever he was in his wife’s company.

“What a dreadful thing to say.” He said after his laughter had died down considerably.

“Maybe a bit dreadful, but at least it made you, laugh,” she smiled. “Thought I’d never see that smile again with the way things have been.”

Henry let out a sigh. “Your mum always complained I smiled too much. Called me a smiling fool and said that ladies mistook them for signs of flirtation. Could’ve never flirted with any of them, eyes were always for your mother, always.” He cleared his throat and redirected his attention to the stack of papers on his desk. “Will you be out the entire night?”

“Yes.”

“Better have some coffee then. There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen, made it from that brew, you’re so fond of.”

“Thanks dad.” Her eyes flickered to the clock. “I think it’s time I leave. He’ll be here soon.”

“Right,” he fiddled with the papers on his desk. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Good, that’s good . . . very reassuring to know. So . . .”

“You know you don’t have to say any grand speech, right? A simple goodbye is enough.”

“Sorry . . . sorry, just not very good at this,” he looked up at her. “Be careful and when you get back, there’ll be some breakfast waiting for you.”

“That’s not necessary, dad, really.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s necessary or not, I’ll be leaving you some French toast in the oven.”

Gwen had always loved the French toast he made. Growing up, it was tradition for him to make breakfast on the weekends and that was the only thing he knew how to make, so it was the only thing he fixed.

“Alright dad, I’ll make sure to work up an appetite for them. Night and have a lovely day at work tomorrow.”

And with that, she left the study and resumed her walk to the downstairs area. The walls besides the stairs were covered with old family pictures, some of them of her grandparents and others of her with her parents and her parents just by themselves. She’d always thought putting up family pictures all over the place was tacky, but now, now there was something incredibly comforting about them. She quite liked being able to see her mother’s smiling face whenever she walked down the stairs, made her feel like everything would be alright, like there was nothing that a smile couldn’t fix.

When she reached the bottom floor, she made her way over to the kitchen, where the coffee pot was filled to the very top with her favorite brew. She poured herself a cup, adding only one teaspoon of sugar and a drop of vanilla extract to make it just right. She drank it in silence, relishing in its taste, its warmth and when she finished, she washed it and placed it on the rack to dry. Her eyes flickered to the clock in the kitchen. Five minutes and Bill would be there to begin their long night. What could she do to kill five minutes? Bathroom, she could go bathroom. And she did, she walked in, stared at herself in the mirror and then walked right out. Three minutes left. She walked to the laundry room to pull out a handkerchief she’d washed the previous day. Two minutes. She thought about running upstairs to change her sweater, maybe put on the one Ada had given her for Christmas.

Halfway up the stairs, the door rang. She froze in front of the photo of her first birthday.

“Come on Gwen,” she whispered.

She turned and walked down the stairs, fidgeting with her jacket as she did so. This would be over in no time. It was only a few hours, nothing to extreme. She could manage. Of course, she could manage. She was a highly trained Auror, a professional Auror. There’d be no trouble at all fulfilling the nights endeavor, no trouble at all.

On the front porch, stood Bill, whom was wondering whether or not telling Remus that he could accompany Gwen, was a good idea. At that moment he thought it was a great idea, that it’d be a way to be in her company without her cursing him, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Gwen could very easily curse him into oblivion and make it seem like an accident or the work of the Dolohov brothers. She’d always been very talented in dueling, a natural ability she’d inherited from her mother’s side of the family. An ability that he’d once admired and that when he was on the receiving end of it, he feared. His breathing hitched when he saw the doorknob begin to turn. Just a few seconds and he’d be seeing her again . . . just a few more seconds.

“We should be on our way now,” was the greeting he received from her.

He knew it was stupid to think that she’d give him a warm welcome or inquire as to how he was, but he’d thought that maybe she’d endeavor a bit more friendly. He’d been wrong, as usual. His eyes flickered to her face, taking in her appearance. She’d changed quite a bit since they were teenagers. Her face was a bit thinner, eyebrows shaped differently and her body had come into its own. Merlin, she was more beautiful than he’d remembered her. And for a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what kissing her would be like. Would it hold the same spark that it had as teenagers? Would it be more toned down? No. It wouldn’t be either, because the look on her face made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t there to chat. She was there to work.

“Guess we should. It alright if we apparate here or –”

“Here’s fine.” Gwen interjected.

“Right, so . . . uh, do you know the spot well enough or do we have to do side along apparating?”

“Only have to go somewhere once to have the place embedded in memory,” she replied. “But if you don’t remember, I can take us both.”

“I remember just fine.”

“Then lets go,” and with that, Gwen closed her eyes and apparated to the spot that Remus had taken her only the day before.

Less than a minute later, Bill apparated there, he nearly fell over, swaying with the breeze, but an obliging tree caught him before he took a tumble into thick shrubbery. He tried to play it off, as if he’d meant to do that, but there was no smile from Gwen to express amusement. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes were staring off into the distance.

“Should we be on our way or do you need a moment?”

“I'm fine, just stepped wrong, is all,” he said. “Should’ve worn more sensible shoes, then again, nothings as sturdy as dragon hide boots,” he smiled.

Gwen nodded in agreement, but said nothing. “There’s still light out,” she observed after awhile. “Perhaps we should hold off on the walk until it’s completely dark.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

Her eyes stared intently at the sky. “Should be dark enough in fifteen minutes or so,” she commented. “Maybe less if we’re lucky.”

“How do you know that?”

“Took a course while at the Academy, taught us basic things like that so in case we had to hide, we’d know how long we’d have to be stuck in one place for.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very exciting course,” he declared.

“Was very instructional and helpful,” she replied. “Hmm,” she walked around, observing the trees. “Very sturdy,” she muttered to herself.

Bill took in a deep breath to rally his courage and said. “I hope you’ve been well. I haven’t a clue as to what it must feel like to lose a mum, but I hope you’re rallying.”

“I'm not here to discuss personal matters.” Her eyes never left the tree she was admiring. “I'm here to fulfill my mission and wish to keep my personal life out of it.”

“But it’ll be hours of silence.”

“Nothing wrong with silence,” she declared. “People always complain that silence is unnerving. I disagree. I quite like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Well then talk to yourself, but please, whisper. I need it as quiet as possible, to think, to observe.”

“You know, you don’t have to be like this. We can be civil, can’t we? At a stretch, perhaps even friendly?” he stepped towards her.

Gwen turned to meet his gaze. “Look. I'm not harboring any ill feelings for you. What happened is in the past. That’s where it’s going to stay. Alright?” she said. “This might not be the friendly heart to heart you were expecting, but this is how I work. I don’t talk unless it’s absolutely necessary. I won’t joke around because I don’t want to be distracted. This is dangerous work. From what I’ve heard from Remus, it’s been dull, not truly all that life threatening, but that can change at any moment so don’t bother me. I want to have quiet so I can focus on the Dolohov brothers. I want to get through this alive. Send you home in good shape and then get home. That’s all I want from this night. So don’t try to make this a chat, because this isn’t a café where workers can chat as they work. This is a forest where we could very easily be attacked by Death Eaters or their sympathizers, because I'm positive that the Dolohov brothers know they’re of interest to the Order. They’d have to be absolutely thick, not to.”

“You really think they know?”

“There’s a good chance they do. I don’t know how classified this is, but maybe it’s been discussed in front of a wrong person and . . .”

“You mean to say you think the Order’s been infiltrated?”

“The Death Eater’s have been infiltrated. Why’s it so absurd to think the same has been done to the Order?” she turned her attention back to the tree. “Look. The moon’s beginning to peak through, suppose it’s time we start walking.”

He watched in silence as she began to walk in the direction of the house, her ponytail bouncing with every step she took. She was a stranger to him. Completely different to the girl he fell in love with during his time at Hogwarts. She used to love to talk to him. They’d spend hours talking nonsense in the Astronomy Tower. In fact, she’d once told him that his voice was one of her favorite voices, second only to that of Bob Dylan. But now she couldn’t stand his voice, couldn’t stand his presence. And he cursed at himself for having done things the way he had. If he’d only been expressive of his sentiments, if he’d only gone about things differently then maybe . . . no, no . . . things would have never worked out as he imagined they could have.