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SIYE Time:16:45 on 28th March 2024
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Finding Ginny
By wrappedinharry

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Rape
Rating: R
Reviews: 149
Summary: Ginny Weasley disappeared three and a half years ago. Her family have never given up hope of finding her. But when Harry Potter does find her, she refuses to return home with him. Why did she just disappear, and why does Harry feel a burning desire to bring her back to her family when she obviously wants to be left alone?
Hitcount: Story Total: 63589; Chapter Total: 4567
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Harry feels guilty and Ginny is still very wary. Bonnie however, like her mother before her, has fallen hard for Harry James Potter.




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Chapter 4


“Harry!” Harry jerked in his chair, some of the untouched butterbeer in the bottle he held, slopping over his hand. The crease between his eyebrows was an indication of his irritation as he glared at Hermione and wiped his wet hand on the leg of his jeans.

“What!” he bit out, his irritated tone dragging Ron’s attention away from the chess board more effectively than Hermione’s sharp one. Ron was so used to Hermione speaking to both him and Harry as if they were recalcitrant children, it was like water off a duck’s back.

“What is the matter with you?” asked Hermione of Harry, her own brows lowered in a frown. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”

“Couldn’t have been trying very hard,” grumbled Harry, taking a long pull on his bottle and leaning forward to stare at the chess board, hoping that he at least looked interested in the game. Although his level of skill had improved steadily over the years as a result of the innumerable games he had played with Ron, it was still not good enough to defeat his friend. He had though–on the very odd occasion–given him a run for his money. This evening was not one of those times. He was losing spectacularly and had even lost track of whose turn it was. Hence Hermione’s sharp call to order.

She had been watching the game in between pages of the book she was reading; Ron was too intent on working out his next play to dwell on how long Harry was taking to make his move. Hermione however, had read a whole chapter of ‘The Superior Witch and Wizard —Are We Really?’, and as the chapter had been eighteen pages long, that was a considerable time for Harry to sit immobile and staring into space.

“You haven’t made a move for over fifteen minutes,” Hermione informed him.

“Are you reading or watching the game?” asked Harry, a lingering trace of annoyance in his voice. He reached out a hand and moved his remaining knight; even the outraged screeches of the mounted paladin did not alert Harry to his gaff; it was only after he had removed his hand and Ron looked at him with his bright eyebrows hiked up under his fringe that Harry saw he had freed Ron’s bishop which, when Ron moved it, would checkmate his king.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to care as his king threw its crown at Ron’s bishop’s feet. “Bravo!” he said to Ron with, he hoped, some semblance of savoir faire. In truth, he was just glad the game was over. He had only agreed to play because he had felt Ron and Hermione looking at him with concern over the last several days; he knew they were talking about his distraction and he knew he was making a poor job of hiding his secrets.

Harry stood up and reached for Ron’s empty butterbeer bottle and Hermione’s empty mug which he hooked by the handle. “Anyone for hot chocolate before bed?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Hermione, answering for Ron as well, and as Harry left the room, he was aware of their worried gazes drilling into him. As soon as he shut the door, he could hear their low, worried voices.

This was so much harder than he had thought it would be. It was hard enough keeping things from the rest of the family —he didn’t see them every day, but it was so much more difficult when he was living with Ron and Hermione. The three of them did not have any secrets from each other —until now. And what a secret.

In the kitchen, Harry put a pan of milk on the burner before pulling out a chair and slumping down onto it. He leaned his elbows on the scrubbed pine table and rubbed his face, pressing his fingertips against his closed eyelids and pushing his glasses askew. He pulled them off and threw them carelessly onto the table before leaning back and rubbing a hand through his unruly hair. He was so bloody tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well since he had found Ginny. And it wasn’t just guilt that kept him awake.

Ginny Weasley had grown into a beautiful woman despite the fact that she was way too thin. Now, with his hormones sitting up and panting, Harry wondered where in the hell his head had been when he and Ginny had been at school together. He had known back then how cute she was; but it was an abstract observation.
Ever since his third year, his libido had been focusing on Cho Chang. If he had thought about Ginny at all, it had been, he supposed, much as Ron thought about her–as a little sister. He couldn’t have cared for Ron more if he was a brother, so it stood to reason that he had looked upon Ginny as a sister. He had lived in the same house as her often enough; he had seen her just after she had crawled out of bed, in her nightie or pyjamas, with her hair a tousled mess.

Harry groaned and dropped his head onto the table, his forehead making an audible thump. The thought of that beautiful red hair looking like a fiery aureole around Ginny’s head was definitely a sight that would stir him up now, even more than the smooth curtain of red-gold strands that had first attracted his attention at the coffee-shop, or the dishevelled wet mass of it that had darkened to titian back at the flat after they had been caught in the snow.

It had been ten days since he had first seen Ginny in that coffee shop, and he had seen her every day since, if only for half an hour or so. Harry only wished that Ginny was becoming as accepting of his presence as Bonnie was. He was rather chuffed at his ability to charm the three year old; he only wished he was as adept with Bonnie’s nineteen year old mother. Still, Harry had high hopes of eventually softening Ginny through his interactions with her daughter. That was a definite goal, but Harry had to admit that the little girl had managed, in a few short days, to wrap him around her tiny finger.

“Harry?” Harry sighed and lifted his head to peer blearily at Hermione. She was looking past him to the stove and with a tut of exasperation and an, “Oh, Harry —what in heaven’s name is wrong with you?” she crossed the flagstones and turned the burner on under the pan of milk. She turned and leaned back against the bench, her arms crossed and her glare fixed firmly on Harry.

“Tired,” he said by way of explanation for his forgetfulness, but if he was hoping that one word was enough to sidetrack a determined Hermione, he was sadly mistaken. Her glare became even more fierce.

Harry picked up his glasses and hauled himself to his feet. “On second thought, I think I’ll forgo the drink and head straight to bed. See you tomorrow.”

“Sit!”

Harry heaved a put upon sigh. “Hermione!...”

Hermione stepped forward and placed her hands on Harry’s shoulders, pushing him back onto the chair. “We need to talk.”

“You got the short straw did you?”

“What is going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar!”

“Nothi ng is going on!”

Hermione closed her eyes, raising her face to the ceiling. “Harry, you are a lousy liar. We know that there’s something going on with you. We just don’t understand why you won’t tell us. You never keep anything from us.”

Harry stood again, forcing Hermione back a step. He pulled her towards him by placing a hand behind her head and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Stop trying to be my mother,” he said softly. “Not everything has to be talked about Hermione. I don’t ask for chapter and verse about you and Ron. Give me the same courtesy. Okay?”

A supremely frustrated Hermione watched as Harry left the kitchen. She wilted, but perked up immediately when Harry poked his head back around the door. Had he changed his mind?

“You’d better turn off the gas.”

“Oh!” Hermione spun back to the stove just as the boiling milk overflowed. “Damn, damn, damn!”


~GWHP~


Ginny was sitting on the living-room floor helping her daughter put together a giant jigsaw puzzle, when she heard an echoing pop from within the garage below. Bonnie, who was in the process of fitting a puzzle piece, immediately went on the alert, lifting her face to her mother, her brown eyes shining with excitement and her two little hands covering her mouth to hold in a squeal of delight.

“”Harry’s here!” came the muffled words from behind the hands. Bonnie jumped up and ran to the dining table where she pulled a chair out and pulled it towards the door on the other side of the room. Ginny heard the by now familiar footsteps on the wooden stairs as she watched her determined daughter enable herself to open the door.

“Bonnie!” said Ginny, her tone gently admonishing. “What are the rules?”

“Not to open the door,” pouted Bonnie. She looked at her mother with wide, beseeching eyes. “But Mummy, it’s Harry. He always pops when he gets here.” Bonnie saw the frustrated indecision in her mother’s eyes and knew that Ginny was not going to put her foot down at this moment; she continued to position the chair in just the right place so that she could climb on it and turn the doorknob, but allow the door to open without banging into the chair. She did not, however, press her luck by climbing onto the chair without her mother’s final say-so.

The expected knock sounded and Ginny watched as her excited daughter bounced up and down impatiently, her eyes begging for permission to admit her new hero. Ginny sighed. Her own heart-rate had increased when she had heard Harry Apparate into the garage. He never appeared directly in her flat for which she was profoundly grateful; she knew it was not the done thing in the wizarding world, and Harry was nothing if not rigidly strict with himself when it came to observing other people’s comfort zones.

Ginny always took a minute to collect herself when her frequent and unwelcome visitor arrived —to cultivate the indifference it was so important she show to the presence of Harry Potter in her home. Just as he had always been indifferent to her presence at school, and at the Burrow when he had stayed there.

Bonnie couldn’t wait any longer —without waiting for her mother’s actual say-so, she clambered onto the chair and reached forward to turn the doorknob.

“Harry!” she squealed, launching herself into Harry’s arms when he stepped over the threshold. Harry had heard the chair being dragged across the floor, so he was ready for the tiny missile. His arms closed around the little bundle of energy and cuddled her close to his chest. Bonnie took Harry’s face between her hands and grinned at him, her teeth shining like tiny pearls.

“Hiya, kewpie,” he said, bouncing the little girl in his arms. “Have you been a good girl for Mummy?”

Bonnie nodded her blonde head fervently. “I helped Mummy dry the dishes and make the beds.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in apparent admiration. He stepped inside the flat and closed the door “Excellent! Mummy must be really happy that you’re such a big girl and can help her so much.”

“I’ve been helping Mummy for ever and ever,” corrected Bonnie. “Since I was really little.”

Harry’s eyes found Ginny in the kitchenette where she was filling the kettle. “Lucky Mummy,” he said, sotto voce.

“Yes,” said Ginny in the slightly frosty voice that she always employed when Harry first arrived. “Mummy is lucky. She can rely on Bonnie and Bonnie can rely on Mummy.”

Harry sat Bonnie down on the bench, and began to tickle her. “Mummy doesn’t only have to rely on Bonnie anymore,” he said, under cover of the childish giggles that filled the air.

Ginny heard him but she didn’t respond; she turned her back on Harry and Bonnie to remove two mugs from the overhead cupboard. How she wished that what he said was true. How she wished she had someone to lean on. She knew that Harry was saying that she could rely on him, but she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Harry would only be this solicitous of her until he had convinced her to contact her family.

Harry sighed and turned his full attention on Bonnie who was chattering away, mindless of the tension that had gripped her mother. She threw herself at Harry so that he could lower her to the floor, where she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the partially completed puzzle taking up a fair amount of floor space to the side of the coffee table.

“Hang on kewpie, while I hang my coat up.” Ginny watched through her eyelashes as Harry took off his cashmere overcoat and beautiful green woollen scarf and hung them on a hook near the door, amidst the colourful but second-hand and oh, so slightly tatty parkers, hats, and scarves that belonged to her and Bonnie. It looked like a magnificent Hippogriff in an enclosure full of colourful Pygmy Puffs.

Ginny watched as Harry lithely threw himself down on the floor beside Bonnie, following his every move as her hands were busy preparing the drinks. He wore a faded pair of jeans and an emerald green round-necked jumper that Ginny recognised as being knitted by her mother. It was the colour she had usually favoured for Harry as it bought out the colour of his eyes, and in deference to his age, Ginny presumed, there was no longer a large motif in the middle of the front. Rather, there were tiny little snitches incorporated around the whole of the band and the cuffs.

Ginny put the carton of milk down and gripped the edge of the bench; the hand-knitted jumper was the most tangible reminder of her mother that she had seen since she had left the wizarding world. It made her realise, as nothing else could have, exactly what her daughter had missed out on…a beautiful, hand-knitted layette and shawls. It also made her realise that as much as she had rolled here eyes every year when putting on her annual jumper, she now missed the tradition more than she could have believed possible. She was a fair knitter herself–her mother had taught her after all–and Bonnie had some lovely knitwear, but she was missing out on something special having never had an offering from her grandmother.

Ginny forced her eyes away from Harry and forced the image of her mother knitting to the back of her mind —it was reluctant to go but Ginny finished making the tea and placed Harry’s cup and the very weak concoction she had prepared for Bonnie, along with a plate of shortbread on the coffee table. she ignored Harry’s thank you and avoided making eye contact with him again as she hurried back around the bench.

She pulled some mince from the refrigerator and proceeded to cobble together a spaghetti sauce for dinner that night. After several minutes filled with Bonnie’s little-girl chatter and Harry’s deeper voice, she surreptitiously raised her eyes and watched more of the interaction between her daughter and Harry. He was patience personified, allowing Bonnie to fit the pieces and guiding her movements gently when one or another piece proved reluctant to go into its correct position because the tiny hands were not entirely coordinated.

Finally the puzzle was completed and Harry and Bonnie sat up to drink their tea and eat a shortbread each. Harry expressed his own pleasure in the scene after Bonnie had expressed her own delight in rapturous tones. The fairytale scene depicted a beautiful unicorn standing in a verdant forest glade liberally strewn with wildflowers. A picturesque waterfall in the background, covered the scene in a fine mist that made it look as if you were seeing everything through a diaphanous curtain. Bonnie was enraptured.

“I've seen a unicorn,” Harry informed Bonnie who stared at him with wide- eyed wonder.

“Really?” she breathed, reverentially.

“Uh huh,” said Harry, nodding. He felt Ginny’s disapproval radiating across the room, but he didn't let it put him off; he continued with his tale. He was determined that he would get some kind of response from her today, even if it was an angry one, instead of standoffish silence or terse answers to uncontroversial questions. When you were angry, you were more likely to let something you didn't want known, slip.

“They really are that beautiful, but the babies are even more beautiful. The babies are gold.”

“Gold like the ball that the princess in ‘the Frog Prince’ has?” breathed Bonnie.

Harry nodded solemnly. “Yep. Just like that. They turn white when they are about your age…three.”

“I’m not fwee yet,” said Bonnie, “My birfday isn’t until next year. Just after Christmas.”

“In January?”

Bonnie paused, then looked at her mother enquiringly. “My birfday is in Janwery, isn’t it Mummy?”

Ginny was stirring the spaghetti sauce and Harry could see how tense her shoulders had become. It was obvious that she wasn't comfortable even giving away the date of Bonnie's birthday. But he knew that she had to answer Bonnie; there was no excuse that she could offer the little girl not to.

“Yes, Bonnie, your birthday is January the eleventh.” Harry could tell that it was an effort for Ginny to keep her tone light and airy.

Bonnie turned her shining eyes to Harry again. “Janwery levenf,” she said importantly. The little girl sighed. “I wish I could turn gold on my fird birfday, Harry.”

Harry took a lock of Bonnie's pale hair between finger and thumb and gave it a playful tug. “No, no, no!” Bonnie giggled and wriggled sideways until she had insinuated herself onto Harry's lap. “I happen to like hair that is the colour of moonbeams much more than I like golden baby unicorns.

“Really?” asked Bonnie.

“Really,” assured Harry.

“Do you like Mummy's hair too?”

Harry looked across the room, noting that Ginny had stopped stirring the sauce, though she was still holding the wooden spoon over the saucepan. “I do...very much,” said Harry. “I know a lot of —er, people who have hair the colour of your mummy's.

Bonnie sighed again. “I wish my hair was the same as Mummy's. It's nice and warm.”

“Your hair is beautiful, just like Mummy's hair is.”

“Do you know people with my colour hair too, Harry?”

Harry kept his eyes on Ginny, very interested in her reaction to his next words. “That exact colour of moonbeams...only a few.”

Ginny slammed the spoon down onto a plate on the bench; Harry saw the tiled wall become anointed with a fair splattering of tomato sauce. “It's time for your nap, Bonnie,” Ginny said, rounding the bench and planting herself in front of Harry and Bonnie, her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive posture.

“But Mummy...”

“No buts, miss. You were awake early this morning, so you are definitely ready for a nap.”

Bonnie looked crestfallen, but in the blink of an eye, she had spun around on Harry's lap to face him, scooting onto her knees and taking Harry's face in her small hands again. Harry tried to hide his grimace of pain but he could not prevent himself from tensing as those pointy little knees came very close to a sensitive part of his anatomy. With delicate care, he repositioned them further down his thighs. He sensed rather than saw Ginny smirk. “Will you be here when I wake up, Harry? You can have busgetti with us.”

Harry glanced up at Ginny and raised his eyebrows, rather pleased to be able to put her on the spot. Ginny glared back, her look indisputably challenging. Harry hadn’t been a Gryffindor for nothing “If it's all right with Mummy, I can stay for dinner,” he said calmly.

Ginny's eyes narrowed even further as Bonnie spun around to face her mother. Harry winced again. He was going to have bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “Mummy, please can Harry stay and have busgetti with us?”

“Harry is very busy, Bonnie...”

“I'm not busy today,” denied Harry. “I kept the afternoon free to visit.”

“He said he's not busy today,” repeated Bonnie, just in case her mother hadn’t heard. “Please Mummy!”

Harry heard Ginny's sigh of resignation, or perhaps it was exasperation; she had run out of excuses. “If you go to bed now, Harry can stay and have spaghetti with us.”

“Yay!” Bonnie threw her arms around Harry's neck and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. Harry scooped her into his arms so that he was no longer in danger of emasculation. He buried his head against her neck and blurted a raspberry against the sensitive skin, causing the little girl to giggle madly.

“Is Mummy's spaghetti delicious?” he whispered into Bonnie's tiny ear.

Bonnie giggled and pulled Harry's ear down to her mouth. “Yes,” she whispered back. “It's really, really delicious. Mummy is the bestest cooker.”

Ginny reached for Bonnie but Harry stood up with Bonnie firmly held against his chest. “I'll carry her,” he said and before Ginny could argue, he marched into the bedroom with his giggling, excited bundle.

~HPGW~


Ginny shut the bedroom door and stalked across the room. Harry had left her to tuck Bonnie in and he knew he was going to get a mouthful for his audacity. He was hoping to lessen the hostilities with an offering of tea. Hackneyed, he knew, but he really couldn't think of anything else to do to improve the atmosphere. He held out one of the mugs as if it was a shield. “The universal panacea,” he said with what he hoped was a winning grin.

Ginny took the mug and put it down on the bench with exaggerated care.

Apparently not.

“I would appreciate it if you would stop using my daughter so that you can insinuate yourself into our family.”

Harry sighed before taking a sip of his own tea. “Ginny, I am already insinuated deeply into your family...”

“This is my family. Bonnie is my family. My only family!”

“You're wrong, Gin. And I will not rest until I have convinced you of that.” He took another sip of his tea, grimacing as it turned bitter in his mouth. He poured the remaining liquid into the sink and put the empty mug on the draining board before moving past Ginny, being careful not to touch her, and walking the several steps to the coat rack. He pulled his coat down and threaded his arms through the sleeves before dragging his scarf out of one of the deep pockets.

“Where are you going?” Ginny finally burst out as Harry wrapped the scarf around his neck. “Bonnie is...”

“How long does Bonnie usually sleep?” asked Harry tersely. Ginny's unwavering hostility and his guilt-ridden sleepless nights were finally catching up with him. His good humour was on the wane.

Ginny bit her lip. This was the first time that she had seen Harry at anything less than pleasantly talkative and curious. “She usually sleeps for about an hour and a half,” she said, for the first time displaying a lack of aggression. “She should be awake around four o'clock.”

Harry opened the door. “I'll be back in an hour. I wouldn't want to disappoint your daughter.” He stepped onto the tiny wooden landing. “I know how devastated you will be if I don't come back,” he said, looking down into the dim garage rather than back at Ginny. He shut the door quietly and didn't see the mingled confusion, regret and apprehension that flashed across her face.

Ginny stared at the closed door and fought the instinct to fling it open and call Harry back. After a minute, she began to move aimlessly around the room, occupying herself with mundane and mostly unnecessary tasks as her thoughts whirled.

What if he doesn’t come back?

Of course he’ll be back. He promised Bonnie that he would stay for dinner and he wouldn’t disappoint her.

What if he’s had enough?

Harry Potter doesn’t give up that easily.

Why am I so worried?

Because despite going out of your way to make him feel unwelcome, you listen everyday for the sound of him Apparating into the garage. You want him around because you have never gotten over him! And deep down, you revel in the things he slips into the conversation about your family…you want to hear about your mother and father, and your brothers.

Ginny stood in the middle of the room and stared into space as she finally admitted to herself what she had felt from almost the first moment Harry Potter had come back into her life.

Deep down, I want him to convince me to go back!

TBC...
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