Restless Heart Syndrome by notadryeeye



Summary: 17 Years have passed since the fall of Voldemort. Just as the world thinks it has finally started to heal and move on, some things thought long lost begin to awaken.
Rating: R starstarstarstarhalf-star
Categories: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2009.10.28
Updated: 2018.10.27


Index

Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter 2: The Static Age
Chapter 3: Last of the American Girls
Chapter 4: Song of The Century
Chapter 5: Christian's Inferno
Chapter 6: Horseshoes and Handgrenades
Chapter 7: Murder City
Chapter 8: See The Light
Chapter 9: She
Chapter 10: Scattered
Chapter 11: Are We The Waiting?
Chapter 12: The Last One...
Chapter 13: Holiday Meetings
Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Coming Clean
Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Coming Clean II
Chapter 16: Chapter 16: Amazing
Chapter 17: Some Things Last A Long Time
Chapter 18: Stuttering
Chapter 19: Objectivist On Fire
Chapter 20: The Whitest Lie
Chapter 21: We'll Be O.K?


Chapter 1: Prologue

Author's Notes: I'd like to welcome you all to my new bit of fiction. I'm about 2 chapters in and plan to have this run 25-30 chapters in the end. It's a post-Hogwarts piece that ignores a lot of DH and with some themes that I know you may have read in other stories before, but I've put my own twist and worked my magic. It's been a plot bunny racing through my head almost since the beginning of Normalcy and I've decided to forge on and see where this journey goes. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.


So this is what it felt like...

This is what people meant when they said the aftermath and the cleaning up was sometimes harder than the hell you had to go through to get here...

This is what it was like to win...and yet, to lose everything at the same time...

The rain was beating down all around her as she perched there high above, falling far below as if to begin to wash away and heal the ruined and scarred grounds.

Her hair and clothes had long ago been plastered to her pale, thin frame as the droplets assaulted her relentlessly. The cold, unforgiving stone beneath her bit into the backs of her legs as she clung to the edge, not sure if they would hold for long or if she even wanted them to...

What was the point in holding on now?

This day was supposed to have been one for victory--a glorious revolution against a force so dark and evil--an evil which had been overthrown by all that was pure and good about this world...

But as the celebrations went on floors below, within these very castle walls, people flooding its gates to join in the merriment and to receive confirmation that it was really over--she would find no such solace and elated emotion in the aftermath of this fight...

The world had been saved from the brink of certain destruction...but hers had been destroyed and irrevocably shattered with the same stroke of fortune and fate.

He was gone....unable to enjoy the victory he had brought them all.

He was dead.

And right now, she very much wished she was too.

Then she could be with him again...safe from this pain and hollowness that was filling her heart and numbing her senses.

Perhaps it was that desire that had lead her up here, to the top of the highest of ramparts of Hogwarts castle? With tears in her eyes and without much thought of her destination, she had blindly ran through corridor after corridor, bumping into people unapologetically--unable to stand the smiles and the random cheers that erupted from time to time from the celebrating crowds of witches and wizards. She had climbed countless stairs to get away…until her whole body seemed to be on fire, her lungs threatening to burst from her chest from exertion

It was that which had lead her to this very spot, sitting perilously upon the stone ledge of the Astronomy tower and perched upon the edge of something more.

She’d had thought about jumping…intended it for a moment as she’d stood too close to the edge, leaning over ever so slightly before putting a foot upon the last stone barrier that held her back. She had gotten to the highest point, daring to look down upon the grounds that were barely visible to her eyes from rain and sheer height that she stood.

In her grief and her sudden desperation to stem the steady flow of pain pumping through her veins, it had seemed the only solution–the only end that would make it all better–make it all go away…

But even as she'd teetered on the edge, there was something holding her there, not allowing her to let go. There was still some rational part buried within her, screaming at her to stop--to think about what she was doing. Fighting against that part with all her might, she had finally collapsed against the rampart, clutching tightly to the stone as her legs hung over the edge and the tears came freely and in desperate sobs.

She did not know how long she'd been here, like this, still on the edge but farther away from going over...

But she had been so consumed by her grief that she hadn't heard the door open and someone approach her slowly.

"Ginny."

The voice was quiet, yet clearly audible through even the din of the falling rain. It was tentative and scared sounding, full of that same sort of anguish that Ginny herself was feeling.

She didn't turn at the sound of her name. She knew who it was...knew who had come for her. And she didn't think she could face him...

"Gin...please," he spoke to her, his voice a few feet behind her now. "Please come down from there," he asked, his voice much smaller than she was used to.

She didn't speak...but instead raised her eyes to the sky, her tears melting from her face and mingling with the rain pelting her skin.

"He--he wouldn't want that for you," he whispered to her brokenly and Ginny felt him move to stand next to her. Ginny swallowed heavily at his words, knowing the truth in them. Slowly she looked up, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

But Ron wasn't looking at her. As he stood there, leaning against the stone barrier, his eyes were forward, staring blankly into the rain and the darkening skies that hovered over the grounds below.

"I know," Ginny managed to respond in a strained voice. Ron broke from his trance at her words, his red-rimmed eyes meeting her own. He looked as broken as she felt--both torn asunder amidst the clearing of the darkness.

"But I don't--I don't think I'm strong enough," she whispered in anguish.

"You are…or you will be," Ron replied quietly with an encouraging nod. "I know it's going to be hard for a long time...but one day...we'll all be strong enough again," he paused for a moment, sniffing back tears and breathing deeply to steady himself.

"So we've got to keep thinking towards that day and hang on," he continued. "It's too soon to think about anything but how much it hurts...but when the time is right....it'll let us start to move on..."

"Was I delusional in thinking I'd be able keep him?" Ginny said aloud into the rainy night, both speaking to herself and to Ron.

"No," Ron replied shaking his head heavily. "And if you were...I'm sure as hell glad for it."

Ginny looked up at his last statement, surprised to find a small smile twisted upon his grief-stricken features.

"I know I can't say I know exactly what it's like for you...not with what you meant to him," Ron whispered, once again taking to staring out into the invisible nothingness that seemed to stretch out before them. "I really didn't think we'd lose him either...or that'd it hurt this much..."

Ron let out a shaky breath, barely holding onto the last shred of composure that he had.

"I already miss him," he whispered in a torn voice. "He was my best friend…a brother--and I--I loved him. I know that...it was a different sort of love but--" Ron trailed off, bowing his head as he could no longer speak.

"He loved you too," Ginny responded knowingly. "I know he did--and he knew that you--" but she too broke away, not having the strength to talk about him any longer or risk saying his name aloud.

Ron didn't respond with any words, but there soon were arms wrapped around Ginny and she melted into them, letting her brother pull her from the ledge. She clung to Ron, letting him lift her feet from the ground as he held her tight. Both were sobbing uncontrollably now, letting go of their emotions completely as they let the grief of the day and the reality of their loss wash over them.

Voldemort had been defeated today.

His reign of ruthlessness prejudice that had spawned violence and destruction was over and the defenders of all that was good in the world had prevailed.

It had been a glorious battle, one that would be written about for ages. Both sides, light and dark had clashed epically within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, Good and evil battled each other with everything they had, meeting this one last time to decide the outcome of their world.

All had answered the call of their respective banners, rallying under the shadows of two men--one, a monster beyond comprehension–the other, the epitome of everything good and right.

As witches and wizards fought and died around them, Voldemort and Harry had sought one another out, looking to engage each other and end the war once and for all. Voldemort’s Horcruxes had been destroyed and the only thing separating them from resolution was the skill of their wands.

They had found each other upon the hallowed grounds of Hogwarts castle, surrounded by the battling fighters that would become the watching crowd of witnesses to their epic showdown. The sea of people had split, as if allowing them room to let fate's hand play out before them.

Voldemort had struck out first, attacking ruthlessly as Harry was forced to go on the defensive, sporadically and wildly trying to ward off the countless hexes and curses flung his way. But he held his ground, displaying skill and reaction beyond his years, fending off Voldemort until he could find an opening of his own.

As Voldemort continued to strike on, his taunts became more numerous as Harry showed signs of weakness. The hits he took mounted as spells began to get through his shields. He was bloodied and bruised as spells began to bombard him. But just as Voldemort's taunts reached a fever pitch, Harry struck back with blows of his own, drawing on a different kind of strength from within. He seemed to find a renewed source and surge of power that surprised his counterpart and everyone else around.

They battled for what seemed like hours, but lasted mere minutes, both casting spells and firing their best hope for the end at one another.

And then...their spells had connected. Their wands locked and the feverous fighting stopped. They were now engaged in a different sort of battle as each one had tried to hang on as their wands vibrated and pulsated within their grasps. The white jet of light connected them to one another, non-relenting as they tried to disengage and break the hold.

A dome of the same white light had began to form around them...pushing all those watching slowly further away from the pair.

Voldemort had looked slightly unnerved; his slit-like eyes widened as the hold seemed to tightened and draw him closer to his opponent.

But Harry had looked oddly determined--though there had been a flicker of fear--a wavering of bravery in his eyes as he stayed locked with his nemesis. Unlike Voldemort, it was as though he knew something was coming--but was going to face it nonetheless...

And the world was rent apart.

The white light erupted and obliterated all sound and sight. Those nearby were thrown into the air and slammed to the ground yards away--knocked unconscious from the force of their fall and the shock and trauma of the blast. The castle shuddered upon the very grounds that it had stood so strongly upon for centuries, windows blowing out and exploding within their frames.

If she hadn't come to, back to consciousness from the nightmare shortly after, Ginny would have thought the world had ended; blown apart by the force of that exploding power.

But she had woken up; awoken to a pain and grief so deep that it seemed to cut every inch of her inside and out.

There had been nothing left.

Nothing but scorched and scarred earth beneath where the two men had been standing and battling. It was as if the blast had erased and incinerated every last shred of evidence that they had been there.

With it, the blast had taken the evil and cleansed the earth that it had stained for so long.

But it had also taken the light...extinguished the very good that they had been fighting for...

-------------------------------------

The days and weeks after the battle seemed to pass by in a blur of meaningless time and motion.

It was all just an endless parade of grief and agony, mixed in with some occasional well-meant and well-placed wishes and thoughts as people passed by in a fog, followed by another repeat period of the same darkness and anguish.

There had been the cleanup and restoration of the castle grounds; thousands of witches and wizards flocking in to lend their help with the recovery of the wounded and those lost, as well as the rebuilding of the damaged fortress.

And then had come the days of mourning...the seemingly endless wave of funerals and memorials of those who had fought and died that day. And it wasn't just Aurors and of age witches and wizards who had answered the ultimate call and given their lives, there were a number of fellow students Ginny had known, along with a few recently graduated in the past few years.

Those were probably the hardest to sit through. Having to say goodbye to classmates and friends and watch their families suffer wasn't an easy thing to do. There were so many young people who had had their lives cut short in such a brutal way...

They had held a large public memorial for Harry.

Scores of people showed up to pay their respects and come together as a collective community to honor their fallen hero.

Ginny didn't really remember a whole lot of the proceedings--the meaningless, generic speeches given by Ministry officials and officers and the tears that seemed to leak from everyone's eyes. It all seemed so sterile, so over the top and over done.

With all their words and posthumous accolades--they'd gotten him all wrong.

They didn't really understand who Harry was at all...

And so they'd had their own private service--a gathering of those who truly counted Harry among them and loved him as a brother, son, friend and soul mate.

Of course there hadn't been any body to bury. Remus had been the first of them to come to after the explosion and had searched initially afterwards for any sign...but there simply was nothing left.

The grave below where they had placed a headstone had been empty, filled only with a few mementos from Harry's life that his friends had found fitting to place there. The beautiful white marble marker that had been placed beside that of his parents was only a symbolic memorial, instead of what should have been a final resting place.

The afterwards had been, if possible, even harder...

The realization began to set in that, even though they'd won and things should be moving towards the better, there was always now going to be a gaping hole...this is how life was going to really be.

Everyone seemed to try to move on the best they could–returning to jobs and trying to put the effort forth to the little, normal activities of everyday life…

Ginny knew that she would never really recover fully from this loss. Time would go on and she’d find another path in life to follow…but she could never truly be the same.

Harry had been her first love, the one person she had ever dreamt of a future with, despite all the odds they had stacked against them from the word go. Their time had been short and intermittent, torn apart by a war that had threatened their happiness. But she had been happy, happier than she could ever remember being when she was with him, wrapped in his warm, strong embrace.

But that was all gone now and as much as her grief was affecting her every emotion and thought, it also seemed to be manifesting itself physically.

She could not ever remember this ill before; nothing she ate, either willingly or coaxed into by her mother, seemed to agree with her. She simply could not keep anything substantial down and it was beginning to visibly affect her health. She was so tired and run down nearly all the time, that she barely left her bed, save to regurgitate her meager stomach contents back into the toilet across the hall. And the headaches she was experiencing were so severe that she kept the drapes on her windows down to darken the room.

This had been going on for over a week now and her family was noticing this pattern as something more than just grief. She knew they were becoming worried at how sick and lethargic she had become, and truthfully, so had she…

Maybe it had something to do with the blast at the end of the battle? But if that were the case…how come no one else she knew of was reacting this way?

So this morning her mother had summoned a healer to the Burrow to check her over. She’d spent the last half hour letting the healer run a series of tests and ask her questions about both her physical and emotional health. So far the healer had yielded no results as to why she was suddenly taken ill and retreated to the hallway to talk with her mum about five minutes ago.

‘Maybe I really am dying,’ Ginny thought to herself as she lay her head against her pillows, letting the silence of the room envelope her. People die from broken hearts…maybe this was what was happening to her?

Oddly that prospect didn’t scare her as much as it should at the moment. If this was, in some way, going to be her end, then at least…at least she’d get to see him again. That, in some weird way, was a comfort in this situation.

Ginny had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that the door to her bedroom had opened again. It was only the sound of footsteps on floorboards that brought her attention back.

Her mother had reentered the room alone and was moving towards the edge of the bed. She was smiling softly, but there was a certain level of strain in the muscles around her mouth. Something was wrong and Molly Weasley was trying her best to mask her anxieties and keep her worry from her daughter.

"Mum?" Ginny asked in a small voice as Molly sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly smoothing the covers with a hand.

Molly looked up, still smiling in that tensed way.

"What did he say?" Ginny asked, referring to the healer who had come this morning and who was now oddly absent. She let her own eyes lock with those of her mother's, who’s shown a flicker of hesitance within their brown orbs.

"He--he can't find anything--wrong," Molly said slowly and heavily. Ginny could already sense the 'but' coming in the next breathe her mother was going to speak.

"But he thinks he might--know--what's going on with you..." Molly finished.

Ginny could only furrow her brow in confusion. How could something be going on with her--something that was making her ill and sapping her energy--and it not be wrong or bad?

Molly must have sensed her daughter's confusion, because she reached for Ginny's closest hand, which was lying slack on the bed between them, grasping it in her own.

Molly took a deep breath and then swallowed heavily before she spoke.

"So I have to ask, sweetheart," Molly said quietly.

"Is there..." she paused, looking down momentarily for some form of strength, "Is there--any--way...that you could be pregnant?"

Ginny saw her mother's lips move as she spoke; heard the words ringing in her ears. She could see her mother, whose face was etched with concern, but she couldn't react, couldn't bring herself to comprehend what had just been asked.

"The symptoms match...so the healer asked," Molly spoke again. "But I didn't know how to answer him. I wasn't sure...if you--and Harry had...been intimate."

That had done it. The sound of his name had snapped Ginny back to reality--a reality that suddenly washed down upon her and sucked the very air from her lungs.

They had been...if only a few times.

They'd still been exploring one another, learning each other's bodies and enjoying the newness of being lovers.

The first few times she knew they'd been safe and careful. Harry'd been quite consistent and persistent in remembering to suggest that they cast the contraception charm on themselves.

But the last time...that last night before the siege at Hogwarts...she couldn't recall that sort of moment.

All she could remember was the peace of that night--the ease between them as they'd joined together. There hadn't even been any of the nervous laughter that had accompanied their first few times. There'd been nothing awkward about it at all.

And it had been the only time Harry'd stayed the entire night until morning--not waking her with a kiss like he had previous times to let her know he was leaving--sneaking out before day had broken and anyone else in the house was awake. Instead, she'd fallen asleep and woken up wrapped in his arm, nestled up against his chest as she'd listened to him sleep soundly.

That had been the last time they'd been together--the last time she'd gotten to hold him and really touch him. That same day he'd been swept away, consumed by the call of battle and his showdown with fate.

Since she'd lost him, she'd tried so hard to hold onto the memories of those last caresses they'd shared. But now those same moments she'd tried to cherish held something different in them.

Could she really be?

She already knew the answer, of course.

And she externalized that possibility and answered the question and the worry in her mother's eyes with a slow nod of her head.

"Oh, Ginny," her mother whispered, squeezing the hand she was still holding tightly. There were tears in Molly's eyes as she reached out soothingly to brush away a strand of fire-red hair from her daughter's face. Surprisingly, Ginny found her own vision cloudy, evidence of her own tears welling up.

"I didn't..." Ginny found herself saying as she struggled against a new wave of fear. "I didn't...think...Oh god…"

"Shhh," Molly soothed as she pulled Ginny to her and wrapped her into a tight embrace. "It’s alright…it’s ok,” she whispered as Ginny succumbed to tears, burying her face against her mother’s shoulder.

Ginny let her mother hold her tightly as the weight of the situation pressed down around her. It was a long while before either of them spoke.

“Would it be alright…if the healer came back in to check you over?” Molly asked quietly after pressing a kiss into the crown of her daughter’s hair. “To make sure?” she added gently.

Ginny knew what her mum meant of course. Although it was a possibility that a pregnancy was causing her symptoms, there needed to be confirmation.

Pulling away from her mother’s embrace and sitting up to rub her eyes clear of moisture, Ginny nodded.

“Yeah,” she added weakly.

“Ok,” her mum responded, shakily rising from the bed. “He’ll want to run a few…scans…and ask you a few questions…some might seem a bit embarrassing.”

Ginny nodded again as she watched her mum move towards the door.

“Mum,” Ginny whispered. Molly paused, looking back towards her daughter. “Are you going to come back in?" she asked in a small voice.

"Only if you want," Molly replied.

"Stay with me," she stated shakily.

And she did. Molly Weasley stayed, holding her daughter's hand as she lay there, letting the healer run the needed diagnostic scans over her mid-section.

She stayed, wiping away the tears from Ginny's face that came as their fears were confirmed and the ultrasound scan showed the tiniest flicker of a beating heart--a heart which had previous gone unknown and undetected.

She stayed, holding her daughter as she fell asleep, exhausted from expending a whole new wave of grief--a wave of grief for a life lost and for another that had yet to really begin.

But even as she closed the door on the dark bedroom that held Ginny's sleeping form and wiped her own face from the tears she'd let escape, Molly still had that hope that things would be alright. That this situation contained a small glimmer of hope and happiness in what had only been a sea of grief and loss.

Ginny had choices to make...she knew that. And whatever choice she made would lead down a difficult road solely on the fact that the person Ginny needed most couldn't be there with her to hold her and make things better. Had Harry still been alive, they'd still be facing this road of tough decisions--but they'd be together and so much stronger for it.

Now she knew that as a family, they'd all have to rally around Ginny. Despite the pain and tragedy they’d experienced recently, never had it been more important to provide love and support to one another.

Ginny would need them all to make it through this and Molly was certain she’d do her best to make sure her youngest had her family to prop her up and guide her through the darkness.

Back to index


Chapter 2: The Static Age

Author's Notes: I don't own anything. JK Rowling owns the entire Potter Universe. No Copyright infringement is intended. I write fan fics for fun.


She could hear him snoring.

The low, steady rumble was resonating even through the walls of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen where she stood cleaning up the remnants of a half-wasted breakfast. Despite the fact that she'd gone through the trouble of making a large breakfast that had largely gone uneaten, she couldn't keep a small smile from gracing her lips as she listened to the noise.

She'd wanted to welcome him home with a large spread of his favorites, hoping to coax him up this morning. But it seemed that plan was all but bunk with it being almost noon now and he was still very much asleep. Lunch seemed more appropriate now.

But that would have to wait. She was due into work in about an hour or so and didn't have time to whip up another meal. No, she'd rouse first and let him know he could heat up the remainders of breakfast when he finally did roll out of bed for the day. As much as she'd wanted to give him a well-deserved lazy morning, her day wouldn't allow her one and she needed to get ready.

With the last of the pancakes and bacon put into the refrigerator, Ginny made her way down the hallway quietly, stopping outside the second door on the right.

She gently placed a palm on the worn wood of the door, listening for a moment. He still seemed to be asleep.

Quietly, so as not to startle him, she knocked three times.

Nothing.

She repeated the knocks, this time a bit louder.

She smiled as she heard an interruption in the rhythm of the snores, followed by a creaking of bed springs.

Thinking it safe to proceed, Ginny gently pushed open the door, stepping into the dim room, lit only by the sun filtering through the heavy curtains. There were clothes littering the floor, spilling along with books out of the opened trunk in the corner of the room. A broom sat propped in another corner.

It was a mess. He’d have to clean it later.

But for now Ginny’s attention settled on the bed and the figure laying stomach-down, sprawled across the mattress. His long limbs were thrown asunder; his too large feet hanging off the end as he lay wrapped and tangled in his comforter. His face was buried within the pile of pillows at the base of his headboard. His impossibly messy black hair stuck up at odd angles from their depths, magnifying the usual unruliness tenfold.

Without trying to disturb him too much, Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed, letting the mattress sink down slightly with her weight.

“Hey…sleepyhead…wake up,” she whispered, reaching over to the shake the mess of blankets with an outstretched hand.

There was a groan of annoyance in response and a mass shifting of blankets and limbs away from her touch. She suppressed a smile as his pale, slightly freckled back and shoulders presented themselves from the mess of covers.

She placed a hand upon his warm, bare shoulder, shaking him more firmly now.

“W-what?” a muffled and drawn out response came from within the sea of pillows.

“It’s time to get up,” she replied sweetly. “You’ve already slept half the day away.”

“Really?” he asked, face still buried in the pillows, sounding only slightly interested in that fact.

“Really,” she answered. “And you’ve missed breakfast.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned, this time conveying some level of dismay.

“Don’t worry…I saved you some. I had to clean up…I’ve got to be off to work in a bit…so it’s in the fridge,” Ginny assured him, leaning in to kiss the crown of his head.

At this touch he rolled towards her, half of his face still plastered against the pillow; one brilliant green eye gazing blearily up at her.

“Thanks, Mum,” he responded, the half of his mouth showing curled into a grin. “Sorry for oversleeping,” he apologized through a yawn as he rolled over the rest of the way. He paused, stretching his long arms over his head in an attempt at a full body stretch, his bones creaking and protesting against the movement. He then settled back into his covers, smiling lazily up at her.

“Well…I was sort of expecting it…what, with all the Firewhisky you had Uncle Ron sneak you last night,” Ginny said, trying to sound a bit disproving, but failing to stop her smile from reaching her features.

“Don’t think for one moment that your dear old mum didn’t notice, Jackson,” she added, shaking her head.

“Huh?” He responded looking instantly alarmed. “I…didn’t…” he spluttered.

“Mmmhmm…right…” she goaded, rolling her eyes at her son’s panic. “Your uncle isn’t a very good liar…and sadly, neither are you,” she said, reaching up to ruffle his hair a bit.

“He said it’d be ok,” Jackson tried to explain, unsure if he really wasn’t going to be chastised. “I mean…I’ll be seventeen in a couple of months anyway… What’s a few sips?” he asked as his voice trailed off. He looked away sheepishly.

“Well, let’s just try not to go on any whisky benders until then,” Ginny added. “I’ve still got you under my control for a while longer...so how bout asking me if you’re allowed?” she asked him, getting a responsive nod from her teenage son.

“Or at least ask if I’d like a glass or two myself?” she added, causing Jackson to look shocked, but amused at his mother’s candor.

“Alright…deal,” Jackson said laughing deeply. His wide grin filled his features and reached his bright eyes, causing Ginny’s breathe to catch slightly as she caught them with her own.

Last night the entire, extensive Weasley family had gathered at the Burrow for a “welcome back” party for all of the children returning from Hogwarts for the year. It was a way of celebrating the last year’s achievements and catching up with all the various nieces and nephews that had been away at school for birthdays and other holidays.

It was a chance to be all together under one roof.

Jackson was the oldest of all those kids.

He was the first grandchild for Molly and Arthur Weasley.

He was Ginny’s eldest child.

Though, watching him now with his seemingly endless mess of long arms and legs and the ever-sharpening features of his previously boyish face, it seemed almost wrong to call him a child anymore. He would be seventeen in a months time and then he'd be starting his seventh year at Hogwarts at summer’s end. After that he’d be, hopefully and presumably, heading for Auror training the following summer.

Her little boy was no longer just that. He was on the cusp, but well on his way into growing into the wonderful and amazing man she always hoped he’d be. He was extremely funny, very intelligent and highly talented. But most importantly, he was a good, kind-hearted person.

Being only thirty-four herself now, Ginny had had Jackson young and in difficult and devastating circumstances. She had just lost everything in a war that itself had very nearly killed her. And then she had been faced with the prospect of becoming a mother at only seventeen.

She had very nearly given up and turned away from the new burden of life that had been thrust upon her.

But she hadn’t.

And they’d managed–she was proud to admit that they’d managed quite well thus far with the help of family and friends. At all instances of difficulty in both her pregnancy and in raising her little boy, she’d always had someone to turn to, someone to help her and guide her through the rough patches of being a young mother.

And Jackson had faced and overcome every little obstacle that had come his way too.

Jackson had grown up without his father.

He’d dealt with the trials and difficulty that came with never knowing or meeting his dad. She’d watched him go through the resentment and the sadness that came with each passing Father’s Day or missed birthday. She’d witnessed the slightly hollow moments he experienced when another male figure stepped into the role during those occasions and milestones that a son should share with his father.

And then she'd watched him push past the stares, deal gracefully with the whispers and the fingerpointing and accept the attention and open curiosity from perfect strangers.

She and Jackson both knew most people couldn't help it.

Jackson's dad was the most famous name in recent wizarding history. He'd saved the world from the brink of destruction and cleared the way for the happy times they were now living in. He had been their savior.

He had also given his life for all of them; died so that they could all live on...

Died without knowing he was going to be a father...

Jackson James Potter was the son of Harry Potter.

Besides carrying his father's famous last name, Jackson also had inherited nearly all of Harry's looks. He had the same impossibly messy jet black hair. His eyes were the same almond shape and the brilliant emerald green hue of his eyes were a near match to his father's. He had, however, escaped without the need for glasses thus far.

The resemblance between them had only grown as Jackson himself had. He had the same long, thin face and likewise slight and lanky frame. It was however apparent now that Jackson would be quite taller than Harry had been. Besides a few well placed freckles, Ginny often mused that the only thing Jackson had gotten from the Weasley side of the family was the height that some of her own brother's possessed.

Without all that placed on him, it was easy to see how Jackson couldn't go unnoticed for who he was by most of the wizarding world. As the years had gone on, he'd grown, if not completely comfortable, understanding of the attention and the draw. Today he would politely listen to the stories of anyone brave enough to approach him in public, possibly shake their hands and thank them for any kind words for him or his father. He always very gracious about it.

She'd once asked him what he thought about the way people somehow reacted to meeting him. He'd admitted, like Harry had years ago, that sometimes he wished he could just go somewhere and melt into the background for awhile; that he could have the same anonymity that going into the Muggle world most times afforded him.

But he had also admitted that a lot of the time he felt proud when people came up to talk to him; proud to be the son of a man that was so respected in their world. He had even said that sometimes he'd learned things he hadn't heard before from people who had known or been around his dad when he was alive. No one had been outright mean or disrespectful to him, so there wasn't any harm in it all.

Ginny was so extremely proud of the way Jackson handled himself in the wake of his dad's fame. She could only imagine it was a hard thing to be compared and linked to someone you've never met. But he'd been so great about it. He was such a funny and charismatic young man that Ginny couldn't help but be amazed.

'It's that smile,' Ginny mused as she watched him grinning back up at her, still laughing at her last words. He had a beautiful smile, one that could catch one's breathe and light up a room.

"So what are you going to be up to today?" Ginny asked, turning the conversation back in a more serious direction.

"Not much, probably," Jackson answered, cracking his neck. "I might stop by Uncle Ron’s. The twins want to show me some of the plans they have for setting up some new Quidditch goals in the clearing. But I’m sure they just want me to help them persuade Aunt Hermione to let them,” he chuckled.

“Other than that…I’ll probably just hang around,” Jackson finished.

“Or think about cleaning up this room?” Ginny teased, looking around at the mess. “You haven’t even been home 24 hours and it’s a mess.”

“Yeah…well you could tidy up in a matter of seconds,” Jackson pleaded with, puffing out his bottom lip slightly with a rather comical affect. “Wouldn’t that be easier on the both of us?”

“You wouldn’t learn anything if I did,” she replied, picking up a spare pillow and whacking him upside the head with it. “And what kind of mother would I be if I allowed that?”

“A good one?” Jackson responded, instinctively placing both hands in front of his face as Ginny swung the pillow his way once more, hitting him more than once.

“Stop…Mum…stop,” Jackson laughed as he tried to fend away the blows. “I’ll clean it…I’ll clean…”

“See was that so hard?” she said in a mock motherly tone.

“Yeah…that hitting with the pillow thing was,” Jackson teased.

“You big baby,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “But I mean it…Pick up; put your clothes at least away in the closet and dresser sometime today.”

“I will,” Jackson promised. “When are you coming home from work?” he asked.

“Why? So you know when to start cleaning?” Ginny asked with raised brows.

“No,” Jackson replied. “I was just curious.”

“I’m only going in for a few hours,” she told him. “I’ve just got a few stories to go over and then we have a staff meeting. I should be home by 5 or so.”

“Cool,” Jackson said with a nod.

“Why ‘cool’?” Ginny asked suspiciously.

“No reason,” Jackson shrugged. “I just…thought maybe since it’ll be just be me and you and you’re not going to be too late or anything…we could–get some takeout?” Jackson continued, ending with more of a questioning tone.

“Hmmm,” Ginny said. “We could make some sort of night out of it, I guess. That is...if you're ok with hanging out with your dear old mum?" she teased.

"I'm more than cool with spending an evening with my amazingly, wonderful, dearest mother," Jackson teased back with a sly grin.

"Smart ass," Ginny shot back.

Jackson could only shoot back that glowing grin of his.

"Pizza or Chinese?" Ginny asked, giving him the choices for dinner.

"That's a hard one..." Jackson mused. "Hmmm....pizza....from that little Italian joint we went to during Christmas?" he offered.

"Sounds good," Ginny agreed readily. "I'll swing by there before I come home...but right now...I've got to go," she added, glancing down at her watch and catching the time.

"Bye," she said, leaning in and kissing Jackson on the forehead.

"Bye, Mum," Jackson said in return.

"Be good," Ginny warned one last time as she stood up from the bed and moved towards the door. "And clean--"

"--My room," Jackson finished, flopping back down on the bed with a yawn as Ginny closed the door.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Merlin this is heavenly,” Jackson sighed as he bit into another slice of pizza.

Ginny bit back a smile as she watched him begin to devour his 5th slice of pizza. Thankfully she’d ordered 2 pizzas for the two of them, otherwise she wasn't sure she would have gotten to eat at all.

"I'd have never guessed," she poked fun, gesturing to the half empty pizza box on the living room table before him.

"Hey...I'm a growing boy," Jackson defended his pizza consumption indignantly.

"You don't have to tell me that," Ginny laughed, after taking a bit of her 2nd piece. "I'm the one who has to keep buying you new pants and shoes each time you come home."

"Yeah...which reminds me," wiggling his foot and showing off the bit of skin from his big toe that was peeking through the hole in his sock.

"Jack, really?" Ginny sighed.

"Really," he nodded in confirmation. "Most of them are like that...my feet grew again."

"And you couldn't have told me this before. Instead, you'd thought you'd rather like going round with unraveling socks for an entire term?" Ginny asked.

"Grandma will knit them for me," Jackson shrugged. "I didn't think it was a big deal as long as there weren't holes showing in my shoes..."

Ginny sighed, shaking her head in amusement of her son. He was so a teenage boy when it came to things like this.

"Maybe they should teach you a darning charm at school and you could fix your own socks?" Ginny suggested.

"Nah. Then what would mums and grandmums have to do when we came home?" he teased.

"Well-played," she shot back with a laugh. She always enjoyed being like this with her son. Jackson had always been easy-going and open with her. Sometimes they way they interacted and reacted to one another was in the manner of friends than of mother and son. Although, Ginny had no problem turning on the mum switch when he needed to be put in line...

"So...did you hear from Alex at all today?" Jackson asked as they had lapsed into momentary silence; both watching the movie playing on the television before them for the bit.

"Oh yeah," she replied quickly. "His letter came this afternoon while I was at work," she added.

Alex was Ginny's 11year old son from her marriage that had ended a few years ago. It had been Alex's first year at Hogwarts this last year and he was spending the first few weeks of his summer vacation at his dad's before he came to live with her and Jackson for the rest of the summer. He had promised to write her almost every day and he had delivered with a letter just that afternoon.

"He says he's settled in and he and Paul are going on a little fishing trip tomorrow," Ginny said, speaking of both his little brother's and former step-father's plans.

"And he says he'll write you a letter when he can and to tell you 'hi'," she added, watching Jackson smirk a bit.

"That's good," Jackson nodded. "He and Paul got home alright from the station?"

Ginny nodded.

"Are you worried about your little brother?" Ginny asked with a smile.

"No," Jackson replied. "I just...I dunno...I got used to seeing him every day at school. I hadn't been able to do that for a few years while I was away and he was back here."

"He'll be here sooner than you know," Ginny assured him. "And...Paul did say that you're welcome to visit any time you want."

"I know..." Jackson shrugged. "I just--wanna let him have his time with his dad..." he trailed off, focusing back on the television almost as if trying to deflect his mum's attention from him.

She had met Paul when Jackson was four. They'd met when she had gone on a rare night out with a bunch of friends. He had been with his own and they'd gotten to talking as they both watched their respective groups grow rowdier as the night wore on. Shortly after, they had begun to date.

She had, for all intensive purposes, fallen in love with him. He was smart and funny and amazing to her and Jackson both. He made her laugh and listened to her whenever she needed to vent or release. After a year, they'd wed. Another year later, they'd had Alex.

It had all seemed to be going so well. She had thought perhaps that she had finally found a place in life where she could move on and be completely happy. She was a mum to two amazing little boys and married to a man who was kind and provided that sense of security that she wasn’t sure she’d ever find again.

But despite how perfect things had seemed sometimes…there was always something missing. Paul was a muggle and although he had come to know and accept the magical world (she'd been very upfront about being a witch), there were parts of her life that he just couldn't fully participate in or understand. That itself was sometimes grating on their relationship and created a barrier on a day to day basis.

And no matter how hard she tried; no matter how much she got in return--she could never love Paul as much he truly deserved. Part of her herself and her heart had died along with Harry and she knew she could never get that back or completely give all of herself to another.

Paul knew of Harry and what he had meant to her. It had been hard for him to escape the mention of Harry at family gatherings over the years and the fact that he was helping raise Harry's son didn't help either. Paul had never been jealous or bothered by the fact that she had once loved someone else so much. She'd always been able to talk to Paul about her past, knowing that he'd always listen with an open heart.

Near the end of their marriage, he'd even gone as far as tell her that he wished he could give her Harry back, if it would make her happy. And she knew he'd meant it.

Four years ago, she and Paul had decided to divorce. It did neither of them any good to remain in a marriage that lacked passion and true love for one another. She did love Paul--as the father of her son and as her best friend who'd been there for her. But Paul was such a good man, that he deserved someone better than her, someone who could give him more--someone who wasn't in love with ghost...

The split had been amicable and both of them still remained friends to this day. There was never any disagreements or disputes over possessions or who would take care of the kids when. They’d split time with Alex and lived near enough each other where he went to the same primary school no matter who he was with during the week. Now that he was at Hogwarts, time was a bit more limited, but they had still worked out weeks and days they’d see him.

Jackson, who had been 13 at the time, had decided to stay with her full-time. He spent an occasional day or so at Paul’s, enjoying family gatherings on Paul’s side. But he had, early on, expressed his wishes to remain with his mum. Paul had never objected or pressed; he was always respectful of the fact that he wasn’t Jackson’s real dad and Jackson had always drawn that distinction. He had always referred to Paul by his first name and corrected anyone that may have referred to Paul as “dad” instead of “step-dad.”

Harry Potter was Jackson’s father, and he always held fast to that fact.

“So…what are you up to for the rest of this week?” Ginny asked, watching Jackson’s eyes fixated upon the now meaningless television screen. “Do you and Liam or Luke have any plans?” she asked, referring to his best friends from school.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “They’re both gone for the first two weeks of vacation. Luke’s family is in America visiting relatives and Liam’s dad took him with on a business trip to Japan…” he said, after taking another bite of pizza. Changing the subject seemed to do the trick and Jackson looked away from the T.V.

“I see,” Ginny replied softly. “What about…um...Lara?” she asked hesitantly, inquiring about Jackson’s girlfriend.

She watched and waited for Jackson’s reaction to the subject. He swallowed and let out a deep breath before responding.

“Lara…and I…aren’t dating anymore,” he said slowly, turning to face his mum. “So…no…she won’t be coming around this summer.”

“Oh,” Ginny said measurably, trying to hide her initial reaction. “I’m…sorry, Jack…”

Shockingly, Jackson’s features curved and mouth curled into a grin.

“No you’re not,” he laughed. “You hated her,” he said with a smile.

“I did not–hate her,” Ginny said, shaking head.

“Don’t lie, Mum,” Jackson teased. “I know you couldn’t stand her.”

“I…just…she wasn’t right for you,” Ginny admitted, recalling the few times she had met her son’s former girlfriend. “Even your grandmother said something when you brought her to Christmas. She was too bossy and…clingy,” she added, searching for the right–tactful–words to use. The boisterous blonde girl had been admittedly overbearing and had clung so tight to Jackson that Ginny was reminded horribly of Ron and Lavender Brown back at Hogwarts.

“Maybe I enjoyed being bossed around?” Jackson challenged playfully, waggling his brows suggestively.

“Don’t even–” she began to warn, not wanting to even entertain where he was going.

“You know…to tell you the truth…I’m not even really that sad about it,” Jackson admitted with a shrug. “You…er…were sort of right about her. I guess it just took me a little longer to figure that out.”

“Jackson, I didn’t mean to be rude about it…” Ginny offered. “Can I ask what happened?” she inquired gently.

“She…er…dumped me…I guess…” he said slowly. “She said that she didn’t think I was showing enough interest in our relationship. I think that was code for ‘I don’t want you hanging out with your friends anymore’,” Jackson continued on.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jackson replied. “And I told her that I just needed some “guy time”–that I needed to hang out with my mates sometimes.”

“And?” Ginny asked.

“She told me that I could hang out with my mates anytime I wanted to…” Jackson explained. “And…that I could shove my “guy time” up my ass.”

“No,” Ginny said disbelieving.

“Yeah…and in front of the entire Gryffindor tower,” Jackson said with a nod. “That was actually probably the nicest bit of the entire thing though…”

“She just went off?” Ginny asked a bit confused. “You didn’t do anything to her, did you?” wondering if her son somehow acted like any teenage boy and unintentionally said or done something that had started a war.

“That was a topic of conversation,” Jackson said with a chuckle. “The fact that I didn’t want to–do–anything with her seemed to be a bit of a problem,” he explained a bit further when his mum showed her confusion.

Ginny’s mouth dropped slightly at the open insinuation that her 16 year old son had made. She knew he was growing up and wasn’t as naive to think that he didn’t entertain certain thoughts, but she’d rather not go any further down that path. He was still her little boy.

“She dumped you because you wouldn’t…sleep with her?” Ginny asked in clarification.

“More or less,” Jackson nodded.

“That was horrible of her,” Ginny admonished. “And telling of what kind of girl she really is…” she added.

Jackson smiled.

“So...you...hadn't...at all?" Ginny pressed on a bit further after a few moments of silence, unable to ask the question outright, yet wanting to know.

Jackson's smile grew wider.

"Why don't you just come out and ask me if I'm still a virgin, Mum?" Jackson asked slyly, shaking his head in amusement.

Ginny's mouth dropped, if possible, even further and she spluttered incoherently for a moment at Jackson's audacity.

"Suffice it to say..." he began when Ginny couldn't find the nerve to speak. "That you've successfully raised me to be a perfect gentleman..." he added with a reassuring nod. “So don’t worry, Mum,” he added.

“I wasn’t worried,” Ginny tried to brush off his last comment. “I just have to remind myself that you’re getting older and there are some things that you’re going to be–experiencing,” she added, hesitating slightly for the right word.

“Well I’d always planned on–that–experience, when the time comes, will be with someone I love. Like it’s supposed to be, right?” Jackson added, offhand. “And I certainly didn’t love her…maybe the idea of her–dating the most popular girl in school–but not her.”

Ginny nodded her approval.

“I mean–God forbid if I’d have gotten her in trouble,” Jackson said, shaking his head as if disturbed at the thought. “And been stuck with a kid at my age…”

As soon as he had said the last words, Ginny watched him grow suddenly still and then swallow heavily. Even his breathing had grown shallow and undetectable.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, Mum,” Jackson whispered quietly, unable to look at her. She was confused for a moment as to what had caused the complete one-eighty in his demeanor and the sudden solemn-ness in his expression.

Then it clicked.

“I didn’t take it like that,” Ginny replied softly, trying to sound reassuring. “And I know you better than to think that, Jack,” she added.

She knew why he’d been upset at himself now. She had gotten pregnant at that age and had been burdened with the task of embracing an early foray into motherhood–and all that came with it. Jackson had rattled his thoughts off without giving much thought, making light of it–but he hadn’t meant, in his horror at the idea, to belittle anything about her situation.

“I just–I didn’t mean to be so–callous–“ he apologized quietly.

“You weren’t,” Ginny reassured him. “I know I’ve told you this before–but there hasn’t been a day since you were born that I regretted having you. I know I was young…but I couldn’t imagine you not being here.”

Jackson seemed to relax a bit and he actually turned to face her with a bit of a relieved smile on his face.

“And I’m extremely proud of you and the kind of man you are becoming–and the choices you make,” she told him. “Not a lot of guys your age would have put things the way you did just now,” she added.

“Well I do have a really good mum who’s taught me pretty well,” Jackson replied with a smile.

“Merlin only knows I’ve tried my best,” Ginny smiled back. “You and your brother are the most important people in my life. I want you to remember that.”

Jackson nodded.

“It hasn’t always been easy…and--I wasn’t in a good place back then,” Ginny said quietly. “But you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Sometimes I think having you made it alright to go on…” she said quietly.

“After Dad died…” he added more than asked.

Ginny nodded.

Harry’s death wasn’t something they talked about a lot or at length. That wasn’t to say that they didn’t talk about him. Growing up, she had always made sure that Jackson knew about his father and what kind of man Harry was. Ron and Hermione were always ready with stories and tales from their years together; stories and quirks about Harry that only his best friends would know and that Jackson always enjoyed hearing.

But there had only been a few times where they’d discussed how he died. When he was younger, she could explain it to Jackson by telling him his dad was a brave man who had died fighting in a war to save them all and that he was a hero because of it. But that had seemed to only placate him then; now that he was older, Jackson would ask subtle, yet carefully placed questions about his father’s death and the war that had taken him. And because he was no longer a child, Ginny felt she could and needed to be honest and open with him.

“I couldn’t imagine…” Jackson said, letting out a long breath.

“It was hard,” Ginny admitted.

“Do you–” Jackson began to ask, but paused and looked away as if thinking better of what he was going to say.

“Go on, luv,” she said encouragingly.

“Do you miss him--still?” he asked quietly and hesitantly.

Ginny felt a small smile form on her lips as she let out a long sigh.

“I don’t think there has been a day that has gone by all these years…that I don’t think of him–at least a little,” she admitted with a nod. “I know I said I was young…we both were. But I loved him–so much–that it’s hard not to…”

“It’s–not like it was back then,” she continued on as Jackson watched her quietly. “It physically hurt sometimes to think about him then. Things were still so chaotic and uncertain…wounds still so fresh. Sometimes I’d wake up and forget…thinking he’d be there again…”

“There was still the shock of it and the massive hole he’d left. He was just–gone,” she added as she stared blankly ahead as if reliving those trying times in her mind’s eye.

“It’s different now?” Jackson asked curiously, breaking her out of her reflection.

She nodded.

“Now it’s more of a–wondering–than grief, I suppose,” she explained. “Like I–wonder what he’d be doing today, what he’d be like now and how our lives would be different. I know we’ve all changed a lot as the years have passed…I certainly have. So…I think about what he’d look like at thirty-five now. I mean…I have an idea in my mind...but it’s the knowing that I’m never going to find out that’s the worst.”

“Any time that the grief has crept up on me in the past few years…has been when I look at you. I’ve gotten to watch you start to grow into a man--and I can see so much of your father in you,” she confessed.

Jackson looked down in response and she suddenly regretted her phrasing of her thoughts.

“It’s not a bad thing at all,” she reassured him, reaching across the couch cushions to grasp his free left hand. She squeezed it encouragingly. “What hurts me–is that you don’t know and can’t truly understand how much he really is a part of who you are. I get sad for you…and what you lost that day too.”

“Not only do you look incredibly like him–so much more now than ever…” she told him, taking her own time to rake in his facial features and the stark and sometimes haunting similarities that stared back at her. “But there is so much of your personality and your demeanor that is totally–Harry,” she continued.

“Like what?” Jackson asked quietly.

“Your smile…that crooked grin you get when you’re amused,” Ginny replied simply. “And lately I’ve noticed–even the way you laugh reminds me of him.”

“Mainly…it’s the way you carry yourself,” she continued on. “You respect everyone–no matter what they might want from you. Your dad was like that. He’d always hear people out first and use his instincts and what he knew was right to make judgments. You’re funny and intelligent…and incredibly kind-hearted to those you care about and hold dear.”

“You’re a good person,” she said simply. “And so was your dad.”

“I miss him,” Jackson said simply and as though the words had come without restraint.

She watched him blink and shake his head as if he suddenly he found something disbelieving in what he had said.

"I know it sounds funny...to say…" he breathed out.

"What?" Ginny asked quietly.

"To say I miss him," Jackson replied. "I ask myself sometimes, you know--how do I miss someone that I've never even met? But I do..."

"That doesn't sound silly at all, luv," Ginny reassured him. "You feel loss for not having your father growing up and you miss not having the chance to have gotten to really know him."

"Yeah," Jackson responded with a nodded, looking away. Ginny wondered momentarily if he was embarrassed at how this sudden conversation might be affecting him. “I think it’s just gotten harder as I’ve gotten older,” he added quietly. “I think about him more now than ever.”

"He would have loved you so much,” Ginny whispered to her son. “He does love you…from wherever he’s looking down from right now. And I know he’s just as proud of you as I am,” she said; her voice full of conviction.

“I know,” Jackson admitted softly, meeting her gaze again.

“And it helps to think that too–to know that he’s up there...or wherever–watching,” he added, gesturing upwards towards what was perhaps his understanding of the heavens. “It’s kinda comforting…”

Ginny wanted to reach out and hug her son, to physically reassure him that these thoughts were okay. But he had turned his attention back to the previously forgotten movie on the flat-screen and was digging back in the pizza box for another slice. She could tell by the way he’d disengaged that he wasn’t going to add any more to the conversation. He’d said what he’d needed to in order to express his feelings and now he wanted to move away from the subject.

She sat in silence for a while, her eyes on the screen and her hands busy with her dinner, but she was more focused on how to breach any more conversation with Jackson.

Finally, the end credits of the movie rolled across the screen and Jackson took the opportunity to yawn loudly, stretching his neck and back as he did so. Ginny also took hold of the opportunity.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” Ginny openly teased, waiting for a return jab. “It’s only 9.”

“Like I said before…I’m a growing boy,” Jackson shot back with a tired smile. “I need by beauty sleep…” he added as another yawn shook him.

“A likely story,” she laughed. “Although I do know that your exhaustion can’t be from actually doing anything all day…I see your room is still a mess,” she said with an attempted glare.

“I’ll get on it,” Jackson reassured her. “I’ve got all week.”

“You’ve really got nothing going on the rest of the week?” Ginny asked with a bit of concern in her voice. Jackson usually had something to do, albeit with friends or cousins. It wasn’t like him to just hang around the house all the time.

“Not really…” he shrugged. “I mean–Anna comes home day after tomorrow…” he trailed off, suddenly becoming engrossed in the hole in the sock that covered his foot resting upon the table.

Ginny watched him momentarily, feeling a small smile tug at her lips as Jackson mentioned his best friend.

Anna Mitchell had been Jackson’s best friend since they were 6 years old. She and Jackson had gone to the same primary school until Jackson went to Hogwart’s. Anna was a muggle and had gone off to school at about the same time. She would be entering university this following term. Despite the distance and the differences in the world’s they lived in, they’d continued to write and communicate regularly with one another, taking every chance during holidays to hang out. Anna was a wonderful girl who, Ginny had to admit as his mother, she had hoped Jackson would have started to notice as more than a friend.

“She’ll be home from school?” Ginny asked, hoping to prod him further.

“Yeah…” Jackson replied with a nod. “In her last letter, she said she wanted to hang out when she did get back. She’s gonna let me know when she does and we’ll plan something,” he added.

“Great,” Ginny said, trying to keep her voice even. “And you’ll have to invite her over for dinner one of these nights too. We’ve got our own catching up to do.”

Anna’s mother had died when she was just a toddler, so Ginny always enjoyed having her over to enjoy a little girl time, much to Jackson’s chagrin.

“Girl talk, right?” Jackson asked with a slight grimace. Ginny smiled.

“I think I’ll excuse myself from that one,” he said with a slight shudder, ducking as an unexpected pillow thrown by his mother sailed towards his head.

Back to index


Chapter 3: Last of the American Girls

Author's Notes: I do not own any of the characters. JK Rowling owns the entire Potter universe. No copyright infringement is intended. I write fan fics for fun and my own entertainment.

Sorry for the super long delay in getting this next chapter out. My first semester of grad school got in the way of my writing. But summer is here and hopefully I'll have a lot more time to get on with this fic! And if your wondering about the Green Day/American Girls reference in the story. There are literally no real American girls in the story...but the lyrics of this particular Green Day song remind me of someone ;)


Restless Heart Syndrome
Chapter 3: Last of the American Girls

Jackson landed softly at the edge of a small clearing in the woods; small pebbles and twigs scattering and spraying beneath his feet as he brought his broom to a halt within the thinning trees. Leaning his broom against a tree, he looked around to see if anyone else was there yet.

He’d planned to arrive early and unseen, his method of transportation hidden from any unwanted, prying eyes. He’d actually taken a bit of a risk in flying his broom here. He’d had to fly low and carefully through trees and other obstacles to keep from being seen. His mom had been working, so she couldn’t drive or apparate him and being only 16…he could do neither himself. So a broom had been his best bet in traveling to meet a group of old friends for an afternoon of swimming at a local, yet fairly remote pond.

He looked and then listened, not hearing any indication that he had been beaten here by anyone else and his magical cover blown. The forest was quite quiet and still, so he found it safe to make his way to the nearby gravel trail that he knew led down to the water.

According to his watch, Jackson was supposed to be meeting Anna and a few other people here in ten minutes. Anna had called him up a few days ago after she had gotten home from school and invited him to join a few of her friends, a few of who had actually gone to primary school with him.

He had been nervous at first about accepting. He had thought at first that perhaps he and Anna could just hang out, the two of them, like they did most summers and holidays. Even though he knew a few of the people joining them, he was worried about how he’d act around them. It had been a long time since primary school and since he’d been thrust amidst a totally non-magical setting.

Anna knew why he went to Hogwarts and that he was a wizard. There had been too many unexplainable things that happened around him when he was younger and it had become increasingly difficult to hide something so essential from his best friend as he’d gotten older.

With the help of his mom and some work on Uncle Ron’s part to ensure they’d not be reprimanded for breaking any laws, they’d been able to let her in on their secret. At first Anna had thought he was joking; trying to play some sort of trick on her. But after a few demonstrations and a long period of stunned silence on Anna’s part, she had begun asking questions.

It seemed after the initial shock and general improbability of what she had just been told and had witnessed had worn off, her curiosity and trust in the strength of her friendship with Jackson seemed to win her over. That had been about five years ago now and not much had changed between them besides the fact that Jackson no longer had to be careful about what he shared with her pertaining to school and the magical world he lived in the majority of the time.

It was a big weight off his shoulders to be able to be completely honest with his best friend…

Well…almost completely….

Jackson was stopped from entertaining his next train of thought when a crunching sound met his ears. It was the sound that tires on a vehicle made when rolling across loose gravel very slowly. He turned and paused just in time to see a red SUV come rolling down the gravel path he had been making his way towards. It rumbled slowly on past his current position from within the trees, the vehicle moving down towards the pond. The windows were tinted in such a way that he couldn’t tell just who was inside, so he waited until it was a safe distance down the trail until he stepped out onto the trail and began walking towards the water.

His own sandaled feet crunched quite loudly and scattered the stray pebbles all about as he made his ungainly way after the SUV. He gave a slightly self-conscious look down at himself to check over his appearance.

He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and an over-sized white t-shirt. Underneath his jeans he wore a pair of swim trunks. He hadn’t worn them outright because he had been slightly worried about the pale state of his legs. Long Scottish winters and slow-thawing springs didn’t do much for his complexion and he was well aware that he was looking a bit pasty as this summer had just begun.

Jackson continued walking on, rounding a long bend in the trail before a glint of sun reflecting off the now visible pond’s surface met his eyes. He shielded his gaze for a couple of seconds as he walked closer; the red SUV that had passed him coming into view as well. It was now parked on the grass a couple of meters away from the water’s edge.

Jackson slowed a little, allowing time for the occupants of the vehicle to extricate themselves so that he could make sure that it was the party he was waiting for and not some group of random strangers. On cue, the driver’s side door opened up and someone stepped out...

…Someone wearing white flip flops that were connected to a pair of very tan and very long, slender legs...

…Legs that were interrupted only by a pair of tiny denim shorts that should surely be illegal to wear in the presence of any teenage boy.

Jackson continued to watch on unabashedly as the said owner of those legs reached back into the vehicle to grab something, only enhancing his view of just how little those shorts actually covered.

He was staring and that was extremely rude –he knew that. But all of the totally irrational and impulsive parts of him were keeping his eyes in place.

His attention was again diverted and all breath returned to his temporarily devoid lungs however when he suddenly became aware of the fact that no other doors of the SUV had opened and nobody else had gotten out from inside.

This–long-legged–girl, seemed to be the only person there.

And as Jackson’s eyes once more found her, he saw that she had now seemed to have spotted him…and was waving.

He chanced a small glance over his left shoulder, making sure it was he who she was gesturing to.

There simply wasn’t anyone else there. She was waving to him.

“Jackson!” the girl called; her wide smile and oval sunglasses taking up most of her face.

Now she was calling him…and by name.

Jackson took a few steps closer, trying to place her.

“Hey!” the girl called again excitedly, dropping the large canvas beach bag she had been holding as she moved towards him.

“I didn’t even realize I passed you,” she said to him in surprise. As she stepped towards him, her hands went to her face, pushing up the oval sunglasses so that they rested atop her head now, giving him a clear view of her face. “I could have given you a ride the rest of the way,” she added.

But her last words were lost on him as recognition and realization finally caught up with him.

Her dark brown hair was much longer than he’d ever remembered seeing it and the light green halter top she was wearing showed off more of her figure than he’d ever been aware there even was.

It was Anna who was waving to him.

It was Anna who was now walking towards him, speaking words of greeting that he wasn’t quite hearing.

It was Anna who he had been quite openly and unabashedly ogling and appreciating just a moment ago.

Merlin, she’s grown up nicely…he thought to himself.

But as soon as that thought entered it, he shook his head to try and dispel it.

Where the hell did that come from you pervert?...an internal muse chastised.

While he had taken time to try and gather himself, Anna had closed the gap between them and was standing a few feet away, still smiling brightly. And he like a daft twit had yet still to even acknowledge her presence by any word or gesture.

“He–” he paused, clearing his throat as it failed to allow him to form his words. “Hey,” he finally managed, his mouth curling into a smile of his own.

“You had me a bit worried there for a minute,” Anna admitted with a smile, seemingly not thrown off by his hesitation. “I thought maybe it wasn’t you after all…and that I was shouting my head off to some random stranger.”

“Yeah…sorry,” he found himself apologizing as his left hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.

It was an annoying gesture he did out of habit only when he was nervous.

What the hell are you nervous about? He asked himself even as he did it. It’s just Anna, you wanker.

“Guess I wasn’t paying attention…” he offered, his voice fading slightly as she finally stood about a foot from him; still smiling brightly up at him.

“Well it’s so good to see you again Jacks,” she said warmly as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a strong embrace. Jackson’s own long arms seemed to find their own way around her, completing the embrace. He had to tell himself to breathe every few seconds as she pressed herself against him.

She finally released him after a few seconds, stepping back only a few inches so that she was looking up at him, surveying his face.

“Wow,” she said rather breathlessly with a smile as she took in his features. She seemed quite oblivious to the fact that he was waging his own battle as he looked back down at her, trying hard to return her gaze and not let his eyes wander southward away from her face.

Eyes up Potter a stern internal voice rang out from within his head.

“God you’ve grown…” Anna said as she shook her head in amused disbelief. “I mean–you’ve always been abnormally tall–but–” she trailed off, still smiling. “I’m starting to wonder if your mum has to raise the roof a few inches each time you come home for the summer?” she teased.

“She’s thinking about it,” Jackson shot back with a grin. “She had a contractor over just last week to draw up some plans,” he teased with equal measure. He felt his shoulders and the rest of his body instantly relax with this new onset of playful banter. This is how it usually between the two; there was always mutual kidding and joking that came easy. They could always make each other laugh and she could always seem to make him smile with a bit of quit wit.

“How is your mum?” Anna asked.

“Good,” Jackson replied with a nod. “She says to say hi and that you two will have to have one of those–girl...night…thingy’s–soon,” he relayed, waving a hand in the air dismissively as he spoke.

“Nice, Jacks,” she said as she rolled her eyes at his word choice. Jackson felt the corner’s of his mouth tug upward slightly at her use of his nickname. Only Anna and his mum usually called him that. To everyone else he was Jackson or simply Potter at school. And to a few cousins and certain uncles who thought it was funny–J.J.–for Jackson James.

“So–er–where are your friends?” Jackson asked aloud after they’d lapsed into silence. He had looked around, noticing once more that Anna had surprisingly come alone. “I thought the lot of them were coming today?”

“Yeah…well…” she began as she sighed heavily. “It looks as though I’ve been ditched by every last one of them…the majority at the last second,” she added with a shy smile. “A few forgot they’d already made plans, two had to work and the last came down with a nasty bout of the flu in the past 24 hours…”

Jackson nodded, noting that she didn’t seem the least bit crestfallen at having been stood up by her friends. On further self-examination–neither was he, really.

“So it looks to be just us today,” Anna said. “If you don’t want to stay here and would rather do something else–I understand.”

“What?” Jackson replied. “No…this is fine,” he added, gesturing around at their surroundings, suddenly worried that she didn’t want to hang out. “It’s not your fault they all bailed…and besides, you drove all this way out here. Wouldn’t want to waste a perfectly good day in the water.”

“If you’re sure?” she asked once more.

“I’m sure,” he reiterated with a smile.

“Great,” she replied as her radiant smile once more returned. “I even brought us a bit of lunch if you get hungry later.”

“Me? Hungry?” Jackson replied in mock confusion.

“Right…when are you not?” she teased. “Isn’t your mum always saying that you’re hungry enough to eat a–hypo…graff–or something of that sort?”

Jackson laughed.

“It’s–hippogriff,” Jackson corrected her, trying to keep his amusement under control. “And if you’d ever seen one…I think you’d have to admit that I’d have to be pretty desperately hungry to want to eat one–very big, scary claws…” he explained, raising his hands to gesture and intimate the sheer horror in a hippogriff’s talons.

“Ok…well considering I didn’t even know something of that nature even existed until a second ago…I guess I’ll go on believing you could eat it,” she laughed.

“Yeah…it’s a kind of half-eagle, half-horse thing…you’d probably have to see it with your own eyes to get my drift,” Jackson responded with a sly grin.

“Then maybe you’ll have to show me sometime?” she said with a quirked eyebrow, catching his gaze before she looked away just as quickly, suddenly looking a bit unsure of her quick response.

Was she blushing?

“I’d probably get arrested for doing so,” Jackson teased. “You know–showing you a mythical, magical creature that technically to you doesn’t really exist.”

“Well I wouldn’t want that,” Anna replied shaking her head. “So I’ll just take your word for it.”

“Good,” Jackson replied with a nod, wondering slightly how they’d even really gotten on the subject.

“Well…I brought some blankets and towels for us,” Anna said as if to bring about a change of subject. “I thought maybe we could spread them out near the water to sit on,” she added, gesturing to the beach bag she’d taken from inside her vehicle. Jackson could now see that it contained the said blankets and other various items.

“I’ll help with that,” Jackson offered as the two began to move towards the SUV. Not allowing her to resist or offer her own help, Jackson scooped up the beach bag as Anna went to the back of the vehicle and opened up the back hatch. She reached in and after a few moments produced a small cooler.

Jackson instinctively made to take the heavier cooler from her, but Anna stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” she said, shooing him away. “I’m not helpless.”

“Oh…I know that,” Jackson reassured her, recalling many a time when they were younger when she showed just how “not helpless” she was to any unlucky bully that crossed her path.

She was a year older than Jackson was in school and they’d actually first met on one such occasion. A group of older boys had started to tease Jackson. He’d done some bit of accidental magic that they’d witnessed and that he couldn’t explain away. So naturally they’d started following him around, trying to goad him into reacting and calling him a “weirdo.”

Anna had been the one to bring their efforts to a screeching one day on the playground. She’d sent two of the boys to the headmistress’s office that day; one with a bloody nose, the other sporting a nasty black eye. Jackson couldn’t recall exactly what she had shouted at the older boys when she’d chased them away. (Although he’d never heard a little girl say those words before).

Needless to say, the boys hadn’t really ever bothered him again–even in the years to come--and Anna had stuck around. At first she said it had been to keep an eye on him in case the others came back. But it had grown into something more quickly and they soon had become best friends.

Now it was quite a comical thing to think back on that day. Anna was actually quite a petite girl. Compared to him, she was quite short and slight. Although, as he’d noticed before, she had certainly grown a bit these past few years. But to think she could ever manhandle anyone like she had then would seem a bit laughable. But Jackson knew better…she was anything but helpless.

So firmly carrying the cooler, Jackson allowed Anna to steer them both towards a grassy spot near the pond. They both deposited their items on the ground and Jackson stepped back and watched as Anna delved into the beach bag, pulling out a large flannel blanket. She began spreading out the blanket on the grassy bank and Jackson obliged by grabbing the two loose ends of the blanket opposite Anna, helping her smooth it out completely.

“So…shall we swim first or tackle lunch?” Anna asked as they plopped down on the blanket, the cooler temptingly settled between them.

“It’s up to you,” Jackson replied automatically, feeling the chivalrous remark come to his lips before he realized.

“Oh…it is?” Anna asked with a raised brow. “Well then if it’s my choice…I guess a dip in the pond is up first. That is, unless you simply can’t wait for lunch…being a growing boy and all…” she added with a teasing smile.

Jackson couldn’t keep a silly grin of his own from showing on his face in return.

“I can wait,” Jackson assured her with a nod. “Swimming sounds great.”

“Right then,” Anna replied with her own self-assured nod. “So it’s ‘last one to into the water’s the loser’ then?” she replied cockily with a mischievous grin as she pushed herself up from her spot on the blanket.

“Huh?” Jackson replied a bit dumbfounded as he watched her stand up.

“A race,” Anna clarified. “Last one to the water has to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch!” she yelled as she spun towards the water, sprinting away from Jackson even as he attempted to comprehend what she’d just said and why she had bolted.

“But I don’t…like…peanut butter…” Jackson muttered stupidly as he pulled himself to his own feet, watching Anna as she ran away, giggling and throwing looks over her shoulder back at him.

“Come on!” she yelled as she stopped just before the water’s edge, beckoning to him.

Jackson took a tentative step before he was frozen in his tracks, temporarily paralyzed by the sight before him.

In what was merely a second but seemed to happen in slow motion, Anna had reached down and pulled on the bottom hem of the green tank top she was wearing, tugging at it and pulling it over her head. Jackson felt his jaw drop as she peeled away the top, revealing a simple black bikini top.

A bikini top that left way too little for Jackson’s imagination.

Then, in the next instant, Jackson was sure his heart had given out–or at the least–all the air sucked from his lungs. Anna was now reaching for her shorts–those same denim shorts that had captivated him only minutes before. But now those seemingly minuscule shorts were being pulled off and thrown aside–leaving in their place what seemed to be skimpiest of garments.

His mind was reeling.

The combination of her hasty dash towards the water and the sudden revelation of the little black bikini from beneath her clothes had him struggling to regain himself.

She’s trying to kill me…he thought to himself as he watched her finish throwing aside her clothes, still laughing even as she waded into the water. Was she doing this on purpose?

Forcing what air was left in his lungs out in an attempt at steadying himself and kick-starting his brain again; Jackson began to move towards the water and a splashing Anna, who was now calling him again.

He tried to act normal as he approached the water’s edge, reminding himself with every step to breathe and keep his gaze upward, away from the danger areas that might get him in trouble. Which was, undoubtedly, everything below her face taking into account what she was–or wasn’t–wearing at the moment.

“Took you long enough,” Anna teased as he finally reached the water.

“Yeah…well…you caught me off-guard there with your little race,” Jackson managed to stammer out as he glanced out over the water and away from any danger zones.

“We used to do that all the time–race to the pool, the swings, the water fountain–” she said, reminiscing about their younger days.

“Yeah–and like then–the only time you win is when you cheat,” Jackson shot back playfully, unable to help himself.

“Well you’ve always had longer legs than me…not fair in my books,” she lamented as she waded further out into the water and away from him.

“A likely excuse,” Jackson scoffed in mock indignation.

“We could argue all day about nothing Jacks…” Anna retorted. “Or…you could get your scrawny arse in here and enjoy the water,” she added, playfully sending a large splash of water towards him with a swing of her arm on the surface of the pond. Jackson jumped back, but failed to successfully dodge all droplets of water.

“Scrawny?” Jackson challenged with a raised brow.

Anna only smiled in return.

“I’ll have to disagree about that,” Jackson found himself replying rather cockily. He would always probably be on the slighter side, but he was by no means as skinny and gangly as he’d once been growing up.

As many girls at school could be traced to saying at least once in their lives–Quidditch does a body good.

Jackson could proudly say that he’d heard it said (once or twice) about himself this past year. And he had to admit that the sport, combined with the recent affects of another growth spurt had allowed him to begin to fill out his frame with a noticeable layer of muscle.

Scrawny he certainly was no more.

Feeling a bit riled by her comment, Jackson felt it only fitting to rebuff her challenge of his physique. He proceeded by reaching down, very much like she had with her halter top, pulling his t-shirt over his head and depositing it on the grassy bank of the pond. Next to go were his sandals and jeans, which slid off rather easily and joined his t-shirt on the ground. He was left standing bare-chested and bare-foot in just his green swimming trunks that fell just about knee length.

Having shed his outer layers, Jackson turned to face Anna in the pond again, hoping to have firmly shot down her previous remarks. But as he turned fully to face her, he caught her quickly look away from him, suddenly more interested in the surface of the water than anything else.

Jackson was a bit confused.

Had he startled her with his impromptu shedding to his swim trunks? He didn’t see how that could be the case, seeing as she had done the same only moments before–and in a much showier fashion.

Or had she been staring at him as he’d pulled off his shirt and jeans and then been embarrassed that he may have caught her? That could either mean he had disturbed her and turned her off enough to draw her eyes and stare as he’d stripped off.

Or–he could only hope to think–she had liked what she had seen of him…

Where had that thought come from? A part of his mind asked loudly after the thought had sprung up.

But Jackson had little time to contemplate it when Anna seemed to shake out of her own revelry and spoke again.

“Are you going to come in or not?” She called to him, having regained her voice and controlled nature.

Jackson looked back at her to find Anna watching him again.

“Jeez you’re pushy,” Jackson huffed back, momentarily pausing to gauge the nature of the situation, unsure of how to proceed after the last few moment’s awkwardness. His usual, cheeky response came a bit slower than usual and had nearly died at his lips as the sizable difference and sudden shift in their chemistry hit him.

There was something palpably different in the way they were treating one another Jackson couldn’t help but think even as he entered the pond himself; even as he sent a playful splash of water towards Anna as he dove towards her, causing her to shriek in surprise and outrage.

---------------------------------

They had spent the last hour or so in the water, splashing and diving; having contests as to who could stay under the water longer and how far each of them could walk out into the water while still touching the bottom. Jackson had the decided advantage in the latter, being so much taller–but they seemed to find fun in it nonetheless.

So after having exhausted most of the interesting, yet mindless information about school and the like the two could come up with in conversation, Jackson had spotted an old rope near the far edge of the pond that hung from a thick oak branch overhanging the dark, cool water. It had been Anna’s idea to use it to catapult themselves out into the water.

It was quite apparent that someone had once placed it there for the very purpose that they were now going to use it for and that many more had found it along the way over the years. As Jackson and Anna had clambered back onto shore near the base of the tree, unknown years of carvings and graffiti could be seen etched into the solid wood of the great tree, testament to the generations of people who had stood on this very spot.

“Scared?” Anna asked, yanking Jackson out of his contemplation as he looked upwards at where the thick rope was knotted to the middle of the branch. The rope looked solid and the branch hearty, but there was no telling from his vantage point if it would hold. Anna’s voice was challenging again, playfully defying his trepidation.

“No,” Jackson snorted, trying to dispel any possible worries of the safety of the rope that had sprung up in his mind. “I’ll even go first,” he shot back with a challenging raise of one brow.

Anna laughed at Jackson’s sudden assured-ness.

“Well go on then,” she prodded. “Show me how it’s done,” she added further, handing him the end of the rope she had been grasping in her hands. The gesture was clearly a challenge.

Jackson took it, not wanting to allow any room for Anna to jibe at him any further. He gathered the thick rope firmly in both hands, pulling it back towards himself as he took steps back towards the tree; readying himself to make a run back towards the water. Anna had backed of to the side, allowing him ample room to maneuver.

Letting out a long, steadying breath, Jackson looked once more back out into the pond, assuring himself that the water was indeed deep enough for what he was about to undertake. If it wasn’t…well…he’d worry about that later.

Glancing one last time at Anna, who was still waiting with a smirk on her face for him to jump, Jackson took off at a run towards the bank’s edge. He clung tight to the rope with both hands as the slack line tightened and he drew closer to the drop off of the ground beneath his feet. The wind was rushing past him as he ran, blowing his wayward black back off his forehead.

Then he felt the ground go out from beneath his feet and he instinctively jumped, allowing the rope to pull him skyward and out over water; catapulting him into the air.

Jackson opened his eyes and released the rope at the apex of his jump, looking downward as he seemed to hang momentarily suspended mid-air. It was a feeling akin to riding a broom for him.

He was airborne and weightless; totally oblivious to the laws of gravity that governed him otherwise.

But just as that wondrous thought crossed his mind, the water seemed to rush up at him at an alarming rate; his arms waving comically in the air in a feeble attempt at keeping himself aloft for just a bit longer.

His attempts failed and he hit the water with a tremendous splash that sent shock waves of pain through him as his bare skin and flailing limbs hit the unyielding surface of the water. His descent continued and he found himself pulled underneath the cool water and away from the rays of sunlight filtering through the water. He fell downward until his feet found the muddy bottom. He pushed off, propelling himself back upwards, using both his legs and arms to pull himself back up to the surface.

Coughing slightly from the small amount of water he’d inhaled on impact, Jackson’s head finally broke the surface. But instead of the bright glint of light from the afternoon sun above that Jackson expected to blind him, he was encased in a curtain of darkness. A wet, heavy something was pushing against his eyes, preventing him from seeing anything at all as he splashed around at the surface trying to gain his bearings.

He continued to struggle momentarily until a high-pitched laughing sound met his ears and he whirled around in the general direction of the noise.

“Having problems?” Anna’s sweet voice rang out amidst the splashing and Jackson froze, blowing out a great puff of water out of his mouth as he bobbed there in the water.

“No,” he muttered to himself, reaching up a hand to peel and lift away the thick layer of hair plastered over his face. The dark curtain that had obscured his vision and left him momentarily blinded had been his own thick mop of black hair adhering itself to his face.

His pushing back and removal of the offensive mop from his eyes and forehead seemed only to insight Anna’s amusement even more as she began to really laugh in earnest. He could only imagine what the action must have done to the already usually disheveled state of his hair. He supposed it was now sticking up in a million different directions; its comical state magnified a hundred fold by the saturation of water keeping it completely wayward and wild.

“Nice hair,” Anna shouted to him from the bank of the pond where she stood clutching at her side. “Very stylish,” she added with a laugh. She was clearly very amused.

Normally he would have had no problem shooting back his own smart ass remark to defend himself from Anna’s teasing. But he suddenly felt a bit self conscious about how he’d looked flailing through the air after he’d let go of the rope and the subsequent blinding he’d taken by his own hair. Had he really looked as ridiculous as he felt now?

Still laughing to herself, Anna reached out and grabbed the end of the rope as it swung back towards her. Jackson tread water and watched as she mimicked his earlier tactics and walked back away from the pond’s edge, gripping the thick rope tightly in her hands.

She disappeared momentarily from his vision as she neared the base of the big oak tree and was thrown into shadow by its great leafy branches. Jackson waited for a moment in silence, anticipating Anna’s reemergence. She seemed to be waiting an awfully long time to take her turn and Jackson smugly wondered if she’d perhaps chickened out. After her relentless goading about his courage, this thought brought a smile to his face.

But as soon as his lips had begun to twitch to bring that grin to fruition, a loud exhilarated cry startled him and his eyes strained for the shore of the pond once more.

He watched as Anna materialized from the shadows, running at full speed as she hurtled towards the edge of the pond, still clutching tightly to the rope. Like he had, Anna launched herself into the air as she reached the edge of solid ground; the pull of the rope propelling her skywards and towards his current position in the pond.

Jackson simply couldn’t take his eyes off Anna as she flew through the air towards the summit of her trajectory. Her dark hair fluttered behind her in a loose ponytail, creating a waterfall effect cascading outward.

He was absolutely memorized by the lithe form seemingly floating in mid-air. He’d momentarily forgotten to breathe; but essential functions like breathing didn’t seem all that important right now. Besides, it wasn’t as if any blood was flowing in the direction of his brain anyways…

But almost just as soon as he’d locked eyes upon the scene, a loud crack resonated throughout the stillness of the moment, interrupting whatever peace that had befallen the pond. He likened the sound to gunfire, or perhaps something that might erupt from any one of the products found in his uncles’ joke shop.

A scream rent the air and Jackson was jerked back to reality as he watched Anna plummet back towards earth. But her descent was all wrong.

She was still clutching the rope, but it no longer held any of the tension that had held her aloft before. His eyes traced the length of the rope back to its origination, but found that the sturdy branch to which it had been wrapped around had completely snapped from its mooring and was flying dangerously through the air behind Anna.

Anna was free falling at a much faster rate and from a much higher point than Jackson had. As she neared the water, she tumbled on an axle and angle that brought her head-first milliseconds before she met the water with a resounding crash that replaced her frantic cries.

Panic seized Jackson and hit him fully in the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He was frozen, rooted to the spot; unable to make his body react and move towards the spot where Anna had hit and disappeared beneath the surface.

His eyes watched the surface of the water where she’d went under begin to calm for seemed like minutes before his body finally caught up with his mind. She hadn’t surfaced yet. Something was wrong.

“Anna,” Jackson called out, her name tumbling off his lips in desperation a half-second before he finally dove into the depths of the pond after her.

His longs limbs propelled him downward into the dark depths as he frantically tried to reach her.
But the water was too dark and deep and even as he tried peering painfully through the shadows he couldn’t find her. He reached out frantically, his hands grasping for any touch of hair or skin that gave him any indication of where she was. But only the cold water slipped through his fingers, leaving his hands empty and void.

Breaking back through the surface and gasping for air, he looked around in desperation. His heart was beating frantically in his chest as his panic began to grow and he didn’t seem to be able to form coherent strings of thought that might help him form some plan of action to save Anna and summon her from the depths of this pond.

That was it…he could summon her with a wave of his wand.

His wand.

Jackson once again twirled around in the water, this time whipping his head around towards the now distant shore where his wand lay amongst his discarded t-shirt and sandals.

A new sort of helpless seemed to seize him as he realized that he had a choice to make. He could dive back down into the depths and attempt once more to retrieve Anna himself, or he could make a quick break for shore to grab his wand and summon her to him.

Either one would take time–time that he wasn’t sure he had.

He wasn’t even sure just how much time had elapsed since Anna had disappeared beneath the surface. Jackson was only aware that every second that he didn’t act and she didn’t surface, was another that brought him closer to an outcome he didn’t even want to fathom.

Acting purely on instinct and without conscious thought, Jackson made that split-second decision and turned his whole body towards the shore, intending on seeking out his wand and rescuing Anna that way.

But just as he'd turned away from the spot and made to dive into his swim towards the shore, movement and noise from a few feet away once again froze him and attracted his eyes and attention.

The surface of the water was being disturbed; it undulated and bubbled as pockets of air rose to the surface, breaking it and creating waves and ripples in a spot a few feet from where Jackson floated. The water seemed to move faster as more and more bubbles punctured the surface and Jackson still could not tear his eyes from the spot or bring himself to make any movement in any direction.

And just when it seemed that Jackson could take no more of standing by and watching as the water boiled and bubbled, a hand broke the surface of the pond, scrambling and searching for something the hold onto. It was soon followed by the other and then a head , it's long dark hair plastered to and obscuring her face as she flailed about, coughing and gasping for air to return to her lungs.

It was Anna.

Upon the dawning realization finally sinking up his brain with what his senses were showing him, Jackson's body seemed to catch up and flip into action. In three quick strokes of his long arms he had crossed the few feet between them and without any thought at all had grabbed her and pulled her to him. She was still choking on the water that she had swallowed up into her lungs and shuddering uncontrollably as she continued to gasp and try and force air back into her body.

"Shhh...it's ok...it's ok," Jackson tried to soothe her as Anna clung to him desperately. "You're alright. You're ok..."

But Anna continued to hold tight to him as if something would drag her back under the water if she let go. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her head resting against his shoulder and her legs encircling his waist as he held his own arms around her, rubbing her back gently. In any other situation, her close proximity and the way her body was pressed tightly up against his bare skin would lead to a very different type of reaction, but his only concern now was to get somewhere where he could put two feet on the ground. With her clinging to him like she was, it was getting harder for Jackson to stay afloat using just his legs to propel him upward above the surface.

"Anna, I'm going to let go of you for a second..." he began to explain.

"No..." Anna rasped as she tightened her grip around his neck. "Don't. Just...stay..."

"I'm just going to move a bit closer to shore," he assured her. "You can keep holding tight to me. I'm just going to swim so I can touch bottom. I promise," he added, wanting and needing her trust him not to let anything happen to her again.

After a few seconds, he felt her nod of approval against his shoulder and he hesitantly took his arms from around her and used them to tread water and gently move them towards the shore and shallower waters. The entire way Anna continued to hold fast, unrelenting in her grip. After having drifted a good 30 feet or so towards the shoreline, Jackson felt the stony bottom brush up against the soles of his feet as the water shallowed. With only a few more steps he found that he could comfortably stand flat-footed in just-below chest-height water.

"I can touch bottom," he assured Anna now, who seemed to have her breathing under some sort of control and had stopped gasping. She was still however, shaking and holding tight to him.

"Oh god..." Anna sighed out.

"You're ok now..." Jackson whispered soothingly. "It's over."

"I...I didn't think I was going to get back up," Anna whispered, horrified. "I couldn't breathe..."
A small sob escaped Anna and she seemed to burrow back up against him. He responded by once more wrapping his arms around her, trying to provide some sort of reassurance that she was safe now.

"I tried to find you. But I couldn't..." Jackson told her quietly. "I'm sorry," he whispered in apology.

"It's ok," Anna told him, shaking her head as she lifted it from his shoulder. She continued to stay wrapped around him, but she now craned her neck back so that she could peer up at him. Jackson could see now that her eyes were rimmed red from the tears she had shed through her near-drowning ordeal.

"No. I didn't know what to do..." Jackson replied heavily.

"I got caught on something," Anna explained. "Something was wrapped around my leg and I couldn't pull free...no matter how hard I bloody tried," she said in disbelief.

"I dove for you..." Jackson breathed out, suddenly feeling the need to explain that he hadn't just stood there and watched as she had almost died.

"I figured that," Anna assured him with the slightest hint of a watery chuckle. "Thank you," she whispered to him, her beautiful hazel eyes locking into his.

"I...really didn't do anything..." he breathed back, now suddenly finding himself unable to look away from her or to even blink regularly. His breathing was deeper and more pronounced now, as though he had been the one recovering from being trapped underwater. His mind and body had chosen this moment to register and come to the realization that Anna was clinging--very--tightly to him.

"You stayed," she replied, still staring steadily at him.

“Yeah…”Jackson acknowledged breathily.

And then, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and at the same time–entirely too fast.
He was mesmerized by her face that was just inches from his. Her deep hazel eyes seemed to burn into his; their many colors and shades of green and brown standing out bright against her tan skin. He watched as Anna's eyes flickered momentarily downward from their gaze on his eyes to his lips...

He'd been lucky enough in his short life to have seen that look a few times before.

He knew exactly what was about to happen about a second before it did.

Jackson could do nothing as he watched Anna's face draw closer to his, closing the space between them as she pulled herself closer.

Her lips were warm and wet, pressing softly against his own as they met.

At first Jackson couldn't respond--the gentle pressure of her lips moving against his was almost too much for him to wrap his head around.

Anna was kissing him...

'And you're not kissing her back,' a voice chimed in from somewhere back near his left ear. It was that sort of annoying, snide voice that seemed to pop up from time to time to remind you of your shortcomings.

Having been accustomed to ignore the voice for his better judgment for most of his life, Jackson instead took on the challenge and reciprocated, deepening the kiss and pulling Anna, if possible, closer to him.

His mind was screaming a million different things at him--most of them wondering what the hell was happening. But he couldn't be bothered to sort them all out at the moment. He was completely lost in the fact that Anna--his childhood best friend and the girl he'd thought he'd come to think of as a sister over the years--was snogging him.

And he liked it...

He rather enjoyed this a lot, actually.

So he was a little more than slightly disappointed and caught off guard when Anna moved away, breaking the kiss and the contact between them.

Still lost in the moment, Jackson slowly opened his eyes, not able to keep the contented sigh from being released from his own lips.

But whatever bliss he had been experiencing was immediately doused when he caught the look on Anna's face. She was now standing free of him, a foot or so between them in the water. And she was looking away; looking as though she'd realized what she had been doing and was mortified to have found herself kissing him.

Jackson didn't know what to do.

Had it been that bad? Had it been some big mistake to her? A kiss that was fueled by the emotion and adrenaline of the moment?

Because at the moment, Jackson didn't think it had been--at least not for him.

Because it was with that kiss and the look she had given him just before that, that he realized all the seemingly random thoughts and feelings he'd been having for her all day, the excitement he'd gotten after reading her letters about summer plans and the anticipation of seeing her he'd experienced in the days before their meeting today--these were not random things at all.

He really liked Anna.

He thought of her as more than a friend now and if he was truthful with himself, it had been for a while now. He'd just been too stupid and too afraid to do anything about it.

But that and their friendship was in jeopardy now. They'd kissed, and if she hadn't wanted it or was now regretting it--how could they go back to just being friends and forget that it had happened?

"I'm sorry," Anna whispered in a low voice as she brought her hand up to her lips, lightly tracing and feeling the place with her finger tips.

Her words and apology grated against Jackson's ears. She hadn't meant it and now she was sorry for it?

Jackson swallowed heavily, trying to keep himself cool and composed. He really felt as if not only had this whole day been ruined, but the sun and gone and the world had dropped out from underneath him. He could only stare blankly ahead of himself, not wanting to catch any more of the disappointed look on her face.

"I don't know why I did that," Anna breathed out in what sounded like shock, once more slowly shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

This time, Jackson had to bite back a retort and looked away, shaking his own head in disbelief.

She was sorry? Well, she could stop saying it already--he'd gotten that much.

Not knowing what to do--part of him wanted to run back up to shore, get his clothes and fly home, another wanted to grab her again and snog her so she'd see it hadn't been a mistake to be sorry for--but instead he closed his eyes in a mixture of frustration and anger, turning his head away and only opening his eyes when the distant shore was all he could see.

"I'm not," Jackson heard himself say in a slightly choked voice before he could register that it had been himself that had spoken.

Maybe he should be truthful? Let her know what he felt? If it was true that their friendship had been changed or broken by the kiss, what harm would be done in letting her know that he enjoyed it?

"What?" Anna said quietly; although she could not keep her tone and evident suprise and shock from her voice.

"I'm not sorry," Jackson repeated, slowly turning back to face her. "If you are....I'm..." he added, but trailed off.

What should he say to her? What words would best relay how he felt?

"I like you, Anna," he said without pretense or the immense amount of hesitation he was feeling. "And if I'm honest with myself...I have for a while."

Jackson found that with his last words, he was able to finally look at her. He was surprised to find her meeting his gaze. She still looked shocked, but the mortification he had seen before was gone.

"But..." Anna began. "You do?" she asked, sounding thoroughly surprised at his admission.
"Yeah," he admitted. "And truthfully--you've been driving me crazy all day."

"But..." she began again, looking this time--thoroughly confused. "I mean--you're with that--Lara--girl. And...I just...I don't want to be that girl that--"

"I--was--with Lara," Jackson corrected her, suddenly thinking that perhaps her sudden mortification had more to do with the fact that she thought he wasn't single, instead of her regret about the action. At least he hoped that was the case.

"You're not with her?" Anna asked with just the hint of what Jackson hoped was lightness in her question.

"No. She dumped me," he assured her. "It's been a few weeks actually."

"She dumped you?" Anna asked surprised.

"Yeah..." he admitted sheepishly, feeling the first hint of a smile tug at his lips as he caught the amusement in Anna's tone. "But I think I'll live now."

Instead of the cheeky remark Jackson would have usually expected from her, Anna instead drifted off into thought again. He wanted to let her think about things, but he also wanted some sort of answer as to how she felt.

“So…do you–do you really regret that kiss?” Jackson asked quietly, watching Anna carefully to gage her reaction.

Very slowly she brought her eyes back up to his and shook her head.

“No,” she admitted quietly. “But I’m kind of nervous about what it means.”

Jackson was a bit surprised by her last admission, so he cocked his head slightly to the side in acknowledgement of that confusion.

“It’s just–I really like you too…obviously,” she added with a slight smile. “But I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“I did say I liked you,” Jackson reminded her, taking one small step forward to bridge some of the space between them.

Anna smiled and nodded.

“I know. I sort of got that from the kiss…” she replied. “Unless you go around kissing every girl you know like that?” she half-heartedly teased as she brought a hand back up to the surface, her fingers playing with the smooth surface of the water.

With much thought or premeditation, Jackson reached out and grabbed the hand, pulling Anna back to him so that they were touching once more. She seemed momentarily thrown by his sudden display of assertive possessiveness.

“I’ve never kissed any girl like that before,” he told her, feeling ever bit of that possessiveness in the low tone of his voice that seemed to emanate from somewhere much deeper within his chest.

He looked down at her, all hesitation or trepidation gone as he wanted to make it perfectly clear what he felt for her. He caught and held her gaze, her brilliant hazel eyes boring into his green.

“And we can’t go and take this all back now, can we?” he asked her, not daring to look away or let her go for even a second.

“Isn’t there some sort of spell that could wipe my mind clean?” Anna said breathily as a small smile played across her lips.

“Yeah…I could obliviate you and make you completely forget this ever happened,” Jackson said with a smirk of his own. “But–again–I’d most likely get arrested for it. And would you want that…would you want to forget?” Jackson whispered to her as he leaned down a little closer.
Anna shook her head.

“So where do we go from here?” she asked quietly, searching his face for the answer.

“I think there’s only one road I think we can go down now…only one I really want to,” Jackson told her quietly. A fuzzy, warm feeling seemed to overtaking him and it was becoming increasingly harder to focus on anything other than her lips.

“It’ll be a risk,” Anna reminded him, wanting to understand fully that if they became more than friends it could and most likely would forever change their relationship.

“But one I’m willing to take,” Jackson assured her. “If you are…?”

“I think so,” Anna said with a nod and without question in her tone. “And damn the results,” she whispered fervently as she smiled up at him.

“Good,” Jackson whispered back, trying to restrain himself for a few more moments and allow her to speak if need be.

But what he really wanted to do was kiss her again–to pull her close again and enjoy the feel of her lips against his. He could feel himself leaning in closer to her as she continued to look up at him. But the space between them was getting smaller as he slowly bent his head down towards hers, tilting to the side ever so slowly.

But what seemed just inches from her lips, Anna brought a hand between them. She rested two fingers upon his lips, keeping him at bay and just short of another kiss.

“Like you…” she said with a smile. “I don’t go around kissing just anyone–especially boys who aren’t my boyfriend.”

A sudden, horrible thought crossed his mind and he momentarily wondered if she indeed was dating someone. He had thought she’d dumped that “Brad” bloke she had been seeing off and on the past few years?

But any more questioning of her single status was dismissed as he caught the playful smile on her face. She was putting him on, waiting for him to ask her something.

“So…would you…like to be my–girlfriend–then?” he asked, emphasizing the second to last word as it brought a sheepish grin to his face. It felt great to be asking her this–and at the same time, he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“That is–if you’ll have me?” he added. “You could always chuck me later if I turn out to be the world’s worst boyfriend,” he added.

“I very much doubt you could possibly be the worst,” she smiled as she brought both arms once more around his neck, pulling herself closer.

“It might be a bit premature to assume–” Jackson began to retort, but Anna cut him off.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see,” she said with a smirk. “And besides…weren’t you about to do something before I interrupted you?” she teased, craning her neck upwards, giving him ample assess to her mouth.

“Mmm…yeah,” Jackson murmured.

“Well get on with it,” Anna smiled. “I haven’t been kissed properly by my boyfriend yet….”








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Chapter 4: Song of The Century

Author's Notes: Special thanks goes out to Tenorspaz for looking this chapter over for me after I had a fit just getting it finished. Sorry for taking so long with this last update. Alas, real life tends to get in the way of the more important matters :)


Chapter 3: Song of The Century

Sing us a song of the century
That's louder than bombs and eternity.
The era of static and contraband
That's leading us into the promised land
Tell us a story that's by candlelight
Waging a war and losing the fight
They're playing the song of the century
of panic and promise and prosperity
Tell me a story into that goodnight

Sing us a song for me...

She really couldn't believe this day had really come so quickly. Hadn't it seemed like only yesterday (however cliché it seemed to say it) that a little, blue wriggling bundle had been thrust into her arms and had forever changed her life? And now, here they were, 17 years later and she was watching as he took that one last leap from childhood and officially became--a man.

Her baby--who for all intents and purposes had ceased to be that long ago--was 17 today. Today the wizarding world at large considered him a legal adult--fully capable of exercising the responsibility of his magic in everyday life and of making his own decisions from now on.

She'd thought she was ready for this day to come, but as Ginny watched Jackson's birthday celebration go on around her, she seemed to be having a hard time keeping it completely together. There had been a couple of times already today where she'd felt tears well up in her eyes that needed to be swiftly and deftly wiped away before they fell and were noticed.

Today was supposed to be a happy day and for the most part it had been. Family and friends had gathered at the Burrow to share in not only the celebration of Jackson's birthday, but also the abundance of food, drink and sunny summer fun that the day had afforded. Like most Weasley gatherings, there was no shortage of warmth or laughter and Jackson was certainly having a blast. He'd been showered with an array of gifts and cards from family and friends and was now enjoying an afternoon of swimming in the pond and indulging in all of his favorite foods that Grandmum Weasley had prepared for the day.

But for Ginny, at least, there was a lingering sense of melancholy and a certain amount of sadness about this day. True, it was sad to think her little boy was all grown up, but it was more the fact that another year--another milestone--had passed without Harry being there for Jackson. This perhaps was one of the hardest days in a long vicious cycle because his father was not there to help son make the transition from boyhood to adulthood. It was supposed to be a special time--forged by a strong between the two. But instead, that connection had never had a chance to have been made and despite the efforts of others to try and fill the void that Harry's death had left long after he'd gone--Jackson was still making this jump mostly on his own. He'd handled it well thus far and she knew he was enjoying his day.

But this morning as she, Jackson, and Alex had eaten a large birthday breakfast of Jackson's morning favorites at home, the day had gotten off to a more somber mood.

Ginny had decided that she was going to give him one particular gift there at home before they left for the Burrow and he opened the ones from everyone else. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone else to see what she was going to give him--she just wasn't sure how Jackson would react when he opened it.

"Are there any more pancakes?" Jackson asked, even as he shoved the last bite of the one he was just finishing into his mouth.

Ginny glared slightly over her shoulder before chastising him.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," Ginny said as she turned away from the stove brandishing another plateful of pancakes.

"Sorry," Jackson mumbled as he reached foreword with his fork and stabbed a few flapjacks off of the top and pulled them towards the plate that Ginny had just set on the table. Alex followed suit and before she knew it, the new stack of pancakes had been claimed by her two ravenous sons.

Sighing, Ginny sat down at her spot to finally finish her half-eaten breakfast. Munching on her toast, Ginny's eyes drifted back across the table to her sons as they finished up their breakfast.

There was Alex--with his shaggy reddish brown hair that these days, seemed to be in dire need of a trim that would allow her to see the brilliant blue eyes he'd inherited from his father. A liberal amount of freckles--her main contribution to her 2nd son--littered the bridge of his nose and cheeks and branded him most obviously as a Weasley. Like his brother, Alex was tall for his age--but at 11 and much like Paul--Alex was more solid and thickly built.

And then there was Jackson--his jet black hair still completely askew and a mess from sleep. Tall and lanky, his long and thin facial features were a stark contrast from his little brother's. Jackson's piercing green eyes stared out over squared, high cheekbones that only added to his striking appearance.

Both of her sons looked and took so much after their fathers. Alex for the most part was even-keeled; a very quiet and sweet kid who rarely got into any sort of trouble. She was certain he'd gotten his calm demeanor from Paul, who himself was one of the kindest, level-headed people she'd ever met. Jackson was, as with his looks, was at times an emotional doppelganger of Harry. He was loyal and kind and could get along with most anyone--but there were flashes where that inherited temper and quick biting wit earned him swift reprimands and glares and the occasional grounding for his behavior.

But both her boys were great sons and were turning into good-hearted people, which she couldn't be more proud of.

And today was one of those days where her pride was at its highest--Jackson was turning 17 and coming of age.

They had an afternoon party planned at the Burrow with the whole Weasley family and the extensive network of friends they'd seemed to have acquired over the years. It was sure to be a festive event, full of excitement and the organized chaos that always seemed to ensue during these parties.

So that was why she wanted to give Jackson his first birthday present before they went off to her parents and the excitement of the day carried them all off. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone else to see. But this was a special gift, one she wanted him to open without any distractions or outside influences to hamper his appreciation of it.

This would probably be the most perfect time all day.

"Are you finished?" Ginny asked across the table as Alex let out a long yawn and pushed his empty plate away from himself.

Alex nodded, still yawning.

"Well why don't you go shower up and get dressed and ready and then your brother can go after you before we have to leave," Ginny suggested, hoping to spare at least a few minutes.

"Alright," Alex agreed easily enough, slowly pushing himself away from the table.

"Hey--try not to use all the hot water, will you?" Jackson teased as his little brother walked past him. "I'd like a warm shower on my birthday," he added with a smirk.

"Quit your belly-aching," Alex shot back. "It was one time. And beside--you can charm it warm if you need to now," he added before walking out of the kitchen.

Jackson turned a half-amused, half-annoyed face towards his brother's retreating form before turning back to the table to find his mum watching the scene with a smile on her face.

"You know one of these days he's going to snap back with more than that," Ginny told Jackson knowingly. "Especially when he's older--and you're not so much bigger than him anymore," she added with a warning raise of her brown.

Jackson snickered.

"Until then I'll take my chances and continue my prescribed duties as big brother--teasing included," Jackson replied assuredly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ginny added as she pushed herself away and began clearing away some of the dishes from the table.

"Are you going to have anymore breakfast?" Ginny asked as she deposited hers and Alex's dishes into the sink and turned towards the stove.

"Nah...I'm full," Jackson replied as he yawned loudly and stretched his arms out to either side, working out this morning's kinks. Ginny turned her attention to the dishes on the stove, which zoomed to join the ones already in the sink as she waved her wand. Once they were all cleared, she set them washing and drying themselves.

"And breakfast was really good, Mum," Jackson said, suddenly appearing beside her with his dirty dishes to add to the pile. "Thank you," he added as he placed a swift kiss on her cheek.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Ginny said, returning his gesture by turning to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a hug. "Happy Birthday."

Jackson returned his mother's hug and allowed her to keep the embrace for a few seconds before he straightened up and Ginny released him from her arms.

"I'm going to go wait for Alex to get done--I should be ready in about a half hour," Jackson said as he moved towards the doorway that led from the kitchen.

"Jackson," Ginny called out before he could leave. He stopped at the sound of his name and turned in question towards her. "Before you get ready and we leave, there's something I want to give you."

"Ok..." he replied with a slow nod.

Taking a deep breath and giving her wand a wave towards the open doorway, Ginny wordlessly summoned the square package that had been resting atop her dresser. Wrapped in a silvery paper, the small parcel flew into her left hand where she caught it deftly. Her fingers traced the shimmery wrapping for a second or two before she held it out to Jackson, who took it carefully.

Sliding back into a nearby chair, Jackson began to gently pry away at the paper at the corners. After a few moments he had the package free from its wrappings and had revealed the small white and unmarked box underneath. He passed the box between his hands for just a moment before he reached for the corner and lifted the top from the box.

Ginny watched Jackson's face carefully, hoping to capture all the emotions that were certain to cross it. His green eyes were fixed intently on the contents of the box and very gingerly he reached in and withdrew the gold watch from within. Holding it by the edges, Jackson turned it around in his hands, examining both sides of the watch.

"Mum, it's--" Jackson said quietly, still taking in this gift. "Thank you," he finished.

"You know it's a family tradition to give a wizard a watch when he turns 17," Ginny began to explain, still watching her son. Jackson nodded in understanding.

"This one was originally your Grandmum's brother--Fabian's watch," she continued on.

"Cool," Jackson said quietly, running a finger very lightly across the slight dented area on the back of the watch. She could tell that he truly appreciated traditional family value in this watch, but she wasn't finished.

Ginny swallowed nervously before she spoke again.

"Your Grandmother also gave this watch--to your Dad--when he turned seventeen," Ginny said in a low voice, coming to stand beside Jackson. Jackson went very still, only moving to look up at her with both question and wonder in his gaze before he looked away again. "So it was his--for a while," she reiterated with a nod.

Jackson didn't respond, but continued to stare at the moving stars on the watch face staring back up at him from his palm.

Ginny'd known for weeks that she'd wanted to give this to him. Ron had found the watch in his own attic among a box of Harry's things when he'd been looking for something else. Jackson had a few things of Harry's--but most of the scattered and few belongings that were left were packed away so that when Jackson was older he could go through them himself if he wanted. But when Ron had brought to her attention that he'd discovered the watch, it had seemed a natural thing to give it to Jackson.

But now she was wondering if it had been such a good idea.

"Thanks Mum," Jackson whispered in a quiet and somewhat strained voice. This time he didn't look up at her, but stood up and vacated the chair he'd been sitting in.

Ginny watched as he turned away from her, swiping up the empty box and replacing the watch inside.

"I'm just...going to put this away," Jackson said quickly, still avoiding her gaze. "Then get ready..." he added quietly as he turned to leave.

"Jacks," Ginny responded instinctively towards her son's retreating form. Jackson stopped but did not turn back at the sound of his name.

She wanted to apologize for upsetting him and get him to talk about what he was feeling, but she didn't know what to say--what wouldn't upset him further.

So instead, she settled on something neutral and totally off subject.

"We'll be leaving at about 11 to help your Grandmum set up for the party," she said quietly, watching Jackson nod in response once before he left the room.


And they'd left at eleven o'clock with nothing more said about the watch. They'd arrived at the Burrow and begun to help Molly set up tables and chairs and put the finishing touches on that afternoon's lunch. And as people had begun to arrive and the party had begun in earnest, Jackson was back to his usual self--laughing and playfully conversing with his aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.

It was as if any sort of feeling that had touched him had been forgotten. And Ginny would have believed it had she not spotted the chain of the watch sticking from his jeans pocket. The fact that he had the watch with him served as proof that the gift had really meant something...

Now as most of the party attendees sat around the banks of the Burrow's pond, some drying off from an afternoon in the water--others continuing to attack the tables of food that had been set up around the pond--Ginny was still keeping an eye on her son as he sat around with his cousins and friends.

Jackson was sitting a few yards away in a group that consisted of Ron and Hermione's 14 year old twin sons Reed and Ethan, Fred and Angelina's 14 year old daughter Jayde, Percy's 15 year old daughter Molly, and Remus and Tonks' 16 year old son John, as well his best friends from Hogwarts--Luke and Liam. The small group of teenagers, which had recently extracted themselves from the pond, were laughing and Jackson was gesturing about something with his free left hand, obviously telling some sort of story which was amusing the rest of the teens. Ginny's eyes settled upon the group, her gaze fixing on the girl who had settled herself in Jackson's lap and who he had wrapped his right arm around.

Ginny had been surprised when Jackson had come home a few weeks ago from an afternoon of swimming and had seemed off and generally nervous. When she had tried to delve in and ask him about the afternoon, he'd been rather quiet and unwilling to share anything more than a few words as an answer. It had been quite frustrating to try to get him to open up and she had been worried something bad had happened. Finally after a meal of near complete strained silence, Ginny had asked him if he was alright and if there was anything he needed to tell her.

The look on his face had been priceless. Jackson's eyes had gone wide and she had watched as he had swallowed his initial words.

"She kissed me."

Those had been his first words about what was preoccupying his mind. She'd been slightly confused as to who "she" was, but after a second, the words seemed to tumble from his mouth and he went onto explain how Anna had kissed him and he'd kissed her and how they were now apparently dating.

As quick as it came, her confusion had turned into excitement and elation and she had had a hard time keeping her delight at bay as she listened to him spill about the afternoon's developments. Anna and Jackson had been friends since they were young children and in the past few years, Ginny couldn't help but observe, that she might be becoming more to him. It had taken him a while to come around to that realization, but Ginny was excited that he'd picked the one girl who she knew could put up with him and at the same time, challenge him.

And so these past few weeks she'd been witness to the budding relationship. Anna had always been around most summers, but this one had been different so far. Instead of competitive games of football in the yard and trips to the coast to swim and fish--this one had been filled with walks to the village and late evenings of watching movies cuddled on the couch. And just last week, they'd gone to London for an afternoon date that had stretched into the evening.

Things certainly were changing and from what Ginny had witnessed and Molly Weasley herself had been quick to point out--the two were falling for each other...

"Who's up for some Quidditch?!" someone shouted from behind Ginny and knocking her from her revelry. She turned to look over her shoulder to find Ron, George and Bill all standing there with their arms laden with broomsticks and gear from the shed.

Ginny couldn't help but smile as she watched nearly all of the nieces and nephews perk up at the proposition of a famed Weasley Quidditch match in the orchard. There were several replies of "Yeah!" and the group where Jackson had been sitting quickly dispersed as the teens hurried to claim a broom and a spot in the match. These days there were plenty of people to fill out 2 full Quidditch teams--adults and children--so there was plenty of rotating and substituting as everyone fought for a spot.

"Are you playing Gin?" Ron asked as he ambled over, his arms now free of the bundle of broomsticks he'd been carrying--save his own.

"Mmmm...not today," she replied with a smirk.

"Scared?" Ron goaded with a grin.

"Yeah...I'm terrified, Ron," Ginny answered sarcastically.

"I knew it..." Ron said with a triumphant nod.

"Actually...I don't want to make anyone look bad," Ginny said smugly. "So I'll leave this game to the amateurs."

"Oooh...Well I'm sorry if I offended the Quidditch Queen," Ron shot back as he grinned over his shoulder and moved away to join the crowd of teens and adults trying to split themselves into fair teams.

Ginny could only smile as her brother walked away. They were both in their mid thirties now with kids of their own, but sometimes it felt like they were kids themselves again--goading, competing and teasing one another over everything.

As the teams were divided up and a fair amount of younger kids, teens and adults were split up, the rest of the crowd that had elected to sit out began to gather around and group their chairs so that they had a good view of the playing field near the orchard. Over the years, Molly and Arthur had been able to acquire more land around the Burrow. It seemed as each new wave of grandchildren arrived for them, another acre was added for their growing family to play and enjoy. These days there was no risk of flying too high or far and being seen by Muggles in the surrounding village--there was ample room for a pitch.

"Is anybody sitting here?" a voice from beside her once more pulled Ginny from thought. She looked to her right to find Anna standing next to the empty chair beside her. The young girl was waiting with an uncertain smile for Ginny's answer.

"No," Ginny said lightly. "I think Fred was sitting there before but he's playing now," she assured Anna as she gestured towards the pitch. "Go ahead and sit. I'll take care of him if he comes back and bothers you," she added with a smile as Anna laughed in relief and sat down.

Soon Hermione, Tonks, Molly, Angelina, Alecia, Remus, Arthur, and Hermione and Ron's youngest daughter, Scarlett, had gathered around, all sitting tight and relaxed while the game began.

As the players took to the air, the Quaffle was thrown up, and the snitch and Bludgers released, Ginny glanced over to find Anna watching the action with rapt attention and a little more excitement than she'd expected. She'd almost asked why Anna hadn't joined the game but realized in the next moment that she couldn't. Anna was a Muggle and could not ride a broom without a wizard or witch taking her up. So far that difference in their relationship and friendship hadn't really come up. But Ginny wondered now if things as simple as Anna not being able to enjoy or partake in Jackson's favorite sport and hobby would someday become a problem...

As Ginny watched Anna, contemplating the new couple, the young girl had noticed Ginny's attention on her.

"Excited?" Ginny asked, hoping to skate over the fact that she'd been staring.

"Actually...very," Anna admitted with a nod and smile. "Jackson talks about the game all the time. He even tried to explain it to me the other day by drawing a diagram...but...I'm still not totally getting it. Flying around on broomsticks is still a bit beyond my comprehension," she added.

"I think Quidditch is something you really have to see in order to believe--if not truly understand," Hermione offered in understanding, having herself been introduced to the game and the wizarding world after years of being oblivious.

"You finally understand it after all these years?" Ginny asked with a playful grin and tone in her voice. Ginny's comment was rewarded with chuckles from those sitting around them that understood Hermione's disinterest in the sport, despite being surrounded by a husband and family that were absolutely crazy about Quidditch.

Hermione herself suppressed a smile and instead rolled her eyes at Ginny before she responded.

"It's not that I don't understand the rules," Hermione explained matter-of-factly. "It's just that I've never quite understood the crazy obsession that some seem to have about it..."

"Don't let her fool you," Tonks said in a low voice as she leaned in towards Anna and Ginny. "She's just sore because she's always been rubbish on a broom," she continued with a laugh as Hermione had turned away from the conversation and was now talking with Arthur and Remus about something that was sure to be Ministry related.

Ginny chuckled, not able to remember the last time they actually succeeded in getting Hermione up on a broom. It had been a few years since they'd coaxed her into playing.

Quiet, comfortable chatter fell over the little group and Ginny settled back and began to watch the match in earnest.

While it was quite entertaining to watch her brothers play--each of them trying to relieve their glory days despite the loss of skill and fitness that age had robbed from them--Ginny was most interested in the teenagers playing. Many of them played for their house teams and most of them were quite skilled.

Reed and Ethan, Ron and Hermione's oldest twin sons were beaters on the Gryffindor house team. And Fred's daughter Jayde and George's daughter Eliza were both Chasers on that same team. Remus and Tonks's son John and daughter Orelia were both members of the Hufflepuff team--John the Keeper and Orelia a Chaser. And Bill's eldest, Victoire was the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team.

Jackson was of course, the Seeker for the Gryffindor house team. He'd been on the team since his 2nd year and for the last 3 years he'd led the Gryffindors to victory and claim of the Hogwarts Quidditch cup.

Jackson, who had been on a broom since a young age, seemed to fly effortlessly and gracefully. Yet there was a danger and an edge to the way he flew--a careful balance of calculated precision and reckless abandon in every move. Ginny had to admit that sometimes it was mesmerizing watching her eldest son fly--so much so that at times it was easy to forget exactly which raven haired teenager she was watching...

"Oh my God," Anna gasped suddenly, drawing Ginny's attention. "What is he doing?" she added in confusion as she pointed towards a dark streak that seemed to be falling against the afternoon sky.

"Feinting," Ginny said with a smile as she watched Jackson taking a direct nosedive towards the ground.

"What?" Anna replied, still flummoxed.

"He's making Victoire think he's seen the Snitch--which they need to catch in order to win," Ginny explained. "He's trying to throw her off. He hasn't actually seen it," she finished, watching as Victoire joined in on the chase and took the bait.

They watched as the two streaked towards the ground at what seemed like breakneck speed, Victoire hurrying to keep the pace with her cousin as he plummeted towards the earth.

Ginny threw a sideways look at Anna, who with a hand covering her mouth, was sitting on pins and needles as she watched the scene before her.

Ginny glanced up in time to see Jackson pull out of the dive gracefully only a few foot or two from the ground. He steered away almost effortlessly and began his slow ascent upward back towards the action with a grin on his face. Victoire was not so lucky and she only barely only managed not to crash full force into the ground. Sticking her feet out and catching the ground, she was forced to skid along for a few moments before she was able to pull herself to a stop.

"How did he--?" Anna said in amazement as she trailed off.

"He's good, isn't he?" Tonks offered and Anna had no choice but to nod in agreement.

"Nearly as good as his mum was," Angelina chimed in with a smile and Ginny was forced to shake her head, trying to blush in embarrassment.

"No. He's a much better flyer than I ever was," Ginny said truthfully and humbly. "Plus he's got those long arms he uses to snatch things out of the air that I would have killed for."

"Don't be modest, Miss Professional Quidditch Star," Tonks added in. "You were good."

"You played professionally?" Anna asked with interest.

Ginny nodded.

"For a few years--after Jackson was born and before I had Alex," Ginny clarified. "It was something that I'd always wanted and the opportunity arose. I got my few good years in and then I retired to be a mom and write."

"That's really cool," Anna replied sincerely.

"Thank you," Ginny replied with a smile.

"Doesn't Jackson have a couple of offers to play?" Alecia asked.

"He did," Ginny admitted. "The Tornadoes, The Cannons, and Puddlemere United all offered him tryouts--but he chose the Auror academy instead."

"So he'd decided for sure now?" Arthur asked with interest.

"Yeah," she replied. "We had a talk earlier in the summer about things and he's pretty set on it. And since he got the early acceptance--Auror training is what he talks about when he mentions his future after graduation."

"Well it is what he's wanted to be since he was little," Hermione offered. "Since he found out that an Auror was what Harry wanted to be."

"If that's the case--Jackson has just as much a chance to play professional Quidditch," Tonks interjected. "Harry was a good player. That kid could fly. And no doubt that Jackson got some of that talent on the field from him too."

Ginny could only nod as Tonks spoke and there were murmurs of agreement from the group.

A heavy weight always seemed to settle on Ginny's chest when there was talk about what Harry wanted to be or would've been. However nice it was to imagine or dream about the possibilities--there was still the fact that Harry couldn't be and wasn't. He was gone and had never gotten the chance.

"I think Jackson's choice to be an Auror has more to do with him genuinely wanting to help people than taking after his dad," Ginny admitted quietly.

There was a little bit of silence following Ginny's words and she wondered if they were all thinking that perhaps talking about Harry had upset her.

"Did he--Jackson's dad--play professionally?" Anna asked amidst the quiet, uncertain that her question was appropriate.

"No," Ginny replied as light as she could manage. "He played at school--and--he probably could have played after. I don't think he ever wanted to be anything other than an Auror, really though. But he--he died before any of that could be decided..."

"I'm sorry," Anna replied quietly. "I shouldn't pry..."

"Don't be," Ginny assured her with a warm smile. "And don't be afraid to ask questions about things here."

Anna looked a little relieved and perhaps it was that which prompted her to speak again.

"It's just that--Jackson never really talks about him," Anna admitted. "I mean, not that he hasn't told me some things. I know that he died before Jackson was born--in a war..." Anna continued, her last statement containing a bit of confirmation that she'd remembered right. Ginny nodded. "But nothing really more specific."

"I understand why he doesn't. I mean--I know how he feels somewhat with me losing my mum when I was little. Sometimes...you just don't want to talk about things," Anna added. "That's why I've never really pressed him to talk more..."

"I do sort of find it a bit odd that he hasn't talked more," Hermione added questioningly. "He does know quite a bit about Harry and usually he has no problem asking and discussing things about him."

"It bothers him more than he lets on," Ginny said simply. "He's pretty good at handling it when people come up to him and want to talk about Harry. But I know as he's gotten older--he's gotten more aware of what not having Harry all these years has meant for him."

"It may affect him--as one would expect it should," Molly interjected this time. "But I've always been impressed and proud of how Jackson does handle himself--especially being more in the spotlight because of whose son he is."

Ginny nodded in agreement as did most of the people sitting around them. But as she looked to her right, she caught sight of Anna's slightly confused expression as she digested the meaning of Molly's last words.

But before Anna could perhaps ask another question about Harry and what Molly had meant, there was a great cheer from the pitch. Someone had won already.

The mass of flying figures that had been playing started making their way back to the ground and the long, lanky figure holding his arm aloft and clutching the struggling snitch in his right hand.

Jackson had caught the snitch after only about 10 minutes. And although Victoire was 2 years younger, she was still a very good Seeker in her own right--so the fact that Jackson had been victorious so quickly was impressive.

Slowly some of the flyers began making their way back towards the chairs. The snitch was released once more and those who had sat out that first game quickly flew up into the air to take the places of those departing the first round of games.

“Good catch Jackson,” Arthur offered as his grandson approached the group.

“Thanks,” he replied as a hand was offered in congratulations and he accepted the light hand shake as he passed by on his way over towards his mum and girlfriend.

“How’d you like it?” Jackson asked with a grin as he swooped down to give Anna a quick hug.

“That was absolutely–mad,” Anna replied with a smile of her own as he pulled away. “The way you were flying and diving–you’re absolutely brilliant–but crazy,” she finished in a breathless sort of amazement.

Jackson’s grin only grew wider and he flushed slightly at her words.

“Be careful now,” a voice from behind them interrupted and Ginny looked up to see that Fred had joined the group again. He took a quick swig of water from his cup and then smiled wickedly at his nephew. “Any more praise and I think the bloke’s grin might actually stretch past his ears. And we wouldn’t want to break that handsome face of his, would we?”

Fred’s comment earned him a whispered admonishment from his wife sitting next to him and Jackson flushed a different sort of red from embarrassment. Anna, Ginny, and Tonks just laughed.

After a few moments it seemed as though Jackson had composed himself from his embarrassment and turned again to talk to Anna.

“Do you want to come and get a little bit closer look at the game?” Jackson asked her as he gestured over his shoulder towards the pitch. “I’m probably not going to play for a few more rounds and maybe I could take you on a little broom ride while we wait?” he asked quietly, scratching at the side of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

“I–I can fly too?” she asked, surprised to learn that she might have the chance to experience something that only a few minutes ago seemed totally beyond her reach.

“Yeah–if you ride with me,” Jackson assured her. “And I promise–I won’t go to high or fast. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he added with a nod.

“Yeah–I would love to. That would be amazing,” she replied. “But–I think I’m going to use the loo first. If that’s ok?”

“Yeah–I’ll wait down there for you,” he replied as he gestured towards the pitch. “Just come on down and join us when you’re done.”

“Ok,” she replied with an eager nod as she stood up. Jackson leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

There were a few wolf-whistles and jeering cheers from his uncles, and the women sitting around all exchanged looks and knowing smiles as she two teens broke apart and Jackson cast an embarrassed look at them all. Swiftly, he and Anna turned to leave.

---------------------------------------------------------


Levitating the last of the dirty dishes into the kitchen, Hermione sighed as she settled the tower of plates next to the sink with a wave of her wand. The new stack joined the others that had already been brought in and were being washed by a charmed brush that was hovering and dipping between mid-air and the soapy water. Hermione leaned back against the counter and took a moment to rest.

Today had been a fun day. Sure, it had been exhausting with having to set things up and the rush of excitement and constant action that came with hosting a party with a bunch of teenagers and the Weasley brothers. But it was days like this that Hermione always looked forward to. Parties and holidays were always a raucous affair--but moreover, it was a time when they could all be together as the big crazy family they'd grown into over the years. This is what they'd fought for, and some of them had died for--a wonderful future full of marriages, babies and birthdays.

But today had also been a tad bittersweet and that near constant reminder of loss that had always been in the background these last 17 odd years was made all the more prominent even in a time of happiness. Jackson's 17th birthday was a celebration of what had been won in the war against Voldemort. He was one of the first of the new generation that didn't have to worry about fighting and battling evil. He'd grown up in a world that--while still healing--was vastly more full of hope and light than the previous.

But he was also, in some ways, a symbol for what they'd given up in exchange for this future. Like everyone else, she saw so much of Harry in her nephew--not only in looks, but in mannerisms and personality. Sometimes she'd catch herself watching him and it brought back so many memories of her old friend. And there had been many times that she'd wished that Harry was there to watch his son grow--to be there as a dad and do all those things he hadn't gotten to. Just as she'd been sure that Ron would be--she knew Harry would've been a great dad and so proud of his son.

Stifling a yawn, Hermione roused herself from her thought of the past and walked from the kitchen into the hallway, hoping to be able to duck into the loo before the next round of kids was finished playing and decided it would be time for a mass bathroom break. But as she made her way past the doorway of the sitting room, she was momentarily distracted by the figure she caught from the corner of her eye. Taking a step backwards, Hermione stood at the doorway as she silently watched the young woman who was focused intently on the mess of pictures and frames littering the mantle over the fireplace.

Anna seemed to be very interested in the moving pictures of children, weddings, and parties that were waving down at her and smiling from their frames.

Hermione very much liked Anna--as did everyone else in the family. They'd met her a few times over the years as she had been Jackson's friend from primary school, but this had been the first time she had met the entire family and the first time any of them had seen her since she had begun dating him.

She had seemed a little overwhelmed at different times during the day. Hermione really couldn't blame her. She reckoned that it was not only enough sensory overload with all the magic being used and magical things around the Burrow--but the Weasley family itself was a massive force to be reckoned with. Anna had survived both Fred and George so far and had even handled the attention and mollycoddling of the matriarch of the Weasley family herself.

No, Anna would be just fine and Hermione sincerely hoped that she and Jackson would last. She was certainly a million times better than the last girlfriend he’d had. The overbearing blonde had conjured up past images of another overzealous teenage girl who had clung to her own husband like some blood-sucking leach. Truth be told, the entire family had breathed a sigh of relief when they were informed that Laura would not be making any more appearances.

With the last few moments filled with the thoughts going through her mind, Hermione had forgotten that she had been watching Anna as she surveyed the photographs. It was when the younger girl looked up and noticed Hermione’s attention that they both startled.

I probably shouldn't be in here by myself, should I?" Anna spoke first, sounding a bit worried that her lingering in the sitting room was somehow inappropriate.

"Oh...no. It's perfectly alright," Hermione assured her as she moved into the room towards the fireplace to stand next to the younger woman. "I just wasn't aware that anyone else was up here in the house. You're more than welcome here Anna," she added with a smile.

"I came up here to use the bathroom and I got a bit distracted looking at all these pictures," Anna admitted, glancing once more at the figures moving and twirling in their frames.

"It's the way they seem to interact with you that gets you," Hermione admitted. "I remember the first time I saw wizarding photos...it can be quite mesmerizing. It's almost as if there's a bit of a person inside of the photograph that captures them perfectly."

Anna nodded her agreement.

"I suppose it helps in recalling good memories and moments," Hermione continued wistfully, surveying the photos herself. She hadn't taken a good look at a lot of these in a while. Some of them were quite old.

"Especially...with the people we've lost over the years," she finished.

The two took a few moments to continue looking at the pictures. It was Anna who broke the silence.

"Is this...Jackson?" Anna asked in an amused sort of confusion as she pointed towards a picture near the back that sat in a simple black frame.

Hermione took a step towards the mantle and craned her neck slightly to see which photograph Anna was looking at. It was indeed a photo of a tall, lanky teenager with a mop of messy black hair. It was easy enough to assume it was Jackson...

"No," Hermione replied as she reached for the frame and lifted it from the mantel to get a closer look. As she brought the picture to herself, the young man in it smiled and waved at her, his brilliant green eyes dazzling from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

"That's Harry...Jackson's dad," Hermione added, touching the glass lightly with her fingertips.

"Oh. I didn't think Jackson wore glasses," Anna admitted. "But...they do look so much alike," she added in amazement.

"I know," Hermione agreed, still watching the photo-likeness of her old friend in the frame. "We say all the time that he looks like his dad...but he really does."

"How old is he in this picture?" Anna asked.

"Probably just a little bit younger than Jackson is now," Hermione said after a moment of thought about placing the picture. "Maybe 16...or...maybe even right after he turned 17 that summer," Hermione added, trying to remember anything about his appearance that would place Harry's exact age.

"How old was he when he died?" Anna asked quietly.

"Just a few months after he'd turned 18," Hermione replied with a sad smile and a sigh as the photo Harry continued to smile at her.

"18?" Anna repeated in quiet disbelief. "Wow...that's just...really young."

"It is...too young," Hermione agreed heavily.

"And he was fighting in a war?" Anna asked.

"We all were," Hermione replied. "We were all fighting against a dark wizard who was hell-bent on destroying everything in our world that was good and right. Harry was involved more-so than the rest of us…there were things beyond any of our control that pushed him to the fore-front of the fight,” she added, hoping that Anna wouldn’t ask for a more detailed explanation of the prophecy and how fate had made Harry, The Chosen One.

“And he gave up everything,” Hermione added sadly. “He gave up his life, to save us all; So that the rest of us could go on.”

“And he didn’t know about Jackson?” Anna asked breathlessly.

Hermione shook her head.

“Like you said…they were young,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Ginny was 17 and I can only assume that they were caught up in the unknown of the moment and the war–not knowing what the future looked like or even if there would be one. And it wasn’t 'till a few weeks after he’d died that Ginny found out she was expecting. So Harry never knew he was going to be a father…”

A few moments of silence passed between the two women as Hermione’s last words digested. Hermione wondered what the young woman was thinking and how much more confused she must have just made her by giving her the briefest summary of the second war ever.
Anna finally let out a long breath, manifesting her sentiments of the situation in one simple gesture.

“It’s…a lot to fathom,” Anna admitted. “There are so many things I want to ask…but, I’m not sure some of them would be appropriate.”

“Not only is magic real…but…there’s this whole other world that I’m just trying to scrape the surface of understanding,” Anna continued before Hermione could interject. “And then there was this war that was going on and the rest of the world carried on oblivious to it. It just all seems beyond comprehension.”

“It did affect the non-magical world,” Hermione replied. “There were disasters and murders outside the wizarding world that went on that were given other, more believable explanations at the time. The war was not only fought to preserve our way of life–but to also, I suppose, to protect that barrier between magical and non-magical peoples. We fought so that the rest of the world could continue carrying on, oblivious to the fact that there was an evil wizard who wanted nothing more than to eradicate and exterminate anyone not of pure magical blood–regardless of whether you were a magical or not.”

“I want to know more,” Anna admitted. “I…I want to be let into that side of Jackson’s life. I know how he is with me when we’re at his house, or mine or even just out in public. But besides being here with all of you…or even what he shares with me…I know there’s more and there are things he downplays regarding being a wizard. I just want to understand, I guess…”

“I was a lot like that at your age,” Hermione said with a smile, knowing that if Ron were here right now, he’d probably tell her that she was still very much like that. “I always wanted to know everything–to understand the incomprehensible. But as I got older, I think I’ve come to realize that there is so much that you can’t get your mind around–especially in this world. Sometimes…you just have to believe in it and go with it.”

Anna nodded, but from the way she continued to survey the photographs with an uneasiness, Hermione knew that Anna was not satisfied with the last answer.

“But…I have something that may answer some things for you,” Hermione said as a sudden idea sprang to mind. “Perhaps give you a better understanding of some of the history…” she added as she waved her wand simply in the air towards the doorway.

Anna watched the gesture with a confused curiosity, as nothing seemed to have happened. But it was only seconds later that something zoomed in through the doorway and Hermione deftly caught the large book as it stopped in mid-air before her.

Smiling, Hermione handed the book over to Anna, who took it cautiously.

“ It’s A History of Magic,” Hermione added, even as the younger girl traced a finger over the raised letters that made up the title of the book. “It actually goes back quite far…but the later chapters are more recent and might fill in some of those blanks you have.”

“I can borrow this?” Anna asked in confirmation as she cracked open the front cover and began perusing the chapter table of contents.

“You can have that copy,” Hermione reassured her and Anna looked up surprised. “We’ve got more than one around here anyway," she added with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you," Anna replied, paging through the leather-bound tome. "I think this'll really help."

"And remember...if you have any other questions, we're all here to answer things," Hermione reminded Anna before she left the sitting room and proceeded to the loo.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"There you are," a voice said from behind her, startling Anna from her preoccupation. She turned to look over her shoulder just as two strong arms wrapped themselves around her and a thorough kiss was placed upon her lips before she could resist.

"Hi," she said breathlessly as Jackson slid in behind her and pulled her to him and onto his lap.

"I was wondering where you went to," Jackson continued as he but his face against her hair and breathed in deeply. "You didn't come back to the pitch to watch and I was hoping to give you that broom ride," he added quietly.

"I'm sorry," Anna apologized as she closed the book she had been so occupied with. After she had come up to the house to use the bathroom and then had had a conversation with his aunt, she had sat down in the sitting room and begun to skim through the A History of Magic copy she'd been given. There had been so much information and it had been so intriguing that she had apparently lost track of just how much time had elapsed.

"So I've lost your attention to a book, now?" Jackson asked aloud, clearly amused by his girlfriend's bookish behavior.

"No--I mean--I didn't realize I'd been gone that long," Anna sputtered. "You're Aunt gave me it to look at and I guess I just lost track of time," she explained.

"My Aunt Hermione?" Jackson inquired knowingly. Anna nodded.

"Yeah, she's pretty big into books. It's kind of her thing..." Jackson told her. "She's written some and edited some others. Is that one of her's?" he asked as he reached for the leather bound book that Anna had turned over in her lap.

Before she could resist or keep him from taking it, he had flipped it over to reveal the title.

"Why are you reading this?" Jackson asked sounding slightly ruffled.

"You're aunt thought it might answer some questions," Anna replied quietly. "Give me a little bit more information about your world..."

Jackson was silent for a moment.

"You could just ask me if you have questions," Jackson replied quietly. Anna could feel him stiffen up and pull away slightly, as if this conversation and the fact that she was interested in this book had upset him.

"I know. But maybe there are some things you don't feel comfortable talking to me about..." she replied gently.

"Yeah...but still--you don't have to go to some book for that," he replied, sounding slightly pouty about the whole situation.

"Have you read this?" Anna asked him.

"Some of it," he answered after a few seconds. "We have to for school."

"And it's true?" Anna asked.

"Which bits?" Jackson asked, sounding slightly annoyed at the question.

“This last stuff...about the war and..." Anna replied, trailing off.

"My family," Jackson finished for her. It was a statement, not a question.

Anna nodded.

"Yeah...pretty much," Jackson answered her. "My Aunt made sure they got the parts about the war right and they didn't embellish anything."

Anna was quiet for a moment before she spoke again.

“So your dad...” Anna began, but Jackson cut her off.

“Was a hero. Yeah,” he replied. “He's the reason we're all free from all the bad things that Voldemort and his followers were doing–murdering people and trying to take everything over. There was a prophecy that pinned him as the only one who could end it–and he died doing it.”

The two were quiet for another whole minute.

“So why did me reading this, make you so upset?” Anna asked as she turned to face him completely. Jackson did not look surprised at her question, instead he was staring off beyond her, looking quite sullen and brooding.

He swallowed before answering her quietly.

“I–just--” he began, unable to verbalize his thoughts initially. “I didn't–want--you to think differently of me...”

“What?” Anna blurted out in confusion.

“Why–why would you think I would--?” Anna continued as she recovered from her confusion, but Jackson broke in.

“Because everybody else does,” Jackson said forcefully as he locked eyes with Anna. His green eyes were dark and intense–but there was also a level of pain there that she had never seen from him before. It scared her.

“To them I'm the son of the great Harry Potter,” Jackson continued on bitterly, gesturing towards the book as if it represented the whole of the wizarding public. “He's The Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Defeated Voldemort....their savior. But I'm the one who has people come up and want to shake my hand, gawk at me, and whisper as I walk by on the street.”

“In my world I have to deal constantly with people reminding me how much I look and act like him,” Jackson said. “I can escape that all when I'm with my friends or here with my family....or with you. But otherwise...people have got all these expectations of who I'm supposed to be. I'm famous because of who my father was...a man I never got to meet.”

As Jackson paused, Anna brought a hand up to his face and gently placed against his cheek. Jackson sighed and seem to melt into her touch.

“I just don't want you to read all that and think any differently of me,” he whispered to her honestly and painfully.

“I promise you....that won't ever happen,” Anna said with all the conviction she could manage as she looked directly into his eyes.

“I know you. And there's nothing that any book could say about you or your family that would change the way I think....or feel about you,” she told him.

“Other witches and wizards–they can think what they want about you being famous and all that,” Anna continued on. “But it doesn't matter to me what they think...I promise you.”

“I know,” Jackson sighed heavily in admittance as his arms pulled her tight to him once more. Most of the tension and the stress that had been in his muscles had relaxed and her assurances seemed to have at least stifled and stilled his qualms for the moment.

“I love what we have,” Jackson whispered as he buried his face in her hair. “And I just–I got scared of it changing. I'm sorry....”

“It's ok,” Anna whispered back. “This isn't going to change by me knowing more...I don't want it to...” she finished as she turned in his lap and looked up at him again.

Jackson nodded.

“Thank you,” Jackson added with a small smile. “For just wanting me to be me....”

Anna nodded in response and without speaking, she leaned upward and bridged the space between them, kissing him gently.

“So I really lost you to a book?” Jackson asked after a few moments of contented silence after they'd broken their kiss. “You'd rather read up than go for a fly with me?” Jackson asked teasingly.

“What's wrong with books?” Anna asked challengingly. Anna would be going to university in the fall and would be studying to be a teacher. Although he doubted that Anna would ever be on the manic level as his Aunt regarding books, he knew that she enjoyed reading and the written word.

“Nothing...” Jackson replied. He, on the other hand, wasn't much of a bookworm at all. “It's just–I assure you that Quidditch and actually flying are much more fun than any old history book,” he added with a smile.

“So it is a universal thing?” Anna asked with a smile. Jackson furrowed his brows in confusion. “Boys and their sports?” Anna replied knowingly. “Unless it's about zooming around at ungodly speeds or a bunch of blokes winning some big match–a book wouldn't be worth reading?”

“I read things....” Jackson replied as he averted his eyes. It was sort of true. He did read for school, but admittedly it wasn't anything he enjoyed and he didn't always read through his school texts diligently and with rapt interest. And he'd read a history this summer–alright, a history on Quidditch–and he had, admittedly, already read it once or twice before.

“ Mhmmm...you said you read this for school,” Anna said with a smile as she held up A History of Magic. “That doesn't count.”

“I'd read this,” Jackson countered as he picked up a medium-sized, hardcover book that was sitting on the side table and brought it to his lap for her to see. It was entitled “Hail” and featured a black and white picture of a man chasing a taxi cab on its front cover.

Anna laughed.

“It's a picture book,” she said as he opened it and found that the first few pages were devoted solely to black and white pictures of people in various street scenes.

“There are words,” Jackson indicated slightly defensive as he turned to the next page that featured an introduction by the author of the book.

Just to tease her, or perhaps prove that he did and could read, he read a few lines of it aloud.

“The street photographer can best be identified not by what they shoot, but why they shoot. Their purpose is to make that discovery, to find a surprise, to give expression to their own curiosity about people and the things that people construct. The best ones are like Zen hunters. I say Zen hunter, because you can't force the unexpected. You can only be open to it,” he finished, and paused to look at Anna.

She was smiling at him.

“And you'd read this?” she asked him curiously as he turned the page. “You're into street photography now?”

“I could be...” he said with a chuckle as he continued turning the pages slowly, taking in the pictures on the page.

He was no artist himself and couldn't claim a real creative bone in his body....but he had to admit, these pictures were amazing. He might not have sought out this book himself, but he certainly didn't mind paging through it.

He was beginning to get the main theme of the book. Every picture featured a street scene in which someone, or many people were hailing a cab on the street. But it wasn't just about that interaction–between cab and passenger. What was going on around those two entities on the street seemed to leap up off the page and give you a snapshot of that exact moment in life for those featured on that section of busy street–what they were feeling and thinking.

“These are quite cool,” Jackson relayed aloud, clearly impressed.

“Who's book is this?” Anna wondered aloud, dually noting that it was slightly odd to find a non-magical photography book in the midst of an overly magical dwelling.

“I think it might be my cousin Nora's,” Jackson replied as he continued to peruse it. “I know her grandparents–my Aunt Hermione's parents–got her a camera and some books for her birthday last week. They're not magical–so this is probably from them.”

They continued on paging through the book, pausing to read some of the commentary that was sprinkled in with the images. The author had included some short stories about some of the more unique pictures and people and how he'd gotten the shot and why he'd decided to capture that particular scene.

When they'd reached the end of the book, Anna quickly read the small biographical blurb about the author and made to close the back cover, but Jackson's steady hand held fast to the back of it, keeping it open.

She thought perhaps he hadn't finished reading and looked up to find him squinting at the page in what she could only read as confused intrigue.

“What?” she inquired as she looked from him to the book. At her question, Jackson's eyes snapped up away from the book and found hers.
“Hmmm?” Jackson murmured in reply, as if he hadn't heard her question clearly.

“I was wondering what was so captivating?” she asked again, smirking at him.

“Nothing,” He replied shaking his head. “I was just finishing reading that...” he added, gesturing to the jacket of the book.

“Oh,” Anna responded with a nod, her eyes once more raking over the paragraph about the author, Evan Smith, who was a famed rock' n' roll photographer turned street photographer and photojournalist who had most recently joined the scholarly ranks as a professor. His biography was accompanied by a small self portrait of himself. He was quite good looking with dark wavy hair that fell playfully over his face and rugged features that were punctuated by high, prominent cheekbones.

“But I'm done now,” he added with a nod as he closed the book and removed it from his lap. He gave her a quick kiss as he placed the book back on the side table.

“Now that we've got in our daily dose of reading....” Anna said teasingly. “Can I go for that fly now?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“If you still want,” Jackson replied wistfully. “I guess....I can take you.”

“You guess?” Anna teased back. “Or am I going to have to find some other wizard to show me how to handle his broomstick?”

Jackson let out a snort and Anna quirked her brow at his reaction.

“That's a double edged sword that one is,” Jackson said with a smile as he struggled to contain his amusement.

“What are you on about?” Anna asked, clearly not understanding that she had insinuated something more. Apparently wizarding slang did not translate the same in all realms of conversation.

“Never mind,” Jackson chuckled, picking her up and causing her to squeak loudly in surprise. “Let's go find you a broomstick to ride.”



A/N: The passage about street photography that Jackson reads is from the blog post "Defining Street Photography" by Dave Beckerman in 2009.

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Chapter 5: Christian's Inferno

Author's Notes: Again I've got to thank Tenorspaz for looking this chapter over for me. And again, for those of you who are gong to ask...yes this is a Ginny/Harry story on a G/H site :)


Chapter 4: Christian's Inferno

“He's certainly grown up nicely, hasn't he?” a voice said from over her shoulder.

Anna jumped and nearly dropped the plate she'd been washing off in the sink. Anna looked up to find her sister Whitney standing behind her, watching her with a smile.

Before Whitney had startled her, Anna had been staring out into the back yard through the window over the sink. She had been mindlessly watching the scene before her through the pane of glass as she'd scrubbed at the pile of plates. Her attention, however, had been focused on the mess of dark hair sitting in the chair farthest away at the edge of the garden.

“Hmmm?” Anna asked as she turned her attention back to her sister.

“I said...Jackson's quite the looker,” Whitney repeated with a smirk. “It's certainly a change from the last time I saw him. He was all arms and legs when I saw him a few years ago.”

“He still is,” Anna said with a smile of her own as she set another clean dish on the counter.

“Yeah...but he's filled out some and is quite handsome now,” Whitney added as she reached for the dish Anna had set down and began drying it. “And you finally reeled him in....”

“I didn't reel him in. It just sort of–happened,” Anna explained as her gaze flickered out the window and she found Jackson again. He was sitting at the edge of a group of a few of her uncles and cousins, looking as though he really wasn't engaged in whatever conversation was going on around him. He didn't look bored, but his attention seemed to be pulled elsewhere as he looked away and at nothing in particular every few moments.

“Well it's about time,” Whitney replied. “It took you two long enough to get on with it even when everyone else saw you had a thing for him. Even Dad cottoned on while you were still oblivious.”

“Everyone?” Anna asked skeptically. “And how is it that you noticed? You haven't seen him in a few years.” she added. Whitney was a couple of years older than Anna and had been abroad most of the last 4 years, going to university in the States and then getting a job in New York. She only made it home a few times a year on holidays and family get-togethers. This time she was home for their cousin Amelia's wedding and their grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary, which today was being celebrated with a party in the back garden of their father's home.

“Well all your letters and emails for the past 3 years have been, 'Jackson this' and 'Jackson that',” Whitney teased. “If you hadn't nailed him down before I came home this time around, I was going to have to step in and fulfill my sisterly duty.”

“Which is?” Anna asked with a smirk.

“To smack you two over the head and tell you to start snogging,” Whitney laughed.

Anna chuckled as she looked out the window once more.

“So…is it serious?” Whitney asked in a more serious tone as the two continued to rinse and dry dishes.

Anna considered the question for a moment as she watched Jackson turn his head towards her Uncle Gordon, who seemed to have asked him something. Jackson simply shook his head in response and then turned his attention back to staring off into the distance without joining the conversation around him.

“I think so...” Anna replied to her sister's question as she pondered her boyfriend's behavior.

“Dad said he thought it was,” Whitney said. “He says you're always hanging with him and he's over here a couple times a week for dinner. He said you two are pretty–close–from what he sees and things seem to be going well...”

“They are...” Anna responded quietly.

“But?” Whitney asked almost knowingly.

Anna looked up to find her sister watching her reactions carefully.

“I don't know,” Anna admitted with a sigh. “Things are good. He's always been my best friend...and now that we're together...he's even more so. He's sweet, attentive, funny–a good kisser and all that–”

“But things aren't great...” Whitney finished.

“Not lately,” Anna admitted, voicing aloud for the first time what she'd been feeling. “He's been different. Watching him now he's quiet and distant,” Anna added, gesturing out the window to where he sat. Whitney followed her sister's gaze.

“He could just be nervous,” Whitney offered. “Meeting our whole family is a little daunting, especially for a new boyfriend.”

“That's not it,” Anna replied. “It's not just today. He's been off for the past few weeks. We'll be perfectly fine for a while and then when we're just relaxing or sitting somewhere–he'll space off and totally flake on being there with me. Sometimes when we talk or I ask him something–it's a one word answer or he shakes or nods his head and brushes me off.”

“Did you ask him if there's anything wrong?” Whitney asked.

“Yeah–a few times,” Anna admitted. “You know me...I don't want to be that pushy, clingy girl who needs to know absolutely everything going on in her boyfriend's mind....but he's just been driving me crazy.”

“What did he say?”

“He gets this confused look on his face that tells me he thinks it's odd that I think there's something wrong with him,” Anna told her sister. “And then he tells me he's fine. It's always 'I'm fine'.”

“The thing is–I want to be with him. But if he won't tell me what's bothering him...” Anna continued. “I'd at least like to know if it's something I did or said...or if there's something if wrong with him or his family...”


“Relationships are complicated,” Whitney admitted. “It's hard to go from friends–like you two have been–to something more.”

“Some bits have been a little strange at first. The whole friendship dynamic changes,” Anna offered.

“And sex can always complicate things. Especially after the first time,” Whitney added.

Anna's head swiveled towards her sister at the insinuation.

“What?” Anna asked as she furrowed her brows.

“Look–I'm not naïve enough to think that my little sister isn't old enough for that. You're in a serious relationship with someone you really care for and are attracted to–it's not altogether unlikely,” Whitney replied. “And sometimes adding that to the relationship can change things–if maybe he wasn't ready...”

“Wait–you think we've--?” Anna cut her sister off from finishing that thought. “This isn't about sex,” Anna stated shaking her head.

“No?” Whitney asked with a raised brow.

“No. We haven't done that,” Anna clarified. “We've gotten pretty–heated–at times. But right now our relationship isn't about shagging.”

“Maybe it is?” Whitney offered. Again Anna turned to look completely confused at her older sister.

“I've just said we haven't--” Anna began.

“Maybe that's the problem?” Whitney asked. “Maybe he wants to–and doesn't know how to ask? You've just said it yourself–some things are a bit odd going from friends to dating. I'm sure that asking you if he can get in your knickers is one thing that might qualify under the weirdness of the changing friendship dynamic...”

Anna looked out the window again at her boyfriend and then back to her sister.

“I don't–I don't think that's it,” Anna said shaking her head. “I mean–Jackson's really not like that...”

“He's a guy,” Whitney cut across. “Believe me–he's like that. No matter how nice and sweet he is–it's something he wants and thinks about.”

Anna couldn't bring herself to agree with her sister's assumption about the situation, but she couldn't totally ignore it either. Something was definitely bothering him and if she couldn't put her finger on the source of his discontent, maybe it was something she hadn't considered before?

Anna looked down at the empty sink filled with dirty dishwater, trying to clarify and bring things together in her mind.

“You two will figure it out,” Whitney assured her, sensing her younger sister's unassuredness. “He's a good bloke...a keeper. No relationship is perfect...they all have their bumps and bruises...”

Anna nodded, but did not respond in any other way. Something was wrong...and she'd just have to figure out a way to get to the bottom of it and fix it.

--------------------------------------

“Hey there,” Anna said quietly as she sank down in the chair next to Jackson. He started from his silent contemplation that had continued even as she'd stopped watching him through the kitchen window.

“Hey,” he responded with a slight smile as he turned towards her. “I wondered where you'd gotten to.”

“I was just helping clean up the dishes,” Anna responded as she reached for his hand that was propped on the nearby arm rest and entwined her fingers with his.

“Can you come with me?” she asked quietly as she leaned in close to him.

Jackson raised his brow in confusion.

“I just want to go somewhere,” she explained.

“You want to go?” Jackson asked, confused.

“No. Not yet,” Anna replied, shaking her head. “I just want to talk for a bit–up in the house.”

Jackson looked away from her, hesitating to answer.

“Okay,” he replied with a nod.

Still holding tight to his hand, they stood from their chairs at the end of the garden and Anna led Jackson back towards the house. They only fielded a few curious looks as they made their way through the garden filled with Anna's relatives and soon reached the back door. Anna led him through the empty kitchen and up the stairs to the second level where her bedroom was. She didn't look back to gauge Jackson's reaction as they marched through the house.

Finally, when they'd reached their destination, Anna pushed open her bedroom door and led Jackson in, shutting it behind them and leaving them totally alone and in half darkness.

“Anna...what is this ab--” he began to ask, but she cut him off.

“Just–sit,” she ordered, pointing to her bed.

He hesitated for a moment, looking as though he was unsure of whether he wanted to obey or bolt. But slowly he turned and sat down at the edge of her bed, waiting for her to go on.

Anna turned away from him for just a moment, wondering briefly to herself if she wanted to proceed with the questions she had in mind. Did she really want to confront him like this?

Swallowing heavily and steeling her resolve, Anna turned back to face him as he sat there, waiting anxiously for her to speak.

-------------------------------------------------

Jackson was nervous.

He knew Anna wasn't happy with him. He'd seen the frustration in her eyes long before she'd approached him in the garden and brought him up here.

Truth be told, he'd been a right awful boyfriend as of late. He knew he'd been off and distant lately–but he couldn't seem to help it. He'd had a lot on his mind and a lot distracting him.

He knew she was mad and he expected her to go off on him. He deserved it.

He watched her back as she stood facing away from him. He couldn't see the expression on her face, but he could see the tension in the way she stood.

Jackson seemed to hold his breath as he waited for the storm to break.

And then Anna turned to face him.

Her eyes caught his and locked on as she walked towards him slowly and quite deliberately. Each step seemed agonizingly slow as she bridged the distance between herself and where he sat on the bed.

And then as she walked, Anna brought a hand up to her collar, her slender fingers deftly working the top button of her shirt. Once that one was open, her fingers slid down and quickly maneuvered the next. She stopped her advancement only as she reached the foot of the bed, standing in the space between Jackson's knees, just inches from him.

Jackson could only watch on in awe-some fascination as his girlfriend undressed before him, every button conquered, another bit of perfect skin revealed. Every part of his body was fully aware of the scene before him and his blood was thundering in his ears as it raced towards another destination.

He'd had dreams like this, yes. Ones in which pretty brunettes paraded around in naught more than where Anna was heading now. But he never could have imagined in his short life that this would really be happening. He had hoped–but this was all too much.

He still couldn't believe this was going on, even as the delicate purple lace of Anna's bra was revealed in full, followed by the taught plane of her stomach as her shirt was pulled open.

And he damn near lost it when she took both his hands, which had been resting on the bed on either side of him before now, and placed them on her bare sides–the delicate, smooth skin taunting him so much. He couldn't keep his fingers from drawing circles against her skin as he swallowed heavily.

He wanted so much to touch her, to reach forward and kiss her, taste her. She was right here; open before him to do what his hormones were pressing him to.

But hadn't it only been a minute ago that the atmosphere had indicated that she had wanted to rip his head off–not their clothes? She had been mad at him and now she was standing before him, practically topless, allowing him to openly ogle.

Something was wrong here....

------------------------------------------

Anna watched on in nervous anticipation as Jackson surveyed her. His hands were warm against her skin and his touch was feather-light as his fingers circled the skin above her hips. The expression on his face was a mixture of awe and admiration, which made her tremble slightly and feel her own arousal building low in her belly.

The way he looked at her always made her melt and feel more womanly and sexier than she'd ever felt before. This time was no different and she very much wanted him to kiss her and pull her bare skin close to his.

As she watched Jackson's eyes rake over her, he swallowed heavily and then seemed to blink markedly while shaking his head nearly imperceptibly.

His fingers stopped moving against her skin and his eyes dropped downward.

Not understanding his sudden reaction, Anna reached down and placed her own hands upon his and slowly moved them up her sides.

----------------------------------------------

Jackson was shocked back from contemplation as Anna grabbed his hands and moved them upward. And he nearly stopped breathing altogether as the upward progress of his hands stopped firmly on the purple lace of her bra, her own hands holding his in place as they covered her.

In any other situation, this would be absolute heaven for him. But this wasn't that kind of situation and he had to concentrate with all his being and the remaining blood in his brain to take hold of himself again.

“Anna, stop,” he croaked. His voice was uneven and strained as he tore both his gaze and his hands away from her chest as if burned.

As he lowered his hands, they found the sides of her open shirt. He grabbed both ends of the open blouse and brought together the first of the tiny buttons. As soon as he had fastened the first, his fingers moved upward towards the next.

“Don't!” Anna yelled at him as she pulled her shirt out of his grip and spun around, away from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked desperately as she stood with her back to him again. This time she was shaking as she stood with her arms wrapped around her chest.

“Anna--” Jackson whispered pleadingly as he got up from the bed and moved to stand behind her. He went to place a hand on her shoulder but she stepped away from him violently, leaving him to stand there with his hands dangling uselessly at his sides as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“I don't understand you,” Anna whispered in a broken voice as she shook her head and turned to face him.

Jackson just stood there dumbfounded, unable to find any words to voice his own confusion.

“You've been ignoring me and staring off into space these past few weeks–acting completely off,” Anna continued, desperation in her voice. “And then when I go and practically throw myself at you, you can't even touch me. You act like you don't want me.”

“Anna--” He began rather stupidly again, but she cut him off as she continued her rant.

“So what is it, Jackson?” she asked as she looked at him, her expression lost and confused. “If you don't want this anymore…If you've decided you're not interested in me like that, or I've done or said something to push you away–just tell me. That way we can fix it or–or at least I'll know...”

“Anna, it’s...it’s not you–it's–” he began, wanting to explain himself and keep her from thinking the worst. She really thought she was the one who'd screwed this up...

But before he could, she stopped him as her voice reached an even higher pitch.

“Don't you dare say 'it's not you, it's me',” she yelled at him, causing Jackson to flinch. “I swear if those words leave your lips--” she shouted at him and then trailed off as she failed to find words to finish her threat.

“Don't give me some lame excuse and some shit about you not knowing--” Anna continued, looking and sounding as though she were building up to another level of anger. But Jackson decided to head her off before he lost his chance again.

“For Merlin's sake! Will you just shut up and bloody listen to me for one minute?” Jackson shouted back at her, causing Anna to shut up mid-sentence and raise a brow at his tone.

“Merlin's sake?” Anna blurted out, sounding a bit amused.

“For God's sake, for Merlin's sake–whatever. Same thing,” Jackson replied shaking his head in exasperation.

“I was going to say–it isn't you, it's me,” Jackson continued when Anna remained quiet. “It really is me that's got this whole thing messed up.”

Anna still looked her confusion.

“You and I–us–we're perfectly fine,” Jackson continued. “You haven't done anything. You've been amazing as always.”

“Then what--” Anna began, but Jackson held up a hand to silence her. He needed to get this out.

“And of course I want you. Not only are you smart, amazingly funny and my best friend–but you're absolutely gorgeous,” Jackson added, not failing to notice that her shirt was still ¾ of the way unbuttoned. “You have no idea how bloody maddening it can be sometimes for me,” he added with a hint of a wry grin.

“I thought that might be the problem...” Anna said in a small voice.

“It can be a problem,” Jackson replied, earning a slightly shocked look from Anna. “But not a bad one or unwelcome one. And certainly not this problem,” he added with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“I absolutely still feel the same way about you that I have since we started going out,” Jackson reassured her as he took a step closer to her and closed the distance between them.

He wanted her to look up at him; to look into his eyes and know that he was telling the truth.

“This–us–is even more amazing than ever,” Jackson said quietly. “And I still love you. That hasn't changed.”

Jackson expected Anna to speak, and perhaps question him. But she stayed silent and surveyed him with an expression of curiosity.

And then he realized what he'd said.

He had thought it many times–wondered if it was really what he'd been feeling for Anna. And he'd nearly said it a few times before. But now that he had–even though he hadn't planned on it–he realized fully that it was true.

“I love you too,” she said quietly as a small smirk played at her lips.

'So much for fearing her reaction...' Jackson thought to himself as he returned the smile–his a bit more coy and crooked.

“So it isn't you,” Jackson said quietly.

“Then what's bothering you?” Anna asked. “Is there something going on at home or--”

“No,” Jackson said shaking his head. “Everyone and everything is fine there,” he replied simply.

“I want you to be able to tell me everything,” Anna pleaded with him once more. “No matter what it is...or even if I won't understand if it's something to do with magic or wizards...I want to know what's going on with you.”

“You'll think I'm crazy,” Jackson stated seriously as he shook his head.

------------------------------------------
Anna wanted to smile at the assuredness in his own craziness, but she stayed collected.

“No I won't,” Anna told him. “I've told you before...there isn't anything you could do that would make me think differently of you.”

“No. You will,” Jackson rebuffed her, shaking his head and running a hand through his dark locks, messing them up further. “Because I think I'm certifiably nuts.”

“What?” Anna asked, not understanding his insistence on questioning the stability of his own sanity.

“I–I really think I'm losing it, Anna,” Jackson admitted aloud. “I've been driving myself crazy thinking about something and it's been affecting everything–apparently even us.”

“Jackson–you still haven't told me anything,” Anna interjected. “I still don't know what you're--” she continued, but stopped as she watched Jackson reach into the pocket of his shorts and produce a small, slightly crumpled bit of paper.

He unfolded it and held it out for her to take.

As soon as it had passed from his hand into hers, Jackson looked away as though bracing himself for a reaction that was going to reinforce his own assertion that he was crazy.

Anna calmly and carefully smoothed out the crinkled scrap of paper in her hand before looking at it clearly.

She instantly recognized the bit of paper, but was none the clearer as to why this was bothering Jackson. The paper had been seemingly and haphazardly torn from a book–one that she'd had her hands on a few weeks ago. Part of the text had been ripped in the attempt of removing it, but she recognized the photograph of the same dark-haired man who'd written the book.

Anna looked up from the paper in her hand to find Jackson watching for her reaction.

“So...” Jackson pressed, wanting to know her own conclusions.

“I–I don't know what you're getting at,” Anna admitted, looking back down at the paper in her hand.

Jackson looked confused and slightly frustrated at the fact that she didn't share the same concern over the ripped page as he had.

“That bloke looks like me, right?” Jackson asked hopefully. “Or I look like him?”

Before answering, Anna looked back down at the page and took a closer look at the man in the photograph.

“Yeah...he does,” Anna admitted, noting the same high cheekbones, dark messy hair and stark green eyes of both men.

Jackson looked at her as though that admittance was to be the spark of some big revelation–but Anna continued to struggle.

“So...do you think this man is supposed to be some...long lost uncle or cousin or something?” she asked, reaching for anything that might hit the mark, or at least placate him.

“No,” Jackson replied shaking his head a bit exasperatedly. “You've met all my uncles–they're all my Mum's brothers. All the family I've got alive are on the Weasley side–mostly all red-haired and freckled.”

Anna furrowed her brow in confusion at Jackson's revelation. He was claiming an uncanny resemblance to this man, but there wasn't a possibility of relation. Just what was he getting at?

Anna shook her head in confusion and admittance that she didn't know what he was trying to tell her.

“How old do you think he is?” Jackson asked, moving closer to Anna and gesturing towards the paper.

“I dunno–thirties?” she ventured a guess after surveying the picture again.

“Yeah–I thought mid-thirties,” Jackson told her.

“Jackson--”

“And he'd be thirty-six now...” Jackson muttered, almost to himself.

“Who?” Anna questioned a little louder than she'd intended.

He looked at her, biting the inside of his lip.

“Jackson--” Anna pleaded once more insistently. And she was surprised at both his quick, willing response and with the fervor with which he spoke.

“There was never any body found,” Jackson blurted out. “They said there was only charred earth and ash left when it was all over. But nothing to indicate he'd even been there. The spell they used was so powerful that everything was incinerated and nothing was left–no shred of clothes or fragment of bones–nothing,” Jackson continued boldly and desperately.

“There wasn't anything to bury,” Jackson continued. “I go and visit a box in the ground with a few clothes and pictures in it a few times a year. His grave is just a headstone with an empty coffin filled with a bunch of his things...”

Anna looked at Jackson–took in the pain and the confusion in his own face–and knew what he was getting at and what he was talking about.

The idea itself was ludicrous and from what she knew–completely impossible. But the look on Jackson's face and the weeks of his distant behavior told her otherwise.

“You–you think this is your–dad?” Anna asked quietly and what she hoped was not a judgmental tone in any way.

Jackson looked down for a moment and then nodded slowly.

“Told you you'd think I was crazy,” he sighed out.

She didn't think he was crazy–but she didn't know what it said about the complete soundness of his mind either.

“I don't think you're crazy,” she reiterated. “But–I mean–your dad died,” she continued, cringing at the lameness of her statement.

“I know that,” Jackson admitted. “You know that. My family knows that. The whole world knows it,” Jackson went on. “But there's a bit of me–this small annoying part of my brain that keeps telling me that maybe it didn't happen that way...”

“I keep looking at the picture–trying to find anything that'll ease my mind. I keep trying to find something that'll refute all these crazy ideas flying around my head and put me at ease,” Jackson continued. “I want something that'll tell me I'm wrong and all this distraction and contemplation is just my overactive imagination.”

“I can't explain it–but for some reason–this picture of some American photographer bloke is driving me absolutely insane and making me think that my long-dead father is impossibly alive,” Jackson said shaking his head. “I want it to stop–but I just can't leave it alone...”

Part of Anna wanted to spout some psychological nonsense about this perhaps being a latent and long-subdued reaction to the loss of his dad–something he didn't get to express when he was younger. She had bouts now and again where she herself struggled with the absence of her own mother. But she knew it wouldn't help. And she knew how well-adjusted Jackson was in regards to the subject.

“Maybe we can look this–Evan Smith–up?” Anna asked. “If he's done a book–he's famous enough. Maybe we can find some information on him?” she added as she moved towards her computer and desk. They should be able to look him up online.

“I've tried,” Jackson admitted. Anna looked up a bit shocked as she sat down at her desk and Jackson followed to stand behind her.

“I went to the library about a week ago,” he explained. “I did a little bit of looking on the...internet,” he added, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

“You know how to use a computer?” Anna blurted out before she could stop herself. She knew he had a television and land-line telephone at home–but no computer. It was always letter writing or telephone calls. It hadn't been that long ago when she'd teased him about his inability to work a cellular phone properly. He didn't have one of those either...

“A little,” he admitted sheepishly. “Barely,” he added in clarification. “My Aunt Hermione has one and I’ve been over a couple of times when her kids used it–to play games and stuff.”

“Oh,” Anna replied quietly as she turned on the monitor and started up the desktop. “So what did you find when you were looking?” Anna asked as she clicked to connect to the internet.

“Not much,” Jackson told her as he watched the screen change and the browser pop up. “Like I said–I'm not good with computers at all. I had to have some lady working at the library to help me to turn it on and get on it and all that. And then I think it took me about 5 minutes to type in his name,” Jackson added, hiding a bit of a smile as he amused even himself with his own technological ineptness.

Anna thought it was cute.

“I did end up finding one site that was about him,” Jackson told her. “There were biographies of other photographers...”

“Anything interesting?” Anna asked.

“His wasn't as extensive as all the other ones,” Jackson admitted. “All the others talked about where and how they grew up, their first memories of falling in love with pictures and photography and some things about their families.”

“And his?” Anna asked.

“Basically what it said in the back of his book,” Jackson told her. “That he got a degree in photography and then started working as a photographer for some music magazine and became one of the best modern rock and street photographers out there. Now he teaches at some college in New York.”

Anna nodded as she typed 'Evan Smith' and 'photographer' into the search box.

“There wasn't anything about his hometown or anything other personal about him,” Jackson added, watching the screen as the results of Anna's search popped up on the screen.

Anna clicked on the first link on the list and Jackson watched as the screen changed.

“That's the one I found,” Jackson assured her and then watched as Anna navigated her way to the section on Evan Smith.

--------------------------------

Jackson was right–there wasn't much vital information available in the bio; Just some facts about his educational and professional career and some examples of his work. She spent a few minutes taking a look at some of the pictures as Jackson leaned over her shoulder. These ones were different from the street scenes in the book. They were from his work with musicians, singers and bands that he’d shot for Rolling Stone Magazine., The “some music magazine” that Jackson had dismissed earlier was actually one of the most prominent publications in the entertainment world. Well…her world at least.

“I told you there wasn’t much,” Jackson said as Anna clicked away from the page went back to her search page.

“We’ll just try some place else,” she assured him as she bypassed over the next few entries that didn’t have anything to do with Evan Smith or photography.

But the next links they tried didn’t yield much new information either. There were galleries that included his photography, links to articles that used his pictures and commentary and reviews of his books (apparently he had a few). They’d tried going to the publishing company page that printed his books, but that hadn’t given them any information or leads either. And apparently, he no longer worked for Rolling Stone, as he wasn’t listed on their site list of photographers and journalists.

After nearly an hour of searching, they’d found nothing and Anna could feel the frustration in Jackson as he sat beside her, watching her work.

“It’s like the guy doesn’t want to be found or bothered with,” Jackson growled as he leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of his face, his elbows propped up on the desk.

“We could always try and figure out which university he teaches at,” Anna mused aloud as the thought suddenly came to her.

“And how do we figure that out?” Jackson asked, his face still in his hands.

“Well…there can’t be an ungodly number of schools in New York,” Anna replied. “We could search for some sort of directory maybe. And I’m sure most of them have their own sites…”

Before Jackson could agree on the course of action, Anna began typing in ‘university directories in New York’ into the search box. Immediately, several links to listings popped up and she clicked on the first link in the list of results.

“There’s probably about fifty or so…” Anna said after scrolling down the page. “Not too unmanageable.”

“So we’ve got to just start going through them one by one?” Jackson asked, sounding fairly discouraged by the prospect.

“It looks like it,” Anna replied. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?” she added, turning her head to look at him.

He shook his head.

So they set to work combing through the websites of all those universities and colleges listed on the directory. The first 20 yielded nothing as they scanned through the faculty in the art, visual media and photography and film programs of the various schools. Anna wasn’t completely familiar with the degree programs and majors, but anything that had to do with visual art and media, she made sure they explored.

It wasn’t until Anna clicked on the link to Buffalo State College, that she had any hope that this search was going anywhere. She clicked on the “Meet the Faculty” link of the Fine Arts Department of the 4-year campus and then moved the mouse over to the ‘Adjunct Faculty’ link.

There, third from the bottom was Evan Smith, Lecturer. There was no picture, link to personal page or lengthy educational bio as there had been with other professors. Just a campus office number and an email address.

Anna looked over to find that Jackson had already spotted the name on the page. He was looking intently at the screen.

“That’s him?” Jackson asked as he looked back at her.

“It looks like it,” Anna said, nodding. “The book says he got both his Bachelor’s degrees and his Master’s from The State of University of New York in Buffalo–so it makes sense. This one isn’t far away from the other at all.”

Jackson looked back at the screen.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

Anna paused. They hadn’t thought that far.

“We could contact him,” she suggested. “We could email him at this address,” she added, pointing at the link.

“And say what?” Jackson asked with raised brows. “Dear Mr. Smith, I think you could be my dead father. Could you please let me know where and when you were born and what you did with your life before the age of 18 so I can put my mind to rest. Sorry to bother you–signed, Some Crazy Guy from England?” Jackson added in a mocking tone.

Anna wanted to laugh at his retort, but she knew he was serious and she had no clue how to proceed.

“I don’t really know, Jackson,” Anna admitted with a sigh. “There isn’t a lot of good information on him personally. Contacting him might be our best bet. Maybe we could come up with some non-obvious question that could get him to tell us something. But that may be it…unless…”

“What?” Jackson asked if Anna trailed off as an idea sprung into her mind. “Unless, what?”

“Unless we go there,” Anna replied, even as she mulled over the silliness of her suggestion.

“Go there?” Jackson repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” Anna replied, still unsure of why she’d even said it. “I mean–maybe if you saw him in person–you might know? Or–have you ever heard his voice–your Dad?” Anna asked.

“A few times,” Jackson admitted, still looking bewildered. “There’s a way to view other peoples’ memories–and a few times my uncles have let me see theirs. They were just a few simple conversations–lighter things. But it was cool to hear and see him–even if it was just a memory,” Jackson explained.

“I don’t think a voice would change that much,” Anna mused. “Maybe if we saw him or heard him speak–it might help bring some sort of closure.”

Jackson still continued to look at her quizzically.

“You know…” He said quietly. “I thought I was the crazy one here.”

Anna smiled in response when she saw Jackson smirk at her.

“I thought so too,” she admitted. “But–if it’ll help. Even if this is completely barmy–at least we’ll know and you can stop driving yourself mad.”

Jackson let out a long shaky breath and then shook his head in disbelief.

“So…you want to go to America?” Jackson asked with a raised brow.

“It seems so,” Anna admitted. “I’ve been there twice to visit Whitney at school.”

“That’s a long way away,” Jackson stated.

“It’s a 7 hour flight,” Anna added.

“And we’ll have to fly,” Jackson stated, causing Anna to look up at him. “Well, I can’t very well apply at the Ministry for an International Portkey to the States without someone in my family knowing. Most of them work there,” Jackson went on. “And I’m pretty sure my Mum wouldn’t be so keen on approving this little excursion across the pond when she found out…especially for the reasons we’re going…”

“I’m sure my Dad wouldn’t approve either,” Anna admitted.

“So, it’ll have to be a covert operation?” Jackson both stated and asked.

Anna nodded.

“We’d have to go before we both start school again in a few weeks,” Jackson interjected.

“I could try and book us a flight,” Anna replied. “I have my own credit card–my dad wouldn’t have to know that I bought the tickets,” she added as she started thinking out a plan in her head.

“We’d have to figure out something to tell our parents to explain where we’d be going,” Jackson stated. “I’m pretty sure your Dad wouldn’t like it even if we told him you were just going on a road trip or beach trip for a few days alone with me to end the summer.”

“Yeah. He’d probably tell me that he didn’t think it was appropriate for a young woman to spend a night or two alone with her boyfriend. We might get up to something…” she added with a wicked grin.

Jackson could only smirk at her insinuation.

“I could tell my Mum that I was going camping with Luke or Liam,” Jackson said after he thought a bit. “I’ve done that for a few days before and she’s never had a problem.”

“My Dad’s going out of town on a business trip at the end of the month,” Anna said. “We could go then and I could tell him Whitney and I are going on a little trip before she leaves again,” Anna suggested. “I’m sure I could get her to cover for me. She still owes me for a few things,” Anna added with a mischievous smile.

Jackson didn’t ask what those few things were, but he nodded in agreement.

“So…” Jackson sighed after a short stretch of silence. “We’re really going?”

“Well it seems like we haven’t had any problems drawing up our get-away plan,” Anna said with a smile. “That’s got to be some sort of sign.”

“Either that–or we both really are crazy,” Jackson said with a laugh.

“Let’s just say it’s a sign.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------
The next few weeks seemed to crawl by as Jackson and Anna orchestrated their plans to fly to America. Anna expected to be found out at any moment and with each passing day found it amazing that nothing had yet gone wrong. The fear and the secrecy of the whole thing was actually quite thrilling, a thrill that did not abate even as they boarded their flight early on a Thursday morning.

Anna found herself able to breathe a sigh of relief only when the plane had taken off and they were in the air and on their way. Besides, she had other things to distract her away from her worry. This was Jackson’s first time on an airplane, and although she knew he was no stranger to the actually flying part, he had had his misgivings about being stuck in some tube while doing it.

His nervousness had actually been quite endearing. Plus it had given her an excuse to hold his hand for most of the first part of the flight until he had fallen asleep. She had followed shortly after and the last few hours of their flight passed in slumber.

They’d landed in New York that afternoon, and after spending longer than expected on procuring their bags and then a ride, they’d finally ended up at the college late in the evening. By this time, both of them were tired–their effects of their nap on the plane wiped away by the arrival of jet lag. And they found themselves walking around a nearly empty campus as darkness approached.

“Are you sure this is the right one?” Jackson asked as they walked down the long hallway once more. All of the doorways lining both sides of the hall were shut and dark, seeing as classes didn’t begin for another week and many of the professors were gone for the day.

“It said Upton 502, doesn’t it?” Anna shut back, slightly annoyed. She was tired and jet-lagged and was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied. “But Upton 502 is definitely not the right office number,” he added as they passed the name card outside of the office door that read, Dr. C Hamilton. Associate Professor Art History. He leaned in and looked inside the narrow window beside the door to see a mostly empty office. There were several boxes stacked on the floor that signified that perhaps this C. Hamilton had just moved into the office and hadn’t unpacked yet.

Anna ran a tired hand over her face. They’d checked the website over and over before they’d left. She’d questioned in her mind only once the script at the bottom that said that the site hadn’t been updated since the previous December. But she’d dismissed the small date and now it seemed as though that Evan Smith was no longer a professor at Buffalo State College.

There was still a chance that they had other avenues to pursue, but all the trouble they’d gone through–booking airplane tickets, convincing and duping each of their parents of their respective made up trips and getting Whitney to cover for them–this first failure made all that seem too much work.

They’d flown thousands of miles and now it seemed like it was for nothing and the reason for coming halfway across the world seemed even more absurd.

“If the admissions office–or any office for that matter was open…we could ask there,” Anna sighed. “But that’s not for a few days now…”

“And we can’t stay that long,” Jackson replied as he leaned up against the wall, looking annoyed and defeated.

“No, we can’t,” Anna acknowledged, trying to think of anything they could do.

“Maybe he doesn’t work here anymore,” Jackson breathed out heavily. “But maybe he still lives around here?” he wondered aloud. “Maybe we could look him up in a phone book or something?”

Anna closed her head and breathed out her tension and tiredness.

“If we can’t find him on the internet…why would he be in a phone book?” she asked, trying not to sound to snippy.

“I dunno? But it’s worth a try, right?” Jackson asked, sounding a bit chuffed that she’d shot his idea down like that. “You’re just going to give up now? We flew all the way here and did everything for us to quit after being here a few hours?”

Anna sighed and shook her head.

“Fine…let’s go find a pay phone. They’ll have a phone book there,” Anna relented, heading back towards the stairwell that would lead them down to the first floor lobby where she’d spotted a pay phone before.

Both shuffled in silence down the five flights of stairs. The only sound audible was their plodding and tired footsteps on the cement steps. When they reached the bottom, Jackson held open the door for Anna as she led the way across the lobby to a bank of pay phones.

Hanging from the first phone cubicle was a blue bound book, which Anna picked up and began to page through. Jackson stood beside her, watching as she worked.

“There are about 70 Smiths in the book,” Anna told him as she scanned the list with her finger. “And none of them are him.”

“Not even an ‘E’ Smith or anything like that?” Jackson asked. Anna shook her head.

Jackson slammed his fist against the wood side of the pay phone cubicle.

“Maybe the other books are different,” he said as he reached for the next phone book hanging from the next phone. There were 5 phones altogether.

“Jackson…they’re bound to be the same,” she tried to point out in an even tone. She watched as he frustratingly tore through the pages, his finger sliding down the page as he looked through the Smith section. He threw that book down and moved to the next.

Anna watched quietly as he moved through the next to phone books with the same luck.

Anna knew he wanted resolution and was driving himself crazy–but this was stupid. They’d come here on a stupid lark and a quirky obsession.

When Jackson got to the last phone, he bypassed the blue phone book hanging there and instead, picked up a smaller book that was lying on top.

“It’s a university directory,” Jackson told her, his voice startling her in the quiet. “It’s from last year,” he sighed in relief as he began to page through the book.

Anna watched silently as he paged through it, knowing that he was most likely to be disappointed again.

“There he is,” Jackson whispered in disbelief as his finger hovered over the page. “It has his office number and school phone–but it’s got his home mailing address,” he said, shaking his head as if to try and convince himself of what he’d just read.

Anna reached out and Jackson passed her the book.

He was right. Most of the professors had a home address and Evan Smith was listed right along with them. For all their searching, the link they sought had been right here in this little directory.

“We’ll have to figure out where this Meadow Road is,” Anna said as her mind began to again formulate.

“Maybe we should go to the hotel?” Jackson suggested. “We could figure things out there…maybe eat?”

Anna wanted to laugh at the last bit. No matter what, food always seemed to come into the equation with Jackson.

“That sounds good,” Anna agreed. “Maybe we can take a nap too. I’m exhausted.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, dinner and a nap had turned into dinner and fall asleep until half past eleven at night. Anna had fallen asleep on the bed after they’d returned from a nice dinner in the downstairs hotel restaurant and Jackson had dozed off sprawled out and lying half off the sofa not long after. By the time they’d both awoken, it had been too late to go anywhere for the day. No matter that they still didn’t know what they’d do once they’d found the house…it wasn’t an hour to be calling on anyone.

So they spent some time finding the address on a map that they’d found in a drawer of their hotel room. Anna had discovered that there was a bus route that would take them within a few blocks of the street, which would make their trip that much less complicated seeing as they wouldn’t have to take a taxi.

They talked a bit about what they’d do or say if it turned out he did indeed still live at the address listed. Anna suggested that they pose as former students wanting to catch up or maybe even fans of his photography looking to score an autograph. Jackson was sure none of these would be believable and it would be an awkward exchange no matter what.

He was extremely nervous about what might happen. He didn’t know if would be a best case or worst case scenario if they met him and it turned out that Evan Smith had grown up and lived in Buffalo, New York his whole life and really was an American photographer with no chance of being the long-lost, long-dead Harry Potter. Sure, he’d be able to put everything to rest–but there would also be some disappointment there as well.

He had grown up and been in the wizarding world long enough to know that nothing was ever as it seemed and what was impossible–rarely was. There was something about the obsessive and disruptive thoughts he’d had ever since laying eyes on the photograph that told him that he needed to keep going.

At about three in the morning and the trip was wearing on them even after their nap, Anna suggested that they retire for the night and resume their planning in the morning–when they were rested.

It was only when Jackson stepped out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and changing into his pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt that he came across a problem with the sleeping arrangements. After he put the shirt and jeans he’d worn that day back into his bag, he turned to find Anna sitting up in the bed, already in her pajamas and reading a book she’d brought with.

There was only one bed.

That meant he’d have to sleep on the couch–the couch he already knew was too small to be comfortable. But he couldn’t ask her to switch with him. She was already under the covers and settled in.

So Jackson removed the thin blanket that lay across the back of the couch and sat down.

“What’re you doing?” Anna asked in an amused sort of way as she watched him try and lie down and cover himself with the blanket.

“Going to sleep,” he answered as he struggled to get comfortable.

“On that?” she asked skeptically. “You can sleep in the bed, you know…”

“I don’t want you to have to sleep on this,” Jackson said as his chivalrous streak kicked in.

“I don’t want to sleep on the couch either,” Anna laughed. “We both can share the bed,” she added matter-of-factly.

“No we can’t,” Jackson said straight away.

“Uh…I’m pretty sure we can.”

“There’s only one bed,” Jackson argued, stating the obvious.

“Yeah. I didn’t realize that when I booked the room,” Anna explained.

“The couch is fine,” Jackson assured her.

“Jackson,” Anna said seriously. “There is nothing wrong with us sharing a bed to sleep in.”

“It’s not proper, is it?”

Anna shook her head and smiled at him.

“We’re not going to get up to anything–improper,” Anna told him. “I’m going to sleep here. You can sleep there,” Anna said as she gestured to the open spot next to her. “I trust you not to pull anything. Do you trust me?” she asked seriously.

“Yeah–” he answered, hesitating a second.

“Then get over here so you can sleep comfortably,” Anna said exasperatedly.

Jackson weighed his options for a moment, fighting against several conflicting thoughts in his mind. Most of them wanted him to jump into bed–some for not so virtuous reasons. But there were a few that told him that it wasn’t gentlemanly or proper–and those ones sounded uncannily and disturbingly like his Grandmum.

“Fine,” he huffed as he stood up from the couch and cast the too small blanket aside. Anna laughed at his reluctant resignation to join her and nearly had a fit as he slid under the blankets beside her, keeping as much distance between themselves as possible.

“I didn’t realize I was so repulsive,” Anna joked, in a mock hurt voice, as Jackson concentrated on staying away and not tottering off the edge of the bed.

“Well that’s the problem,” Jackson huffed again as he tried to straighten out his pillows. “You’re not repulsive. If you were, I would have had no problem hopping in here straight away.”

If he hadn’t sounded so serious, Anna would have laughed at him.

“Well it’s nice to know that it’s only my looks that matter,” Anna teased.

“It’s not,” Jackson corrected her. “But seriously…you are absolutely beautiful,” Jackson told her with a smile. “And you drive me crazy sometimes…in a good way,” he added, reaching across the space between them to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into her face.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself,” Anna said with a sweet smile back. “And I do love you,” she whispered as she leaned towards him, closing the gap between them and kissing him firmly on the lips.

Jackson sighed and relaxed, relishing in the feel of her lips. All his prior concerns about the properness of sharing the bed left as they kissed.

“You’re not helping,” Jackson breathed out dazedly as he tried to head things off before he decided he needed to deepen the kiss. He could feel her smile against his lips.

“Sorry,” she whispered back as she pulled away. “Let’s just go to sleep, ok? We’ve got a long day tomorrow…”

Jackson nodded, rolling away from Anna as to maintain a safe distance from her.

“You know…it’s alright to touch me,” Anna giggled. “We have cuddled before. This is no different.”

Jackson pondered her statement over for a second before nodding again.

Then very gently, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Anna lent herself to his touch and leaned against his chest, melting into his embrace. As she lay against him, she felt Jackson move his head closer to hers. She could feel his breathe soft against her exposed neck.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, the words tickling against her skin. “I love you, Anna,” he whispered and then placed his lips lightly against the skin of her neck.

Anna smiled in response and closed her eyes as Jackson reached up and turned off the lamp attached to the wall over the bed. It took only a few minutes before Anna drifted off, content and comfortable in Jackson’s arms.

-------------------------------------------------
The following morning went all too fast for Jackson's liking. After waking up and getting ready for the day, he and Anna had spent a few hours planning their trip and coming up with responses to every possible scenario for the possible meeting. By the time they'd finished it was almost lunchtime. They'd grabbed a few sandwiches and drinks on their walk to the bus stop, munching as they strolled and as they sat on a bench waiting for the correct numbered bus to arrive.

And now here they were, briskly walking the last few blocks to the street they were seeking. Anna was clutching a scrap of paper in her hand with the address and directions she'd looked up earlier. Jackson, however, had the address memorized.

643 Meadow Road.

That was where they were going. There they would hopefully find something that would bring some sort of closure or relief to this crazy quest he'd gotten them on.

After a few minutes of walking, they finally reached the end of the block and a sign at the corner indicated that they'd reached Meadow Road. Taking the road to the left, they walked down the street, gazing at the house numbers that were both visible on the fronts of the houses and mailboxes.

Five houses down on the right-hand side, they found their destination.

They both stared at the house for a minute, neither speaking nor moving from the sidewalk. It was a beautiful and quaint two story brick home. The front yard held a lovely little garden that was surrounded by a fence.

“Ready?” Anna asked as she grasped Jackson’s hand in hers. Without looking at her, Jackson nodded and returned the pressure by squeezing Anna’s hand back. Looking both ways, the pair crossed the quiet street and began walking up to the two-story brick home surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence.

As they reached the gate, Jackson gently pushed it open, the hinges squeaking slightly as metal brushed against metal. Anna stepped through the opening and Jackson followed as both moved up the cobbled walkway towards the door. Anna then went first up the set of three stone steps that led up to the large, ornately carved wooden front door.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone home,” Jackson whispered as he leaned over to look into the window to the left of the door. The lights were off and the lace shades covered the window. But as Jackson’s eyes adjusted to the darkness within, he could see evidence that someone did indeed currently live there. The window looked into a living room where there sat a large leather couch and recliner, all facing a large television set. He could see frames and various decorations hanging on the walls and sitting on tables, but it was too dark to discern any details about whose lives filled out the frames.

“Here. Try this,” Anna suggested as she reached forward and with pointer finger she rang the doorbell. They could hear the bells chiming in response to Anna’s touch and they both stood silent on the steps as they listened for any sign of movement or life from within.

There was nothing.

Jackson reached forward and rang the bell again.
They waited another minute or so. Jackson continued peeking in the window hoping to spot a glimpse of someone

“Maybe he’s just not home now? We could come back later?” Jackson suggested.

“I don’t know….” Anna responded.

“Well what do you think we should do?” Jackson asked as he looked at her pleadingly.

“Jackson–I’m not sure…” Anna replied helplessly.

“We could always go inside…” he added as he reached into his back pocket. Anna watched in shock as he produced a long thin stick of wood from his jacket pocket. It was his wand. Anna had seen him use it before and he’d even let her hold it a few times.

Was he really serious about what he’d just suggested?

She watched in quiet astonishment as Jackson raised his wand towards the door handle.

“You are not breaking in, Jackson!” she whispered harshly as she grabbed his wrist and tugged it away. Jackson glared at her as he pulled his wrist out of her grasp.

“We could just take a quick look inside,” Jackson snapped back at her. “Maybe we’ll find something. Nobody would even know we were here,” he explained as he drew his wand up again.

“No,” Anna told him flatly. “I know how badly you want to find something–but we are not going into the house uninvited. And you are most certainly not using some spell to unlock the door and barge into this house.”

“Anna–I–”

But whatever response Jackson had for her, he was cut off as a car approached the house on the quiet street. The black car pulled into the driveway slowly, its lights projecting on the garage door as it idled.

Anna froze on the doorstep as Jackson hurried to stow his wand inside his jacket. He kept his hand there, however, as if ready to react if need be.

“What do we do?” Anna whispered as her eyes stayed glued on the car, which had shut off now.

“Well we can’t just make a run for it,” Jackson advised. “That’d draw more attention that we don’t need. So we just stay put–make up some story like we planned.”

Anna nodded as she watched the both the driver side and passenger side doors open simultaneously. She could feel Jackson step up to stand beside her in what translated as a protective gesture.

They both watched as a short, portly man stepped out of the driver side of the car. His thick hair and beard were liberally grayed. A woman stepped out from the passenger side door. She was shorter and stockier as well; her kind face framed by curly blond hair.

Both people were surveying the two youngsters who were standing frozen on their front steps.

“Can we help you?” the man called to them as he took a few steps towards them.

Jackson glanced at Anna who had taken her own step forward and had reached the bottom of the steps.

“Yes. We’re looking for Professor Smith,” she replied in a friendly tone.

“I’m him,” the man replied firmly. “What’s this about?”

Anna hesitated for a moment, totally thrown by his reply.

They’d gotten the wrong Evan Smith.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Anna apologized as she began to walk down the same cobbled walkway they’d arrived on. Jackson followed closely behind. “We must be mistaken on the address. We were looking for Professor Smith who I had for a photography class last semester at Buffalo State.”

“You’re looking for Evan then,” the woman interjected as she came around from the other side of the car and moved around towards them. As she spoke, her gaze was on Jackson as he stood silent beside Anna.

Anna nodded. Maybe all wasn’t lost?

“I just got a job here in town–some entry level photo work–and I thought maybe he might have some tips. He was really helpful last semester in pointing me in some career directions and I wanted to thank him,” Anna invented wildly. “I saw that he wasn’t at the college anymore and I’d had his address from last year and thought perhaps he still lived here…”

“He did,” the woman replied as she took a step past her husband, who put an arm out protectively to stop her. But she continued to walk on.

“But Evan got an associate professorship at the University of Wisconsin,” the woman explained. She had still not addressed Anna, whom she seemed to be talking to. Her eyes, however, were on Jackson, who she was surveying with an odd expression.

“He moved out there at the beginning of the summer,” the woman explained as she stopped a few feet from them.

“Oh. Well then I’m sorry we bothered you,” Anna apologized. “We really hoped to catch him.”

“It’s no bother,” the woman replied with a warm smile. “You’ll be able to reach him by email or even call him there. I know Evan enjoys hearing from past students.”

“I’ll have to do that. Thank you,” Anna replied as she felt Jackson slip his hand into her own and move them further down the walkway.

“What did you say your name was dear?” the woman asked interested.

“Anna Mitchell,” Anna replied.

“Maria Smith,” the woman responded, holding out her hand for Anna. Anna reached forward with a smile and shook it warmly. “I’m Evan’s…mother,” she added. “And that’s my husband Steve,” she said as she gestured over her shoulder to where the man still stood.

But Anna had really stopped listening though when Maria had identified herself as Evan’s mother. Anna could feel Jackson’s grip on her hand tighten. He had caught on as well.

If this woman was Evan Smith’s mother–that meant they’d been wrong about everything. Evan Smith really was just a photographer from Buffalo, New York. He had a mother and a father who were very much alive here. And that automatically disqualified for any crazy theory or thought that he could be Jackson’s father.

“And who’s this quiet young man you’ve brought with you?” Maria asked Anna as her eyes once again flitted to Jackson, who had not spoken.

Anna could feel the tension radiating off Jackson who took a few seconds to answer.

“Jackson…Potter,” he said, his voice oddly quiet and shaky.

Maria nodded her greeting with a smile to the young man.

“Well it’s nice to meet you both,” Maria replied. “I’ll have to tell Evan the next time I talk with him that you’re trying to get in touch.”

“Thanks,” Anna replied as the two continued on their way back towards the street. “Have a good rest of the day,” she added as they headed away from the couple.

Jackson and Anna didn’t wait for any formal goodbye from either Maria or Steve, but continued on their way back down Meadow Road towards the bus stop.

Neither said word as they walked the next few blocks, but Jackson continued to hold onto Anna’s hand even as they boarded the bus when it arrived.

They’d traveled a few blocks on the noisy bus before Anna broke the silence between them.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked as she leaned into him.

Jackson looked down at her and surveyed her tiredly.

“Go home, I guess…” he replied. “I’ve led us on a wild goose chase. I’m sorry,” he apologized as he put his arm around her.

“I’m the one who came up the idea to come here,” Anna countered him. “And it wasn’t a wild goose chase. I know this thing was really weighing on you. And I would do anything and go anywhere to make sure that we got you some peace of mind.”

“I’m not sure that’s what I got,” Jackson sighed as he leaned his head against the bus window.

“Then let’s go to Wisconsin….find this Evan Smith and get that resolution,” she answered fervently.

“You heard that woman,” Jackson said shaking his head. “Those were his parents back there. This means that we were wrong…and I feel like an idiot.”

She wanted to yell at him and tell him he wasn’t an idiot, but she knew he’d only continue to argue. Maybe it was best to just let all this go and fly home.

“Let’s get something to eat before we go back to the hotel,” Jackson suggested. “Maybe we can see if we can switch our flight to tomorrow…get home early maybe.”

“Are you sure?” Anna asked him gently.

“Positive,” Jackson replied with a sad smile.

The last few minutes of the bus ride were spent in silence. Once they’d returned to the bus stop nearest their hotel, they decided on getting a bite to eat at a small coffee place a block away.

It seemed like a hip trendy place that was filled with a good number of people around their age. Most of them were probably students, seeing as there were a few universities and colleges around the area.

They both ordered some sandwiches, chips and coffee and then retreated to a table in the back where Anna could access a computer to check on flights.

As they waited for their food to be delivered to their table, Anna logged into the café computer while Jackson stared around the coffee shop with heaviness in his gaze.

“Are you ok?” Anna asked as she peered at Jackson.

Jackson nodded, but sighed out heavily in response.

“It’s just–did you see how that Maria lady was looking at me?” Jackson replied.

Anna nodded.

“Well you do look like her son…even if you aren’t related,” Anna reassured him. “I’m sure the resemblance just caught her–”

But Anna trailed off as something on the screen caught her attention. Even without the glow of the screen reflecting off her face, Anna looked as though she had paled considerably.

“Shit,” she breathed out in a panic as she began to click furiously with the mouse.

“What?” Jackson asked in concern as he moved to sit beside her so he could view the screen.

“I’ve got about 20 email messages from my sister,” Anna replied as she scrolled through the message.

“Is everything ok?” Jackson asked.

“No,” Anna replied as she read. “My Dad came home early from his business trip. Apparently he wanted to go shopping for a few last minute things for my apartment for school. He was going to surprise Whitney and I…”

Jackson furrowed his brows in confusion.

“He knows I’m not with her,” Anna explained as she went on to the read the next message, which Jackson could see was in bold, capital letters. “She told him she’s not sure where I am, but she’s not sure how long she can keep him calm…”

“Oh crap,” Anna exclaimed as she opened the last email.

“Anna–”

“Whitney says that she’s going to have to tell my dad where we are,” Anna explained. “He’s threatening to call the authorities to look for me.”

“The police?” Jackson repeated.

“Yeah…he’s panicking,” she replied as she began to type furiously.

“What are you doing?” Jackson asked he watched her.

“Telling her that she can tell him and that we’ll be home in the next day or so,” she said as she typed.

Jackson nodded and watched her finish up her hasty reply. They both sat there waiting for a response from Whitney. When their food came it went largely untouched as they checked Anna’s inbox every few minutes.

About 30 minutes after finally received a reply from Anna’s sister.

“She says to hurry up and get home safely and call her when we get back home,” Anna explained even as Jackson read the email himself.

Apparently Anna’s father was no longer going to call on the help of the authorities to search for his daughter, but Whitney conveyed that things were not to be remedied until they got home.

Anna sighed in frustration and worry as she closed her email.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” Jackson apologized as he took in the worry radiating off of her.

“Don’t be…” Anna assured him.

“You’re in trouble because of me,” he continued as he watched her begin to search for tickets home. “When we get back…I’ll explain things to your dad…tell him this was all my fault.”

“How gallant of you,” Anna said with a small smile. “But I think I can handle him myself. I don’t need my father hating my boyfriend because he thinks you stole me away across the Atlantic.”

“Yeah–well once he finds out you’re with me–I think he’s going to hate me anyways,” Jackson mumbled glumly as he considered the prospect.

“We’ll deal with it once we get home,” Anna assured him. “So for right now…let’s just focus on getting back quickly,” she added.

It took a few hours, but eventually they found a flight that left later that night. It was more expensive than they’d have liked and what they’d planned for. But Jackson assured Anna he’d pay for it all once they got back.

After finishing up at the coffee shop, the two hurried back to the hotel and gathered their things. After checking out of the hotel, they boarded a bus to the airport where their plane back to England waited for departure at 7:30.








Back to index


Chapter 6: Horseshoes and Handgrenades

Author's Notes: I so apologize for the large gap between updates! Life as we know it has been chaotic and busy...but I assure you, my muse has never waned--just the time to write! But I have this chapter for you and another one coming in a few days. And I assure you...the moment you've all been waiting for is close at hand :) Enjoy.


“Anna?”

“Whit, it's me,” Anna breathed into the phone as she leaned against the wall and watched as people milled all about her.

“Anna, thank God,” Whitney replied, sounding thoroughly relieved to hear her sister's voice. “Are you guys back yet?”

“Yeah. Our flight was delayed last night so we've just landed. We're waiting for our bags and then we'll be home,” Anna responded as she spied Jackson standing near the baggage carousel, waiting with several other people as bags and luggage went around on the belt.

“I'm sorry, Anna,” Whitney apologized. “I tried to delay telling Dad for as long as I could...but he was really going round the bend worrying...”

“Whit, it's alright,” Anna reassured her sister. “I shouldn't have put you in the situation of having to lie for us. And you probably stopped Dad from calling the Prime Minister and getting the British Army involved to come get me...” Anna added.

“Yeah, we probably averted an international crisis,” Whitney added with a small chuckle, which made Anna smile into the phone.

“Are you guys ok?” Whitney asked after a second of silence between them.

“Yeah. We're fine,” Anna assured her.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Whitney asked quietly. Whitney didn't know exactly why they'd gone to the States, but Whitney had been filled in enough to cover for Anna.

“No,” Anna sighed truthfully.

“Are you coming straight home?” Whitney asked.

“Yeah. Why?” Anna asked as she watched Jackson reach out and grab one of their bags from the revolving belt.

“It's just--” Whitney hesitated. “I think Dad went over to Jackson's mum's house...I think that's where he is now...”

“Why is he there?” Anna asked nervously.

“He went to let his mum and the rest of his family when your flight might be in,” Whitney explained. “And I think perhaps to see if maybe you'd go there first before coming home to us.”

“His family knows?”

“Dad called them when he first found you gone,” Whitney explained. “His Mum got in touch with the people he was supposed to be camping with and...found he wasn't there. After I told Dad you'd gone to visit someone–they put two and two together and figured he was with you...”

“Oh man,” Anna breathed out exasperatedly.

“Apparently his uncles work in law enforcement and for the government and they were going crazy looking for you two,” Whitney added. “That's when I had to tell them all where you'd gone and that you were okay and would be back soon.”

“Great,” Anna sighed as Jackson grabbed the second bag from the conveyer and turned back towards her.

“I just wanted you to know that so if you headed to his house first you'd be prepared,” Whitney warned her. “Dad's still pretty upset.”

“I expected him to be,” Anna told her sister. “Well...we might as well get things with over with all at once...”

“You're going there first?”

“Yeah...” Anna replied as Jackson joined her, holding out her bag. “But I'm sure Dad and I will both be home sooner than later...”

------------------------------------------------

Jackson's hand was sweaty and trembled slightly in her own as they walked up the driveway to his house. He'd purposely apparated them both to the edge of their property so that they'd have time to walk up to the house and get an idea of what they'd be walking into before they'd be forced to confront it. Anna had found the whole apparating business to have been rather unpleasant and even as they walked, she still couldn't shake the uncomfortable squeezing sensation she'd just experienced.

“You okay?” Jackson asked quietly as he peered down at her.

Anna nodded and squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“I'm sorry,” Jackson repeated for about the hundredth time since they'd left the coffee shop in New York. She wanted to tell him to stop saying those words because it wasn't completely his fault that they were in trouble. But she knew that it wouldn't keep him from saying them.

“I know,” she whispered, placating him and allowing Jackson to shoulder the blame–at least in his mind for the time being.

The rest of the walk up to the house was quiet, the only sound was the gravel of the drive crunching beneath their shoes. Their approach seemed to take forever and it wasn't until they'd rounded the final curve in the drive that the house finally came into view.

Anna could see her dad's car parked out in front and there were two tall figures standing on the front porch.

As they drew closer, Anna could make out one as her father. As Anna and Jackson approached, her Dad moved forward and down the steps towards them. The second figure was Jackson's Uncle Ron; his tall lanky figure and strikingly red hair were easily distinguishable.

Anna's dad continued moving down the steps. But instead of moving towards the couple, he slowly walked to the door of the passenger side of the car and held it open.

The gesture was obvious.

Reluctantly Anna released Jackson's hand as they approached the car, but he continued to walk with her.

“Dad--” Anna began, wanting to just explain straight away what they'd done. But he cut her off with a shake of his head.

“Anna–get in the car,” her father said quietly. There wasn't any anger in her father's voice, but she could sense the seriousness of his tone.

She obeyed and moved to slide into the seat that was being offered,


--------------------------------------------------------

“Mr. Mitchell--” Jackson began as he watched Anna get into the car. “I just wanted you to kno--” he started to explain, but Anna's father raised his hand as a cue for Jackson to stop.

“Why don't you go inside, Jackson,” Mr. Mitchell suggested as he gestured towards the house. Jackson's Uncle Ron had apparently disappeared into the house to let his Mum know he was home. “You've got a lot of family in there worried about you,” Mr. Mitchell added quietly.

“I'm sorry,” Jackson apologized thickly as he met the older man's gaze. Mr. Mitchell nodded in recognition of his words.

“Anna and I are going to go home and talk about all this...” Mr. Mitchell explained as he opened the driver side door. “Maybe later–or tomorrow–Anna can give you a call and you two can talk,” he added kindly.

With that, Anna's dad slid into his seat and closed the door behind him. Jackson watched from near the foot of his own porch as the car rumbled to life and backed up to pull out down the driveway. He stood watching as the tail lights moved away and finally disappeared as they rounded the first bend.

Jackson stood there for a second, unable to muster the courage to enter the house. Although Mr. Mitchell's words had made him feel horrible for the worry he'd caused Anna's family, they'd been quiet and calm. He knew that the welcome home waiting for him inside what not be so reserved. His family was not quiet, especially when it came to reprimanding.

It was the squeak of the hinges on the screen door that drew Jackson's attention to the house. His Uncle Ron had returned and was holding the door open as if beckoning his nephew.

With a heavy heart full of trepidation and a twinge of fear of what awaited him, Jackson forced his feet to move from their spot. Slowly making his way up the porch stairs, Jackson walked towards his uncle and through the open door and into the entryway

Jackson could hear people talking in the kitchen and he wondered just how much of his extensive family was here and what forces they'd employed to look for him.

“Your Mum is in the living room,” he heard his Uncle Ron say quietly in his ear as Jackson had made to move to the kitchen. “It's best to get it over with straight away...”

Jackson nodded and then continued on down the hallway. He paused however a few feet from the doorway. Suddenly he couldn't find the courage to continue on.

“She's angry, Jackson,” Uncle Ron warned as he placed a large, worn hand on Jackson's shoulder. “Just remember though...she's your mum and she loves you–no matter what you've done,” he added quietly as he met Jackson's gaze.

Jackson nodded, but he was having a hard time reigning in his emotions. He suddenly felt like he was a little boy again, afraid to get scolded and to disappoint his family. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from betraying him as the feeling of fresh tears stung at the corners.

“It'll be alright,” his uncle reassured him, squeezing tightly with the hand that was still on Jackson's shoulder.

Knowing that it would do no good to delay the inevitable, Jackson moved forward away from his uncle's grip and stepped into the living room.

His mum was standing with her back towards him, but she wasn't alone in the room. His granddad was sitting in the large recliner chair near the fireplace and Remus was standing next to him, leaning upon the side of the stone fireplace. Tonks was standing next to his mum and it seemed the two were talking quietly with each other.

It was Tonks who first noticed his arrival, her attention directed towards the doorway as she raised her head and caught his gaze. Before she could say anything though, it seemed that the rest of the people in the room had followed and were now aware that he had entered the room.

His mum seemed to turn in slow motion. Her arms were crossed over one another and held to her chest as if for protection or perhaps to keep them from lashing out. She looked very tired. There were bags under her eyes and her mouth was drawn into a thin line of frustration and anger.

Jackson stopped a few feet from the doorway, standing and waiting for the room to erupt.

But there was no yelling as his mum crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Jackson allowed her to cling tight to him and he returned the embrace by wrapping his arms around her. He could feel her shaking in his arms and as she buried her face in his shoulder, he could hear her sniff back her tears.

“It's ok, Mum,” he assured her.

“I'm fine,” he whispered to her. “Everything's okay now.”

But as he spoke those last words, he felt her stiffen and still against him and her arms slid from their embrace around him.

And then she pulled away from him and stood there searching his face with an unreadable expression on her own.

Jackson wanted to say something, to explain himself and tell them everything. But the way his mum was looking at him was unnerving.

“Mum, I--” he began quietly.

But before he could get anything else out, a hand came forward and slapped him across the left side of his face. The strike stung, causing his eyes to water and his whole head to snap reflexively away from the blow.

He heard those in the room say his mum's name in varying levels of shock and he heard the chair in which his granddad had been sitting creak as he stood up.

But Jackson did not move to defend himself or even react to the blow. He stood there with his head down and his face turned to the side–his whole body slumped in stunned shock and shame.

“Everything is not okay,” his mum said in a quiet yet deadly voice. Her voice shook as she spoke and he could hear the anger in her voice.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” she continued. Jackson didn't dare look up, but he could picture the disgusted look on her face just by the sound of her voice.

“Do you know how many people you had worried and looking for you?” she asked.

Jackson swallowed heavily but did not answer; the sting from the slap still making the side of his face throb.

“Do you understand what you've put me through?” She asked exasperatedly. Jackson bowed his head further as he could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Look at me,” she snapped at him.

Jackson hesitated and then slowly raised his face upward.

His mum was standing away from him now, her hands on her hips as she paced back and forth in frustration and anger.

“Do you realize how worried I've been–not knowing where they hell you are? Not knowing if something's happened to you?” she continued on; her voice raising with each question. “You had all of us up all night looking and searching for you and Anna.”

“I--” Jackson began stupidly, hoping that perhaps if he explained it might head her off before she got rolling.

“Shut up, Jackson. Don't–say a word,” she warned and Jackson swallowed the rest of his retort.

“Here I am–thinking that someone hurt you or took you or you were in some sort of accident--” his mother continued. “And then I come to find out that you lied to me.”

Her tone was accusing and laced with disappointment.

“You lied right to my face, Jackson,” she repeated.

Jackson nodded, not sure that he could find his voice enough to speak or if speaking was a smart idea at all.

“Well I'm glad you understand that bit,” his mum spat back sarcastically. “So could you explain to me why the hell you thought it was alright for you to take a little jaunt across the ocean? What in the world would possess you to fly to America, Jackson?”

“What the hell were you thinking?” she yelled when he didn't answer her last line of questioning.

She had told him to be quiet. Dare he speak now to explain himself?

“Well are you going to answer for yourself or just stand there and expect us all to figure it out?” his mum asked. “Because I've been trying, Jackson, and I haven't been able come up with one good or believable reason as to why you went there...”

Jackson opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when he realized what it was he was going to explain. How would she react when he told her the real reason why he'd hopped on that plane?

How could she possibly believe him?

“You won't understand,” Jackson said quietly.

“Well, you better make me understand,” she shot back; her voice raising to dangerous levels.

Jackson hesitated, not knowing what words would placate her or that she'd accept.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Under the intense scrutiny of his mother's gaze and his own nervousness, Jackson reached into his jeans pocket and produced the scrap of paper that he'd shown Anna about a few weeks ago and that had started this whole ordeal.

Slowly he held out his hand with the crumpled bit of paper in it for his mum to take.

She stared at his hand warily for a moment before sighing and reaching out to take it. Rolling her eyes, she unfurled the worn paper and looked down at the same photo that Jackson had been obsessing over the past few weeks.

Would she have the same reaction he had? Would she understand and perhaps share that same initial shock?

“What's this supposed to mean?” his mum asked dryly as she looked up at him in a tired, quizzical sort of way. “Am I supposed to know who this is?” she asked.

Part of Jackson was frustrated that she hadn't seen what he had when he looked at the picture. This would be a whole lot easier if she did.

“We wanted to find him–meet him,” Jackson explained.

“Why?”

“I–he looks like me...” Jackson added quietly. His mum looked back down at the picture and then back up at Jackson.

She shook her head.

“Please don't tell me you think--” she started, cutting off when she shook her head in disbelief again.

“There's just something about that picture–that man–that bothers me,” Jackson explained quickly. “I just thought--”

“You thought–what?” his mum asked with raised brows.

“He looks like Dad,” Jackson said simply and in a quiet voice. He wondered perhaps if she'd heard him.

“What?”

Several people in the room had replied in the same manner of shock at Jackson's admission.

“You've said it yourself--” Jackson continued. “They didn't find a body. So where's the proof that whatever happened that day killed him? What if something else happened; something that nobody thought of? Who's to say he's not ali--”

“Enough,” Ginny cut him off mid-sentence.

“But--”

“Just–stop,” his mum ordered, shaking her head again.

Jackson fell and remained silent.

“I–I don't know whether to scream at you--” his mum began, sighing heavily. “Or if I should laugh at you.”

With her last statement she let out the slightest hint of a laugh with her breath. Jackson however, let his head drop. He would much rather she scream at him.

“This is not only by far the stupidest thing you've ever done,” she continued. “But it's also the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

“I know,” Jackson admitted quietly. He knew these thoughts, the crazy obsessive thoughts he'd been having about this man were crazy. But he suddenly didn't like his mum calling him on it.

“Your father is dead,” she said firmly and finality. “He left both of us a long time ago. And I know you miss him and hate not having him here. But he's gone and nothing is going to change that.”

“I just thought--”

“Jackson, this is crazy,” his Mum said exasperatedly, holding out the picture. “I honestly don't know what to think.”

“Do you need help?” she asked, totally catching him off-guard with the question. “Is this something you need to talk to someone about? If that's the case–we can arrange for--”

“I'm not crazy,” Jackson yelled at her, stunning her into silence. Was she honestly insinuating what he thought? “I don't need to see a mind-healer or therapist or whatever it is you think I need.”

“I don't know why I did it–I don't understand it either–but it's over,” Jackson added loudly, his anger getting the best of him. “I'm back. I'm fine and we found out that it was just some crazy stupid idea like you said.”

“My dad's dead. I'm a nutter. End of story,” he finished loudly.

Silence followed Jackson's words and he couldn't bring himself to look at the stunned and confused faces that were now staring at him.

“Go to your room.”

“What?” Jackson automatically responded at the sound of the demand as he raised his head.

“I said go to your room, Jackson,” his mum ground out as she stared downward.

“I'm seventeen--” Jackson blurted stupidly. Knowing that the stupid childish argument would get him nowhere.

“You still live in my house, do you not?”

Jackson nodded angrily in admission.

“Then, go,” she said quietly, the anger palpable in her tone.

This time she turned away from him as she spoke and Jackson knew she was done with the conversation.

“I think it's best if you just head up,” a voice whispered in his ear and the same comforting hand that had led him into the room returned to his shoulder. He found his Uncle Ron standing beside him again, looking down at him reassuringly.

Part of Jackson still wanted to argue and stay and explain himself, but he knew that, for the time being, whatever he had to say would fall on deaf ears. His Mum wanted nothing more of it.

So nodding begrudgingly, Jackson turned and departed–leaving behind in his wake a cloud of tense, stunned silence.

------------------------------------------

Ron watched as his nephew left the room, his shoulders slumped and his demeanor completely defeated.

These past 24 hours had been stressful to say the least. When Ginny had first frantically floo'd them to let them know she couldn't find Jackson, Ron's heart had sunk and all those fears he'd thought he'd managed well since the end of the war sprung up again. As much as he'd be reluctant to admit it out loud, Jackson wasn't just one of his nephews. He'd always held a special place in Ron's heart. He was his best mate's son and since the day that boy had been born, Ron had promised himself that he'd do anything for Jackson–just as Harry would.

Even though Ron hadn't been with the Aurors for a few years, he had immediately gotten in touch with his friends and contacts in the department. Although it wasn't an official search mission for the department, so as not to raise attention in the media and to others who might be interested, a few of Ron's buddies were enlisted to start the investigation and search.

Hours had gone by with no sign or indication as to where he or Anna had gone and they had all feared the worst. Ginny, who was usually so strong through anything, had broken down like Ron had only seen her do once before in his life. They'd all felt helpless and desperate and Ron hated feeling both.

When news had come from Anna's father that the two were safe and in America, the mood had changed from fear and worry, to relief. But after the initial fear had been lifted, the confusion had set in and they'd all begun to question why the hell they'd jetted halfway across the world without telling anyone.

What reason had they possibly had for pulling such a stunt and worrying so many people?

Ron's own anger or frustration with the situation had at least abated when he'd spotted Jackson coming up the driveway. His nephew was safe and that was really all that mattered to him.

So he'd been surprised at Ginny's reaction to her son's arrival back home. What had been deep-seated fear and angst had manifested itself as anger–and physical anger at that. Ron had never seen Ginny strike either of her boys before, so it had taken all his restraint not to yell at her or launch himself at her after she'd slapped Jackson.

But whatever shock he'd experienced over that, was soon overshadowed by the explanation Jackson had given them all about why they'd gone to the U.S.

“I don't get it,” Ginny sighed exasperatedly from the across the room, snapping Ron back to the present.

“I just–I can't--” Ginny began, shaking her head in still present disbelief. She held out the scrap of paper Jackson had given her and Tonks took it from her. Ginny turned away and covered her face with a hand, rubbing at her temples in frustration.

The room was awkwardly silent for a few moments again.

“You know–just glancing at the picture--” Tonks began hesitantly as she cocked her head to the side while surveying the photo. “I see where it could...could look like him.”

“Don't,” Ginny said tiredly, shaking her head. “You do realize how absolutely crazy that sounds to say?”

“Yeah,” Tonks admitted with a nod, handing the photo to Mr. Weasley, who took it and brought it closer to his face to survey through his spectacles.

“People look like other people. It happens,” Ginny said. “I don't know how many times over the years that I've seen someone on the street with black hair and green eyes and did a double take for a moment or two. But it's absolutely crazy to come up with what he did.”

“Yeah...it may be far-fetched,” Ron found himself saying aloud. “But I'm sure it doesn't help a kid when his mum's sitting there accusing him of being nuts and needing to see a mind-healer. You really didn't have to say those things to him,” Ron added, with a glare at his sister.

Ginny let out a huff of surprise and indignation at Ron's accusation.

“And what was I supposed to think was going on, Ron?” Ginny asked angrily. “You're telling me that this story–what he's telling us–is normal? Jackson has never done anything so irrational and has definitely not lied to me like this–ever. How can I not think something's up?”

“He's not crazy,” Ron said shaking his head, his voice testy and angry. “There's nothing wrong with him. So just knock it off.”

“Fine then,” Ginny sighed. “Then why doesn't he get it?”

Ron shrugged, not exactly sure of what Ginny meant.

“Why doesn't he understand how dangerous it is for him out there?” Ginny continued. “How can he not know--?”

But before she could say anymore, Ron cut her off. He understood what she was getting at and wasn't about to let her get out of it this time.

“What do you mean--'How can he not know'?” Ron bellowed back. “Of course he doesn't understand the danger. You refuse to tell him.”

Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head. Ron knew he'd struck a nerve.

“I am not discussing this again,” Ginny said tiredly. “We've had this conversation about a million times and I haven't changed my mind, Ron.”

“And I've told you a million times that the line your taking with all this has always been completely ridiculous,” Ron snapped back angrily. “Jackson's not stupid. He's going to figure something's up one day.”

“Just drop it,” Ginny contested.

“What are you going to do once he starts Auror training or becomes a full-fledged Auror himself, Ginny?” Ron asked, pressing the conversation onward. “You don't think he won't notice the case files with his name all over them? He's going to ask questions eventually. You can't hide this from him forever. And when he does figure it out–I'm pretty sure he's not going to be happy.”

Ginny looked away angrily, but said nothing to defend herself or refute her brother.

“I know you want to protect him...but keeping stuff from him isn't right,” Ron continued. “He's not a kid and things like this prove that he can't go around oblivious anymore...it's too dangerous for him not to know. What if something had happened this time? How would you feel if he was totally unprepared for it...?”

Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

“Fine!” she yelled at Ron, throwing her arms up in the air in concession. “You can go upstairs and tell him, Ron. You can march right on up there and let your nephew know that since the moment he was born he's had rogue Death Eaters and the like after him, threatening to kidnap and kill him because they want revenge on Harry. ”

“You can have that job, Ron,” Ginny said bitterly. “Because I, for one, don't want to be the one responsible for scaring the hell out of him. And if that makes me a horrible mother for wanting to protect my son and his happiness–then I guess I'll just have to learn to live with myself.”

“Ginny–I'm not calling you a bad mother,” Ron shot back. “It's just–if he were my son–I'd want him to know that there are threats and things out there.”

“He's not your son, Ron,” Ginny said shaking her head.

Ron nodded, but said nothing in response.

“Don't you remember what it was like for him?” Ginny said quietly, her voice thicker with emotion. Ron looked up, his gaze quizzical. “Don't you remember what it did to Harry?” she asked Ron tiredly.

“Of course I do,” Ron replied softly.

“He had to deal with the pressure and the danger all the time,” Ginny continued on. “There was always someone after him or something for him to do–it was so much of a burden.”

“I don't know what he ever told you,” Ginny said to her brother. “But I remember we stayed up late one night near the end–just talking–and he told me how he felt afraid...all the time. To everyone else, he was supposed to be brave and in control–but he never felt that way.”

“He was scared and tired,” Ginny continued. “It all just weighed so much on him...”

“I don't want that for our son,” Ginny said quietly.

“Jackson isn't Harry,” Ron replied gently. “It's not the same.”

“I know,” Ginny agreed. “It's not the same at all. Harry was fighting in a war–he was answering the call of the prophesy and what was needed of him. Jackson has never had any choice in all of this–he's threatened and burdened just because of his name.”

“All the fighting, all the fear was supposed to have ended,” Ginny added. “I want that same peace for my son. I'm sure he'll find out some day–and I wouldn't be so sure that he hasn't suspected something already. But when that time comes...I'll deal with him being angry with me. But for now...I'm just going to leave it be...” she trailed off turning away from her brother as she did so.

“Thank you all again for coming over and helping look for him,” Ginny added quietly after a few moments of quiet. “You should all go home–get some rest and be with your families.”

Ron watched as his sister turned away from them all and leave the room through the doorway that Jackson had exited a few minutes before.

Silence, once again, prevailed in her wake and Ron looked around to gauge the reaction of the three others in the room.

“I think I'm going to go get your Mum and we'll be heading home,” Ron's father said as he sighed out loud and moved from beside the chair. “We've all had a long day,” he added as he passed by Ron and patted his youngest son's shoulder gently before leaving the room.

With his Dad gone, Ron was left alone with Remus and Tonks. Ron turned towards the two, catching Tonks's eyes as he did so. She shook her head in disbelief and gave him a look that clearly said, 'Wow, what a crazy effing day.'

Ron nodded back in recognition and then his eyes fell on Remus, who was still standing beside the fireplace, the scrap of paper that Jackson had produced held fast in his right hand as Remus stared down at it.

He seemed not to have noticed Ginny or Arthur's departure or Ron and his own wife's attention on him now. He was focused on the paper in his hand, his face fixed in an odd and unreadable expression. Ron was just about to ask him what was up when Tonks spoke.

“We should get out of here too, old man. Let the kids know what's going on,” she said as she moved over towards her husband. Remus didn't respond.

“Remus,” she repeated a bit louder when he did not look at her words. She moved beside him and placed an arm around his waist. It was only at her touch that Remus seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. He looked down slowly at her as if seeing her after first awakening. He looked almost surprised to find his wife beside him.

“Hmmm?” he murmured quietly in question.

“I said, I think it's time we head home,” Tonks repeated with an amused smile. “And judging by your slow reaction time...I think you're long overdue for some rest,” she added.

“Yeah...I guess so,” Remus replied with a sigh. But there was no returned sense of playfulness in his voice.

He let out another heavy sigh as he folded up the scrap of paper once and placed it in an inside pocket of his robes and out of sight.

“We'll be seeing you and the fam Sunday for Orelia's birthday dinner?” Tonks asked Ron as she and Remus made to leave.

“Of course, the kids have been going on about it all week,” Ron replied with a smile. “4 o'clock, right?” Ron questioned, even though he knew Hermione would know the answer anyway.

“Unless you wanna drop the kiddos off earlier...” Tonks responded with a grin.

“Are you that big of a glutton for punishment?” Ron teased, knowing full well the trouble his kids could get into, especially with Tonks as the supervisory figure.

“Come now, the Granger-Weasley bunch are always the life of the party. I wouldn't mind having the whole lot anytime,” Tonks responded.

“Life of the party, eh? I was thinking more along the lines of the comic relief and usual source of distraction for parties,” Ron said with a grin of his own. “Especially Reed and Ethan–” Ron added with the sigh of a knowing father. His 14 year old twin boys were a handful on their own.

“I swear sometimes those two could be Fred or George's,” Tonks teased.

“I keep trying to pawn them off as–but the wife won't let me,” Ron laughed. “She keeps letting them back home.”

“Let's just hope they don't influence the other two too much,” Tonks added through her laughter.

“Pax is safe for now, I think...” Ron replied, referring to their 8 year old son Paxton who was so much like Hermione, it was scary. “But I'm afraid to say that Scarlett's already been corrupted,” Ron said of his 5 year old daughter.

“Hermione's brains and the twin's chaotic curiosity,” Tonks sighed sympathetically. “Lethal combination in a little girl I'm afraid.”

“I'm doomed,” Ron acknowledged with a nod lightheartedly.

“Well...we'll see you and the brood Sunday then,” Tonks offered in goodbye as she held tight to Remus's arm, who himself looked ready to leave.

“Bye then,” Ron replied. “See you Remus,” he added with a nod towards the older man. Remus didn't speak, but returned the nod.

“See ya,” Tonks added one last time as the pair head from the room arm in arm, leaving Ron in the quiet of the living room.

Back to index


Chapter 7: Murder City

Author's Notes: Sorry, this is a bit late. The chapter I intended to finish writing and submitting a few days after the last post, turned into a monster 40 plus pages that I had to edit and break down. It'll actually be two chapters and You'll get the next one tomorrow morning. I promise. And you'll more than likely get another at the end of the weekend, with lots of the goodness of a certain person you've all been waiting for. And another side note: I hadn't intended on including Teddy as one of Remus/Tonks' children in my tale. But I've decided I want him for later. So there's a mention of Teddy in this chapter. His birth is to canon. He was born in May months before the battle happened in this story.


Ron's boots clicked loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing throughout the deserted halls. But it didn't matter how loud he was being, the corridor he was in–or most any corridor in the school–was quiet and empty.

Today was the first trip into Hogsmeade for the semester and most of the students had headed out to enjoy a little weekend freedom from the doldrums of the school year. Those who were not yet old enough to venture out into the village were either holed up in the library or common rooms finishing neglected schoolwork, or enjoying the expanses of the Hogwarts grounds and the many opportunities it afforded.

Ron was, of course, not at Hogwarts for either of those reasons. He was at the school on a routine trip on the behalf of the Ministry. As Ministry ambassador and member of the school's board of governors, Ron had come to gather a current state of affairs of the school from Professor McGonagall–which in reality meant a five minute conversation concerning what was going on at the school before it turned into talk about his children and family.

Although having his relationship with McGonagall go from teacher-student and evolve into something more friendly over the past decade or so was strange, he quite enjoyed not having to worry about her handing out detentions and was grateful that the stern glare she could give through those glasses perched on her nose was not being directed at him.

When he'd arrived this morning, McGonagall had not been in the headmistress's office and the stone gargoyle had told Ron that she had gone down to the dungeons about 20 minutes before he'd arrived.

So grudgingly he'd headed down to the depths of the school. It wasn't somewhere he really wanted to visit on a regular basis.

The dungeons were still where potions class was held.

It was still where the Potions Master's office was.

It was still where Snape was.

Although Snape had supposedly been a double-agent during the war, playing the role of a Death Eater while actually working as Dumbledore's right-hand man–Ron still didn't like or trust the man. He was as sneaky and as slippery as he'd always been and the few times he'd been forced to interact with his former professor over the past few years, the tension and dislike between the two had been palpable.

Directly after the war, when they'd been trying to piece together the details of what had happened, how Harry had actually defeated Voldemort and why it had all gone so horribly wrong, Ron had heard rumors that Snape had helped Harry out near the end somehow. It had only been rumor and Ron had heard no further details of what the involvement may have entailed. He had chalked any talk as Snape trying to redeem himself further in the eyes of the Ministry post-Voldemort.

Ron didn't really care either way. Nothing could make him like the man. If he had helped Harry at the end–even if it meant that he'd had a hand in bringing down the Dark Lord–he'd been directly involved in Harry's death.

If he had helped–he was part of the reason why Harry wasn't there with them.

Nothing could redeem him in Ron's eyes for that.

The last of his angry thoughts seemed to swirl around Ron's head as he reached the last flight of stone stairs before reaching the dungeons. He pulled his cloak closer to himself as the chill of the damp dungeon atmosphere swirled around him and the temperature change became apparent. His footsteps seemed even louder as the sound bounced off every available stone surface, ceiling and walls with no outlet.

But even over the noise of his own footsteps, Ron stopped at the sound of raised voices coming from a classroom not ten feet away. Ron paused and listened for a moment, wanting to hear some details of conversation that might key him into whether he was interrupting something important or that he shouldn't be hearing.

“You're sure that's what you saw?” a voice that Ron instantly recognized as Minerva McGonagall's floated to him from the open classroom doorway. She sounded worried and slightly disbelieving of whatever she was looking for confirmation for.

“I'm positive,” another voice reassured her and Ron again recognized it. The slightly tired and hoarse voice of Remus Lupin was immediately familiar to him and it wasn't totally out of place.

After the war Remus had retaken his post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had retired about 4 years ago, but he still occasioned as a guest lecturer every once in a while to help out Bill, who had taken the job upon Remus's retirement. It made sense for him to be here.

But why he was meeting McGonagall in the dungeons and not her office was beyond Ron. Unless...

“I thought this thing was done–that everything had resolved itself?” McGonagall asked hesitantly.

“It's been nearly 18 years,” Ron heard the sickeningly sardonic voice of Severus Snape sneer back. “Who's to say that anything's changed? I see no reason for worry. Just because you say you've seen--”

“Then how can you explain how everything's suddenly come back as clear as day, Severus?” Remus cut him off, his voice rising in desperation. “How can you explain away the fact that he's been found and our marks have all gone?”

“A coincidence,” Snape replied, his voice dismissive.

Ron stood stock still in the hallway, leaning on the stone wall for support as he listened and tried to make heads or tails of what was being discussed.

“A coincidence?” Remus repeated exasperatedly. “It's not a coincidence that it was his son--”

“The boy was merely lucky,” Snape refuted any of Remus's next words. “He stumbled upon something purely accidentally--”

“No,” Remus said in disagreement, and Ron could almost see Remus shaking his head in his mind's eye. “I saw him when he came back. There was something deeply bothering him and it was as if some part of him truly believed that he'd--” Remus continued.

But again, Snape cut across him.

“Believed what?” Snape asked heatedly. “Everything is as it should be. The world believes that Potter is dead and nothing has changed about that...”

“Something has,” Remus said sharply. “Something is different about the whole thing. If it wasn't–Jackson wouldn't have been able to get so close. If the Vow and the Fidelius and the Memory Fade Charm in place were still working as they should be–he never could have had those thoughts and we would have continued to forget.”

Ron couldn't put together what he was hearing fast enough. His brain was working a mile a minute, fragments of the overheard conversation bouncing around his head, begging to made sense of.

But he really couldn't believe what he was hearing.

If he was piecing things together in the right order...

His feet were moving before conscious thought had caught up and he had entered the classroom with his wand out before the other three could even comprehend his sudden arrival.

“What the fuck are you three on about?” Ron roared angrily as all the anger and venom he had in his body seemed to rise to the surface all at once. His blood was boiling and every muscle in his body was coiled ready to spring, his senses alert and ready for any reaction they might have.

“Ron,” Remus said in reply, the surprise on his face palpable. “Minerva was just saying that she'd been expecting your visit this--” he continued, as if trying to make light of the situation and cover up what they'd said, but Ron interrupted abruptly.

“Don't even try that,” Ron spat at Remus, as he took a threatening step closer to the older man. He had several inches and quite a bit of bulk on his former professor and he knew himself to be an imposing figure when he needed to be. And although Ron knew that with Remus being a werewolf, his size advantage wouldn't be that great if it got physical, he really didn't care at this moment. He was too angry to care.

“I'm not sure what you heard...” Remus said after he swallowed heavily, looking flustered.

“Everything,” Ron shot back. “Everything about something that you three are involved in and have been hiding. But all I care about is the fact that you've mentioned my nephew amongst all your secrecy. So somebody better start talking and explaining what's going on--”

“Ron, I'm not sure we can explain completely. There's a lot that we don't understand ourselves,” Minerva interjected, this time speaking instead of Remus.

“Well you better start trying to explain,” Ron said shaking his head. “I walked down here, hoping to talk about the school–and instead I hear some nonsense about a Fidelius and marks and how the world believes in my best mate's death, as if the thought is somehow ridiculous.”

“So what the hell is going on here?” Ron repeated loudly, this time his gaze focused solely on Remus as he asked the question.

“Ron, I know whatever we may have to tell you...” Remus began after a few moments of silence. “you probably won't believe...”

“I've seen a lot over the years,” Ron replied sarcastically. “There aren't a whole lot of things I'd consider impossible in this world.”

Remus seemed resigned at Ron's sarcasm and sighed out heavily.

“Things aren't as they seem,” Remus said quietly.

Ron furrowed his brow.

“The battle didn't end the way everybody thought it did,” Remus continued solemnly.

“What are talking about?” Ron exasperatedly, extremely irritated by the runabout he was getting. This stalling and trying to brace Ron for whatever was coming was getting old quickly and he was not sure that he would be able to hold his temper much longer.

Remus paused again, gauging his next words carefully.

“Harry came to me a week or so before the battle...after you three had returned from hunting for the Horcruxes,” Remus began quietly. “He'd figured something out...and needed help...”

“What sort of help?” Ron asked automatically. He had no idea that Harry'd gone to anyone for assistance. They'd spent nearly 9 months on the run, living on the edge while searching for the last few pieces of Voldemort's soul. They'd been through hell together and shared everything. He'd have known if Harry'd gone to someone for help...

“Help with a spell...a spell he would need in the end,” Remus answered. “He came to me...but I didn't know enough on my own. So I asked him if I could go to others. That's how Minerva and Serverus became involved.”

There was a stretch of silence that enveloped the small dungeon classroom as Ron digested Remus's words.

“And what was this spell supposed to do?” Ron asked as calmly as he could. “Why did he need it?”

The questions were asked partly out of curiosity and partly out of the disbelief that there was a chance that Harry had kept something from he and Hermione.

“Finding the Horcruxes that you three knew about wasn't going to be enough to end it,” Remus replied bracingly. “Harry figured that out–and we helped him...”

Ron's mind reeled at the revelation.

“We only had the diadem and the snake to kill that day...” Ron blurted out in disjointed disbelief. “That was it. Then Harry could do away with him.”

Remus shook his head slowly in disagreement with Ron.

“What do you mean, 'no'?” Ron asked loudly. “That's the way it was. There's nothing else for it.”

“Things were never completely laid out as they were supposed to be,” Remus corrected him in a voice full of reason and calm. “Harry figured it out and...”

“He would have come to us–me and Hermione,” Ron said, as though he was trying to convince not only Remus, but himself. “We would have known if something was up. We were always together–we shared everything--”

“You obviously weren't with Potter at all times,” Snape sneered from his post where he stood leaning against the stone wall. “He managed at some point under your watch to father a love child with you kid sister, did he not?”

“Shut your mouth,” Ron snapped back. “Don't you dare talk about my family, you filthy snake...”

Snape did not retort, but slunk back against the wall with the slightest hint of a satisfied smirk on his face, clearly relaying the enjoyment he had gotten from pushing Ron's buttons.

“He was scared, Ron,” Remus relayed, ignoring Snape's comments. “And he knew that you and Hermione would try to intervene...try to stop him...”

“Damn right we would have,” Ron replied loudly. “You three got him killed,” he added harshly.

Remus shook his head slowly, as if again to refute Ron's assumption.

“That was one of the possible outcomes...” Remus said quietly. “But that's not what happened.”

“Outcomes?” Ron shouted incredulously. “There was only one outcome–he died!”

“He didn't, Ron,” Remus said steadily.

“Harry's alive.”

The words rang out unnaturally loud in the dungeon basement classroom and no one seemed to breathe.

And then the laughter started.

Ron's mocking laugh pierced through the silence, bouncing off of the walls and magnifying in intensity.

“No he's not,” Ron said shaking his head.

“He is,” Remus corrected him again. “We weren't sure at first...but I've seen him...”

“You're all nuts, the three of you are,” Ron said as his laughter cut out and he shook his head. “You're up to something...but this is just crazy.”

“I know it sounds that way...” Remus began.

“That's because it is!” Ron yelled. “You're going to sit here and try and tell me some bullshit about my best mate having been alive for the past eighteen years without anybody else in the world catching on, and expect me to just go along with it?”

“You're all cracked....” Ron said as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Nobody knew because that's the way it was meant to be,” Remus implored. “Harry didn't expect to make it, Ron. But he feared more than anything what would happen if he survived the separation.”

“Separation?” Ron questioned without thought.

There was only silence in the wake of the initial response.

“What do you mean by 'separation'?” Ron repeated in angry confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I said before, Ron,” Remus began. “The Horcruxes you knew about...were not going to be enough. There was another...”

Ron found himself shaking his head in disbelief. There was no way they had been mistaken–that he'd gone the past 18 years being wrong about everything...

“On the night that Voldemort killed James and Lily...the force of the spell and the reaction with the powerful magic unleashed with Lily's sacrifice...” Remus began to explain. “It did more than destroy Voldemort physically. He left a bit of himself behind...”

“It attached itself to Harry.”

“Come off it,” Ron mumbled in reaction. But his voice was low and quiet, the pure anger and shock in his voice masked by his confusion and the numbness his brain was now experiencing.

“Harry held the final bit of Voldemort's soul entwined in his own,” Remus forged on. “Harry figured it out and came to me–to us–for help on what he could do to destroy it.”

“That doesn't make any sense. How is that even possible?” Ron breathed out in shock.

“The Horcrux only needs a vessel to survive...living or not,” McGonagall explained, interjecting herself into the conversation for the first time in many minutes. “Harry was the nearest thing for it to cling to and considering the act that had been attempted on him just minutes before–it made sense for the two to be attracted.”

“And it explained the connection they had–their abilities to see within each other,” Remus went on. “And why, perhaps, Harry was able to speak Parseltongue as well...”

Ron found himself still shaking his head as he digested all of this.

“Nobody knew about this?” Ron asked out of a shocked curiosity. “Nobody thought of this possibility beforehand?”

Ron looked up to find Remus and Professor McGonagall exchanging knowing glances with Snape.

“What?” Ron asked sharply.

“Dumbledore knew,” Snape said, not dismissing completely the air of arrogance in his explanation. “Or at least he had a good idea about what may have happened that night and that Potter held that final piece.”

“And he never...never said anything to Harry–to any of you?” Ron asked in a measured voice.

“Potter wasn't to know until the end,” Snape said. “Dumbledore foresaw his own death coming and laid out instruction that Potter was to be told when all else was taken care of. I was to tell him then...but as Lupin said...he figured it out on his own before.”

Ron brought a hand up to his face and rubbed it tiredly.

He didn't want to believe any of what they were telling him. But none of them looked as if they were having him on...there was just too much that fit.

“So what was this spell that you three came up with supposed to do?” Ron asked numbly. “Did it work?”

“We weren't sure what was going to happen,” Remus admitted quietly. “But what we all agreed on and Harry was adamant about, was that the bit of soul be destroyed–at whatever cost.”

“The spell we found was ancient and meant to deal with the stripping of one's magical core,” Remus added. “They used to use it as a way of punishment–before the use of dementors and The Kiss.”

“Why the hell would you even look at something that would do that to him?” Ron blurted in outrage.

“That was just the original spell, “ Remus clarified. “We adapted it to try and attack and separate the souls that way. But there was no way to test if we'd gotten it completely correct.”

“So you let him go into it with a spell that you didn't even know if it would work?” Ron said exasperatedly. “I can't believe he'd agree to any of it.”

“Harry understood all the uncertainty and he only wanted to end the war and get of Voldemort for good,” Remus countered. “He understood all the possibilities of what the outcome might be for himself.”

“Which were? Get himself killed or....what?” Ron asked in desperation.

“That was the most expected outcome,” Remus admitted. “There was the greatest chance that the sheer power unleashed by the spell or the trauma of the separation itself would kill him, but take Voldemort down with him.”

“Fuck,” was all Ron could manage as he listened to Remus.

“Another possibility was the spell would do as intended–strip him of his magic, as well as complete the splitting of the soul from his own,” Remus continued. “It would end things...but leave him--”

“A Muggle,” Ron finished. Remus nodded.

Ron could scarcely breathe. What he was hearing now, was terrifying. He couldn't, for the life of him, fathom how Harry had made this decision.

“But what happened then?” Ron asked quietly. “You said he didn't die...and him losing his magic wouldn't have been enough to keep him from us. We could have gotten past that–”

“There was another possibility,” Remus admitted. “It was what Harry feared the most, Ron–more than death even,” he added heavily.

Ron remained silent but clearly was anticipating Remus's next words with rapt attention.

“The piece of Voldemort's soul was completely entwined with Harry's,” Remus continued. “They were so connected–that in some respects–they were one in the same.”

“To separate two entities that were so interwoven–could only result in catastrophic damage,” Remus added, his voice heavy with his guilt and grief.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“You remember what happened to the vessels that held the other bits of soul?” Remus asked Ron quietly.

Ron was quiet in response, only nodding when his mind drifted back to the Horcruxes they had destroyed all those years ago. He remembered the ruined diary, the cracked and splintered locket and the smoldering and warped cup. All of these things had been mangled and destroyed beyond meaningful repair as they had been disposed of.

So what had happened to Harry if he too had been a vessel?

“From what we had anticipated–the spell and the removal of the Horcrux would damage not only his body potentially–but also his mind,” Remus finished heavily.

“His mind?” Ron repeated in question, completely numb and shell-shocked.

“Brain damage, memory loss–both,” Remus explained further.

“So that's what happened?” Ron asked, his voice breathy and much more faint than before. “You destroyed his mind with this spell of yours?” Ron added, his voice rising a touch.

Remus did not respond, but looked down, away from Ron's gaze.

“I still don't get it,” Ron said as he let out a long, shaky breath. “I still don't understand how this is all possible...how you've managed to hide all of this for the past eighteen years from everyone else in the world.”

“We promised him, Ron,” Remus said, appealing for Ron to understand.

“Promised him what?” Ron asked.

“To keep him safe,” Remus replied. “To keep his secret....no matter what.”

“I can't believe he made you all promise this,” Ron said in disbelief.

“He didn't want to be anyone's burden anymore,” Remus answered. “And if the spell did the worst–it would leave him unable to take care of himself or live any sort of independent life.”

“We would have taken care of him,” Ron said vehemently, shaking his head in disbelief. “None of it would have mattered to us...”

“He didn't want that,” Remus said simply. “You know how he was, Ron. In his mind, you had all had given so much for him already. He didn't want it to have to continue afterward too. He thought it would be easier to not have to put this on everyone.”

“It was easier to have us all think he was dead?” Ron asked exasperated. “You don't think that was a burden to us? I've spent the past eighteen years living with the guilt that I didn't do enough to save him...that I wasn't there to help him. And now you tell me it's all been a lie?”

Ron paused for a moment, drawing in a deep shaky breath as he raked a hand through his still bright red hair.

“We promised him,” Remus repeated.

“You could have broken your god damn promise!” Ron growled angrily.

“We all took an Unbreakable Vow for him,” Remus countered. “We took the vow and put in place the necessary protection charms for him and for us.”

“Are you all nuts?” Ron asked in all seriousness. “He obviously wasn't in any state of mind to make a decision like that. Why would you agree to anything for him--especially to take the Unbreakable Vow?” he added in exasperation.

“He knew what he wanted,” Remus insisted. “He was willing to do whatever it took–even give up everything he knew. He understood, Ron. And for all he was willing to sacrifice–this was the least I could do for him–to grant him at least some bit of comfort by granting his wishes.”

Ron swore quietly under his breath.

“So what did his wishes entail exactly?” Ron asked, barely able to keep his anger out of his voice. “What happened to him then–after?” he added.

“A Portkey was supposed to activate when Harry had executed the last sequence in the spell,” Remus began to explain. “It was supposed to take him to a location that we'd chosen away from the battle–a cave up in the mountains. I was to go there then to see what condition he was in...to see what the spell had done to him.”

“Then depending on what I found when I got there–there were arrangements and places where we'd take him,” Remus continued. “There were charms in place to make sure nobody else would find out--”

“So where is he?” Ron asked urgently. “Where did you take him?”

“The Portkey didn't work as intended,” Remus told him. “Something went wrong before I could get to him.”

Ron could only look at Remus in disbelief. None of what he had been told made any real sense to him. He was having a hard time comprehending this tale that had just been spun out for him. But this last bit of information was truly too much...

“It didn't take him to the mountains,” Remus admitted. “Something about the power unleashed by the spell and the exchange of magic between Harry and Voldemort messed with calibrations we had set for the destination. I searched the mountains, all the caves and the grounds of Hogwarts–but he wasn't there.”

“You were the first one to make it to where they'd been–afterward,” Ron breathed out. It wasn't a question, but a statement. Remus had indeed been one of the first to come to after the blast released by Harry and Voldemort. Ron remembered seeing Remus, standing over the charred and destroyed earth where the two had been, staring blankly at the nothingness.

Remus nodded.

“I hadn't even thought to question the fact that there was no body,” Ron said in disbelief. “He was just gone.”

“That's the way it was supposed to be,” Remus said quietly.

“No,” Ron corrected. “It was just the choices you all made–so it appeared to be that way.”

“I searched, Ron,” Remus countered, his voice full of a certain amount of desperation that seemed to pleading for Ron to believe him. “I looked–and the three of us tried to figure what had gone wrong and where the Portkey could have possibly taken him.”

“But with the chaos, the cleanup and the mourning that followed the battle, it was hard to focus solely on that,” Remus admitted. “It took us nearly 3 weeks to trace the possible location that the Portkey had actually led to.”

“And where was that?” Ron asked with a quiet tension in his voice.

“Upstate New York in America,” Remus replied simply. “Somehow the Portkey took him there.”

“He was there–alone--for 3 weeks?” Ron asked in exasperated outrage.

Remus nodded solemnly.

“It landed him in a place called Devil's Hole State Park,” Remus explained. “A pair of hikers found him off of a trail. They alerted the authorities and he was taken to a hospital.”

“How bad?”

“He was in critical condition when they brought him in,” Remus replied. “His injuries were very severe...as we expected they would be.”

“And how do you know all this?” Ron asked. “You didn't figure the location out for weeks...”

“We pinpointed the general area,” Remus confirmed. “And I then I went to America to look for any sign of him. I'd been in the area a day or so when I ran across an article in the local paper about a John Doe teen who still hadn't been identified.”

“I went to the hospital,” Remus continued quietly. “He was there. He was still in the ICU...but he was stable and starting to slowly begin to heal by then.”

“Did you even try to help him?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You had no second thoughts after seeing him again–that maybe he'd made the wrong choice?”

“Of course I did,” Remus replied in a whisper.

“But I made my promise,” Remus added more firmly. “And I just need to see–to make sure–that he was okay.”

“And was he?” Ron questioned.

Remus swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact with Ron.

“His medical chart indicated he'd suffered significant pelvic and lower back injuries,” Remus explained. “He had lacerations and other broken bones. And there was evidence of an extensive head injury...”

“I went into his room, Ron,” Remus said. “I stood over his bed and looked into his eyes...and there was no recognition there.”

“He didn't know who I was...and I'm not sure he even registered that anyone was there at all,” Remus admitted heavily.

“So that was it?” Ron asked. “You just left and forgot about him until now?” he added, the tension growing in his voice once more.

“That's the way the charms were supposed to work,” Remus replied. “Over time the details were supposed to become more fuzzy and disjointed. And yes, eventually everything was supposed to fade away.”

“I did go to see him again,” Remus admitted after Ron did not respond. “A couple of months after my first visit I went back to the hospital. He was in rehab by then–trying to get back on his feet.”

At this admission, both McGonagall and Snape looked up in surprise. Apparently they hadn't known about Remus's return trip.

“I sat in on one of his therapy sessions,” Remus continued. “I disguised myself and placed a few memory charms on the staff and managed to pull myself off as an intern.”

“He could barely walk,” Remus said heavily. “They were working on speech and comprehension with him. He seemed to understand...but he was having a hard time verbalizing anything. I stayed for a day, just observing and making sure he was okay. Their goal was to have him well enough to move into a sort of center–a halfway house–before they let him go completely.”

Remus's words were again treated with silence. Ron seemed to be seriously mulling something over; his features flickering between anger and confusion at a rapid pace.

“You came back a second time without him,” Ron began, his voice dangerously on edge. “When you knew by that time about Jackson. You knew Ginny was pregnant–that Harry was going to be a dad,” Ron added, his voice rising in deadly accusation.

“And at no time did you have any second thoughts?” Ron asked in disbelief. “Did you not think for one moment that things were different than before? That the situation had changed drastically?”

“Ron...I couldn't,” Remus replied unevenly, his voice wavering.

“You damn well could have,” Ron rebuffed him. “You had every chance--every opportunity. You were the only ones with the power to change your decision at any time and you did nothing.”

“It wasn't that simple,” Remus responded desperately. “There was the Unbreakable Vow...”

“To hell with the vow,” Ron snapped. “Once you knew about the baby, everything else should have changed. You would have done anything for Harry, right? But I would have given up everything for Jackson--”

“I had my family to think about,” Remus cut across frantically. “Teddy wasn't even a year old....”

Ron could only glare at Remus in shock and anger.

“I didn't know what to do, Ron,” Remus admonished. “I was afraid. If I said anything...if I changed the plan we'd laid out...it would mean death. I couldn't leave them. I couldn't lose my family.”

“But was okay to rip apart and ruin another?” Ron asked. “What about my sister? What about their son? It was alright for them to lose everything?”

“What would you have had me do, Ron?” Remus asked brokenly. “You can't tell me that you'd be so hasty to make that sacrifice if you were me. Think about your own kids and Hermione...and tell me that you could just leave them behind...that it's an easy choice...”

“Nobody would have won,” Remus continued sadly. “One family would have been broken no matter the choice. But you don't think that my decision hasn't haunted me?”

“But you got to forget about that guilt, right?” Ron inquired, his tone mired in angry irony. “You said that the charms were supposed to make everything fade away. So, you didn't spend the past 18 years beating yourself up about it. After a while, you got your happy ending, didn't you?”

Remus looked down and away from Ron, swallowing hard as his answer welled up in his throat, relaying his guilt without words.

“So why aren't you dead now?” Ron asked harshly after a few moments of heavy silence. Three heads popped up in attention at Ron's question. “How are you telling me all this and still standing? Shouldn't the Vow have struck you dead if all this were true?”

“We can't completely explain why it's been broken without consequence,” Remus admitted. “It's only come back recently...only since he's been found again.”

“By who?” Ron asked thickly.

“Jackson,” Remus replied simply. Ron could only look incredulously at the others in the room, once more shocked by what he was hearing.

“That day he came home and started telling us all about why he'd gone to the States,” Remus began again. “That's the day that it all came crashing back into memory. I looked at the picture he'd shown us...and I remembered everything.”

“Jackson figured it out and stumbled on the truth on his own,” Remus continued. “And for some reason...that's what changed everything. Since that day...we've all been able to recall what happened and talk about it freely. It's as if Jackson's actions lifted the veil.”

“How is that possible?” Ron asked tiredly, not sure he'd be able to believe any of what Remus was going to tell him.

“You saw how much he believed in what he told us,” Remus answered. “No matter how crazy all he did and said may have sounded and how ridiculous everyone thought it was–deep down there was something there that made him pursue those instincts and feelings.”

“Something is going on,” Remus added. “Something that I'm not sure any of us can explain, or any of us has ever seen before.”

“But Jackson was wrong,” Ron found himself saying, remembering quite vividly the exchange between his nephew and his sister. “He'd said he'd found the wrong person.”

“He just wasn't there at the right time,” Remus replied. “Harry lived there but moved a few months before. He stayed with the Smith family after he left the hospital. It's been his home off and on for the past seventeen years.”

“And you know this how?”

“I went back...last week,” Remus explained. “I tried to trace him all the way back to the half-way house he was supposed to have gone to after he was released. But he never went there. All their records–everything–just stops.”

“I had to search for some of the doctors who had treated him long term and get them to–tell me–where he might have gone,” Remus continued, pausing as he explained his methods. There was no doubt in Ron's mind those methods had been to coerce those individuals using magic. “Maria Smith was a nurse who was there for most of his recovery. She and her husband decided to take him in and have been his sort of–adopted family–over time.”

“He is a photographer,” Remus said. “Well–a professor of photography now. He's done quite well for himself.”

“You said you've actually seen him,” Ron stated.

Remus nodded.

“Jackson and Anna had traced him to where he'd lived and taught previously in the Buffalo area,” Remus explained. “But he's since moved on and gotten a more permanent position in the art department at a university in Wisconsin. That's where I went to see him.”

“He looks good,” Remus admitted. “He doesn't seem to have any lasting effects from his injuries. He looks just like you think he would have...”

Ron looked away and swallowed, trying to keep the mixture of emotions welling up inside him at bay. He still wasn't sure if he could really believe any of this–but that bit of him was momentarily pushed aside by his overwhelming urge to ask so many questions.

“I can't believe you...” Ron began, shaking his head and breaking off when his words failed him.

“Ron, I'm not going to try to begin to explain everything that's gone on,” Remus began when Ron did not continue. “But something possibly great has happened. Maybe now we can--”

“We can, what?” Ron asked, cutting him off. “We can all live happily ever after?” Ron added rather harshly.

“Nothing changes the past 17 years–nothing brings that back,” Ron continued on, his voice rising as he spoke. “What do you think happens now? We bring him back and you're forgiven?”

Remus looked away at Ron's accusation.

“You said yourself that he doesn't remember anything,” Ron said. “He's got a different name, a different life–what great thing is going to come out of this? Now we're going to know he's alive and not be able to change anything and instead have to sit and watch him live his life without us.”

Ron finished and swore as he turned away from Remus, rubbing a hand through his hair in frustration and anger.

“I'm sorry, Ron.”

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to,” Ron replied bitterly.

“I want you to remember how 'sorry' you are when you have to look my sister and her son in the face and tell them what you've just told me,” Ron continued. “I hope the next time you have to look into those green eyes, you realize just what your decisions have meant.”

There was only more silence in the wake of Ron's last words. It was as if the other three people in the room where waiting for his temper to finally boil over.

But there was no explosion from Ron. He simply looked around at the other three, and cast a glare that relayed all of his anger and pain before he swept from the room, not even bothering to gauge their reactions.

Ron's feet carried him through the winding halls, his footfalls clattering off the wall, echoing loudly. He wasn't sure where he was going and wasn't paying particular attention to the path he was on. All he knew, was that he needed to go somewhere to think–somewhere where the information of the past half hour or so could soak in and he could begin to try and comprehend.

Before he knew it, he was outside and headed down the front stone steps of the castle. Instead of heading down the gravel drive to the front gates, Ron instead took a left, heading out onto the green grass of the castle grounds towards the distant edge of the Forbidden Forest.

As his thoughts raced and his mind seemed to seize up, he walked in a daze as he passed the Quidditch pitch and neared the gardens of the Herbology greenhouse.

How could all this have really happened?

How could Remus, Snape and McGonagall have kept such a thing from them all?

How could Harry really be alive after all these years? How could none of them have known and never questioned that there was a possibility that he hadn't died in the battle?

As Jackson had pointed out–there hadn't been anything left to bury. There had been no body, just ash and charred earth in the wake of a tremendous explosion. They had all just assumed that nothing and nobody would be able to survive the sheer power and magic that had been unleashed in the clash between the two wizards.

There had been no search afterwards–they had all been too consumed by their grief and mourning for anything of the sort to enter their minds.

But now as Remus's words echoed through is mind, his own assuredness began to waver. Had the past seventeen years as he'd known it been a lie?

How had he not known his best friend was alive? He'd known Harry better than anyone–save Ginny perhaps. So how had he not gotten a hunch that all was not as it seemed or any feeling at all that his best mate had survived?

While visions of his long-lost best friend danced around in his mind's eye, Ron continued wondering towards the greenhouses.

It was only when a familiar mop of black hair caught his eye that Ron stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment Ron was certain that all the air had gone from his lungs and the world around him had stopped.

He watched as the figure before him sunk the spade he was holding into the brown earth below his feet, quickly repeating the motion as dirt was tossed aside. Ron was immediately reminded of a similar scene as he'd witnessed years ago as he'd watched Harry bury Dobby in the garden of Shell Cottage.

But as Ron walked ever closer and the figure drew up to his full height, those images were quickly jettisoned away. The figure was taller and a tad more broad in the shoulder than the picture he'd been envisioning in his mind. There were other, more subtle differences there too. Although the same raven color, the hair was different too–thick black locks falling across the face in today's latest style and cut.

And as the figure now turned to face him, Ron saw that was also not the same. The nose was just a touch shorter, and a fine layer of light freckles lay where they'd never been before. The green eyes, although just as vivid, were free from any frame or lens. They were now turned towards him, aware of his approach as the figure raised a hand in welcome.

“Hey, Uncle Ron,” the young man said, reaching up to wipe away the sweat on his brow with the forearm he'd raised in hello. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and open to a white undershirt, both now stained and dirtied with the soil he'd been working in. He looked rather hot and tired, sweat dampening his fringe and his cheeks slightly pink with the heat from the mid-day sun.

But Ron did not respond to the greeting. Instead he stopped a few feet from the young man, his eyes roving over his nephew.

All of his anger over Remus's revelation, about being lied to and deceived for the past 17 years, seemed to ebb away. He now found himself overcome with an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness–his sadness for dark haired man standing before him now. As much as he'd felt wronged by what he'd just learned, it was nothing compared to what this would mean to the young man before him.

How in the world was he supposed to tell him?

But any more thought Ron may have put into that question was interrupted by the sound of his own name being said again.

“Uncle Ron?” Jackson asked loudly, waving his hand in the air, as if to try to get his uncle's attention. “Are you alright?” he added as he frowned in concern, his eyes searching his uncle for any sign of his current distress.

At the last question, Ron finally snapped out of his daze, looking his nephew directly in the eyes for the first time as he drew himself back to the present.

“I'm fine,” Ron managed, his voice a bit more constricted than he'd expected it to be. He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat loudly.

“Are you sure?” Jackson asked. Ron could see the worry and confusion there, relaying that his previous state had not gone unnoticed by his nephew. “You seemed a bit spaced out for a while...”

“Just got a little lost in my thoughts,” Ron admitted, not really fudging the truth at all.

Jackson nodded, seeming to be partially satisfied with the answer.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Jackson asked curiously after a few moments.

“Had a meeting with McGonagall...just a regular update chat about the state of the school for the board members and Ministry,” he added, when Jackson raised his brow inquisitively about the subject of the meeting.

“Ah,” Jackson responded with a nod. “So you're actually doing some work for once?” Jackson added with a sly, teasing grin.

Ron had to swallow before responding. That crooked smile that Jackson was giving him got him every time with how much it reminded him of Harry.

“You sound like your Aunt Hermione...and your Mum,” Ron responded with a laugh and a shake of his head.

Since he'd retired from the Auror Department a few years ago, he hadn't had a real semblance of a regular work schedule. Besides meetings at the Ministry and the occasional trip out of the country to meet with foreign officials and dignitaries, he really had an abundance of free time to spend with his wife and children. And it was a fact that a lot of the family liked to remind him and tease him about, such as Jackson was doing now.

“What are you doing out here?” Ron returned the question, suddenly very curious as to why his nephew was knee deep in dirt in the Herbology gardens when he should be enjoying the sunny day. “I'd have thought you'd have been in Hogsmeade with everyone else,” he added.

At the question Jackson's face fell slightly, his smile fading along with it.

“Detention,” he answered simply, leaning on the shovel he'd been holding.

He was usually aware of when his nephew had done something to earn himself a detention–either from his own children in their letters, or from Ginny. But he hadn't heard anything about this.

“Late for McGonagall's class again?” Ron questioned, knowing that being tardy to Transfiguration usually came with a price.

“No,” Jackson said shaking his head. “It's not anything I did at school.”

It was Ron's turn now to raise his brow inquisitively.

“Apparently Mums can get professors to give you detention for stuff you've done outside of school,” Jackson explained with a ghost of rueful smile. “She got Nev–Professor Longbottom to give me detentions pretty much every Saturday–save Gryffindor Quidditch matches--until Christmas break,” he added.

“For what happened at the end of summer?” Ron asked, knowing exactly what event had gotten him into so much trouble.

“Yeah,” Jackson nodded. “So for it--I've got to dig out all these gardens for first and second years to do some planting–all by hand of course,” he added tiredly as he rubbed wiped his face again with the back of his hand.

“She loves you, Jackson,” Ron said automatically in response. “She may be angry now...but she's always looking out for and wanting what's best for you.”

Jackson nodded knowingly.

Knowing what he did now, Ron felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Jackson. He was being punished for something he'd done on a wild and impossible urge and instinct–an instinct that, it turns out, that had been correct.

But he was sure that now was not the time to say anything. There was still so much Ron needed to seek out and figure out before that happened.

“I guess this could be worse,” Jackson added in the wake of his uncle's silence as he gestured to the shovel he was holding and the tilled dirt around him.

“And besides–I probably wouldn't have gone into Hogsmeade today anyways,” he added. “Liam and Luke both have themselves new girls. I'd have just ended up the third wheel or walking around by myself halfway through the day,” he said with a little sadness in his tone.

“Heard from Anna lately?” Ron asked, knowing where his nephew's mind had gone when he'd mentioned his two good friends' and their current relationship statuses.

“I got a letter from her this morning,” Jackson responded with a smile, looking up as he realized he'd been found out. “She's really good. Busy with studying and stuff–but she loves school so far and is doing really well.”

“Christmas break will be here before you two know it,” Ron teased, watching his nephew roll his eyes.

“Yeah...but until then...” Jackson added, digging the shovel further into the ground to illustrate the fact that he'd be rather occupied during his free time until break.

Ron nodded in understanding. But as he made to make another teasing comment about his love-sick nephew, a nagging question made its way out instead.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron questioned suddenly.

“Yeah, sure,” Jackson said with a nod.

“What really made you go all the way to America to look for that–guy?” Ron asked, watching Jackson's reaction to the question closely.

Jackson turned his eyes towards the ground, looking as though he'd rather not answer. It took him a few moments before he took a deep breath and gave his reply.

“From the moment I looked at that picture, there was this little voice in my head that just wouldn't quit pointing out the similarities,” Jackson began to explain quietly, looking off somewhere in the distance as he gathered and drew together his thoughts. “I knew all the impossibilities of it–but in my mind they suddenly made sense and I started connecting dots and points that I knew weren't there.”

“Then I thought maybe if I saw for myself that it was just a coincidence–the similarities and all–then I could put it to rest and go on,” Jackson added.

“That's why you went?”

Jackson nodded.

“And what made you stop?” Ron asked his nephew. “Was it just the fact that everyone else thought it was crazy?”

“That was a lot of it, yeah,” Jackson admitted. “Because it really is crazy–once you think about it. And I didn't want to upset anyone anymore than I already had.”

Ron wanted to counter him and let him know that it wasn't as far-fetched as it had once sounded. But he remained silent.

“Plus–the guy wasn't–couldn't have been who I thought he was,” Jackson added. “He didn't live where we'd tracked him down to anymore–but his parents did. And obviously having a mum and dad alive negates everything. He really was just some guy who looks extraordinarily like me.”

Ron nodded but did not say anything for a few moments. He wasn't sure what would come out when he did.

“It'll all be alright,” Ron found himself saying. Jackson looked at him, slightly curious as to his uncle's choice of words.

“Your Mum won't stay mad forever,” Ron responded instead, not truthfully explaining what he'd meant by his previous assurance. “And things usually have a habit of working themselves out in the end,” he added, unsure of whether he'd be able to say the same once he figured out what he was going to do in his own situation.

“I guess,” Jackson managed to say in return, sounding the slightest bit confused at exactly what Ron had meant.

Ron's gaze lingered on his nephew for a few moments as silence past between them. There was just so much of his best friend in the young man before him, that it took everything Ron possessed not to spill what he'd just learned.

“Well, I better get going,” Ron sighed heavily. “Take care of yourself. We'll see you at the holidays,” he added, reaching up and putting a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

Jackson looked down at the hand resting on his shoulder for a moment and nodded.

With that, Ron felt the overwhelming need to leave. Looking into his nephew's eyes–those same brilliant green eyes–only made it harder to stay put. He needed to get away and to think.

With an awkward movement, Ron removed his hand from Jackson's shoulder and turned away from his nephew. He didn't wait for Jackson's reaction before he began to walk away back towards the castle but he could feel his nephew's gaze on his back as he retreated.

Back to index


Chapter 8: See The Light

Author's Notes: As promised, here is the other part of the monster chapter. I hope you enjoy. The wait is over...


She couldn't understand why he wasn't home yet.

He'd sent a message earlier in the evening that said he might be tied up in a meeting and he'd probably be late. But this was getting quite ridiculous.

Hermione rolled over in bed, staring over the empty space in the bed next to her, her eyes settling on the alarm clock that glowed brightly in the dark bedroom.

It was 1:15 a.m. according to the bright blue digital numbers.

He'd been late before, stuck in meetings or chamber sessions of the Wizengamot. Yet, he'd always found time to send her a follow up, letting her know a possible time-frame for his arrival.

But there had been nothing since his initial note. She knew there was nothing scheduled as far as meetings with the higher ranking officials at the Ministry. She would have known or would have been called in herself, seeing as she was a senior supervisor in the Magical Law Department.

She knew there was nothing slated that would keep Ron this late.

She had thought about contacting Percy, or even Arthur to see if maybe they involved or knew when Ron might be home. But she knew if she alerted anyone and drummed up a search for him–and it turned out that he was indeed in a meeting–Ron would be rather irritated.

And although she wasn't worried about an argument with her husband, she certainly didn't need one at this time of the morning.

So she continued to lie in bed, listening for any sound of his arrival as her stomach continued to knot itself with anxiousness. Although the war had been over with for years, there had many nights like this where she'd lay awake, imagining all sorts of terrible things that could happen while he was gone.

It had been especially bad when he was still working as an Auror. The countless missions to round up remaining Death Eaters and the danger she knew he was putting himself in seemed to totally consume her at some points. There were still people out there that wanted to hurt him. Those fears had only gotten worse when they'd started having children and she worried not only what she'd do if she would ever lose him, but how it would effect the kids if he didn't come home.

She had come close to finding out four years ago when he'd nearly been killed on a mission in Germany. It had a been a living, waking nightmare as she'd waited for hours for news of his condition and then sat by his bed for 13 days as they waited to see if he'd ever wake up from severe head and neck injuries.

When he'd finally awoken and she was able to gaze into those deep blue eyes and hear his voice again, the horror had melted away somewhat. But that fear of what might have been–her having to raise five children on her own and live the rest of her life without her best friend and husband–still weighed too heavily on her mind for his recovery to settle her fully.

So she'd asked him to retire.

She knew and understood how selfish it was to ask that of him. He loved what he did and was good at it–but they were at the point where the danger was just too great handle. She'd met too many widowed women and men who had lost a spouse on duty and she'd seen what losing the love of your life did to someone in Ginny everyday.

She couldn't go through that. They'd fought and lost too much in the war for her fears to continue in the years after.

Surprisingly, Ron hadn't argued or put up much of a fight at all at her plea for him to retire. Perhaps he'd seen it in her eyes and heard it in her voice, or maybe he'd realized how close he really had come to leaving them all. Whatever the case may have been, he'd left the department and after he'd been back on his feet again, he'd taken an ambassador position with the Ministry. He was home more and for the most part, she knew he was safe.

'Except tonight,' Hermione thought to herself as she turned over onto her side again. She closed her eyes, hoping that she'd be able to pass the time more easily or perhaps she'd drift off to sleep for a while and wake up with Ron beside her.

The latter proved true and Hermione soon drifted off into an uneasy sleep–a sleep that was interrupted sometime later by the sound and movement of someone sitting at the foot of the bed.

Hermione slowly sat up, her eyes taking time to adjust to the darkness of the room and the faint moonlight being filtered through the window curtains.

As her vision began to clear, her mind registered the fact that Ron was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed. His back was to her, but she could tell that he was cradling his head in hands.

“Where have you been?” Hermione found herself asking. Her voice was louder in the darkness, causing both herself and Ron to jump slightly at the sound of it.

But he did not respond and continued to instead stare out into the dark space before him.

“Ron?” Hermione repeated as she pulled herself from under the covers and moved to sit beside him.

“Why are you so late?” she asked again as his profile came into view. He looked tired and worn, and there was something about him that was very off.

“What's going on? Why are you–” she began to ask, but stopped when a familiar smell filled her nose.

“You've been drinking,” Hermione stated, her voice heavy with disappointment. “I can smell it on you.”

Ron nodded but didn't offer any explanation.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing that it took some sort of trigger to make him go off like this.

There had been times directly after the war where they'd dealt with a few episodes like this. Despite the freedom they'd earned in the end, it had been a trying and hard time for all of them. But Ron had taken things especially hard at times, turning to the bottle or the bottom of a glass to help himself deal with Harry's death, and as he'd explained it, 'numb the pain.'

They had been volatile times for their relationship and there had been many arguments over the way Ron was dealing with everything by drinking. But they'd managed to get through it since then and there had really only been two or three instances she could remember where he'd slipped up since–once after the ten year anniversary ceremony and memorial for the war victims and once after he'd been hurt.

So it was very troubling that she was finding him like this now.

“Ron?” She repeated his name, standing up from her spot next to him and moving to kneel before him. She took his hands in hers, hoping to force him to respond to her touch.

“Please talk to me,” she whispered desperately.

“It's all been a lie,” Ron said flatly, looking down at their hands together in his lap.

“What?” Hermione asked automatically, a thousand scenarios racing through her mind at once–each one more and more terrible.

“We've all been lied to this whole time,” Ron repeated just as lifeless and listless as the first time. “Everything–it's all been one big fucking lie,” he added as he swallowed angrily and blinked away tears.

“I don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart,” Hermione told him, shaking her head in confusion. “You have to tell me exactly what's happened. Who's lied to us?”

“Remus,” Ron spat bitterly. “He and Snape and McGonagall–they all know. They've been keeping him from us for all these years.”

Ron seemed to babbling to her, not making any real sense at all.

“Who?” Hermione asked “Who have they kept--” she began to question, but was cut off as Ron answered her prematurely.

“He's alive,” Ron said simply, his eyes coming to rest on hers for the first time since he'd awakened her.

Hermione shook her head in incomprehension.

“Jackson was right,” Ron told her. “He figured it out and nearly found him.”

Hermione's world reeled with Ron's words. In the back of her mind she thought she understood what he was saying.

But that couldn't be...

“Ron...that's impossible...” Hermione said automatically.

“It should be,” Ron admitted even as he shook his head. “But it all makes sense now...we just never questioned....”

Hermione continued to shake her head in disbelief. He was not making any sense. He'd been drinking and now he was spouting off and babbling about something she knew could not be true. The very thought defied everything her rationale was telling her.

Jackson's seemingly crazy assertion had been just that. Harry could not be alive

And yet...Ron never lied to her.

He may have, from time to time, fibbed about folding the laundry or remembering to pick something up on his way home. But when it came to the serious stuff, they were always straight with each other. That's what made their marriage work–they told each other everything.

So for him to be having her on was something she couldn't bring herself believe.

“I don't really understand,” she said, squeezing Ron's hands. “You have to explain to me exactly what you're talking about. Okay?” she told him.

Ron nodded almost imperceptibly.

And then after a few moments of careful, calculated silence, Ron swallowed heavily before opening his mouth to speak.

It only took a second or so before the words came tumbling out, spilling over one another as Hermione struggled to string them all together.

In what seemed like no time at all, Ron had woven her a story that seemed truly horrifying and hard to believe–one in which Harry had survived not only the final battle, but the separation of a Horcrux from his soul.

It was all too surreal and to unbelievable. Everything she knew and every logical fiber of her being was screaming at her that this was all too crazy–too coincidental and circumstantial to possibly to true.

But as she listened to him speak, letting everything he'd been holding in spill out, she couldn't bring herself to doubt him. Whatever Ron had been told, he wholeheartedly believed that it was true.

And that was enough for her.

She quietly let him finish, listening intently to him as he spoke of what he had said to Remus and the others in response to what they'd revealed. When he had stopped speaking, he hung his head as if physically exhausted and emotionally drained from speaking the previous words themselves.

Silence passed between them, thick and pressing in the dark room. It was Ron who spoke first and broke it.

“You don't believe me,” Ron stated flatly as he looked up at his wife. It wasn't a question or an accusation, but an assumption that Ron had already made about her reaction.

“It's okay,” he added when she did not speak. “It's crazy, I know. I didn't expect you to--”

But she cut him off before he could finish.

“I believe you,” she told him, squeezing his hands tightly in her own. “I really do,” she repeated as he looked at her in complete surprise.

“I just–I can't--” Hermione began again, but was unable to verbalize anything she was feeling into words that made sense.

“He's really alive?” Hermione asked in one last statement of disbelief.

Ron nodded.

“How could we not know?” she asked as a new wave of emotion washed over her–a wave of sadness that brought tears to her cheeks. Ron pulled her into him, holding her close in his lap.

“They kept it from us,” Ron replied. “We weren't ever supposed to find out. It's the way he wanted it.”

There was pain in the last statement. Perhaps the idea that Harry would rather have them believe him dead than have to have him in a worse state hurt Ron deeper than he'd originally thought.

“If wasn't for Jackson,” Ron began, “I don't think we'd have ever found out. For some reason he's started something...his search was some sort of catalyst to the spells in place crumbling...”

“Magic isn't infallible or perfect,” Hermione admitted. “There are always loopholes or some source that can mess with and introduce interference into the framework of the spell. So it's possible–but I'm not sure how...”

“Neither was Remus,” Ron interjected. “He couldn't explain why this was happening–why they all remembered again.”

Hermione said nothing in response, but instead sat silently in her husbands lap, letting her mind wrap around everything she'd just learned. There was something calming and reassuring about his arms around her.

But as she rested against him, the smell of alcohol once again filled her senses and another reason for her worry popped back into her mind.

“Why didn't you come home after?” she asked him, shocking them both out of silence. “We could have talked, figure things out...you didn't have to go out and dri--”

“I only had a pint,” Ron cut across her with a sigh. “And I managed to tip over and spill half of it on myself,” he added, as he pointed to himself. Hermione looked down and noticed that there was a large spot on his t-shirt that told the truth of the story.

“I probably would have come earlier,” Ron added. “But on my way out of the castle...I ran into Jackson.”

Hermione knew that the information he'd learned from Remus would have been enough to upset him, but she understood that seeing Jackson so soon afterward must have only added to the emotion of the situation.

“I just–when I looked at him–all I could see was Harry,” Ron began, his voice heavy with emotion. “I mean–I always see Harry in him–but it was different now. I could only think of everything that's been taken from him...how it could have–should have–been so much different.”

“I almost lost it in front of him,” Ron admitted.

“You didn't say anything?” Hermione asked in reassurance.

“No,” Ron replied. “What was I supposed to say? How was I suppose to explain anything?” he added with a shake of his head. Hermione didn't respond to his questions, but continued to allow him to hold her tight and for a long time they sat in the quiet of the dark room.

She wasn't sure if she had suggested it or if they had just migrated there naturally, but after a while they found themselves lying in bed. She was curled up against Ron's chest, his arms wrapped comfortably around her waist.

They'd fallen asleep like this so many times before in the nearly 15 years they'd been married, but neither of them had drifted off yet–they were wide awake. Hermione could feel Ron's thumb rubbing slow circles on the patch of skin between her pajama bottoms and t-shirt on her side. And she could tell, by the way he was breathing and the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest against her back, that he was awake and thinking–a million different things running through his mind as they were doing the same in hers.

“You're going to go see him,” Hermione stated into the darkness. She knew exactly what he had been thinking as he lay there beside her.

“I have to see for myself,” Ron whispered into her hair as he nuzzled near her neck.

Hermione rolled over in Ron's arms, turning to face her husband.

“I knew you'd say that,” she said with a slight smile as she reached up to trace the side of his face with her fingers.

“I have to,” Ron repeated. “To see if it's true and...now that I know–I can't just keep going on like nothing has changed.”

“We could go this weekend. Your Mum could watch Scarlett and Pax. She's been saying for months that we need a weekend getaway. That could be our excuse,” Hermione suggested, causing Ron to raise his eye brows.

“What? You didn't think you were going to go by yourself, did you?” Hermione asked knowingly.

Ron seemed to consider her for a moment before allowing the slightest ghost of a smile grace his lips.

“We'll need to think about how we're going to go about this–carefully,” Hermione continued. Her instinct to organize and plan was already going to work in the back of her mind. “We'll have to locate him–specifically--and even though you said he won't remember or know us, there are still certain situations we'll have to plan for.”

“Let's just take this thing one step at a time,” Ron whispered as he planted a kiss on her forehead. “We don't know exactly what we're going to run into or what he'll be like–so let's not get ahead of ourselves and start planning on bringing him home or anything...” he added, his voice trailing off.

Hermione nodded even as the wheels continued to spin inside her head.

“Is that even an option? To bring him home?” Hermione asked.

“I don't know...” Ron replied truthfully.

“He may have a family, Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “We have to be prepared to deal with the fact that he may be married...have children...”

“I think I'd feel better if he did,” Ron responded quietly. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

“I wish things could have been different–that Ginny and Harry had Jackson, got married and started a life together–like it should have been,” Ron clarified. “But it didn't happen that way...and all I can hope for now is that he's happy. He deserves to have the family and everything that was taken from him. He deserves that after everything...”

“He does...” Hermione whispered in agreement. “We all do.”

-------------------------------------------------

Ron for the life of him, couldn't understand or work out where they were going or what direction they were heading. To him, the map looked like a jumble of lines and rectangles that made no sense to him. And the streets they were passing were no clearer to him; they were a myriad of one-way alleys and drives that seemed to lead in circles or end in abrupt dead ends. But Hermione seemed to know exactly where they were going as she led the both of them through the teeming mass of students and pedestrians navigating the sidewalks with them.

“Are you sure we're going the right way?” Ron asked as he looked around, not seeing any sign of a building that looked even slightly academic or official in the surrounding neighborhood of narrow homes, businesses and pubs.

Hermione turned back to look at him, an annoyed expression on her face that showed that she did not appreciate being second-guessed by her husband.

“I can read a map, Ron,” she said shaking her head as she side-stepped a pair of people who had stopped to have a conversation in the middle of the sidewalk. “It's just a few more blocks and we'll be there. The campus buildings are spread out over this part of the city, so we'll have to do some walking,” she added as she continued to walk.

“We couldn't have just Apparated there?” Ron asked in a low voice as he walked beside his wife.

“And that would have worked out just beautifully if we ended up just appearing in the middle of a group of students,” Hermione said sarcastically as they stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to change. “That usually doesn't go hand in hand with trying to keep a low profile,” she added as she sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

Ron could only smile covertly and take her hand as the signal changed and they crossed. He was well practiced at getting this sort of reaction from Hermione over the years. He knew he had the propensity to be extremely thick, but sometimes it was fun just to try and do it on purpose to see how far he could push it with her.

Hand in hand they continued to walk, weaving between people who seemed to be moving in every which direction as they made their way to their various destinations in the bustling college community. He'd been in Muggle London many times before, so he was no stranger to loud city crowds and busy streets, but this was a new experience for him. All around there were kids (to him anyway) darting around, back packs and bags slung over their shoulders as they hurried around, walking, biking and riding skateboards.

Ron momentarily wondered as he glanced around, as he had a few times since they'd landed in the States, if he was dressed normal enough to blend in. He looked down at his attire of a loose gray sweatshirt, faded jeans and trainers and it seemed as though his outfit was normal enough. Hermione was dressed in a green v-neck shirt and jeans herself and she too seemed to blend into the crowd just fine. And Ron had to admit, he quite approved of her choice of outfit too.

“There it is,” Hermione said suddenly, jerking Ron out of his quiet observation. Ron looked up to where she was pointing at a tall 10-story building just ahead. It was quite modern looking, with large, high windows on all four sides.

“His office is there?” Ron asked in clarification as they approached. There was sign out front that announced it as the Mosse Humanities building.

“Third floor,” Hermione replied with a nervous nod as they neared the entrance. She stuffed the map she had been surveying into the bag she was carrying before reclaiming Ron's hand again, clutching it tightly.

Following the wave of people entering the building, Ron and Hermione soon found themselves in a brightly lit and high ceiling lobby. All around them were colorful displays of student art, paintings, drawings and photographs adorning the walls and odd sculptures hanging from the high ceiling on strings.

Ron allowed Hermione to guide them over to a staircase that led up to the upper floors of the building.

As they made their way up to the third floor, Ron's heart was pounding frantically in his chest and he had to reach up to wipe the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead near his hairline as they walked. It was not the physical exertion that was causing these symptoms. He was nervous about what they were going to find, what they were going to do once they'd gotten there.

He and Hermione had gone over several scenarios and plans in the days leading up to their trip here. They'd decided that they'd first locate Harry and confirm that all of this was true and what Remus had told Ron was real. But after that, they were going to play it by ear and observe him possibly. They had no grand plans to grab him and bring him home...

But deep down Ron had a hope that they'd get near enough to find an excuse to engage him–talk to him maybe–even though he'd not know who they were. He wanted to hear Harry's voice again...to know that he was really alright...

It had seemed like forever, but they finally made it up the three flights of stairs, which opened into a long hallway, lined with doors on either side.

“His office is 328,” Hermione let him know quietly as they walked slowly down the hall, passing a pair of students leaning against the wall outside of a nearby office. The office to their left and right were in the low 300's, so they'd have to continue on down the hall.

All around them, doors were in different stages of being open or closed. Some were closed, adorned with photographs, artwork, and flyers. Some were cracked open a sliver, giving a small view into offices filled with shelves cramped with books and walls covered in posters. Others were thrown wide open, professors sitting at desks and computers typing away. In some offices, students stood or sat in chairs conversing with their professors.

Ron was brought back to the task at hand when Hermione's footfalls began to slow beside him. He looked up and noticed that they were nearing the office. The numbers were now in the twenties, alternating and bringing them closer with each step.

He held his breath as they stopped outside of the door with 328 fastened in the center. It was surrounded by multicolored flyers announcing different meetings and study abroad opportunities. There were also a few black and white photographs taped to the door amongst the flyers that Ron recognized as some of the same from the photography book they'd gotten their daughter that had started this whole thing off.

'Harry's book,' Ron thought with a slight smile.

Ron still couldn't picture his best mate as a professor or an author, for that matter. It just wasn't what he'd ever thought of Harry doing for a career. Harry was never an academic and was pants at essays while they were at school. They'd always just skated by most subjects because they managed to copy enough off of Hermione to pick some things up.

But then again, it had been over 17 years since he'd seen his best mate. Did he really have any clue as to what Harry would be like now in his mid-thirties?

But Ron would have to wait a little bit longer to answer that question.

The door was closed.

The dropping feeling in his stomach wasn't as sudden as he thought it might be. The closed door saved them from any awkward meeting that may have happened as a result of them standing outside his office door, like a pair of lost tourists looking for any sign as to where they were.

Plus, the name plate beside the door read, “Evan Smith, Associate Professor of Photography and Visual Art History.”

That meant this was it. This was really his office and he was here. It didn't matter that he wasn't there right now. He had to come back to his office at some point. They could come back later–possibly after they figured out their next step–and go from there.

But just when he was about to verbalize this to Hermione, she raised her hand without hesitation and knocked on the golden wood of the door.

“What are you doing?” Ron hissed even as he watched her raise her hand again to knock, her knuckles rapping sharply again. What if the door was just closed? What if he was inside? They hadn't planned on just barging in. What excuse were they going to come up with to explain their presence?

They both froze, listening for several seconds for any sound of a chair moving or footsteps nearing that would signal someone coming to answer and open the door.

But there was nothing. There was no response to Hermione's knocks and Ron let out the shaky breath he'd been holding in.

“And what could have possibly possessed you to do that?” Ron asked quietly as he looked over his shoulder as a few students passed them.

“To see if he was in there,” Hermione replied, sounding annoyed at Ron's question and as though it should be quite obvious as to what her intention had been.

“And what were you going to do if he answered the door?” Ron asked. “We can't exactly pass for students now, can we? We're a bit old and...over a month into term I'm sure he's aware of who his students are by now,” he said with a raised brow.

To his surprise, Hermione flushed and looked slightly uncomfortable at his words.

Had she really not thought that bit out? That had to be, if not a first, a rarity in all the years they'd known each other. Part of Ron wanted to tease and gloat, but now wasn't the time.

“We need to sort things out a bit more before we go inviting ourselves in with no way of explaining our way out,” Ron said with a smile. Hermione gave a quick nod of agreement and let out a shaky breath of her own as she shook her head in self-amazement that she had nearly screwed things up so royally.

“Right,” Hermione responded after finding her voice. “Maybe he has office hours later on and we can catch a glimpse of him then and--”

But her suggestion was cut off as the office directly to the right of 328 opened. Ron's back was facing that direction and he was standing partially in front of the frame, so he was forced to move aside as a woman with dark hair stepped from the office, turning around to lock the door that had closed behind her.

“Sorry,” Ron offered in apology as he moved.

“Oh, no problem,” the woman said with a smile as she slipped the key from the lock and placed it back into a large black bag she had slung over her shoulder.

“Can I help you guys with something?” she asked with another smile as she straightened up, balancing what looked like a bag full of heavy books on the other arm.

“We–we were just looking to meet up with Professor Smith,” Hermione replied, causing Ron to look at her in question. “We're old friends...and we just found out he was teaching here now and thought we'd stop by,” she added, telling the partial truth.

“Oh...well, you just missed him,” the woman replied. “He locked up and left about fifteen minutes ago. And I'm almost positive he has class upstairs right now,” she added as she set down the heavier of the bags and stepped towards them.

Ron watched as she reached between he and Hermione, her hand reaching for the papers on the door.

“I know he had a class schedule on his door,” the woman said quietly as she moved aside a few of the flyers that had been taped over one another.

“Yep, there it is,” she said suddenly as she unearthed another paper from underneath a pair of bright red announcements that had seemingly been taped over the top. “He's got his Intro class up in the big lab, 718,” she read off as she traced a finger along the appropriate time slot.

“You could wait around here...but class isn't done for another hour and a half. Or you could leave a note with where he could contact you and I could give it to him. I'll be back before him most likely,” the woman told them as she straightened up.

“We could go up and see if we can't find this lab. It'll give us a chance to look around and waste some time,” Hermione suggested instead.

“You'd be sure to catch him up there,” the woman agreed, picking up her bag again. “Well, I've got to be off. It was nice to meet you--” she said, extending her hand and tilting her head to the side as if to inquire their names.

“Craig,” Ron replied without thinking, reaching out his hand to take hers.

“Nora,” Hermione replied the same, shaking the woman's hand.

And with that the young woman waved a hand and turned down the hallway, leaving Ron and Hermione in silence again.

“Why did you make up a name?” Hermione asked Ron when the woman had moved far enough away.

“I dunno, it just popped out,” Ron responded with a shrug. “And you did the same,” he pointed out.

“I was following your lead,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Bout time,” Ron teased as he turned to look at the door that the woman had exited from. It was much like the others in the hall; full of colorful papers and pictures. Ron's eyes drifted however to the name tag beside her door.

Elizabeth Young-Smith, Associate Professor of Graphic Design/Photography

Ron cocked a brow at the name, drawing Hermione's attention to where he was looking.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Young-Smith,” he said, gesturing towards the name and emphasizing the second name.

“Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you are,” she said rolling her eyes.

“She was wearing a ring,” Ron pointed out, not knowing why he'd noticed that. “And she's–very pretty,” he added.

Hermione shook her head in irritation.

“So because she was wearing a ring and she was pretty,” Hermione began. “That automatically means she's married to Harry?” she asked, still shaking her head.

“And the last name,” Ron pointed out.

“Don't jump to conclusions,” Hermione warned, dismissing the notion. “If she was his wife, I'm sure she'd know whether he was in class or not,” she pointed out in countering.

“You don't know where I am all the time...” Ron pointed out, earning him a heavy sigh and another shake of the head.

“Let's go upstairs,” Hermione cut across, gesturing for him to follow.

“Can we take the elevator this time?” Ron asked as he followed her down the hallway. He really didn't fancy walking another four floors of stairs.

“Fine,” Hermione agreed as she turned down a separate hallway that led to a pair of elevators. There was already a group of people standing there waiting for the elevators to arrive. Ron and Hermione joined the small group, but were only waiting a few moments when both elevators arrived simultaneously. They boarded the lift with three other people, Hermione pressing the button for the 7th floor as they entered.

The lift stopped on the 5th, letting one person off before the light above the door indicated they'd arrived on the 7th. Along with the two remaining occupants, Ron and Hermione exited the elevator, stepping out into the hallway.

This floor too opened up into a long, wide hallway with doors on either side. But these were much more spaced out than the floor with all the offices. There was a sign across the way that indicated the numbering of the rooms and which direction–either left or right. Hermione grabbed his hand again and they walked to the left, moving down the hallway.

Like the walk to the office, this one seemed to be much longer than actuality as the numbers on the doors ticked off towards 718.

But in only a matter of moments they were standing in front of the classroom. This door was closed too, as the office had been. But unlike his office, a long window alongside the door gave them a view inside.

There were several rows of computers that sat in sectioned off areas of a long table that seemed to run most of the length of the room. At each computer sat a student, their faces and attention turned away from their screens and towards an area at the front of the room that was hidden from the range of view the window provided.

Ron could hear someone speaking from inside even as it appeared everyone else was quietly listening. The voice was lower–definitely a man. But there wasn't much else in it that Ron could pick out or recognize. The walls and the closed door between them muffled the voice and drown out what actual words were being spoken.

Ron could not see the source of the voice and tell if it was indeed Harry, but he continued to watch the faces of those students he could see. Several of them were nodding in response to whatever was being said; some were taking notes along with it. And then suddenly there was a loud ripple of laughter from inside the room.

Whatever had been said, the students had certainly found it entertaining as a general murmur of amusement continued for a few more moments before they settled back down to listen to the lecture.

Ron looked down to find Hermione watching and listening just as intently as he'd been.

“Maybe we should go sit?” Hermione suggested when she noticed his attention. She gestured towards a bench area across the hall that they'd passed. “We can wait there until class is through...” she added quietly.

Ron nodded his agreement and allowed her to lead him over to the cushioned bench where the two of them sat down.

They sat in silence for the most part, each of them allowing their thoughts to stray to what the next moments might be like.

Ron couldn't believe they were here and that his best friend--who they thought they'd forever lost–was quite possibly mere steps away, separated only by a single wall.

This whole situation was like something out of a dream...or maybe nightmare. Ron hadn't really decided which one it was yet. He wasn't sure what ending would or could come of this, but a part of him was glad they were at least getting the chance to see.

The time passed a bit more quickly than Ron had realized and the door to room 718 opened and students began to exit. There was the general noise and motion of people gathering things and milling about, mixed in with the murmur of conversation. Hermione too drew herself back to attention as students began to file out and disperse.

There had to be at least fifty students that had left the room in the minutes since the door had opened and they'd yet to catch any glimpse of the tell-tale mop of black hair they'd been waiting for.

Slowly the trickle of students began to peter out and soon there didn't appear to be anyone else left. Ron looked at Hermione in slight alarm. Had they missed him somehow on his way out? Or had they not gotten the right classroom after all?

But just as soon as Ron was about to voice those thoughts aloud, movement at the door caught his eye.

A female student was standing in the door frame, her back pack slung over her shoulder. She had stopped just inside the classroom and seemed to be talking to someone just out of view. Ron could just make out what she was saying, but the other voice was still beyond his range.

“I've been trying to get a few of these photos accepted for the next art show,” the young woman said as she handed over a black folder to a hand that had reached out at her offering, it's owner still out of view. “But they want faculty approval or endorsement before they can even be considered for the gallery coming up.”

He heard a voice respond.

It was the same male voice that had kept the group of students engrossed during the lecture. He still couldn't make out the words, but there was something about the tone that made the hair on the back of Ron's neck stand as something deep in his mind clicked into recognition.

“I don't have any other art or photo classes semester besides this and I thought it wouldn't hurt maybe to ask you,” the girl added uncertainly.

“These are good,” was the appreciative response that she got as the second voice was no longer muffled. The figure had taken a step forward, setting the folder that he'd been given on the nearby table as if to survey the contents fully.

Ron's heart seemed to skip a beat, or perhaps it stopped working all together.

“I'd be happy to give you any endorsement you need,” the man said. “These are really creative.”

“Really?” the girl replied in disbelief. “Thank you.”

The young woman's excited response was lost, however, on Ron.

The words were void of any familiar accent and sounded slightly odd to Ron's ears. But there was no mistaking the voice. It was definitely deeper than it had been--that was to be expected with age.

His hair was longer, the dark black locks were shaggier and nearly reached the collar of the black pull-over fleece he was wearing. With his attention turned away from them, they could only survey him from behind. He was certainly a bit broader in the shoulders, but he still had that lanky, thin build he'd always had.

“And I'll see if I can't put in a word for you too. Dr. Dyson is in charge of submissions, I believe,” he heard Harry say. “Do I need to sign something for you to turn in?” he asked the student in confirmation.

She nodded and quickly reached into her bag and produced a sheet of paper, setting it on the table for him to sign. Ron watched as he produced a pen from his pocket and quickly filled in his information.

When he was done, he picked up both the paper and the black folio and handed it back to the girl.

“Let me know how this goes,” he added as the girl took back the items. “And...the angles that you used in those top two photos...try shooting from that same low vantage point when you do the next week's assignment for this class. You'll get some pretty neat results that way,” he suggested.

“Okay,” the young woman replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Thank you so much, Professor Smith.”

“No problem,” Harry replied. “See you in class again on Monday, Lauren.”

With an enthusiastic goodbye, the girl turned and exited the room, leaving Harry alone in the classroom.

Hermione's hand was tight in his own as the two of them watched Harry pick up his own bag, swinging it over his shoulders. He also gathered up a stack of papers, and tucked them under his arm as he turned and switched off the lights. Backing out of the room, he pulled the door closed behind him and turned up the hallway towards where they were still seated on the bench.

Ron's eyes were glued to the face that was now visible to them.

There was no denying anything now. In profile the features and contours of his face were unmistakeable. They were perhaps more squared and mature than the Harry he'd seen last as he'd battled Voldemort in the Hogwarts courtyard all those years ago...

But this was that same Harry as he should have been...Harry as a man.

The glimpse that they had of him proved fleeting, however, as he continued down the hallway. He walked right by Ron and Hermione as they sat the bench, giving no indication whatsoever he'd even realized anyone else was in the hallway.

Almost on instinct as he watched the retreating form, Ron stood up, pulling Hermione with him.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed as she was forced to stand.

“Let's just follow him for a while,” Ron answered as he began walking slowly down the hallway. “See where he goes...what he does...” Ron added. Hermione didn't seem to object as she continued to allow Ron to guide the both of them. The walked at a slower pace, allowing an appropriate distance between themselves and Harry as they followed.

It was so surreal to realize exactly who it was that they were following. Ron couldn't help but try and analyze everything about him–from the way he walked, to the way he was dressed. Harry's attire wasn't much different from some of the students they continued to pass. He wore a fitted black fleece pull-over and a pair of dark tan khakis; the footfalls of his dark brown shoes echoing slightly off the tiled floor. He looked good and healthy and there was relief there–seeing as Remus had told him about the horrific injuries Harry had suffered as a result of the final confrontation between he and Voldemort.

“He's going back to his office,” Hermione said quietly as they continued their slow pursuit, following Harry down the stairwell towards the lower levels. “Are we going to follow him there?” she asked as they paused a level up from Harry and watched as he opened the door that lead to the third floor hallway where the offices were.

Ron could only nod as he began the trek down the stairs again. Once they had reached the heavy metal door marked with a large “3”, they paused momentarily as Ron looked through the small window centered in the door.

“Here,” Ron said suddenly as he reached behind him and pulled something from his back pocket. Hermione watched as a cascade of shimmering silver fabric expanded in Ron's hands.

“Where did you get that?” she whispered in amazement as the silvery folds rustled in Ron's grip.

“I borrowed it from Ginny's place when I stopped by the other day,” Ron explained. “She didn't let Jackson take it to school this semester as part of his punishment–didn't want him getting into more trouble, I suppose...” he added. “She doesn't know I have it...But I figured it might have a use if we need to get in close without being detected.”

Hermione shook her head as if she couldn't believe that Ron had really just produced Harry's invisibility cloak. She knew Ginny had given Jackson the cloak his first Christmas at Hogwarts, but she hadn't actually seen it for years.

“We can't very well watch him for very long without him noticing and calling the police on the pair of stalkers we're about to become. Let's just get under it and see how close we can get,” Ron suggested with a smile as he lifted the cloak over the top of both of them. Hermione instinctively moved close to her husband as he let the fabric fall over their heads, hiding them from view.

“This brings back memories,” Hermione said with a mixture of amusement and disbelief at their current position. The times that they had used this cloak as a trio of teenagers to move about the castle undetected from the prying eyes of professors and staff, were too numerous to count.

Ron could only smile as he wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her closer so that they were both completely covered and hidden. He reached for the door handle, looking through the window once again to make sure the hall was clear.

“Let's go,” he whispered as he turned the handle and pulled the door open just enough so they could fit through. Quietly they slipped into the hall, gently closing the door behind them. Hand in hand, they walked down the hall towards his office once more.

To Ron's relief, office 328 was exactly where Harry had disappeared to in the time they had taken to hide under the cloak. And even better–the door was wide open.

Standing just outside the frame and hidden from everyone, Ron and Hermione got their first view into Harry's office. A small square room, identical to the countless others around it, he too had several shelves that housed a good number of books of all sizes and thickness. His walls were covered with a few posters, pictures and two frames that contained what looked like his diplomas.

There was also a small table pushed underneath the lone window on the back wall. Scattered across the table were what looked like mechanical parts–springs, small gears and metal rings. There seemed to be three different cameras, in various stages of repair and rebuilding, that were taken apart and lay strewn on the table top. While two of them seemed modern, one looked quite old, it's box-like shape open as it's internal workings were lay exposed. Next to the cameras and parts were several different screwdrivers and pliers of different shapes and sizes.

Opposite the back table and pushed against the wall space directly next the door, was a large wooden desk. From his view just outside the door, Ron could just make out part of Harry's side profile as he sat behind his desk.

He was just about to ask Hermione if she wanted to chance entering just inside the office, when he received an urgent push in the back that caused him to literally stumble into the office. Thankfully the cloak remained over the both of them as Hermione continued to force him into the office.

Ron was just about to voice his confusion aloud when he turned towards the door to find the reason for Hermione's actions.

Elizabeth Young-Smith, the dark-haired professor from next door who had greeted them earlier, was standing in the doorway, having just knocked gently on the wooden door to announce her presence. Hermione had pushed both of them inside to prevent her from running into their invisible forms.

But now they found themselves in a very precarious situation. While they had wanted to observe Harry up close, they were now in the middle of his office, stuck standing there with no way of escape and under the very real danger of being found out if they made a wrong move.

“Hey there,” Elizabeth greeted aloud as she stepped into the office and looked around.

Harry looked up from the screen of a laptop computer on his desktop that Ron could now see that he had been focusing on.

“Hi,” he greeted as he looked up, looking down momentarily to click at something on the screen using the mouse pad.

“Didn't think I was going to catch you here,” Elizabeth said in slight surprise. “I just talked to Dr. Dyson and wanted to let you know the department meeting is moved to Monday instead of this afternoon.”

“Right,” Harry said with slightly raised brows. “Yeah...I just read the email the office sent,” he added with a nod towards his computer.

“Why wouldn't I be here?” he asked secondarily as he cocked his head to the side in interest.

“Oh,” Elizabeth said in surprise. “It's just–I figured you'd have taken off straight from class–met up with your friends.”

“My friends?” he slowly repeated in confusion. The look he was giving her was completely Harry of old–his lack of comprehension evident in his expression. As he surveyed his friend, it was the first time that realized another difference in Harry's appearance–there were no glasses of any style obscuring those bright green eyes.

“Yeah...” Elizabeth replied, her confusion now showing in her response. “Right after you left for class, there were two people outside your office looking for you. Craig and Nora is what they said their names were. I sent them upstairs and they were going to wait outside the lab,” she explained.

Harry now looked thoroughly confused and he brought a hand to massage his chin as he seemed to be searching his mind for the recognition of the names Elizabeth had given him.

Ron felt Hermione squeeze his hand tighter as they watched the scene unfold. He looked down to meet her own worried gaze.

“Did they leave a last name?” Harry asked, shaking his head slowly.

“No,” Elizabeth replied. “They just said they'd heard you were teaching here and they wanted to say hello. They said they were old friends,” she added.

“Huh,” Harry let out under his breath as he seemed to be totally befuddled by what she was telling him. “Names don't ring a bell,” he added truthfully as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck–a move that he'd seen Harry do probably a thousand times when they were young. It was an involuntary habit that came out when he was nervous or when he was contemplating something.

“It was a man and a woman–husband and wife, I think,” she added. “They were British, actually...”

At those last words, the hand on the back of his neck stopped moving and he turned his head away, seemingly staring off into the corner space where the walls met.

“Evan?” Elizabeth interrupted the silence.

He looked back at her a few seconds later, looking a bit uneasy along with his confusion now.

“I'm going to feel really stupid now if I run into them and don't remember their names,” Harry responded with a slight laugh, but it seemed a bit forced and there was still an uneasiness about him.

“I've done it before,” Elizabeth reassured him with a smile. “Last year I ran into a girl I went to high school with and I went a good five minutes into a conversation before I had to ask her name. I was embarrassed and I'm sure she was a bit offended that I hadn't recognized her.”

Harry gave her a smile that seemed to show his appreciation for sharing her own experience, but he still seemed to be preoccupied with the fact that he could not recall the names she'd given him.

“I'm sure if they really want to find me, they'll stop by,” Harry added with a shrug.

Elizabeth nodded and seemed content to drop the current conversation.

“So...up to anything this weekend?” she asked him with a smile.

Ron felt Hermione shift beside and looked down to find her watching this exchange with rapt interest. She had dismissed his quick assumption before that Young-Smith meant she was with Harry–well, Evan. But even though it didn't seem that they were married, Elizabeth did seem to be quite friendly with him, as though perhaps they were more than colleagues...

Harry shook his head.

“Stay in most likely,” he told her. “I've got papers to go over, photo projects to grade and critique and I've got to start putting together the mid-term for my Intro class,” he said tiredly, rubbing a hand across his face as though just the thought of the work he had to do was exhausting.

“Plus...Sophie's staying home this weekend,” Harry added with a smile of his own. “So I'm sure we'll be doing some more settling in. It's been months and we still haven't unpacked everything. She's still got things in boxes in the basement that she's been after me to get at. I'll have to try and find the time to get at that, I suppose...”

As he listened to Harry speak, there was a part of Ron that had deflated a bit.

He may not be married or involved with Elizabeth Smith-Young, but Harry was certainly living with this Sophie woman he'd spoken about. And when he had mentioned her name, a smile had returned to his face that made Ron believe that she was more than a roommate...

Ron had said that he wanted Harry happy, even if that meant he'd be married to some stranger with children of his own. But the selfish bit of him, the bit that still believed that everything would right itself and Harry'd be reunited with the family he'd lost, was trying to rear it's ugly head.

“How's Sophie doing?” Elizabeth asked with a smile of her own.

“Really good,” Harry replied with a nod. “She misses Buffalo, I know...but we're both settling in finally,” he admitted.

“That's good to hear,” Elizabeth replied. “You'll have to bring her by again sometime.”

“Yeah...I'll have to,” Harry agreed.

“Well...I'm going to get going,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I'm going to take advantage of my afternoon off now that the meeting is moved and finally get my long run in for the week,” she added.

“Have fun,” Harry offered with a laugh.

“I'm scheduled to do 12 miles...you could tag along...” she teased.

“Surprisingly enough...that doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun,” he replied with a smile. “So I'll pass.”

“Running relieves stress...clears the mind,” Elizabeth offered.

“Running causes blisters and hinders the ability to move and get out of bed the next day,” Harry countered with a laugh.

“To each his own,” Elizabeth said with a wave and smile before she turned to leave.

“See you Monday, Liz,” he added in farewell as he shook his head.

“Do you want me to close this for you?” she added, gesturing towards the door.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Close it,” he added with a nod.

“Alright...bye, Evan,” she said in farewell as she pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Ron and Hermione frozen under the invisibility cloak, out of view, but trapped in the room.

Ron could scarcely breathe and he could feel Hermione trembling slightly beside him as she tried to remain as still as possible. It was extremely quiet in the small room and Ron was sure that the sound of his heart beating against his ribcage would surely give them away.

But Harry had turned back to his laptop and was typing away, seemingly oblivious to anything that might be off in his tiny office. After a few minutes of typing and clicking, he reached over towards a jumble of papers on the other side of his desk and pulled one out of the middle of the stack. He held it in front of himself for a moment, looking back and forth from the paper to the screen as if double checking something.

With a heavy sigh he finally set it down, leaning way back in his chair as he ran both hands along the side of his head, pulling his hair back with the motion. He interlocked and laced his fingers together behind his head, cradling it with his hands. He leaned even further back, causing his chair to creak as he lifted his feet up onto his desk.

He stayed like that for several minutes, eyes closed and face towards the ceiling. He appeared still, but his face relayed that he was still contemplating and thinking behind those closed lids.

When the silence was finally broken and he spoke again, Ron nearly jumped at the sound.

“That's fucking crazy,” he said, his voice louder in the quiet room as he shifted back to a sitting position. “That's just...” he began again, but trailed off shaking his head as he let out a long unsteady breath.

With a sudden movement, Harry pushed himself from his chair and stood up. Before either Ron or Hermione could react he had strode towards them, his hand reaching out towards Ron.

Ron just managed to move his shoulder before Harry's hand collided with it. Instead of grasping a fistful of the invisibility cloak, Harry's hand instead closed around the metal handle of a filing cabinet, which he pulled slightly open.

Ron didn't dare breathe now as Harry stood mere inches away, leaning over the top drawer, looking down into it as if debating whether to reach in or not was causing him physical pain.

“No,” Harry said quietly to himself as he shook his head. “No...you don't need one,” he reassured himself as he slammed the drawer shut and stepped away. He stood there for a moment, taking slow deep breaths. He closed his eyes, as if steeling himself.

When he opened them, he turned his head slightly so that he was looking directly at where Ron and Hermione stood invisible.

Although he knew they couldn't be seen, the gaze in their direction was unnerving. It was the first time he had gotten a clear look of Harry, full-on and close up.

He was older.

There was the start of crows feet around his eyes, which themselves still retained that unnaturally bright and clear green color that Ron had only ever seen on one other person. There was also a noticeable scar that started just underneath his left eyebrow, the white line crossing faintly over his eyelid towards the corner of his eye and across the top of his cheekbone where it faded.

The one mark, however, that Ron expected to be the dead giveaway was not there. There was no sign or even faint remnant of the famed lightening scar. The skin on his forehead and the rest of his face was unmarred, the only marks being the wear of time. Like himself, Harry was no longer the smooth-skinned, baby-faced 18 year old that Ron could still picture vividly.

Weather and time had had their effects in making him look older now, as did the shadow of a half-day's worth of dark stubble just visible on his jawline and around his mouth.

Ron couldn't deny that in the past few years, his own bright red hair had experienced a bit of thinning and graying and his hairline was just beginning to inch back. Harry, Ron saw with a slight twinge of jealousy, still had a full head of thick, extremely black hair. He had even seemed to have tamed the unruly mop, wearing it in a longer, more modern style than Ron could remember him having, as his dark locks fell casually and quite coolly around his face and across his forehead.

The angles of his face were sharper, his cheekbones high and squared, only adding to the maturity of his features. It was easy to see now just where Jackson had gotten his looks from–even more so than when compared to old pictures of Harry. The resemblance between father and son was even more striking–if that were even possible.

Harry looked well and healthy and--even Ron could admit it–he was a very good-looking man.

Just as soon as it seemed Harry's eyes had fell in their direction, he turned away, moving back towards his desk. He reached for the third drawer of his desk, hastily pulling it open and reaching inside. He produced a small square box from inside, quickly opening it and pulling out a square sheet of silver. His fingers shaking slightly, he pushed on the sheet, popping out a small white square of what looked like gum. He quickly shoved the gum into his mouth, his jaw immediately working as he began to chew.

Harry let out a sigh, which was a mixture of satisfaction and frustration as he continued to chew. He gave himself another self-chastising shake of the head before he sat down again heavily in his desk chair and turned his attention to his computer.

Not sure exactly what that last sequence was about, Ron looked down to gauge Hermione's reaction. But to his surprise, he found her instead fighting a silent battle with herself as she seemed to be struggling to keep a sneeze at bay.

But even with all her effort and attempts to hold it in, a slightly muffled sneeze escaped as she tried to stifle it with her hand.

Harry froze at his desk, his fingers stopping their ministrations in mid-type. He turned his head slightly in their direction, his attention definitely attuned to the sneeze he had just heard.

Hermione looked up, giving Ron a horrified look just before another sneeze racked her body–this one without the benefit of a hand to muffle the sound. It was loud and echoed within the small room. There was no way that this one could be passed off as sound coming from another office or the hallway.

And it seemed that Harry realized this too and didn't seem to be able to dismiss the noise.

He remained frozen as he faced his screen, but his hands were now on either side of the computer, resting on the desktop. They were not idle, however. He was slowly flexing them, as if readying to defend himself against whatever was in the room with him if need be.

But it was the sound of his voice in the quiet office that made both Ron and Hermione jump.

“I don't know what you came here for,” Harry said in a steady tone, still staring straight ahead, his body tense. “But I can't give you anything. I can't help you,” he continued as he swallowed heavily.

Hermione looked up at Ron, her expression mirroring the same confusion Ron was feeling. Harry shouldn't and couldn't remember anything–and yet he was speaking as though addressing an empty room was not a completely and utterly insane concept to him.

“Please...just leave me alone,” Harry said into the quietness.

His voice was uneasy and Ron could hear the slight tremor in his tone as he spoke.

Ron wanted to say something, to assure his best mate that they weren't there to demand anything of him–but once again, Hermione sprang into action first.

Before Ron could react, Hermione had pulled the cloak from from over the top of them. In one motion they were exposed, the protective barrier between them and the rest of the world removed.

The sound of the rustle of the fabric falling away caused Harry to look up.

There were a myriad of emotions that seem to pass over Harry's features as his eyes locked onto the two people that had suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of his office. His jaw had initially dropped, his mouth open in apparent shock.

Ron half expected Harry to jump out of his chair and scramble away from them or try to escape. But once the succession of emotions of all levels surprise and shock ran their gamut over his face, he instead slowly turned his head and body back forwards towards his computer. Harry then raised both hands to his face, pressing heels of his palms over his eyes.

“Oh, God,” he breathed out in complete disbelief. “Oh...shit,” he added as he opened his hands so that they covered his entire face, muffling his quiet exclamation slightly.

Perhaps the shock and unbelievability in what had just transpired before his eyes was enough to render hm incapable of any extreme reaction...

“I know this seems completely unbelievable,” Hermione's calm voice of reason spoke softly. “People don't just materialize out of nowhere–but we'd like to try to explain.”

Still behind his hands, which had moved further down his face to cover his nose and mouth, Harry let out a huff of disbelief at Hermione's statement that they could explain any of this.

“We're not here to ask anything of you or take anything from you, Evan,” Hermione continued. At the sound of his name being spoken by apparent strangers, he dropped his hands from his face and focused his gaze downward.

“We're not here to hurt you,” Hermione reassured him, her voice gentle and soothing.

“I know that, Hermione.”

The sound of Hermione's name itself sounded odd spoken with the tones of an American accent. But the fact that it had been spoken aloud at all was mind-boggling. It was now Ron and Hermione's turn to be completely shocked.

“What?” was the only response that could be mustered and it was Hermione who made the exclamation.

“I know you guys won't hurt me,” Harry said quietly. “I–I just can't believe this is happening,” he murmured to himself.

You can't believe this is happening?” Ron blurted out. “You're not even supposed to know us. You're not supposed to remember...”

“If you'd have shown up here about three months ago, I wouldn't have had any clue who you were,” Harry responded. “And I'd have been convinced myself that I was absolutely crazy right about now,” he admitted.

“So...you remember everything?” Hermione asked. “You know who we are? Who you really are?”

Harry nodded.

“How is that possible?” Ron asked, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“I don't know...” Harry responded truthfully, looking up and meeting Ron and Hermione's eyes, looking as though he couldn't believe who was actually standing there.

“I really can't explain--” Harry started to say after he'd tried again to force away his disbelief with a shake of his head. But the sound of knocking at the door interrupted him in mid-sentence.

“Crap,” he breathed out as he looked up at the clock hanging on the wall above his desk. “I've got a meeting with a student. He's been missing class...falling behind...” he added in a flustered explanation.

“We can go,” Hermione told him. “We'll let you take care of things...this sounds important.”

There was part of Ron that wanted to argue and protest that they should stay, that this was more important. There so much that had just happened in the span of minutes really and now they were leaving.

Harry nodded his appreciation as another knock came at the door.

“If you two want to wait–maybe in the lobby downstairs,” Harry said carefully. “I can meet you down there and we can go somewhere to talk...figure things out,” he added.

“We'll be down there,” Hermione assured him. “Take your time.”

Harry nodded.

With that, Hermione reached for the door and opened it. Standing there was a dark-haired young man, his arm paused in mid-air as he was just about to knock again.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he lowered his arm.

“Come on in, Jake,” Harry told the young man, the emotion of the last few minutes pushed out of his voice as he attempted to compose himself for the meeting.

Ron and Hermione stepped past the young man, leaving the office and allowing him to enter. They watched as the wooden door swung shut behind them, once more separating Harry from them. But this time, the parting would only be temporary...

Back to index


Chapter 9: She

Author's Notes: Sorry for late post. You've had your guesses...here are your answers.


“Do you think he'd run?” Ron asked a few minutes after he and Hermione had settled onto a bench along the wall of the first floor lobby, watching as students continued to mill about.

“No. We know where he is now. We know he's alive,” Hermione replied. “I think he knows we'd just keep looking if he did.”

Ron nodded, hoping that she was right.

There wasn't much more conversation between the two as they waited. It seemed that the confusion and shock over the fact that Harry knew he was really Harry and he remembered them was too much to analyze just yet. Until they could sit down and talk with Harry and figure out what was going on, there wasn't much to say.

It turned out that they only had to wait about twenty minutes before Hermione spotted Harry coming down the stairs towards them. They both stood from their seats and Hermione waved, catching Harry's attention so that he headed towards them from across the lobby.

“Everything go okay?” Hermione asked as Harry reached them.

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a nod. “Took a little longer than I thought it might. Sorry,” he added in apology.

“We weren't waiting long,” Hermione assured him with a smile.

“So...we're going somewhere to talk?” Ron said when they'd lapsed into a few moments silence, the three of them standing there, unsure of what exactly was supposed to happen now. Nearly eighteen years of being apart had suddenly driven an awkwardness upon them.

“Yeah...” Harry said slowly with a nod. “We–er--we can go to my place if you guys want. It's just out of the city, but it's quiet.”

“If we're not going to be intruding...” Hermione said.

“Not at all,” Harry reassured them both.

“Are we–Apparating–there?” Ron asked in a quiet undertone. “Or should we--”

“I can drive,” Harry offered. “I've got some things in my car I can't leave–if that's alright,” he added in explanation. “It's about a 20 minute drive if traffic is okay. Otherwise–you two are more than free to just meet me.”

“We can all drive together,” Hermione replied for both she and Ron. “It'll give us a chance to maybe see a bit of the city too,” she added with a smile.

“You'll get a pretty amazing view of the lake area and Capitol on the way,” Harry offered.

“Lead the way then,” Ron said with a nod.

“It's a block or so walk to the parking ramp,” Harry informed them as he gestured to the doors and started to lead the way towards them from across the lobby. Neither of them responded about the distance, but followed him without question as they maneuvered through the steady stream of students coming in and out.

The five minute walk to the parking garage was spent in relative silence as people milled about them. Hermione made a few comments about the campus and asked a few questions about classes, all of which Harry answered with short, one-sentence answers before lapsing back into a pensive silence, his features wrought with the weight the events of the past hour or so.

Finally, after climbing two flights of stairs and walking the length of the dark, damp parking ramp, Ron saw corresponding red tail-lights flash as Harry pressed the button on the little black device attached to his key ring. The three of them moved towards the sleek black car parked third from the end.

Ron couldn't help but whistle his appreciation as they stopped beside it.

“Nice car,” Ron offered as he took in the shiny black BMW with tinted windows.

“Thanks,” Harry replied slightly awkwardly as he opened the driver-side door. Ron moved to the other side of the car, opposite Harry as Hermione stood near one of the rear doors. “It's the one thing I've really let myself splurge on,” he admitted with a slight smile as he gestured for Ron and Hermione to climb in.

The three of them slid into the interior of the car, the leather seats creaking and making slight noises as they settled in.

“This is quite the splurge,” Ron said as he surveyed the interior, taking in the slick wood and leather dash and upholstery, along with the incredibly sophisticated set of electronics and music system between them.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Harry asked as he fired the engine up, the intense and powerful rumbling noise and vibrations filling the air as it roared to life. Harry quickly shifted the gears of the car and they were soon backing up and pulling out into the roadway of the garage.

“It's the one thing that he and my father have really bonded over throughout the years,” Hermione answered from her spot in the back seat. “My dad took him to a car show and a race years ago and it's been a bit of an obsession since,” Hermione added with a sigh, although her amusement was apparent.

“It is not an obsession,” Ron protested. “My dad's love affair with plugs and electricity...that's an obsession. I just happen to have a keen interest.”

“I fail to see the difference,” Hermione replied.

Harry let out a small laugh at the banter between the two, shaking his head in amusement. The exchange was all too familiar it seemed, even with all the time that had gone by.

“I subscribe to a couple of auto magazines. I like to page through them. And like she said–I go to the occasional show or race with her dad,” Ron admitted. “Is this an M 6 or 7?” Ron asked in interest after taking another few seconds to look around.

“Seven,” Harry replied with a smile as they pulled out into traffic and began to drive down a city street.

“Brilliant,” Ron breathed out in appreciation.

“Maybe I should have let you drive home...” Harry offered as he turned right onto another road, merging into traffic.

“That's probably not the wisest idea,” Hermione again interjected from the back seat. “How many times have you failed the test now, dear?”

Ron immediately flushed his usual shade of red as he became heated with embarrassment.

“Eleven,” he responded in a quiet voice.

“Maybe it's a good thing I'm driving,” Harry teased as Hermione could be seen smirking in the rear view mirror.

“I have my Wizarding permit,” Ron said in defense of himself. “It's just the damn Muggle test I can't pass.”

“Because they won't let you drive with navigation and buffer charms, perhaps?” Hermione hinted aloud.

“Shut it, woman,” Ron grumbled under his breath, although a reluctant smile canceled out any anger or disrespect in his response.

Harry was smiling, looking between Ron and Hermione as they stopped at a red light and waited for cross-traffic to stop.

“I guess I just assumed...” Harry said to the two of them. “But you two are married?” he asked as the light turned green and the car lurched forward.

“For fifteen years,” Ron confirmed with a nod as he looked up to the rear view mirror to find his wife smiling back.

“Wow,” was all Harry managed to say as he sped up, pulling the car onto the busy highway.

“I know,” Ron responded with a smile. “We haven't managed to kill each other. Pretty impressive,” he added with a smirk as he glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who had rolled her eyes at his comment.

“You married, mate?” Ron asked, his curiosity getting the best of him as he remembered the conversation between Harry and Elizabeth.

“Nope,” Harry answered without looking up as he changed lanes and passed a car that had been in front of them. “Never been,” he added.

There was something dismissive in the way Harry responded to Ron's question as he continued to focus on the road. It was almost as if Ron's inquiry had made him slightly uneasy and unwilling to elaborate further. Ron wanted to question and probe–to learn more about what had gone on in Harry's life in the past seventeen years--but he knew Hermione was silently willing him from her place in the back seat to abandon his current track of questioning based on Harry's reply.

“Sorry,” Harry breathed out, glancing sideways at Ron. “It's just–this is all a bit overwhelming," he added, as if he had realized how his last reply had sounded to them. “I don't even understand how we're even here right now–let alone having to think about all that's happened and all we don't know about each other,” he finished quietly.

“It is a bit much,” Hermione agreed, Ron nodding along with her statement. “And maybe it's best we wait to have this conversation and talk things out while we're not traveling at high rates of speed down the middle of a crowded highway,” she added, as Harry quickly changed lanes, pulling closely in front of a nearby car.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed distractedly as he raised a hand in apology as the car behind him beeped. “That's probably a good idea,” he added as the car now slowed and Harry steered them off the busy highway, onto a much quieter road.

“Or...we could just let Ron drive the rest of the way,” he added with a hint of a smile. Hermione's amused snicker could be heard from the back. Ron could only scowl.

------------------------------------------

“And the car was the splurge?” Ron asked in amazement as he walked through the door that Harry held open for he and Hermione. Minutes ago they had pulled onto a long, gravel drive that led them through a small wooded area. On the other side had sat a large house on the crest of a small hill, surrounded by an expansive lawn.

Harry could only smirk and flush slightly at Ron's comment as he ushered them inside. Once in, Harry flipped on the lights, illuminating the rich hardwood floors and earthy tones of a front entrance hall.

“This is amazing,” Hermione added as she looked around.

“Thanks,” Harry managed as he led them down the short hallway that opened up into the living room. “I was just going to rent an apartment when I first got here,” he began to explain. “But I came for a weekend to look at rentals and houses and fell in love with this place...even though it's a bit bigger than I really need...”

The living room was magnificent. It was a room that opened up into high-vaulted cathedral-type ceiling. In one corner sat a floor to ceiling fireplace made of field stone, a large flat-screen television mounted halfway up the stone face. A large-wrap around leather couch and matching recliner sat facing the corner.

“Harry, this really is a beautiful home,” Hermione added as they continued to follow Harry as they moved through the living room and into the kitchen.

Harry paused to look at Hermione momentarily as he flicked on the lights of the kitchen, revealing another hardwood floor space with rich wood cupboards and smooth granite counter tops.

“It is alright that we call you Harry?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Harry's fine,” he replied with a slight smile. “I'll answer to both, I guess. But I do know who I really am,” Harry added with a nod, gesturing for the two of them to take a seat on the stools that lined the outside edge of a section of counter top that jutted out and created a small bar area.

“That's a relief,” Ron sighed as he settled onto the stool. “I'm not sure I'd have been able to go along with calling you Evan the whole time.”

Ron had meant the comment as a joke and as a way to perhaps lighten the mood for what was going to be a heavy conversation to come. But there was something uncomfortable in Harry's stance as he leaned against the counter opposite them.

“It is who I've been for the past 17 years...and in reality–still am here,” Harry said as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I've only been–me--again for a short time. It's still kind of confusing to think about and try to separate...”

“So you do remember--everything--now?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

“It started coming back in flashes,” Harry began to explain. “I started having dreams and random thoughts and images would just pop up out of nowhere. I honestly thought at the time that I was having some sort of psychotic episode or late schizophrenic break...”

“But then...one morning I woke up...and it all was back. I knew who I was...who I'd been before,” Harry told them. “Those dreams and those flashes were my memories–moments in my life that all of the sudden made sense,” he added quietly.

“Although...admittedly, there was still a part of me that thought I might actually be going nuts until you both showed up today,” Harry admitted with a smirk. “I thought maybe there still might be a chance that I had multiple personality disorder or something...”

“You don't,” Hermione said, assuring him of his sanity. “Everything before was real. This is real,” she reassured him.

“And how exactly is it that we got here–to this point?” Harry asked with a raised brow as he surveyed his friends. “You guys have got a bit of explaining to do on your end too...”

“All these years we thought you were dead,” Ron responded. “We thought that whatever spell you used in the end...took you from us,” he added heavily.

“But obviously that's changed...” Harry replied.

Hermione nodded.

“About the same time that you say you started remembering things...Remus, Minerva and Professor Snape started to recall what they'd done for you,” Hermione began to explain. “The Unbreakable Vow, the enchantments in place–those that were supposed to make them forget–they all began to crumble and fail.”

Harry only shook his head in response–his disbelief evident.

“I don't understand how that's even possible,” Harry sighed.

“Neither does anybody else,” Ron interjected. “Remus couldn't explain why the marks from the Vow had gone and why they remembered.”

“So he just came out and told you–everything?” Harry asked as he glanced down at the wristwatch that was strapped to his right wrist.

“Not exactly,” Ron replied. “I sort of–er--stumbled into the middle of a little conversation they were having about you. So they didn't exactly come out with all this on their own. I was pretty forceful in getting them to tell me exactly what the hell they were on about.”

“Well if you know everything...I'm surprised you two didn't come here wanting my head for all of this,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“That might come later,” Hermione said admitted, although here was a trace of smile on her face as she spoke. “We are going to at some point discuss why you thought it was alright to just leave us all behind and not think we'd be willing to there for you no matter what...but the time for that isn't right now.”

“Right now, I think it's best that we stick to talking about the past 17 years and try and fill in some of the blanks,” she added, hoping to defuse any conversation that might cause friction between the three of them.

Certainly pressing Harry to explain and justify his reasons for keeping her and Ron in the dark about the unknown Horcrux he contained and how he had made the decision to effectively stage his own death would lead Harry to close up and maybe even reject them. They'd come so far in just finding him and it was amazing that he actually remembered–that to risk any of that now was beyond consideration. So she thought it best to start out just catching up and reacquainting.

Harry nodded, seemingly grateful for not having to answer the tough questions just yet.

“So I assume you know a little about me?” Harry asked the both of them after a few seconds. “You obviously found me here and I'm sure you did your research,” he added, eying Hermione knowingly.

“We only know the basics,” Hermione admitted. “We were told that the Portkey misfired and somehow dropped you in New York State. Then you were found and taken to a hospital. When you recovered, you then went to live with a family, went to school, became a photographer and now you, obviously, teach here.”

“That's my life in a nutshell, I guess,” Harry said with a shrug. “I like to think it's been a bit more colorful than that,” he admitted with a slight smile.

“That's really just what we know,” Hermione said blushing, understanding that she'd made his life sound rather streamlined and one-dimensional in her explanation.

“It hasn't been an easy one,” Harry said quietly. “I've spent the past seventeen years not knowing my real name, where I came from–but I've tried to make the best of it. I think I've done alright.”

“You've done very well for yourself,” Hermione told him with a smile. “And in fact, if you hadn't become successful and published books on your work...we probably wouldn't be here,” she added.

Harry raised his brow in curiosity at her last statement.

“Just before Ron confronted Remus...we ran across your portrait and biography in one of your books,” Hermione explained, purposely skipping over the fact that it was not they who actually stumbled upon his picture. The truth of that was also something that couldn't and shouldn't be addressed right now. “It was actually our daughter, Nora's book. My parents got her a camera and some books for her birthday this summer...and one just happened to be yours.”

“Really?” Harry asked with amused interest. Hermione nodded.

“There was just something about the photo that was so familiar,” Hermione continued, glancing at Ron. “Obviously we didn't know it was possible at the time...but here we are now...”

“Do you just have the...the one daughter?” Harry asked slowly, looking from Ron to Hermione. “Or...do you have more?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged knowing looks between each other.

“We have five children,” Hermione told him with a smile as Harry's eyes went wide.

“Five?” he asked in total surprise.

“Well, we did have the first two in one shot,” Ron interjected matter-of-factly.

It was now Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows and look incredulously at her husband.

“And that's supposed to have made it easier with the twins–having 'two in one shot'?” she asked him coolly. “Because I recall having to carry around two babies for nearly 9 months and then give birth twice in a matter of minutes the day they were born,” she added, eying him dangerously.

Harry could only attempt to hold back his smile as he watched Ron back down and cower slightly.

“You definitely don't look like you've had five kids, Hermione,” Harry told her, perhaps hoping to defuse any chance of a row between the two.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione responded, fixing him with a grateful smile before she threw Ron one last glare.

“How old are they all?” Harry asked when it seemed that they had avoided anything further between the two.

“The twins–Reed and Ethan are 14, Nora is 12, Paxton is 8 and Scarlett is 5,” Hermione told him proudly.

“That's great,” Harry said with a smile, although there was a hint of sadness in the way he surveyed them, as if the emotion behind having missed the lives of his best friends and their growing family couldn't be kept completely at bay. “The last time I remember seeing you two...you were barely together. And now...” he trailed off as that emotion finally did prevent him from finishing.

“It hasn't always been easy...especially right after the war,” Ron said as words seemed to fail his friend. “But having each other and then...raising five amazing kids together...it's made it all worth it,” Ron admitted as he placed an arm around his wife, pulling her to him. At his touch, any irritation that Hermione was still harboring from Ron's previous comments seem to melt away as she fixed him with a smile.

“After everything you two gave,” Harry said as he watched the interactions between his two oldest friends. “You both deserve to be happy more than anybody,” he told them truthfully.

“Since I've fully remembered...the one thing I've thought about more than anything is whether everybody was okay,” Harry began before either Ron or Hermione could speak. “I hoped that–not only did you all survive–but that you'd moved on and created something more for yourselves...”

“We have,” Hermione responded reassuringly.

“Why didn't you come back, mate?” Ron asked suddenly. “You said you've remembered for a least a few months now...did you think at all about coming home?” he added, even as Hermione fixed him with a worried look. Harry had looked down at the question, obviously thrown by the question.

This had been what Hermione had been trying to avoid before by suggesting they skip the parts of the story for now that might lead to the tough questions Harry might not be willing to answer for them just yet. But it seemed that Ron's curiosity had gotten the best of him as he asked a question that dove right to the heart of things.

“I thought about it,” Harry surprisingly admitted after a few seconds as he looked up. He suddenly looked tired. “I thought about it a lot...and I almost did. I almost booked a flight to go back at one point.”

“Why didn't you?” Ron asked.

“I was afraid,” Harry replied quietly. “Not knowing what I'd be going back to, what I'd actually find...scared the hell out of me,” he told them seriously.

“I knew that more than likely the war was over and everything had worked out,” Harry continued. “I mean...the world hadn't ended and I hadn't heard or seen anything that might think that–he--was still running amok...but I was afraid to find out who may not have made it...who might not have survived.”

“We were lucky,” Ron told him. “The family made it through pretty unscathed. I mean...we all have a few more scars because of it...but we're alright.”

Harry sighed and nodded his thanks for that information. Like Harry of old, he had obviously holding very tight to that fear that he had lost someone close to him. He seemed relieved to know that at least the Weasley clan had made it through whole.

“Also...I thought about what me coming back would do to everyone else,” Harry said. “You all have your lives, your families now to think about. I imagined that if I just popped back into your lives one day...that it would just throw everything into chaos. And I couldn't do that to anyone,” he added.

“Harry Potter back from the dead would have been quite the shock to the system for us,” Ron admitted with a smile. “But we'd have endured anything to have you back, mate. As much as we've moved on over the years...life hasn't been quite the same without you,” he added as the smile faded and the sadness overtook his features.

“I'm not sure life will be the same with me,” Harry said quietly as he started off into the distance.

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asked, her voice full of worry and confusion over the statement.

Harry swallowed noticeably before speaking.

“My memories...they're the only thing I have,” he told her heavily. “They're the only things that came back,” he added.

Ron looked confused as to what he meant, but Hermione was nodding in understanding already.

“The spell you used was originally intended to strip magic,” Hermione said, recounting what she knew. Harry nodded.

“It hasn't come back?” Hermione asked gently.

Harry shook his head slowly as he let out a heavy breath.

“It was sort of the reason I suggested we drive,” Harry admitted sheepishly, not looking at either Ron or Hermione to gauge their reactions.

“That doesn't matter to us, Harry,” Ron reassured him, catching on to what exactly was being discussed. “It wouldn't have mattered then...it doesn't now.”

“I've lived without magic for so long now...that for most things I don't even think twice about it,” Harry admitted.

“But since I've remembered...it's been another part of this that's been a bit confusing,” he added. “I mean, I've got a part of me that is–Evan--who I've been for the past 17 years, day in and day out. But I've also got the memories and awareness of–Harry–from back then. In that part of my mind...it's almost as though the war and everything else happened yesterday. I can close my eyes and almost trick myself into believing I'm 18 again...and I'm going to open my eyes and wake up after a long nap in Gryffindor tower or something.”

“But then I wake up...and I'm 36 years old and have spent the last half of my life being somebody else,” Harry added, shaking his head. “It's a bit daunting to try and wrap the two together sometimes.”

“And us being here probably isn't helping,” Ron interjected.

“Actually it is helping,” Harry countered. “This is the first time since it's all came back that I don't have to pretend for anyone,” he added, his voice full of the relief he surely felt.

“So...you didn't come back because you were afraid to find out that some of us might not have made it and that we'd not be able to deal with the fact that your magic is gone?” Ron asked quietly after a few moments of silence.

“Mostly,” Harry admitted with a sigh as he leaned against the counter top that Ron and Hermione sat on the other side of. He brought his elbows to rest on the smooth top, his face in his hands momentarily as he thought.

“I've also got my career, people–a life–here that I have to think about,” Harry continued, looking as though he was worried that admitting that he had made relationships and created something more outside of the life he had led might upset his two friends.

“Going back would mean the craziness--the public and media frenzy–would begin again, probably worse,” Harry added, as though the idea made him sick just thinking about it. “And...I enjoy the anonymity I have now. I like being able to just live my life without the scrutiny–to be able to do what I want and go where I want without anybody watching. You know I couldn't have that there if everyone knew...”

“If I had to only worry about myself--yeah--I'd probably have a lot less worry about what going back would mean,” Harry added, as he once more glanced down at the silver wristwatch he wore. “But I've got people I care about here...and I'm not sure I could just disappear and abandon them or subject them to the madness that goes hand-in-hand with being Harry Potter.”

“If it were just me, it'd be different,” Harry said quietly. “But it's not that simple...”

Ron was just about to press him further–to explain about these people Harry 'cared about' and was worried about losing--when the doorbell sounded, echoing loudly throughout the house.

Harry rubbed his face tiredly and straightened up as the doorbell sounded a second time.

“I have to get that,” he mumbled almost inaudibly as he moved from behind the counter and strode towards the entrance hallway and out of sight.

Ron turned to look at Hermione in question, already finding his wife looking up at him in confusion.

“Do you think it's the girlfriend?” Ron asked in a whisper.

“I don't think she'd ring the bell,” Hermione replied, although there was nothing in her tone that suggested she wanted to argue about whether there even was a girlfriend to speak of.

“I understand that he's got friends and family here–like the Smith family that took him in. I know they have to be important to him,” Ron replied in undertones as the muffled sound of conversation could be heard from the end of the hall. Ron could make out Harry's voice speaking and he could pick out the other as female as it replied.

“But it's almost like he doesn't want to tell us a whole lot about that part of his life,” Ron finished with a sigh.

Hermione nodded in agreement as she swiveled on the stool and turned to look over her right shoulder, as if to see if perhaps Harry might be returning and their conversation overheard.

Ron saw Hermione's mouth drop into a wide “O” and her expression turn to one of complete surprise before he registered her sharp intake of breath. Ron followed Hermione's attention to see that Harry had indeed returned from the entryway.

And as Ron had anticipated...Harry was not alone. But it wasn't what he had expected at all...

“Harry...” Hermione said breathlessly as she stood from her chair and moved closer to him as he stood in the archway between the kitchen and the hall.

Harry was avoiding their eyes and looking quite nervous as he stood there–holding a small child to his chest.

The little girl was sleeping, her tiny face nestled comfortably against Harry's neck. Soft black locks, as dark as Harry's, were tied back away from her face in two braids held by red ribbons, the wispy tendrils that had managed to escape falling softly across her face. One of her arms was wrapped loosely around Harry's neck, as though she had clung tight to him before slumber had taken her. She was dressed in a pink coat and matching boots. Underneath however, she looked to be wearing a pair of tights and black leotard.

“Harry...is she...?” Hermione asked in nearly a whisper as she reached out to brush a tendril of hair away from the sleeping child's face. She seemed unable to verbalize the rest of her question.

“This is...my daughter,” he said quietly with a soft smile as he nodded in response to Hermione's unfinished inquiry. His voice was heavy with his own emotion.

“This is Sophie,” he added softly, placing a gentle kiss on the crown her head.

“She's beautiful, Harry,” Hermione said as she reached up to wipe a tear that had escaped the corner of her eye.

Harry could only smile and nod in reply.

“She had dance class this afternoon,” Harry said quietly as he shifted his daughter slightly in his arms. “A neighbor has a daughter in the same class–we take turns picking them up,” he continued, explaining the exchange at the door and the reason for Sophie's attire. “She fell asleep on the way home today,” he said with quiet chuckle.

“I'm gonna go lay her down,” he added. “She'll be up a while...”

And with that Harry left the kitchen, moving down a hallway that led out of the kitchen towards the left.

“And you thought Sophie was his girlfriend,” Hermione said with a watery smile as she wiped away her tears.

“He's got a kid, Hermione,” Ron replied matter-of factly, still in slight shock. “Obviously at some point and time he's been with somebody.”

“Does it really matter?” Hermione asked him as she sat back down beside him. “You said you wanted him to be happy...”

“I know,” Ron admitted. “It's just–I don't know–strange to think about. This whole thing is...” he added, shaking his head.

Hermione was about to respond in reassurance, but stopped as the sound of Harry's footsteps caught her attention. A few seconds later, he was back, still looking slightly nervous as he moved towards the stainless steel refrigerator.

“I totally forgot to ask when we first got here...but do you guys want something to drink?” he asked as he opened the door and seemed to be rummaging around its contents. “I've got soda, water, juice...and I can throw in a pizza or something else to eat too. I didn't even think to ask if you were hungry,” he added, talking fast as he pulled open the freezer as well.

It was obvious that Harry's uneasiness was getting the best of him. Hermione wanted to tell him that it was alright and for him to come sit down so they could talk. But Ron spoke first, perhaps sensing that Harry just needed a bit more time to calm down before conversation would be a good idea.

“Pizza sounds good, mate,” Ron said with a nod. “And I'll take whatever juice you've got,” he added as Harry pulled out a carton of apple juice.

“I'll just have a water,” Hermione added, following Ron's lead. Digging a bit further back in his refrigerator, Harry unearthed a bottle of water.

Ron and Hermione spent the next several minutes, watching in silence as Harry poured a tall glass of juice for Ron and dug out a frozen pizza, preheated the oven and placed the unwrapped pizza inside. When that was done and he had given the two of them their drinks, Harry pulled out a can of soda for himself and settled back in spot, leaning against the opposite counter.

“How old is she?” Hermione asked after the silence had stretched on another minute or so.

Harry took a sip of his drink before responding.

“Four,” he said, looking up at Hermione briefly. “She'll be five at the end of November.”

“She's just a tiny thing,” Hermione replied with a smile, recalling how little she had looked in Harry's arms.

“Yeah...she's always been that way,” Harry replied, a hint of a smile creeping up on his features. “Although I'm not sure you'll be saying that when she's awake. She's pretty good at making sure you know she's there and exactly what she wants. She can get pretty sassy.”

“They all are at that age,” Ron assured him with a smile of his own.

“Is she your only one?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

Harry nodded.

“And you're not married?” Ron asked, unable to help himself. “How about a girlfriend or fiancee?” he added.

Harry shook his head.

“I'm not and have never been married and I'm not seeing anybody,” he told Ron, looking slightly uncomfortable again at where the line of questioning was going.

“Being married or in a long-term relationship isn't exactly a prerequisite for having kids these days,” Harry countered a bit testily as he took another measured sip from the can in his hand.

Hermione threw Ron a chastising look that again made him freeze and retreat.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled as he looked down.

“It's alright,” Harry said, waving him off. “It's–it's not exactly how I thought things would be either. This isn't exactly how I thought I'd go about having kids and a family...especially now...” he added.

Ron and Hermione looked to one another in question. Harry it seemed was a single dad, but what exactly had transpired for that to happen? Had he loved and lost someone? Or had the relationship simply ended up not working out?

Harry seemed to pick up on their confusion, for it was he who spoke next.

“Morgan–Sophie's mom–and I, were never really together,” Harry began to explain. “We were never in any significant relationship,” he clarified.

“She was–is--a singer,” Harry continued. “When I worked for Rolling Stone, I covered her for a few articles and did a few photo shoots of her and her band. We hit it off, I guess...going out and hanging out a few times here and there over the course of a year or so...” he added, choosing his words carefully so as to make sure they understood.

“I hadn't seen her in a while and one weekend we were both in New York...she called me up,” he continued on. “We ended up going out on the town for a night and we--er--well...Sophie's here now...” he finished weakly, looking determinedly away from the judging looks he perhaps thought he'd be getting.

But there were none.

“I wasn't exactly a saint these past 17 years,” Harry admitted with a heavy sigh. “I did things that I'm not proud of and I can't fathom why I ever did now. I went out too much, partied too much...” he said, fading off again.

“I was good at what I did,” he continued on, sounding as though he wasn't exactly proud of the fact that he was a sought after photographer. “I had money and all sorts of people wanted me to work for them, do shoots. I was around celebrities, musicians and rock stars who all wanted you to have a drink with them or go out to some party or wanted to introduce you to somebody. I was young and for somebody that had no real idea of who they were or where they really belonged–I was finally wanted. I had someplace where I belonged. For a while it was great...I really thought I was cool,” he added with a harsh laugh.

“You're not like that now,” Ron told him.

Harry shook his head.

“Sophie changed that,” he told them with a hint of a smile. “Once I found out there was a chance that I was going to be a dad–I woke up.”

“I realized that where I was headed, what I'd been doing...it wasn't a place that was going to bring me any stability or be any sort of life I'd want to raise a kid in,” Harry continued. “I was always traveling and was never in one place very long. I had an apartment in Manhattan, but I was hardly ever there.”

“So I went back home,” Harry said simply, causing both Ron and Hermione to give him curious looks. “I went back to Buffalo and I moved back in with Maria and Steve,” he explained.

“The Smith's?” Hermione asked in clarification. Harry nodded.

“They were the ones that took me in after I was released from the hospital,” Harry said. “They've always been there...no matter how horrible I've been to them over the years,” he added sadly.

“When I went back and told them what had happened, they welcomed me back without a lot of judgment and they encouraged me to go back to school and helped me out with Sophie. Although...Steve did call me an idiot a few times before he suggested I go back to school and that I was welcome back no matter what,” he added with a crooked grin.

“I deserved it,” Harry added in reassurance.

“So you went back to get your degree and started teaching?”

“Yeah. I'd somehow over the years managed to take a few master's classes here and there,” Harry replied. “So I did only have a few semesters I had to go to finish up. I wasn't exactly sure about teaching right away. But after talking to a few professors, they thought my experience in the field would make it easier for me to get a job teaching without having to go for my doctorate.”

“I also did 2 semesters of student teaching and I really fell in love with it,” Harry added. “So it turned into an easier choice as I went on.”

“Plus...when Sophie was born, I figured it was easier to have a job where I stayed put all the time and didn't really have to travel,” Harry continued after taking another drink from his soda.

“Do you have her part-time?” Hermione asked curiously. “When we were in your office, I know you said something about her staying here this weekend,” she added, thinking back to just a few hours before when they were still hidden underneath the cloak, unaware of any of this. “Does she go to her mum's some weekends?”

Surprisingly Harry's face darkened at Hermione's question, causing her to immediately regret what she'd asked.

“Morgan isn't exactly the mother type,” Harry said, a bitter one to the words. “She would much rather worry about her career and touring or what party or rock-star boyfriend she's being seen with this week than stay somewhere and take care of her daughter,” he added, shaking his head.

“I've got sole custody of her,” Harry told her. These words however brought a satisfied smile to his face as he spoke them. “So she stays with me almost all the time.”

“She does go to visit Morgan's mom and dad pretty often. That's where she was last weekend,” Harry added. “They're the ones that actually originally got emergency custody of Sophie about a month after she was born. When I went for custody...they gave it to me...only asking for visitation. They're good people and Sophie really likes her visits with her grandma and grandpa.”

“How old was she when you got her?” Hermione asked, hoping she wasn't pressing too much.

“She was about 2 months old,” Harry told her. “I wish it were a bit sooner, but I had to wait for the results of a paternity test before I could even think about going to court for her.”

“Paternity test?” Ron asked, unable to keep his surprise at bay and verbalized.

“I told you my life was a bit more colorful than that nutshell you guys described for me,” Harry shot back with a slightly playful tone in his voice.

“I'd say,” Ron replied, shaking his head in disbelief. Nothing he had heard in the past few minutes was anything he would have expected from Harry. Well–not the Harry he'd known.

“It hasn't been easy,” Harry said with a sigh. “But I wouldn't change having Sophie in my life for anything. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. That little girl is my entire world,” he finished quietly, his voice full of the love and the devotion he felt for his daughter.

“She's the one thing I haven't had to question how I feel about these last few months either,” he added quietly. “Whether I'm Evan or Harry...she's still my little girl.”

Almost as if on cue, the sound of stocking-clad feet pattering against the hardwood floors could be heard. The quick little steps got faster as they drew closer. And neither Ron nor Hermione had the chance to turn around quick enough to catch a glimpse of their source before they passed behind them and around the counter.

Harry let out a noise as a ball of arms and legs collided with his midsection and jumped up at him to be picked up.

“Hey, slow down there,” he said as he picked up the little girl. “We don't run in tights in the house...it's slippery,” he added as Sophie hugged him round the neck, snuggling against him.

“Sorry, Daddy” she said in a small voice as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Did you have a nice nap, Sleepygirl?” Harry asked as he returned the kiss, causing the little girl to scrunch her face as he planted his lips on her cheek.

“I'm not a Sleepygirl,” she argued.

“So you didn't fall asleep when Mrs. Johnson brought you home from dance class?” Harry teased as Sophie tried to hide her guilty smile.

“I did,” she admitted with a little laugh. “I was just tired. But I'm not no more.”

“No?” Harry asked in amusement. “You're wide awake, are you?”

Sophie nodded. She also seemed to realize that she was not alone with her dad as she caught site of Ron and Hermione. She quickly turned back to her dad, clinging tight to him.

Her whispered question was barely audible as she leaned in close to Harry to ask it.

“Who's that?” she asked as she snuck another look at the two strangers.

“Those are my friends,” Harry told her. “That's Ron,” he explained, pointing in his direction. “And that's Hermione,” Harry added, moving his finger in her direction. At the mention of Hermione's, perhaps unusual name, Sophie looked questioningly up at her dad. Harry could only smile at her reaction.

“Why are they here?” she again asked quietly as she curiously surveyed Ron and Hermione.

“Just to talk,” Harry explained. “I haven't seen them in a really, really long time...so we're just visiting.”

“Oh,” Sophie said matter-of-factly, as though she were thoroughly satisfied with the answer.

“Is that okay?” Harry asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Sophie said with a nod. “Can I go play?” she asked after a second of deliberation.

“Yeah...but I want you to change out of your dance clothes first,” Harry told her. Sophie was still dressed in her white tights and tiny black leotard. “Why don't you go put your pj's on?” he added.

“But I don't wanna go to bed...” she she told him as her features turned sour as she scrunched her face up at the suggestion.

“I didn't say you had to go to bed,” Harry corrected her. “I just want you to change into your pajamas so you don't wreck the clothes you're wearing now.”

“Can I wear my princess ones?” Sophie asked excitedly when she understood that she wasn't putting them on so she could be tucked into bed.

“Sure,” Harry agreed with a smile. “They're in your bottom drawer,” he added as Sophie scrambled to get down from his hold. “Do you need help?”

“Nope,” Sophie said as her feet finally hit the floor. “Can I watch my movie after I put them on?” she asked excitedly as she looked up.

“Yes you can,” Harry told her and Sophie did a little twirl in the middle of the kitchen in her excitement.

“Do you want me to come with you and put the disc in?” Harry asked before she could run away.

“No...I know how to do it,” she assured him as she began to skip away. Harry watched her as she moved away, skipping and twirling as she made her way back down the hallway.

“She is adorable,” Hermione managed to say as Sophie disappeared from view.

“She is,” Harry agreed. “Although I'm not exactly enjoying that she's in a stage now where she thinks she can do everything on her own and doesn't need me,” Harry added quietly.

“Wait til she's almost 13 and she thinks you do nothing but embarrass her all the time,” Ron interjected. “Enjoy her while she's this little.”

“I can't say I'm exactly looking forward to those years,” Harry admitted. “Especially if it's just her and I...I can't begin to think about having to deal with the issues and problems of a teenage girl. I have a hard enough time picking out her clothes and doing her hair the way she wants it now,” he added with a laugh.

“You braided her hair?” Ron asked with a smirk.

“Impressive, right?” Harry replied with a nod. “Maria always braids it for her and does things to it...so when we moved out here...I had to learn,” he said with a smile.

“Maybe Harry can teach you, Ron, and you can do Scarlett's hair for me in the morning?” Hermione teased as Ron had started to chuckle at Harry's proud admission that he was responsible for his daughter's hair.

Ron rolled his eyes.

“I'll stick to dealing with my boys,” Ron replied with a smile. “I don't have to worry about hairdo's or frilly, princess pajamas with them.”

“If you did, I'd be worried about the job you were doing with them,” Hermione shot back with a smile, earning her a laugh from Both Ron and Harry.

“It's not so bad,” Harry said with a smile of his own. “I've got to be both parents for her anyway...so those are just things that come with the job,” he added with a shrug.

“And I'd say you're doing a really good job, Harry,” Hermione told him. Harry nodded in appreciation as the three of them lapsed into a comfortable silence. It was finally interrupted by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, signaling that the pizza was finally done. Harry took a few minutes to remove it, cut it into slices and plate it up for the three of them.

“So...what about everybody else?” Harry asked after the three of them had settled in and begun eating. “You said everybody made it through...” he added when they looked at him, slightly confused.

“And you guys have a big family...I can only imagine the rest of the family has expanded a bit too,” he added with a smile.

“The Weasley clan has certainly grown,” Ron admitted with a nod. “There are a lot more spouses and kids we've got to try and fit into the Burrow at gatherings. But it's great,” he added with a grin.

“Bill and Fleur are still married,” Hermione added, perhaps thinking that Harry may want an updated tally on the members of the family. “They've got two children. Victoire is 16 and Louis is 13.”

“Fred and George are both somehow married,” Ron added. “Fred and Angelina have a daughter, Jade, who's 14 and a son, Adrian, who's 11. George and Alicia have two also...Eliza is 13 and Haden is 11.”

“And Percy married Audrey–Ramsey. I don't know if you remember her? She was a year older than Percy in school,” Hermione added. Harry shook his head. “They have a 15 year old daughter, Molly, and a son Lucas, who's 9.”

“Wow,” Harry offered in reply.

“Yeah...we're all tied down and busy giving my parents grand-kids–except for Charlie,” Ron added with a laugh. “I think we've all come to the realization that he'll be the perpetual bachelor of us all. He loves his dragons and weekends at the pub too much to settle down. Drives Mum nuts,” he said with a smile.

“How are your mom and dad?” Harry asked curiously.

“They're good,” Ron said with a nod. “Both are finally slowing down a bit and starting to enjoy their free time and spending days with all their grandchildren. Looks like Dad might actually retire from the Ministry this year too...”

“Does he still work where he was?” Harry asked.

“He was the head for the longest time. But now he works in an advisory position for the department,” Ron explained. “But he mainly sits in at a lot of committee meetings for all sorts of things. He's really a senior advisor for the whole Ministry. Kingsley appointed him to his personal staff a few years go.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in question.

“Kingsley's the Minister for Magic,” Hermione explained. “He has been for the past 15 years–after we finally convinced him to take the nomination. He's been great.”

“And what do you two do?” Harry asked in earnest interest.

“I'm a senior supervisor in the Magical Law Department. It's mostly management duties these days...but I do still get to work on drafting some legislation,” Hermione replied. “And I have also done some writing and editing over the years too.”

“You do all that with five kids at home?” Harry asked I amazement.

“It's pretty stressful at times,” Hermione admitted. “But the position really does offer me flexibility and I can get a lot of things done from home. Plus, Ron and I are a pretty good team. One of us is usually there to try and control things at home...”

“Yeah...my job gives me pretty big blocks of time to be with the kids,” Ron admitted.

“What do you do?” Harry asked.

“I'm an ambassador for the Ministry,” Ron replied. “I conduct a lot of meetings with foreign officials, dignitaries and the like. And–I also act as sort of a liaison between the Ministry's Board of Governors and Hogwarts...”

“Wow...that's...that's just--” Harry began to say, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” Ron asked as he furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I don't know–it's not exactly what I thought you'd be doing,” Harry admitted, blushing slightly.

“What, was I supposed to spend the rest of my life rounding up the bad guys?” Ron asked, eying his friend. Harry shrugged his shoulders as he shook his head.

“I was an Auror,” Ron admitted. “I was one for 11 years before I retired about 4 years ago. After one too many close calls and trips to St. Mungo's I just decided it was time for something different. I wanted to be able to spend more time at home before my kids grew up completely...”

“So when you talk about changing for Sophie...I know what that's about,” Ron said quietly. “I had to think about them...”

Harry nodded his understanding and the three of them lapsed into a momentary silence again.

“What about Ginny?”

The question was hesitant and quiet, but Harry's eyes were trained intently on both Ron and Hermione as he waited for an answer.

Hermione and Ron looked uneasily at one another, as if seeking the others approval or advice on what to say. With the other family members the answers had been easy and there had been no reason to change or leave anything out.

But this was different and there was more to think about in this answer.

“What?” Harry asked as worry clouded his face and he looked desperately between the two. Obviously their hesitancy and silent conversation hadn't gone unnoticed and it had tipped Harry off that something was amiss.

“She...she was...married,” Hermione replied slowly as she swallowed heavily.

“Was?”

“She and her husband–Paul--they divorced about four years ago,” Hermione explained carefully.

Harry's face took on a tone of concern at her words.

“It wasn't volatile or violent or unpleasant in any way. Their divorce was quite amicable,” Hermione assured him. Her words seemed to satisfy him for the moment. “They just–weren't as passionate about their relationship or in love with each other as they once were and ended up simply being friends. They came to the agreement that they both deserved the chance to be with somebody who made them feel that way–or that's how she explained it,” Hermione explained.

“She and Paul are still friends. They still talk and occasionally meet for lunch...” she added.

Harry's expression was unreadable as he stared off into space.

“Kids?” he asked simply as he looked down at his hands.

Hermione glanced at Ron wearily before speaking. If he asked anything beyond this question, Hermione wasn't sure how she'd be able to answer without telling Harry everything. And she was sure that not only was this not the time or situation, but also...they were not the people that should be telling him...

“She has two boys,” Ron replied for her.

Harry continued to survey his hands for a moment before nodding and looking up.

“Good,” he offered, actually sounding incredibly relieved.

“Sorry for being a bit hesitant, mate,” Ron apologized carefully. “It's just–we know how things were between you two. We weren't sure how you might react to hearing all that...”

“I wanted her to be happy,” Harry said quietly. “Leaving her was the hardest thing...” he added trailing off, looking as though these sudden emotions might actually get the best of him.

“She deserved to be free...to have a better life after it was all done,” Harry said again, swallowing heavily. “These past few months...I've thought about her a lot. I just needed to know that she was okay...that she was happy...”

“She is,” Hermione assured him. “She's had some tough times and dark moments, especially in the beginning. But right now, the most important things in her life are her boys and making sure they're happy and taken care of. She's a good mum,” Hermione added as she gauged his reaction.

Harry smiled as he closed his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly, perhaps to keep any emotion at bay.

They continued on without speaking for a moment, both Ron and Hermione waiting for Harry to ask another question and hoping it would be one they could give him an easy answer to.

“So where are you guys staying?” Harry asked, his sudden turn in subject throwing them momentarily. “How long were you even going to be here?” he added.

“Well...seeing as though we weren't planning on you knowing us or remembering anything at all...” Ron began.

“We only had plans to stay the night at a hotel,” Hermione finished. “We thought it might take a day or so to find you and all we really were going to do was to make sure you were alright...”

“You can stay here,” Harry told them both. “You don't have to bother with a hotel. I've got a few extra rooms you can stay in.”

“You're sure?” Hermione asked.

“You're free to stay the whole weekend, if you like,” Harry assured her. “It'll give us some more time to talk and figure things out some more before you have to leave...”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione told him as she accepted his invitation.

“Not a problem,” he assured her. “Why don't you two finish up your pizza and I'll go get one of the spare rooms ready...put sheets and blankets on the bed,” he added in explanation as he threw most of half-eaten pizza in the garbage and pitched the plate in the sink.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Harry departed the kitchen, leaving Ron and Hermione alone.

“This is real isn't it?” Hermione asked quietly and in disbelief as she only looked at her own slice of pizza.

“Different, definitely. But incredibly real,” Ron reaffirmed with a nod.

“This is all going to take some time to figure out...to get used to,” Hermione admitted tiredly. “And I'm sure he'll need more time to figure out just how much he wants to be a part of our lives again. I can't go another 17 years without seeing him...”

“I know,” Ron replied as he wrapped an arm around her. “But we've got time now and we're not going to let him go again.”

A/N: You can shoot me about the whole Sophie thing if you want to or not. I obviously didn't want Harry married, but I didn't want him alone and this was what I felt was best. And I know some of you aren't going to necessarily agree with the behavior I've had Harry exhibit in becoming an unmarried dad...but as we'll find out and as Harry points out...Evan hasn't always made great choices. He had a lot against him, and although Harry really was inside...things happened. I hope you enjoyed!

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Chapter 10: Scattered

“He's really good with her.”

Harry's voice from beside her broke Hermione out of her quiet contemplation.

She had been thinking about the previous 24 hours and just what had happened in the time since they'd found themselves stuck in the middle of Harry's office. The events that had followed had been surreal and completely unexpected and unexplainable. Not only was Harry alive, but whole in most every way–remembering himself and everything from before he'd disappeared.

He was, unsurprisingly, not exactly the same person they had known before. Harry had been shaped by the experiences of living 17 years as another man, with another name and a half a lifetime of interactions and instances that had created different nuances and mannerisms in the boy she had known long ago. The accent and his word choices, his comfort with modern technology and the casual and assured confidence that he had not possessed as a teen were all things Hermione could count as different and strange in a way.

But as she, Ron, and Harry spent the rest of the evening talking and reconnecting to some degree, it had become clear that their Harry was still there and very present in Evan Smith. His smile, his expressions, his laugh–albeit a bit deeper–were the same. As the conversation had wore on into the late evening hours, it had become easier to forget about the time and the events that had passed between them as old jokes and stories had easily returned.

Hermione finally looked up to find Harry's eyes following Sophie as she climbed up the ladder of the slide. Ron was standing next to the ladder, watching the little girl climb as a he held a hand out just in case. Sophie seemed to be jabbering away about something as Ron laughed.

Harry was smiling as he watched on. He and Hermione were sitting a ways away on a bench, relaxing and talking quietly. Harry had apparently promised Sophie earlier in the week that they would go to a nearby park on Saturday. When the little girl had started to get upset when Harry had told her that their trip would have to wait because they had guests, Ron and Hermione had insisted that they would simply tag along with them. So they had made a day of it, enjoying the crisp, cool autumn day in this beautiful city park.

“He's always been good with kids,” Hermione smiled as she watched the scene too. Ron and moved to the end of the slide, readying himself to catch Sophie when she reached him. “Uncle Ron is always the favorite with the nieces and nephews and, I have to admit it, but he's always been the one that's been much better at getting down on the floor and playing with our own kids at their level.”

“I suppose it's because he's still a big kid himself,” she added with a laugh as she watched her husband catch Sophie as she slid off the end of the slide and twirled her around. Her excited little giggles reached them, causing both Harry and Hermione to smile even wider.

“She's quite taken with him,” Harry told her as he glanced sideways at her. “You might not get him back.”

“You'd send him back after a few days,” Hermione teased.

“That may not be up to me,” Harry replied with a smile as his eyes sought his daughter again. “She seems to run things more and more. And I have to admit it...but she's got me completely wrapped around her finger already. I'm definitely in big trouble for later on...”

“You'll be fine,” Hermione assured him. “I'm sure by the time you've got to worry about her dating boys and all those other awkward teenage girl things you'll have a good woman in both of your lives to help out,” she added

“Please...do not mention dating and boys,” Harry groaned. “She's four and so far, I'm the only man in her life. I'd like to keep it that way until she's at least 24...” he added, shaking his head at the thought. Hermione could only smile at his reaction.

“And–are you and Ron trying to marry me off?” Harry asked. “You both seem awfully interested in the goings-on in my love life...or lack thereof,” he added with a snort as he suddenly became interested in his shoes.

“No,” Hermione assured him. “I think we were prepared to come here and find that you might have moved on–had a wife and kids. You not being was a small surprise. You said last night that we deserved to be happy...so do you. ” she told him as she laid a hand gently on his arm.

“I am,” Harry replied. “Right now I've got the one woman in my life that I need,” he continued, eyes wandering back over to Sophie, who had lured Ron to the swings. “And I'm happy where we are right now.”

“I spent a lot of time looking for something or someone to fill the empty places in my life,” Harry added as he sighed heavily. “Now that I've got Sophie...I'm not in any hurry to just bring anyone into our lives and jump into a relationship because I’m lonely...”

“I didn't mean to pry...”

“You're not,” Harry assured her with a smile. “And you two wouldn't be the first to take interest in my romantic life,” he added with a laugh. “I've been here only a few months and I've already had a few colleagues try and set me up. For some reason, I'm a magnet for older women wanting to introduce me to their daughters, nieces or even next door neighbors.”

“Evan Smith must be quite the catch,” Hermione teased, causing Harry to laugh.

“He certainly acts a whole lot cooler than he really is,” Harry added with a chuckle. Hermione smiled.

“Where did the name come from?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “How did you end up as Evan?”

“Well...I took Smith as my last name after I'd been living with Steve and Maria for a while,” Harry explained. “The hospital nor the authorities had any clue who I really was–so in order for me to get a job, go to school or pretty much do anything–I had to have an identity created for me.”

“Did they adopt you?” Hermione asked in earnest interest.

“No,” Harry replied. “I mean...nobody really knew how old I really was...they actually guessed I was a year younger than I am. But I was considered too close to legal adult age for them to officially adopt me. But it only felt right to take the name after all they'd done for me.”

“And Evan sort of came about when the nurses and police were trying to figure out who I was and what name to call me,” Harry continued. “I don't really remember it, actually...but they were going through a list of missing people with me and apparently I showed some sort of recognition to the name of a young man with the first name 'Evan.' I couldn't actually talk at the time and tell them anything, if I had known...and it turned out not to be me, obviously. But it stuck and it's what I've been called since the first few weeks at the hospital,” he explained with a heavy sigh.

“Could your recognition have had anything to do with Evans being your mother's maiden name?” Hermione asked as the logical and questioning part of her mind kicked in.

“I've thought about that,” Harry admitted. “I think it might have...subconsciously obviously.”

“Ron and I only know a few details about you being in the hospital,” Hermione said after a few seconds. “But you were in very bad shape,” she added. It wasn't necessarily a question, but a confirmation of what Remus had told Ron.

Harry nodded, swallowing visibly.

“I really can't remember anything substantial about the first week or so,” Harry began to explain, surprising Hermione in that he was actually willing to talk about it. “I mean, there are flashes of color and sounds and bits of conversation that I can sort of recall. But mainly the beginning is a blur,” he added uneasily.

“The first thing I really remember is waking up and I wasn't able to really move a whole lot. I had tubes and wires coming out of everywhere,” he continued on. “I was hooked up to a respirator through a tracheotomy tube. My jaw was wired shut,” he added when Hermione looked at him curiously.

“It was shattered actually, and they had to piece it back together...like the rest of me I suppose,” he added. “I had 2 broken vertebrae in my back and fractures in my pelvis. The rest of me was pretty screwed up too. I felt like one giant bruise from head to toe...”

“Remus said you couldn't talk,” Hermione replied slowly. “He admitted to Ron that he had come to visit you twice in the months after...before the charms took over completely...”

“My jaw was wired shut for nearly 8 weeks...so that was a big part of it,” Harry replied. “After that, it took me a couple of months to learn how to actually talk again. I had to physically learn how to use the muscles of my mouth and jaw to form words again...but I also had a bit of temporary dysphasia. I had trouble for a while expressing what I wanted to say. They said it had something to do with the closed head injury I initially had. I could think of the word I wanted to use or the phrase I needed...but I couldn't verbalize it. It was frustrating...”

“You had to go through a lot of physical therapy too?” Hermione asked, remembered what Ron had told her about Harry barely being able to walk weeks after the battle.

“Yeah. I was relatively lucky I didn't have any severe, lasting damage considering I broke my back,” Harry admitted. “But it took some time and a lot of work to get back on my feet and functioning normally again. I do still have the occasional aches and pain from it I suppose...especially right before the weather turns.”

“I'm surprised you're functioning at all,” Hermione replied in astonishment as she began to realize just how grievously injured he'd been.

“I've heard that a time or two before,” Harry said with a small laugh. “The doctors and nurses were pretty impressed with just how much I'd recovered when I left them. I still wasn't talking incredibly well when they officially released me. I was kind of embarrassed about it and really didn't talk all that much in the beginning.”

“Plus...I had the additional pleasure of trying to create connections and interacting with people who I had no meaningful collective memory or experience with,” he continued on. “I could reason and understand pretty well and I had a grasp on most basic concepts for living and functioning. But I didn’t have memories of the experiences that normal people have in learning those skills...”

“I can’t imagine how scary that all must have been,” Hermione supplied as she shook her head in disbelief.

“It was terrifying in the beginning,” Harry admitted. “It was tough enough with all the physical stuff I had to deal with, but then they started asking me questions about myself and where I was from...and I didn’t know...” he added as his voice faded with the last word.

“It’s a surreal thing to be asked your name and your age and you realize you don’t know it and you have no clue about anything. Everything else you try to recall is just...blank. You can’t remember people or whatever family you figure you must have had. And then you start to wonder--what did I do that was so bad that someone hurt me like they did...and what kind of person was I that--in the few months I was in the hospital--nobody came forward to claim me?” Harry continued in a pained voice.

“It’s the most helpless feeling ever...”

Harry looked away at his last admission, perhaps embarrassed that he’d indulged so much about his feelings or maybe didn’t want Hermione to see the emotion on his face at the moment.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” Hermione told him sincerely as she squeezed Harry’s arm gently, hoping he’d understand and welcome the supportive gesture.

“It was my own doing,” Harry admitted after a few seconds, glancing back at Hermione. “It was my decisions--my choices--that lead to all of this,” he added with a heavy sigh. “I still don’t know if it was the right one...”

“We would have been there for you--to take care of you--no matter what,” Hermione told him quietly.

“I know,” Harry replied. “And at the time...that’s exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to add one more thing to the list of what what you’d already done for me. I didn’t want to be a burden...and in my own twisted reckoning...I figured if I was just--gone--then you all would be able to go on after a while.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Harry spoke again before she could get anything out.

“Nothing would have changed my magic and memory loss...and I actually could have ended up in a hell of a worse state than I did,” Harry continued. “I didn’t want to be one of those people that ended up stuck in the closed ward at St. Mungo’s--or worse in my mind--having you or Ron or any of the others have to take care of me. The thought horrified me.”

“And even though the physical and mental effects weren’t as severe or lasting as they could have been...I still spent 17 years not knowing who I was or anything of my life before,” Harry added. “I couldn’t imagine trying to fit back into my old life with all that going against me. I don’t know what would have been worse...not knowing who I was at all and trying to start anew--like I did--or trying to live with the ghosts and expectations of who everyone else knew I was when I didn’t.”

“I think we would have liked the chance to help you with whatever choice you made,” Hermione replied after a few moments of silence. “After everything the three of us went through together...I think we deserved that.”

“You’d have never let me go,” Harry said quietly as he let out a shaky breath. “If I would have come to you two and told you what I was up to...what I was going to do--you’d have tried to stop me or think of some way to come with me. But this was something that I had to do. The Horcrux had to be destroyed and that meant sacrifice on some level on my part. I couldn’t put that on you two...”

Hermione did not respond, but instead swallowed heavily, knowing that everything Harry had said was true. Of course they would have tried to find some other way to separate the Horcrux from Harry’s soul. They would have done anything to make things easier and to save him from the fate that he had inevitably fallen to.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Harry said as he turned and looked directly at Hermione. The intensity of Harry’s gaze catching her off-guard. “And I know that I can’t change what’s happened. Just know that at the time...I truly thought I was doing what was best--for everybody.”

“And now?” Hermione asked quietly. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Most the time,” Harry replied truthfully as he reached a hand into his jeans pocket. “But now I see everything I’ve missed--your wedding and the birth of your children--it’s tough to realize I wasn’t there for any of it,” he added as he brought his hand to his mouth and popped in a square of gum and began chewing it.

“And we missed you so much,” Hermione told him. “But we’re all here now...and we’ve got a lot of time ahead of us to try and make up for what we’ve lost.”

Harry nodded his agreement as his eyes found Ron and Sophie again, his jaw working on the gum.

“Can I ask you about that?” Hermione said without being able to help herself. “About the gum?” she clarified when he raised his brow in question.

Realizing what she was asking, Harry sighed and a sheepish smile curled the edge of his mouth.

“I’m--er--I’m trying to quite smoking,” Harry admitted hesitantly as he glanced sideways at Hermione.

Hermione shot him a surprised look at his revelation.

“I know...It’s dirty and nasty and extremely unhealthy,” Harry said shaking his head.

“I just--I didn’t expect that from you,” Hermione admitted her own surprise.

“I started in my 20’s...smoking when I drank or was out socially,” Harry explained with another sigh. “But it became more after awhile and it’s a bad habit I haven’t been able to break--even now.”

“Sophie’s in 4k--4 year old kindergarten--and they had this anti-smoking week at school,” Harry continued. “She came home with all these papers and drawings for it and during class they asked the kids if their parents smoked and if they would like it if they stopped,” Harry added.

“She came home and told me she wanted me to quit my ‘smoking sticks’ and she even helped me dump them and then flush them down the toilet,” Harry said as he laughed quietly. “So I’ve been trying...for her.”

“And the gum is...” Hermione began.

“Nicotine gum,” Harry admitted. “It’s been getting me through days--that and lots of coffee,” Harry added with a smile.

“In your office yesterday...” Hermione began again.

“I nearly broke down and had one,” Harry admitted again, understanding where Hermione was going. “I’ve got a pack in my filing cabinet just in case...”

“I imagine the stress of us popping up out of nowhere didn’t help,” Hermione interjected knowingly.

“No...it certainly hasn’t,” Harry replied. “But I haven’t slipped yet, so...I’m pretty impressed at that.”

“Well, at least you’re trying to quit,” Hermione commended him with a smile. “You should be very proud of that,” she added.

“I am,” Harry admitted truthfully. “But I wish I would have never started...” he added with a sigh.

“We’ve all got a few habits we wished we didn’t,” Hermione assured him.

Harry nodded in agreement and they lapsed into another bout of comfortable silence as Ron continued to keep Sophie entertained a little ways away.

“So what happens now?” Hermione asked after a couple of minutes, her mind unable to keep in check the questions that were racing about within.

Harry looked at her, his brow cocked in confusion and inquiry.

“Ron and I were talking last night before bed,” Hermione began to explain, “and we both agreed that we can’t go another 17 years between visits. Now that we know you’re here and alive...we’re not going to be able to go back to our lives and forget about you.”

Harry nodded.

“I know...” Harry admitted. “I can’t ask or expect you guys to do that...and I don’t think I can just go on like I have been. I don’t want these few days here to be the end of it either.”

“But you have to understand that I just can’t go back to England tomorrow,” Harry continued. “Like I said yesterday, it’s not as simple as just packing up and going home anymore. I may have considered it a few years ago if things worked out like this--my memory coming back and you guys showing up--but not now.”

“I know it sounds selfish to say...but I’ve finally got a good thing here--a good life,” Harry added. “And I don’t want to screw that up.”

“That’s not selfish,” Hermione interjected as she shook her head. “It’d be selfish of us to expect you to just drop everything and come with us.”

“It’s enough to have to think of bringing so much change to my life...” Harry added as he nodded at Hermione’s last statement. “But I can’t fathom right now how much things would change for Sophie or what I’d have to tell Maria and Steve...”

“It’s not like I can just pop in one day and drop all this on them and then leave for halfway across the world,” Harry said. “I was back there a couple of weekends ago and it was the first time I’d been back to Buffalo since my memories came back. I wanted so bad to at least tell them that I know who I am now. But how do I explain exactly what that means? I just--I can’t figure out how I’d ever be able to do that without flipping everything completely upside down...”

“They mean a lot to you,” Hermione mused aloud as she listened to the worry in Harry’s voice as he spoke of the prospect of having to explain everything to those who had taken him in.

“They do,” Harry confirmed. “They’re my family--as much as you and the Weasley’s are. They’ve always been there when I’ve needed them. Not only did they take me in when they didn’t have to...but their home has always been a place where I could go and feel safe and be a part of something, no matter what I’d done.”

“Steve and Maria are--are really like a mom and dad to me,” Harry admitted as he glanced sideways at Hermione. “Steve helped me get a job at UB--where he’s a professor of Criminal Justice--initially after I’d gotten released from the hospital.”

“You worked at the university straight away?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“In the maintenance department,” Harry clarified. “It’s next to impossible to get any sort of job with no traceable background and no work experience. Steve pulled a few strings for me and got me a job mowing lawns, cleaning and doing odd jobs as part of the maintenance and janitorial crew on campus. I did that for a few months and then I got volunteered to help out as an assistant for one of Steve’s buddies who’s a photography professor in the the Art Department at UB.”

Hermione continued to listen with rapt attention as the pieces of how Harry had stumbled into the field of photography began to take shape.

“I was basically there to hold reflectors, move lights and carry equipment the first few times I helped out,” Harry continued. “Then the third time we were at a wedding that Dr. Allen was shooting for a friend. He didn’t need a second shooter and there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do equipment-wise, so he gave me his extra camera and showed me a few basics--how to change settings and read the light meter. Then he told me to just ‘wander around’ and take pictures.”

“I had no clue what I was doing,” Harry admitted with a chuckle. “And I felt extremely odd taking pictures of complete strangers. But I just did what I thought might look good and hoped I didn’t break anything,” he added with a smile.

“That following Monday I got a message while I was on my lunch break that Dr. Allen wanted me to meet him in his office that afternoon,” Harry continued. “I was panicking. I’d figured I must have messed something up and was going to get fired or have to pay for whatever I’d broken. And then when I got there...Steve was there too. I really thought I was in trouble.”

“Obviously you weren’t,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“No. Without really even saying anything, they started showing me these photographs,” Harry continued. “I really didn’t understand what they were getting at and then they told me that the photos were from the camera I’d used--they were the ones I’d taken.”

“They were--pretty good--especially for someone who hadn’t done anything like it before,” Harry admitted with a slight shrug, reluctant to take total praise for any talent he might have displayed even then. “Dr. Allen said that he was interested in teaching me more via an apprenticeship with him. And both he and Steve suggested that I think about enrolling as a student in the photography program that the Art Department offered.”

“It made sense, really,” Harry continued. “I knew I didn’t want to do maintenance for the rest of my life and that was really my only career option at that time,” Harry added with a smile. “And it was the first time I really had something to focus on and something that gave me an identity of some sort. So I jumped at the chance and Dr. Allen, Steve and Marie helped me apply and prepare for the admissions tests I needed to get in...which wasn’t an easy task. A Wizarding education doesn’t exactly prepare one for taking the ACT’s. I had a lot of catching up to do in some areas,” he added.

“But Steve and Maria...they were there for all of it,” Harry said as he let out a heavy sigh. “And more recently, they were there to help me raise and watch Sophie, which allowed me to go back to school. Where I am now...I owe that to them.”

“We’re glad you have them,” Hermione told him with a smile. “Ron and I are glad you weren’t alone and that you had people who love and care about you here--like you do back home.”

“There must be some attraction to helping the little lost orphan boy...” Harry said with a cheeky smile. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“No...I think it has more to do with what kind of person you are that draws people to you,” Hermione corrected him. “You’ve always had that about you.”

Harry nodded his reluctant agreement as his eyes were drawn back to the playground area. It seemed that Sophie had had her fill of playing and she and Ron were making their way back towards them--Sophie was leading Ron by the hand.

“We understand that things can’t be completely like we want them to be,” Hermione admitted as she too watched them approach. “But we still want to keep in contact. We don’t want to lose you again...”

“I want that too,” Harry replied as he watched as Sophie dropped Ron’s hand and started running towards him. He paused a moment, his hands held out slightly in front of him as he prepared to catch the little girl as she launched herself into his lap.

“Daddy!” she squealed excitedly as she jumped into his grasp, pulling herself close to his chest as Harry caught her easily.

“Sophie,” Harry teased back in a cute imitation of his daughter’s excited greeting. “Did you have fun playing?” Harry asked.

Sophie nodded ecstatically.

“Are you all tired out now?” Harry teased as a yawn interrupted Sophie’s enthusiastic reply.

“No,” she replied.

“I am,” Ron said with a sigh and a chuckle as he plopped himself down in front of the bench, his back resting against Hermione’s legs. “She’s got a lot of energy for such a little thing. I think I’m ready for a nap already,” he added with a fake yawn of his own.

“Come on,” Harry replied with a smile. “You’ve had five kids and you’re telling me she’s enough to tire you out?” Harry asked.

“Well with our kids there’s always another one to play with,” Ron explained. “When I’m knackered from playing with them I can just say ‘go bother your brother or sister,’ and that’s that,” Ron added with a yawn.

“Nice, Ronald,” Hermione said as she rolled her eyes. “And what are you going to do when Scarlett’s the only one at home for 3 years?”

Harry and Ron both smiled at the classic response that Ron had been able to get from his wife.

“She could play with me,” Sophie interjected. “He said his little girl is five...and I’m gonna be five,” Sophie added as she held up her hand, first putting up only four fingers before holding her tiny hand wide open with the correct number.

The three adults couldn’t help but laugh.

“I told her we’d have to try and get the two of them together,” Ron admitted. “I think they’d get along really well.”

“We’ll have to do that,” Harry replied with a nod as he looked down at his daughter. Sophie looked up with hopeful and excited eyes.

“You guys are welcome here anytime you want,” he added, now addressing Ron and Hermione directly. “I can give you my numbers--cell, office, home--and feel free to call and talk whenever. Like you said Hermione--I want to keep in touch. I don’t want to lose you guys again.”

Ron looked up from his spot on the ground, eyeing both of them carefully for an idea of what the subject of conversation had been while he had been entertaining Sophie. He didn’t speak however, sure of the fact that Hermione would fill him on the important points later.

“We’d like that,” Hermione replied with a smile. “But I do have to ask--what about the rest of the family?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

Harry raised a brow in question and Ron turned to also give her a scrutinizing look of his own.

“I know I said that we understand that you can’t just come back with us,” Hermione began to explain. “But I know that there are so many people in the family that would want to know that you’re okay. I think they’d be satisfied with just knowing you’re alive...”

Ron’s attention moved between Harry and his wife, unsure of what Harry’s response would be.

“You haven’t told anyone else?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head, but it was Ron who responded.

“We were still sort of in that ‘we’ve got to see to believe’ stage of things before we got here,” Ron admitted. “And we certainly didn’t expect to find that you’ve remembered everything,” he added.

“So you want to know if it’s alright if you tell everybody?” Harry asked uncertainly and slightly uneasily.

“If you don’t want us to, we’ll understand,” Hermione responded. “But it’s going to be hard to know--and then keep you from everyone. I know you’re worried that it might somehow get out...but you can trust them,” she reassured him gently.

Harry considered her words for a minute, staring off into the distance as his mind worked through what she was asking of him.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet,” Harry admitted as he swallowed heavily, looking down at Sophie who was nestled against him. “Maybe give me a while to think about it?” Harry added.

“We can do that,” Hermione assured him, even as Ron looked up at her questioningly.

----------------------------------------------------------

She was beyond the point of nervous.

On the surface this looked just like any other Sunday lunch at the Burrow. Around her, Molly and the other daughter-in-laws were milling about, watching and stirring sauce pans and pots as they chatted and gossiped about children and spouses.

The men were scattered about the sitting room and kitchen, occupying chairs and couches as they discussed everything from Ministry happenings to the standings of this year’s Quidditch leagues.

Hermione was silent however as she sat at the scrubbed wooden table, snapping the ends off of the fresh green beans that had been picked from the garden earlier that day. And Ron was nowhere to be seen--having gone to Hogwarts shortly before she’d left their home for The Burrow.

She was anxious for him to be back.

Sitting here was testing her nerves to limit as she thought over the hundred different scenarios and reactions they might be encountering in the next few hours. Everyone was carrying on as usual, completely unaware and oblivious to the possibility that she and her husband were about to lay out before them.

And the longer it was taking Ron to return, the larger the knot in her stomach seemed to get.

“Are those beans ready?” Molly Weasley’s voice snapped Hermione back from her preoccupied musing. Hermione looked up to find her mother-in-law smiling at her.

Hermione nodded and then handed over the finished bowl of green beans, banishing the discarded stems to the bin.

She looked up to find Ginny shooting her a curious look from where she sat at the other end of the table. Hermione shook her off, hoping it would be enough to avoid later conversation about her preoccupied state.

But she had hardly had time to gauge her sister-in-law’s reaction when she heard the familiar pops of Apparition from the garden.

Several of the people in the kitchen looked up at the noise, surprised by the fact that there had been two pops in quick succession--meaning that is was not only Ron who had arrived. The fact in itself was odd because Ron was the only one missing from this Sunday’s lunch.

Hermione looked up, just as everyone else had, to find her husband’s tall form squeezing through the doorway. She was not, however, surprised as everyone else was to see the second person who had also entered the kitchen from the garden.

Nearly as tall as his uncle, Jackson followed close behind. He was dressed in a red sweatshirt and jeans, his shaggy black hair windswept and wayward and his cheeks slightly pinched from the outside cold.

Several of the others looked around in surprise at Jackson’s unexpected appearance. The semester was still in session and it was extremely rare that any of their children who were school age to be at Sunday lunches now. All those curious eyes seemed to settle on Ginny--as if she was somehow would be the only one not surprised by his presence.

But she was instead scrutinizing Ron, as if trying to figure out why her brother had brought her son to the Burrow. Ron noticed his sister’s intense gaze immediately and shot his own worried look at Hermione.

Deftly and without skipping a beat, Ginny noted the look and turned her attention to Hermione. Ginny raised her brow once in question at her before speaking.

“What did you do?” Ginny asked steadily as she turned back towards Ron and Jackson. Ron opened his mouth to answer, but Jackson beat him to it.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jackson replied defensively.

“Then why is he out of school?” Ginny asked, addressing Ron directly as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I just thought it’d be nice for him to get to come to Sunday lunch for once,” Ron admitted with a shrug. “Seeing as he’s the oldest grandchild and all...” he added as he glanced once more at Hermione.

Ginny once more looked from Ron to Hermione--fully aware that something was up.

“Are you in trouble?” she asked Jackson, who shook his head automatically.

“No. Uncle Ron asked if I wanted to come today and since I don’t have anything due...I thought it would be alright,” Jackson answered uncertainly. “He said it was okay with you,” he added hesitantly as he glanced sidelong at his uncle.

Ron swallowed visibly.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked. “You two are up to something. What is it?” she asked again, looking to Ron and Hermione as Hermione stood up from her chair and moved to stand beside her husband.

“Maybe we should call everyone else in before we start to talk...” Hermione began. But it seemed her request seemed to be for naught as everyone who had been in the sitting room had joined them, having sensed the change in atmosphere in the kitchen and having heard the conversation thus far.

“Is this going to be one of those conversations we all have to sit down for?” Fred asked as he stood near the archway that led from the kitchen to the sitting room. George, Bill, Percy Remus and Arthur had all joined them from the other room.

“Possibly,” admitted Ron seriously. Fred had meant the quip as a joke, but Ron did not seem to have found any humor in it.

Everyone else looked around for any clues to where this conversation might be headed as they found chairs to sit in or empty spaces against the walls to lean against.

“What are you two on about?” Ginny asked once more, her previous inquiry still having gone unanswered. “And why is my son here?” she added.

“Jackson’s here because he deserves to hear what we’re going to say...probably more than anyone else here,” Ron admitted.

Jackson looked just as confused as everyone else as to why he was here. He was looking quickly around at the adults in the room, a worried look on his face. He obviously knew nothing about the real reason he’d been brought here and his Uncle’s words had only troubled him.

“What we’re going to say is confusing...and you’re probably not going to believe us,” Hermione continued for her husband as the stares they were getting from the others were only heightening the tension.

“But what we’ve got to say is the truth,” Ron added.

“Ron,” Remus’s voice interrupted any chance for anyone else to speak. “Think about what you’re doing,” he added, shaking his head.

Everyone’s attention and confusion was now turned to Remus.

“We have,” Ron replied seriously. “It’s not fair to keep this quiet any longer. This isn’t your secret alone anymore...”

“It isn’t what he wanted,” Remus replied, his voice a bit desperate. “I promised him...” he repeated weakly, still clinging to the same sentiments he’d told Ron in the dungeons of Hogwarts two weeks ago.

“What the bloody hell are you all on about?” Bill interjected this time as he vocalized what everyone else in the room could only be thinking.

“It’s difficult to explain...” Hermione began.

“Well, try starting from the beginning,” George suggested. “And then usually the middle and the ending follow that,” he added, perhaps trying to lighten the heavy situation that was descending upon them all. But it seemed that his attempt had failed to hit its mark.

“You could start by explaining what this secret is that you’re all keeping,” Ginny suggested. “And why Jackson is involved,” she added.

“He’s the one that started this all,” Ron admitted.

“I started, what?” Jackson asked confused, his brows furrowed in incomprehension.

“A few months ago...when you went to America...you weren’t wrong,” Ron told him. “It wasn’t some crazy, impossible hunch that led you there.”

“Ron,” Remus whispered, shaking his head.

“Somethings happened--something that was never expected,” Ron continued without taking heed to Remus’s words.

“Harry is alive,” Ron said without hesitation. “You were so close, Jackson. Your Dad’s--”

“Ron.”

This time it was Ginny who spoke. Her voice sounded tired and frustrated and she sat at the table with a hand covering her closed eyes.

“It sounds crazy, I know--” Ron began.

“Because it is,” Ginny sighed as she shook her head and looked up. She clearly did not believe a word Ron had said and was visibly frustrated by his insistence. “Because it’s impossible and I don’t understand why you all feel the need to try and make nothing into something. What could there possibly be out there that you think fits into any story you’ve all made up to make any of this make sense? Why after all this time...have you decided to bring something like this up?”

“Because it’s true Ginny,” Remus said heavily as all eyes were pulled to him. “Ron and Hermione have only just come into this recently. But I’ve been involved since the beginning nearly 18 years ago.”

Tonks, who had been standing next to him, turned to stare in intense scrutiny and confusion at her husband.

“I was the one Harry came to,” Remus continued, ignoring the stares he was getting from around the room. He seemed intent and focused on getting this burden off his chest. “He’d figured out that he--himself--contained the final Horcrux,” he added as the revelation earned several gasps.

Since the end of the war, many of the details and the nature of the search for the Horcruxes that Harry, Ron and Hermione had undertaken had been shared with the family. They knew the reason for their quest and the places they had gone and the hardships the three of them had had to endure. So the crowd gathered in the kitchen understood what Remus had meant in the mention of the Horcruxes, but the news that Remus had just dropped on them was an obvious surprise.

“He came to me to figure out how to destroy it,” Remus added quietly. “I helped him design a spell that would separate the piece of Voldemort’s soul from his own. And I promised him that I’d help him deal with the consequences...”

“He survived...but he wasn’t the same.”

At this last statement there was a pause in which the silence seemed to sit heavy in the room--palpably pressing down on them all.

And then with one shuddering breath that seemed to split the tension in half, Remus began to speak. The explanation of his role in the unbelievable tale came spilling out as the story of how he’d helped Harry not only destroy the Horcrux, but also helped Harry conceal himself from them all began to take shape.

Everyone was completely silent as Remus spoke; the looks of shock on their faces morphing through a myriad of stages of disbelief as Remus went on. His story was nearly the same as what he had told Ron two weeks ago in the dungeons at Hogwarts. The only difference was, he wasn’t imploring them desperately to consider and accept his reasoning for choosing his family over Harry’s--as he had with Ron. His voice was heavy with regret and shame--his features tired and marred with the guilt he’d put on himself now.

“And then Ron walked into a conversation that Severus, Minerva and I were having,” Remus admitted. “That’s when I told him what I’ve just told the rest of you. But I didn’t expect that...that it’d be out so soon,” Remus added, looking pointedly at Ron and Hermione, who had remained quiet throughout his explanation.

“You knew I wasn’t going to stay quiet forever, Remus,” Ron told him. “And once we confirmed it was really true--”

“You went there?” Remus asked.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Ron asked with a raised brow.

“Wait a second,” Fred interrupted as he shook his head and was the first of the group to find his voice. “You’re expecting us to believe that you helped Harry disappear and have somehow kept it a secret for nearly 18 years,” he continued, eyeing Remus.

“And you two are actually trying to have us believe that you’ve got some sort of evidence that he’s telling the truth?” he added, turning his attention to his little brother and sister-in-law.

“We’ve seen him,” Hermione replied steadily. “Last weekend we weren’t on vacation,” she added, turning to Molly and Arthur who had watched their two youngest those days under the pretenses that Ron and Hermione get away for the weekend. “We went to the U.S.”

“We found him...it was exactly as Remus explained,” Hermione said as she looked around the room at all the stunned faces.

“Well...not exactly,” Ron corrected her as they exchanged meaningful looks.

“He remembers, Remus,” Ron explained as he addressed Remus directly before looking around the room. Remus looked quite shocked by the information “It’s only been a few months...but his memories are back. He knows who he is,” Ron added.

“Stop it.”

All heads snapped towards the table to where the voice had come from. It was Ginny who had spoken and she sounded angry.

“Stop this nonsense and just listen to yourselves talk for one minute,” Ginny pleaded with them. “Harry cannot be alive.”

“Why can’t he be, Ginny?” Ron asked her. “We’re not trying to have you on or create some sort of crazy conspiracy theory to drum up attention. Believe me, if we weren’t 100 percent positive that this was the truth...we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“It can’t be...” she said, still shaking her head in disbelief.

“Why not?” Ron her, trying to understand and get to the root of her denial.

“Because I would have known,” Ginny admitted heavily. Her admission had seemed to come out of nowhere and as she turned away from everyone, it became clear that she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“I would have known if he was alive,” Ginny added quietly. “The only thing that would have kept him from me was death. So I can’t believe...I can’t fathom that it was any other way...”

There was silence in response to Ginny’s last words, as her voice shook with emotion.

“We have something for you all to listen to...to help you in understanding that this is real,” Hermione said quietly as she moved to where her purse hung near the door. She rummaged for a few seconds inside before pulling out her mobile phone.

“We actually stayed at Harry’s house this weekend...just talking and getting to know him again,” she began to explain as she opened the phone and began to press buttons. “He’s not ready to come back right now--he’s afraid of the madness that we all know would ensue if he did. And he wasn’t even sure it at first how he felt about us telling you guys about him...”

“When we left on Sunday...he still hadn’t decided and we promised him we wouldn’t say anything...” Ron added.

“But when we got back home and I turned my phone on...there was a message from him,” Hermione continued on as she set the phone down on a nearby counter top. It was still open as Hermione pushed a button that put it on speakerphone.

“His voice is a bit different,” Hermione added as she entered the appropriate sequence of numbers for the password to her voicemail that a voice prompt from the phone was asking for. “It’s deeper and--his accent is gone...”

“He talks like a Yank now,” Ron interjected. “It’s strange to hear at first...”

“But it’s him. You can tell it’s Harry,” Hermione reaffirmed as she took a step away from the counter top and phone and let it play without commentary.

The next words that were spoken came from the small speakers in the phone, echoing unnaturally loud in the silent room.

Hey guys...it’s Ev--Harry.

I--er--I know you probably aren’t back yet. You both just left like ten minutes ago actually...but I just thought I’d--er--anyway....


There was a pause as the man on the other end tried to collect himself, his nervousness evident in his words.

I know I’d said I wasn’t ready for everyone else to know...and I’m still not sure how comfortable I really am about it...but I can’t ask you to keep things from your family. I know how important they are to you both and asking you to continue to keep everything from them is selfish...

You’re right. They deserve the chance to know and to try and understand this all...

So whatever you two decide to do...I’m okay with it. I trust that it’ll stay within the family...


There was a few seconds of silence that was only broken by a steadying breath of the person behind the message.

Let me know how things go...and keep in touch. Remember you guys are welcome here anytime...and feel free to call me whenever...

I’m gonna go now, but....I love you both...and...I’m glad you found me...

Bye.


The last farewell spoken in a near whisper and the quiet click of the message ending were the only sounds in the room.

Several people were staring disbelieving at the small mobile phone still open on the counter. Molly was standing, tears clouding her eyes as her hand covered her mouth and attempted to still her emotions. Arthur had an arm around her, as he too seemed at a loss for words.

Hermione’s gaze flickered over Jackson.

Her nephew was not showing the same shock or emotion that several others in the room were displaying. He was instead staring steadily at Remus--his gaze intense and eyes narrowed. Remus was--either purposefully or without thought--looking determinedly downward.

“He’s a professor of photography at a fairly large university,” Hermione found herself explaining. “And he’s--” Hermione began to continue, but was distracted by the fact that all eyes had now shifted away from her.

Everyone had turned their attention to Jackson, who had taken a few slow steps across the kitchen and was now standing in front of Remus. Remus had looked up too, suddenly aware of Jackson’s close presence.

“Jackson,” Remus responded quietly as he looked up into the young man’s face.

“You knew,” Jackson said in a quiet voice, neither it or his stare wavering.

“I’m sorry,” Remus told him in a near whisper, his shame and guilt evident in his breathless reply

“All this time...” Jackson said softly as he shook his head nearly imperceptibly. His brows furrowed slightly and his features darkened as he struggled to hold emotion in check.

“Jackson...I don’t what I can say that--” Remus continued to try and apologize in vain. It was interrupted by Jackson’s heavy, steadying sigh as he turned away from Remus.

It looked as though Jackson was poised to walk away, but he stopped after only a step he turned back towards Remus.

Before anyone could take in what was happening or react, Jackson had raised his arm and cocked it backwards. Without hesitation, he brought his fist swiftly forward, his closed hand connecting with a sickening thud and crack against Remus’s face.

Remus stumbled backwards against the cabinets as cries of shock and shouts of Jackson’s name echoed throughout the room. But before anyone could do anything, Jackson went in for a second strike, landing successive blows as Remus remained slumped against the cupboards. He was either too stunned or unwilling to defend himself.

Ron was the first one to overcome his shock and spring into action. Hermione watched as her husband was the across the room in a single step, grabbing his nephew’s arms before he had a chance to swing again.

Jackson now struggled against Ron’s grasp as his anger was now directed towards not being allowed to punch and injure.

“Calm down, Jackson,” Ron tried to tell the young man as he tried to free himself from his uncle’s grip.

“Let...me...go,” Jackson huffed out as he succeeded in pulling himself free. Surprised by the young man’s strength, Ron lunged at Jackson again as he made to attack Remus. Remus had nearly pulled himself upright using the counter top, his nose bleeding and a thick cut on his upper lip.

Ron succeeded in hauling his nephew away, this time wrapping his arms completely around Jackson in a bear hug and physically dragging him across the kitchen.

“Get the hell off me!” Jackson yelled loudly as he tried to squirm away. Ron only held onto him tighter.

“What...so you can...punch him again?” Ron asked as he struggled with the hold.

“The bastard deserves it...” Jackson said angrily as he struggled with no avail against his Uncle Ron’s hold.

“Not worth it, mate,” Ron said quietly as he continued to hold onto Jackson, who was breathing raggedly, but had stopped trying to escape. “Let’s just calm down...and talk about it,” he added quietly as Jackson slumped against him.

“No,” Jackson breathed out as he shrugged off his uncle’s hold. This time, Ron let him go and Jackson did not attempt to go after Remus. He instead took a step away, looking around the kitchen wildly and spinning slowly on the spot as he continued to breathe hard, adrenaline still pumping through his body. He looked quite lost and panicked at either what he’d learned, or what he’d just done

“Jackson...sweetheart.”

Jackson stopped momentarily at the sound of the calming voice. He locked eyes with his mum, who had been the one to speak and had taken a step towards him.

For a moment it looked like he might bridge the gap between them and perhaps accept an embrace from his mother. But instead Jackson shook his head slightly from side to side and moved towards the door. In three quick strides he had reached it and threw it open. Before anyone could react, Jackson was gone--bolting through the garden and out onto the grounds of the Burrow.

Back to index


Chapter 11: Are We The Waiting?

Author's Notes: I have to sincerely apologize for this next chapter being over 2 months late. It seemed that when I had the motivation to write, I had no time and vice versa. But I do have the next chapter started and things really start to roll there on how the eventual reunion is to happen. This chapter is what I call the reactions of Jackson and Ginny.


The only word that could be used to describe the mood of the room was ‘stunned’.

From the previous revelation of Harry’s survival, to the blows that Jackson had landed and his abrupt departure--nothing about the past minutes had been expected.

Ginny’s head was pounding and her mind reeling.

She made to follow her son, who had fled the kitchen through the back screen door. Even though nothing in her own head made sense at the moment, it was her natural instinct to go to him and make sure he was okay.

Her progress was impeded, however, as Ron stepped in front of her.

“I’ll go,” he told her as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Her first urge was to shrug him off and go herself. But surprisingly she instead found herself nodding, watching as her brother moved away from her and left the kitchen through the same door that her son had gone through not a minute ago.

Ginny suddenly felt very warm and uncomfortable as most eyes in the room seem to move towards her--their attention unnerving and unsettling as she stood there.

She wondered if this is what Jackson had felt before he’d fled--she felt like she needed to get away from their stares in order to breathe and to get her mind straight. There was just so much going through it right now that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold things together much longer. And she certainly wasn’t ready for her mother’s attempts at soothing and comforting her and she didn’t think she could stand it if Remus addressed her directly.

Seeking solitude and solace for her own broken and jumbled thoughts, Ginny left the kitchen without a word. She walked into the now empty sitting room, the dark quiet of the space oddly calming. Without much thought as to where her feet were taking her, Ginny continued moving towards the mantel. She soon found herself standing there, staring blankly at the rows of photographs staring back at her.

Her eyes roved over the sea of smiling faces in the photographs, automatically searching for the few frames near the back that she always sought out when she stood here.

In several of the photos he had been lounging against the side of the frame or sitting on the ground in the background. As her shoulders and head cast a shadow over the photos, the figures of Harry in the photos became aware of her presence and straightened up--each vying for her attention.

Most of the photo figures of Harry were solo in frames, each smiling, winking or waving up at her as they always did. The one photo that existed that contained the two of them together was also looking up at her, smiling. Photo Harry had his arms wrapped around her own self-image, who was returning the embrace as the two were alternating smiling up at the real Ginny and then at each other, looking as though they’d very much like to kiss.

But her black and distressed mood must have been completely clear and obvious as the figures in the photos stopped mid-greeting. Smiles faded, eyebrows raised and heads cocked in concerned confusion. One figure had bowed his head in shame as if he understood her anger and confusion was directed at him and the Ginny in the photo of them together was now staring daggers at her Harry, her arms having dropped from around his neck.

“Why?” Ginny breathed out as she caught the eye of one of the curious photo Harry’s looking up at her. “Why did you do this to us?”

The photos of Harry continued to look sad, many more looking ashamed and avoiding eye contact as they looked down and away from her.

“Ginny?”

Ginny didn’t look up at the sound of her name, or respond to pressure of the gentle hand that settled on her shoulder.

“Ginny, I know how difficult this must be...”

At the last words, Ginny turned her head to face her sister-in-law.

“No you don’t,” Ginny replied quietly as she cast a small, sad smile at Hermione. Hermione looked as though she’d regretted her choice of comforting words and tried to look apologetic.

“Not when I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling,” Ginny added as she let out a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t...I still don’t want to believe any of this is true...

Hermione nodded, conveying her understanding that nothing about this situation should be plausible or believable.

“But that was him,” Ginny continued. “You were right--his accent is different--but I’d know his voice anywhere...”

“But I can’t understand why,” Ginny admitted as she swiped at a tear that had finally managed to escape from the corner of her eye. “Why he made this decision, why Remus and the others would actually agree to help him carry this out and....why he hasn’t come come back to us.”

“It’s hard to understand, I know,” Hermione admitted. “But I know that it was the absolute hardest decision he’s had to make in his life. And in talking to him--I know, that since he’s remembered who he is and everything about his past, that he’s second-guessed and had second-thoughts about those very decisions. And I don’t think there’s been a day that’s gone by in the past few months that he hasn’t wondered if it was the right one...or even that he might regret everything.”

“His recent regret doesn’t change the past 18 years,” Ginny said without much thought as her anger seemed to flare up at the insinuation that he was now feeling sorry or having regrets about leaving them all. While the revelation that Harry was alive should have been something of a happy, momentous occasion--Ginny couldn’t help it that the feelings of anger and abandonment were welling up instead.

“He knows that,” Hermione replied. “And believe me...he expects anger and hurt and everything you’re feeling.”

“It’s not about me,” Ginny responded as she rubbed her face tiredly and turned momentarily from her sister-in-law. “Jackson--” Ginny began, turning back towards Hermione.

“Ron will find him and make sure he’s okay,” Hermione assured her.

Ginny shook her head as Hermione mistook the meaning of her words.

“What does this mean for him?” Ginny went on. “I mean...I punished for him coming up with some crazy idea that his father was alive...and now....”

“Ginny...I’m sure Jackson can find it in him to forgive you for that,” Hermione assured her.

“It’s not even that...” Ginny admitted. “Did you...did you tell him...about Jackson?” Ginny asked, carefully measuring Hermione’s reaction to her question.

Hermione shook her head.

“Ron and I talked about it at length,” Hermione admitted. “But it was one more shock we didn’t want to overwhelm him with at first. And... I didn’t think we were the ones who should break that to him.”

Ginny could only nod as at least one reason for anger seemed to abate slightly. If Harry had been told about his son, then there would have been no reason in the world that would have excused him from not coming back immediately to them. Her own hurt she could and would have to deal with, but to think that it extended to her son was beyond comprehension.

So at least there was that. Harry didn’t know about Jackson--so it wasn’t as if he had chosen to ignore the fact and remain away.

“So he’s well?” someone else asked and Ginny turn to find and realize for the first time that she and Hermione were not alone in the sitting room. It had been her mother who had spoken her question aloud. Angelina, Fleur and Ginny’s father had followed them into the room. They were all watching the scene nervously.

Hermione glanced at Ginny before she answered Molly.

“He is,” she replied with a nod and a small smile. “He hasn’t had a completely easy road over the years... but he’s successful now as a photographer and from what we’ve seen--as a professor.”

“You know how in the past we’ve talked about and wondered what he’d be like after all this time?” Hermione continued, this time directing her words back at Ginny. Ginny nodded back, remembering several conversations over the years in which they’d discussed at length what Harry would be like or would have been doing had he survived.

“He’s a lot like we thought he’d be,” Hermione added. “He’s...Harry of old in many ways. Things he says, mannerisms and nervous habits--they’re all him. There were some stretches of time where it was like nothing had changed. I was talking to my best friend again and in some ways it could have been only a few days since I’d last seen or talked to him.”

Ginny could feel the emotions inside her well up again as she listened to Hermione speak of Harry so freely and passionately.

“But he’s different too,” Hermione added as she wiped away the moisture that threatened to escape from the corner of her eye. “I know that sounds so contradictory to say...but as much as he’s Harry, he’s Evan Smith too. He’s been another man for nearly 18 years and it’s it hard for him to separate the two. It’s hard to explain...but he’s more confident and there’s a relaxed quality about him that wasn’t there before...”

In Ginny’s mind, she was trying to imagine the man that Hermione was speaking about. For so long she had had her own picture of what he would be like. The thought that that image might be altered or changed drastically was a distressing thought all of the sudden.

She’d created the Harry in her mind’s eye from the final happy moment that she’d had of him that last morning nearly 18 years ago. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could still picture his calm, peaceful face as he lay sleeping on the pillow next to her. As the years had gone by he had aged with her--his features hardening and changing--but his long, dark lashes, his carefree smile and the way the tendrils of dark hair that fell across his face were always the same.

Trying to imagine him now, as he was being described, was somehow odd to her. Which perhaps wasn’t surprising given that the very thought that Harry was alive after all this time was still beyond her.

“Does he have a family?”

Again, Ginny looked up and her eyes found her mother, who looked just as hesitant as her question had sounded when she’d spoken. It seemed that everyone in the room was extremely surprised at not only the question but equally as interested in the answer that Hermione might have as their gazes went from Molly to Hermione in a strange mix of curiosity and nervousness.

Ginny felt that same sense of nervous curiosity, but it was also mixed with an overwhelming feeling of dread of finding out exactly what the answer was. There were just so many different emotions, thoughts and questions racing through her mind, that she wasn’t sure how she might handle whatever news she was about to get.

“He’s not married,” Hermione replied carefully, glancing back at Ginny. “And he’s not in any sort of relationship at the moment...”

The entirely selfish bit of herself had silently cheered at the revelation. But there was still hesitation and something in Hermione’s voice and her demeanor that told Ginny that there was something more...

“But?”

Ginny found herself speaking without thought the question that had been on not only her mind, but that seemed to be on the tips of the others tongue’s as well.

Hermione looked down and away as if she was searching for the right thing to say and right way to say it.

“Ron and I decided not to say anything in front of everybody--not right away,” Hermione admitted as she looked up, glancing around the room before settling on Ginny as if her words had been directed at her.

“We knew that just the news that we’ve sprung on everyone was going to be overwhelming to process and come to terms with,” Hermione continued very quickly. “The very fact that Harry is alive is enough information...”

“Hermione.”

Ginny simply couldn’t take her sister-in-law’s rambling and delaying of the inevitable anymore. Whatever it was that Hermione was going to say--she needed to know.

At the sound of her name, Hermione had frozen in mid-sentence and stopped to look at Ginny in nervous surprise.

“Just....say whatever you need to say,” Ginny told her steadily and with a reassuring nod.

Hermione obviously was reluctant to just come out and say what she needed to--perhaps in fear that it might upset them--or more specifically, Ginny.

But as a thousand different scenarios and guesses at what Hermione might know swirled through her mind--Ginny couldn’t quite pin-point what emotion she should be feeling as she awaited Hermione’s words. She wasn’t sure if she should be fearful or perhaps even angry. All she could manage right now was a strange sense of overwhelming curiosity.

“He...he has a daughter,” Hermione said slowly. “She’s four--well, she’ll be five at the end of the month,” Hermione added quietly as Ginny heard the audible reactions of several people in the room. And from the corner of her eye, she saw her mother’s hand fly to cover her mouth in surprise.

“Harry’s a dad,” Hermione said simply, this time her eyes locking solely on Ginny.

Ginny could only stare back evenly, meeting her sister-in-laws gaze steadily.

What had Hermione expected? Was Ginny supposed to have cried out or perhaps collapsed into the nearby armchair in response to this revelation?

Those were certainly not the urges that had manifested at hearing this news. She, however, was experiencing an odd sense of detachment and the rising of feelings she did not truly understand. She’d scarcely begun to comprehend what Harry being alive and well might mean--so the addition of learning that he had a daughter only added to that sense of muddledness.

Her first reaction to Hermione’s words, ‘Harry’s a dad,’ had initially been, ‘Of course he is.’ Harry’d been a dad for the past 17 years. He just didn’t know it.

But as the reality of what Hermione had meant begun to process, Ginny found herself picturing a scene that she’d imagined many times before. But this time there was a different child inserted in that vision than any of the other previous times her mind had wandered into contemplation.

“He’s happy?” Ginny found herself asking as she continued to conjure that scene in her mind, finding that picturing Harry with his own daughter brought a

To Ginny’s surprise, Hermione’s previously worried expression changed to a slow, wide smile at the question.

“What?” Ginny asked.

“That’s the same thing he wondered about you...” Hermione told her as she continued to smile.

Ginny’s mind whirred into overdrive at this particular revelation.

Harry had asked about her?

What had he wanted to know? And what exactly had Ron and Hermione told him about her?

“He...he did?” was all Ginny could manage to muster as a feeble response.

Hermione nodded.

“We’d been telling him about the family--marriages and kids--and when we didn’t mention you...he asked,” Hermione explained.

“We did tell him that you had been married,” Hermione continued, pausing momentarily again as if she were weighing the decision of whether or not to continue on. “And...we mentioned that you had two sons...”

Ginny could only look inquiringly at her sister-in-law, having been under the impression that they hadn’t told Harry about Jackson.

“I think he’s under the assumption that both of your boys are from your marriage to Paul,” Hermione told Ginny after taking in reaction. “He didn’t ask their ages or press the subject any further. As I said...he wanted to know if you were happy...if you were okay.”

Ginny wanted to know what Ron and Hermione had told Harry about her own happiness, but was interrupted by the arrival of Bill, who had just entered the sitting room looking rather cold and windswept.

“We found him, Gin,” Bill said breathlessly as he turned to her. “Ron found Jackson sitting down by the banks of the creek. He’s upset--pretty shaken up...but Ron’s talking to him now...” Bill continued to explain.

Instantly Ginny felt some of the tension she had been holding release itself at the news. While she’d spent the past few minutes trying to digest everything that was going on--her worry for her son had been near the forefront of her mind.

“Thanks, Bill,” Ginny replied gratefully as Bill nodded in understanding.

--------------------------------------

His hand was throbbing steadily and he could feel the muscles and tendons swelling as he whole hand began to stiffen. He knew he’d done some level of damage to it--perhaps even broken it--but at the moment he really couldn’t bring himself to care a whole lot about the physical pain or discomfort.

Jackson’s mind was filled with a whole myriad of emotions that seemed to be taking up all of his mental energy, leaving no room for any concern over whether or not he’d broken his hand. He was confused and angry and so many things he couldn’t even begin to describe or explain aloud.

His father was alive--meaning that the past few months of madness and obsession on his part had not been some latent manifestation of a deeper mental problem of his--but instead was some crazy catalyst towards unraveling the truth behind some long kept secret.

A secret that was sure to change his life and had thus far thrown him for a loop and only succeeded in throwing his mind into a frenzy of disjointed and confused thoughts and emotions that he wasn’t even close to being able to reign in and make sense of.

At this point he wasn’t the least bit concerned about the fact that he had punched Remus in front of most of his own family. Jackson wasn’t even considering whatever consequences might come as a result of the attack. Whatever punishment there might be, he really could care less about. In his mind, Remus had deserved every blow and Jackson wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Screw any enchantment or spell that had prevented him from remembering the finer details as the years had gone by. The fact remained that Remus agreed in the first place to help his father out and take him from them all. Who in their right mind would consent to something like that in the first place?

And what was worse, from what Jackson had gathered, there had been an overlap in time where Remus had visited his dad in whatever hospital he’d been in and had known at the same time, that his mother had been pregnant with him.

Remus had known--and yet he’d done nothing to change the course of things. He’d gone on living his own life for years when Jackson’s own could have been so very different...

Jackson’s internal struggle continued on even as he registered the sound of approaching footsteps from behind him, the sound of boots crunching through snow quite loud in the quiet afternoon.

Aware of the presence of someone else, Jackson did not turn to acknowledge the newcomer. He instead continued to stare out over the half frozen creek, sniffing back quietly the emotion bubbling beneath the surface.

Jackson knew that it was most likely one of his uncles or perhaps even his grandfather who had come to check on him. But he couldn’t even manage a glance over to identify the person who had joined him and had quietly moved to sit on the bank beside him.

“I’m not sorry for punching him,” Jackson found himself saying, his own voice sounding shaky and defensive. “I’m not going to apologize...”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” the voice said quietly from beside him.

It was his Uncle Ron.

He should have known who it would be. His favorite uncle had the knack for being able to put things into perspective and talk to Jackson about most anything. But Jackson wasn’t so sure that his uncle would be able to do anything about his mood this time...

“I wanted to do the same thing when I walked in on them in the dungeons and they explained everything,” Ron continued. “I wanted to hit him, throttle him--rage at him...and at the same time, a part of me wanted to scream and cry...”

His uncle paused for moment and stared out over the creek, watching a spot in the stream where it hadn’t frozen over and the water bubbling underneath could be seen.

“But I really just stood there for a bit--totally gobsmacked and overwhelmed by what I was hearing,” he continued on. “I managed to yell a bit...but I ended up storming out too. I needed to get out...needed to go somewhere to think. I managed to steer myself towards the forest before--”

“You ran into me outside the greenhouse,” Jackson said automatically, looking up and glancing sideways at his Uncle for the first time.

Ron nodded.

“I knew something was wrong that day,” Jackson added as he recalled the events of that late September day. “I even asked....but you said everything was fine...”

“In know,” his uncle admitted. “I couldn’t tell you then. I didn’t know how...”

Jackson nodded, understanding just how difficult a situation his Uncle Ron had been put in and why he had chosen to withhold the monumental and life-altering information he had learned that day.

“I probably wouldn’t have believed you,” Jackson admitted. “I still don’t know how I’m supposed to believe this is real...”

“I know,” Ron admitted again. “I didn’t let in for real until I was sitting across from him in his kitchen talking to him,” he added with a wistful smile.

“It’s really him?” Jackson asked, his question quiet, yet anxious and pleading at the same time--as if begging for reassurance.

Ron nodded, turning to face his nephew and meet his eyes.

“It is,” he replied simply.

Jackson had to look away as he felt a new surge of emotions begin to well up from within. It was as if the sudden concrete affirmation by his Uncle had finally untapped all the grief that had been building inside him.

He hadn’t wanted to break down. He wasn’t some sensitive, Nancy boy who was prone to crying all over the place when things got to be too much. That said--he wasn’t the type to fly off the handle and attack people either and he’d proven that bit about himself wrong in the last twenty minutes...

But no matter how hard he tried to hold back the overwhelming emotion, Jackson couldn’t keep the tears from escaping from his eyes and was now having an equally hard time keeping his breathing under control. His composure was crumbling along with what seemed to be what he had know his entire world to be.

As he struggled to keep things under control, he felt his Uncle Ron’s arm come down around his shoulders. Initial instinct wanted him to shrug it off and pull the petulant child. But instead Jackson found himself allowing his uncle to embrace him and pull him close.

The touch also seemed to be the final barrier between holding it all in and letting the dam break wide open. Jackson could no longer hold the sobs back and they came hard and loud in the quiet afternoon.

The tears came as he allowed his uncle to continue to hold him tight, whispering what he expected were meant to be soothing attempts at comfort. Jackson appreciated the sentiment but wasn’t really taking in his uncle’s words. He was too consumed by his own grief and anger to take them in.

As he continued to let his emotions rain free and escape, Jackson tried to figure out exactly why he was crying and no longer letting his anger override everything.

Was it solely the overall sadness of the fact that he could have had his dad in his life all this time? The one thing he’d always yearned for and that--despite the efforts of his once step-father, Paul and his uncles--had been missing in his life had been the absence of a real father-figure.

Or perhaps his tears were really for the fact that it had been other people’s choices that had drastically changed and shaped his life so far. Everything he thought he knew about his father’s death had been completely obliterated in a matter of moments. People he loved and trusted had all been a part of this ‘plan’ and had spent the past 17 years helping keep all this a secret.

Unable pinpoint the reason or even bring himself to even care if he did, Jackson continued to let the tears flow freely as his Uncle Ron continued to try and calm him.

After what seemed like forever, but in actuality was most likely only a few minutes, Jackson finally got a grip on himself and his sobs began to slow and then finally turned into nothing more than sniffles.

“It’ll be okay,” his uncle reassured him quietly as he still held an arm around Jackson.

“Will it?” Jackson asked automatically, reaching up to swipe away at his face and eyes.

It looked for a moment as though his uncle didn’t know how to answer Jackson’s question to him.

How could he answer it? What the hell was supposed to happen now? Things couldn’t just go back to the way they were once supposed to be and life suddenly turn into some fairytale where they all lived happily ever-after...

“Everything will work itself out,” His Uncle Ron finally reassured him after another few seconds passed between them. “I’m not sure how things are going to go on from here...but I know once your dad meets you, he’s going to love you as much as we all do...”

Jackson had heard over and over again in his life that his father would have loved him so very much had he lived, or that he did love him from wherever he was looking down upon them.

But the words from his uncle now were odd to him somehow. His father was very much alive and he had no clue what that meant.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Ginny was so very tired.

She’d spent another hour or so at the Burrow after the revelation of Harry’s survival had been revealed. She’d listened to the rest of her family ask questions of Ron and Hermione about what else they had discovered or experienced during their visit. But Ginny had not asked any of the questions that had been spinning about her brain. She’d remained silent, instead trying to make sense out of everything she had learned and what it might mean for the future.

As she stepped out of the flames and into her own living room Ginny’s mind was still reeling. The familiarity and security of her own home was doing nothing to quell the anxiety and the overwhelming confusion that had thrown everything in her world off- kilter.

But as Ginny stepped into the kitchen and became acutely aware of the silence, she remembered the reason why she was here and not still at the Burrow digesting the news.

Ron had sent his Patronus to the occupants of The Burrow, assuring them that Jackson was alright and that he was going to take his nephew back home. Jackson had not wanted to return inside his grandparents’ home and had not wanted to return to school.

So the silence had surprised Ginny because she half-expected to hear yelling or shouting upon her return--a continuation of the violent outburst she’d witnessed of her son only a little over an hour ago. But her home was silent, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall.

Curious and worried at the same time, Ginny began slowly walking towards the hallway that led to eldest son’s bedroom. But she had only made it a few steps when she saw a door on the right hand side of the darkened hallway open. Ginny stopped, expecting Jackson, but was instead met by her own brother.

“Hey,” Ron said quietly as he moved towards her, stepping into the lit kitchen.

“Is he okay?” Ginny asked without returning Ron’s greeting.

“He’s upset, obviously,” Ron admitted with a sigh. “He calmed down and we got to the point of just talking and he asked questions...but there’s a lot going on inside his head right now.”

Ginny could only nod in reply and understanding, knowing full well the exact feeling Ron had just described for her son.

“He just nodded off a couple of minutes ago,” Ron added. Ginny fixed him with curious look. It certainly wasn’t that late in the evening that Jackson would be sleeping.

“I put some Dreamless Sleep Potion in the tea I gave him,” Ron admitted.

“Just a bit,” he added in clarification when Ginny looked concerned. “ I just wanted him to drift off for a while. I figured he could use a bit of rest and a reprieve from everything. Plus, it’ll give his hand a bit more time to heal...”

“His hand?” Ginny asked automatically.

“Well...he did punch a werewolf full on and clocked him pretty good,” Ron explained with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. “It was broken in two places. I set and healed it...it should be fine.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Ginny said gratefully as she let a relieved sigh. “Thanks for going after him and making sure that he--”

“Ginny, It wasn’t a problem,” Ron interrupted her. “I figured he needed someone who wasn’t still reeling and had had a bit more time to process all of this...”

Ginny nodded, not knowing what she might have said or done to calm her son and diffuse his anger when she was in such a state herself. As much as she had wanted to go to him, she was glad that Ron had been the one to help him.

“How are you?” Ron asked seriously when his sister did not speak.

Ginny was momentarily surprised by the question--not that Ron had asked it, but because she wasn’t sure of her own answer.

“Quite honestly...I don’t know,” she admitted freely with a tired, heavy sigh. “I think I’ve probably said or thought those words more than a dozen times in the past few hours.”

“Gin, it’s completely understandable...” Ron responded.

“I’m angry...I’m confused...sad...” Ginny admitted as she leaned against the closest counter top and crossed her arms across her chest. “Basically a whole load of things I’m not sure how to put together so they make any sense.”

“Is there a bit of happiness mixed in with all that?” Ron asked curiously as he had listened to his sister list off the various emotions she was feeling.

Ginny thought carefully about the question, searching deep within herself and attempting to pull anything out of the murky mess of her mind that might provide a concrete answer.

“Well...yeah,” Ginny admitted as she swallowed heavily, her voice wavering as she attempted to look away.

It was the truth. Buried underneath all the confusion was a relief and a sense of hope that had never been there before. Her reality had been that the man she had loved as a young woman had died, leaving her to carry and then raise their son without him. The idea that the actuality had been different, while drumming up all sorts of negative emotions, had brought along a strange sense of promise for what might be to come.

But what could the future possibly bring to them now that there was one?

Perhaps sensing her inner monologue, Ron moved towards her, closing the space between them as he pulled Ginny into a hug. Ginny accepted the embrace, letting her brother pull her in and wrap his long arms around her.

“This is a good thing, Gin,” Ron whispered as brother and sister continued to cling to one another. “I know that there are so many things uncertain...but we’ve got him back...”

Ginny let those final words sink in as she remained in the embrace.

Harry was back...but how was he going to be in their lives from now on?

Still mulling that final question in her head, Ginny finally stepped away from her brother’s grasp after a few more moments.

“You probably should head home,” Ginny said as she attempted to gather himself again. “Hermione was leaving right as I was. She did a lot of answering questions and I reckon she could use a hug like the one you just gave me,” she added with the slightest hint of a smile.

Ron nodded in understanding, knowing that Ginny probably wanted to be left to herself to think and tend to Jackson.

“You’ll be alright?” Ron asked quietly.

“We’ll be fine...” Ginny assured him with a nod. Although at the moment things seemed more out of whack and unsure than ever, she knew there was a semblance of truth in her words.

“Alright,” Ron said with a heavy sigh. “Let us know if you need anything...either of you,” he added as he moved towards the sitting room and the fireplace. Ginny followed her brother to the archway between the kitchen and sitting room, watching as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the container on the mantel.

“Goodnight, Ron.”

“Night, Gin.”

With a flick of his wrist, the flames in the fireplace jumped to life, casting a bright green glow around the room. Ginny watched as Ron bent over, folding his tall frame to fit as he stepped into the flames and quietly murmured the name of his home that he shared with Hermione and their children. And then in a whirl he was gone.

With the house quiet again, Ginny wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Sitting down or relaxing was not an option for her. There was no meaningless task or any program on the television in the sitting room that could occupy her mind and grant her some level of distraction.
Truthfully, she wanted someone else there. Although she’d dismissed Ron, there was a part of her that still wished he was here to talk to and fill up the silence.

And then she remembered that she wasn’t alone in the house.

Slowly she made her way back through the kitchen and towards the back hallway stepping quietly, the hardwood floors beneath her feet creaking slightly with each footstep. Like so many times before, she stopped just outside the closed worn wooden door on the right side of the hallway. But instead of knocking straight away, Ginny placed a hand on the worn surface, closing her eyes and steadying herself before she pushed it open gently.

Ginny stepped in, waiting a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the curtains.

Jackson was lying in bed, covered by a blanket that Ron had evidently pulled over him. But the way her son was sleeping seemed unnatural. Usually Jackson was sprawled face down, his arms and legs hanging wildly off the edges of the bed. But Jackson was curled on his side, his back facing the door. He also wasn’t snoring like he usually did and the lack of noise was odd. Ginny figured that the way he was sleeping had a lot to do with the fact that the sleep had been forced by the hand of the Dreamless Sleep Potion his uncle had given him.

She quietly crossed the room and lowered herself carefully onto the edge of his bed, trying not to displace the mattress too much and risk waking him up.

Finally settled, Ginny cast a watchful eye over her son, taking in his sleeping form as she’d done so many times before in the past 17 years. There had been so many nights those first few years when she would just watch her baby boy sleep as she leaned over the rails of his crib, amazed at the fact that he was in her life. She’d watched him grow from infant and toddler to the young man he was now and she was constantly in wonder of the fact that he was hers.

While that wonder was still there now, but it was mixed with a sense of sadness for him. Jackson had always been such a happy and funny boy and young man--but to have seen him so broken, confused and angry earlier today wasn’t something she’d ever been prepared for. And she wondered now what exactly had today’s revealing events done to him...

Jackson shifted slightly in his induced sleep, turning his head towards her as he continued to lay against his pillows. He looked peaceful enough, but Ginny could just make out the lines of tension in her son’s face as he slept. Although the potion was designed to give him rest, his body was still carrying obvious signs of previous distress.

Always wanting to comfort her son and take away any of his hurt or pain, Ginny reached out a hand and gently brushed away the jet black fringe that fell casually across his forehead. His hair had always been so soft. She remembered that even when Jackson was a baby, people were always commenting on the fluffy mop of black hair he’d inherited from Harry--marveling at the amount of hair he’d had straight away. But what had always intrigued her was how soft and fine it really was. Even though he was no longer really her little boy, his black locks were still incredibly soft, no matter how messy or disheveled they sometimes appeared to be.

Her hand went from his fringe and moved downward as she gently caressed the side of Jackson’s face, the back of her hand trailing down his cheek. She was not surprised to find the slightest bit of stubble there, although she remembered the day she had been shocked to learn that her ‘baby boy’ shaved at all.

It had been a few summers ago, a few days after he’d returned from school that she’d walked in on him in the bathroom--his face lathered in shaving cream as he had been carefully running the razor across his skin. Apparently Uncle Bill had intervened sometime during the semester, making a keen observation and suggestion that the peach fuzz on his nephew’s face was getting to be a bit more. He’d taken Jackson aside one weekend morning on the pretense of just catching up and chatting with his nephew and the conversation had turned into a lesson on the finer techniques of shaving.

Her son had certainly grown into a very handsome and put together young man and she was proud of him in so many ways. But she was terrified now as to what this all might do to him.

As her thoughts continued to whirl about in her head, Jackson stirred beside her, letting out a heavy sigh as he rolled onto his back.

Ginny watched silently, waiting to see if he was going to remain sleeping or not. Ginny wasn’t sure how much Dreamless Sleep potion her brother had given Jackson, so the effects and the length of time he would be under were unknown to her.

“Mum?” Jackson breathed out drowsily as his eyes cracked open the tiniest bit. Ginny could just see the the bright green irises beneath his eyelids as he struggled to open them, trying his hardest to blink back sleep and focus on her.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” Ginny assured him as she again brushed away the fringe on Jackson’s forehead. It was now evident that he was trying to overcome the effects of the potion and wake up enough to interact with her. But he was losing that battle quite obviously as he failed to keep his eyes open for more than a second or two before they closed on him and his head lolled back onto his pillow.

“Uncle...Ron...” Jackson managed to get out, sounding quite disconnected.

“I know,” Ginny said with a hint of smile. “He gave you something to help you rest.”

“I...I...” Jackson tried to articulate with even less success than his last attempt.

“Shhhh,” Ginny soothed quietly. “Don’t fight it...just sleep Jackson,” she added in a comforting whisper.

All he managed to respond with this time was a half-hearted groan that clearly relayed that he didn’t want to sleep and wasn’t enjoying this state of forced sleep.

“I know you want to talk, but right now you need to just rest,” she told him. “We’ll talk tomorrow and try and process everything then.”

Almost as if admitting a level of defeat, Jackson closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh as he tried to relax. Ginny waited for a few more seconds before moving, hoping that he’d finally succumbed to the full effects of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. But just when she made to stand up from the bed, Jackson stirred again.

“Is this...real?” he asked quietly. His voice was quiet and his were still closed, but there was no question he’d spoken again or to what he was asking about.

“It is,” Ginny told him simply as she leaned forward and planted a kiss on the side of his head.

“Dad’s alive...”

This time Jackson’s breathy reply was more of a statement than a question he was seeking confirmation for. And he was now gazing at her from behind heavy and half-open lids, the green of his eyes still hazy and his drowsiness evident.

Ginny nodded, unable to reply with words as she felt tears come to the corner of her eyes as her emotions welled up.

It was those bloody green eyes!

With Harry, they’d gotten her so many times. On many occasions she’d found herself caught in his gaze, the clearness and the depth of their color taking her breath away and rendering her incapable of thought and speech.

In their son they did the same exact thing--at times the effect was even more striking.

“What does it mean?” Jackson asked quietly, closing his eyes again. “What happens...to us?” he added thickly.

Ginny swallowed heavily.

“I don’t know exactly what this news means,” Ginny admitted in a shaky whisper, taking Jackson’s hand in both of hers. She squeezed his hand gently, feeling his fingers flex in a sleepy response. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen from here on out...”

“But whatever happens--whatever is decided--it’s not going to change us,” Ginny assured him. “It’s always been you, your brother and I--and we’ll always have our little family no matter what goes on from now on. It’s been us since the beginning and whatever comes...we’ll get through it and face it together...” she added, trailing off quietly.

Jackson was silent in response to her words; the only sign that he’d heard or comprehended anything she’d said was a slight nod of his head as his head sunk back into the pillows.

Ginny waited a few more moments but this time Jackson did not stir. Shifting and lifting herself from the bed, Ginny stood up, lingering over her son for another minute before finally turning and leaving his bedroom and closing the door behind her.

Back to index


Chapter 12: The Last One...

Author's Notes: It may possibly be a while before I post another chapter after this one. I'm going to take some time to re-evaluate where I'm going with this. I need to get my mind right and motivation back before I decide to go back to work on it.


She was now at the point between sleepy and exhaustion. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning once she’d finally decided to try and sleep, retiring to her bedroom at about 1:30 that morning. But after a few hours of lying in bed and finding nothing more than 15 minutes or less stretches of a restless sleep, Ginny had given up and pulled herself from bed.

That’s how she found herself now, sitting at the kitchen table silently sipping at her morning tea as she picked at the half-eaten breakfast she’d made herself more than an hour ago to occupy herself.

She was in the process of moving around a bit of egg on her plate when the sound of a door opening and closing down the hallway met her ears. Ginny turned around in her chair just as a very sleepy looking Jackson came into the kitchen. He was fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a warm looking grey hooded sweatshirt.

“Hey there,” Ginny greeted him in as warm of a voice as she could muster. “There are some eggs still warming if want them...or I can make you whatever you’re hungry for...”

Jackson shook his head, looking away as he rubbed a hand across his face tiredly. The sound of his palm as it rubbed across his stubbled cheeks and chin was loud in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I’m gonna go,” Jackson said quietly.

Ginny could only stare at him in confusion.

“You don’t have to go back to school right now,” Ginny assured him. “You can take a couple of days...”

Jackson shook his head again.

“Sweetheart, I know last night we didn’t get to talk about this...but we should take some time today,” Ginny told him.

“Later,” Jackson managed to say as he swallowed heavily. “I just...I’m going go see Anna,” he added, looking away from his mum. “She has class this morning...but I’m going to go wait at her place at school for her.”

“I...I need her right now,” Jackson admitted, sounding as though it was something he desperately believed and at the same time had a hard time admitting to his mother.

Ginny watched her son carefully for a few moments.

The idea that Jackson needed somebody other than her right now was something she hadn’t been prepared to hear. She was his mother and he’d always needed her--had always come to her in times of trouble. So to hear that she wasn’t the one he wanted or needed to comfort him in such a confusing time was almost too much. Her initial reaction was to be hurt and she barely concealed and held back the shaky breath she was set to release.

But as much as Jackson’s admission hurt her, she completely understood why he needed Anna instead of her.

She had once needed someone so badly; had had that one person who she needed to cling to and turn to when things got bad. Harry had been that rock and the safe place for her. And even after she’d lost him--he’d been the one person she wished was there because just his presence alone would have made things better for her.

So because she understood, Ginny did not protest or become upset at her son’s admission.

“Alright,” Ginny whispered. “Just...if you go anywhere else, please let me know. No running off or disappearing on me today, okay?” she added quietly.

“I promise,” Jackson assured her with a reassuring nod. And then in only two strides, Jackson closed the space between them and engulfed her in a hug. Ginny automatically melted into his embrace, letting her son wrap his surprisingly strong arms around her.

“I love you, Mum,” he whispered as he gave her one last squeeze before separating himself from her. Ginny watched silently as he moved away, reaching for his coat that hung on a peg next to the door, slipping it over his shoulders.

“I’ll be home later,” Jackson assured her as he zipped up the front of his coat nearly to his chin.

Ginny nodded and watched Jackson turn from her and leave the kitchen through the side entrance door.

--------------------------------------------

She really wasn’t trying to worry. He’d told her he’d be home ‘later’, but she wasn’t exactly sure how late he’d meant. It was just past dinner time and Jackson had still not returned from Anna’s school flat. It was true that in their world he was an adult and had every right to come and go as he pleased. But she knew that he understood the situation enough to not stay away for long.

Hermione, Ron and even her mother had Floo’d over to check in on her and talk for a bit at different periods during the day. Ginny had to admit that she hadn’t been particularly engaged in any of those conversations. No matter how her mother or Hermione tried to probe and pry out her feelings on the situation, Ginny hadn’t offered much to either of them. She still had no clue as to how she should be feeling or what she wanted to happen--so there really wasn’t much to share with them.

But nobody had checked in the past few hours, and without Jackson home, Ginny was growing increasingly restless and lonely. She wanted to go through the myriad of emotions bouncing around her head and try to make some sort of sense out of them. But sitting here at the desk in her study, trying in vain to go over some of the stories her staff had submitted for editing, was not the way to get anything sorted out. The words on the parchment were blending and bleeding together as much as the anger, confusion and elation were in her own mind...

Ginny pushed aside the stack of parchment she’d been staring at, throwing her quill aside as she reached for the seldom used telephone that sat in its charger to her left. Slowly and carefully she dialed the number that had been written on a scrap of paper that usually was stuck on the cork-board that hung next to the kitchen doorway along with other notes and reminders.

Ginny raised the receiver to her ear, listening quietly as it rang. After four rings, someone picked up and the quiet voice of a woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Anna?” Ginny asked, hoping that she’d had the right number and had successfully reached who she’d been seeking.

“Yes, it is,” the girl confirmed. “Is this Ms. Weasley--Ginny?” Anna asked, uncertainly. Anna usually addressed her by her first name, so being addressed so formally at first was odd.

“Yes--how did you know?” Ginny asked.

“I’ve got your home number programmed into my mobile, so it showed up when you called, “ Anna explained.

“Right,” Ginny replied, feeling a little stupid. “Is Jackson there with you?” Ginny asked, cutting to the chase and going straight to what she was interested in.

“Yeah,” Anna said with a heavy sigh. “He’s been here all day...”

Ginny let out a relieved sigh of her own. There had been a part of her that had been worried that her son had gone somewhere other than where he’d assured her he’d be--perhaps made another trip across the pond to America...

“He’s--er--actually sleeping now,” Anna added when Ginny did not speak. “I can wake him up and send him home--”

“No,” Ginny interrupted. “Leave him sleep. I just wanted to make sure he was there...”

Ginny paused a moment before Anna could speak.

“Is he okay?” Ginny asked quietly.

“He was really upset, but he’s...better,” Anna offered, as if searching for the right word to describe that current state of her boyfriend. “He showed up this morning in quite a state. I came back from class to find him in my room pacing around and doing that thing where he continually messes up his hair with his hand when he’s nervous or frustrated,” she continued to explain.

“I tried to get him to calm down and to explain to me what was wrong or what had happened,” Anna added. “But he just started rambling and not making a whole lot of sense.”

“He told you about what happened last night?” Ginny asked.

“When I finally got him to slow down, he told me that last night it came out that his dad had survived somehow after all,” Anna replied. “He said that it had all been kept a secret and people he trusted were in on it. He said that his hunches--his obsession with that picture--were all connected to this...that we’d been right.”

There was a stretch of a few moments silence over the phone after Anna had paused in her explanation.

“Is it true?”

Anna’s question was a whisper. And there was a tone of desperate confirmation there--as if she needed just one small ‘yes’ to clear up that last shred of doubt she may have had about what Jackson had told her.

“Yes,” Ginny replied quietly. “It’s all true.”

“Wow...” Anna replied as she let out a shaky breath. “That’s just--it’s all just surreal to think about...”

“You’re telling me,” Ginny said with a sigh before she could help herself.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked uncertainly and Ginny felt a rush of emotion for the young woman on the other end of the phone and the concern she was showing.

“I think so,” Ginny replied truthfully. “It’s just really hard to grasp it all and put anything into any sort of perspective or plan for what’s to come...”

“Jackson was really torn about coming here instead of staying home,” Anna told her. “I tried to tell him just to go back home, but then I was almost afraid that he’d just take off instead.”

“He was going to go back to the states?” Ginny asked, trying to keep the slight alarm out of her voice. Jackson had promised that he’d not do anything rash before he’d left their home that morning. Although she understood his desire for immediate resolution, she was glad that Anna was able to convince him otherwise for the moment.

“I think he might have,” Anna admitted. “But then he told me how his dad didn’t know about him yet and I convinced him that it might just complicate things more if he just goes rushing head-long into things again. We went for a walk instead around campus and the town here, just to get his mind off things for a bit. We had dinner and then came back to my flat about an hour ago and he dozed off...”

“I would have liked to talk with him straight away,” Ginny admitted. “But I knew I wasn’t going to change his mind...”

“I’m sorry,” Anna said quietly, as though it was somehow her fault that Ginny’s son had chosen her.

“Anna...I’m so glad he has you,” Ginny told her. “I don’t think you realize just how good you are for him,” she added with as much sincerity as she could relay over the phone.

“That means a lot,” Anna said in a low voice. “Thank you.”
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“Have you talked to Harry any more since last week?”

Ginny heard her mum ask the question and she immediately looked up from the section of newspaper she had been reading at the kitchen table.

It had been a week since the news of Harry’s survival had come out in front of the whole family at the weekly Sunday dinner. And that’s exactly where she found herself again. Most of her family was gathered at The Burrow again, milling about as they waited for the call to the table for dinner. However, the mood had been a bit more subdued and there had been many more whispered conversations amongst them all.

Ginny knew the topic of discussion in many of them, but had failed to hear his name said aloud or any future plans discussed until her mum had raised her question.

Truthfully, this last week Ginny had tried to distance herself from everything and give both her family and herself time to let things sink in. Jackson had gone back to school on Tuesday, promising to stay there and be in touch. And Ginny had left Wednesday afternoon to cover the English team an international Quidditch match in Brazil on Thursday. She had only returned yesterday morning and had tried to keep herself busy with finishing up her own writing and editing those submitted stories of her staff she had had waiting for her upon her return.

But now it seemed that the time for discussion might finally be at hand.

“He actually e-mailed me that next day,” Hermione replied. It had been she who the question had been directed at. “I wrote back and let him know that we had told everyone and that there–of course–had been some emotional reactions,” she added, giving Ginny a sideways glance. Ginny knew that Hermione had been thinking about Jackson’s actions, but she knew that Hermione would not have told Harry specifically about that yet.

“He understood that, of course, and I’ve been messaging back and forth with him all week,” Hermione explained. “We’ve actually been trying to figure out when we might be able to visit again–maybe bring the kids this time…”

“He’d accept visitors?”

The surprised question came again from Ginny’s mum. Hermione and Ron had said that Harry wasn’t ready to come back with them, but they hadn’t said anything about going to him.

“Of course,” Hermione said with a nod. “He’s hesitant to just uproot and come back here, but he wants to keep in touch. He doesn’t want another 17 years to go by between visits…”

Molly smiled and looked relived at the news. Perhaps she had thought Harry’s refusal to return with Ron and Hermione or even on his own once he had remembered had meant that he hadn’t wanted to see them at all.
“He’s busy with classes and grading tests and papers until the 2nd week in December and then he’s going for a week back to New York to visit…his family for an early holiday gathering,” Hermione added, swallowing as if to delay her last words just a bit.

It was odd to hear a group of strangers being described as his family, when his real family was right here. But as far as she knew and had been told those first few hours, Harry had been taken in and practically adopted by the family of a nurse who had cared for him during his months in the hospital. It had sounded like these people were incredibly important to him and so it wasn’t surprising that he would be choosing to spend some time there.

“So we were thinking possibly a Christmas trip,” Hermione continued. “We’d be spending a few days there–celebrating the holidays…”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Molly said as she turned back to stir a pot on top of the cooker. “Maybe we can have a get-together before you leave so we can exchange gifts…give you our gifts for Harry and his little girl.”

“Actually…” Hermione began as she once more gave Ginny a sideways glance. It really did annoy Ginny when her sister-in-law did that.

“We thought that maybe the whole family would be going,” Hermione added carefully. “As in the–entire–Weasley family…”

“All of us?” Molly asked.

Hermione nodded.

“We couldn’t possibly,” Molly replied shaking her head. “There’s just too many people to think to intrude on him–”

“It wouldn’t be a problem at all,” Hermione refuted quickly. “He’s well aware of just how much the family has grown.”

“But to expect him to host us all–”

“We’re not expecting anything,” Ron interrupted his mum, startling Ginny with his words. She hadn’t noticed his arrival and wondered if he’d been in the process of trying to sneak an early bite of something to eat while they had been preoccupied; he was munching on something he’d obviously plucked from the counter.

“Harry’s the one who suggested it,” Ron added once he’d swallowed. “He didn’t want us to be away from the family over the holidays and this might be a way to keep us from missing our annual Christmas–taking the get-together there instead.”

“I really think he just wants to see everybody,” Hermione added quietly. “And I think this was the best way he could think of for that to happen…”

Ginny had remained quiet throughout the exchange. While one part of her was excited at the prospect of getting to see him again, the truth was that the other part of her was terrified. She was almost afraid of how she might react or which of her many feelings would come out in a meeting and reunion with Harry right now.

And she certainly didn’t know if she wanted those mixed feelings to have to sort themselves out in the midst of a holiday gathering…

“It’s an awfully large amount of work to try and put something together for this lot and we take up so much space…” Molly said quietly.

“He honestly doesn’t mind, Mum,” Ron said shaking his head. “Hermione and I didn’t even do anything to try and convince or push him into it–it was all him.”

Hermione nodded.

“And it’s not like the bloke’s house isn’t big enough for us all,” Ron added with a snort . “The place is huge and there’s actually a chance we could lose a kid or two somewhere there and not know it for days,” he added, his comment earning him an amused shake of the head from his wife.

“It’s really okay?” Molly asked again, as if she needed concrete confirmation and to make sure this opportunity wasn’t going to be snatched away again.

“It really is,” Hermione assured her. “And I take it as a good sign of how open he wants things to be now.”

“Well…Arthur and I are in for the trip,” she said with a smile. “And we’ll have to ask the rest of the boys whether their families will be coming or not. But you can tell Harry that we’ll see him for Christmas and that I’ll want to come a bit early and help him in preparing the meal,” she added as she turned back to the stove.

Ginny found herself trying to hold back a small smile at these words. Of course her mum would want a hand in the cooking–making sure all their favorites were covered and Harry had enough food to feed their small army…

“What about you, Ginny?”

Ginny looked up to find her sister-in-law scrutinizing her carefully in the wake of her question.

“Are you going to come with?” Hermione asked when Ginny did not respond to her initial inquiry.

“I’m not sure,” Ginny replied. “I may have to cover the Christmas Day match in Australia.”

“You’ve gotten out of that before,” Ron reminded her quietly.

“Most of my staff have had their requests to be off in and approved,” Ginny told him. “And Andrew is already covering the match in Japan…he can’t do both,” she added, knowing full-well that the matches were a day apart and that her senior reporter, Andrew Gates could very well take care of the coverage for both matches. The Christmas matches were mostly exhibitions between nations–holiday entertainment for those listening on the wireless. In depth print news coverage wasn’t usually a priority for these games.

“What about Jackson?” Ron asked, not choosing to press the issue and challenge Ginny’s excuse.

“What about him?” Ginny asked with a raised brow. “He can’t very well waltz in without warning…and besides, I believe he’s going with Alex.”

It was Ron’s turn to raise a brow in question.

“Alex is going to visit Paul’s family Christmas Eve and Day,” Ginny explained. “Paul invited Jackson to come along and he was going to go for at least one day.”

“Don’t you think Jackson needs to meet Harry sometime soon?” Ron asked concernedly.

“I haven’t exactly figured out the right way to do that, Ron,” Ginny said, her annoyance at the question, rising suddenly. “Have you?”

Ron shook his head.

“It’s not something I’m sure I want to do with everybody there for Christmas,” Ginny admitted. “It’s kind of a big thing to tell someone and since you’re all worried about overwhelming him–“

“It’s a big thing not to tell him…” Ron countered.

“And you two were really keen to do it when you saw him, weren’t you?” Ginny responded. “It’s not so easy a thing to spring on someone, is it?”

Neither Ron nor Hermione had a response to that question.

“And besides…he’s the one who got to make all the decisions,” Ginny said shaking her head. “And even now he’s getting to dictate how things go…I think he can wait a little longer until I decide what I want–what’s best for my family.”

“He’s been through a lot,” Hermione responded in a quiet voice.

“And I haven’t?” Ginny asked, trying to keep the underlying anger and annoyance out of her voice. “We–haven’t?” she added.

“Believe it or not, but I just happen to have nearly 18 years of emotions and hurt that I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to put together all of the sudden,” Ginny said as she glared at both Ron and Hermione.

“Unlike the rest of you–who seem so willing to forgive and act as though everything is alright now–I can’t bring myself to do that,” Ginny admitted.

“So you’re going to punish him?” Ron asked with raised brow.

“No, I think he’s punished himself quite enough with the choices he made,” Ginny admitted quickly. “But I’m not just going to run back with open arms and pretend like things are going to fall into place like I’ve always dreamed they were supposed to…I just can’t.”

“And Jackson doesn’t deserve to choose what he wants--?” Ron began, but was cut off.

“That’s enough, Ron,” Molly Weasley said steadily as she turned to face them all again. “We may not like or agree with things–but it’s not your place.”

Ron looked for a moment as though he’d like very much to argue or disagree, but he chose to stay quiet in the wake of his mother’s stern words.

“And besides…your sister said she wasn’t sure if she was going,” Molly added as she glanced momentarily at her daughter before turning back to the cooking. “I think it’s a bit early to be getting angry or disagreeable about anything just yet….”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Leaning back against the countertop, Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. It had the first time since about 5 am that he’d gotten a chance to just stop and stand-still for a few moments to collect his thoughts and slow down for a bit. The sound of various sauces and dishes simmering and bubbling away on the stovetop and the smell of turkey roasting in the oven were all testaments to how busy he’d been already this morning.

Last night he and Sophie had raided the local grocery store, gathering supplies and ingredients to put together the mixed menu of Christmas favorites he knew would need to be present for a traditional English gathering and also those dishes and items he–not only had learned how to make–but had come to enjoy during the holidays the past 17 years. He hoped the wide array of food from his past and his present would go over well with everyone and, moreover, be enough to keep them all fed and full.

But truthfully the food wasn’t really what really had him worried.

The fact of the matter was that in thirty minutes time, his past would be walking in through his door and back into his life. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley had arranged to come earlier than the day–apparently Mrs. Weasley had made the request and Harry assumed it was so that she could have a hand in the cooking and baking. And later on this afternoon the rest of the family would be joining them.

And apparently it seemed as though it would actually be the rest of the family–which was going to make for a full house. The prospect of hosting that many people was daunting enough, but the fact that those who would be coming were the same people he’d consciously left behind nearly 18 years ago–no matter the justified reasons he’d had at the time–was terrifying.

That fear and anxiety was something he’d had to deal with daily these past few weeks. From nearly the moment that Ron and Hermione had left his home that Sunday, he’d had second thoughts and misgivings about the choices he was making and the resistance he was having towards opening up and perhaps even returning. There was a part of him that had wanted to say ‘screw it’ and hop on the next flight overseas. But that urge was so often suppressed by his angst and worry over what the reception was going to be or how he’d even possibly be able fit that life into the one he was living now.

Despite Hermione’s reassurances that the family was excited and that the reaction to the news of his survival–while emotional–had been hopeful, Harry was still worried that the moment the Weasley’s arrived they’d let their hurt and anger over his decisions be known. He was still readying himself for the backlash and the idea that he’d earned himself a few painful hexes or at the least, a punch or two in the face.

To say the last few weeks had been stressful would be an understatement. His emotions and his thoughts had been all over the place and it had begun to affect everything in his life it seemed. He’d had a hard time focusing on preparation and work for his classes. He was usually on top of returning papers and handing out grades for assignments, but he’d had to apologize to more than one class for not having their work ready to be handed back to them on time–citing a family emergency as the reason.

Even a few of his colleagues had asked if he was alright over the course of the last few weeks. His first few months on campus, he’d been incredibly involved in helping out students outside of class, participating in faculty committees and in engaging members of his department in discussions about their fields and experiences. But lately he’d been forced to brush off comments about his well-being and blame the usual tiredness of the end of semester grind as the reason for his aloofness and disengagement in faculty meetings.

If others were picking up on his disconnect, it was because that was exactly what he was feeling. When his memories had first come back, he was able to somehow find that balance between his two selves and the two lives that had been thrown together suddenly. There had still been doubts and uncertainty then, but in essence he was able to continue on living as Evan, while knowing he was Harry, because all the other bits of his past were still only in his head. He didn’t have confirmation–and it had been easier to perhaps even pretend…

But now that he knew his reality–knew the truth that he had indeed actually chose this path and those he’d left behind now wanted back into his life–he was finding it much harder to cope. Somehow, seeing how people had gone and moved on in the life that should have been, made figuring out what the life could be or would be all the more difficult. He had no clue what was supposed to happen from now on and that scared him.

He hadn’t dealt well with uncertainty and this feeling of being lost well in the past. He’d done things and said things that he’d always regretted on some level when he was younger. He was just hoping that he’d be able to hold it together while things sorted themselves out this time. The past few years he’d finally felt as though he’d reached someplace stable finally. Although not exactly conventional, he had his little family and a career where he was finally fully satisfied and could see himself doing for a long time.

But all that had been called into question, if not in actuality–in his mind at least.

He hadn’t exactly lost everything before–he’d been the one to walk away.

He had expected to die then. His understanding of the spell that would remove the Horcrux inside himself and get rid of Voldemort in the process was that the magic was way more than any one person should be able to withstand. He had known that the power that would be unleashed was more than likely going to be too much for his system to handle.

And quite honestly, there was a very real part of himself that had hoped for death back then.

Even though it was never going to be ideal–it wouldn’t have been a lie. Death meant a real end and one without deception or the need for protective provisions. At least then there would have been honestly and a true resolution to that chapter.

But it hadn’t worked out like that. The scared 18 year old part of him that was mortified of the damage that would be done if he survived had made sure he was where he was now.

That fear was still there in him, but it was directed towards the present. He was afraid of screwing up and messing with the life and the people he had now. He had lost everything once before, who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?

But the greater question at hand may be–how did he now balance those two parts without upsetting either one? He truly wanted to see everyone again and to connect with them all in any way they might let him. It was rather selfish, he knew–but he was afraid of what might have to give in order for that to happen…

These were the things he had been exhausting himself with as of late and he had certainly been feeling the stress. He’d had to break his promise to Sophie a few times, giving into the temptation of his old habit when he couldn’t find release anything else. He’d felt horrible about it, feeling incredibly guilty each time he indulged and lit up again.

Slowly he felt as though he’d been losing hold of things and he hoped he’d be able to make it through these next few hours.

“Is this good, Daddy?”

Harry looked up, brought back from his musing by the innocent inquiry of his daughter.

“I’m stirring it just like you said,” Sophie said matter-of-factly with a smile as she swirled the oversized wooden spoon he’d given her around the large bowl in front of her.

“I see that,” Harry said as he sighed. “I didn’t tell you to taste it though,” he added, unable to keep the tired smile from creeping across his lips.

As soon as he’d gotten her up, dressed and ready this morning, she had wanted to help him cook and make the meal for tonight. She didn’t seem to understand that she couldn’t help him chop stuff up or stir the pots and pans.

Finally he’d found something she could do. Last night Sophie had conned him into buying a box of brownie mix with candy confetti frosting. She’d pestered him until he’d relented. He’d been too tired and too stressed to deny her and put up with the whining that would come if he said no.

After combining the ingredients in a bowl for her, he’d set her to mixing them up so they could bake the brownies.

“I didn’t taste em’,” Sophie retorted, trying to hide her little grin and failing to stifle her giggle.

It was, however, quite apparent that she’d been sneaking licks on the spoon–there was chocolate brownie mix goo all over her face, hands and shirt.

She was a mess.

“So how did half of the brownies end up all over you, Soph?” he asked, shaking his head slightly and letting out another sigh. He wasn’t angry, in fact it was kind of amusing, but he really didn’t have time for it.

“I don’t know,” she replied, licking at the chocolate that was on the side of her arm and wrist.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I could take a bath,” Sophie suggested, not picking up on his tired exasperation at all.

“We don’t have time for a bath,” Harry replied, trying to figure out the quickest way to remedy the situation. “Our guests will be here any minute.”

“Yay!” Sophie cheered, in the process, raising both of her hands up in the air in a display of her excitement–one of which was still holding the chocolate brownie goo covered wooden spoon.

“Sophia Marie,” he cried out exasperatedly as he watched brownie splatter on the wall behind her.

Realizing what she’d done and registering the tone of her dad’s voice, Sophie’s mouth dropped into a wide “O”.

“Alright, upstairs,” Harry ordered, knowing that he needed to take care of this soon. Sophie, still perched on her stool made to put down the wooden spoon she was still holding so she could hop down.

“Not on the counter, in the bowl!” Harry warned just before it touched the counter-top. Sophie froze just an inch above the surface and instead placed the dirty spoon back in the bowl.

“Let get you upstairs you little chocolate monkey,” Harry teased as he swooped forward and plucked his daughter from the stool.

“What are we doing?” Sophie asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry could feel the chocolate that had been on her arms and hands against his own skin and he knew it was all over him now as well.

“We–are going to get you all cleaned up and changed quickly,” he informed her as he headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Harry made a beeline for the upstairs bathroom, hoping to be able to simply wipe away the mess instead of having to run a bath. He quickly got Sophie out of her messy clothes and set about wiping off the smears and dollops of chocolate that she had all over it seemed.

It took a few minutes, and after satisfactorily cleaning off the brownie batter, Harry told Sophie to stay put as he quickly zipped into her room and pulled out a new set of clothes for her to wear for the day.

“I’m sorry for getting all messy, Daddy,” Sophie said in a quiet voice as he pulled her shirt over her head.

Harry paused as Sophie pulled her hands through the ends of her sleeves and the shirt all the way on herself.

“Sweetie, I’m not mad at you,” he said as he kneeled back down to near her level. Sophie looked away, as if not truly believing that her dad wasn’t disappointed in her.

“Do I look mad to you, Soph?” Harry asked as he tried to fix his daughter with a coaxing smile.

“No,” Sophie admitted as she took in his smile.

“I didn’t mean a’ get all dirty,” she added.

“I know,” Harry told her. “And Dad was just a bit crazy because of all our guests that are coming–not because I’m mad at you…”

Sophie nodded her understanding, looking relieved that her dad wasn’t angry.

“Those brownies were just too good to wait to taste, weren’t they?” he added, teasingly, hoping that it might brighten her up even more.

Sophie couldn’t help the mischievous little grin from creeping up in response.

She nodded.

“They were yummy,” she admitted.

“I bet,” Harry replied with a chuckle. “But how about next time we wait until after they’re all baked before we eat them? I promise they’ll taste even better then.”

“Ok,” Sophie agreed with a smile.

“Soph, why don’t you go downstairs and see if all of your toys are picked up in the living room,” Harry added as he bent down to gather the brownie covered clothes and washcloth he’d discarded on the floor. “You were playing down there this morning…”

“Daddy…you’ve got chocolate all over you,” Sophie squeaked from behind him and Harry turned to find her trying to hide her amusement. “I’s all over your shirt and neck,” she added even as his hand reached up to the back of his neck and pulled it away–covered in brownie batter. Harry looked down at himself, and saw that the button up shirt he’d selected for the day was just as smeared with brown chocolate brownie mix as Sophie’s had been.

Harry let out another sigh.

“Ok–I still want you to go down and pick up any toys,” Harry directed. “I’m going to go change and be down in a little bit–in the meantime–stay out of the kitchen,” he added in warning.

“Ok,” Sophie agreed as she turned tail and headed back into the hallway, her little footfalls audible as she hopped down the stairs one at a time.

Once out of ear-shot, Harry turned attention back to himself. He needed to change not only his shirt, but his jeans as well it seemed–which also had streaks and a spattering of chocolate on them.

Throwing Sophie’s clothes in the bathroom hamper, Harry quickly wet a clean cloth and cleaned off his neck and whatever other skin he could see that had any trace of brownie batter on it. Making quick work and praying he hadn’t missed any, he left the bathroom and headed down the hall towards his own room at the end.

He quickly put together a new outfit from his closet–pairing a new sweater and white undershirt with a pair of faded jeans. He quickly threw off his dirty clothes and began pulling on his jeans and undershirt.

He had just begun pulling on the soft green sweater when he heard the doorbell echo throughout the house.
Harry froze with the sweater half-way over his head.

They were here.

Still standing with his arms above his head and sweater partially on, the doorbell sounded loudly again.

“I got it!”

He heard the little voice shout excitedly from downstairs just as he heard the sound of stocking feet pound madly across the hardwood floors below towards the front entrance hall.

“Sophie, no!” Harry shouted as he begun to pull the sweater all the way on in a hurry as he stumbled towards the door. Suddenly the task seemed 10 times more difficult as he struggled to pull his head through the neck hole.

“Sophie, leave the door alone!” he yelled again. “Let me get it,” he added as he finally pulled it over his head and bolted from his room. He again took the stairs two at a time, his stocking feet sliding down the stairs as he made his way down them.

But as he reached the bottom, he already knew he was too late. Along with the sound of his own daughter’s voice, he heard the sound of several others floating down the hallway towards him.

As he rounded the corner, a blast of cold winter air hit him, momentarily taking his breath away.

He slowed as he got closer, taking in the sight of the open door, Sophie standing there holding it, and the small crowd of people gathered on his snowy front steps.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione greeted as she stepped forward and hugged Harry tightly.

“Sorry we’re a little bit early…Sophie was telling us we interrupted a little mishap involving brownies?” Hermione added with an amused grin as she released Harry.

Instead of answering straight away, Harry stood there stupidly, his eyes roving over the women and girls standing on the steps behind Hermione. There were certainly many more than just Hermione and Mrs. Weasley…

“Uh…yeah,” Harry finally managed after a few seconds of awkward silence hung in the air. “Someone got a bit overeager and wanted to taste them before we’d even put them in the pan to bake,” he added, glancing at Sophie with a smile.

“I think we’ve all had that happen a time or two.”

Harry’s eyes immediately went to the source of the quick reassurance; his gaze settling on Molly Weasley, who was giving him a watery smile.

The Weasley matriarch was older–nearly 18 years’ time had changed them all. There were more lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth and her once vivid red hair was streaked liberally with grey. But the smile and the warm look she was giving him were the same as always.

Harry returned the smile and nodded.

“Sorry…where are my manners?” Harry said quickly as he noticed a few people beyond Hermione and Mrs. Weasley clutching tightly at their scarves and jackets.

“Come in everyone,” he added as he gestured for them all to enter his home. “I didn’t mean to keep you all out in the cold.”

With that invitation the new arrivals began to file in through the front door, their eyes flitting from Harry to the interior of the home they had just entered.

There were quite a few girls he did not recognize or could not name, although they were undeniably part of the family. Many had the tell-tale red hair that labeled many a person “Weasley.” But there were other features–bits and traits of their parents that Harry tried to place as they passed by.

“Merlin’s beard…it really is you.”

Harry’s attention turned to the two women who were standing beside him now. They were his old classmates and Quidditch teammates–Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. Well…they were both Weasley now. Hermione and Ron had told him they’d married Fred and George, respectively.

Harry could only nod and smile in response–something he’d found himself doing a lot of in the last minute or so.

“Wow,” was all Angelina could manage as she gave Harry a quick hug. As soon as she had released him, Alicia followed suit, embracing him for a few seconds before stepping away.

As she moved away, Harry was enveloped in another hug. Although it had taken him initially off-guard, it took only a second or two to register who was hugging him so fiercely. The bubble-gum pink hair was a dead giveaway.

“Hermione, you were right,” Tonks said with a teasing, yet watery smile as she pulled, still holding him at arm’s length. “He’s still as handsome as ever,” she added.

Harry chuckled in embarrassment.

“It’s good to see you, Tonks,” Harry replied quietly.

“Now that’s going to take some getting used to,” she scrutinized as she stepped away, pulling off her coat.
Harry raised a brow in confusion.

“That bloody accent of yours,” Tonks said with a laugh.

Harry could only shake his head and laugh. He had a feeling he was going to hear that comment a few more times before this holiday weekend was all said and done with. It actually wasn’t something he’d thought of until Ron had mentioned it during their initial visit. It was just the way he’d spoken since his days of rehab and therapy at the hospital all those years ago…

“Harry is it alright if we all head into the kitchen and sitting room and figure out where we can all help out?” Hermione asked as Harry realized just how cramped it was with everyone still standing in the entrance hallway.

“Yeah…that sounds like a great idea,” Harry agreed as the group moved into the house. Sophie, who had still been holding the door open for everyone, quickly closed it and ran after the group and her dad. Harry scooped her up as she reached him, smiling as she giggled excitedly.

“You guys can put your coats and shoes and anything else you brought in here,” Harry offered as he pointed to a door off the entrance hallway and opened it. The room was meant to be an office, but at the moment had only a few boxes from the move stored in it. Harry had been using a room downstairs in the basement, as well as his campus office and a space in the shed near the back of the property to take care of his school work, as well as a few photography and camera projects he’d been working on intermittently.

Harry stood silent for a moment holding Sophie as jackets, cloaks, boots and shoes were shed and placed out of the way. As the women and girls returned to the kitchen, Harry again found himself taking in the group that had arrived early to help out.

“A few more decided to tag along to help prepare dinner than I’d expected,” Hermione explained, startling Harry out of his quiet observation. She had come to stand next to him without him realizing it.

“I see that,” Harry replied with a smile.

“Tonks, Angelina and Alicia all volunteered to help out and all the girls usually help Molly out with the meal on holidays,” she added. “I hope it’s alright…”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Harry assured her. “Everyone’s going to end up here anyway and it couldn’t hurt to have more hands to help,” he added with a smile.

Hermione smiled back, looking relieved that the arrival of so many people straight away hadn’t been too much for Harry to deal with.

“Perhaps introductions are in order?” Mrs. Weasley suggested when everyone had returned to the kitchen.

“Sure,” Harry replied, looking around at the curious faces around him.

“This is my daughter Orelia,” Tonks said, starting the round of introductions as she gestured to the willowy teenage girl standing next to her. Orelia looked to be about 14 and had the same heart-shaped face as her mother. But the light brown hair and the grey-blue eyes were all Remus.

Harry nodded his hello at the introduction, trying to smile to hide some of his nervousness he’d been trying to quell since the arrival of his guests.

“This is Jade,” Angelina chimed in next, giving the girl standing next to her a squeeze with the arm that she’d had around her shoulder. Jade seemed to be around the same age as Orelia and her features and hair were dark like her mother’s. Although, her skin was a few shades lighter and she had the same striking blue eyes that Fred and some of the other Weasley brothers shared.

Next was Alicia who introduced her 13 year old daughter Eliza, who was all Weasley–red hair and freckles as vivid as her father’s. After that Percy’s wife, Audrey, shyly introduced herself and her daughter Molly to Harry. She seemed to be a mix of both Audrey and Percy–her hair was more of a red-brown and she had only a few of the trademark Weasley freckles dusted across her nose.

“Fleur and Bill went to France yesterday to celebrate with Fleur’s parents,” Hermione explained as the circle of introductions reached herself and it seemed she felt the need to explain the absences. “They’ll be here later when the rest of the family arrives. And then you can meet her daughter Victoire and their son Louis.”
Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes then falling automatically on the tall red-headed teenage girl standing beside Hermione.

“This is my Nora,” Hermione added–her introduction not really needed. There was no doubt that Nora was Hermione and Ron’s daughter. At twelve years old she was just a shade taller than her mother–having quite obviously inherited her father’s height. Although, unlike Ron at that age–who had been gangly and awkward--Nora was a very beautiful and graceful looking young lady. Her red hair was pulled back in a loose bun, accentuating her kind brown eyes–Hermione’s eyes.

“And this is Scarlett,” Hermione added, gesturing to the little brown-haired girl that Nora was holding. Scarlett seemed to be attempting to be shy, hugging close to her older sister. But her bright blue eyes were fixed curiously on Sophie, who was still hanging out in Harry’s arms.

“Is she your little girl?” Sophie asked excitedly, startling Harry from his observation of their guests. Nearly everyone chuckled at Sophie’s inquiry and Harry could only smile. Sophie had been so excited to meet Scarlett ever since Ron had told her about the little girl. In the past few weeks she had been asking incessantly about when she would be coming and talking about what games they could play or toys they could share.

Hermione smiled and nodded in amusement.

“She is,” Hermione confirmed to Sophie before turning to her own daughter. “Can you say ‘hi’ to Sophie, Scar?” Hermione asked her daughter coaxingly.

Scarlett did not respond immediately, still seeming a bit apprehensive…

“Hi, Scarlett,” Sophie chirped as she waved across the kitchen towards the other little girl. She looked up at her dad as she spoke, as if looking for some approval. Harry nodded, a little proud of the fact that his daughter was trying to make Scarlett feel welcome.

“Lo’,” Scarlett managed quietly.

“She’s just a bit grumpy because of the International Portkey,” Hermione tried to explain away her daughter’s behavior. “She’s not too fond of that sort of travel.”

“Or maybe it’s because the baby didn’t get her nap today?” Nora teased her little sister.

“Nuh-uh, Nora,” Scarlett responded finally, fixing her sister with a disgruntled stare. “I am not a baby.”

“Girls,” Hermione warned even as the rest of the group tried to hide their amusement.

“Do you wanna go play in my room?” Sophie interjected again. “I can show you my dolls…or we can watch my fairy princess movie,” she offered, sounding hopeful that she was going to have someone her own age to play with.

“That sounds like fun,” Hermione said. “You should go play with Sophie, Scarlett.”

“You could show her the new dollhouse that Nana made you,” Harry suggested to Sophie, who nodded her head excitedly at the recommendation.

“Yep, Nana Maria made it an’ it’s so big, I can almost fit inside,” Sophie exclaimed excitedly. “An’ I got lots a new dolls…some of em’ even talk,” Sophie shared, trying to make Scarlett’s choice easier by sounding super excited about her toys she’d received as Christmas gifts.

“Can I?” Scarlett asked quietly, looking to her mother for approval.

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll show you where my toys are,” Sophie said as she tried to wriggle out of her dad’s arms, sliding down to the floor as he released her. Scarlett did much the same, making quick work of disengaging herself from her sister’s grasp.

“Come on, my room’s this way,” Sophie beckoned, as she pointed Scarlett towards the stairs.

The group in the kitchen watched as the two little girls made their way out of the kitchen–Scarlett scampering quickly behind Sophie as they clambered up the stairs and out of sight.

“Looks like we don’t have to worry about them getting along,” Harry mused as the sound of their footsteps could no longer be heard echoing throughout the house.

“I didn’t think we would,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Scarlett was just as excited to meet Sophie.”
At Hermione’s last comment, the kitchen lapsed into a few moments of silence; the women and girls looking around the kitchen with interest and curiosity.

“Well…maybe we should start out by seeing exactly what you’ve already made?” Molly finally suggested, eyeing the oven and pots still bubbling on the stove top with interest. “The turkey smells wonderful,” she complimented, fixing him with a smile.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, blushing slightly.

And with that it seemed that the ice had been broken in the room and Molly Weasley set about inventorying the feast that Harry had started. She was in her element, praising him for the job he’d done so far and then setting the other women and girls to different tasks–finishing dishes Harry had started and starting new ones that she thought might go well with the meal or that were favorites that he’d not known about.

After only a few minutes, each and every person was busy stirring, mixing, chopping or peeling.
Everyone except for Harry, that is.

He suddenly found himself leaning against the counter with nothing to do. All the food was being taken care of. He’d spent time over the past week cleaning and making sure things were picked up, put away and the last of the boxes down in the basement unpacked. The Christmas tree had been up for a while now, as had the decorations. He literally had nothing to do and he was feeling slightly awkward just standing there watching everyone.

“Is there anything I can help out with, Mrs. Weasley?” Harry asked as he came to stand next to Molly Weasley, who was showing Jade what size to cut up some of the vegetables she was working on.
At the sound of the question, Mrs. Weasley turned her attention towards Harry. As she looked up at him, her expression was a mixture of emotions that Harry wasn’t sure what to make of. He thought for a moment that he’d somehow upset her with his question.

“Oh…there’ll be none of that now,” she replied with a smile that did not completely get rid of the emotion clouding her eyes. “Harry, you can call me Molly now,” she added.

“Sorry…I suppose it’s still a bit of an old habit,” Harry admitted a bit sheepishly. He’d never actually addressed Mrs. Weasley by her first name, so the prospect of doing so seemed odd very odd to him.

“That’s quite alright,” Molly assured him. “And I think we have everything under control at the moment. You’ve already done so much work to get the meal ready and you’ve let us all into your home for the weekend–you should take a break and let us handle it from here.”

“It’s no problem...Molly,” Harry managed slightly awkwardly. “You guys are more than welcome to anything of mine and to have free reign of my place while you’re here. I’m more than happy to have you all.”

“It’s so good to be here,” Molly whispered back with a watery smile as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug for the first time. She clung tight to Harry, almost as if trying to put nearly 18 years of lost time and opportunities into that one embrace. Harry did his best to return the hug, squeezing his once-adoptive mother tightly and bending down to her level.

“We missed you so much,” Harry heard her whisper emotionally into his shoulder.

Harry’s first reaction was to echo her sentiments and tell her how much he’d missed all of them. But he knew the words were hollow. The truth was, he hadn’t had to endure the same level of pain and heartache as his friends and family had that he’d left behind. Although he couldn’t deny that his life had been filled with its own troubles and hardships, he hadn’t had to deal with the aftermath of the decisions as they had–first in his apparent death and the recent revelation of his survival. He had missed them all–he just didn’t want to diminish any emotions they were feeling…

“You have no idea how amazing it is to see you,” she added in a quiet voice as she pulled away and held Harry at arm’s length, seemingly drinking in the sight of him.

“I’m glad you’re all here,” Harry managed. “I honestly don’t deserve this warm reception or the second chance you’ve given me.”

“Having you in our lives again–that means more to us than you’ll ever know,” Molly reassured him. “We can’t change the past…we can only embrace the future we have now.”

Back to index


Chapter 13: Holiday Meetings

Author's Notes: I got my muse and confidence back these past few weeks, so here it is. It's mainly to set up what you all already know is to come.


“That’s my ballerina Barbie,” Sophie explained a bit unnecessarily as Scarlett picked up the doll that was wearing a tiny leotard with matching pink tutu and tights. “I got her from my Nana and Papa for Christmas.”

“Can I play with her?” Scarlett asked.

“Yup,” Sophie assured her as she picked up another doll for herself. “We can play with them together if you want.”

Scarlett nodded enthusiastically and Harry continued to watch from his spot at the door as the little girls played with one another as they sat cross-legged on Sophie’s bedroom floor. The toy chest, which had previously been neat and organized, had been flung open and its contents were spilling out onto the floor.

Once he’d received the reassurance from Mrs. Weasley that they’d had everything with the meal covered, he’d tried wandering into the living room, turning on the television and flipping through seemingly hundreds of channels without success. Nothing had caught his attention and he couldn’t think of anything else to occupy himself with, so he’d decided to head upstairs and check on Sophie and Scarlett. It had been a little too quiet for a pair of 5-year-olds playing and he had wondered if everything was going alright.

But as he had scaled the stairs and quietly walked towards the doorway, he had come upon an adorable scene of the two girls playing. It seemed Sophie was rather excited to show her guest all of her toys and things in her room, and to Harry’s relief, she seemed willing to share all of them too.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Soph,” Harry replied with a smile. Sophie had looked up from her playing, spotting her dad standing in the doorway watching the scene. “Are you girls having fun?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” Sophie replied with a nod. “We’re just playing dolls,” she added matter-of-factly as she brushed out the hair of the doll she was holding.

“And you’re making sure you’re sharing everything with Scarlett?” Harry asked.

Both girls nodded.

“She got a doll house for Christmas too from her grandma and grandpa,” Sophie continued to chatter away. “But she doesn’t call hers Nana or Papa...hers are grandmom--”

“Grandmum and Granddad,” Scarlett corrected her accent clearly discerning her pronunciation of the words from Sophie’s.
“Yeah...how come hers are called something different?” Sophie asked curiously.

“Because Scarlett lives in a different place than you, remember?” Harry replied. “Some of the names for certain things are a bit different.”

“Oh yeah,” Sophie said as if remembering their previous conversation. Harry had felt the need to explain some of the differences that Sophie was bound to notice in the way their guests acted and spoke--most having to do with the cultural difference. Once Ron and Hermione had left after the weekend they had first found him, Sophie had inquired about their accents--asking him why ‘they talked so funny.’

He figured that some of the other things she might witness would possibly be ignored by her little five-year-old imagination or he would be able to explain away most everything else she might question...

“Maybe you two can teach each other some things?” Harry suggested.

“Okay,” Sophie said a little dismissively as she and Scarlett had already turned back to playing with their dolls.

Apparently the little game and scenario they were engaged in was more interesting than talking to him, so Harry stood in the doorway watching the scene for only a few more seconds before he quietly stepped back out into the hallway.

It felt very odd to feel so out of place in his own home. As much as he’d wanted to sit amongst the group in the kitchen and catch up, the fact remained that the situation lent itself to more than just an exchange of pleasantries and catch-ups. He’d missed nearly 18 years of life--missed the births and lives of all of the girls downstairs and every other event that had happened in the family since.

There was a part of himself that still felt a part of the Weasley family dynamic--the part that had only recently awakened and was still stuck in the past, trying so hard to catch up and understand who he was now. It was that part of him that seemed to be doing battle against the rest of himself--the bit of himself that had grown up and matured over the last 18 years, turning him into a very different person from the one they all expected.

Aside from the feelings of worry and guilt he felt regarding everything he’d done to change their lives because of the decisions he’d made back then, on another level, this gathering was nearly like meeting them all for the first time. There was awkwardness in the introductions and--while they all seemed to be at ease in his home--Harry felt nervous about having them all here. They all knew things about him--what he’d been doing in terms of career and family--and he knew only what he’d been told by Ron and Hermione about the changing dynamics the family had gone through over the years.

But he hadn’t been there for any of those things and he felt oddly disconnected on some level.

Along with the confusing emotions swirling about his head regarding those already here and the prospect of what might happen when the men and boys all arrived in just a few hours, he was also very aware of who had not arrived with the group of women.

Hermione had advised him that nearly everyone was going to be making the trip over to celebrate Christmas. And it was quite obvious that ‘nearly’ had truly meant not everyone was going to be there. When they’d done introductions downstairs, it had been mentioned that Fleur and Bill’s family would be joining the rest of the group that was still coming later.

But that didn’t account for everybody.

“Are these new?”

Harry looked up at the sound of the voice, unaware that he’d been slowly walking down the hallway as he’d been lost in thought. Hermione was only a few feet away, watching him curiously as she stood admiring a section of wall.

“Yeah...those weren’t here when you guys were here last,” Harry replied as he stopped beside her, glancing at the line of six black and white framed photographs hanging on the wall. “I just got around to putting them up in the past week or so. The prospect of having everyone here sort of kick-started my unpacking and decorating the house.”

“These are yours?” Hermione asked. “You took these?” she clarified as she caught the slight confusion in his expression.

Harry nodded, his own gaze glancing over the portraits. These had been gifts from Maria and Steve when he’d moved here. They had come across several pictures of Sophie he’d taken over the years and had had them professionally matted and framed. They were simple moments of everyday life he’d managed to capture from the time she was only a few months old, until as recently as earlier this year.That was one of the neat things about being a photographer and nearly always having a camera handy--he had plenty of images that helped him record his daughter’s life thus far.

“You really are very talented, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile, causing Harry to blush and return the smile a bit sheepishly. It seemed that since remembered everything, he’d had a lot harder time with people complimented or occasionally fawning over his work. There was a part of him that was strangely embarrassed by that type of praise and attention now. In his younger days he’d have relished in it, sometimes to the point of being slightly cocky about his talent and abilities.

“Perhaps we’ll have to have you do some family photos for us,” Hermione added. “We haven’t had one done since before Scarlett was born.”

“I’d definitely be up to doing something like that for you guys,” Harry replied. “I was kind of hoping I’d be able to get some pictures of everyone while you were all here. Nothing formal--it’s not really what I do--but just to have some pictures of everyone would be nice.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and they fell into a momentary silence.

“She’s working.”

Harry glanced down at Hermione, but remained quiet.

“Ginny’s covering a match in Australia for The Prophet,” Hermione went on.

Harry swallowed heavily and nodded.

Finally someone had come to it.

He’d noticed that she hadn’t come with the others and that Hermione hadn’t mentioned her whereabouts before now. How could he not have? She was the one person he thought about every day and who he was most worried about how things would be when and if they would meet again. He could only guess at how much he’d hurt her with what he’d done and the silence of the other’s regarding Ginny did nothing to help with that worry.

“It didn’t sound like she was going to make the trip,” Hermione added quietly, as though she could sense Harry’s uneasiness about the subject.

“I didn’t expect her to,” Harry sighed out shakily.

“She’s just got a lot to work out,” Hermione admitted.

“I hurt her,” Harry said quietly, shaking her head. “And I can’t expect her to just get over that and forgive me.”

“I know everyone else seems to be embracing the fact that I’m here and that I’m alive,” Harry began again. “Which--in itself--is more than I could have ever expected. But with her it’s--”

“Different,” Hermione supplied in understanding of the thought that he was attempting to articulate.

Harry nodded.

“I’m almost afraid to see her again,” Harry admitted quietly.

“It may take her some time. I’m not quite sure what exactly is going on in her head,” Hermione replied. “But I know you two will talk at some point,” she continued.

There was something odd in both Hermione’s expression and her last statement. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it. She sounded certain about that possibility when Harry couldn’t find that same inevitability in the situation.

“I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me,” Harry said truthfully.

Hermione didn’t offer any more words, but instead placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I certainly didn’t want to keep her away from her family for Christmas,” Harry admitted after a few moments. “If I’d have realized that it meant she’d stay away and she and her kids not be around family for the holidays...maybe I wouldn’t have...” he added, trailing away thoughtfully.

“She’s doing what she needs to to keep herself busy,” Hermione offered. “And her boys...her boys are celebrating Christmas with Paul’s family,” she added.

Again there was something different in Hermione’s tone as she spoke and she seemed to shift her feet and stance--almost as though she was uncomfortable with something in the course of their conversation.

Harry thought for a moment about asking her outright if he’d said something wrong or if there was something more going on. But before he could do anything, Hermione let out a long sigh, and removed her hand from his shoulder.

“I better get back downstairs,” she said. “I just came up here to make sure Scarlett was behaving.”

Harry scrutinized his old friend for a moment longer before finding his voice again.

“They’re getting along,” Harry assured her. “I just checked on them and they seemed to be having a good time.”

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“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Jackson?” Paul asked for the third time in the last half hour.

Jackson nodded his head, looking up from his preoccupied silence to answer.

“Yeah...I’m not really feeling all that well,” he added, not completely fabricating the truth with his statement.

“Alright. The food is there if you’re feeling better later. Feel free to help yourself to whatever looks good,” Paul assured him. “And if you need something for a headache, stomachache, whatever...just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Jackson added with another nod.

Paul fixed him with one last appraising look before he turned away and returned to conversation with one of his brothers.

Truth was Jackson’s stomach was in knots and the thoughts that were running rampant in his head were actually causing it to physically hurt.

Normally he wouldn’t have had to be asked twice about whether he wanted something to eat. Both his Gran and his mum often joked about where he put all the food he ate. He was 17 and a growing boy who was always hungry. But at the moment he didn’t have much of an appetite. He’d nibbled on a few snacks that had been set out when he and Alex had first arrived, but he hadn’t joined the crowd that had descended on the kitchen when the dinner buffet had been set out.

He’d instead retired to the sitting room, claiming a nice cushy armchair in front of the television. But he hadn’t taken any interest in whatever holiday special the rest of the guests and family members were watching or the conversations going on around him. While his eyes may have been trained on the screen, his mind kept drifting back to a few hours ago and the conversation he’d had just before he’d come to Paul’s.

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(Earlier)

“Anybody home?”

Jackson looked up from the sink, spitting the last of the toothpaste from his mouth into it. He definitely recognized the voice coming from the kitchen. Only he was totally surprised to be hearing it at all.

Rinsing out his mouth once more and grabbing a towel from the rack to attempt to dry his still dripping wet hair, Jackson stepped out into the hallway from the bathroom and made his way towards the sound of the voice, which had called out again.

“If it isn’t the beauty queen himself,” Jackson heard someone snicker just as he lifted the towel from his head.

“I was just drying it,” he defended himself as he came face to face with Teddy Lupin, who was leaning against the far counter-top. “It really sticks up if I use the Drying Charm on my hair.”

“Yeah...I’m pretty sure it’s not going to make a difference, Scruffy,” Teddy teased with a smile.

“You should really be the one calling someone a ‘beauty queen’,” Jackson shot back. “You’re the one with the ever-changing colored hair. And is that another earring?”

Teddy’s hand shot up to his left ear where there was a large diamond.

“Just one more,” Teddy admitted with a grin.

It had been months since he’d seen Teddy. Teddy was a year and a few months older than Jackson. And although he wasn’t actually family, they’d grown up with that type of relationship. Being the oldest of the Weasley grandchildren, Teddy had been the one kid that Jackson could look up to.

Not ashamed to admit it, Jackson sometimes looked at Teddy as the big brother he didn’t have. Being a Metamorphmagus like his mother, Teddy could always shift his features and hair on a whim. As they had grown older and gotten on in school, he did it to entertain people and impress girls. Teddy was popular, he was smooth, he was cool.

Even now Teddy was exuding coolness. His hair was his favorite turquoise, casually falling onto his face in a sort of designed messiness that Jackson could never hope to achieve. He had a few piercings and Jackson knew of one tattoo that he had. And he was always dressed in whatever the latest fashion was--Wizard or Muggle.

And since leaving Hogwarts last year, Teddy had been working as an apprentice curse-breaker in South America. That’s where he’d been since graduation and Jackson had only heard from him through letters he’d sent regaling Jackson with stories of some of the cooler experiences he’d had at work and in exploring some of the nightlife over there.

But Teddy wasn’t supposed to home from South America for the holidays for another day, so his appearance was a little unexpected.

“So what did I do to earn a visit from Mr. Curse Breaker?” Jackson teased, yet his question cutting to the heart of his own curiosity. “I thought you weren’t going to be back until tomorrow?”

“I decided to come home a bit earlier,” Teddy offered, oddly loosing a bit of the teasing bravado he’d used before. “Thought I’d try and catch you before you and Alex left for Paul’s.”

“We’ll be leaving in a little while. I’m just finishing getting ready before I side-along us there,” Jackson explained.

“What did you do? Just get up now?” Teddy asked, noting that it was late-afternoon and Jackson was just showering for the day.

“I had a bit of a lie in,” Jackson admitted with a shrug. Truthfully he’d not been real motivated as of late and hadn’t been sleeping extremely well. As a result he’d been sleeping in late and had actually missed a few classes while he’d been at school as a result. He’d gotten reprimands and even a detention from one of his professors, but when he’d expected Headmistress McGonagall to get involved--she remained completely silent on his behavior.

“Right,” Teddy replied with a raised brow. “Where is Alex anyway?”

“I think he’s downstairs--probably watching telly or playing some game,” Jackson responded. “Why?” he added.

“Just thought maybe we could talk...just the two of us,” Teddy said with a shrug. “It’s been months since I’ve been home and you haven’t really said a whole lot in your last few letters.”

“Hasn’t been much to talk about,” Jackson replied rather weakly, not liking where this conversation was being steered by his friend.

“I’d say there’s been awful lot going on, mate,” Teddy countered, raising his brow at Jackson’s indifference. “Some pretty crazy and--big--things,” Teddy added.

Jackson fixed Teddy with a questioning look.

“I talked to my mum a few days ago via a shotty Floo connection we managed to get,” Teddy explained. “She said it wasn’t something to put into a letter and try and explain...so she gave me a pretty good overview of what’s been going on,” Teddy added.

Jackson said nothing.

“How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Jackson said dismissively as he avoided Teddy’s concerned gaze.

“I wouldn’t think that this would be something you’d be ‘fine’ about, Jackson,” Teddy replied.

“Well, I am,” Jackson reiterated. “And what would you know about it?” he added rather testily.

“Well, I know you’re still here at home,” Teddy replied. Again, Jackson didn’t follow what Teddy wanted him to say or how he was supposed to react and was sure his confusion was showing on his face.

“You’d think that if you were okay that you’d be over with the rest of the family for Christmas...meeting your dad,” Teddy continued. “I’d think that’d be the first thing you’d do.”

“Well you’re not me,” Jackson replied tensely. “And it’s not as simple as that.”

“Sorry,” Teddy said with a sigh, his sudden retreat surprising Jackson. “I’m the last person you probably want to talk about all this with.”

“Why’s that?” Jackson asked as his curiosity got the best of him.

“Well...considering how my dad’s involved in all this,” Teddy offered. “I wasn’t sure if maybe you’d get a few swings in on me too.”

Jackson shook his head and let out a heavy sigh of his own.

“I heard you got him pretty good,” Teddy stated.

Jackson nodded.

“I probably would have done the same thing,” Teddy admitted, causing Jackson to look up and meet Teddy’s gaze for the first time.

“I don’t understand him,” Teddy continued on. “I don’t know how he could have just gone along with everything, knowing what he did...”

“Well, he did,” Jackson replied, swallowing heavily. “But why would I hold that against you?” Jackson asked quietly.

This time it was Teddy who did not answer, but Jackson suddenly thought he understood what Teddy might be getting at.

“Nothing about this is fair,” Jackson said softly.

“Yeah...but what my father did--the promises he made--took yours away from you,” Teddy replied quietly. “I’d say the only one this isn’t fair for, is you.”

Jackson paused for a moment, knowing what he really wanted to say. It was something he’d been telling himself every time the urge to rage at Remus or the others cropped up within himself.

“But if your dad had broken that promise at any time and told somebody--the Vow would have killed him and you wouldn’t have him,” Jackson told him seriously. “You’d be the one who grew up without their father. Like I said--nothing is fair about all this.”

“Your dad was just a kid, mine wasn’t and he should have known and understood better the repercussions,” Teddy tried to argue.

“Well, he’s not anymore,” Jackson countered. “And it doesn’t really matter what did or didn’t or should have happened...it’s not going to change anything.”

That much was what Jackson had convinced himself over the last few weeks. He was angry, he was confused and there wasn’t much he was sure of, but he knew that there was no way to go back and make anything right. Things were the way they were and he was going to have to try and put everything together.

“You’re right,” Teddy agreed with a reluctant nod. “But it still sucks.”

Jackson nodded his agreement. That much he could agree with Teddy on.

“But why are you still here?” Teddy asked after a few seconds. “Why aren’t you over there?”

“I can’t just show up,” Jackson replied shaking his head.

“Why not?”

Jackson raised his brow at the question. How could Teddy not understand why it wasn’t as simple as that?

“My mum isn’t going to be there,” Jackson began. “And she’s told everyone that she wants to be the one to tell him...about me.”

“Is that solely her decision to make?” Teddy asked seriously. “I mean--truthfully--I think he’s going to be pretty shocked or stunned no matter who tells him or how he finds out...”

Jackson didn’t respond immediately to Teddy’s suggestion. The question his friend had raised was something that he’d been forced to contemplate and think about in the time since he’d found out that his father was alive. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or how he was supposed to act on that thought.

“It’s what she wants,” Jackson replied quietly. “And I don’t want to do anything to hurt or upset her anymore than she already is...”

“In her letters and in the time we’ve been home from school until she left for Australia, she’s been different,” Jackson added. “She was distracted and almost--lost...”

Teddy looked at him sympathetically.

“No matter what I might want, I won’t go against her,” Jackson said quietly.

“I know you don’t want to do anything that would cause your mum pain or make her angry,” Teddy began slowly. “But I still think that maybe in this case, you can stand to be a bit selfish and think about what you want in all this...”

Again Jackson did not respond to Teddy’s words, but continued to mull them over in his head.

“Anyway...I thought I’d give you this before I left,” Teddy said after a few seconds. Jackson looked to find Teddy holding out a silver chain with a large locket hanging from it.

“It’s a Portkey,” Teddy explained as he took in Jackson’s confused expression.

“I thought that if you decide change your mind later, you’ll have a way to get there,” Teddy added.

“Aren’t you going?” Jackson asked. Teddy nodded. “Then I can’t take this. How are you going to--”

“I’m gonna take the trip in stages,” Teddy said, cutting him off. “I’ll Apparate to the three stopping off points. It’ll take a bit longer and be a bit taxing...but I’ll be alright.”

Jackson knew that International Portkey wasn’t the only way to make the trans-Atlantic trip. Witches and wizards could take the trip in a series of 3 Apparition stages--two of which were station platforms in the middle of the ocean. Apparition over that long of a distance was impossible in one shot, so the stages had been designed to allow people to stop at these stations, rest and recover for a bit before moving to the next destination.

“Just take it,” Teddy repeated, gesturing for Jackson to take the chain. “You don’t have to go...but just in case...”

Hesitantly Jackson reached out his hand and took the heavy locket from Teddy.

“You open it to activate it,” Teddy advised as Jackson turned the locket over in his hand, half-expecting it to have whisked him away the moment he touched it.

“Well...I better go. I’ve got one more stop to make before I skip over the pond,” Teddy offered after another few moments of silence.

“Be safe,” Jackson advised.

Teddy nodded.

“Can I ask you a question before I go?” Teddy asked suddenly, turning back towards Jackson after making a move to leave.

Jackson shrugged.

“Is your mum the only reason you’re deciding not to go?” Teddy asked. “Or is there more to it?”

Jackson looked down and away from Teddy, torn between staying silent and telling his friend what had also been bothering him. He knew he could trust Teddy not to judge him or trivialize anything he would say. He would listen and take him seriously and offer whatever advice he might have.

“I’ve always had this picture in my head...of what he was like,” Jackson began. “The general public has this perception of him as their hero and all that...and to a certain extent he’s been a sort of larger than life figure in mine too.”

“I mean...not in the way that others think of him exactly....but I’ve always been told how he was a great man and how brave and selfless he was,” Jackson continued.

“All my family have always tried to make sure I knew things about what kind of a person he was...telling me stories and sharing memories,” Jackson added. “When I was younger, my mum always told me that when I was scared or sad or whatever...I could just talk to him and he’d be able to hear me--that he was up there and loved me.”

“And you’re afraid that might change?” Teddy asked seriously.

“Kind of,” Jackson admitted. “I mean...what am I supposed to think? Everything I thought I knew about what happened or how things were has been totally blown away. The picture that I’ve always had in my head...the life that I thought I’d been living up until now...none of it happened the way I thought.”

“It turns out my dad was off living his life as some other bloke,” Jackson added. “And I don’t know what kind of man I’m going to meet. And yes, I’m afraid that it’ll change everything I’ve ever known about him...”

“I think that fear is perfectly normal,” Teddy told him. “I know it’s not the same thing...but I’m sort of nervous to meet him too. He’s my godfather and I’m not sure how that relationship holds up through all this.”

Jackson had nearly forgotten the fact that his father was Teddy’s named godfather. In all the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts that had been going through his head in the past few weeks, it had been something that he hadn’t thought on. Although--as Teddy had pointed out--it wasn’t quite the same level of weariness, they both had something to lose in all of this.

“But I think you’ve got to remember, Jackson,” Teddy continued on. “Is that none of this changes who you are. You’re still the same bloke you’ve always been and no matter what happens from now on, you’ve got your mum, your brother...and you’ve got me. We’re always going to be there to make sure you’re okay.”

Jackson nodded his understanding--and to some degree--his thanks at hearing Teddy’s words. There was a sense of reassurance in what Teddy had just said. It had seemed lately that everything was so uncertain and the future so muddled, so it was quite refreshing to have something clear and firm to latch onto.

“Well...I really have to be going,” Teddy added with a long sigh. “If I don’t see you later...Merry Christmas, Jackson.”
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Reflexively Jackson’s hand closed around the locket in the pocket of his jeans as he sat amongst the crowd of Christmas guests. Teddy’s words were still with him, both annoying and confusing him more than before and continuing to give him something to ponder over.

Sitting here was doing him no good. He knew that he was not going to enjoy himself and be able to engage in the merriment that everyone around him seemed to be engrossed in. As difficult a decision he was ultimately going to have to make, it wasn’t something he was going to figure out from here.

Quietly Jackson stood from his seat and walked out of the room with nobody really paying any attention to his departure. Jackson moved silently, only having to sidestep anyone when someone unexpectedly emerged from the hallway bathroom, before he made his way to Alex’s bedroom. He quietly closed the door behind him, leaving himself bathed in near total darkness--the only dim light filtering in through the large window.

Jackson glanced over towards his own rucksack in the corner. If he was to stay, he’d be sharing this room with Alex, which is what he’d done on the few occasions he had since his mum and Paul had divorced. But right now he wasn’t thinking about the items he’d packed for an overnight here, but whether he was going to pick the pack up, open the locket in his pocket and move towards another destination.

“So are you going?”

Jackson was startled out of his contemplation and looked up to find his little brother standing in the doorway. Alex had also succeeded in flipping on the lights without Jackson noticing.

“Huh?” Jackson replied automatically.

“Are you going to take the Portkey?” Alex asked as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“How did you--?”

“I heard you talking to Teddy earlier today,” Alex explained. “I came up from downstairs when I heard him come in--but I stopped when I heard you two talking...I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded serious.”

“I guess it was,” Jackson agreed.

“So...are you going?” Alex asked, and Jackson could only shrug.

“You’re thinking about it,” Alex added. It was not a question, but a statement.

“Yeah,” Jackson admitted with a heavy sigh. “I can’t stop thinking, actually...”

“You should go,” Alex offered, and Jackson through him a curious look. “Teddy was right...and I know what mum wants and all that...but I think it should be your choice. He is your dad.”

Jackson could only continue to stare at his little brother with a certain amount of surprise. He knew Alex was well aware of what had transpired these past few weeks, but they hadn’t really discussed it between themselves. He wasn’t sure what his brother thought of all that had been going on, so it was certainly interesting to hear him speak now.

“I probably shouldn’t leave--I haven’t really visited Paul in a while,” Jackson replied quietly.

“I think he’ll understand this,” Alex assured him. “I’ll go let him know and then we can go,” Alex added.

“We?” Jackson asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah...I was supposed to originally be with Mum and the family for Christmas anyway and I’ll come back to my dad’s for New Years,” Alex said with a shrug. “I don’t think he’ll mind when I tell him that and he’ll feel better if you don’t go alone.”

“The whole family is here--” Jackson pointed out.

“And most of them will be here for New Years,” Alex pointed out. “You should go and I want to go with you...”

“Why do you want to go with?” Jackson asked curiously.

“I just kind of want to be there for you,” Alex admitted. “Plus...your dad...is Harry Potter, you know...”

Jackson let out a surprise chuckle at Alex’s last comment.

“Yeah...I kinda knew that,” Jackson replied as he managed an amused smirk at his brother.

“Sorry...” Alex quietly apologized, realizing that the small bit of excitement he had shown over meeting someone so famous in their world, despite the personal nature of the situation, may have been a bit much.

“It’s alright,” Jackson assured him. “That bit still kinda gets me too sometimes.”

Alex nodded his thanks for his older brother’s understanding and looked relieved that he hadn’t said anything to upset Jackson.

Jackson stood there for a few moments, letting the earlier words from Teddy flow together with the ones his brother just spoken to him.

What did he have to lose by going? True, his mum would most likely be upset with him--but he hoped that feeling would only be temporary for her and that she would understand why he needed to do this.

He had a chance to get back something he’d always yearned for. He wasn’t sure how things would go from here or what sort of relationship could be fostered after everything that had transpired--but he had to try at least.

These past few weeks of waiting and wondering while obeying what everyone else expected of him had been torture for Jackson. Waiting had gone against everything his mind and his heart were screaming at him to do. He had to find out for himself what was awaiting him...

“Alright, go ask your dad,” Jackson finally said with a sigh.

“Really?” Alex asked, seemingly gobsmacked that his brother had actually agreed.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied with a nod. “I’ll need all the help I can dealing with Mum."

Back to index


Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Coming Clean

Author's Notes: It has been a good long while and a long-time coming...but I'm finally posting this chapter here. Its been up on my Livejournal for a while....but I've been busy with graduation and moving halfway across the country the past few months, that I forgot to update here. And you'll be happy to know that I'll have another bit coming in the next day or so beside this one. Enjoy!


“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Harry looked up, startled for a moment out of his quiet contemplation. He’d been leaning against a wall, quietly listening in on a conversation between Ron, George, Fred and few others as he’d sipped from his mug of warm, spiced cider.

The men and boys, as well as Fleur and Bill’s family had arrived a few hours ago and the second wave of anxious and slightly awkward hellos and introductions had taken place. He had had a chance to meet all the nephews, as well as Remus and Tonks’ son, John. As he’d expected, there had been a few tense reunions and Charlie and Bill both been a bit reserved in their reactions compared to the others. The twins had both welcomed him warmly, cracking a few jokes to lighten the mood. Mr. Weasley had pulled him into a tight hug, the embrace and the emotion showing in his clear blue as as they separated, relaying more than any words could.

The slight awkwardness and continued for a little longer until dinner had been served. Once the food had been dished out and they had all settled in, the conversation seemed to flow more freely and the atmosphere became relaxed. Family stories came out, along with the laughter and warmness that Harry had once, long ago associated with a Weasley gathering. Sophie also seemed to be doing her fair share of entertaining her guests, a lot of her antics and questions drawing laughs and smiles. And Harry had been seemingly easily drawn into conversation as well, with several people asking him questions about his job or commenting about his home and daughter.

But as easily as it seemed that things had slipped back into something manageable and comfortable, Harry’s attention had admittedly been drawn away from the conversation going on around him for the last 20 minutes.

A late arrival, whom he hadn’t been introduced to as of yet, had piqued his interest.

Remembering that someone had spoken to him, Harry’s eyes settled on Tonks, who had come to stand beside him and who’s eyes were also focused on the young man across the room. Harry looked back down at Tonks, raising a brow in question.

“It’s hard to believe he was just a little thing the last time you saw him,” Tonks explained with a smile as she glanced back across the room.

Harry followed Tonks’ gaze back to the young man, trying carefully to take in his appearance. His, mid-length brown hair fell carefully across his forehead--just above his eyes so that every few seconds he had to brush it out of the way. He had a casual coolness about him--from the earrings he was wearing to the subtle and calculated flamboyance of his clothes.

“Thats...is that...Teddy?” Harry asked as realization seemed to come to him fast and hard.

Tonks smiled and nodded.

“That’s my little boy...well, not so little anymore,” Tonks mused.

“Wow...” was all Harry managed to breathe out as he shook his head slightly in amazement. To think that the young man he was looking at was the same little boy he remembered. He’d been only a few months old the last time he’d seen the squirmy little, turquoise-haired baby boy and had gotten to awkwardly try to hold him for the first time.

“I know. He’s all grown up,” Tonks said lightheartedly. “Almost makes me feel old,” she added with a smile.

“So he’s about...eighteen?” Harry asked.

“Going on nineteen,” Tonks added with a nod. “He’s all done with school and has been living in South America for the past few months, training to be a Curse Breaker,” Tonks said proudly.

“That’s why he was late in getting here,” Tonks continued.

“I’m glad he could come,” Harry said even as he continued to take in his godson.

“Would you like to meet him?” Tonks asked.

“Does he know...I mean...am I still...his godfather?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“You are, and yes, he knows,” Tonks assured him. “We’ve made sure that he’s always known that you’re his godfather,” she added with a smile.

Harry nodded his thanks and understanding even as he tried to come to grips with the fact that he had totally forgotten about his godson amidst everything that had been going on. All those years ago he’d been given the responsibility by Tonks and Remus and it was just another thing he’d have to continue to make amends for now that he had reentered their lives.

“Hey, Ted...Teddy,” Tonks called across the room. Teddy looked up at the sound of his name, and looked inquiringly at his mum. Tonks nodded her head, gesturing him over.

Harry watched as the tall young man stood up from his seat, navigating his way through the little groups of people gathered around the living room towards them. Cautiously and hesitantly, Teddy came to a stop next to his mum.

“Feeling any more rested from the trip?” Tonks asked Teddy, who nodded.

“Now that I got a chance to sit for a bit,” Teddy admitted, his eyes flicking towards Harry for a moment.

“He took the trip via the International Apparition System,” Tonks explained. “It’s three separate legs and can be a bit tiring and disorienting if you don’t take your time.”

“I’m glad you could make it,” Harry said, addressing Teddy with what he hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Me too,” Teddy said with a nod as his blue-grey eyes met Harry’s for the first time. The eyes were all Remus, but standing next to Tonks, Harry could see that the rest of Teddy’s facial features were very much his mother’s. “It’s amazing to actually meet you,” Teddy added, as he seemed to be scrutinizing and taking in Harry in return.

“Yeah...amazing,” Harry said as he let a shaky breath out, still trying to wrap his head around things.

“Considering the last time I saw you, you were this big,” Harry continued, using his hands to indicate that Teddy had still been a baby. “And we kept trying to get you to turn your hair to anything other than turquoise,” he added, suddenly remembering the last time he’d seen his godson.

It had been a few days before the final confrontation and he’d been at the Burrow when Tonks had brought the little boy over. Like the few other times he’d seen Teddy, Harry remembered feeling so nervous about holding and playing with him. He had never been around little children before that and he was afraid he’d do something wrong. After reassurances and encouragement from both Tonks and Mrs. Weasley, he’d finally been able to settle down with Teddy in a chair in the sitting room, watching as the little boy became entranced with a Snitch Harry had produced and had fluttering above them.

Then Ginny had come in and set beside him and they’d tried to get Teddy to change his hair--first to red and then to black. They hadn’t been successful in swaying the little boy’s hair choice, but Harry remembered that it had been one of those too good to be true moments--one that he’d never been able to comprehend how he’d ever been lucky enough to experience...

“Its still his favorite color,” Tonks said with a laugh, bringing Harry back to the conversation. “In fact, I’m surprised you’ve gone with brown,” she added, addressing her son.

“I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself,” Teddy admitted. “So I decided to go all natural,” he added, indicating that he’d not performed any noticeable changes to his appearance for the occasion.

“Well, I do sometimes like to remember what that handsome face of yours looks like without all the flair and crazy hair,” Tonks admitted, as Teddy looked slightly embarrassed. “I see the earrings still made the cut though,” she added, further teasing her oldest son about his flamboyant choice of ear-wear. “Really sweetheart, do they have to be so big?”

“Mum,” Teddy mumbled, as he cracked an embarrassed smile and shook his head slightly.

Harry couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own as he watched the interaction between mother and son. It still seemed so surreal that he was standing here, not only with Tonks, but with a nearly full-grown Teddy Lupin.

“I used to have one too,” Harry admitted, hoping that interjecting himself into the conversation again might draw attention away from Teddy and break the ice a bit more. Both Tonks and Teddy looked curiously at Harry for his comment.

“An earring,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I had my eyebrow pierced too for a while,” he added.

“Really?” both Teddy and Tonks asked at the same time. Tonks seemed rather surprised his admission, whereas Teddy seemed almost impressed.

“Really,” Harry confirmed. “I thought I was pretty cool at the time. I did a lot of things over the years that I thought were pretty cool...most of them were pretty ridiculous now that I look back on them,” he said with a smile.

“Not that you look ridiculous,” Harry added, when he caught the expression on Teddy’s face and became suddenly aware of how his last comments may have been taken by the young man.

“The earrings are manageable,” Tonks said with a shrug. “But at least he hasn’t gone out and gotten himself covered in tattoos,” she added with a smile as she gave her son a playful squeeze and moved away from the pair.

At the mention of tattoos, Harry had caught a slightly worried look on Teddy’s face that he quickly tried to hide from his mother as she moved away. After she’d turned her back, Teddy gave him an uneasy look that clearly told Harry that a) Teddy definitely had a tattoo & b) his mother knew nothing about it.

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Harry spent the next half hour or so talking with his godson. The two had found a pair of empty chairs in the corner of the living room and had had a surprisingly easy time finding something to talk about despite the lack of common ground that Harry’s 17 years absence had wrought. Looking for something to talk about, Harry had simply started with questions about Teddy’s apprenticeship.

It had only taken a few questions for Teddy’s nervousness to abate and soon they were sharing stories of some of their experiences in some mutual South American countries. Harry had been a few places--Brazil and Argentina, mainly--over the years for work. He remembered enjoying the nightlife back then, and it was interesting and amusing to get Teddy’s take on it that included a wizarding perspective.

After a solid conversation,Teddy finally excused himself to the bathroom and Harry stood up and made his way towards the kitchen to get himself something to drink. It seemed everyone had congregated to other parts of the house--some of the younger guests downstairs in the finished part of the basement and the adults in the living room and out on the back deck, which had been charmed by Hermione to stay heated and warm even in the midst of winter.

Harry pulled a soda from the refrigerator and opened it, leaning against the counter as he took a long swig from the can. He took a moment to decompress and let everything from the past few start to sink in. The meeting with Teddy and the subsequent conversation had been a lot to take in and he was still trying to process it all. He was an amazing, charismatic young man and Harry couldn’t believe--that in all the excitement and anxiousness that the weeks leading up to now held--he’d let his previous title and responsibilities to Teddy slip from his mind. He only hoped now that he’d be able to create and sustain some sort of bond and relationship with his grown godson.

Harry took another few minutes to finish his drink and enjoy a period of quiet and solitude in the kitchen before he tossed the empty can in the recycling. Just as the can hit the bottom of the bin with a faint and slightly muffled clang, the doorbell rang. The sound of the chime echoing down the hallway brought Harry back from his contemplation.

Harry’s first raction was to furrow his brow in confusion. As far as he knew, everyone that was supposed to be there, was. Slightly panicked, he hoped that it wasn’t anyone dropping in to surprise him--perhaps Steve, Maria, or one of their kids. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain away the large gathering of strangers he currently had at his home.

His second reaction was to leave the kitchen and move down the hallway towards the door. But just before he’d rounded the corner, the sound of stocking feet moving quickly across the hardwood floor met his ears. It seemed two pairs of little feet were were slipping and sliding down the hallway towards the door ahead of them.

As he turned the corner, he caught sight of the two little girls responsible for the noise. Sophie’s black hair and Scarlett’s brown came into view and before Harry could warn them to slow down and let him get it, he watched as Sophie pulled the door open.

Both girls greeted the still unseen person behind the door and Scarlett began to jump up and down in excitement, her little voice squeaking enthusiastically--Harry could barely make out what it was that Scarlett was saying until he was standing directly behind the door.

“Daddy said you weren’t coming,” he heard Scarlett say. “But you’re here!” she chirped excitedly.

Before there was any chance for the person in question to respond, Harry heard his own daughter speak just as he reached for the door handle.

“Who is that?” Sophie asked quietly as curiously just as Harry’s hand closed around the handle and he slowly pulled the oak door open.

The air vacated Harry’s lungs even before the door had been fully opened as he attempted to take in the person standing on the snow covered porch. Harry could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

“Its Auntie Ginny,” Scarlett squealed as she jumped up into her aunt’s arms.

But Harry did not need any confirmation to know who was standing before him.

She’d been beautiful at 17. Now, Ginny was stunning.

Her vibrant red hair was cut a bit shorter than it had been, but it fell silkily in cascading waves that framed her face. She was older--as they all were--but time had only improved what he’d once considered perfection in itself.

She was still on the shorter side--a petite thing really. Or maybe he’d just gotten taller? He wasn’t sure...

But even with her wool jacket on, it was form-fitting enough to reveal a curvier figure than he’d remembered. She’d been slightly tom-boyish as a teenager--her body lean, yet powerful from years of being outdoors in the land surrounding the Burrow and hours upon hours of time on a broom in the air. Not that he’d minded at all back then, he mused internally as several moments from the past suddenly rushed forward to greet him...

But she was definitely a woman now...and a gorgeous one at that.

His gaze went from her body to her face and his eyes met her deep brown eyes--ones that were staring back at him, reminding him that he had been openly gawking at her for the past few seconds as the door had remained open and she was still standing out in the cold.

As awkward as he felt and was sure that he looked from being caught staring at her, her expression and her eyes gave no indication as to what she was feeling or thinking. There was almost an air of indifference about her...

“Now I very well couldn’t go a Christmas without seeing my favorite girl, could I now?” Ginny teased as her eyes were drawn back to her niece, who she’d lifted up and was now holding. A smile soon replaced that unreadable expression and Ginny looked down at Scarlett with a genuine happiness that again made Harry lose hold on all the air in his lungs.

“No you couldn’t,” Scarlett giggled as her aunt placed a kiss upon her forehead and brushed away a stray curl from the little girl’s face.

“Did you bring presents?” Scarlett added a second later in a conspiratorial whisper.

Ginny could do nothing to hold back her amusement and she chuckled as she set her niece down and gently patted the bag she’d had slung over her shoulder.

“You’ll just have to wait and see...” Ginny teased.

“We bought presents,” Sophie chimed in this time. Harry watched as Ginny’s gaze moved over his own daughter--that smile still on Ginny’s face. “But we can’t open them til’ later,” she added.

“I picked out the toys,” Sophie then said rather proudly. “And my daddy helped,” she added, casting off his involvement as if he’d merely been present during the buying of the gifts.

“Well that’s very thoughtful of you,” Ginny said as she bent down slightly to put herself nearer the girls’ level.

“You must be Sophie...” she said quietly as her expression softened--her smile mixing with a myriad of other emotions that Harry wasn’t sure he could place.

Sophie nodded.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Ginny said warmly as she greeted the little girl. Sophie beamed back brightly at Ginny.

“Are the boys coming?” Scarlett asked suddenly, interrupting the scene.

Ginny turned her attention to her niece again, shaking her head and giving Scarlett a nervous smile.

“No, they’re not coming, sweetheart,” Ginny replied. “But I’m sure that when you get back that they’ll want to hear all about your trip and what you got for Christmas,” Ginny added on a little bit brighter note.

Scarlett, however, looked a bit down at the news that her cousins weren’t coming and she turned her attention away from her aunt.

“Come on,” Scarlett urged as she rounded on Sophie. “Let’s go tell my mummy that Auntie Ginny is here,” she added, gesturing for her new friend to follow her. It obviously wasn’t going to take much persuading for Sophie to follow along. Without any more conversation, the two little girls were again scampering down the hallway and away from the two adults standing in the entryway.

That left Harry alone with Ginny and a very tense silence that seemed to envelope the small hallway.

Harry couldn’t force himself to speak--he wasn’t sure what he should say. The awkward nervousness he’d felt with the others upon their arrival was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He’d expected anger from her and had hoped--although admittedly that hope was a rather lofty and improbable one for his dreams only--that she’d for some reason accept him and run into his arms again.

But he was getting none of that. She was standing on the threshold, her expression and demeanor detached and unreadable as she seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Can I--I take your jacket?” Harry asked, both hesitantly and rushed as he tried to figure out how to break the silence. His words sounded odd to himself and he immediately felt stupid after asking the question.

He’d made a conscious decision to leave her behind and hadn’t seen her for nearly 18 years and the first thing out of his mouth was to ask if he could take her coat?

“Sure,” Ginny replied quietly after looking startled for a few seconds before she began to unbutton her coat and remove it. Harry stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move or think of anything else to say. After a few seconds, Ginny had pulled off her jacket and hesitantly held it out for him to take.

“I’ll just--er--put it in here--with the others,” Harry added, gesturing to the hall closet where he’d put some of the others. Ginny nodded nervously and stood still as Harry placed her coat in the hall closet, hanging it up next to several others.

When he turned back around, Ginny was looking around, taking in the wood floors and high ceiling above her.

“You have a beautiful home,” she replied as she caught him with a fleeting glance before she moved her attention away to observing again.

Harry nodded his thanks.

“It’s good to see you,” Harry replied automatically, hoping that somehow they’d be able to breakthrough this painful tension. “Hermione said you had work and couldn’t come...”

“The match ended early,” Ginny replied even as Harry’s voice trailed away. “And since everyone else was here...I figured that maybe it would be alright...”

“You’re more than welcome here,” Harry assured her as he swallowed heavily.

Ginny nodded nervously, doing nothing to bridge the silence or make this meeting any easier for either of them.

“Ginny...I--” Harry began, not knowing whether he was going to attempt to apologize or what was actually going to come out of his mouth. But he was interrupted as Ginny’s attention was drawn away from him.

“Sweetheart!” Harry heard a woman greet warmly from behind him and he turned to find Molly Weasley coming down the hallway, welcoming her daughter with open arms.

Ginny stepped forward into her mother’s embrace and the two women hugged in the hallway, leaving Harry to stand aside, watching the meeting.

“Scarlett said you’d come, but I wasn’t sure if I should believe her,” Molly said as she pulled away, holding her daughter at arms length to scrutinize her. “You look tired, luv,” she added.

“I’m fine,” Ginny said with a smile as she tried to brush her off her mother’s fussing. “Just a long trip,” she added.

“Right,” Molly replied after pausing another moment or so to take in her daughter. “Why don’t we get you something to eat and drink--there’s plenty left,” she added as she turned to steer Ginny down the hallway and towards the kitchen where she could undoubtedly try and fill her up.

As the two women passed, Molly tossed a glance over her shoulder, making eye contact with him. But the expression was again unreadable and Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After a few seconds the two had disappeared from sight, leaving Harry alone in the hallway to try and put himself back together before he even thought about reentering the gathering.

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“It’s good to see you,” Hermione whispered into her ear as the two women embraced.

“Good...but a bit surprising,” Hermione added as she pulled away and fixed Ginny with a curious and appraising look. It was the same look that her own mother had given her upon her arrival. It was a look that clearly relayed that they wanted to know how she was holding up and what was currently going on in her head.

Unlike the episode in the hallway, which had occurred with an audience she wasn’t ready to confront just yet, she didn’t feel she needed to completely hold back from her sister-in-law as she had with her mother.

“I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to continue to stay away,” Ginny admitted as she sighed heavily. “The match was quick and boring and the article wrote itself...and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending Christmas alone...” she added as she took a swig of her wine.

“When I gave you the extra Portkey I was hoping you’d change your mind,” Hermione replied.

“I didn’t exactly change my mind,” Ginny said quietly. “I’ve just--I’ve had some time to think things through. Not that everything has cleared itself up...but I know where I’m at with a few things.”

“So...you’re going to tell him?” Hermione asked, giving her a pointed look.

Ginny swallowed nervously.

“Yeah...its only fair,” Ginny admitted with a heavy sigh.

“I thought you weren’t concerned with being fair in all this?” Hermione replied with a questioning look.

“I’m not...exactly,” Ginny replied. “I mean...this isn’t for me or even for him,” Ginny continued quietly as she emphasized the last word. “Its about Jackson. It’s only about being fair to him. I’ve been incredibly selfish these past weeks in what I’ve been asking him to sit by and do while I try and figure my own mind out. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to come here on his own or put up more of a fight against me...”

“He knows how much you’re hurting,” Hermione offered. “And I know he’ll do anything he can to keep from making it worse for you...even if that means going against what he wants.”

“I know,” Ginny admitted. “But I can’t keep doing this to him. He deserves his chance to see what’s next...”

“Have you figured out how you’re going to do this?”

Ginny shook her head.

“That’s part of the bit that has yet to clear itself up,” Ginny admitted. “I’m not exactly sure there’s an easy or correct way to go about it, actually.”

Hermione couldn’t seem to help but nod her agreement at that last statement.

“I’d really prefer not to do this in front of everyone, but I’d also rather not wait any longer,” Ginny added. “And besides...with family here...”

“It might be nice to have a little support,” Hermione finished knowingly. Ginny could only nod. “We’re here if you need us,” Hermione added in encouragement. Ginny smiled appreciatively.

“So after you talk with him...” Hermione said curiously after a few seconds.

“I dunno exactly...bring Jackson tomorrow...” Ginny replied with a sigh. “I guess it depends on how things go...”

“One thing at a time,” Hermione offered, seemingly understanding Ginny’s reluctance to commit to any sort of concrete plan in the midst of so much uncertainty.

Again Ginny nodded.

“Not to sound pushy...but you may have your best chance to get him alone now,” Hermione advised quietly as she looked around. “I saw Harry go out onto the back deck a few minutes ago--by himself.”

Ginny allowed her eyes to sweep around the room, noting that all of her brothers and sister-in-laws were in view and she knew that the younger guests were downstairs entertaining themselves.

Hermione was right. This was the best chance she might have all night to talk to Harry without an audience. As hurt and angry as she had felt over the past few weeks, she wasn’t vindictive enough to just come out with things in front of everyone, disregarding what reaction or emotions might overcome him.

But she was scared out of her mind nonetheless--not only to divulge what she was going to--but also to be alone with Harry again. The meeting in the entryway had proved both awkward and painful as neither one seemed to be able to get a grip on themselves long enough to get past the stumbling and fumbling exchange that had occurred.

Admittedly, seeing him had thrown her for a loop. She had tried to prepare herself beforehand as to what emotions she would allow herself to show or what reaction she would have. But nothing could have prepared her for the extreme sense of nervousness that had overcome her. She had expected that her anger might manifest itself and that she might yell and unleash all the hurt and devastation that she’d carried throughout the years.

Another part of her was afraid that she might go to the other extreme as well. As much as she’d tried to suppress any of the old feelings she’d once held for Harry, she could not deny that some of them still lurked in the background--somehow forever ingrained in her consciousness. He had been her first love and--despite his absence--was the father of her son. But she was nowhere near the point where she would forget and embrace him.

Ginny let out a heavy sigh as she replaced her empty wine glass on the counter she’d been leaning on.

The time had come.

Without any more from Hermione, Ginny left the company of her sister-in-law and moved down the hallway towards the french doors she knew led to the magically-heated deck. It took a lot less time to reach the heavy wooden and glass doors than she would have liked--and before she knew it, she was standing there looking through them.

It took only a second for her eyes to adjust to the difference in light levels between the inside and the deck before she focused in on the lone occupant of the outside deck. His back was to her as he leaned against the waist-high railing. But there was no denying who she was looking at.

With another steadying breath, Ginny placed her hand on the metal handle and gently pressed down. With a near-silent ‘click’ the door the door popped open, allowing Ginny to push it open further. Even as the door swung wider on its hinges and she stepped through, Harry did not turn around or seem to notice anyone had arrived. His obliviousness continued as Ginny gently shut the door behind her.

But as she turned back towards him, the wooden planks beneath her creaked slightly. At the sound Harry straightened up and turned to look over his shoulder.

He looked startled by her sudden and quiet arrival and seemed to almost be holding his breath in nervous anticipation. But just as that thought crossed Ginny’s mind, Harry let go of the air he had been holding in and exhaled in a long, drawn-out fashion. A thick stream of smoke came from between his slighted parted lips.

Harry looked incredibly uncomfortable and almost ashamed as he tried to awkwardly and unsuccessfully distance himself from the cigarette in his left hand.

“Sorry...I...I didn’t meant to...” Harry began as he turned and flicked the offending cigarette over the edge of the railing, embers bright orange the darkening sky.

“It’s alright, it really doesn’t bother me,” Ginny said automatically.

“I mean...it does...or, I don’t exactly approve,” Ginny backtracked after a few seconds. “But it’s your home...your choice...”

Harry nodded.

“I’m trying to quit,” Harry admitted as his eyes roved over her. “Not exactly with a whole lot of success,” he added with a shrug.

“At least you’re trying,” Ginny said quietly, not understanding how the small talk between them could feel so forced.

“Yea...” Harry replied quietly as he swallowed nervously.

Another heavy silence settled over the two of them as they awkwardly appraised one another--seemingly not wanting to be caught staring by the other.

“Did you come out here to escape the chaos?” Harry offered quietly as he gestured back towards inside. There was the slightest smile on his face and a hint of amusement in his tone that Ginny wasn’t sure how to take. “I can go back inside if you’d like a few minutes to yourself...” he added.

Ginny shook her head.

“I actually...came out here to talk with you,” she replied. “Alone.”

If possible, Harry looked even more nervous than before.

“Honestly, I’m surprised that you’d want to talk to me at all,” Harry admitted as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t deserve anything from you.”

Ginny’s first reaction was to tell him that he was absolutely correct in his assumption that he didn’t deserve her words, but she bit back that retort and instead chose a different approach.

“There are some things we need to talk about,” Ginny told him seriously. “There are things in the past and in the time you’ve been gone that I need to explain...”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Ginny,” Harry replied quickly.

For a moment the thought crossed her mind that he already knew--that he’d been told about Jackson. But it was only a second later, when he spoke again, that Ginny knew she’d been wrong.

“I know I left and I hurt you,” Harry continued on. “And there’s nothing I could do or say that would make up for anything. I am so sorry...”

“Please don’t apologize for that right now,” Ginny responded in a low voice. “You and I...that’s something I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about....someday...but not right now.”

At Ginny’s words, Harry’s expression took on a look of confusion.

“There are things I need to explain about my past...my family,” Ginny began, hoping she’d be able to find the right words.

“Ginny, I know that you were married...that you have children,” Harry interrupted her. “That’s what I wanted for you...to be able to be alright. I knew that what I was doing was going to hurt you the most. But I hoped that somehow you’d find a way to be happy again...”

She wanted to reply that if he’d really wanted her to be happy, he’d have never left, but she held her tongue.

“You were happy?” Harry asked, perhaps taking her lack of response as a refutation of what he’d heard from others.

“Yes,” Ginny told him truthfully. Paul had made her happy on many levels and having her little family had healed her in many ways. So her answer was not far from the truth at all.

“But I didn’t come out here to talk to you about my ex-husband or my marriage,” Ginny continued on. “I just...” she tried to add, but trailed away when Harry again looked incredibly confused.

This was so much harder than she could have ever anticipated. Why was it so difficult to just come out and say what she needed to?

“I--I don’t understand,” Harry said quietly as he shook his head slightly.

Ginny exhaled deeply, her eyes searching the sky above for some some unseen support and encouragement.

“Do you remember that last night?” Ginny asked quietly. “Before you left for Hogwarts?” she added, her eyes searching his for any sort of recognition.

For the first time that night, his green eyes sought hers purposefully and Ginny saw the realization she’d hoped for in their depths.

“Of course I do,” he breathed out with a nod. For a moment his eyes seemed to glaze over as though he’d somehow gone back to that moment.

“In my mind--in the part connected to my real past--it’s like it was only a few months ago,” Harry admitted. “I almost broke down and told you everything that night...”

“But you didn’t,” Ginny reminded him--her voice sounding oddly cold even to herself.

Harry nodded and looked ashamed and uncomfortable again.

“Maybe I’m being an idiot here,” Harry began after a few moments of silence. “But I’m still not understanding what we’re talking about.”

He was right. They had been talking in circles and she’d not given him a clear indication of what was to be discussed.

“A few weeks after the battle...I started to get sick,” Ginny began to explain, hoping he wouldn’t interrupt her before she could get the entire story out. “I couldn’t keep anything down and I was so tired with these massive headaches.”

“I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me,” Ginny continued. “I thought that maybe it was some side effect from the blast of power unleashed from the spell you used,” she added as she felt his eyes on her.

“It wasn’t, was it?” Harry asked. Ginny could hear the fear in his voice as he spoke.

“No,” she added as she shook her head. “After a few days, Mum and Dad had a healer come to the Burrow to look me over,” she continued shakily. She paused, trying to compose herself.

“Gin?”

“I wasn’t sick,” Ginny said as she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“I found out I was pregnant, Harry.”

It was the first time that she’d said his name aloud in all this. Uttering his name only added to the realness of everything and what she’d just told him.

“What?” Harry breathed out, shock evident in his response.

“I was pregnant,” Ginny repeated as she closed the few steps between them and came to stand next to him along the railing. His eyes continued to follow her as she settled next to him.

She could see the range of emotion and shock he was experiencing plainly in his face. He seemed to be struggling to find words.

“I...I didn’t..know,” Harry stuttered, looking extremely torn and confused.

“You couldn’t have,” Ginny assured him. “Well...looking back, we weren’t all that careful,” she added with a sigh and a shrug. “But...I didn’t know until a few weeks later either.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized, sounding thoroughly upset and distraught. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

For some reason, Harry’s repeated apologies were bringing rise to annoyance and anger that hadn’t been there before.

“Don’t apologize,” Ginny told him. “Please just stop,” she added as she shook her head.

“How can I not?” Harry asked incredulously. “I left you alone and pregnant...”

“I was never alone,” Ginny replied, cutting him off. “And no amount of you apologizing is going to make anything any different. I just...I needed to tell you. You needed to know.”

At that, there was no more effort on Harry’s part to continue expressing his remorse. He seemed to understand that she didn’t want that from him. But he did seem to be deep in thought.

“What happened?”

Ginny looked up at him. She could feel her brows knitted together in confusion as she searched for answers to what he had meant.

“What...what happened to the baby?” Harry asked quietly, looking deeply by something.

What did he mean ‘what happened to the baby’?

Did he still believe that her sons were products of her marriage, as Hermione and Ron had led him to assume?

Was he under the assumption that something had gone wrong or that perhaps she’d ‘taken care of things’ or given the baby away?

It certainly seemed that way...

“My ex-husband and I have one son together,” Ginny said quietly. “My youngest son, Alex, is going to be twelve in a few months.”

Now it was again Harry’s turn to show his shock and confusion.

“My oldest son...is seventeen,” Ginny continued, looking up into Harry’s eyes, willing him to understand.

“He’s ours, Harry. He’s your son.”

Realization seemed to hit Harry fast and hard and Ginny literally felt the motion as his legs seemed to give out from beneath him and Harry gripped the deck railing for support.

“So as for what happened...” Ginny began quietly, realizing that Harry was currently incapable of any form of speech or response. “I carried him for nearly 9 months, gave birth and raised him with the help of my family...”

As she looked at Harry, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be trying incredibly hard to steady himself as he breathed in and out deeply.

“What’s his name?”

The question and the fact that Harry had managed it momentarily startled Ginny. Harry’s eyes were still closed and he’d brought a hand up to his face, but he seemed to be waiting for her answer.

“Jackson. Jackson James,” she told him.

“Jackson,” Harry repeated quietly. Ginny wasn’t sure if it were a question or not.

“There’s nothing particularly significant about his first name,” Ginny responded. “It just kept popping up in naming books and I thought it fit with his middle name...”

“Yeah...” Harry breathed out as he nodded agreement, although Ginny wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. But he had finally looked up and was meeting her gaze. Despite the dim light, Ginny swore she could see moisture in those eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry breathed out as he shook his head.

“I’m not,” Ginny told him. “As much as I wish the circumstances had been different...there isn’t a day that goes by that I regret having my little boy. I know he’s the reason I was able to hang on and get through everything. As much as I hate the decisions that you made, you gave me my son...and I’m not sorry for that.”

Harry had no response, but seemed to understand what she had told him was how she felt truly.

The silence remained between them for another minute or so. Ginny wasn’t sure where to steer the conversation to now. She thought that giving him a little while to let all of the information sink in might be the best course of action. She also hoped that he might be the one to ask another question or add another comment that would continue the conversation.

“He’s seventeen...”

Ginny nodded.

“Is at still at Hogwarts or...” Harry continued, trailing off. It seemed he too was searching desperately for how to best carry on.

“It’s his last year,” Ginny replied. “After that he’s off to the Auror Academy on early admission in the fall,” she added proudly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked as he sniffed back a bit of his emotion. There was, however, a small smile that spread across his lips.

“Its something he’s wanted to do for a while now,” Ginny said with a nod. “I guess its something he gets from you...that and his looks...” she added quietly.

Harry fixed her with a look of intrigue, that clearly told her that he wanted to know more about her last statement.

“He looks exactly like you did at that age,” Ginny told him. “Same black hair and green eyes...though he’s a bit taller. But he’s all you--”

“Gin?”

The voice that interrupted her in question was not Harry’s. Ginny turned around towards the sound of her name, finding Bill standing in the doorway. Her eldest brother was watching the scene before him with a slight air of nervousness and trepidation that Ginny could not quite place.

“Sorry to--er--interrupt,” Bill began as he stepped forward a bit as his eyes flitted between Harry and Ginny. “But---I need to talk with you, Ginny...inside,” he requested.

Ginny looked back towards Harry, who also seemed to be trying to figure out Bill’s demeanor.

“Is everything alright?” Ginny asked her brother automatically.

“Yeah...I just need a minute,” Bill assured her.

“Go ahead,” Harry’s voice encouraged her. It was much closer than it had been before, indicating that he’d closed a bit of the distance between them. “It’s fine. See what he wants,” he added as Ginny turned to find him standing beside her, gesturing for her to follow Bill.

Both curious and a bit hesitant as to what awaited her inside, Ginny followed. As she moved towards Bill, he held the door open. Ginny walked past him and into the hallway, watching as her brother followed.

“What’s this all about?” Ginny asked once Bill had closed the door behind him.

“Have you told him yet?” Bill asked instead, bypassing Ginny’s question altogether as he glanced over his shoulder and through the glass at Harry.

“Yes. Its what we were just talking about,” Ginny told him, following his gaze. Harry’s back was facing them as he’d gone back to leaning on the railing. “Why?”

“We’ve got a bit of a--er--situation,” Bill admitted evasively.

“Bill...” Ginny warned, not enjoying the current course the conversation was on.

“Alex and Jackson decided to take a little trip via a Portkey that Teddy left them,” Bill began. “They just arrived here a few minutes ago,” he added.

“Both of them?” Ginny asked in surprise. Bill nodded.

“We thought it would probably be a good idea to head things off before you both came back inside,” Bill explained. “Alex is with Mum in the kitchen getting something to eat...” he added.

“And Jackson?”

Bill didn’t answer, but his eyes glanced towards a point somewhere over her own shoulder. Ginny turned just as Bill spoke.

“Its alright, mate.”

It took only a second for Bill’s reassurance to be heeded as the tall, familiar form of Ginny’s eldest son to step out from behind the corner. He looked nervous and pale and was having a hard time meeting her gaze.

“Jacks,” Ginny breathed out as her son stood beside her.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Jackson apologized in a quiet voice. “I didn’t want to upset you...but I just...I couldn’t wait around anymore,” he explained, sounding genuinely fearful that his arrival had angered her. There was even a slight cower in his posture that made him look younger than he was.

“Its alright,” Ginny assured her son. “I’m not angry. And I’m really the one who should be sorry. I should have never expected you to stand by while everything went on around you and I tried to figure myself out. It was incredibly selfish of me.”

Jackson shook his head and looked to disagree with his mother, but Ginny cut him off.

“It was, sweetheart,” Ginny told him. “You’re the one who started this all off and I’ve done nothing to think about what you want or what you deserve.”

This time, Jackson did nothing to show or voice his disagreement or displeasure. His eyes instead went elsewhere, his interest moving towards the space beyond her. Ginny knew that Jackson was looking through the glass doors and out onto the deck.

“He knows...about me?” Jackson asked quietly as his eyes remained focused on the spot where his father stood facing away from him--the glass and wood of the door and frame the only thing separating him from the thing he’d wanted most in life.

Ginny nodded, placing a hand on her son’s arm.

“Do you want to meet him?” she asked him gently.

The simple question seemed to break Jackson’s focus for a moment and he looked down at his mum. He looked slightly unnerved and he swallowed heavily.

“Now?” he asked as he let out a deep breath.

“You did come all the way here for that, didn’t you?” Ginny asked with a smile and Jackson reluctantly nodded. “He just started asking questions about you...I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

Jackson seemed unsure of his mother’s assumption and reluctant to go on her encouragement alone.

“Maybe you should ask him first...if its alright?” Jackson blurted out.

There was a small bit of her that wanted to smile in amusement at Jackson’s nervousness and his suggestion, but she knew that doing so would be inappropriate. This was perhaps the most important moment in Jackson’s life thus far--one that was never supposed to be possible. His trepidation and anxiousness were to be expected and a sign of the enormity of the situation.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

Back to index


Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Coming Clean II

There were a million and one things hurtling around in his head and assaulting his mind.

Everything he had known previously had been thrown asunder. Even with the recent upheaval that had come into his life in the past few weeks as Ron and Hermione had found him, he hadn’t experienced a level of shock as what he was experiencing now.

Not only had he made a decision to leave behind his old life and everyone in it, but he’d left the girl he’d loved more than anything or anyone else with an unintended and enormous burden. He’d left Ginny pregnant and alone to raise a child--and yet, her entire family was here at his house. They had all welcomed him with open arms, attempting to reconnect and interject themselves back into his life.

How could they be so receptive and welcoming knowing what he’d done and the state in which he’d left things? How could they not all hate him?

How could no one have told him? Obviously everybody had known and yet nobody had hinted in the least. Or was this what Hermione had meant when she’d said that she was sure that he and Ginny would need to talk? Was this the topic of that discussion--that he had a son with Ginny?

‘I have a son.’

The thought that rang loud and clear throughout his consciousness was both amazing and terrifying at the same time. The idea was still just beyond his comprehension as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he had another child--a son who was fully grown and whom he’d never met before.

He wanted to both scream and cry and punch himself in the face all at the same time. He knew just how much Sophie meant to him--how amazing it had been to watch her grow from a tiny baby into the boisterous little girl he had now. To think that he’d missed all of that and so much more in the life of a son was something he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to handle .

Trying to steady himself, Harry let out a deep, shaky breath and leaned hard against the wood railing.

How was he ever going to make amends for this? What was going to happen now? Was there even any chance for a relationship to be made? Would Jackson even want to meet him knowing what he surely did?

The sound of his son’s name--even if only within his mind’s own dialogue--was both odd and right at the same time.

“Harry?”

The sound of Ginny’s voice brought him out of his preoccupation and Harry turned at the sound of his name.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked, remembering that just a few minutes ago Ginny had been beckoned into the house by Bill.

“Everything is fine,” Ginny assured him she approached slowly. There was something in her tone, however, that did not completely convince Harry of her words.

“You’re sure?”

With Harry’s second inquiry, Ginny sighed heavily.

“My sons decided to take a Portkey halfway across the globe and join us for Christmas,” Ginny admitted quietly. “They arrived a few minutes ago...Bill just wanted to let me know...”

Harry’s mind went into overdrive as he realized exactly what Ginny had just told him.

“Both of them?”

Ginny nodded.

“Jackson’s here,” Ginny told him. “He’s waiting in the hallway with Bill.”

Harry looked over towards the door. He could only make out shadows and shapes through the glass, but he could tell that there was definitely more than one person there.

It was only minutes ago he’d found out that he had a son--the idea had barely had time to begin to sink in. He’d thought he’d have time--a day or so to talk with Ginny and figure out what was going to happen. But it seemed now that time was not something he had and things had sped up considerably. His son was now only feet away, separated only by a pane of glass and a wood frame.

“Do you want to meet him, Harry?” Ginny asked.

The question was simple, and yet perhaps the most daunting he’d ever faced.

“Only...only if he wants to,” Harry blurted out.

To his surprise, Ginny let out a short snort of amusement that he wasn’t sure what it was in response to.

“What?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Nothing,” Ginny replied. “It’s just...Jackson said pretty much the same thing. He thought I should clear it with you first...”

“Oh,” was all Harry could manage, although he too found something interesting in the similarities.

“Should I bring him out here?” Ginny asked again.

Although he wasn’t sure he was ready for any more shock and was slightly afraid that he might finally be completely overwhelmed, there was no way he would say ‘no’.

Slowly, he nodded his head.

With that, he watched as Ginny turned from him and moved back towards the door.

Harry could scarcely breathe.

The reality of the situation and the moment was upon him.

Seemingly in slow motion, he watched as Ginny reached and pushed open the door. Without the glare of the outside lights reflecting off the glass door, he saw Bill standing there. He and Ginny seemed to exchange a few words before Bill moved on down the hallway and out of sight.

Ginny was now talking to someone to her right, someone who was out of sight and who was still obscured and obstructed by the door frame. Ginny was looking up, but she seemed to be speaking quiet, coaxing words--almost as if addressing a child.

She was speaking to a child--her son.

Our son.

Just as those words rang loudly in his own head, Harry watched as Ginny reached out and grabbed the hand of the person just out of view. Gently, she pulled forward, stepping backwards as she led her son by the hand through the doorway.

Harry was torn between moving towards them to close the distance and not being able to move himself from where his feet seemed to be rooted to the planks beneath his feet.

The inability to move won out and Harry stood still as he watched Ginny moved towards him, followed closely by a tall, dark-haired young man.

In the months since Harry’s memories had returned he’d had so many dreams at night where he was 18 again and the war was still on. When he’d woken, he’d half expected to wake up on the camp bed in Ron’s room at the Burrow, finding that no time had passed. It was only when he’d stumbled to the bathroom to rouse himself from his dreams by splashing his face with cold water and saw his own, thirty-six year old self staring back from the mirror that he knew they were just dreams.

This...this was the face that he’d always expected to find looking back at him from the glass.

The resemblance was uncanny...almost scary.

But he wasn’t looking into a mirror or flashing back to a time passed, he was looking at his son--his own flesh and blood.

Ginny had been right--Jackson looked so much like he did at 17. His black hair, while messy, fell stylishly so as to frame his face with a casualness that Harry was sure his never achieved back then. He was tall and lanky--although even under the cover of a sweatshirt and jeans, Harry could see that his son was a touch more built than he’d been.

But Jackson’s facial features--his thin face and prominent cheekbones--those were his. And even in the low lighting of the deck, Harry could see the bright green eyes he was so familiar with.

Ginny came to a stop in front of Harry, Jackson standing beside her. Her son towered over her and now that they were only a few feet away, Harry could see that Jackson was an inch or two taller than himself.

He was near eye-level with Jackson, but Jackson seemed to be trying to avoid direct eye contact--almost as if he was fighting within himself to be able to look directly into Harry’s face.

Now that the two were standing in front of him and he was mere feet from his son, Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say or do. He didn’t know what Jackson thought of him. While Ginny’s reaction hadn’t been one of anger of violence--which he’d half expected--but one of calm and cool indifference, he wasn’t sure of what Jackson’s might be.

He could only guess that the young man before him would hold some form of anger in knowing of the decisions Harry had made--decisions that had taken Harry out of his life...

What could he possible say or do that would be adequate enough after being absent for the first 17 years of his life?

“Harry...” Ginny said quietly, seemingly bridging the gaping silence that had overcome them. She seemed the only one capable of speech at the moment. “This is Jackson...” she added gently.

A very small part of Harry wanted to point out that what she said was quite obvious, but he could not bring himself to say anything. His only reaction was to stare openly and unabashedly at Jackson even as he tried hard not to.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny wasn’t sure what to do.

Neither her son nor Harry seemed capable of any speech or reaction other than to remain frozen on the spot. Harry seemed unable to keep his eyes off of Jackson as they searched and took in everything about their son. Jackson was standing stock-still beside her, his own gaze flickering nervously and erratically from Harry and everywhere and anywhere else as he struggled with the enormity of the situation.

There was no script to guide them through this situation. While Ginny had worried and thought long and hard about how she would tell Harry--the reaction and afterwards was something that could not be planned for.

She hadn’t known exactly what to expect...but she had not been ready for this awkward silence that was happening before her now.

Thinking of mainly her son, Ginny knew that she needed to intervene somehow to jump start the situation.

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Ginny interjected, seemingly startling both of the men standing next to her. At her words, both turned their attention towards her, almost as if surprised she was still there with them.

With a gesture towards a set of wicker and steel framed furniture that was neatly arranged in the well-lighted corner of the deck, Ginny soon had the two men following her over. She led Jackson over to the wicker love seat, guiding him to one side of the love-seat as she sat down next to him. Harry followed, settling himself into a matching chair facing the pair of them over a glass-top table.

Despite her attempt at stirring up any sort of conversation, the small group once again fell into an uncomfortable, awkward silence.

“Your mom and I were just--er--talking about your plans after school ends...”

It was now Ginny’s chance to be startled. She had not expected Harry to be able to compose himself enough or draw himself out of his shock to be the first to speak. But as he lent the statement as a chance to kick-start a conversation, he sounded a little bit more confident than she’d expected.

Jackson, however, still seemed to be unable to verbalize a response.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had no clue what to say.

He was having a hard enough time trying to get himself to breathe normally without having to worry about carrying a conversation. He could not believe he was sitting where he was--in front of the one person he’d never dreamed he’d ever have a chance of meeting.

Even though it’d been his hunches that had originally led them all to where they were now, Jackson had not been able to prepare himself for how this moment was supposed to go. He had understood that at some point he’d have the chance to meet his dad, but the concept and the actuality of the meeting was something he’d not given himself a chance to come to grips with.

He’d put all of his energy and thought towards getting to this point and grappling with how this was all affecting his mother--and now that he was here--he felt like he was lost. Dozens of clever things to say and fill the conversation were batting about his mind, but nothing was making it anywhere near his mouth. He could only bring himself to stare blankly ahead--afraid even to look for more than a few seconds across the table at those strangely familiar green eyes staring back at him.

And hearing him speak for the first time--listening to the unfamiliar syllables and pronunciations of his words spoken in a voice that was at the same time oddly like his own--was another thing that had thrown Jackson. He’d heard his father’s voice during the few times that family had shared memories with him, but none of those times had affected him like this had.

To hear his own dad not only speaking to him, but having him mention school was absolutely mind-blowing. If only Jackson could find his own words...

“Auror Academy...that’s amazing,” his dad said again quietly. There was a certain level of awe and pride in his words that made Jackson’s heart lift unexpectedly with the praise.

Summoning all of his courage and chancing a glance upward and across the table, Jackson looked up, completely locking eyes his dad for the first time without worry of being caught staring.

Once more his lungs were devoid of air as he struggled to breathe. The eyes staring back at him were the same shape and the color the same clear, bright green he’d come to know in his own. He’d only seen the particular shade of green when looking at himself in the mirror, or looking back at him from the pictures of his dad he had.

But now they were there, looking right back at him steadily from the face of the man he’d never before imagined would be before him. Those eyes were appraising him, taking him in....staring at him really.

“I’m sorry,” his dad said apologetically as he shook his head slightly and pulled his steady gaze away momentarily.

Jackson raised a brow in question, wondering what he’d done to draw an apology. He looked at his mum in question as well, wondering if she understood.

“I keep staring at you,” his dad responded, realizing that Jackson was confused. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. It’s just...you look...you look so much like...” he added, trailing away and shaking his head again as if trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was real.

“You.”

This time it was Jackson’s mum that had spoken, finishing the sentence instead.

His father nodded his agreement with the statement and Jackson couldn’t help but nod as well.

“I used to get that said about myself--looking like my dad, I mean,” Jackson’s dad admitted with a hint of a wistful smile. “I suppose you’ve gotten that a time or two before...”

Jackson nodded.

“And being a Weasley probably brings a bit of attention in itself too,” he added.

“Potter,” Jackson found himself blurting out automatically. He had surprised himself by speaking and looked up to find his dad fixing him with his own look that seemed to be a mixture of surprise and amazement.

“My last name’s Potter,” Jackson explained after a few seconds of silence, trying hard to keep both his voice and his gaze steady and trained on his dad.

-----------------------------------------------------------
Hearing Jackson finally speak had caught Harry off-guard.

The young man had not said a word since stepping onto the deck and when he’d unexpectedly responded to Harry’s comment, Harry had felt all the air rush from his lungs--leaving him devoid of any way to respond.

Jackson’s voice was deeper than Harry’d expected and sounded so much like himself at that age. But then again, he was already all of 17--a man according to wizarding law and custom and well past the throes of boyhood physically. That in itself was something that Harry was still struggling to get a grip on--that his son wasn’t a child and he’d missed all those years that had shaped him and helped him grow into the young man before him.

And to hear that Jackson had carried on not only his looks, but also his name, was something that only added to the overwhelming nature of the situation.

Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Jackson, unsure of how to respond.

“I wanted him to have that,” Ginny responded. “I wanted him to at least have your name...even if he couldn’t have you.”

The heaviness in the truthfulness of Ginny’s statement quelled much of the excitement that came from learning that the Potter legacy had not died out. It was yet another reminder of not only what he’d left behind--but how much hurt he’d left with those that remained.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly as he tried to fix Ginny with as meaningful a look as he could manage. “That means so much...” he added in a near whisper.

Ginny nodded, but any attention to any other response on her part was diverted away as Jackson let out a deep, shaky breath and buried his head in his hands. His breathing continued to be loud as he took deep breaths in and out and ran his hands over his face and into his hair. He was visibly shaken and overwhelmed and Harry’s first instinct was to get up and reach out to provide some sort of comfort.

But Ginny beat him to it and before he could move she had wrapped an arm around her son.

“Its alright, luv,” Ginny whispered to Jackson as she pulled him to her. She continued to offer words of comfort and encouragement as Jackson remained with his hands covering his face as he fought to compose himself.

“You don’t have to get upset, sweetheart,” Ginny offered as she slid her hand around and began to rub small circles around Jackson’s back.

“It’s just...this...everything...its a lot...to take in,” Jackson struggled to get out as he shook his head and ran his hand once again through his shaggy hair, messing it up even more than before. “I just...I can’t seem to wrap my head around everything...”

“I know...it is a lot,” Ginny agreed as she continued to try and comfort her son. As she spoke her eyes sought Harry’s and she fixed with a look that plainly showed that she very truly lay blame for Jackson’s current state on Harry.

And Harry couldn’t find any reason to disagree with her--his decisions had wrought the pain and heartache of all those involved for years and he was certainly responsible for the emotions overwhelming their son now.

If only he could find the right words...

“I know it doesn’t make up for anything or may not mean a whole lot...” Harry began quietly as he leaned forward across the table top towards Ginny and Jackson. “But, I’m so sorry, bud. I am...” Harry continued, swallowing heavily as Jackson looked up at being addressed so.

Harry could see all the pain etched on the face of the young man seated across from him and it literally took Harry’s breath away to see all the overwhelming confusion looking back at him through those green eyes that were so much like his own.

“I can’t even begin to understand how overwhelming and mind-blowing this is for you--for everyone,” Harry continued. “But if there’s anything you want to know or you need or want from me...just a say so--just ask--no matter what it is.”

Jackson continued to return his gaze unflinchingly, as if trying to take in and process Harry’s offer as carefully as he could--weighing every word for what it was worth. The gaze was almost unnerving, but Harry kept his eyes on his son’s...

Very slowly...Jackson nodded, swallowing heavily as he did so.

After another moment or two, Jackson looked away and let out a heavy sigh. The sound of the exhale of breath was loud in the otherwise quiet of the waning evening.

And just moments after the sigh, there was another loud noise that broke the silence on the back deck--a loud, long growling noise that could only signify hunger.

“Sorry,” Jackson said quietly with a smirk as his hand went automatically to his stomach as if to try and stifle the sound.

“Didn’t you just eat?” Ginny asked him with a raised brow and Harry remembered that Jackson had come here with his brother after having both spent the day with his former step-father’s family. He imagined that there had been lots of food and drink available as the family celebrated the traditional holiday, but yet from the growling of his stomach it seemed that Jackson hadn’t indulged at all.

“Er....I had a bit,” Jackson admitted. “I really wasn’t that hungry though...” he added quietly.

There seemed to be an understanding amongst the three of them that perhaps Jackson’s appetite had suffered because of the feelings he’d been dealing with regarding this meeting and the decision to take the situation in his hands as he had.

“There’s still plenty to eat inside,” Harry offered, gesturing towards the doorway. Molly and the other women had certainly outdone themselves in creating a mountain of food that was surely going to take a small army a few days to fully devour. “We can go in and you can make yourself a plate--or two,” he added with a small smile that he hoped was inviting.

“Sounds great,” Jackson offered with another sigh and a nod of his head as he seemed to relax a bit.

“I think I’ll grab something myself as well,” Ginny interjected. “I only had a chance to grab a quick bite at the match.”

“We can all go in,” Harry suggested as he rose from his seat, the others following suit. “There’s a treacle tart in there that’s been calling my name all day,” he added without thought, remembering the warm dessert that had been tempting him from one of the tables laden with all sorts of goods--savory and sweet.

Harry caught Jackson’s smile at his admission and Ginny gave him a slightly amused look--but there was something else in her expression that he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was the recognition of the continued interest in his long-time favorite treat.

“I’ve still got a sweet tooth,” Harry said quietly and with a slight smirk that he hoped was friendly enough. “Although these days if I eat I eat too much, I’m liable to have to have to find myself a larger size pair of jeans after...” he added, trailing off as he suddenly wondered if he was talking too much.

Jackson again snickered slightly at his comment, but again, Ginny seemed indifferent--her eyes raking him over from head to toe as if to gauge whether or not previous overindulgence in dessert had wrought any change in his always wiry frame. But her look-over only lasted a moment before she turned from them and started to lead the way towards the french doors.

“I’ll have to get a piece then--it’s my favorite too,” Jackson said quietly as he cast Harry a small smile. “After dinner, of course,” he added as his eyes flickered towards his mother’s retreating back as she left the pair of them standing together.

Ginny seemed content enough to disengage herself from the situation and leave he and Jackson together on the deck where they stood. And as Harry moved his gaze from Ginny--who had just reached the deck doors--back to his son, he saw that Jackson seemed to be experiencing quite the opposite reaction. He didn’t seem to be keen on moving it all...

Instead he was standing across from Harry, searching him again and, at the same time, it seemed as though he was also attempting to gather up some sort of courage to say or do something...

Harry’s first thought was to ask Jackson if he wanted to ask something or needed something--but although he’d offered up that option--he didn’t want to press too much or push him in any direction that might scare him away. Instead he continued to offer what he hoped was a welcoming and encouraging expression.

“Can I--”

Jackson began quietly.

If Harry hadn’t been listening carefully and focusing so intensely on his son, he may have missed the words.

Harry inclined his head slightly, nodding as if to encourage Jackson to continue.

The teen took a deep breath, steeling himself to get out what he wanted to say. Swallowing deeply just before he exhaled, Jackson looked incredibly nervous.

“Could I--maybe--give you--” Jackson trailed off again, looking down and away from Harry.

“A hug...”

Again, the words were quiet and Harry had to take a moment to try and process exactly what the request had been. But there didn’t seem to be any question in Jackson’s mind as to what he had requested even as he continued to look slightly terrified that he’d gotten up the courage to ask.

“Of course,” Harry said without much more thought.

Jackson looked up, this time looking surprised that his request had been so easily accepted.

“Really?” Jackson croaked out.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.

That final confirmation seemed to be the last barrier to action.

In just a single stride Jackson had closed the distance between the two--knocking the glass-topped table asunder as he did so.

Before Harry could completely register it, Jackson had embraced him--wrapping his long arms around him. Harry responded automatically, pulling his son to him while he tried to come to terms with the moment.

“I’m sorry, Jackson,” Harry whispered as he hugged his son. “I’m so sorry.”

Instead of giving any verbal indication, the teen instead held onto the embrace, not afraid to rest his head now against his father’s shoulder.

The feeling of holding onto his son--the son who, only minutes ago he didn’t know even existed--wasn’t something that he could readily describe in words. This young man had Harry’s blood coursing through his veins and was a piece of him.

He knew what it was to love a child--that much wasn’t new to him. He’d experienced that pure, unquantifiable love the past five years with Sophie--and he knew that being a father was the most amazing thing.

But this was something different altogether.

There was that same amazement and wonder, but also a whole myriad of other emotions were threatening to swirl up and overtake him.

Harry could feel the tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes as he struggled to pull in and control his emotions. There was a sense of sadness and guilt that was sweeping through him, threatening to overtake everything else.

He had fought so hard when Sophie had been born--doing whatever he could to make sure that his little girl was with him. He’d given up his post with The Rolling Stone to settle down in a stable environment back in Buffalo, spent thousands of dollars of his own money on lawyers and legal counsel and put in countless hours doing his own research on laws and past court cases--all while attempting to put himself back through school and clean up his once fragmented life.

But for as difficult as the choices and the sacrifices had seemed to have been for him to make back during the war--thinking that what he was giving up and all that he was leaving behind would be the best thing for everyone--it all seemed to be so wrong now. He’d ultimately failed in making a better, easier life for all those he loved and cared for.

The clearest proof of that was in his arms.

Harry could feel his son shaking slightly in his embrace and the tears begin to wet and soak through his shirt where Jackson’s head rested against his shoulder. No longer able to hold in his own, Harry let his own tears fall quietly as he held onto the boy.

Not a boy.

He’d been a world away for that part of Jackson’s life and instead the young man he clung to--his own son whom he had abandoned and left behind--was nearly grown and was well on his way to leaving behind the throws of childhood.

Harry desperately wanted to break down and sob--let all the heartache and sorrow he was feeling for his son pour out. But he remained respectfully quiet and instead hugged Jackson closer.

For all the hurt he’d inflicted upon this young man--no matter how inadvertent it may have been--Jackson did not pull away or make any indication that he hated or despised Harry. The young man instead continued to cling to him as though if he let go, Harry might very well disappear again.

He couldn’t begin to understand just how much he had put his son through in the course of his young life because of the choices he’d made in the midst of the chaos and confusion of war. He didn’t know what Jackson thought of him and his decisions or what his son might want to say to him--good or bad--in anger or even hate.

But whatever Jackson might feel the need to talk about or even rage about--that could all wait. Harry was sure that there would come a time for hashing out feelings and talking about the past and the future. He knew there would be questions and he would have to give some difficult answers in the times to come. But for now he was caught up in the moment, only focused on what was in front of him and on this moment of embrace.

“You’re here,” Jackson whispered brokenly, his voice muffled slightly as he continued to hug his father. “You’re real,” he choked out.

“I am,” Harry replied quietly and simply as he brought a hand up to the back of his son’s head, pulling him even closer. “And I’m not going anywhere,” he added in reassurance, wanting Jackson to understand that he intended to try to be involved and available to him in any capacity he wanted or wished.

There was no additional response or confirmation of the sentiments from his son. The two remained in embrace for a more moments and Harry continued to take his son in--marvelling at the fact that he was here at all--solid and real.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said quietly as he finally lifted his head from Harry’s shoulder, sniffing away the tears he shed.

“Your shirt,” he added as he pulled away from the embrace and his eyes settled on the spot where his head had rested and where there was now a wet patch on the fabric where Jackson’s tears had fallen.

“It’s--it’s alright,” Harry managed, struggling to find his own voice and free it from the emotion still overwhelming him.

“I don’t usually break off and cry like a little girl,” Jackson added with a nervous, watery smile as he brought a hand up to brush away his tears.

“Happens to all of us,” Harry added as he instinctively reached up and swiped at his own tears.

“I’ll try not to make it a habit of it,” Jackson replied with a little laugh as he ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself once more.

Harry chuckled in response to the last comment.

Jackson finished drying his eyes--while still red and slightly puffy--were now clear from moisture.

“I have a feeling this won’t be the last of it, though,” Jackson added with another small smile as his clear green eyes met Harry’s. Harry kept his eyes on his son’s for a moment or two--again marveling in the realness and the amazement of who was standing in front of him.

“My doing,” Harry said with a sigh, realizing that whatever emotions had been bantered about and released in the past few minutes would not go away now that the initial meeting was over. There were years of missed memories and events and all the emotion that came with those, that in one way or another, they’d have to address.

Although the tears were drying for the moment and it did not look as though there would be any immediate discussion about those feelings or the hurt he’d caused--there was still much to hash out and there were almost certain to be more tears to come.

“It’s all complicated, isn’t it?” Jackson said simply with a small shrug. “And it wasn’t the most simple decision to make I reckon...”

Although a part of Harry wanted to take this conversation a little further on--this moment was not the one to sift through the pages of the story thus far. There would be times to come where he was sure they’d get to the true heart of things and delve so much deeper into the real impact of all the pain and hurt he’d caused his son and those he’d professed to love and care for.

As Jackson seemed poised to let the more heavy emotions go for now and revel in the realization that they were finally together, Harry decided to leave it be for now and did not respond with anything more than a grateful nod in his son’s direction before the pair headed inside.

Back to index


Chapter 16: Chapter 16: Amazing

Author's Notes: I can only apologize once again for the long lag time between updates. I won't be giving estimated times anymore--as it seems to irk some readers when I don't deliver. So I'll just leave it at that I'm continually writing both this story and the two companion pieces from Harry and Ginny's perspectives directly after the battle. Those--because they are not H/G compliant--will be posted on my livejournal. The 1st chapter of Harry's story is up. Enjoy!


“He’s a great kid.”

The words startled Harry out of his quiet observation and he slowly looked up to find Arthur Weasley standing beside him--the older man’s eyes falling in the same direction that Harry’s had been moments ago.

Harry didn’t have to ask who he was referring to because Arthur’s gaze had fallen upon the same black-haired young man that had been the focus of Harry’s attention. After coming in from the back deck following their emotional meeting, Jackson had been engulfed in giant welcome hug as his grandmother fussed over him and then plied him with a heaping plate of all his favorite foods.

Harry’d blended into the background somewhat as Jackson settled in--mingling and greeting with his aunts, uncles and cousins. Harry had taken the time to observe his son--watching and trying hard to take in every movement and mannerism. After wolfing down his first plate and making his way through half of a second that his grandmother had pushed in front of him, Jackson had settled in on a spot between two of his cousins and was now laughing quietly at something they’d said.

Now Harry looked on as Arthur Weasley watched his eldest grandson with a smile.

“He’s not exactly a kid, is he?” Harry found himself replying quietly as his eyes roved over the long, lanky form of his son. He was certainly not a child anymore in both age and in physical stature. Jackson had most obviously begun to leave behind the appearances of boyhood and--much like his own self at that age--was at that stage where he was shooting up, filling out and maturing quickly as he became less of a boy and more of a man.

“He may be seventeen,” Arthur replied as he glanced over at Harry. “But I’m quite sure that there are many things he’ll continue to need his family for. He’s not so grown up just yet,” he added.

Harry nodded, but said nothing as his gaze raked over Jackson once more, settling in on the young man whom he so desperately wanted to get to know, but was terrified of nonetheless.

“I’m not supposed to have favorites--as a grandparent, I mean,” Arthur continued on when Harry remained quiet. “But Jackson may very well be mine,” he added with another smile.

“He was mine and Molly’s first grandchild,” he continued proudly. “I remember just being so in awe of how amazing it really was to have a new life in the family in the midst of all the loss--despite what the circumstances may have been,” he added, quietly addressing the fact that Harry had indeed left his daughter to raise their child at the age of 17. But there was none of the expected anger in the older man’s voice that Harry would have thought there to be in light of the situation.

“I have to admit that I probably did plenty of spoiling him when he was a little one,” he said with a slight laugh. “He’s always been such a bright, happy and curious boy--and that hasn’t changed as he’s gotten older. He’s always got time to talk with his old grandad--”

“He’s amazing,” Harry said automatically as his eyes fell again once more on Jackson, who was listening intently to something that one of Ron and Hermione’s twins were telling him.

“He really is an incredibly engaging and intelligent young man,” Arthur agreed. “Not to mention--he’s hilarious. He’s got a knack for making people laugh that may just give Fred and George a run for their money.”

With every word that Mr. Weasley spoke about his grandson, Harry felt a mixture of pride and sadness rise up within himself. Pride in the brilliant things he was hearing about Jackson as a person, and sadness for the fact that he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to witness any of this for himself. He’d missed out on so much and in many ways, his son was a virtual stranger. He only knew what he’d learned in the past hour or so about his son’s life.

“I’m just not sure what’s supposed to happen now,” Harry replied quietly as his eyes settled back on Jackson. “It’s not exactly a matter of reconnecting--trying to pick up where we last left off. I’ve missed everything...”

“I think you’ll find that--” Arthur began quietly as his grandson looked up momentarily--his eyes finding the pair of them watching him. Perhaps sensing that he was the subject at hand, Jackson gave them both a small smile before turning back to his cousins. “It may not be as difficult building a relationship with Jackson as it may be in rebuilding those with some of the others...” he added, trailing off as his gaze drifted away from his grandson and over towards another corner of the sitting room.

Harry followed Mr. Weasley’s line of sight to where Ginny stood chatting with Hermione and her mother.

Harry could only nod.

He hadn’t even really allowed himself to entertain that realm of this situation. Of course, he’d had thoughts about their possible reunion before it had actually happened; running scenarios through his mind--scenarios that ran the gamut from her running into his arms and kissing him soundly much like she had in the Gryffindor Common Room all those years ago--to one that included lots of cursing and several blows raining down on him.

He hadn’t expected indifference and silence.

Ginny had said that they would talk about ‘you and I’...someday. That could be tomorrow, or it could be ages from now. And if it turned out to be never, Harry couldn’t blame her.

But whatever fear or worry he had about figuring out what was left of their relationship, had been overcome and pushed aside by the revelation that he had a son. As much as a part of his heart wanted to entertain the paths and outcomes that might be possible in regards to Ginny, he desperately wanted to get to know Jackson.

“Losing you was hard for all of us. But not having you is probably the one part of my grandson’s life where I’ve really ever seen a true sadness in him,” Arthur admitted quietly. “Even with having a stepfather for a time and with all his uncles there to fill some of the role--I know he’s always yearned for and dreamt about having his dad with him.”

“And...now that he has you--” Arthur said, turning his attention directly to Harry--his blue eyes boring into Harry’s green, pinning him to the spot. “I have a feeling he’ll do what he can to make the most of things.”

“I hope so...” Harry said quietly, wondering if it would be alright to voice his own fears to the man who he once thought of as a father figure earlier in his own life. Did he still have that right to do so after all he’d put this man’s family through?

“All of this is shocking and overwhelming and...amazing--too many emotions to comprehend really,” Harry continued. “And I’m terrified of screwing everything up again...disappointing.”

“Jackson knows a lot about you...we’ve always made sure to tell him about what kind of person you are...” Arthur assured him. But those assurances only succeeded in adding a little bit more fear in Harry’s mind.

“I’m not so sure I’m that person anymore,” Harry replied quietly.

“The man I see today is certainly a little different than the one I may have envisioned,” Arthur responded slowly. “Although before this, whatever I’d imagined had been purely conjectural and simply curious wondering.”

“But nonetheless, I’m very proud of the man I see,” Arthur said with a smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Harry gave Arthur Weasley a skeptical look, knowing that there were many things that had happened to him and that he had done in the past 18 years that he was definitely not proud of. And he also knew that much of the Weasley family was aware of his past, so to hear Arthur’s words was something that he was finding hard to come to terms with.

“We’re all faced with difficult decisions and choices that shape who we are and perhaps change who we thought we’d be,” Arthur added, responding to the look Harry had given him. “And in your circumstance and situation--even more so. But despite the past--from what I’ve seen and heard--you have an amazing talent that you’ve channeled into an extremely successful career, you have a beautiful home here and you are an incredible father to that little girl of yours--that much I’ve seen myself.”

Harry felt himself go slightly red as he listened to Arthur Weasley speak words that he wasn’t sure he deserved.


“That, you can be proud of, Harry,” Arthur said. “And I know as much as Jackson will want you in his life from now on--you’ll try your hardest to be there for him. It may take a bit of time at first...but I think you’ll find quite easily that a little bit of effort will go a long way...”

“What do we talk about?” Harry mused--the question that had been bouncing about his head being spoken aloud for the first time. He had a past with many of the people here--a past that included conversations and shared interests and events. But with Jackson, he had only what he’d learned from others and what he’d observed in the past hour or so...

“You’ll have a lot more in common to talk about than you may think,” Arthur assured him. “Not only does Jackson look extraordinarily like you...but he’s quite the Quidditch player. Dare I say, nearly as good as another dark-haired young man I remember,” he added with a bit of a smirk.

“I’m not exactly up-to-date on my league standings,” Harry replied with a small smile of his own. “And...It’s not as though I’ll be able to fly with him...” he added, his smile fading as the realization hitting him.

He could build a relationship, get to know and be there for his son. But because of the absence of his magic--there were some things they inevitably couldn’t share...

Arthur must have sensed the sadness in Harry, because he offered a sympathetic look in return.

“I think whatever the topic--you need just start the conversation,” Arthur suggested warmly as he patted Harry gently on the shoulder--letting it linger for a moment before moving back into the kitchen.

---------------------------------------------------
He’d been told he was free to go wherever--to wander around and check whatever part of the house out that he’d wanted or needed to. So he’d decided to take a break from the various conversations going on about the lower levels and explore a bit upstairs.

It still felt a bit like intruding, Jackson thought as he slowly walked down a hallway perusing various pictures hung in frames along the wall. He felt a bit nosy as he poked around in this house--his dad’s house.

Those words were still slightly foreign to him.

They were good. They were amazing, actually--but everything was going to take a bit of getting used to and it may be a while until reality actually sunk in. He finally had the one impossible that he’d never dreamed of having and now he wasn’t quite sure how things were supposed to play out from here.

After meeting his dad and getting a grip on his emotions, Jackson had been swept up by the rest of his family. His grandmother had seen fit to stuff him to the gills with food--shoving several plates of his favorites under his nose even as he struggled to finish the first one. And after he’d had his fill and could fit no more food in, he’d managed to be corralled by his cousins and pestered with a barrage of questions about what meeting his dad was like.

It had taken forever for Jackson to extricate himself from their grasp. And while he’d tried to make a neat exit and escape the questions from his family--most of his attention had been elsewhere as he’d kept an eye trained on his dad as he seemed to float about the edges of the room.

Since their separation on the deck, his dad had kept his distance. Jackson couldn’t blame him for taking a bit of time to process everything and come to terms with all that had been thrust upon him in the span of a few minutes. And on his part--Jackson was glad to have some time to gage the situation as well.

Halfway through the conversations with his cousins, he’d caught his granddad deep in conversation with his dad near the entry archway to the living room. Jackson had been very interested in what they might be talking about and had chanced a longer than usual glance at the two as he tried to discern anything out of their facial expressions and mannerisms.

Simultaneously the pair had looked up, his grandfather’s eyes finding his first, and then his father had followed. Unsure of what to do in response to being caught staring, he gave them both a small, nervous smile before he quickly looked away.

But that had been the extent of the interaction they’d had since then.

His dad had disappeared sometime after that and part of the reason that Jackson had left the hub of conversation with the rest of his family was to see if maybe he could find him.

But his attention had been caught by everything around him. He took the time to look at every frame and photograph that hung on the wall and to peek into every room he passed. The photos were awesome. He wondered just how many of them his dad had taken...

Perhaps they could talk about that?

Jackson certainly wasn’t an artist himself by any stretch of the imagination, but it would really be neat to learn about what he does for a career. A photographer wasn’t something he’d ever associated with any thoughts he’d had on his father before all this. He’d never heard anything about his dad being remotely artistic--but then again--he’d been a bit preoccupied with the war to really focus on anything extracurricular that might have developed those talents, Jackson supposed.

Yet, he was really talented...even Jackson could see that. And even though he really didn’t know his father on a personal level just yet, he was actually really very proud of what he had accomplished in his profession.

Those thoughts lingered as Jackson slowly ambled past the last few frames on the wall before he came to a stop in front of the open door to a bedroom. Unlike the other rooms, which were filled with suitcases and temporary beds to house the extra people spending the next few days, this one was filled with toys and dolls along with the extra bed.

This one was also not dark and empty as the others had been.

“Hey, Scarlett,” Jackson greeted as he stepped into the room. The little girl, who had been quietly brushing out the dark hair on the doll she grasped, looked up and smiled widely as her bright blue eyes found him.

“Jackson!” she squeaked as she jumped up from the carpet and ran at him. Bending down, Jackson caught her in mid-leap and engulfed her in a big hug as she clung to him.

“How are you doing, Scar?” Jackson asked as his youngest cousin pulled away, smiling up at him.

“Good,” the little girl replied. “Daddy said you weren’t coming here,” Scarlett added after a few seconds.

“I know. But I decided that I couldn’t go Christmas without seeing my favorite little cousin,” Jackson teased. “I had to come see my Scarlett.”

“I missed you,” Scarlett squeaked, hugging him tight once more before wriggling out of his grasp and scurrying back to where she had left her doll.

“What are you up to?” Jackson asked as stepped closer and knelt down beside her.

“Just playing with the dolls,” Scarlett said matter-of-factly as she picked up the dark-haired doll and resumed with brushing out its hair.

“By yourself?” he asked, slightly out of concern that she’d been left out or somehow bullied out of playing with some of the older children. As much as he loved all of his cousins, they could sometimes gang up on one another or exclude someone from the group when playing games and other things.

“No, with Sophie,” Scarlett replied as she set the doll down and picked up another one. “She just went to get some juice,” she explained without looking up at Jackson.

“Right,” Jackson replied quietly, as he surveyed his youngest cousin.

He knew who Sophie was.

His Uncle Ron, his Aunt Hermione--even his mum had attempted to broach the subject and try and talk about the fact that his dad had a daughter.

Quite honestly, he hadn’t had much reaction to it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact. He wasn’t angry or jealous or whatever other feelings others expected he might have--he just, didn’t particularly know how to react. So, as a result, no one had tried to force a conversation about her with him.

And with everything else he’d had occupying his time and mind in the short span of time he’d been here, he hadn’t had much time to think about it.

But just as that thought finished crossing his mind, the sound of quick footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone else entering the room.

And before he could turn around or react, he was blindsided by a small, wriggly body. Arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

“Daddy!”

Jackson could only sputter as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“That’s not your daddy,” Scarlett giggled. “That’s Jackson, silly.”

Jackson felt the arms around his neck release and whoever had been hugging him pulled away.

“Oh,” was the response that came from the tiny, black-haired girl standing next to him. She was surveying him with deliberate thoughtfulness as the two stared at each other.

The likeness, the shared features were quite evident.

Her dark--nearly jet black--hair was pulled back away from her face with small clips, giving him a clear view.

Sophie had the same thin features that he had and that he recognized in pictures from when he was young. There were differences of course--caused by the difference in gender and by the fact that they had different mothers. But the similarities were there.

The most striking were her eyes.

She had the same bright green eyes he did...and at the moment they were carefully studying him.

“I thought you were him,” Sophie sighed as she shook her head slightly. “You look like my daddy.”

“I do,” Jackson replied breathlessly, not knowing if it was a question or a confirmation.

Sophie continued to survey him and size him up for a few seconds--almost as if trying to decide or discern something about him.

Then with a tiny shrug and shake of her head, Sophie turned her attention away from Jackson and plopped down on the floor next to Scarlett. The two little girls resumed their playing with the dolls, seemingly ignoring the fact that Jackson was still there, kneeling in front of them.

He watched as the two chattered excitedly--having an animated conversation about how pretty this doll’s hair was and what dress the other could change into for the Christmas party. He listened as they immersed themselves in a make-believe moment, where the dolls were as real as they were and might very well start joining in on the conversation themselves.

He was amazed at how fast the two had seemingly become friends. They’d met only earlier today, and yet they were having no problems falling into friendship.

As he stayed put and observed the two, he couldn’t help but wonder a bit about what his relationship would be with Sophie...

She was his little sister, after all...

Well...half-sister--but they shared blood and a bond nonetheless.

He wondered if she even knew who he actually was. At only 5 years old, Jackson wasn’t sure that she’d even be able to understand anything about what had been going on the past few weeks. How did you explain something like this anyway?

“Soph, is this your half-full juice glass you left by the stairs?”

Jackson looked up as the sound of his father’s voice from behind him. He turned to find him standing in the doorway, holding a glass in his hands.

“I wasn’t done with it and I’m not s’posed to eat or drink in my room,” Sophie said with a shrug. “You says so, Daddy...”

“Yes, but it’s not very smart to leave it at the bottom of the steps, either,” he replied, looking to be fighting a smile. He cast a sideways glance at Jackson, giving him a slight wink, acknowledging his presence. “You don’t want someone to knock it over do you?”

“No,” Sophie replied quietly with a small shake of her head. “I don’t want to make a mess.”

“Next time, let’s put it on the counter in the kitchen if you’re not going to drink it all at once,” his dad replied, still sounding slightly amused. “Alright?” he asked, addressing Sophie.

“Ok,” Sophie replied dismissively as she focused her attention back on her doll as she brushed out the long hair.

“Did you two rope Jackson into playing dolls with you?” his father added in a teasing tone as he addressed the two girls.

Jackson couldn’t help but smile a little.

“No,” Sophie replied for both herself and Scarlett. “He was just here when I came up…talking to Scarlett…”

“I was looking around,” Jackson interjected in explanation as he stood up slowly from his crouched position. “I hope that’s okay…” he added in hesitation.

“Of course it is,” his dad replied in reassurance. “You’re welcome to any part of the house.”

Jackson nodded, showing his thanks.

“Speaking of…” his dad began again. “Did anyone show you where you were going to be sleeping?”

Jackson shook his head. Upon his arrival, his rucksack had been taken from him and placed who knows where. And he’d been so busy and preoccupied with all that had happened since then, that it had never occurred to him that there’d come a time for sleep and rest eventually.

“Nobody was using my downstairs office, so I’ve moved some things out and around and had a few cots moved in,” his dad began to explain. “I thought you and your brother and your–your mom–could bunk in there. If that’s alright…”

Jackson could sense a bit of uneasiness in his father–as if he was worried that Jackson might reject the arrangements. He seemed incredibly nervous and somehow it somewhat relieved Jackson that he wasn’t the only one who was uncertain of how to act or carry on in the most unusual of situations as this was.

“That’d work just fine,” Jackson assured him. “And I’m sure Mum and Alex will be fine with it too,” he added.

“Good,” his dad said with a nod of his head, looking quite relieved.

The two stayed standing where they were for a few moments–neither one saying anything, but each surveying the other with a quiet nervousness. What were they supposed to do now? Where they supposed embrace again? Or was a lengthy conversation on the docket now?

And what would they say? What would possibly be the topic they would turn to that would start the process of bringing together and bridging the gap that 17 years had brought?

“You’d said you’d been looking around,” his dad finally began. “Would you like me to show you around?” he added as his eyes momentarily drifted towards the two little girls who were still playing on the floor nearby.

“Or…maybe…we could find somewhere to talk?” he added, swallowing heavily as he turned his eyes back to Jackson’s. “Away from the madness downstairs…” he offered, again sounding quite nervous.

The question of what they’d possibly start out talking about again flitted through Jackson’s mind.

How would this conversation start? What course would it take?

This was his dad.

This was the one person he’d always wanted the opportunity to talk to. Before now, it had been an impossibility and any conversation was one that had been imagined inside his head, or carried out, one-sided, in the darkness in moments of insecurity or loneliness.

But here he was now. He was standing right in front of Jackson, looking every bit as nervous and unsure as Jackson felt.

And Jackson was terrified.

But the need and the want to talk and to know more about the man in front of him seemed to override any of that fear.

And slowly, Jackson nodded.

----------------------------------------------------------------

A few minutes later Jackson found himself seated at the edge of one of the cots in the downstairs office that had been setup as a bedroom for his family. This had been one of the only places that they’d found where they might be able to talk without disruption, interruption or eavesdroppers watching them.

Jackson had felt the curious eyes following him as he had let his father lead him into the room. He had avoided most of the gazes, but his mum’s had been the one he had actually sought as he had walked past his family. But he had not seen her as he’d walked through the kitchen and had not spotted her among those in the living room either.

Although he’d wondered what she would think, he didn’t have the time to seek her out to find out.

So now he found himself alone with his dad; the older man was currently unnecessarily rearranging and moving around some of the spare bits of furniture in order to clear more space or perhaps find somewhere for himself to sit.

After another minute or so, he finally settled into a nearby office chair–fidgeting and not looking all that comfortable in the situation.

It was a mirror of how Jackson felt.

Jackson found himself wringing his hands together as he tried to find anything to say or bring up any topic that they could possibly connect on. Sitting here in an awkward silence was not something that he wanted to struggle through. That wasn’t how he had envisioned this meeting…

“Talk about a total blow your mind moment…”

The words were out of Jackson’s mouth before he even had any time to feed them through the filter in his brain. He had obviously been thinking that sentiment the entire night–being in the presence of his supposedly, long-dead father was something that he equated to being beyond normal comprehension of the human mind. But it had been his overwhelming sense of nervousness that had forced the thought out of his head and heavily into the empty air between them.

At the sound of Jackson’s words, his father had looked up, gazing curiously at him for a moment. And then surprisingly, he let out a little laugh and a slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“Mind definitely blown,” his dad admitted with a nod of his head, looking very relieved that Jackson had broken the silence. “I’m not sure there’s anything in the world that could have prepared me for–well–this,” he added with a slight gesture to the space between himself and Jackson.

Jackson could only think to nod in agreement; words were still fleeting for him.

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This wasn’t working out how he thought this would go. He had for some reason been transformed into a fumbling, nervous-wreck and he was having the hardest time getting his brain to work with the rest of his body so that he could put together coherent sentences or even form the basis of intelligible words that might fill the silence.

This was his son–his own flesh and blood sitting on the camp bed across from him. And yet any recognizable form of conversation or communication was proving beyond Harry’s grasp at the moment. The fact was that Jackson was an invariable stranger to him and he was having a hard time reading the teen’s reactions to him. Jackson didn’t seem to loathe him or show the outright indifference that his mother had. But he also wasn’t rushing to welcome him back into the fold with open arms as had.

Jackson was–by his own right–keeping his distance.

Aside from the open display of emotion he had exhibited upon their initial meeting on the deck–where everyone involved had been overcome by the power of the moment–Jackson now seemed to be measuring Harry and taking his time in gauging what his own reactions should be.

Although they both were most definitely showing outward signs of nervousness…which had inevitably led them to the awkward silence now canvassing the room.

Harry had nearly been ready to voice the obvious nature of their predicament in lieu of anything better to say…

That is…until Jackson beat him to it.

Harry was still getting used to hearing that voice. Somehow there was so much of him in the tone and inflection--which, should be impossibly really. Shouldn’t it?

Children–well, people really–learned most of what language entailed from their environment and surroundings. Parents, family and friends–they all played a role in shaping that part of someone. He’d seen it in practice with Sophie as she had quickly morphed from a babbling toddler to a funny and chatty little girl. He’d even experienced it with himself–the proof being in the differences of his own dialect and accent post-battle after he’d relearned how to speak again in a different place.

But that shouldn’t be the case here, should it? After all, he and Jackson had never met before tonight. And while in a perfect world he should have had a hand in shaping the mannerisms of his son, he hadn’t been there to.

And yet, Ginny had been right–there was so much of himself in Jackson…

All of it was mind-blowing.

“Mind definitely blown,” Harry said automatically with a nod of his head, feeling slightly relieved that some sort of bridge had been built to span the silence.

Now that Jackson had spoken, Harry suddenly felt as though he needed to say something to continue the conversation. An opening lifeline had been thrown in his general direction and now it was his turn to grab hold…

“I’m not sure there’s anything in the world that could have prepared me for–well–this,” he added with a slight gesture to the space between himself and Jackson.

He watched as Jackson nodded in agreement, still maintaining a relative level of silence on his part.

“I–I never imagined that this is what I left behind,” Harry admitted aloud, feeling something inside urging him to explain himself–or even apologize to his son. “I had been trying to prepare for whatever emotions or feelings the rest of the family might have towards me because of it…”

Harry paused, taking in a deep breath.

“But forgive me if I’m a little bit lost when it comes to…you,” Harry said hesitantly. “I’m still struggling with the idea that I left–”

“I’d rather not talk about all that right now,” Jackson cut across Harry’s words quietly. There was no anger in his voice, but a firmness of what his wishes were. Despite that, Harry couldn’t help but show his surprise.

“The reasoning and the whys of what you decided and what happened then isn’t something I want to discuss right now,” Jackson clarified. “What I’ve heard from others and what I’ve come to understand about what went on and your choices–I get it. I do. Unlike my–well–I’m not angry, really. Sad maybe…”

“I’m sure it’ll come up in conversation later on and we’ll hash out whatever we need to–but right now,” Jackson continued on, pausing to take a deep breath, “I just want to talk–get to know you and figure out other things first.”

Harry took a few moments to let Jackson’s words sink in. He was incredibly taken with the maturity and sincerity the young man had just showed him. Not only that, he was relieved that Jackson didn’t hate him. Considering that–although however unintentionally and unknowingly–he’d had never been there for Jackson, Harry considered the lack of anger his son harbored towards him a miracle.

“I think that’s a good place to start,” Harry agreed. “And I’d really like the chance to do that.”

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen with anybody else,” Harry continued speaking–his mind straying to one person in particular who especially embodied the root cause of his confusion and uncertainty. “And I haven’t even begun to figure out how involved they’ll want me to be from now on…”

Harry paused, both to give himself a chance to breathe and to take a second to gauge Jackson’s reaction to his words.

“But what I do know is that I’d like to be part of your life if I can,” Harry continued on nervously, swallowing his fear of being rejected.

“I know I can’t make up for the time I wasn’t there for you,” Harry added. “But I’d like to be–there–from now on…in whatever capacity or level that you’ll allow me to or want me to be…”

Jackson seemed to have momentarily stopped breathing–stopped moving at all really. He was looking down at his feet, apparently deep in thought. It wasn’t until Harry saw Jackson’s Adam ’s apple bob up and down slightly as he swallowed that he was sure that the young man was still with him.

Harry thought that perhaps he’d gone too far and pushed too fast to interject himself into his son’s life.

“I want that,” Jackson said simply, looking up–his green eyes searching for Harry’s. “I want for you to be in my life.”

Harry reflexively sighed in relief, feeling some of the tension that had built up in his shoulders relax and leave him.

“I’m not sure how exactly this is going to go–but I’d very much like that,” Jackson added with a nod and a small smile, looking just as relieved and pleased as Harry felt.

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The rest of the evening seemed to flow by a lot easier once Jackson had let his dad know that he wanted to try to form some sort of relationship. He knew nothing would ever replace the years that they both had lost by his dad not being there, but Jackson was most certain that he wanted to take full advantage of what they could have now.

And once the awkwardness was tackled and some of their collective nervousness drained away, they actually spent quite a bit of time making small conversation–talking about Jackson’s schooling, some of his likes and hobbies, as well as his impending entry into the Auror training program once school was over. Jackson was more than happy to answer his dad’s questions and even more interested in asking his own.

He really did find it so fascinating to learn a bit more about the nearly 18 years his dad had spent separated from his friends and family. Jackson, of course asked more about his father’s career–finding out that he’d traveled all over the world for his job. Jackson had never really been outside of the UK besides his recent travels to the States, but his dad it seemed had been to so many different countries as he followed the bands and artists that he photographed around the globe on international tours and shows.

There was so much more that he’d wanted to ask or talk about, but time seemed to get away from them quick and before they knew it, it was nearing midnight. The lateness of the time, combined with the several hours’ difference in time that he was dealing with was soon making it difficult for Jackson to stay awake.

After he’d yawned for about the 20th time in the span of a few minutes, his dad suggested with a smile that maybe Jackson get some sleep. He assured him that they’d set aside some time tomorrow to talk some more and they’d figure it all out in the morning. Reluctantly, Jackson agreed and he gave his dad one last hug before bidding him goodnight. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, crawling into his camp bed and pulling the covers over himself.

He’d very nearly dozed off properly when he heard the door open, creaking softly on its hinges. He looked up to find a very sleepy looking Alex in the doorway. Jackson had nearly forgotten that he was supposed to be sharing the office with both his little brother and his mum.

Jackson watched through half-lidded eyes as his brother fished around the room in the dark for his bag. Wanting to help, Jackson reached for his wand stuffed under his pillow. With one swift movement he waved it in the air, bringing the lights in the room to a level that would allow Alex to see what he was doing.

“I thought you were asleep,” Alex blurted out once he’d gotten his bearings.

“Just nodding off,” Jackson replied with a shake of his head. “Is everyone else in bed?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Alex responded as he began to change into his pajamas. “I fell asleep on the sofa for a while,” he admitted.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jackson admonished, feeling bad that he’d kept his brother from getting proper rest.

Alex waved him off as he pulled on an old t-shirt for bed.

“That’s alright,” Alex said. “You needed to have the time alone with him. I wasn’t going to bother you,” Alex added.

Jackson nodded his appreciation.

“So…” Alex said after a moment. “How was it?” he asked hesitantly, although the curiosity in his voice was unmistakable.

Jackson thought for a moment, not sure that there actually was a word to describe the meeting and the past few hours, really.

“Amazing,” Jackson breathed out, finally settling on the one word that might begin to relay his feelings. “There was a lot to talk about…and we didn’t even begin to cover it all…but we surprisingly didn’t have that tough of a time finding something to talk on once we got started.”

Jackson watched as a slight smile stretched across his brother’s face–clearly relaying that the younger boy was amused by his brother’s admission.

“It’s still not set in,” Jackson admitted. “That this is real…that he’s really here.”

“Or that he’s bloody Harry Potter,” Alex added with a small laugh.

“That actually didn’t cross my mind or come up in conversation,” Jackson replied. “I guess I’ll leave the hero worship to you,” Jackson added teasingly. He had to remember that to Alex there was still very much that intrigue of Jackson’s dad being the famous Harry Potter. Whereas Jackson had always been told about what kind of person his dad had been–the friendly, yet-slightly awkward young man that his friends had really known.

“I think it’s really cool that you get to spend time with him now,” Alex said quietly as he began to climb into his own camp bed. “That he’s not actually…dead and all…”

“Yeah…” was all the response that Jackson could muster in agreement. He let a few seconds of silence lapse between them and once Alex had settled under the covers, he again waved his wands at the lights–extinguishing them once more.

“Is mum--?” Jackson began to ask aloud in the darkness as his curiosity about his mother’s whereabouts once more returned.

“She’s still up,” Alex offered in reply as he rolled over. “She was talking with Aunt Hermione, Grandmum and Tonks in the kitchen. She said she’d be turning in in a little while.”

Jackson could only, knowing that Alex couldn’t see his response in the dark. But his little brother must not have found Jackson’s lack of response odd because he remained quiet.

Jackson closed his eyes, but remained awake–listening in the darkness to the sound of the quieting house that had been so full of life just hours before. A short while later his brother’s soft snores joined the subtle sounds, signaling to Jackson that Alex had succumbed to his own exhaustion.

Despite the lingering thoughts bouncing around his head and the excitement of the day and the prospect of what was to come–Jackson was still bone-tired. He soon found himself–like his brother–drifting off as sleep took him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been asleep, but a slight jostling of the camp bed he slept upon brought him toward consciousness. He was just a sliver away from being able to rouse himself to the point of complete awareness, so his eyes remained closed even as he felt a soft hand brush at the fringe on his forehead.

The person sitting on the edge of his bed remained quiet and still, but there was no doubt in Jackson sleepy mind who it was. He had caught a whiff of his mum’s flowery perfume. He’d been able to recognize it since he was a little boy–subtle, yet surely hers.

After another slight shift of the cot Jackson felt his mum place a kiss on the side of his head.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she whispered before she leaned back and stood up.

She moved deftly across the room and Jackson heard the slight squeak as she sat on the edge of Alex’s cot. He listened as his mum murmured similar sentiments of love to her youngest son. Alex grunted a quiet, unintelligible response before falling silent again.

Without much more noise his mother settled into her own bed. Jackson vaguely wondered if she was lying there awake, but before he could contemplate it much more, his own tiredness dragged him back down to unconsciousness.

Back to index


Chapter 17: Some Things Last A Long Time

Author's Notes: I honestly cannot believe it has been 2 years since my last update. I sincerely apologize for taking so long and genuinely thank everyone who has checked in, left reviews or sent me a message over that time to see how things were going with the story and myself. This story and the characters have never been far from my mind and I have every intention on finishing it one day.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit transitional and does contain some topics of more adult in nature and some language near the end that is a bit strong--but I just ask that you remember that the characters are adults in this and they've been through quite a lot to get to the point that they are currently at.

Thank you again!


He couldn’t fall asleep.

While his body was tired and the exhaustion from a day full of celebration and emotion had set into his very bones–his mind was working double-time even as his body craved respite.

It hadn’t even been 24 hours since the past had come back into his life, full-force–overwhelming and slamming into him like a rogue wave amidst an otherwise calm sea–but he felt like he’d been awake for a week straight.

So much had changed in such a short amount of time.

It had begun when his memories had started coming back a few months ago–first just flashes and flickers of images and impulses of a life unknown– then morphing into dreams and full-fledged memories until full remembrance had come to him.

More change had come about when Ron and Hermione had showed up on his doorstep, throwing him totally asunder–threatening for a while to derail the life he’d built for himself.

He’d even managed to survive the arrival of the rest of the family and those he’d cared about. Seeing Ginny again had tested him to his limit, but he’d again been able to control himself and stay relatively grounded.

But this…

He took another long drag and let it out slowly as he shook his head, leaning against the wooden railing for support.

He not only had a son, but he was here and he was real and he was an amazing kid. He was funny and intelligent and he seemed to be genuinely happy–which made Harry so relieved, yet at the same time sad that he’d played no part in it.

Despite their talk earlier this evening that had left Harry feeling hopeful about what role he could play in Jackson’s life, there were still those lingering feelings of guilt over what had transpired in the past and fear over what may come to light in the days, weeks and–hopefully–years to come.

Life seemed to somehow and quite impossibly be coming back together all of the sudden. The life he’d literally forgotten and left behind was laying itself out before him and the people he’d once been cared for so much that he’d given everything for them, were becoming a part of his life once more.

As great as all of that sounded–his head was more jumbled than it had been in a long time. It was proving hard to maintain that balance between who he was now and the person that he thought everyone here expected him to be.

Although he may have the memories to convince everyone else that he was who he was, the truth was that he wasn’t the same Harry Potter that all of these people had said goodbye to nearly 18 years ago. That young man had died exactly where and when they’d all thought he had. Maybe not physically–but who he was then and all promise of who he would have grown to be had.

He was finding it so hard to juggle the expectations with that reality. It really was like having split-personalities or living a double life.

Trying to figure out how much of Harry and how much of Evan should show through in any one conversation this past day had been exhausting and confusing. He had thought he’d been doing a fairly decent job at hiding this inner struggle from everyone–enough that perhaps they thought that it was simply nerves–but even wondering how long he could possibly keep this dance up was taxing to him.

With his head pounding and the cool night air doing little to bring any sort of relief, Harry hoped that somehow he’d find something or someone that might help him clear his mind and settle his thoughts.

Bringing his right hand back up to his mouth to take another drag, he paused just before the cigarette hit his lips. The sound of the French doors opening and closing quietly behind him alerted Harry to the fact that he was no longer alone.

Harry turned slowly, pulling his right hand slightly behind himself instinctively as he turned to face the new arrival.

It was Ron who had joined him on the deck.

His friend, dressed in a faded pair of pajama pants and wrapped in a long green bathrobe, didn’t look surprised to find the deck already occupied.

“Alright if I join you?” Ron asked through a slight yawn as he moved towards one of the empty deckchairs nearby.

Harry shrugged one shoulder and then nodded

“Sure,” he replied. “I don’t mind the company,” Harry admitted, knowing that Ron would probably be the easiest to talk to at the moment. He’d been great at not pushing any uncomfortable conversation since they’d been reunited.

Ron nodded his thanks and maneuvered his tall, lanky frame into the low chair, sighing as he did so.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Harry asked as Ron beckoned for Harry to join him in the empty chair next to him. Harry obliged, sitting down on the edge.

“Nope. I’d like to blame it on Portkey-lag,” Ron admitted. “But all those years of nights on watch and midnight missions somehow still manages to mess with my sleep pattern,” he added with a rueful smile.

“You know, you don’t have to hide that,” Ron after a second as he gestured to the still lit cigarette in Harry’s hand.

Harry’s eyes went down to his right hand, feeling slightly sheepish.

“I shouldn’t even be having it, actually,” Harry admitted even as he took another drag.

“Yeah? Well I reckon we’re all prone to slip up from time to time,” Ron replied in understanding as the two slipped into a few moments’ silence.

“Can I steal one from you?”

Harry had to do a double-take and looked up at his friend to make sure he’d actually heard what he thought he had.

Ron was looking at him expectantly, only looking slightly sheepish about his request.

“Really?” Harry asked quietly and a bit disbelieving as he reached into his pocket and produced a pack.

Holding open the top, he held it out to his friend and watched silently as Ron took one.

“Another habit I’ve retained from my days in the field,” Ron replied with a shrug as he took the lighter Harry had held out. “Although…it’s only from time to time these days,” he added as he lit the end, which glowed orange in the dim light.

“Do me a favor though?” Ron said as he exhaled slowly, his eyes finding Harry’s seriously.

“Don’t tell my wife.”

Harry couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face. First–he wasn’t sure that he’d ever get used to Ron so freely referring to Hermione as ‘my wife’. And secondly–it was sort of amusing to imagine Ron was hiding something like this from her.

“My lips are sealed,” Harry replied.

“I was supposed to have quit years ago,” Ron said after another long drag. “She absolutely hated it and back then it was usually tied to me being drunk off my arse–which was a lot of the time…right after…” Ron added before his words suddenly faded away.

Harry watched as his old friend’s gaze suddenly got far away and his face fell slightly–as though he was remembering something not so pleasant from his past.

There was a small part of Harry that wanted to ask Ron to talk and to elaborate on what he had said. Not only because he was curious to learn about what life may have been like in the direct aftermath of the war–but also because Harry knew himself about battling demons and addiction.

But rather than force anything and risk going too far, Harry let Ron continue in his silence.

“Cor…what a night,” Ron finally breathed out as he seemed to shake himself back to the present. “What a life…”

Harry could only nod in agreement.

“It’s definitely turned out a little bit different than I imagined it would,” Harry admitted quietly.

“I wanted to say something–about Jackson–the last time we were here,” Ron told him. “But it’s not exactly something you can imagine popping on someone in the course of normal conversation,” he added rather apologetically.

“No…I understand that,” Harry replied. “I’m not angry that nobody said anything until tonight. In fact, any of those feelings of hurt or anger would be overridden by sheer amazement anyway…”

“He’s a pretty amazing kid,” Ron offered as a bit of lightness danced across his features as he spoke of his nephew.

“I remember when we first found out that Ginny was having him,” Ron continued as he took a long drag. “I mean--it was scary thing and we all had different sorts of reactions to our little sister having a baby–but once he was born…”

Ron trailed off, his gaze again going far away as if he were remembering something.

“I remember the first time I held him…I mean, I didn’t even have any kids of my own at the time–but it was the same feeling. I knew that I was going to do anything I could for him–that I’d kill for the kid just to make sure he’d grow up happy and free…”

“As bad as things got right after the war, they got just a little better after Jackson was born. I mean–it still hurt like hell that you were gone and there was always that hole there,” Ron added. “But, having a new part of our family to start to heal us all helped tremendously. I think he helped to save a lot of us and show us that after everything…there WAS life.”

Harry let his old friend’s words sink in with the silence that had followed them.

He could only begin to imagine what the aftermath of the chaos of the battle and war had been like. Sure, he considered his time after and even the burden of making the decision he had as his own personal hell–but to think of what pain and sorrow he had left in his wake back home was something that was incredibly hard to fathom.

“And it’s always helped that he’s just a great kid overall,” Ron said with a smile. “I know I’m not supposed to have favorites as an uncle,” he added ruefully.

“From what I’ve heard you two had a very good, long meeting and talk,” Ron said conversationally as he returned his gaze to Harry once more.

Harry nodded.

“Once the shock went down a level where I could think straight, yeah…” Harry said as he took a deep breath. “Then it was just a matter of getting over how terrifying finding anything relevant to talk about was…”

“And after that…all I can think about now is just how much I truly didn’t understand what my decision really meant,” Harry continued as he felt the emotion bubble up again. “And how much I truly don’t deserve any sort of second chance–or first chance in this case…”

Harry watched as Ron shook his head at his last comment.

“Whatever punishment you think you should have coming to you because of any of this…I think you’ll find that the fates and the rest of us aren’t going to continue to hold things over your head,” Ron assured him. “We just got you back. I’m sure as hell not about to screw that up by beating you over the head for the past.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied with a grateful nod. “Although I’m not sure everyone here shares in your sentiments,” he added quietly.

“Yeah…well, my sister might be a special case,” Ron said truthfully, without having to ask at all who Harry might be referring to. His face also sobered slightly from the light-heartedness that had been in the air before.

“Ginny’s had a bit of a different go of it from the rest of us,” Ron admitted with a sigh. “I mean…she’s the one who was pregnant, raised your son--and had to do it all while mourning you…”

“That hurts the most…that I left her,” Harry admitted as he swallowed heavily.

“I think with the way it was between you two–how much you both…both loved each other,” Ron continued, “I think having you back–being here–is bringing up a whole lot feelings for her that she’s not sure how to deal with.”

Harry nodded.

“What I really want to do is just ask her to sit down and talk–hash things out,” Harry admitted out loud to the darkness. “I’d even let her punch me square in the face if it would mean that she’d say more than a few words to me at a time.”

Harry ran another hand over his tired face, the sound of his palm against stubble was loud against the quiet of the night.

“It’s like she’s been avoiding me and trying not to be in whatever room I’m in since we were out here on the deck earlier this evening,” Harry said with a sigh. “Even though she doesn’t want it–I want to apologize–to try to explain things myself like I have with you. But right now I don’t see that happening…”

“I think a lot of her standoffish-ness has to do with her wanting to give you space to get to know Jackson,” Ron said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “I do know that it is very important to her that Jackson gets to know you–that he gets a chance to have what he’s never really had before. As to what her feelings or plans are in regards to you–I’m not sure.”

“Maybe after all that is settled down you two can figure yourselves out…and if there’s still something…” Ron added as an afterthought.

Harry shook his head.

“Ron, that’s not even a thought in my head right now–figuring out there’s even anything remotely–romantic–still between us,” Harry replied dismissively, even though he knew his words were somewhat of a lie.

Of course it was something he’d thought about several–thousand–times since he’d regained his memories. Harry was very much aware of who he was now–that he’d spent virtually half of his thirty six years apart from her and living as a very different man than he had been. So it was natural that time had lessened and changed some feelings.

But since the first days he’d started regaining his memories, there had been moments of awareness in the quiet of a still morning that he was sure that if he opened his eyes he’d find himself in her bed again. That if he only rolled onto his side and reached a hand out, he’d find her there, sleeping peacefully next to him as he had that morning–as though no time had passed at all.

But it never happened that way.

When he opened his eyes he was always alone in his bed, half a world away.

But it was that part of his heart and his mind that had the hardest time letting those feelings go. It was as though it had only been a day or two since they’d parted. That he’d only been gone for moments instead of years.

Space and time had not lessened that love. Not really.

“Right now I’ll settle for some sort of understanding–to be able to just talk,” Harry admitted, hoping to steer the conversation away from where it seemed to be going.

“Then do that,” Ron offered with an encouraging nod. “Get a good night’s sleep–which I know you need because you look like you’ve not had a proper one in a few days–and then tomorrow ask her to chat privately for a bit.”

Harry shot Ron a skeptical look.

“What?” Ron replied. “The worst that can happen is that she’ll say no. And I honestly don’t think she’d do that–I think that she’d at least listen to you for a while before the yelling starts…”

“Great,” Harry sighed heavily as he placed another cigarette on his lips, lighting the end and taking a long drag as his eyes found the stars above.

When his gaze returned to the deck, he found Ron staring at him steadily.

Ron looked as though he were trying to memorize and take in everything he could about his friend–that if he blinked, he might disappear again for another 17 years.

“I missed you,” Ron said simply, yet his voice was full of emotion–his gaze still not leaving Harry.

What might have been unnerving to some, Harry found he could only continue to hold his old friend’s gaze and attention–he owed Ron that.

“I can’t even count how many times over the years I wished we could have had moments like this,” Ron said as he sighed heavily and let it out into the night. “There’ve been times I’ve been sitting and relaxing with my brother’s or other friends–I could almost imagine that if I turned, you’d be sitting there next to me--talking about life…our kids…having a few drinks while we went on about Quidditch or whatever else we could to take our mind off the rest of the world.

“It’s been hard, man,” Ron admitted as his eyes found Harry again.

“You were my best man at my wedding,” Ron said quietly as he stared off into the darkness. “Everyone--even Ginny--said it would be alright if Neville stood in for you. They said you’d no doubt you’d be the honorary best man–but for ceremonial purposes and all that–it would be okay if he took that place.”

Ron shook his head.

“I thought about having Jackson stand there,” Ron said as his eyes all of the sudden seemed far off, almost as though he had gone back to those moments in life. “But he was just a little bugger at the time,” Ron added with a laugh. “There was no way he was going to not be all squirmy and wiggly standing there for that long.”

“I had it open–that space next to me,” he said, his words suddenly heavily.

“I’m not trying to get all mushy on you,” Ron assured Harry when his best friend remained quiet, his eyes averted to the wooden deck floor.

“But there were few times I wasn’t sure I…” he started before he trailed off and looked away and up at the night sky as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I drank a lot,” Ron said simply. “I wanted to escape from everything and that was the only thing that seemed to help at the time. Except...it only ended up making things worse. I put my parents and my whole family through hell in a time when they needed anything else but that--and I nearly lost Hermione more than once…”

“It was that bad?” Harry asked quietly.

He’d never wanted his decisions to hurt his friends like they had. The choices he’d made were made with the intention of sparing them from burden--but it seemed that what they’d experienced had been quite the opposite.

Those he loved had suffered in so many ways because of him.

“I was depressed and I was a drunk,” Ron said with a nod. “Not a good combination.”

“It literally took Hermione moving out on me for a month and Ginny telling me that if I kept things up like I was, she wasn’t going to allow me to be around Jackson to pull me out of it and bring me round,” Ron admitted. “I’ve had two slip-ups in the years since. But for the most part I try to stay away from alcohol--especially in stressful and emotional times.”

“Like now,” Harry said in a low voice. He’d noticed that of all the Weasley brothers, Ron had been the only one Harry had not seen with a beer or drink today.

Ron nodded.

“I’ve done alright this time around,” Ron admitted.

Harry was quiet for a few moments--his mind full of all sorts of reassuring things he wanted to say to his oldest friend.

“I understand where you’re coming from with that...battling with depression and self-medicating to make those feelings go away,” Harry admitted after taking a deep breath.

They were being open and honest with each other now and Harry wanted to give as much as his friend had.

Ron looked up at him in surprise. There was questioning in his gaze, but he remained silent--giving Harry room to speak.

“I struggled for a few years with addiction,” Harry continued quietly as he looked down at his hands. “Up until Sophie was born.”

“It started off as pretty innocent partying--drinking and...smoking,” Harry added, hoping that with his hesitation, Ron would understand that he wasn’t just referring to cigarettes.

“But as soon as I realized that those substances also helped me cope with the whole myriad of issues and insecurities I had regarding my past--or lack thereof--I started to abuse them...and eventually moved onto harder stuff…”

Harry let his words linger on the quiet night air.

“Like...drugs?”

Ron’s quiet question held none of the judgement that Harry usually expected whenever he spoke of this.

Harry nodded.

“There’s no skirting around the fact that--I was an addict,” Harry said. “Am--a recovering addict,” he added, amending his words slightly.

“Even now? Even after you--?”

“Even now that I know that I’m Harry Potter--yeah,” Harry answered. “I mean--I may not have had my memories at the time--but it was still me who ultimately made those decisions that led me into that stuff. Who’s to say it couldn’t happen again? That I wouldn’t slip if given the in even now?”

“It is always there…” Ron muttered thoughtfully.

Harry nodded.

Thinking back on his past was painful--and it wasn’t just because he’d spent so many years not knowing who he was.

He had tried for so long to find something or somebody that he could ground himself to and reform all those missing connections that not having a memorable past left him with. He’d sought to find something--anything--that would fill the gaping holes in his life and in the end he’d ended up with a whole string of hollow and meaningless relationships and encounters and a habit that had nearly cost him everything and everyone he did have in his life.

It was how he ultimately decided to deal with his issues that hurt the most when he looked back now.

He’d nearly lost his job--several times.

Spent days and weeks--even--stumbling around in a fog where there were massive stretches of time that he couldn’t really recall where he’d been, what he’d done or who he’d met up with.

And he’d succeeded in alienating and--for a bit--driving away the only support system he did have.

It was only when something as life altering as fatherhood had been thrust upon him had he had come crawling back to them--desperate for their help.

And thankfully--he’d gotten it.

Steve and Maria had told him countless times that they were incredibly proud of the way he’d stepped up and straightened himself out. Looking back now, he often wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t asked for help and had continued on the way he was going.

Part of him knew that he probably be dead. It had been that bad.

But more frightening for him to think about was where Sophie would be.

He could very easily have ignored the voicemail he’d received from Morgan’s assistant--the one that had very nonchalantly let him know that Morgan was pregnant, that there was at least a chance that he might be the father and that clearly said that he needn’t worry about it--they’d be just fine without him but had just wanted to let him know anyway…

It would not have been out of character for him then to have grabbed onto that free pass that was being dangled in front of him at the time and go on about his life as he had been without a care for anybody but himself.

But something had clicked within him and he’d wanted to fight--fight with everything he had to hang onto and forge this new connection and bring home this little girl. His change had started even before he’d known for sure that Sophie was actually his daughter. He tried not to think about what his response and reaction would have been had the tests come back with different results and she had not been his afterall.

But she was his and she had saved him and ultimately had made him into the man and version of himself that he was finally proud of.

Not that it made it any easier to look back at parts of his life and not feel extreme disappointment in how he’d handled himself before…

“We’ve all got a lot of things in our lives we’re not particularly proud of--but that doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of it beating ourselves up over it,” Ron said quietly. “Don’t think I can’t see those wheels turning about in your head over there. It may have been 18 years since I’ve seen you last, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize that look on your face.”

Harry quirked a brow at his old friend.

“The one that clearly says that you’re trying to take yourself to task over something you can’t change and don’t need to apologize to anyone for,” Ron replied to Harry’s questioning look.

“I feel like if everyone else found out they’d look at me even more differently than they already do,” Harry admitted quietly.

“When you first started telling us about your past--about how Sophie came about and all that--Hermione and I sort of thought there was more than likely a lot more to your story than you wanted to tell us at the moment,” Ron replied. “We figured there had to be something a little more--wild--in your past that you were saying. Seeing as--well--what you were alluding to wasn’t anything I think either of us would have expected to hear from you.”

“I was a fucking idiot. A careless, horrible fucking idiot.”

“You were young,” Ron corrected him, as if trying to lessen some of his mate’s burden.

“I think me being young stopped being an adequate excuse years ago,” Harry sighed. “I think after awhile it just turned into me being a self-centered, self-destructive asshole.”

“You’ve been through things in your life that would have messed with anybody’s head. You’ve certainly turned things around now and--from what I can see--you’ve got a pretty damn good life now,” Ron assured him. “I don’t think anyone here is going to judge you too harshly for something you’ve already made amends for. I’m certainly not.”

“When did you get so damn sensitive and introspective?” Harry blurted out when he realized that what he’d been hearing from his best mate these past few minutes were things he would have previously associate with Hermione.

“Surprised, eh?” Ron said with a slight smile.

“I shouldn’t be,” Harry admitted. “I mean--we’ve all changed a lot over this time--but I guess I’m just not used to all this sage advice coming from someplace other than--”

“Other than Hermione?” Ron replied with a rueful smile before Harry could even complete his thought.

“Something like that,” Harry said.

“I’d like to think I’ve picked up a thing or two over the years from her regarding sensitivity and all that,” Ron continued. “Don’t tell her though. She’ll expect it from me all the time if you confirm that I no longer have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Harry chuckled quietly to himself, remembering the exact moment when that phrase first came about all those years ago.

“But seriously,” Ron said even as an amused smile remained on his face. “I understand where you’re coming from and how it is to think that everyone else is watching you when you pick up that pint--wondering in their minds if this is gonna be the time you fuck up again. I don’t think I’ll ever truly live down or make up for some of the things I put my family through--but I’d like to think we’re in a place now where we’ve moved on and created something new and better going forward.”

“I think you’ll find that--if you ever feel comfortable sharing with the others what you’ve just shared with me--you’ll probably be met with the same understanding,” Ron assured him. “And--if you ever want to talk or anything--just know I’m here too.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied gratefully and sincerely. This was a very new side to he and Ron’s relationship that certainly hadn’t been there previously. It was good to know that the connection they’d always had was still there. And it was even better to know that--even though so much time had separated their lives--they’d both grown in ways that had translated to their friendship.

Harry found himself appraising his old friend as he sat stretched out on the deck chair. Ron’s face still held many of the same boyhood features he recognized from years ago--although they’d sharpened and hardened over time like his own and the first signs of lines were starting to make their presence known. Incredibly tall and still fairly lanky, Ron’s red hair was only a touch lighter than it had been his youth--a smattering of grey hair just barely showing through and a hairline just beginning to show signs that it may be receding. And Ron had always seemed to be fidgeting in their youth--and even now--his red-haired friend was shaking one slipper-clad foot despite the calmness of the evening.

An enormous and unexpected wave of emotion hit him at that moment as he surveyed his friend.

“I missed you,” Harry said quietly, echoing his friend’s earlier sentiments.

Ron didn’t even have to say anything in response.

All these years he may not have known who exactly it was that he was missing--but there were holes in his life that he had never been able to fill and he knew that one of them had been having a friend like he had in Ron.

Back to index


Chapter 18: Stuttering

Author's Notes: Enjoy! And once you get to the end of the chapter--you'll see exactly where we're heading very shortly :)


It was the smell of frying meat that had lured him out of bed.

He could hear the light clanging of pans and the sound of knives against a wooden cutting board.

Someone was making breakfast.

Careful not to make too much noise and wake up both his brother and mum, Jackson slowly rolled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of his camp bed. He took a moment to work out all out all the kinks and stretch out his tired muscles. There was still a trace of Portkey-lag muddling with his senses, but after a night’s sleep Jackson certainly felt a bit more refreshed.

He tip-toed across the room, careful not to wake his brother and mother before grabbing his hoodie from the back of desk chair and throwing it on. He slowly opened the office door and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

The smell of breakfast being made was even stronger out here.

Now that he was out in the hall he could tell that it was still fairly early. He could see pale morning light streaming in through the windows on either side of the front doorway. Aside from the sounds coming from the kitchen, the house was otherwise quiet. It seemed the vast majority of the occupants of the house were still asleep--recovering from a busy day with a bit of a lie in.

As good as the prospect of crawling back into bed may have been, the sound of Jackson’s stomach rumbling quite loudly in the quiet hall won out and he padded gently towards the kitchen--his stocking feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor.

As he moved towards the open kitchen, he immediately saw his grandmum at work in front of the oven and stove much like he’d seen her countless times over the years at The Burrow. She was moving about effortlessly between pots and pans as she stirred, diced and flipped.

She was also smiling and laughing at something or someone just out of view.

Jackson rounded the corner to enter the kitchen fully, slowing up as he caught sight of that someone sitting on one of the stools lined up along the breakfast bar counter.

Even from behind he knew who was sitting there.

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart!” his grandmother greeted when she looked up to find him surveying the scene before him. “I didn’t think anyone would be up this early with all the excitement of yesterday,” she added with a bright smile as she took in the sight of her eldest grandchild.

“I--er--breakfast smelled--wonderful,” Jackson struggled to get out as his eyes remained locked on the shock of black hair still sitting on the stool facing away from him.

“Well come have a seat,” his grandmother beckoned as she pointed to an open chair. “Best to grab a plate before the hordes wake up and eat everything up.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment more before he was able to move one foot in front of the other and took his place on the stool next to the only other occupant of the kitchen.

“Good morning,” his dad greeted him with a big smile as Jackson pulled his seat closer to the countertop.

Jackson nodded his greeting and smiled in return as his grandmother placed a plate full of eggs, bacon and sausages in front of him.

It looked and smelled wonderful. His Gran really was the best cook.

“Eat up,” she implored as she smiled and then turned back to concentrate on preparing the rest of that morning’s meal.

Jackson quickly tucked into his plate, trying not to shovel it all into his mouth too quickly.

“This is even better than I remember, Mrs. Weasley,” his dad said after gulping down a large forkful of food.

“There will be none of that,” Jackson’s gran scolded as she turned from the stove with a hand on her hip and a wooden spoon pointed warningly in the direction of the counter.

Jackson watched his dad freeze on the spot--fork stopped in mid-air piled high with eggs and sausage. He looked very concerned he’s said something offensive and confused as to what it might have been.

“We’re both well onto being adults now,” Gran told him with a smile. “So there will be no more of this “Mrs. Weasley” talk. It’s Molly, Harry.You can call me Molly.”

Jackson watched on as his father smiled and nodded sheepishly--ducking his head slightly.

“I think I can manage that,” he said quietly, the embarrassed smile still visible on his face.

Gran shot Jackson’s dad another smile before turning back again to the meal at hand, leaving them all in companionable silence.

“Your Gran really does make some of the best food I’ve ever had,” Jackson heard his dad say quietly. Jackson turned to to find his dad watching him carefully.

Jackson nodded in agreement.

“Mum’s pretty good herself,” admitted with a grin, not quite sure exactly why he was bringing his mother into the conversation. “But nothing’s ever quite the same as how Gran makes it,” he admitted sheepishly.

His dad, however, looked very interested in what Jackson was telling him.

“I can only remember ever eating something she made once,” he responded with a wistful look on his face. “Treacle Tart for my birthday.”

“And it was burnt,” Gran said from her place at the counter. From her side profile, Jackson could see that she had a faint smile on her face at that particular memory.

“It was still fairly good,” his dad admitted.

“She’s become quite a good cook since then,” Gran said proudly. “She was very much a quick study once this one came along,” she added as she turned, smiling at Jackson as she placed another heaping spoonful of eggs on his already full plate. She did the same to his dad’s plate as well.

“She’s still trying to fatten me up, I see,” his dad whispered as he eyed the mountain of eggs. Jackson could only smile widely. She’d been doing the same thing to him for the last few years.

“I heard that,” Gran said in a sing-song, scolding voice. “And, yes...even after all these years I think that you’re still far too thin for as tall as you are,” she added as the added even more bacon to their plates.

“And you…” she added as she turned to Jackson. “Now you see what the future holds for you, it wouldn’t hurt you to eat up too,” she said as though he was openingly protesting the food that she was plying him with.

But for some reason Jackson was more intrigued with the notion that from now on he’d be able to look to the man sitting next to him as a blueprint for what he’d look like as he’d got older.

For so long he’d only been able to picture his father as someone who was slightly older than Jackson was now and there was ultimately going to come a time in his life where Jackson would be older than his father had ever gotten the chance to be.

But that wasn’t the case anymore.
The man sitting next to him--well into his mid-thirties--gave Jackson his first real glimpse at what he’d very well look like at that age. His dad-- unlike some of his uncles, thankfully--still had a full head of dark hair. And aside from a few wrinkles and worry lines around his eyes and couple of small scars on his face--he still looked fairly young.

It was nice to know that he had some good genes in the pipeline.

“Thanks, Gran,” Jackson said as he began to attack the small mountain of food she’d piled again on his plate.

“So what do you have planned for the day?” Jackson’s grandmother asked, and he looked up slightly alarmed. He wasn’t aware that he’d been tasked with planning anything. He didn’t know of any plans either.

“Your dad, here, tells me there’s a pool on the property,” his gran said with a smile. “I’m sure once the rest of the crowd finds out, they’ll want to dive in.”

The words “your dad” were odd to Jackson. He’d certainly heard them over the years but never in the context of “your dad--sitting right next to you--real and alive.” It was still something unbelievable that he’d have to get used to.

“Yes, there’s a building at the edge of the property that has a pretty good-sized pool and deck and lounge area,” his dad confirmed. “I don’t actually get to use it all that often, to be honest--but I’d love it if everyone else could take advantage of it--especially with the cold and snow we’re having.”

“That’s pretty awesome,” Jackson interjected.

“I do--um--also have a few errands to run this morning,” his dad said.

“Even though your grandmother says I don’t need to--I’m going to stop at the store to pick up some more food and other items,” he continued and Jackson heard his grandmum say something about managing perfectly well and that he shouldn’t have to shoulder all the burden as the host.

“I also have to stop at my office to pick up some papers I need to grade over break that I forgot,” he added.

“And...I thought--if you’re interested…” his dad said, looking rather sheepish and nervous all of the sudden. “You might want to tag a long.”

“Yeah...of course!” Jackson said quickly--unable to keep his enthusiasm at bay.

His dad cracked a big smile.

“Good,” he said with a nod. “I’ll probably leave within the hour, if that’s alright?”

“I’ll be ready,” Jackson assured him.

He quickly wolfed down the rest of his meal and bid both his gran and dad a thanks--with his dad telling him he could use the downstairs bathroom to shower and take care of whatever--before he hurried down the hall towards the still darkened office where his mum and brother were still asleep.

He tiptoed quietly back into the room, carefully pulling a new change of clothes out of his rucksack as he tried not to make too much noise and avoid waking his family.

He’d thought he’d succeeded in doing so until out of the corner of his eyes he saw his mum roll over and sit up on her cot. She rubbed her eyes sleepily for a moment before they focused on him.

“What are you up to this early?” she asked in a near whisper--making sure not to wake Alex.

“I got up a bit ago--had some breakfast,” Jackson supplied. “Gran is already making it.”

“Is anyone else up?” she asked as she yawned.

“Umm...not really,” he said with a shrug as he grabbed his shoes. “Just...dad.”

“Oh,” she said with a nod, not relaying much emotion or surprise at all.

“He...er...also asked if I wanted to come with him this morning,” Jackson said quietly, glancing over at his still sleeping brother. “He’s got a few things to do.”

“Can I go?” Jackson asked.

His mother’s eyebrows raised for a bit in surprise before she responded.

“You’re of age, love,” she told him quietly. “I--you can choose what you’d like to do with him without my permission.”

“Ok…” Jackson said with a nod. “I’m going to go with then.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

“He’s going to a store and his office,” Jackson replied. “I suppose it’ll be quite interesting to see where he works.”

Ginny only nodded again and looked down at her blanket and away from him.

Even though she was telling him it was alright for him to go, there was something in her demeanor that bothered him. As hard as this whole messy situation had been on him--Jackson could only fathom what it might be like for his mum. He had been quite surprised actually that she was here at all.

She was here in the house of the man she’d loved as a teenager and had a baby with--a man she’d spent the last 17 years believing was dead and had gone through so much grief for. Jackson didn’t have any of the interactions she’d had with his dad and so his take on all of this was that he wanted as much time and opportunity now to get to know his dad.

But his mum was going through so many different emotions about this. He’d heard some of the others in the family mention that his mum and dad should get together and hash things out. But he really didn’t know if that would happen anytime soon.

Jackson hadn’t talked with his mum specifically about her feelings in all of this--but he knew her emotions were all over the place and it was so unlike her and he wasn’t quite sure what to do to make her feel better.

He set the clothes he’d gathered from his bag back onto his camp bed and moved over to hers, sitting on the end of the bed where her legs did not quite reach.

“Mum, are you ok?” he asked quietly as he looked at her, hoping to catch her gaze. After a moment, she looked up with questioning eyes.

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she replied tiredly.

“I can’t imagine any of this is easy for you,” he returned as he picked at a spot on the blanket next to his own leg. “We haven’t really talked about how you feel, Mum. I know I’ve been excited about the opportunity I have now to get to know him--but you’ve got a lot more complicated history to sort through. I don’t want you to think I’m--”

“I want you to know him,” his mum said sincerely. “I want you to have a relationship with him and I want you to enjoy having your dad in your life.”

“Harry and I--your dad and I--we do have a complicated history,” she continued. “And now that I know there were plans and things in place that change everything I knew about the situation--I am having a hard time fathoming how I’m just supposed to move on as easily as everyone else.”

“But that’s for me to work out,” she added, reaching forward to take his hand. “That’s for your father to work out. Not you.”

“I just don’t like seeing you like this,” Jackson replied. “You’ve just been different since we found out he was alive.”

“I know,” she admitted quietly. “I’m trying--please know that. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t trying to come to terms with this.”

“But please, do not think you have to dampen any of your enthusiasm for your dad because I’m trying to figure out where I want to be in his life,” she told him. “Enjoy the time you have with him. Go on--have fun.”

Jackson observed her, trying to discern anything in her face that might giveaway that she wasn’t being completely honest or that her words were not sincere. But he did not see anything there that gave him that impression.

“Apparently there’s a pool here,” Jackson offered after a moment. “I’m sure everyone is going to want to take a dip once they find out.”

“I’m sure your brother will like that,” she said with a smile.


“You should enjoy it too,” Jackson replied. “And...maybe later...when we get back...you and dad can talk,” he said as he trailed off.

“Maybe,” his mother said with a heavy sigh, giving him the clear impression that he shouldn’t press this conversation much more. She’d clearly shared all that she was going to.

Jackson got up from his spot on the bed and reached over to give his mum a lingering hug before he returned to where he’d dumped his clothes and shoes on the camp bed. Giving her one last glance over his shoulder, he left the still darkened room and padded down to the loo to get ready for the day.

-----------------------------------------

Nearly half an hour later Jackson returned to the kitchen--his hair still slightly damp from his shower--to find it much more crowded than previously. Several of his cousins and aunts and uncles were seated at the island on stools or at the adjoining dining room table. He could hear voices also coming from the sitting room--giving him the impression that the group had also spilled into that room as well.

“Hi Jackson!” Scarlett said as she ran by him down the hallway with stocking feet. He smiled and watched her scurry away before he could even respond.

He’d had so many years of this kind of chaos--his big, warm and boisterous family seemingly always make lots of noise--laughing and even sometimes shouting. He’d come to love and couldn’t imagine his family any other way.

As he took it all in, his eyes scanned the room for what would be an addition to the usual crowd. But he did not see his dad amongst them.

Several other people shouted greetings and ‘good mornings’ towards him as he moved throughout the room.

“Did you eat yet?” his Aunt Hermione asked him as he passed by where she was seated on a stool.

He nodded as he gave her a quick hug.

“I ate earlier before everyone was up,” he supplied as he pulled away “Do you--er--do you know where my dad is?” he asked as he looked around again.

“I think he went outside--with your granddad and your Uncle Ron,” she replied as she nodded towards the hallway that lead to the front door. “I think he was showing them how to access the building where the pool is.”

“I’m sure that’ll keep everyone busy today,” Jackson said with a smile.

His aunt returned the grin and both of their gazes were drawn to the hallway where the sound of the front door opening and closing caught their attention. A few moments later, Uncle Ron entered the room, followed closely by Jackson’s grandfather and then finally--his dad.

All three men were brushing snow off of their coats and out of their hair--well his dad and uncle were. Grandad didn’t have much to deal with anymore.

“Hey,” his dad greeted as he drew up closer to the pair. “All ready to head out in a few?”

Jackson nodded.

“Just need to grab my coat on the way out,” he added.

“I’m going to go say goodbye to Sophie and then we can get on our way,” his dad told him.

Jackson watched as his dad moved into the sitting room and knelt beside Sophie, who was happily playing with the others. He seemed to say a few words to her and she nodded in understanding of whatever he was telling her. She wrapped her arms around his neck for a few seconds before releasing him and going back to playing with the other kids.

Jackson saw his dad stand up and then caught his eye as the older man beckoned to him to follow--pointing towards a side-door off of the kitchen that he knew led to a garage. Jackson obeyed and crossed the room to follow--his gran was holding his coat out for him to take and he deftly slipped it on.

It was much colder inside the darkened garage and Jackson immediately pulled his hands into his pockets to warm them up.

“We can take that one,” his dad pointed to a dark colored SUV just on the other side of a sleek black car that sat in the first bay as he pushed a button the wall that opened up the large garage door.

Jackson walked across the garage to the vehicle. He pulled on the handle, but it was locked, so Jackson stood beside the car, waiting.

“So you’re going to drive?”

Jackson looked up to find his dad standing beside him, keys in hand as he was looking at Jackson with an amused look on his face.

“Huh?”

“Well...unless you’re driving...it’s the other side,” he explained as he motioned to the opposite side of the vehicle.

“Oh...right,” Jackson said sheepishly as he finally registered the fact that driver and passenger sides of cars were opposite here from over in England.

Trying to avoid the amused grin on his dad’s face, Jackson scooted around to the other side and quickly took his place in the front passenger seat once his dad had unlocked the doors.

“You know, if you do want to drive--that’s fine too,” his dad offered as he started the darkened SUV with a rumble--all the lights and dials on the dashboard suddenly leaping to life.

---------------------------------------------------------

“I...er...I don’t know how.”

Harry looked over at Jackson as he shifted the Volvo into gear, watching his son fidget nervously.

“Drive--I mean,” Jackson clarified.

“Oh...er...that makes sense,” Harry said awkwardly, knowing that as a wizard, Jackson really had no need to have learned to drive. He could just Apparate and pop in and out of wherever he wanted to go.

“If you ever wanted to learn…” Harry offered casually. “I could...help.”

Jackson nodded but didn’t seem to have much more to say.

The two lapsed into silence as Harry carefully maneuvered the SUV out of the garage and down the driveway to the roadway.

“Anna can drive though. She said she’d teach me too,” Jackson said suddenly as the tires hit the pavement and they started on their way.

Harry glanced over at his son.

“Anna?”

“My--er--my girlfriend,” Jackson supplied as he gazed out the windows at the snow-covered landscape and forest surrounding them.

“Girlfriend?” Harry said with intrigue as his eyes left the road momentarily.

“You...you didn’t mention a girlfriend at all yesterday,” he added with a smile as the younger man shifted in his seat.

“Didn’t come up,” Jackson said quietly.

“So--er--how long have you two--been--a couple?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t probing too far and too fast. The idea that his son--his teenage son he’d met mere hours ago--was so grown up he had a girl was another level of surprise. He was sure there’d be many more to come.

“Since the summer,” Jackson replied easily. Apparently he was okay with talking to his dad about this--although there was still a bit of color on his cheeks.

“But we’ve known each other for years,” Jackson continued. “We went to school together.”

“Oh?” Harry nodded as he guided the car onto the highway, careful not to hit any slippery spots as he moved over the onramp.

“Is she older? Younger? Harry asked. “Same house?”

“She’s...a little older,” Jackson replied.

“But--er--no,” he said as he shook his head. “She didn’t go to Hogwarts with me.”

“Oh?” Harry said again as he glanced over with a questioning look and raised brow. Maybe he’d met a witch from one of the other schools--or possibly the very small minority of wizarding children who were not sent to Hogwarts for education, but were home-taught instead.

“We went to school together--as little kids,” Jackson supplied in explanation. “Before I went off to Hogwarts.”

Harry still wasn’t sure he completely understood. As was his recollection--there weren’t any pre-Hogwarts schools for wizard kids.

“I went to a Muggle school,” Jackson supplied, evidently picking up on his father’s confusion. “Before I went to Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry said in surprise. He knew all of the Weasley children had been home-schooled prior to Hogwarts by Molly Weasley. He’d just assumed it was somehow the same for the grandchildren.

“Mum talked with Aunt Hermione about going--what it was like--and thought it would be an ok idea,” Jackson offered. “And Mum had just started writing and working for The Prophet after retiring from quidditch so she couldn’t stay home all the time and home-school.”

“So Anna is--”

“Not a witch,” Jackson finished in confirmation with a nod. “She’s at university now--studying to be a teacher. She’s got her own place with a few roommates.”

“She knows that you’re--you’re a wizard?” Harry asked curiously. He’d certainly never had to worry about dealing with that issue in any sort romantic relationship--he’d dated witches. Two witches--well--one really.

“For a few years, yeah,” Jackson said with another nod. “There were only so many weird things about me I could explain away after a while and I wanted to stay friends. Mum and Uncle Ron helped out with the whole reveal thing. She--thankfully--only took a little while to really come to terms with the whole magic thing and there being a whole different world that she didn’t know existed.”

“It’s a bit of a mind-blowing moment when you find out,” Harry agreed. Even though he had been a wizard when he’d found out about the magical world at the age of eleven--he understood how absolutely overwhelming a bombshell like that was. Even though the existence of a wizarding world explained a lot of the strange stuff Harry’d had happen to him as a child--there were still plenty of moments of immense disbelief mixed in with all the wonder.

“She hasn’t seemed put off by any of it since,” Jackson replied. “She finds lots of the stuff pretty cool--like flying and apparating. She’s kind of jealous of the fact that I can just wave my wand and clean up a mess too. I’m usually nice and help her out,” he added with a smile.

Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself as he glanced over and saw the grin form on Jackson’s face. His son was definitely smitten with this girl. Even in the midst of the chaos his life had been back then--Harry remembered what it was like to not be able to stop a smile coming to his face whenever he thought about a certain red-headed girl.

“Don’t worry,” Jackson added. “She takes advantage of every opportunity there is to make fun of me for the stuff I don’t get about the Muggle world.”

“Is that so?” Harry asked as he once again shifted and steered them off of the highway and onto a frontage road into town.

“Computers, cars, mobile--whatever--those phones are,” Jackson replied as he gestured wildly to Harry’s own iPhone that he’d put into the dashboard holder when he’d gotten into car.

“Smart phone?” Harry supplied with a smile.

“Sure,” Jackson said with a shrug. “I don’t use those things often--and I’m sure I do odd things when I do. And apparently all of it is very amusing to her.”

“In in my world, owls, brooms and the Floo work just fine for traveling, talking and sending information,” he added with a smirk.

“She sounds great,” Harry offered as he pulled into the parking lot of a local grocery store he knew to be open this morning.

“She is,” Jackson said with a sigh and a nod. “She’s been amazing these past few weeks--months--with all of this happening. I know she doesn’t completely understand everything behind the circumstances--the backstory and all that. But she’s been right there for all of it--from the beginning really.”

“I mean--she’s the one who came with me to look for you.”

Harry hit the brake pedal harder than he’d anticipated doing as he pulled the SUV into a stall. Both he and Jackson lurched forward at the sudden stop, straining at the seat belts holding them.

“You came to look for me?” Harry said as he turned to face his son. Shock and surprise was evident in his tone.

Jackson looked just as confused as Harry felt--as though he’d just said something wrong or that he wasn’t supposed to but wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“Ron and Hermione--your aunt and uncle--they said they were the ones who saw my picture in my book,” Harry said as he recalled one of the very first conversations he’d had with his friends after they’d found him.

“No,” Jackson said shaking his head. “One of their kids had gotten your book as a gift from their grandparents--the Grangers--and I happened to be looking at it at my birthday party,” he added slowly.

“I thought I was going crazy--because it was obviously--at that time--impossible for you to be alive,” he continued. “But I couldn’t stop obsessing over how much the photo looked like me--like you. I don’t know why I couldn’t drop it--but Anna helped me do some research on you and we ended up coming up with this crazy plan to track you down.”

“Here?” Harry asked sharply.

“New York,” Jackson replied, shaking his head. “But we didn’t end up finding anything and went back home after a few days.”

“I got in loads of trouble for running away like that,” Jackson said as he dropped his gaze to his lap--fidgeting with his hands as though he were remembering the episode. “I was grounded until I went back to school--and pretty much even after I went back…”

Harry stayed silent for a moment as they sat there--letting what he’d just learned sink in.

“I’m sure they told me that they were the ones who noticed the picture because I hadn’t known about you,” Harry said after a few moments. “It’s understandable.”

“Uncle Ron was the one that caught Remus, Professor Snape and Headmistress McGonagall discussing you in the dungeons though,” Jackson supplied. “When they were discussing how their memories were coming back and the marks from the Unbreakable Vow were disappearing.”

He’d heard this part of the story before.

Ron and Hermione had told him in passing on the night that they’d first met again about about Remus, Snape and McGonagall--the three people he had entrusted and enlisted to help him research and carry out the last part of his plan--remembering things that had been designed to be long forgotten and the vow they took seemingly unravelling.

Was this why a few months ago he’d suddenly started to remember as well? Was there really a correlation?

Part of his mind had been thrust into a panic. He did not know how all of this was even possible or what the ramifications might be.

He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t been concerned at all about these details before...

He wanted to ask more questions and press for more information--but Jackson looked decidedly uncomfortable as Harry looked over at him.

“I might have to talk with Remus later,” Harry said quietly. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really spoken to his old mentor at all. Remus had showed up later than the others at the house and had made himself fairly scarce.

Harry almost wondered for a moment if the older man was avoiding him…

“I’m sorry to have questioned you like that,” Harry apologized as he turned off the vehicle. “I just didn’t realized that you were involved like that. I had no clue that you were the one who started this whole thing.”

Jackson nodded jerkily.

“I am very glad you ended up starting this whole thing off,” Harry told his son as he reached over and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t give up after seeing that picture. We wouldn’t be here without that.”

Jackson looked up and gave Harry a tentative smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, you cannot go into the pool with that drink,” Hermione called as she watched one of her teenage twin sons attempt to jump into the water--cup still in hand.

Reed came to a sliding stop just near the edge at his mother’s words. He smiled sheepishly back over his shoulder at his mum before he turned back towards her and put the cup gently on the table. As soon as it had hit the surface, however, Reed had wheeled back around--taking a few giant steps towards the pool before jumping in. The force of him hitting the water caused water to splash all of the occupants in the pool within a few feet.

Ginny watched as her sister-in-law shook her head in exasperation--although there was an amused smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I always swore it would be your brother who would be the one to make me go gray first,” Hermione said--the smile full-on now. “But those two are giving their dad a run for his money these days,” she added as she gestured to where the Reed had joined his brother Ethan near the far side of the pool.

Ginny chuckled to herself. Hermione had a point--this new generation and version of the Weasley twins was very quickly proving they were up to the task of living up to the reputation that the original duo set. Those two having their heads ducked together in some quiet corner usually meant mayhem and lots of laughter were soon to follow.

“I still don’t honestly know how mum handled all 7 of us and you handle 5,” Ginny said in admiration. “My two are enough to keep me on my toes most days,” she added as she glanced over to where Alex was talking animatedly with a group of his cousins.

“Handling them all is just an illusion--it’s really a constant practice of organized chaos,” Hermione said with a laugh. “And Ron and I tag-team the lot. So at any one time we really only have to wrangle 2 or 3 apiece.”

Ginny laughed at this admission. Although--there was a very small part of her that was jealous of it as well. She and Paul had done a good job of raising both of her boys over the years of their marriage. But for the last 4--when she had both boys at home--she was on her own parenting. Every scrape, every fight, every dust-up between her two rambunctious boys was up to her to keep under control.

“Do you have any idea of when Jackson will be back?” Hermione asked as the two lapsed into silence--even as the pool house around them was full of chatter, laughter and the occasional shout.

Ginny shook her head.

“Not really,” Ginny replied. “From what I understood they were stopping at a store and then his office,” she added, emphasising one word in particular.

Hermione raised a brow.

“So you’ve started referring to Harry as him, now?”

“I’m not referring to him as anything at this point,” Ginny said simply. “I was stating a fact. You knew who I was talking about.”

Ginny watched as her sister-in-law surveyed her closely.

“I know you have any right to be angry--but has it ever occurred to you that this isn’t healthy? For anyone…” Hermione said quietly. “There’s only a short time before we’ll all be gone from here for who knows how long. You two really should talk…”

“That’s what everybody seems to keep telling me,” Ginny said sourly as she took a sip of her wine. “If you haven’t noticed--he hasn’t exactly been the one to seek me out either. And he’s the one who has all of the talking to do. He’s the one that left.”

“You told me he tried to apologize and explain yesterday out on the deck,” Hermione retorted as she also took a drink of her glass of wine.

“We weren’t about to talk about things then. We were talking about Jackson,” Ginny said defensively. “I told him we’d talk sometime later.”

“Sometime?” Hermione asked. “What? Sometime in the next few days, months, years?”

Ginny threw her sister-in-law a stern look.

“You haven’t exactly been giving off the vibe that you want him anywhere near you since you’ve been here,” Hermione said. “That could be the reason...I wouldn’t blame him…”

“Why is it always ‘poor Harry’?” Ginny asked in a harsh whisper, even as her happy family continued on around them without a care.

“You do realize that HE is the reason for this. HE is the reason things are exactly as they are now,” Ginny continued as she tried not to lose her cool. “His decisions lead to big--life-changing--consequences for the rest of us and nobody but me seems to remember that.”

“We haven’t all just forgotten,” Hermione said--her voice now sounding strained and slightly defensive. “But we’ve--”

“Just stop,” Ginny said, holding up a hand. She did not want to get into this with Hermione--especially not here. Hermione’s mouth hung open for a moment--as though she very much wanted to protest. But after only a second or two she closed it.

“I don’t have the energy right now to have this conversation with--”

“Hey, Mum.”

Startled, Ginny looked up to find her eldest standing next to her with a tentative smile--as if he was very unsure he should be there at the moment.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” Ginny replied as she did her best to fix him with a reassuring look. “Did you have a good time?”

Jackson nodded.

“It was really great,” Jackson said--sounded thoroughly excited as he sank into the chair beside her. “We got to talk quite a bit and I saw where he works. He took me up to his office and everything. You’ve been there. Right?” he asked, addressing his aunt this time.

“Yes--your Uncle and I--” Hermione began to answer, but stopped mid-sentence as something over Ginny’s left shoulder seemed to catch her attention.

Ginny turned just in time register the presence of the black haired man who had been the topic of discussion just moments ago.

“Sorry--er--I found these for you,” Harry said quietly as he handed Jackson a bundle of black fabric. “You’re a little taller than me--but they should fit ok,” he added as he nervously scratched the back of his neck-- watching as Jackson unfurled the fabric to reveal a pair of swim trunks.

“These should work great,” Jackson said with a grin. “Thank you.”

Harry nodded--still looking slightly unsure about whether or not he should have interrupted this particular conversation.

“There’s a place to change through there,” he added, gesturing to a doorway off to the side of the pool room.

“You can keep your clothes in there too,” Hermione told him. “The others have all stored their stuff as well.”

Jackson nodded his thanks and with a look of excitement got up from his chair and quickly hurried towards the changing room and out of site.

This still left Harry standing awkwardly next to the table where the two women still sat--looking decidedly like he’d rather be anywhere but there.

“You can sit down, you know. I won’t bite,” Ginny said suddenly.

She registered a look of shock on Hermione’s face at her abrasive words and watched as Harry started at the sound of her voice.

Surprisingly, he sunk into the chair that Jackson had just vacated.

“Everyone’s really having a blast with the pool, Harry,” Hermione said as she tried to break the horrible and uncomfortable silence that had settled on the table. “Thanks for letting us bring the kids out here to blow off some steam.”

“Oh...er...not a problem,” Harry said with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t get much use from me and I’m glad everyone’s having a good time,” he added as his eyes strayed over the pool where several different groups of people--children and adults--were enjoying the water.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

All three adults at the table turned at the sound of the little girl’s voice.

Scarlett came scampering over to Hermione. She was soaking wet from head to toe--looking like she’d just come out of the pool. She was also hopping from foot to foot in a familiar dance to the three parents.

“Mummy, I have to go potty,” Scarlett said in a whiny voice. “Daddy said you would take me and help me with my suit.”

“Oh did he now?” Hermione said under her breath, even as she got up from her chair. Ginny watched as she threw Ron--who was lounging in the water on the side of the pool by the twins--a pointed look before she took hold of her daughter’s hand. Ron raised his hands in surrender--as if to say ‘sorry.’

“Sorry--we’ll be back,” Hermione said to the two others as she led Scarlett away--leaving both Harry and Ginny alone at the table together.

Ginny sat there--decidedly looking anywhere but at Harry in the hopes of blocking out the tension that had settled. Maybe if she pretended he hadn’t sat down next to her she could avoid whatever painful conversation that might be coming.

“I’m surprised you’re not in there with everyone else,” Harry said unexpectedly as he gestured towards the pool. The sound of his voice started Ginny out of her quiet contemplation. “From what I remember--you were always one of the first to jump into the pond at The Burrow and the last out of the water,” he added with a tentative smile.

From what he remembered?

Anger that had leapt up within her over the choice of his words was something she hadn’t expected. Did he think they were just going to reminisce over the past and pick up a friendly conversation of “remember when we used to?”

“What you remember so well was 2 kids and a few sizes ago,” she said as she glared out over the water--failing to keep the biting edge out of her tone. “I’m not exactly about to throw on my old bikini and parade around for you this time around.”

Ginny watched as her words hit their mark and Harry looked down at his hands. She’d clearly stung him and he’d not expected that type of response to his attempt at pleasant conversation. She simultaneously felt slightly petty and wholly vindicated as she watched his reaction.

“So is this what we’re gonna do now?”

The tone of his voice surprised her. His question was steady and held none of the shock or hurt she’d expected.

He wasn’t looking at her. Instead his gaze was focused out over the water and the people enjoying it--his face now suddenly impassive and almost unreadable.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us?” he asked as he brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You looking as though you’d like to hit me and me walking on eggshells around you the whole time?”

“Did you just expect me to run back into your arms as soon as I got here?” Ginny replied evenly as she too looked out over the water--seeing, yet not really taking in what was actually going on around them. “That I’d forgive everything and forget the last 17 years of my life have gone by without you in it?”

“I thought we’d talk at least,” Harry said as he turned towards her. She could feel his green eyes searching her face. “I thought we’d at least have opportunity for some conversation--for me to explain. I think I deserve that much.”

“And what is it exactly you think you deserve?” Ginny snapped. “And why would you think that you do?”

Harry just stared at her.

“You were the one making all the decisions for the rest of us back then,” Ginny continued. “You had no problem discussing and making plans without our input and now you--you--”

She paused, shaking her head angrily as she tried not to lose her cool with all of the family around. She looked up and saw her mum and a couple of others watching the pair carefully.

“You know what? I’m not doing this here,” Ginny said through gritted teeth as she tried to stop herself. “I’m not talking about this in front of everyone,” she said as she picked up her previous forgotten wine glass and took a large gulp. It burned all the way down--but she really didn’t care.

“Then let’s go somewhere else,” he said simply--his eyes never leaving hers. “Let’s go away from everyone else and say what we need to to each other. Let’s just get it out there. After that--you can continue hating me and I’ll leave you alone, if you want.”

Somehow Ginny managed to keep her eyes locked with his--even though everything inside her wanted to look away--to run away and go back to the time when things weren’t this complicated.

‘And when has your life ever not been complicated?’ a small voice inside her head mused.

“Fine,” she said as she finally wrenched her eyes away and looked around the room again. “Lead the way,” she added.

Without saying another word, Harry rose from his chair--the legs of the chair grating slightly against the tile pool deck. Ginny soon followed suit--grabbing hold of her still half-full wine glass.

She stayed a few strides behind him as they crossed the room towards a wooden door that looked to lead to another portion of the building. They were nearly three quarters of a way to the door when Ginny started to notice the eyes of most of the other people in the room starting to follow their progress.

Harry got to the door first, pulling it open and standing aside to let her go through first. She had to bite back a comment about chivalry and instead let him hold the door open and passed by him into what looked like a darkened office.

As Harry followed and closed the door behind him--essentially drowning out all noise coming from the pool area--Ginny could still feel all eyes of her family trained on the space where they’d just exited.

Back to index


Chapter 19: Objectivist On Fire

Author's Notes: So...here we have it. THAT conversation that followers of this story have wanted for awhile. It's going to get heated and things will be said--just bear in mind that this is the first conversation and there will be more to come.


Ginny moved to the far side of the room as she watched Harry pull open several sets of blinds that opened up to the snow-covered woods beyond the building. The light filtering in through the windows brightened the room up and revealed the space in its entirety.

A large wooden desk was pushed up against the wall under the bay of windows--it’s top covered in papers and what looked like mechanical parts and several cameras. There was also a set of large, brown leather chairs with a table in between in the corner and a few filing cabinets along one wall.

“Have a seat,” Harry said as he gestured towards the chairs--almost as if he were inviting one of his students in for a chat.

Ginny shook her head.

“I’m fine. I’ll stand,” she said defiantly as she stood where she was--arms across her front in her a defensive front.

Harry nodded jerkily and then settled himself against the edge of his desk--his arms crossing as he started to study the floor in an attempt to find his words.

“I thought we were here to talk?” Ginny said into the quiet. “I thought you were leading me off somewhere to explain yourself?”

“Why are you acting like this?” Harry asked. He looked as though he almost didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him.

“Why?” Ginny said as outrage and anger rose up within her. “Can you honestly not come up with one damn reason why I’d be treating you like this?”

“I know my choices back then were hard on everyone--I changed people’s lives. You don’t think I understand that?” Harry said exasperatedly.

“You don’t understand a damn thing,” Ginny snapped angrily. “And apparently neither do I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry said as he shook his head. “I can explain the finding out about the Horcrux, spells that had to be used--why I thought it would be better this--”

“I know all about the fucking Horcrux and the spells and all of the bullshit reasons you’ve given as to why you couldn’t tell us,” Ginny cut him off. “You were afraid and you didn’t want to be a burden to us--I’ve heard it.”

“But what I don’t understand is how I somehow missed the part when you became a coward.”

“What did you--?” Harry started to asked harshly as his head snapped up to look at her.

“What I want to know is how someone who’s greatest strength and defense was supposedly love of friends and those surrounding him--decided that he didn’t need anyone but a select few at the very end,” Ginny continued, not caring that she’d hurt or offended him. “That he’d do all of it on his own and keep the rest of us in the dark.”

She’d suffered enough over the last 17 years--he could deal with her anger for the next few minutes.

“I can explain if you’d just let me,” Harry said evenly as he looked to be trying valiantly to not let her previous comments uncap his anger and frustration.

“The people you trusted back then to help already explained for you,” she said dismissively. “Remus told us all quite the story, actually.”

“You have no idea how difficult a decision it was--how much I still second-guess whether or not it was right--” Harry tried to interject--sounding increasingly exasperated with the way things were shaking out.

She apparently was not following the script for the conversation he’d anticipated them having. And Ginny felt some slight form of satisfaction in that.

She was in control now, not him.

“You knew for weeks,” she said simply.

“Ginny--”

“You walked around for weeks--knowing exactly what you were intending on doing and you said nothing to the people you claimed to love,” Ginny continued on, undisturbed. “You didn’t just keep this from me--you kept it from Ron and Hermione--the two people who went to hell and back with you a hundred times over. They--at least--deserved to know what you were planning.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say…I’ve already--”

“I don’t want you to say anything now,” Ginny told him coldly. And it was true. It was her turn to speak--to tell him just how much he’d fucked with her life.

“Because you said nothing when you came to my room that last night,” Ginny continued on as her anger and hurt egged her on.

“You remained quiet as you climbed into my bed and told me over and over again that night now much you loved me while you fu--,” she said as she shook her head.

“Please do not question how much I loved you--how much I still--” Harry started, but Ginny would not let him finish that last thought.

“Don’t you DARE tell me you still love me!” Ginny yelled as she pointed at him warningly. “You don’t even know me.”

Harry shrunk away from her as if he’d been physically wounded.

She also swore, that for a moment, she heard voices and footsteps outside the door. But she was too worked up not to care or worry that her family might be listening in.

“You don’t get to say that to me anymore,” she said a low, dangerous voice.

“Because what you did--what you say you did to protect me--us--” Ginny continued. “That wasn’t love, Harry.”

He didn’t try to correct, or explain or even plead with her this time. So she continued on.

“Either you didn’t trust me enough to help or you didn’t feel the way I thought you did about us,” she added.

“I loved you more than I think you’ll ever realize,” Harry said quietly, careful--this time--to keep the word in the past tense. He raised his eyes to meet hers--looking thoroughly dazed as though she’d actually punched him.

“You meant everything to me--and that’s why it had to be clean,” Harry continued on. “You needed the chance to move on--to be happy. You needed--”

“I thought I needed you,” Ginny cut him off. “But obviously you knew best what it was I wanted and needed at the time.”

As much as she’d felt her life had been out of her hands at the end of the war--that feeling had gotten much worse since they’d discovered Harry was alive. Everything she had thought she knew had been a lie. Things that she had always been so sure of--were now shrouded in doubt.

She’d had no choice in how things had turned out in her own life.

And she hated feeling helpless…

“What exactly was I to you anyways?” Ginny whispered. “Was I just the first?”

“What?” Harry asked as his face conveyed equal parts confusion and fear.

“Was I just the first girl that crawled into your bed?” Ginny repeated.

“You can’t actually be serious right now...” Harry whispered as he shook his head and looked at her incredulously.

“What else am I supposed to think?” Ginny replied. “We messed around, had our fun...and then you just left--without even saying goodbye.”

“I--I don’t--I don’t even--know….” Harry struggled as he shook his head and seemingly searched wildly into the tense air around him to find anything to say.

“It does appear that I was the first in what turned out to be quite the long line too,” she sneered, barely holding herself in check.

She wanted to sting--to hurt--and get out all of the pent up frustration she’d been reigning in.

Harry didn’t say anything out loud--but his face conveyed both his shock and his horror. He had paled considerably.

“I’m a reporter, Harry,” Ginny said coolly. “I may focus most of my time on Quidditch--but I still get paid to find things out about people that not everybody can. And I’m quite good at my job.”

Jackson and Anna may not have had a whole lot of luck looking up more than the basic information on him--but Ginny knew where to look, which questions to ask and what unbeaten paths to tread down in order to get that hard-to-come-by information. She’d resisted for awhile after finding out Harry was alive, but her curiosity had bested her.

She’d learned quite a lot more than she had expected.

“Evan Smith has quite the thing for female lead singers--blondes mostly--big tits,” she said in a matter-of-fact way even as she felt herself falling apart inside.

“You don’t know anything…” Harry managed to get out as he struggled to keep himself composed. He was now refusing to meet her eyes.

“I mean...Hermione--in her own very tactful way--pretty much eluded to your illustrious past from the beginning,” Ginny continued on as if she had not heard him.

“And...then there’s the fact that you not only have a son with me,” she forged on as she turned her gaze out the window.

“You also managed to knock up some strung-out heroin addict who ended up having your illegitimate daughter--”

Before Ginny could process, Harry had taken a reactive, lunging step towards her--making one of the half-assembled cameras fly off of the desk and hit the wall across from it with a loud crash as the camera broke apart on impact--littering the floor with metal and glass. She couldn’t see how his movement would have caused the camera to go flying like that. He’d been leaning against the desk, his arms across his chest.

But any confusion was forgotten as she came to focus on the absolute rage marring his features as he glared at her from a few feet away.

“Don’t you EVER talk about my daughter like that!” he yelled at her--his face wild with anger. “You can say whatever you want about me--but the moment you want to talk about my little girl that way--you can go!”

The realization of what she’d said crashed down upon her even as she looked into Harry’s contorted face.

She had been so angry at him for the pain he’d caused her--that she was lashing out at him any way she could. But she had crossed a line--she knew that.

She had met Sophie--who was such a sweet and funny little girl. She was Jackson’s little sister.

She was an innocent little child.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny admitted in quiet horror as she brought a hand to her face and sunk into one of the leather chairs she’d refused earlier. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just--”

She paused as she tried to stop the shaking of her hands.

“I’m just--so angry--at you,” she managed to get out. “Everything I thought I was so sure about in my past--it’s been turned on it’s head. And now I have no clue how to deal with it.”

“I know…”

“Will you quit saying you know and that you understand,” Ginny responded exasperatedly.

“You weren’t there!” Ginny shouted at him. “You don’t know what it was like.”

“I don’t doubt that making the decision you did was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do and that you were hurt and suffered for a long time after,” Ginny continued. “But I was left behind to pick up your pieces and you have no idea what that was like--how hard it was.”

“There aren’t enough words that could convey how sorry I am--and how horrible it is to know that I made you feel this way. That I caused you all of this pain and anger,” Harry said as he swallowed heavily.

He sounded defeated.

“There’s another thing I don’t understand…” Ginny said quietly even as her mind still raced on.

In the midst of all of the anger and pain she felt as she thought about being left behind--there was another side and another question that had been gnawing at her.

“You knew for weeks--maybe a few months…” Ginny continued.

Harry looked up, confusion etched on his face.

“You knew for a long while--even before Ron and Hermione had come to find you here--who you were again,” Ginny said as she watched him.

As quick as his anger had come only moments before--it abated just as fast and she watched him sag back against the desk. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose.

“If you loved us all so much in the first place--so much so that the only way to keep us happy and unburdened was to keep us in the dark--” Ginny continued on. “Why--when you realized that your memories had returned--did you not come back to us?”

The question hung in the air between them like an invisible wall.

Harry continued to remain silent.

His silence only managed to drum up her anger and frustration once again.

“Well?” Ginny asked him harshly.

“It’s not as easy a decision as you make it sound,” Harry said slowly. “I’m not the only one I have to think about anymore…”

“So we don’t matter as much anymore?” Ginny threw at him. “The people you tried to die for--who you did all of this for--we come second to everything else now?”

“I’m not saying that. I told Ron and Hermione--if it was just me--”

“You could have found some way to call on someone back home without jeopardizing whatever you have here,” Ginny told him--her voice raising again.

“That would have been the first thing I would have thought you’d have done,” Ginny yelled at him.

“I just--” Harry began, looking completely and utterly lost as to what he might be able to say to her to stop another blow-up.

“You just, what?” she asked.

“What would have happened if Jackson hadn’t come looking for you? If Ron and Hermione hadn’t made contact?” Ginny asked harshly. “Would you have just carried on like you have been--leaving us to believe you were dead while you lived out the rest of your life over here?”

Again, Harry did not speak. Instead he continued to look as though every thought that was coming to him was painful and uncomfortable.

And again--his unwillingness to answer her was only serving to infuriate her further.

“That’s it,” Ginny growled at him again as she uncrossed her arms and threw them wide open in frustration. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done,” she added as she started to move towards the door.

“Gin--wait,” Harry pleaded as he moved too--reaching out to grab at her to stop her from leaving.

Ginny’s eyes were drawn to where his hand had closed around her arm. It was the first time he’d touched her in 17 years.

But just as soon as the shock of his touch had registered with her--so did the fact that he had grabbed her arm to impede her exit.

“Let go of me!”

She shoved at him hard, pushing him off-balance and sending him stumbling backwards in shock into the edge of the desk. Books and equipment went crashing loudly to the ground and papers went flying into the air.

Mere seconds after Harry had tumbled into the desk--the door to the office also swung open and smashed hard against the wall.

Ginny barely registered that several of people were standing in and at the edge of the doorway--many of them wearing worried looks as they peered into the room. Her eyes instead went to where Harry sat on the floor, slumped against the desk. He was holding his lower back where he’d slammed into the desk, as if the blow had caused him considerable pain.

“You should have just come back,” Ginny said bitterly as she shook her head at him, still ignoring the new arrivals at the door.

“I did come back.”

“What?”

The question came from multiple people in the room.

“I went back to England--about a week after everything returned,” Harry admitted, as he grimaced.

“You told Ron and Hermione you’d decided not to. You told them that--” Ginny found herself sputtering.

“I know what I told them,” Harry cut across her as he pulled himself up from the floor and leaned against the desk again. “It was just easier not to admit--to let anybody know…”

“Admit what?” Ginny asked as she tried to wrap her head around what he’d just told her. She cast a glance over to where both Ron and Hermione--along with her father and a few of her brothers had stepped further into the room. They too seemed intrigued.

“That you were right, Ginny,” Harry responded as he shook his head and brought a hand to his face to massage at his temples. “That somewhere along the way--I turned into a fucking coward,” he supplied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I hopped a flight back home--as soon as I could,” Harry began as he stared into space. “I didn’t have any real plan other than to try and see if I could find someone--reach out. It was a start--but beyond that--I had no clue what I’d do.”

“I quickly realized that all the places I knew I might find someone--I couldn’t contact or even see anymore,” he continued on. “I had a rough idea of where The Burrow was--but since I’d only ever really traveled there by magical means--it’d be like searching for a needle in a haystack…”

“I even tried looking up Hermione’s parents,” he admitted.

“They’re unlisted now that that they are retired from their practice,” Ginny heard Hermione say quietly from the doorway as she listened to her old friend. “None of us are listed.”

Harry nodded.

“My Aunt and Uncle don’t even live at Privet Drive anymore,” Harry added as he furrowed his brow.

“Your Aunt lives further north now--your Uncle passed away a few years ago…” Ron interjected from the doorway.

Again--Harry nodded--only pausing momentarily to mull over and absorb the fact that his uncle had died.

“For some reason--I finally thought to go to the one place I knew exactly where it was and that I might actually have the best chance to run across a witch or wizard going in and out of from Muggle London,” Harry said quietly as he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

“There’s this little restaurant now--right across the street from where The Leaky Cauldron is supposed to be,” Harry continued. “I parked myself at one of the outdoor tables for a few hours--ordered lunch and a few coffees while I waited…”

“I had really just begun to think about what my next move might be when I saw…”

He again trailed off--Harry's eyes were unfocused and staring off into space as though he were imagining the very scene he’d been describing.

“Saw who?” Hermione asked in a small voice.

Harry’s eyes moved towards the door--resting on Hermione for a second before he spoke.

“You,” Harry breathed out.

But he was not looking at Hermione anymore.

His green eyes had shifted and were focused directly on Ginny.

“I saw you,” Harry reiterated. “You were at the other end of the restaurant’s patio…”

Ginny wracked her brain--trying to figure out when exactly had been the last time she’d been to that area of Muggle London. She knew the restaurant he was talking about. It was a popular bistro almost directly across the way from The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley.

She’d probably been there a few months ago…

It was where she sometimes brought Alex when she either dropped him off or picked him up from--

“You’d been there a few minutes when I saw you greet a man,” Harry said quietly. “You obviously knew each other really well.”

“He had a boy with him. His hair was more--reddish brown--but once you were all together...it was obvious he was yours,” Harry paused for a moment. “Then I heard him call you mom.”

The exact day all of the sudden came back clearly to Ginny. She’d met both Paul and Alex there for lunch this past summer so she could take Alex home. He’d spent a few weeks with his dad and he was to spend the rest of the summer back with her.

It had been a really good day, actually. The exchange had been friendly and light--with lots of laughter over a delicious lunch. Paul had even accompanied them after to pick out and split the cost of some things Alex needed for when school started in the fall.

“It was my son--Alex,” Ginny said quietly. “My ex-husband was dropping Alex off after having him a few weeks.”

“I know that now,” Harry admitted.

“But when I saw you--” Harry began. “I saw you with your family.”

“You looked happy,” he added simply--yet there was a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Ginny didn’t know what to say. While she was still so angry with him and what had transpired to bring them all to this point--she’d perhaps been wrong about her assumptions and accusations about him not caring enough to come back.

“You could have said something…” Ginny said in a small voice.

Harry shook his head.

“You all have had years for things to fade--feelings to change--” Harry continued on. “But what I felt--what I feel--it’s no different now than it was back then. It’s as though Harry just woke up one morning and suddenly nearly eighteen years had gone by overnight without him knowing.”

It was odd to Ginny to hear Harry referring to himself in the third person--a separate entity within himself. She actually couldn’t imagine what having lived two different lives must feel like…

“I knew the selfish part of me was never going to be able to just come back into your life and not want more than just to be present again,” Harry said in a pained voice that seemed as though the admission was not easy for him to say aloud.

“But I wasn’t going to do anything that was going to monumentally mess up your life as it was. And I certainly wasn’t going to do anything to screw up your family’s either...just so I could--”

Harry’s words cut off--the words suddenly becoming too difficult for him to get out and he shook his head.

“I know you don’t want to hear me say it and you don’t believe me when I do,” Harry replied. “But the one thing I really care about and wanted out of all of this--was for you to be able to somehow be happy again.”

“And from where I was sitting--it certainly looked like you’d found that again.”

Ginny slowly lowered her hand from her mouth--the one she hadn’t even realized she’d brought up in an involuntary gesture that showed her shock at his admission and words.

“So I wasn’t being completely dishonest when I said that it wasn’t just me I had to think about anymore,” Harry said as his voice suddenly a bit stronger than before. “I was thinking about you too--just like I always have.”

“And--you were right, Ginny--if Jackson hadn’t come looking and if Ron and Hermione hadn’t found me,” Harry began as he stood up and straightened to his full height. “I’d probably have continued to stay right where I am--trying to get on with my life the best I could.”

“But my reasons aren’t at all as selfish as you seem to think they are,” Harry said as he took a step forward.

“They never have been.”

With a quick glance around the room, Harry moved towards the door.

Those standing there quickly parted for him--only Ron hesitating for a moment as though he wanted to say something to his old friend. But the pause lasted only a second before Ron side-stepped and allowed Harry to stride from the room and out of sight.

Ginny’s mind was reeling and the words of their conversation ricocheting around her brain at rapid speed. She still wanted to be angry, to rage and to hold him accountable for the consequences his choices had thrust upon her own life.

But why did she suddenly feel as though in all her anger--she’d gotten some things very wrong about all of this?

She hadn’t been expecting for them to figure everything out in one conversation. But she surely hadn’t expected it to make things worse than they had already been either. And they certainly seemed to be in a much worse off place than just a few minutes ago--if that was at all possible.

Her breath was coming in great gasps as her emotions and the intensity of the last few minutes started to get the best of her and she thought for a moment she might need to sink back into the leather chair--or at least hold onto something to stabilize herself.

But before she could do either on her own, Ginny felt solid arms wrap around her and she sunk into the familiar embrace of her dad just as her emotions overtook her.

Back to index


Chapter 20: The Whitest Lie

Author's Notes: Back with a new chapter. As always, enjoy!

And I promise--Christmas will be over soon!


Harry wasn’t quite sure how he’d made it back to the house so quickly--or how he’d managed to get back up to his room at all. He’d vaguely registered some of the stares from those people who had apparently made it back to the house in the time he’d been in the pool-house office and were now scattered about the kitchen and living room. But he’d paid them no mind and ignored everyone as he’d sped as quickly as he could up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom.


As soon as he’d crossed the threshold of the darkened room, he slammed the door behind him.


As soon as it had closed, Harry finally let out the strangled cry of frustration and pain that he’d been holding in as he flung himself down on the bed.


He grasped at his lower back, letting out another cry with his face down into his pillow--the sound muffled in the quiet room. He could feel the muscles tightening and tensing where he’d struck the edge of the desk. He’d hit the heavy wood desk at nearly exactly the area where he’d broken his back all those years ago.


He wondered if he’d done serious damage again. He’d had to have a second back surgery a little over year after the original injury--he’d reaggravated it while working at his maintenance job. He’d had no real problems since--but the way he’d hit the desk just before was causing him considerable pain and discomfort at the moment.


He hadn’t even thought about what he was doing when he had reached out to grab Ginny’s arm.


At the first sign of her leaving, he’d panicked.


Their conversation hadn’t gone at all how he thought it would.


She’d done most of the talking up to that point.


And as her words bounced around in his head--even as he lay there trying to get his spasming back to calm--he found himself entertaining a feeling he hadn’t anticipated coming out of their talk.


He was frustrated.


But he was actually...angry.


He was angry--not because she’d shoved him--but because of what she’d said to him and the things she’d thrown in his face.


She hadn’t been wrong--about what kind of man he’d been and the things he’d done over the time they’d been separated. Just thinking back on his past made him feel physically ill sometimes and most days he tried not to think about it--instead he tried to separate himself from it.


Fundamentally he understood why he’d been free and careless with himself.


At first he’d been looking for that connection--someone who might fill some of the missing pieces he’d always felt kept him from leading a completely normal life. The first couple of women he’d dated had been actual--real--attempts at relationships.


As his career had taken off and as his habits had grown out of control--and he’d wandered down a darker path--his attitude towards love and relationships and his taste in women had also taken an unsavory turn.


But he had been ill prepared for Ginny to know about that part of his life--let alone taunt him like she had.


In the crazy, fairy-tale dream scenario he’d conjured up in his head, his past was something that he and Ginny would discuss at some point--after she’d forgiven him and they’d gotten back together. But that scenario seemed light-years away and quite possibly was something that would never happen in his lifetime.


Harry groaned again as he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he tried to relax. He wasn’t actually seeing the ceiling however. He could instead still see the look on Ginny’s face as she’d gone off on him.


She’d been angry--furious really. But what was worse was the disgust, disappointment and loathing that he’d witnessed marring her beautiful face--knowing that each and every one of those feelings was directed at him.


He’d caused her this pain, the anger and--even though he’d known his decisions would change her life--he’d caused a change much more greater than he’d ever imagined. And he wasn’t sure that anything he could say or do from this point on would change that.


As Harry was letting his own feelings of self-loathing start to mix in with the stabbing pain in his lower back, he felt the left pocket of his jeans vibrate in a familiar pattern. He’d felt his phone go off earlier--but he’d been too preoccupied with the prospect of talking to Ginny to answer.


Very gingerly, Harry rolled himself into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the side of the bed--grimacing and clenching his teeth as another powerful spasm rocked the injured muscles. He pulled out his phone and looked at the name on the caller ID as it flashed across the screen on the still vibrating phone.


He couldn’t ignore this call a second time…


He took a deep breath and swallowed heavily in an attempt to steel himself and ward off any trace of pain in his voice before he slid his finger across the screen to answer the call.


“Hey, Merry Christmas! How’s it going?”


“It’d be great if it stopped snowing,” a warm and familiar voice replied from the other end. Harry couldn’t help the smile that came to his face despite the discomfort he was currently in.


“ Merry Christmas, Ev. How are you and Sophie doing?” Maria asked as Harry could hear the sounds of people talking and laughing in the background.


“We’re good. We’re great,” he replied, managing to keep his voice steady even as another stab of pain shot up his back. “Just enjoying a couple of lazy days--watching movies and playing in the snow. How’s Virginia?” Harry asked, not wanting to lie any more than he had to about their activities.


Maria and Steve were visiting friends and Maria’s sister for the holidays--as this year most of their children were spending Christmas Eve and Day with their significant other’s families elsewhere in the country. They’d had the Smith family Christmas a week or so earlier and had gathered in Buffalo to enjoy lots of good food, fun and gifts.


“It’s been wonderful. We’ve met up with so many old friends we haven’t seen in years,” Maria replied. “We’re actually having lunch with one of my old high school girlfriends and her husband tomorrow--we ran into them at church.”


“That’s great,” Harry said--this time in a strained voice. He’d been unsuccessful in harnessing the grimace of pain that had overcome him. He held the phone away from his face momentarily as he let out a long measured breath.


“Yes…” Maria replied, not commenting on anything she might have discerned or noticed. “What do you and Soph have planned in the next few days before New Years? You know you two are always welcome to join us these last few days here--”


“Sophie has her dance recital Thursday and I’ve still got some stuff to get ready for the winterim class I’m teaching,” he responded as he tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position. “We’ll have plenty to keep us busy,” he added in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.


“If you’re sure…”


“You know I hate to think that you two are there by yourselves over the holidays,” Maria told him. “Even though we just saw you--we still miss you both so much now that you don't live at home with us.”


Harry couldn’t help but smile at Maria’s words.


He missed them too.


Maria and Steve had done so much for him over the years--welcoming him into their home, helping him through school and in starting his career. And in the last five they’d done so much for Sophie, as well.


He missed having that support system so close at hand every day. But it had been time to move out and start the next phase of his life.


He just hadn’t known that the next phase included the floodgates opening up with all of his repressed memories and all the people from his past being plunked back down into his life like this.


“We miss you too,” Harry replied quietly. “But we’re okay--we’re keeping busy. And--Soph and I plan on flying up for a visit a few days before the spring--semester--starts…”


Harry’s last words were choked and strangled as another wave of pain shot up his back. This time, he wasn’t able to stop himself from noticeably reacting to the spasm.


“Evan, are you ok?” Maria asked. She had picked up on his distress.


“Yeah--” he replied rather breathlessly. “Yeah--I’m fine,” he added, trying to sound reassuring.


But there was no hiding the discomfort and shakiness in his voice. She wasn’t going to let him go with a response like ‘I’m fine.’


“What’s going on?” she asked him, not falling for his brush-off attempt for one moment. “You sound like you’re in pain.”


Harry let out another shaky breath and closed his eyes.


He hated lying to her. But there was just no way around it. She wouldn’t understand the truth...


“It’s my back,” he told her--knowing it would be the only bit of truth he could give her. “I was trying to carry a load of laundry down the stairs and missed a step earlier. I took quite the tumble actually.”


“Oh, Ev,” Maria sighed. Harry could hear the worry in her voice. “Do you think it’s just a strain or a bruise...or do you think you did something more structurally?” she asked.


Harry kept his eyes closed and brought a hand to his face as he breathed out again.


“I’m sure it’s just a tweak,” he told her. “It’s the spasms that are getting me,” he added as he shifted uncomfortably again.


“I was just going to lie down for a bit,” he said quietly. “Soph just went down for a nap--so I was going to do the same,” he added--cringing as he spoke.


“Did you take anything--for the pain?”


Maria’s voice was quiet and there was an edge of nervousness in her words.


“I haven’t taken anything,” he told her truthfully. He knew exactly what she was scared about and he hated that he’d done so much in his past to warrant this worry and reaction from her. It seemed that he just couldn’t stop hurting those he loved…


“And I’m not going to,” he assured her. “I promise.”


“You know I worry about you,” she told him. “It’s small things like this that can be a trigger--a trigger to fall--”


“Fall back into old habits,” Harry finished for her. “I know that. And that’s why I’m going to steer clear. I’m not about to throw away all the hard work over a little fall and relapse.”


“Ice and heating pads are a good place to start,” she told him, going into full-on nursing mode. “And if you need anything at all, call me, ok? We can even come there for a few days if you need to rest up--we can watch Sophie while you take it easy.”


“We appreciate the offer,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes again and let out a long breath to ward off a fresh stab of pain. “I’ll be alright. If I don’t start feeling better in a day or two--I’ll make an appointment--and I’ll most definitely keep you in the loop.”


“Alright,” Maria replied, sounding as though she possibly halfway believed what he’d told her. “But we’re always here. Just remember that.”


“I know,” he whispered back.


Keeping everything from Steve and Maria had been an incredibly hard thing to do. Like the Weasleys and his other close friends in the wizarding universe--the Smiths had time and time again gone out on a limb for him. They’d loved him despite what he’d put them through and were his support system in some of the darkest times of his life.


They’d helped him at every turn to try to discover and uncover his memories and his past--as well as helped him forge a new life and identity instead of dwelling on what he’d lost.


Not being able to come forward right now and share the return of all of that with them was painful.


But how could they possibly believe what he would have to tell them?


They could never believe the truth.


They knew nothing of witches and wizards--of magic and the role he’d played in a war that had torn that world apart.


They’d think he was crazy and had cracked--or that he was on drugs again.


He had a feeling that this reveal might be that last straw and all that they could take from him. And he couldn’t risk losing them, not only for himself--but for Sophie as well. They were Sophie’s grandparents--if not by blood--by every other sense of the word.


If he were going to be present in both planes of his existence then he knew he’d eventually have to find a way for the two lives to merge somehow. But right now, he needed to focus on mending the fences that he’d obliterated with his original choices.


“And we love you both so much,” Maria added quietly on the other end--pulling him from his musings.


“We love you too.”


Even as he said it--Ginny’s words from mere minutes ago popped loudly back into his head.


“Because what you did--what you say you did to protect me--us--” Ginny continued. “That wasn’t love, Harry.”


Could you do the things he had done to the people he claimed to care for and still call what he felt for them ‘love?’


He wasn’t sure anymore…


“Well--I just wanted to check to see how you and Sophie were doing,” Maria said after a few more moments of silence. “If she’s taking a nap I guess I’ll wait to talk to her another time. But tell her we send our hugs and kisses.”


“I will,” Harry replied quietly. “I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you soon.”


“Get some rest,” Maria implored him. “We’ll talk later.”


“I will,” he assured her.


“Love you. Have a good night.”


“Love you too,” Harry said as Maria ended the call.


He lowered the phone as the screen went blank and he set it beside him on the bed.


His whole body sagged as he bowed his head and let out a shaky breath. The events of the last half hour or so had drained much of his energy and he wanted nothing more than to just sink back onto the bed and hide from everything and everyone.


But first he had to deal with the person who had entered the room while he’d been on the phone with Maria. He had heard the latch of the door click open and gently close and even though he’d not been interrupted--he could feel the presence of someone standing just out of sight.


“Sorry...I didn’t mean to intrude.”


Harry closed his eyes at the sound of the voice and brought both hands to his face, rubbing tiredly as he tried to ignore the still-stabbing pain in his lower back.


“It’s okay,” he said through as hands as he continued to rub at his temples. “I just--I had to take that call…” he added in explanation.


“Arthur said he thought you may have hurt your back,” Molly Weasley said as she moved into his peripheral vision.


Harry finally looked up at her with tired eyes and nodded. He didn’t have the strength in him to try to say he was ‘fine’ when he was anything but.


“I banged up against the edge of the desk,” he admitted quietly.


“I’m sorry we were such a distraction,” He also muttered--realizing that he and Ginny had been the reason the pool party had been interrupted. “I didn’t mean for things to get so...out of hand.”


Molly waved a dismissive hand at him as she moved closer.


“I’m not here to probe into anything that went on between you two in that room,” Molly told him as she sat down on the bed next to Harry.


“I’m more worried about your back,” she offered with kind eyes--eyes that were still so much like those of her only daughter.


“I think I’ll be okay after a bit of a lie down,” Harry countered as he tore his gaze from hers.


“No doubt you might,” she told him. “But, even so, I brought something that might help you relax for the time being.”


Harry swallowed heavily and dropped his gaze to the floor.


“Thank you--but I’m not going to take anything,” Harry said quietly. “I shouldn’t--”


“It’s topical,” she assured him as she held out a small jar. “It’s a simple salve that Arthur sometimes uses now that we’re getting a bit older and creakier.”


Harry eyed the jar with hesitation.


The part of him that very clearly remembered the hold of addiction and the struggle he’d endured as he’d tried to stay sober over the past few years was screaming at him to not be so impulsive.


But the throbbing pain in his back was threatening to take over all of that sound thought.


“There’s nothing painkilling in this,” Molly assured him. “It’ll just warm some of those muscles up and help you relax.”


Harry wondered if she’d heard him on the phone with Maria and had understood what they were talking about in regards to her trepidation over him taking medication for his back. He knew that in the quiet of the room, the conversation may have been loud enough to hear without being on speakerphone.


Harry met Molly’s gaze again and something within the depths of those brown eyes told him that she more than likely had. He also saw so much warmth and caring coming from behind those eyes. There was no judgement--only worry and concern over his well-being.


“Ok,” Harry said tiredly with a nod as he reluctantly agreed to Molly Weasley’s offer. He began to reach for the small jar, but she held it away from his grasp.


“It’ll probably work best to have someone else do it,” she advised. “That way you won’t hurt yourself any more trying to reach.”


“Why don’t you take off that sweater and lie down,” she added as she stood up expectantly.


Harry felt himself go red in the face as his pain was momentarily replaced with panic and embarrassment.


“I--er--I...that’s--that’s quite alright,” Harry spluttered as he shook his head. “If you just leave the salve I can manage.”


“Nonsense,” Molly said as she shook her head back at him. “Let’s just make this as easy as possible on you. And besides--you’ve done so much for us in welcoming all of us into your home for the holidays.”


“It’s been no trouble,” Harry said automatically. “It’s the least I can do after all…” he trailed off.


“After all I’ve put your family through…” Harry finished the thought in his head.


“It’s really not necessary that you--” Harry began again, but Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes at him and put a hand on her hip.


It wasn’t a look or stance he’d seen for quite some time and one that had never been levied towards him in all the years he’d known her. It was her mum stance--the one that her husband and any one of her children could tell you was a sure sign she wasn’t going to be putting up with any resistance.


“Don’t be silly,” she said quietly as her visage softened a bit--she was clearly sensing some of his alarm. “I know so much time has passed--and so much has changed between all of us--but I’d really just like to help you out this one time.”


Harry paused, swallowing heavily as she took in Mrs. Weasley’s words. In a lot of ways, time had made them all strangers to one another. But in some other--very important ways--they all still felt very much like the same family they’d become for him all those years ago…


Harry relaxed and sat back on the edge of the bed as he reached for the hem of his sweater.


He’d pulled it halfway up over his head when he paused.


“Do you need it off? Or should I just pull it up so you can get to my back?” He asked as he held his arms up, still holding the sweater.


“It’d probably be a bit easier if you just took it off--this stuff can stain clothes if you’re not careful,” she replied. “And that undershirt maybe can come off too if you’re comfortable,” she added.


Harry wasn’t comfortable.


He’d collected his fair share of scars over the years, that was for sure. But it wasn’t his array of scars collected in battle and beyond that gave him pause necessarily.


He’d done enough on his own to mark and change himself…


And he was not quite sure how the Weasley matriarch would view him once she saw.


“Do you have a spare old towel we can use to make sure nothing gets this salve on it?” he heard Mrs. Weasley call to him as he still had his shirt pulled over his head.


“In the bathroom, in one of the cupboards next to the sink,” Harry said as he motioned to his ensuite bathroom.


He heard her move away and Harry pulled the sweater up over his head--still leaving his arms within the sleeves even as he brought them down.


He sat there for a moment, listening to her opening cupboards in search of a towel.


After a few more moments, Harry shook his head. In the midst of everything else that was happening around him and the greater issues at hand--he was being absolutely ridiculous.


Letting out a heavy sigh, Harry removed his arms from the sweater and laid it on the bed next to him. He sat there in his plain white t-shirt, looking down at his now bare arms just as Molly came back into the room.


“Hopefully this will work,” she said as she brandished a tan towel. “All of the others in the cupboard looked so new, I didn’t want to ruin them...” she added as she looked up.


Her eyes flickered over him for a moment before she fixed him with a bright smile.


“Why don’t you lie down on your stomach,” she told him as she gestured towards the bed. “Or whatever is most comfortable,” she added.


Harry nodded gratefully, his own gaze falling momentarily to his heavily tattooed arms before he gingerly swung himself back onto the bed and lay face-down. He’d expected her to say something--to react in some way, at least. For some reason, he’d been extremely nervous about letting any of his visitors see his arms.


He knew many of them were aware of his wild and colorful past that included lots of partying and travelling around the world. He’d even shared with Teddy and Tonks that he’d had his eyebrow pierced at one point. Actually, he’d had several piercings, hair colors and unique hairstyles over the years--from long, shaggy hair with blue bangs that constantly were falling over his face, to a mohawk.


But he’d also acquired more permanent forms of body modification. He’d started off with just a few tattoos and over the years added to his collection until both arms were covered in complete sleeves that ended around his forearms.


He wasn’t unhappy with the way he looked or what he’d done--but there was a certain disconnect from them now that he was Harry again. He also knew that some people viewed tattoos and body art in a negative light and that was the last thing he wanted from any of the Weasleys.


He was pulled out of his musings by the warm touch of Mrs. Weasley’s hands as she moved aside his t-shirt to expose his injured back. Harry tried to relax, but his nerves--mixed with the throbbing and spasming of his back muscles--were making it very hard to do so.


“It looks like you’re going to have quite the bruise,” Molly said quietly as she started to rub the salve on Harry’s back. He flinched slightly at the touch--the paste was a little colder than he’d anticipated.


But it only took a few seconds for the slightly chilled substance to begin to warm and relax his muscles and some of the pain began to ebb away.


Harry soon found himself closing his eyes, his head cradled in his arms as he left Mrs. Weasley continue to apply the salve with gentle pressure.


“Both Ron and Bill had issues with substances after the war,” he heard Molly say quietly. “We were going through so much at the time and it took us a while to come to realize how they were coping with all of it.”


“Ron--was drinking,” she continued as she stopped with the salve and covered his back with his previously displaced t-shirt. “Bill was in more pain from his scars and a back injury he suffered in the battle than he let on--and he found his own ways to handle things--”


Harry raised his head from where it was resting on his forearms, and looked up to find her replacing the cap of the jar and as she stared off into space as if remembering that time directly after the war had ended.


“I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to walk in on your conversation,” Molly apologized. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. It was private…I shouldn’t have...”


“It’s alright,” Harry assured her as he tried to relax. “I talked to Ron a bit last night--about his struggles and--my own…”


“I am recovering,” Harry admitted as he remembered Ron’s words from the other night. As worried as he was to admit this part of his past to the Weasleys or any of his former friends, he new ultimately they would not judge him so harshly.


“I’ve been clean and sober since--well--since Sophie came into my life,” he added as he lay his head back down on his arms. The muscles in his back were starting to slow their spasming. “It hasn’t always been easy…”


“That’s why you didn’t take any of the drinks you were offered,” Molly pondered as she took in his words.


“I didn’t think anybody had noticed,” Harry admitted. He hadn’t had a problem with having alcohol in house for holidays and was more than happy to ply his guests with drinks. But he’d made it a point to turn down any that were offered to him over the last day or so.


“Even to this day, I tend to keep an eye on Ron’s consumption--all of my children for that matter,” Mrs. Weasley said quietly. “It’s habit, I suppose--even after all these years.”


“Maria was worried,” Harry said quietly as he still lay facedown. “She does the same with me. She’s always watching and checking in.”


“I’m so very glad you have them,” Molly whispered as Harry felt her hand graze and then come to rest on the back of his head lightly. The gesture was comforting--motherly.


“I’ll be forever grateful to them for taking you in and caring for you,” she said quietly. “For protecting you--when we failed to do so.”


All air seemed to leave Harry’s lungs as Molly Weasley’s words sunk in.


She really thought they’d failed him?


Despite his injured back, Harry very quickly pulled himself up from his stomach and swung his legs over the edge of his bed to sit next to her.


“You’ve never once failed me,” Harry told her as he shook his head. “Nobody has--in any way.”


“I’ve always wondered if there’s more we could have done for you,” Molly said in a shaky voice as she stared off into the space before her. “More ways we could have helped so you didn’t have to go through what you did and we didn’t have to lose you…”


“I made it so that nobody--none of your family--would have to give more than they already had,” Harry told her as he put an arm around her.


“Nobody is at fault for anything--except for me,” Harry said with emotion in his voice. “I don’t want you to carry any of that around with you.”


They sat there for a minute or two longer in the quiet--the sounds of the others in the house muffled as they milled about below.


“It means so much that you’re all here,” Harry said quietly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you and your family being here.”


Before Molly could respond, there was a knock at the door. Both of them turned towards the sound and saw Hermione standing just outside of the half-open door--with a fidgety Sophie in her arms.


“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Hermione said apologetically as she stepped into the room. “She’s been pretty fussy--”


“Not fussy!” Sophie whined indignantly as she twisted in Hermione’s arms. “Want my daddy!” she pouted as she turned towards the pair on the bed--reaching her arms out for Harry.


“Sophie,” Harry admonished quietly.


“Down please,” Sophie prompted Hermione as she continued to reach for her dad.


“Hey--behave, Soph,” Harry said as he started to get to his feet. Hermione moved close to the bed and Sophie scrambled quickly out of her arms and across the bed to him. Harry quickly sat back down and allowed Sophie to jump into his lap, where she wrapped her arms around his neck.


“Missed you, Daddy,” Sophie said into his shirt collar as she hugged him tightly. It occurred to Harry that he’d been gone most of the day--leaving her with the Weasleys and extended group. Although she’d seemed fine this morning when he’d explained where he was going, he wondered if today had been too much.


“I missed you too,” he said as he kissed the crown of her head. “But you can’t be rude like that. You should say you’re sorry,” he whispered to her.


Sophie lifted her head from her dad’s shoulder.


“Sorry,” she said quietly as she addressed Hermione.


“It’s quite alright,” Hermione assured both Sophie and Harry. “I think she’s just a bit tired.”


“Is that so?” Harry asked as he looked down at his daughter. Like she usually did when she tried to deny she was tired--Sophie shook her head. But Harry could tell by looking at her that she was just about ready for a nap and he couldn’t help but smile.


“Well I’m about ready for a nap,” he said quietly--hoping to coax his daughter into going down for her afternoon nap. “Why don’t you just lay down for a bit with me and make sure I fall asleep? Do you think you can do that?”


Sophie seemed to consider the offer for a moment before she nodded her head and burrowed her face back into his chest.


Harry looked up to find both women smiling as they watched on.


“You could probably do with a bit of a lie down,” Molly told him quietly. “You need to rest your back.”


Harry really couldn’t help but agree. Even with the salve that Mrs. Weasley had provided, he still felt rather sore from his tumble earlier.


“Come on, Sophie-bug,” he said as he hugged his daughter tight and lay back on the bed--pulling them both against the pillows. Sophie automatically burrowed closer into his side.


“We’ll leave you two be,” Molly said with a smile and she and Hermione both moved towards the door.


As Hermione cast one last look at the pair before turning out the light, Harry mouthed a quick “Thank you,” to his friend as she left him alone with his daughter.


He let out a long low breath and lay back on the pillows as he allowed himself to relax. Sophie shifted and wriggled for a bit, but after a few minutes she was still and quiet. She’d fallen asleep despite her protest that she wasn’t tired.


Harry smiled and lifted his head to place a soft kiss on the crown of his daughter’s head before he rested his head back.


He wasn’t sure how long he lay there in the silence--letting his body relax even as thought of the events of the day washed over him--but somewhere along the line he nodded off.


It was only the soft creak of bedsprings and the feeling of the bed moving slightly that drew him out of his uneasy nap.

Back to index


Chapter 21: We'll Be O.K?

Author's Notes: I sincerely apologize how long it's taken me to update this story. I've had this chapter 3/4 written for well over a year now--the last 1/4 taking forever to write due to travel, moving, a job promotion and a big bout of writer's block. I hope you enjoy and I want you all to know that this story is not abandoned and I'm still working on getting more out as soon as I can!


Jackson couldn’t quite understand the level of anger that had welled up in the pit of his stomach over the last few minutes or exactly where it was coming from.

He’d been having a wonderful day. He’d spent the first part of it with his dad--enjoying the small talk and playful conversation as they’d driven into the city to get supplies and stop at his office. It had again been so surreal and so amazing at the same time to be spending this time with his father.

When they’d gotten back, he’d quickly joined his family in the pool and had been having a wonderful time splashing about with his cousins and brother.

That is until his mum and dad had gone away to talk…

He’d first been thrilled at the prospect that they were finally going to sit down and hash things out between them.

A momentary lull in their lively game of keep-away had allowed for the first of the raised voices to be heard.

The adults had tried to shepherd the teens and children out of the pool with the prospect of their late lunch being ready. The last of his smaller cousins had just made it out the door as the shouting had started--loud in the now quiet pool-house.

What had previously been raised--yet unintelligible voices--soon turned to yelling and words that could be clearly discerned.

The things his mum had thrown at his dad had made Jackson’s stomach turn and had been the first thing to raise his ire. He’d made to move towards the door where they were concealed, but had been held back with an arm and a shake of the head by his grandad.

Then there had been a loud crash and the sound of objects skittering across the floor had put everyone on high alert--each of his remaining uncles and aunts moved towards the door as the noise echoed around the room.

His father’s angry voice--something he’d never heard before--rang out loudly.

The two continued to bicker back and forth for another minute or two--his mum continuing to be the one levying the blows.

Their words became quiet--too quiet to hear--for a few moments and Jackson had wondered if they’d both lapsed into silence.

But a his mother’s shout and a loud crash rocked the quiet and his family had leapt into action.

Before Jackson could register what had happened, his Uncle Ron had wrenched the door open with his shoulder--the door banging open and crashing against the wall as his Aunt Hermione and Grandad followed behind.

He’d only gotten close enough to see his dad’s legs sprawled across the floor and could not see where his mother was standing just outside of the door frame before his Uncle Bill placed a halting hand on his shoulder and stopped him from entering the room.

But he had been close enough to hear everything being said within the confines of that room.

He’d heard all of his dad’s weary admission that he HAD indeed tried to come back as recently as a few months ago.

That he’d seen Mum and Alex and Paul in London and that he had--very understandably--assumed that they were a happy family.

They had, after all, been married and raised their children together for years and remained amicable to this day.

He didn’t think that the assumption his father had made at the time had been that much of a leap.

Jackson could hear so much sadness and defeat in his dad’s voice as he spoke from within the next room.

“I knew the selfish part of me was never going to be able to just come back into your life and not want more than just to be present again…”

Did that mean what Jackson thought it did? Was his dad still that much in love with his mum?

Something inside of Jackson leapt with equal parts surprise and excitement at the prospect.

Since his father had come back into his life, there had been moments where Jackson had allowed himself to think about the future that now included his father and what that was going to look like.

And he had to admit that some of those daydreams included scenarios where their little family was whole again and how it was meant to be all those years ago.

“But my reasons aren’t aren’t at all as selfish as you seem to think they are...they never have been.”

Despite how quiet the last words were spoken, the silence that had fallen over the poolhouse made it easy for all to hear.

Suddenly several of the people near the door moved aside at once and before Jackson could react, his dad came striding out of the room. He didn’t appear to notice Jackson standing there as he quickly moved towards the exit without even a sideways glance. Jackson watched as his dad ripped the door open, slamming shut behind him as he disappeared out into the snow.

Jackson’s eyes remained locked for a few moments on the closed door where his dad had just disappeared, but a gentle hand on his shoulder brought his attention back to the room. He turned to see his Uncle Bill standing beside him, his hand still on Jackson’s shoulder.

Jackson looked past his uncle, however, and saw his grandad embracing his mum as his Uncle Ron and Hermione watched the scene with stunned looks on their faces. His grandad seemed to be whispering quiet words of comfort and encouragement as she leaned into his embrace--her head on his chest and her face obscured by her hair.

She seemed to be speaking too, but her words were broken and muffled and Jackson could only catch fragments of, “I didn’t know,” and “I don’t know what--”

Jackson took a step forward, freeing himself from his uncle’s grasp. His Uncle Ron was the first to notice his presence.

“Jackson,” his uncle said simply as he realized that his nephew had not left with the others.

But at the sound of her brother’s voice saying her son’s name, his mum looked up and her eyes settled on him.

Jackson stood still a few steps within the doorway as his mum extricated herself from Grandad’s grip. She took a few tentative steps towards him, opening her arms as she pulled him into a hug.

But Jackson found himself not returning the embrace.

His arms had remained at his sides as his mum had wrapped him up in hers. He remained standing stock still, staring straight ahead and out the window on the far wall--his eyes only seeing the snow-covered woods beyond.

The things his mother had thrown at his dad suddenly sounded loud in his mind and he found the feelings of ire begin to fill him up again as those harsh words rang loud in his head again.

Jackson could feel the eyes of his family on him as the seconds that the hug remained unreturned ticked by.

Finally picking up on her son’s body language his mum stepped away, peering up into his face questioningly.

“Jackson?”

Jackson avoided looking at his mother as she spoke his name. Snow had just started to fall again outside the window--the large flakes landing softly on the already snow-laden trees. Jackson’s eyes remained focused on the falling flakes--a thousand thoughts and words bumping around his head in stark contrast to the soft white outside the window.

“I’d like to talk to my mum,” he found himself saying aloud after a few more silent, tense moments. There was an edge in his voice that Jackson almost did not recognize himself.

“We’ve all had a bit of tense few--” he heard his grandad begin to say in a steady voice as he tried to encourage an end to the awkward situation.

“I need to talk to my mum alone,” Jackson repeated quietly.

“Give us a few minutes,” Jackson heard his mum say to the others.

His family seemed to hesitate for a moment--unsure of whether leaving them alone was the best idea. But after another minute or so, Jackson heard the last of his family shuffle out of the room before the door clicked closed softly.

“I hadn’t realized you were there listening,” his mum said as she stepped away from Jackson.

“I was,” Jackson replied with a stiff nod as he still refused to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry. I never imagined things would turn like that,” she apologized as she raked a hand through her hair as she began to pace.

“I thought I understood,” Jackson began. His mum stopped her pacing momentarily and looked at him in confusion.

“All this time I thought I understood why you were so angry at him,” Jackson clarified as he shook his head. “That I understood about how you felt left behind and left in the dark-- that I got that much…”

“It’s complicated,” his mother replied quietly.

It was perhaps her simple answer to a situation that was much more than just complicated that rankled him even further.

“I really can't believe you,” Jackson said as he shook his head--his voice dripping with disgust.

“What?” his mother replied in shock, turning to face him with wide-eyes.

“The things you said to him--the shit you threw in his face,” Jackson supplied in a harsh face. “I can’t believe it.”

“Jackson--this is between him and I--it shouldn’t concern you,” his mum replied in a weak attempt to placate and assure him.

“Shouldn’t concern me?” Jackson roared as he threw his hands up on frustration. “Of course this bloody well concerns me!”

“Ever since we found out he’s alive--you’ve been somewhere else--someone else,” Jackson continued as he rounded on his mum. “Some days I don’t even recognize you.”

“You’ve become this angry, bitter person that I certainly don’t like,” Jackson added. “And I can’t even tell you the last time I’ve seen you smile--genuinely smile, Mum.”

His mum looked shocked at his outburst--her mouth slightly agape as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“I was angry too--at first,” Jackson admitted, his voice still heated. “In all the shock and excitement of what it meant for him to be alive--it wasn’t lost on me that he chose to leave everything.”

“He left us behind,” his mum said quietly. The hurt in her voice was evident. “Both of us.”

“It can look that way,” Jackson stated. “But the more I’ve thought about…” he started--breaking off as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

“The more I’ve thought about why--his reasoning for the decisions he ultimately made…” Jackson continued. “The funny thing is...I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I were in that situation…”

“What?” his mum replied in a low, shocked and strangled whisper.

“I said I would have done what he did,” Jackson repeated, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt. “Especially if I was as terrified as he must have been, and if I had to do something so drastic to save everyone I cared about. It’s why I can’t hate him for choosing to do what he did.”

“You weren’t there,” his mum said as she took a deep breath, her eyes falling upon the snowflakes pelting and melting against the glass. “You don’t know what it was like.”

“But you were,” Jackson replied. “You understood how things were. You understood him.”

Jackson watched on as his mother swallowed heavily, still looking lost as he words resonated in the quiet room.

“I grew up without my dad,” Jackson said steadily, leaning against the desk and remnants of shattered equipment to prop himself up as his knees shook with emotion. “Despite that, I’ve had a great life. I’ve had an amazing childhood--worry-free and full of adventure.”

“And I have this great big--crazy--family full of so many people who love me and care for me in more ways than I’d ever be able to thank them for,” Jackson continued.

“He may not have been here with me along the way,” Jackson added, “but he and those choices he made are why I’m here--in a world free of Voldemort--where I can spend my time worrying about my next Potions essay instead of which dark wizard might be lurking around the corner.”

Jackson watched has mother closed her eyes briefly, her features plainly marred with the stress she was feeling.

“I thought I knew everything about him,” his mum said quietly. “More and better than most…”

“And I really don’t know him at all--save from what I’ve learned second-hand from everyone else,” Jackson countered. “But what I do know--even after only a handful of hours with him--is that he really is that good person I’ve always been told about. He truly cares about this family--all of us.”

His mother still had no real response to his words aside from continuing to look exhausted and lost. This caused the anger to flare up again within the pit of Jackson’s stomach as he wanted his mum to share the same visceral feelings that were currently rising up from within himself.

“You knew him and you loved him,” Jackson said simply. “And you’ve continued to love him all these years--I know you have.”

“So I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why you’re more angry at the fact that he made his choice, than you are at the idea that he was put in such a terrifying and impossible position in the first place,” Jackson finished, his voice quiet yet full of his frustrations and anger.

With one last blazing look at his mum, Jackson pushed away from the desk he’d been leaning against and swept out of the room without another word.

---------------------------------------------------------------
The room was darker than it had been when he’d closed his eyes--the late afternoon light fading into evening over the snowy landscape outside the window. He hadn’t been asleep for all that long, but it had been long enough to be caught unaware of anyone entering the room.

Slowly he opened his eyes, lifting his head slightly from his pillow to see who entered while he’d been sleeping. It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. But once he was able to see, it was quite clear who was sitting near the foot of the bed.

She was seated on the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly so that her red hair obscured the side profile of her face. Even in the darkness of the room her hair seemed to stand out and shine.

Harry hadn’t expected her to be here--for her to come to him. He’d had his attempt at talking to her and it had gone badly wrong. He didn’t know what he could possibly say that wouldn’t make things even worse, so he chose to stay silent.

“I’m sorry for pushing you.”

The words were quiet and Harry wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her right as she spoke them. Her tone was so much softer than what he’d experienced earlier.

“I--I didn’t mean for you to hurt your back,” Ginny said in a whisper.

Harry let out a sigh.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed your arm. I just--I just didn’t want you to leave like that.”

Ginny let out a sigh of her own.

At the same time, the little girl still tucked snuggly against his side shifted and Harry lifted his head and looked down--remembering that Sophie had fallen asleep earlier after being brought in by Hermione.

“Can you at least understand why I’m angry--why this hurts?” Ginny said quietly as her eyes sought answers in the darkness. Harry watched her profile from the side, taking in for a moment the familiarity in her features that had only changed minutely with time.

Even in this tense time, he couldn’t help but think just how was beautiful she was.

“Gin--”

“You could have come back,” Ginny continued as her voice grew in volume. “I know what you said you thought you saw--but you could have--”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Harry interrupted as Sophie shifted in his arms again. “I’m not having this fight...not with her here.”

For the first time Ginny’s gaze fell upon the little girl, her tense features softening slightly as she took in the scene.

“I’m not here to fight,” Ginny replied as her shoulders slumped slightly as she lowered her head. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did--it wasn’t right.”

“I just don’t know what to do--what to think--to make this better.”

Harry watched as Ginny swallowed heavily, fighting hard against emotion as she closed her eyes.

Harry’s eyes drifted to the hand that was gripping the blankets, his mind simultaneously wanting to comfort while screaming at him not to do what he was about to.

Slowly Harry moved his free arm and placed an open hand gently over the top of Ginny’s.

He half-expected her to yell at him again--or at least pull away. But instead she looked down at their touching hands, taking a second to register Harry’s upon her own as if she could scarcely believe what she was seeing.

After a moment she looked away, but very slowly turned her palm from the bed so that it was touching his--her fingers curling to grasp his hand.

They sat there for a long while in the darkness--each seemingly unwilling to move or speak for fear that this tiny bubble of hope would be popped.

He hated that he had caused her so much pain--that he was still hurting her. The woman sitting next to him now was a far cry from the girl he knew all those years ago. When they were younger, he’d seen Ginny vulnerable and open and he’d seen her fired up and passionate--all were traits he’d loved about her.

But this Ginny was different.

She had been very fired up earlier--but in anger and disgust. Her bitter and biting nature was not something he’d experienced before and had never had levied directly at himself. The words that she’d flung at him--the things she’d said--they had been aimed to wound and to cut. She’d wanted him to feel some semblance of the hurt she’d experienced.

He couldn’t blame her for hating him--he just wished that he could do or say something to make it not so.

“Maybe it would have been better for everyone if I’d just died? Maybe it would have spared us from all of this…pain?” Harry said quietly--the words leaving his lips before he could stop himself.

He felt Ginny’s hand tense in his own and she looked up from her quiet contemplation and turned her head towards where he still lay in bed.

“I would never wish for that. Ever.”

Even in the darkness, Ginny’s quiet voice cut through the night like a knife.

“As difficult as this--seems--this is so much better than you really being gone,” Ginny continued on.

“Because I know what that feels like--and that’s real pain,” Ginny said softly as she looked away, struggling to maintain her composure. “As messed up as everything is right now--that world where you weren’t a part of it anymore--it was hell for a long time.”

“We may have all did what we could to move on and try to live some sort of life--but that empty place where you should have been all those years--it never went away.”

“Gin--” Harry began quietly as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

She shook her head and used her other hand to wipe away a tear that had managed to escape.

“I’m angry and I’m still not sure what to do with that--but I would never wish you dead,” Ginny told him as she turned her gaze towards him and met his eyes.

“I wish I could change so many things…” Harry said quietly as he felt his own emotions welling up inside of himself--threatening to spill over.

“I do too,” Ginny replied with a small, sad smile as her eyes shifted from Harry’s and settled upon the little girl still lying asleep in her father’s arms.

“But if we changed everything to what we envision may have been our perfect world--” Ginny began slowly as her eyes stayed fixed upon the child, “--I wouldn’t have my Alex.”

“And you wouldn’t have your beautiful little girl,” she added as she placed a free hand atop Sophie’s thick black locks for a moment, brushing aside the strands in an almost loving manner.

“And as much as I would have wanted you for myself all of those years--I can’t imagine either of us would trade their lives for that,” she finished quietly as she brought her hand back to her lap.

Harry could not find any flaw or disagreement in Ginny’s words.

Over the last few weeks--months really--he had found himself dwelling on what could have been more times than he could count. If he had made different choices all those years ago, they could have had that wonderful life that he’d only let himself dream about in quiet moments during the war.

But Ginny was right. He would never wish for even one day in that ‘perfect’ world if it meant that his Sophie could no longer be a part of his life. She was his little spark plug, the light of his life--her birth and presence in his life had brought him back from the brink in the truly dark times in his past.

No--as much as it hurt to know he had caused so much pain and devastation to those in his past--it hurt that much more to think of a life without his daughter.

“Then what do we do?” Harry asked quietly. “How do we move on from here?”

“I’m not sure,” Ginny whispered before letting out a heavy sigh. “I really don’t know,” she added--sounded as lost as Harry felt.

There was a small sliver of frustration that welled up at her lack of answers. He desperately wanted to know how he could begin to repair at least a small piece of what he’d broken all those years ago.

But he also knew well enough that he couldn’t push her--and that just having her sitting with him at this moment was a big step.

“I want to continue to try to be involved Jackson’s life as much as I can,” Harry supplied after a few moments. “If that’s alright with you.”

“He’s of age,” Ginny replied with a small smile. “He can make his own decisions. But I’m fairly certain at this point he’d wants that very much.”

“You’re still his mother,” Harry offered sheepishly, “And I want to make sure you’re aware and in agreement with everything going on.”

Ginny nodded, but did not say anything further.

“I--I was going to ask you if it might be ok if maybe Jackson stays a few extra days after everyone leaves tomorrow,” Harry brought up suddenly--partially in an attempt to span the silence. “If that’s okay,” he added.

Ginny seemed to be mulling the idea over for a moment.

“Again...it’s really up to him,” she replied. “He is due back at school on Monday--but quite honestly--McGonagall owes him for her part in everything,” she added with a bit of bite in her tone with her last words.

Amidst all of the immediate drama, Harry had momentarily forgotten Minerva McGonagall’s involvement in assisting him all those years ago. He’d been focused more on the reaction towards Remus, as Tonks and their children had been present in his home this Christmas. Both of his former professors had been integral in helping him develop the theory and spellwork that had ultimately set the chain of events into motion.

“I’ll handle her if she questions his late return,” Ginny assured him as she slowly raised herself up from her seat on the edge of the bed.

Harry had no doubt that Professor McGonagall would have a tough time if it came to testing Ginny on the matter of her son’s extended vacation.

“I should really go talk to Jackson, actually,” Ginny said with a sigh as she moved towards the doorway. “I owe him an apology.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by her last statement, but stayed silent as he watched her go.

It didn’t feel as though they resolved much in their short time together just now--there were still so many things up in the air and feelings that had remained unspoken.

But somehow Harry felt a little bit lighter and a sliver more hopeful about whatever future may be yet to come.

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