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Bonds of Blood and Magic | ||||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny, Severus Snape Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Fluff, Romance Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence/Physical Abuse Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 932 Summary: A few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry vanished. Two weeks later, Ginny disappeared, also alone and without a trace. Someone has stepped out of the shadows for a moment, moved some pieces on the board, and changed the rules of the game. Hitcount: Story Total: 407078; Chapter Total: 20193 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Well, I hope that you liked Chapter 4!! Chapter 5 promises to be even more fun. |
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Harry woke before Ginny did. He was more successful at realizing where he was than he’d been earlier in the morning. He stared at the blurry red cloud on the pillow next to him. A small hand lay on his chest. The small movements it made distracted him from the hair on his pillow. His wife continued to sleep as he stared at her hand, just inches from his face. He could see freckles across the back of her hand, extending in a light dusting across her knuckles and up her wrist where the pulse of her heartbeat was visible in one of the delicate veins on the underside. His wife. He was lying in bed with his wife. His Ginny. He was lying in bed with Ginny, and he liked it. He realized that his hand was touching her, and his thumb started moving back and forth, stroking her soft skin. He reveled in the feel of her under his hand, the soft, smooth skin over her ribs where his hand curved around her. He inhaled a deep breath. She smelled differently than he’d grown accustomed to. No strawberries now, just lovely, deliciously warm skin. She murmured softly in her sleep, her lips against his shoulder. He heard his name, and blushed. ‘She says my name in her sleep,’ he thought in wonder. Still somewhat sleepy, his thoughts continued to wander. ‘We’re really married. Snape really married us. I can’t fathom that. He’s such a hateful git. Dumbledore… but why? What possible excuse could that miserable worm excrement use… He’s protecting us from Voldemort, can’t forget that. Even if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hate me forever, at least Ginny will be safe from him hurting her. Until we have to go kill him… ‘Ugh. Potter, get a grip!’ He lectured himself a bit. ‘Here I am, lying in bed with the only woman I have ever wanted to be married to, we’re both completely naked, parts of her that I never dreamed I’d even get a glimpse of are pressed against me, and I am NOT ruining this! I am going to enjoy every moment of being with her I can, in every way I can, until I have to think about something else. We’re lying here, alone. We’re married. She’s mine, forever. I am the luckiest man alive, and I am not forgetting that for one more instant.’ He quite deliberately started stroking the skin over her ribs and stomach with his hand, stopped thinking, and began enjoying the moment life had, quite by chance to his mind, brought to him. Ginny woke when she felt his hand move. She very carefully tried not to move or change her breathing pattern. She was amazed at the feelings his touch gave her, but more, she didn’t want to startle him when it looked like … finally … and he was initiating it! She was cheering inside her mind so loudly, the volume would have deafened them both if it had been audible. He turned his head and buried his face in the mane of red hair, lightly blowing air out of his mouth and nose to keep from being tickled. He shifted his body slightly. In response, she, simulating normal sleep movement, gave in to her desire to cling tightly to him. She pressed her hand more forcefully on the bare skin of his chest to brace herself, slid her left leg slid across him, hooked her ankle around his thigh, and then pushed her arm across his chest to pull him tightly against her. She raised her head up from the pillow to rest on his chest. She settled into his side, and sighed softly in pure bliss. He stifled a groan of delight. He thought, ‘I can die now … Right here, right now. She is so … wonderful. This feels so …’ He started kissing her forehead while stroking her hair and roaming over her skin with his hands. Eventually, she gave up waiting and enjoying just being adored, and started kissing and touching him back. Both were complete novices at their next task, having at best a rudimentary theoretical knowledge of what went where. It was clumsy, awkward, and a lot of giggling ensued on both sides, along with several comments along the lines of “Really? I never knew that!” They did, eventually, figure out what they were supposed to do. Later that evening, Ginny moved about the bedroom tidying up, opening the closet, looking in the bureau drawers as she inventoried what clothing and other supplies they had available. Harry lay in bed as he watched her, enjoying being with her in their privacy, and learning to be comfortable with her constant, intimate presence. She saw his eyes move, and realized he was watching her as she searched the drawers and closets. She shyly pulled a dated lacy nightdress out of one of the drawers and pulled it over her head. Harry’s smile widened. Watching Ginny starkers was wonderful, but so was this older, but very sexy nightdress, which seemed to be mostly made of lace and designed to tease at exposing skin without actually doing so. Exploring the varieties of life with his beautiful wife was certainly going to take years, and be the most worthwhile activity he ever undertook. “How are you, Harry?” His smile split his face. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.” They both giggled, and smiled so widely, their faces nearly broke. She walked over to the small bedside table and opened the small bag Snape gave her before they portkeyed to the cottage. She pulled out the last two items it contained, turned around, and held them out to Harry. “Since you’re feeling better.” He sat up, stunned. He didn’t spare a thought to the fact that sitting up was quite easy now, where it had been nearly impossible that morning. “Where did you …” he began as he reached out and took his wand and penknife, the penknife he’d bought to replace the one Sirius gave him, which he’d ruined in the Department of Mysteries. “Snape gave me that bag right before he activated the portkey. That’s all that was in it, besides your glasses. You needed your glasses earlier, but I didn’t think you really needed these for anything we’ve been doing.” She giggled, and he joined in. “I’m going to make dinner. Do you want to stay here and rest, or come with me?” she asked. “Well, that depends on if there’s anything for me to wear in one of those drawers. Not fair that you get to have all that sexy lace on, and all I have is a sheet,” he smirked. “Well, there are a couple more of these nightdresses, but I don’t think that the chest dimensions will work for you,” she smiled back at him as she bunged over a pair of lurid purple and red striped, silk pyjama bottoms which appeared to be just as dated as her dress. He laughed. “I wonder if all the clothes are this … old?” “Right in one. Looks like a bunch of flower children used to live here. It’s all paisleys, cottony lace, and bell-bottoms. Those are the least hinky pyjamas I found between the two bedrooms.” Harry pulled the silk pyjamas on and struggled to stand, almost falling before Ginny rushed over and caught him. “Is it the leg?” she asked. “Yeah. Didn’t you give me Skele-gro?” “Yeah, you almost vomited on me. I don’t understand. It should be knitted up by now. You should be able to limp around, at least, even if you aren’t all the way back to your old self. Does it hurt much?” “No, it … well, it does ache a bit, until I try to put weight on it. Then it shoots pain and goes right out from under me. Are you still giving me pain potions?” “No, I gave you a dose this morning before the bath, but nothing since, and I hadn’t meant to give you any more at all.” She sighed. She wasn’t a Healer. She just didn’t know what more to do for his leg, and it bothered her. A lot. “Do you need some pain potion?” she finally asked. “Not right now, no. I’ll probably fall asleep again if I take any. I think that, if you help me get around, I can do without it for the moment.” He held onto her again as they limped their way into the kitchen, which was just as cozy as the rest of the cottage. That is to say, it was comfortable, but small. Harry, still bare-chested, giggled a bit to himself as he watched Ginny struggle with the Muggle appliances, until finally she pulled her wand and made them all behave properly. While Ginny got a chicken and rice dish steaming on the stovetop, Harry chopped salad ingredients at the table. Eventually, they got dinner ready and sat together, ready to eat. Harry started to reach for some food, but then he paused. He picked up Ginny’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you for making dinner,” he said quietly. “I have a question. Do you pray?” “To whom?” she asked seriously. Surprised, he asked, “What do you mean?” “Well, people pray to all kinds of things. Some people don’t even think that there is a god, while others think that there are many, and all need appeasement. So, I’m wondering who you were thinking of praying to.” “Um, I only know people who go to the Cathedral, and different other Christian churches. I didn’t know that there was so much religious variety in England.” “It’s not just England. It’s world-wide. Wizards still have people who follow Druid traditions, Egyptian religion … Parvati and Padme follow Hindu traditions, and so on. Did you go to church as a boy?” “Only on Christmas and Easter. Everybody goes then, but I haven’t been since I started school. Mrs. Figg used to make me pray before she’d feed me. I don’t know who I was supposed to be praying to, though.” “Well, some people do, some people don’t. Wizards are just like the Muggles in that way, I expect. I mean, what is Christmas about? It depends on your perspective, really. It’s either a mix of traditions, the winter solstice and celebrating the birth of the Christ, or it’s a modern version of the mid-winter’s feast, or it’s a solemn celebration of the birth of the Son of God. It depends. “The Weasleys are as mixed up about it as anyone else. Aunt Muriel is a Druid priestess. Dad doesn’t know what to think, but takes any opportunity to unify the family, so we celebrate most holidays, regardless of whose religion it comes from. Mum told me that Uncle Fabian was a novice monk in France before Tom’s first war, but he left the monastery to come back to England and fight.” “Huh. Well, then, I guess when we have time, we’ll explore some of those different ideas and figure out what we think about it, together?” he asked her, a bit uncertain. “Sounds good to me.” “Okay.” “So, should we just … eat now, then?” she asked. “Um, right. Yeah, probably.” They began eating, their conversation stilted at first after the somewhat awkward discussion, but it soon smoothed out. Harry got quite the education that evening on the history of the Holyhead Harpies. He had to admit, it was a much more appealing team to support than the Chudley Cannons Ron was for. An all-girl Quidditch team? That had to sell some tickets, not that he’d say anything like that to Ginny. He may have been quite hopeless when it came to girls, but even he wasn’t thick enough to make a comment like that! It was, all in all, a much more entertaining conversation than any he’d had with Ron about the team he was mad for. By the time dinner was over, he knew that the claw on the front of her favorite green t-shirt, the one that was currently hanging to dry above the tub in the loo, was actually a Harpy talon, and was the symbol of her team. He also knew the names of all the current players, their win-loss record for the past three seasons, and the fact that everyone who supported the Harpies was so glad that they finally picked up a decent Seeker the previous season, as their record of wins had jumped so much after she started playing. After all, he had to agree that it is pretty disheartening to maintain an average of 100 point leads for ten games running and lose every one of them because all the Seekers, from starter to third-string reserve, kept losing the Snitch races. After dinner, they moved to the front room, which served as sitting room, family room, parlor, and everything else that wasn’t kitchen, bedroom, or loo. The furniture was as old or even older than their clothing, but it was sturdy and serviceable. There were several bookshelves. Most contained a variety of books, but one was completely filled with old muggle magazines. They cuddled together on a loveseat covered in plaid cloth, watching the sunset through the large window the couch faced. Harry sat with his right leg up on a settee in front of him. Ginny sat to his left, but turned sideways with her legs across his lap. Harry held her back with his left arm and stroked her hair with his hand, holding her far hip with his right. Ginny looked at him somewhat quizzically. “Harry, why did you ask me about … praying?” Her brow was furrowed. Harry thought for a moment to collect himself. “I don’t know, really. I guess I wanted to know what you think about it.” “About what?” “Faith, I guess. Religion, prayer. I mean, we’re married. That bond. I don’t think that it’s just for making us have sex. At least, a marriage shouldn’t be just about that. It should be, well … more than that. Bigger. “Don’t get me wrong, making love is just … amazing.” They both smiled as he continued. “But there’s so much more to life. Eating, breathing, walking, talking, reading, working, studying, killing Voldemort, sitting together. There’s so much life in a day. Faith, praying, religion? It is part of life for some people. I just wanted to know what part it has in your life.” “Harry, you’ve eaten at my house loads of times. You know my parents don’t pray before meals. I was just confused as to why you would wonder about that, since you already knew.” “That’s just it. I only knew what I saw at your house, not what your family really does when they are alone, not what you really think or believe. “That’s not the only thing that we’ve never really talked about. What about kids? Do you want to have a lot, like your mum? Do you even want any? What about Hogwarts? If we have kids, do you want to send them, or home-school them? What about work — do you want to? What kind of work do you see yourself doing? “There’s so much that I want to know about you, to talk with you about.” She settled her head against his shoulder. “Well, what do you want to know about me?” “Well, what made you want to marry me when you were four? And how did you hear about me to know that?” She smiled. “Harry, didn’t you know that you are the most popular children’s story in the Wizarding world? I got one of your books for my fourth birthday from my aunt, and I made everybody read it to me every night for about three years. I read it myself, of course, after I learned, but I still made everybody read it to me until I was about seven.” He was a bit shocked. He knew, from Hermione’s description of his inclusion in so many books on the train in their first year, that he was in a lot of historical studies of wizarding wars, such as “The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,” but he didn’t realize that extended to popular literature, or children’s books. “Do you still have it?” he wondered. She colored slightly, and nodded her head. “You don’t still read it, do you?” Her darkening blush was all the answer he got. “You do!” He was smiling widely now, enjoying watching her face in her embarrassment. “Please don’t laugh at me,” she whispered. “My brothers would, and I just … just please, don’t.” “I won’t,” he promised, but his smile was still huge. She braced herself, and asked, “Alright. What else?” He looked at her for a moment, considered, and said, “How about if you ask me something? Maybe you can find out something that isn’t in that book, or any of those books.” She bit her lower lip. She wondered lots of things about him. Finally she came up with a question. “What do you want to do for work?” His brow furrowed a bit. “Well, I used to think that I wanted to be an Auror, but now…” he trailed off. “Now?” she encouraged. “I just don’t know. I think it might be exciting, but I’m married. We might have kids. I’ll have to think of something else. I can’t risk myself like that.” “What, like risking yourself to kill Voldemort is so safe?” she asked, perturbed and showing it. “I don’t have a choice about that, though. I’m the only one who can do it.” “What do you mean? I’m sure that if enough wizards got together…” She stopped as he shook his head at her. “No, they can’t.” “Why not?” “It’s in a prophecy. Only the one he marked as his equal can kill him.” She looked up at his scar, and drew in her breath. “Yeah. That. That’s why I have to do it. I’m the only one. Well, now I guess it’s us. But I don’t want you there when it comes to the fight. I want you safe.” She slapped his arm. “Harry, I’m not safe, and you can’t make me safe. Nothing you can do will do that. I’m at risk any time you are. Did you forget? If you die, I die. So it’s not just you. It’s us, and we’ll both be there for whatever we have to do when we kill the bastard. I’ll be with you. We’ll both do it, and we’ll be more powerful together anyway.” He took a deep breath. This was so wrong. But it was the only way it would work, so he nodded. “Alright. But we are not even going to try it until we have some certain way figured out, when we know that it will work.” “Alright,” she agreed. “It’s your turn again.” He couldn’t think of anything creative, so he turned her question back around on her. “What do you want to do for work?” “I don’t know. Maybe something to do with Quidditch.” “You’d be good at it.” She scoffed. “I’d be lucky if I got to do anything. It’s a pretty chauvinistic sport, except for the Harpies.” “Hmm. Your turn, Gin.” "Okay. Kids. Do you want any?" "Yeah, but only if you do. Do you?" "Yeah, but I don't know how many I want. How many do you think?" "I never really thought about it. Enough so that they won't be lonely, I guess." Her heart ached for the little boy he'd been, but she tried not to show it. He didn't like it when people talked about his childhood. They traded back and forth like this for several hours. Some of the questions started longer conversations because they required explanations, or lead to more questions, but others were simple answers that were just tidbits of information. The sun set fully, and it got quite dark, but neither of them moved from the loveseat to light a lamp or fire. Finally, the needs of nature moved them to stretch stiffly from their seats, and they hobbled together to the loo. They crossed the hall to their bedroom. In spite of the late hour, sleep did not come to the newlyweds for some time. They did not mind in the least. |
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