A Proper Epilogue by TomBombadil
Summary: Harry has just defeated Voldemort and everyone in the Wizarding World wants a piece of him, but there is only one witch with whom he wants to speak. How exactly can he hope that she still wants to see him?
Rating: R
Categories: Post-DH/AB
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2017.01.20
Updated: 2017.02.25
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Unforseen Options
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - All Manner of Surprises
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Embracing Memories
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 - Arthur's Advice
Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - With All That I Am and All that I Have
Chapter 6: Chapter 6 - Unwelcome Arrivals
Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - Making Love, Making Plans
Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Putting Things to Rest
Chapter 9: Chapter 9 - Divergent Reunions
Chapter 10: Chapter 10 - Contrasts and Surprises
Chapter 11: Chapter 11 - Exploration and Discovery
Chapter 12: Chapter 12 - Plotting and Planning
Chapter 13: Chapter 13 - The Wedding
Chapter 14: Chapter 14 - The Aftermath
Chapter 15: Chapter 15 - St. Mungo's
Chapter 16: Chapter 16 - Some Stupid, Noble Reason
Chapter 17: Chapter 17 - Moving Forward, Changing Plans
Chapter 18: Chapter 18 - Embracing Realities
Chapter 19: Chapter 19 - Puzzle Pieces (or Deus ex Machina?)
Chapter 20: Chapter 20 - Restoring Order Out of Chaos
Chapter 21: Chapter 21 - And Two Shall Become One
Chapter 22: Chapter 22 - Epilogue
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Unforseen Options
Author's Notes: This is a revision of a story I wrote years ago and posted on another site. Hopefully I have improved upon the writing, removed errors, and revised the romance suitably to fit within site rules! The story begins in the headmaster's office immediately after the trio have stepped away
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” said Ron, interrupting his best friend’s train of thought. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”
“Apparently not,” Harry replied, an exasperated sigh escaping his thoroughly exhausted lips. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” He hated to sound so snippy but, as far as he was concerned, it was no time to be nitpicked by one of his best friends.
“Look, Harry, I don’t really know a good way to say this, but you just told a room full of people how to master the Elder Wand — a room that included the entire sodding Malfoy family.”
“Shite!” muttered Harry. “I did, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay,” Hermione interjected softly. “I’m sure everyone was far too focused on your confrontation with Voldemort to be concerned about the Elder Wand.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry, grateful for her attempt to provide a degree of comfort, “but I have a terrible feeling Ron may be on to something. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I had this overwhelming feeling I had to give that sorry bastard one last chance to show some remorse for what he had done.”
“And you wanted to do that for what reason?” asked Ron, totally mystified by his Harry’s motivation.
“Because of what Hermione told us about the restoration of souls that have been ripped by murder and the creation of Horcruxes,” Harry answered. “The only way Tom Riddle could have salvaged his soul was to repent — to show true remorse for what he had done.”
“And I repeat,” added Ron, “you wanted to do that for what reason?”
“You didn’t have to look at what was left of him at King’s Cross,”
“King’s Cross?” asked Hermione, her curiosity piqued.
“That’s one of the things I brought you up here to tell you and Ron,” answered Harry, anxious to keep the conversation moving. “When Dumbledore told me that what was left of his accidental Horcrux … a piece of his soul -- was beyond help, well … it was too sad for words.”
“Oh, Harry,” whispered Hermione as her voice quivered with emotion, “he really didn’t deserve that kind of sympathy.”
“Maybe not, Hermione, but if you had seen the way he grew up — all alone in that horrible orphanage — you might have felt differently,”
“Bloody hell, Harry!” interjected Ron. “At least he wasn’t raised by wizard-hating Muggles! You didn’t owe him anything.”
“Language, Ron!” interjected Hermione.
“Look,” said Harry, ignoring Hermione’s interruption, “if you two want to engage in foreplay, could you at least do it someplace else? There are things I need to tell you about what happened when we went our separate ways and I had to face Riddle in the Forest. I brought you up here to tell you in private and we won’t have much time before someone finds us. Then there is only one other person I need to tell, after which I want to keep this amongst ourselves.”
But before Harry could even finish his thought, their conversation was interrupted by agitated voices approaching by way of the spiral staircase. Instinctively, Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands and took what little shelter was offered by the furnishings of the Headmaster’s office. They relaxed, however, as each recognized the unmistakably deep, elegant voice of the temporary Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was accompanied by Professor Minerva McGonagall, who sounded almost as stressed as she had when she had found Harry and Luna inside the Ravenclaw Common Room. As they reached the upper landing, just outside the open office door, the Minister stopped his ascent and turned to face Professor McGonagall.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this, Minerva. You told me yourself that Harry’s only ambition has always been to become an Auror.”
“That’s true, Kingsley, but he’s only seventeen and hasn’t finished his education. He’s spent the better part of the last year on the run — hiding from Voldemort, and his Death Eaters. He’s even been hiding from the Ministry of Magic! Can you imagine the pressure … the incredible stress they were under? All that time, Potter and his friends faced worse dangers than you or I could possibly imagine, and now you want to put him straight to work!”
“It’s the work he wants to do, Minerva. Imagine what it would mean to the wizarding world to have Harry Potter and his friends clean up the Auror Department.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when you would want to use Potter. I admit it came as no surprise when Cornelius Fudge tried to use him for political gain. I was only slightly surprised when Rufus turned out to be no better, at least when it came to Harry’s interests, but you, Kingsley?”
“For Merlin’s sake, Minerva, I don’t want to use him! I want to give him an opportunity to do the work he has always wanted to do with a chance to cut straight to the top of the queue. He won’t be a figurehead like Fudge asked of him. Instead, I’m talking about a real job — an important job! Maybe it will be the most important job ever offered to anyone, and Harry will get to stay with his best friends if they want to join him.”
“Harry, Ron, and Hermione can take those jobs a year from now, and it won’t make a single bit of difference!” huffed McGonagall. “There isn’t going to be any time to reorganize anything for the next twelve months, and you know it! All the Aurors will be hunting down the remaining Death Eaters or preparing evidence for the trials. Why not let them finish their formal education and then let them decide what they want to do?”
“I never suggested that Harry shouldn’t be given a choice,” replied the Minister. “And not just Harry — Hermione and Ron will be free to choose, as well. But do you think three heroes are going to want to come back to school after everything they have accomplished this year? Even with you back as Headmistress, I can’t imagine them choosing to spend another year at Hogwarts rather than taking up key positions in government.”
“Well, you may be right about Harry and Ron, but you had better mark my words, Kingsley. Hermione Granger will definitely be coming back to Hogwarts — especially when she finds out I am naming her as Head Girl.”
Harry didn’t know which came first, Hermione’s squeal of delight or Ron’s good-natured burst of laughter, but when he turned to look at his best friends, he found them smiling broadly at one another. Ron managed to cover the distance between them with three broad strides and swept Hermione off the floor with an enthusiastic embrace. Whatever Ron whispered in her ear triggered a happy response, as Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a passionate kiss.
Harry’s heart soared momentarily for his best friends before dropping to the pit of his stomach with a resounding thud. While truly happy that Ron and Hermione had finally overcome the insecurities that had kept them apart for so long, watching their unabashed display of affection made him ache desperately for a chance to be reunited with Ginny. Fueled by his fierce determination, the pieces of a surprisingly simple plan began falling into place the moment he spotted the gob-smacked expressions on the faces of Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt when they finally entered the room.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed the Headmistress, who obviously hadn’t expected to find her office occupied, much less by snogging students. She diverted her eyes from the sight of Ron and Hermione, who had yet to break their embrace. “Hello, Harry,” she said, as a gentle smile crossed her normally taut face. “The Minister and I were just discussing you.”
“Yes,” answered Harry, returning her smile. “I couldn’t help overhearing part of your conversation.” Harry paused for a moment, directing his gazed toward Hermione and Ron. Raising his voice considerably, Harry continued, “I think Hermione was rather … excited … to hear of your decision.”
As the sound of her name carried across the office, Hermione finally broke off her kiss, and Ron gently lowered her feet back to the floor. She turned to face the new arrivals without even a hint of embarrassment.
“Good morning, Headmistress,” said Hermione. “Minister,” she continued with a nod toward Kingsley Shacklebolt, “it’s wonderful to see you.”
Harry never ceased to be amazed by Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, and the person most responsible for keeping him alive long enough to reach his final confrontation with Lord Voldemort. In fact, her cool use of intellect and constant state of preparedness had kept them out of irreparable harm’s way since their first year at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, Harry could not have possibly imagined the day when Hermione Jean Granger would be caught in a passionate embrace, only to turn to her Headmistress with as much poise as if she had been sitting at High Tea. It truly was a new world.
Ron, on the other hand, had turned a brilliant shade of crimson, the likes of which Harry had never before seen on a human being, magical or Muggle. Ron was not alone in his embarrassment, however, as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, stood silently, fidgeting like a schoolboy, with his eyes locked firmly upon the floor.
“Well, now,” said Professor McGonagall, “as you have obviously already heard, Kingsley has some important business he would like to discuss with the three of you. However, I’d like for each of you to know that you are welcome to return to Hogwarts to finish your final year come the first of September.”
Kingsley Shacklebolt finally lifted his eyes from the floor, took a deep breath as if to speak, but was cut off by the Headmistress.
“And, before the Minister can sweeten his offers, let me add that I will also be asking Mr. Weasley, here, to serve as Head Boy. As for you, Harry … I would like for you to consider filling in as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher while you have a chance to finish the rest of your coursework. You will be given your choice of housing, of course — a flat in the teachers’ quarters, or you may remain in Gryffindor Tower.”
Minerva McGonagall fidgeted nervously before finishing, “I had planned to offer the teaching post to Remus Lupin, after all he has done to support the Order, but … well … you know…”
Silence fell over the room at the mention of their friend’s death. Harry fought unsuccessfully to choke back tears at the thought of his godson. Like Harry, Teddy Lupin had lost both parents in the battle against Voldemort. It had been one thing to read about the bittersweet taste of victory in battle, but everyone who remained in the battered castle that very day had learned this harsh lesson through the cruelty of experience.
For many, Harry included, this had not been the first occasion upon which they had lost loved ones. As the silence lingered for a few more seconds, during which time Harry reflected upon the loss of his parents, godfather, greatest mentor, and friends. He sucked up his courage and rededicated himself to becoming a major part of his godson’s life. Above all else, gave thanks that Ginny Weasley had not been one of the casualties.
“I’ve always planned to finish my education, so I will definitely be coming back to Hogwarts, Head Girl or not,” said Hermione softly, but with a note of finality. “I’m honored that you would like me to work for the Ministry, but I’d really like to finish here and take some time to sort out exactly what I want to do.”
“Well, if Hermione’s coming back to school, then so am I,” added Ron enthusiastically — perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than he had planned, for everyone else in the room chuckled lightly at his response.
Ron turned an even brighter shade of red as he turned to face Hermione, who smiled radiantly back at him before tenderly taking his hands in her own. For his part, Harry Potter was struck dumb by his friend’s decision to return to school when his dream job lay open to him for the taking.
“Well,” mumbled Harry, “Dumbledore always had said that love was the greatest of all powers.”
At last, the Minister of Magic was given an opportunity to speak. “Harry, I know we have all asked a lot of you for so long, but I really need your help. I need someone I can trust to take over the Auror Department and make sure that it conforms to the highest ethical standards. I think you are the man for the job. You’ve defeated Voldemort and have earned the utmost in respect from everyone in the wizarding world.”
Harry tried to suppress the small laugh that struggled to escape his lips, failing miserably in the attempt.
“Is something funny, Harry?” asked the Minister in surprise.
“No, Minister, I really didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that I destroyed Tom Riddle with Expelliarmus. It’s hardly the kind of thing that would become legendary amongst a group of fully trained Aurors. It’s really rather laughable.”
“I’m not asking you to become their trainer,” countered Shacklebolt. “I’m asking you to oversee their selection and make sure that everyone stays in compliance with our standards — to root out corruption before it can take over the department.”
“I’m not sure anyone can do that. It sounds impossible to tell you the truth.”
“That’s why we need someone of unimpeachable moral standing, Harry — someone like you.”
Harry grimaced at the Minister’s words and looked directly at Professor McGonagall before asking, “Would that include someone who cast the Cruciatus Curse on Amycus Carrow?”
Hermione and Ron gasped simultaneously.
“I’m not a saint, Minister,” Harry stated flatly. “In fact, I think you’d be rather disappointed with your selection.”
“No one’s looking for a saint, Harry. I know it’s a big job, and my request is sudden. Still, I’d like to think it’s a decision you could make to help us.”
“Thanks for your confidence, but I will have to think about it,” said Harry before turning his gaze back to the Headmistress. “Just like I’ll have to think about your offer, Professor. I won’t be making any decisions on my own, anymore. There’s someone I need to confer with before I … I mean we … make any major decisions.”
“How long do you need, Harry, and, is there anything I can do to help?” asked Shacklebolt.
There was the opening Harry had been seeking. “Yes, there is something I need help with if you can spare me a half hour. I have to tell you, however, that it has nothing to do with your job offer.”
“After what you’ve done for us, I’ll do almost anything.”
“Great! I need you to come with me to Diagon Alley. After the shite we pulled off yesterday, I don’t think the goblins will welcome me back into Gringotts, and there is something I desperately need to get from my vault.”
“I’ve already heard about that from the Goblins, and you’re absolutely right,” the Minister said with a twinkle in his eye. “I take it that you broke into the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange for a good reason?”
“Yes, Minister. That’s where Voldemort was hiding one of his Horcruxes,” answered Harry. “We had to get it in order to have any chance of killing him, and there really wasn’t any other way…”
“That’s all I need to know for now, Harry. I’ll be happy to clear the way for you, no matter what you decide to do with your future.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Sir! Truly.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“Just give me one minute. I need to ask a favor of Ron and Hermione.”
With that said, Harry walked over to his best friends and pulled them close beside him. “Can you two please find Ginny, and ask her to meet me in the Gryffindor Common Room … in about half an hour? Please?” A note of desperation was clear in Harry’s voice, as he practically begged his friends for their assistance.
“We’ll try, mate,” answered Ron.
“Don’t try! Just find her. Tell her I have to see her!” implored Harry with rising urgency.
“We will,” said Hermione, a note of recognition coming to light in her eyes, before she turned to her boyfriend. “Come on Ron! You heard the man.”
Harry smiled gratefully, and then walked back across the room to address Professor McGonagall. “With the wards down, could we Apparate to Gringotts straight away?”
“Most certainly,” she replied.
“The front steps of Gringotts, then, Minister?”
“Of course,” said Kingsley graciously. “But please allow me to go first … and give me a minute to prepare the goblins for your arrival.” Separated precisely by sixty seconds, two soft pops were heard in the office that belonged, once again, to Minerva McGonagall.
******
After agitatedly waiting a full minute, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared into the crushing darkness. Dumbledore had once told him that this method of magical travel would take some getting used to, but Harry doubted he would ever reach that level of comfort with Apparition. However, the ability to disappear in an instant only to reappear at the place of one’s choosing was a right handy talent that had already saved his life on more than one occasion. Although he was not in mortal danger as he followed Kingsley Shacklebolt to Gringotts, Harry could not ever remember being driven by a greater sense of urgency. As his feet hit solid ground, and the iron bands that had constricted his chest released their grip, Harry gasped deeply for fresh air. Taking a small step for stability, Harry opened his eyes and took in the chaos surrounding him. The great bronze doors were hanging loosely on their hinges as goblins and wizards alike worked quickly to repair the damage caused the previous day, when Harry, Ron and Hermione blasted their way out of the ancient bank on the back of a partially-blind dragon.
“That was yesterday!” thought Harry. “Is it even possible? Did we really rob Gringotts, find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes, and win the final confrontation with the Darkest wizard of the century, only to resume my quest for normality -- all in less than twenty-four hours?”
Of course Harry realized that he hadn’t done it alone — not even the terrible walk into the Forbidden Forest. The initial thoughts that he was required to go it alone had been proven ridiculous. He knew he would have been dead had it not been for Ron and, most especially, Hermione. He realized that without the assistance of Minerva McGonagall, the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Molly Weasley, countless others, and, of course, Ginny, all his efforts would have been doomed to failure. It was amazing. It was humbling. Perhaps most of all, it was terrifying. But there he stood, back on the steps of Gringotts Bank, thinking of all that had happened, but most of all, thinking of Ginny.
Turning his head from side to side, Harry finally managed to spot the newly appointed Minister of Magic who was besieged by a small crowd of agitated goblins avidly seeking restitution for the damages. Their mood did not improve when Harry Potter, the perceived cause of all their problems, stepped up beside the Minister.
“It’s him … that’s Potter … the one who did all this!” screamed Bogrod, one of the goblins Harry had placed under the Imperius Curse. “Arrest him!” Kingsley Shacklebolt lifted his hand and silenced the crowd with his rich baritone laugh. Their reaction stunned Shacklebolt, who had simply been so amused by the frenetic situation that he had been unable to suppress his laughter. “Damn!” he thought, “this sort of power could be dangerously intoxicating.” Gathering his wits about him, Kingsley turned his attention back to the goblins. “That’s right, Bogrod,” said the Minister sardonically. “Let’s arrest the young man who risked everything to defeat the most evil wizard of the age!” he concluded before drifting helplessly back into laughter. Try as he might to behave in his official capacity, Kingsley Shacklebolt couldn’t disengage his sense of humor from the irony of the situation. Whatever the irate goblins had expected from the Minister of Magic, temporary or otherwise, laughter had not been it. Taken entirely by surprise, Bogrod and his associates stepped back in confusion, not daring to speak.
“I’m tempted to tell you to restore this property yourselves, with no help from the Ministry. It’s what you have earned by continuing to conduct business as usual with convicted Death Eaters. However, since you have neither broken any laws nor actively assisted our enemies, I will recommend to the Wizengamot that we assist in your rebuilding efforts.”
This statement seemed to placate the restless assembly of goblins, who stood silently looking at one another, as if searching for direction. Harry had expected shame or remorse from the goblins but saw, instead, only a marked sense of anger bubbling from them.
It was Kingsley, once again, who took charge. “Mr. Potter is urgently in need of something from his vault and requires immediate assistance. I will accompany him until his business here is finished,” stated the Minister firmly. “And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?” asked Bogrod uncooperatively, obviously searching for a loophole in his obligation to serve.
Harry reached for the pocket of his jeans, retrieving a small golden key. It was the one item, other than his wand, that he kept with him at all times leading up to his departure with Ron and Hermione to search for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. He smiled ironically, knowing that it was one of only a few things Hermione would not have thought to pack in her magical beaded bag. It also bore witness to Harry’s naïveté, for he had once believed that he might be able to drop into Gringotts to retrieve a bag of galleons if funds had run short on their journey.
Amused by his own stupidity, Harry snickered audibly. Unaware that Harry was laughing at himself, rather than the frustration of Bogrod, Kingsley laughed once again, and wrapped a strong, protective arm about Harry’s shoulders. He gazed firmly at the goblin who muttered, “Very well,” and led the way back into the damaged structure. Five minutes later, Harry, Kingsley, and Bogrod stepped from the cart onto the landing in front of Vault 17.
“Excuse me!” blurted Harry. “I thought we were going to my vault -- #687.”
“No,” answered Bogrod, on your seventeenth birthday the contents of your trust account vault were returned to the Potter family vault.”
“So why, exactly, did I need my key?” asked Harry.
Bogrod ignored the question and began working upon the door.
After allowing the goblin to open the vault, Harry gasped audibly. While he was accustomed to the sight of the small fortune that lay in Vault 687, he was absolutely astonished by the collection of wealth that faced him in the family vault. Harry took out the roped bag that had been provided by the bank and prepared to gather the galleons he would need to complete his immediate task at hand before suddenly stopping. Instead, he moved to an ornate table that had appeared as if by magic in the front of the vault. Harry removed an open velvet-covered box measuring approximately four inches by six inches and only about one inch in height. Without allowing his companions to see the items, he slipped his treasure into the bag before gathering enough galleons to keep him liquid until he had time to investigate the vault more carefully. With a subtle swish of his wand, Harry shrank the bag to a fraction of its original size and slipped it into his pocket.
As he and Kingsley emerged into the sunlight of Diagon Alley, Harry checked the watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett but was now his thanks to the generosity of Molly and Arthur Weasley. It had only been twenty-six minutes since he Disapparated from the office of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. He had been dreading the return visit to Gringotts since the very first moment he had begun formulating his plan -- a plan that had been hastily developed, yet was nevertheless the most important one upon which Harry had ever embarked, Horcruxes be damned!
With the first phase completed, Harry had thought his unsettled stomach might relax. Instead, he found himself consumed with tension to the point that his hands had begun to tremble. “Thanks, Minister,” he said gratefully. “You’re a life saver!”
“Happy to assist, Harry, and please, let’s drop the formality. I’m only the temporary Minister of Magic, and I should always be just ‘Kingsley’ to you.”
“Okay, ‘just Kingsley’, but I think you’re a bloody brilliant choice for the job,” answered Harry.
“Well, it’s a job I didn’t ask for, and one I really don’t want,” sighed Shacklebolt.
“And that’s exactly why you should have it,” added Harry. “We’ve had enough of the kind of people who want that job, don’t you think?”
“I guess you should know all about that kind of thing,” answered Kingsley gently.
“Yeah, I guess I do. Well, now that I’m done with Voldemort, it’s time to move on to better things. I’m due back at Hogwarts in a couple of minutes, so I’d best be going,” finished Harry, offering his hand to the Auror-turned-Minister of Magic.
For his part, Kingsley Shacklebolt wondered just what it could be that Harry Potter thought more important than vanquishing the darkest wizard in known history. He would not soon find the answer to that question, however, for Harry turned quickly in place, and vanished with a soft pop.
A moment later, Harry reappeared in the Gryffindor Common Room and began scanning the area for Ginny Weasley. To his disappointment, his eyes discovered only his two closest friends, wrapped in a passionate embrace, snogging each other senseless.
“Ron! Hermione!” he shouted. “I thought you two were supposed to be looking for Ginny!”
“We have been looking for her, mate,” replied Ron, who then took the time to place one last, soft kiss on Hermione’s lips before rising from the sofa.
“We really have been looking for her, Harry,” added Hermione. “We just haven’t been able to find her anywhere.”
“She was with Mrs. Weasley when we left the Great Hall,” said Harry, beginning to pace the room. “Were you able to find your mum, Ron?”
“No, Harry, we couldn’t. We found George, though, and he told us that Mum and Dad had gone down to take care of F-Fred, Tonks, and Remus. They wouldn’t have taken Ginny downstairs for that.”
“Oh, Merlin!” exclaimed Harry, as the Common Room began to spin slowly around him. He had been so consumed with his immediate concerns that he had momentarily pushed the casualties of war from his consciousness. However, the reminder of these losses was simply overwhelming. While he had been comforted on his walk into the forest by the ethereal presence of his parents, Sirius and Lupin, Ron’s comment had triggered an entirely different recollection. For the moment, all Harry could remember were the empty eyes of Fred Weasley, and the lifeless bodies of Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. The absence of Ginny only served to compound his anxieties.
“Are you all right, mate?” asked Ron, as he watched his best friend stagger to the nearest armchair.
“No, Ron, he’s not,” said Hermione when Harry failed to answer. Leaping quickly from the sofa, Hermione rushed to her friend, taking his pale hand in her own. “Harry, you’re so cold,” she whispered.
At last, his head began to clear, and Harry responded, “It’s just the effects of Apparition, combined with a couple of wild rides into the bowels of Gringotts.”
“I bet they went mental at the sight of you!” muttered Ron. “Did you see that little traitor, Griphook?”
“No,” answered Harry, “but Kingsley made Bogrod drive the cart to my family vault. He wasn’t too happy about it, that’s for sure.”
“What in the name of Merlin’s … left leg … made you go back there, anyway?” asked Ron.
“I’m sorry, Ron, but that’s something I need to talk to Ginny about,” said Harry. “I really need to find her. You don’t think something terrible has happened to her do you?” he asked, pulling away from Hermione to resume pacing nervously.
“No,” answered Ron sarcastically, “I don’t think anything terrible has happened to her, and what’s so bloody important about talking to Ginny, anyway? If you wanted her to jump at your command, maybe you shouldn’t have ditched her in the first place.” It was as if Ron and Harry were back at the Burrow, and Ron was trying to finish the conversation he had started after discovering Ginny and Harry kissing on his seventeenth birthday. As he finished his last statement, color began rushing into Ron’s cheeks.
Harry wheeled around, fists clinched, and a burning look of anger etched upon his face. “I told you I didn’t ditch her, Ron …” began Harry, but the anger slipped quickly from his voice. Unable to finish his defense, he turned to face Hermione. Looking more like a scared child than the Master of Death, Harry returned to the armchair and sat quietly on the front edge of the seat. A moment later, he leaned slightly forward and lowered his head into his shaking hands. A wave of nausea swept over him, but having eaten nothing but a bit of bread and cheese over the last twenty-eight hours, there was nothing but a bit of stomach acid to reach his throat, burning like Fiend Fire.
Thoughts of Ginny floated to the surface of Harry’s mind, but they were no longer the pleasant memories that had comforted him as the flash of green light approached him from Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra. Instead, the only things Harry could remember were the pained expression he had witnessed after Dumbledore’s funeral, the sound of her sobbing as she turned her back to him after that wonderful kiss in her bedroom, and the look of bitter disappointment that had come over her face after he failed to support her desire to join the fighting the previous night. Overwhelmed with desperation, he raised his head from the cradle of his hands, opened his eyes, and sought the comfort of Hermione’s gaze.
“God, Hermione! I’ve lost her, haven’t I?” he muttered bitterly, as once again the room began to spin.
“Oh, Harry,” she replied, “I don’t think it’s …” But Harry never heard what else she meant to say as he suddenly lurched forward from the edge of the armchair, falling with a sickening crack as his forehead struck the hard tile floor.
******
Harry came gradually back to consciousness as Ron and Hermione struggled to move him from the stairwell into the dormitory he had shared for six years with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Ron was hauling him backwards, with his arms clutched under Harry’s armpits. Hermione was trying her hardest to support his legs. Harry wondered bemusedly why they had not simply levitated him up to his bed. It took only a moment for Harry to realize that, despite the physical challenges of carrying his helpless body, his best friends were in the midst of a minor disagreement.
“All I said, Ron, was that you had no business yelling at Harry about splitting up with Ginny. You know he was only trying to protect her!”
“Yeah, right! Some protection that was, leaving her miserable and alone to come back to Hogwarts — to live under the thumb of the bleeding Carrows!”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect decision, but he was doing what he thought best because he loves her.”
“Loves her!” screeched Ron derisively. “Where’d you ever get an idea like that? He’s never said he loves her!”
Perhaps it was simply a surge of adrenaline, or maybe he was fueled by a sudden spike in his magical powers, but a wave of incredible strength washed over Harry, who suddenly twisted free of Ron’s grasp. It took only a moment before Harry was once again standing upright, with his wand pointed directly at Ron’s chest. “Of course I love her, you big berk!” screamed Harry. “Just because I don’t carry on with you about your sister, for Merlin’s sake, doesn’t mean I don’t love her!”
“Easy, mate,” said Ron nervously, as the room crackled with magical energy.
“For the last four years, Ron, I’ve watched you ogling my sister,” Harry said, glancing momentarily toward Hermione, “and I haven’t once criticized you. But since I fell in love with Ginny, all you’ve been able to do is criticize every single thing I’ve done.”
“That’s a bit unfair, mate,” Ron replied indignantly.
“Is that right?” asked Harry. “So now, when I’ve gone and ruined everything — now that I’ve driven away the only girl I’ve ever really loved -- all you can say is that I got what I fucking deserved.”
“That’s not what I was saying at all, Harry. I was just trying to protect my sister, who…” began Ron, before another voice stopped him in mid-sentence.
“…doesn’t want or need your protection, you big git!” The voice belonged to Ginny Weasley, who at that precise moment drew back the burgundy and gold curtains hanging about the four-poster bed that had been Harry’s for the previous six years.
“Ginny!” gasped Harry, turning with relief to gaze at her brilliant red hair and bright brown eyes. Without another glance at Ron or Hermione, Harry pocketed his wand and stepped over to the bed. Taking her hands in his, Harry uttered as softly as he possibly could, “I’m sorry, Ginny — sorry for everything.” He searched for something more to say — something to make everything all right, but words failed him.
The momentary silence was soon filled by Ron, whose temper flared instinctively. “Ginny! What the bloody hell are you doing in his bed?”
“Sleeping, obviously, you ridiculous tosspot!” she snarled in return. “Alone!” she added for good measure, before turning her eyes beseechingly toward Hermione.
“Ron, it is clearly time we left these two to talk things over,” said Hermione, taking Ron’s arm gently in her own. “If you can hold that horrible temper of yours, Ron, perhaps we could take a lesson from your sister and steal a little kip for ourselves.”
“What?” asked Ron, firmly rooted to the spot, glaring at the sight of his little sister in his best friend’s bed.
“A kip, Ron … for the two of us … together,” she reiterated.
Catching the surprised look on Ginny’s face, Hermione began to blush.
Harry couldn’t suppress the snort that tore through his lips, amazed that Ginny … his Ginny … could elicit a response of embarrassment from Hermione Granger, when the frightfully imposing Minerva McGonagall could not.
Hermione rolled her eyes suggestively at her boyfriend and tugged more forcefully at his arm. “Don’t you fancy a kip with me, Ron?” she whispered pleadingly. At last, a look of understanding passed over Ron’s face, and the scowl he had been wearing softened immediately.
“A kip?” he murmured softly. “S … sure!” Without another word, and without a glance back at either Harry or his sister, Ron followed Hermione out of the dorm room and disappeared down the stairs.
“Maybe later,” said Ginny, as a sly smile threatened to crease her lips, “you can tell me all about how that happened.”
“Yes, maybe,” answered Harry softly.
“Not exactly the way I’d dreamed of hearing that for the first time, by the way,” Ginny added, unable to keep a trace of bitterness out of her voice.
“Hearing what?” asked Harry.
“That you love me, Harry. Somehow I always figured you’d be speaking to me instead of my brother when you finally got around to saying it.”
“Oh, Gin …” Harry began, but the words refused to roll off his tongue. Embarrassed and unnerved, Harry looked down to see Ginny’s hands held lightly in his. Try as he might, Harry could not stop them from trembling.
Ginny sat in stunned silence as the young man who had confidently faced down Lord Voldemort seemed to be coming apart. Whatever resentment Ginny had felt in the Room of Requirement melted quickly away. The young witch moved closer to Harry and pulled him into a tender embrace. As his head came to rest upon her shoulder, Harry relaxed noticeably, thankful to once again feel her touch.
“Ginny,” he whispered softly. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry. And I’m terrified that you’re not going to be happy with everything I’ve done tonight. I hardly know where to begin.”
“How about answering this, Harry: why …” she started, before choking over her own emotional reaction.
“Why what, love?” Harry asked tenderly.
Ginny breathed deeply before continuing, “Why … after breaking things off with me … after leaving me behind to do whatever you had to do … why on Earth would you come after Bellatrix Lestrange instead of Voldemort?”
“How could you have known that? I was under my invisibility cloak the whole time?”
“Harry, please, I’m not an idiot. When you hollered ‘Protego’, you were practically standing next to me. Even after Mum finished her off, you were still there with us, instead of engaging Voldemort. So, why the hell would you let me suffer without you all year, only to turn away from the stupid noble reason you left me in the first place?”
“Oh, Ginny, can’t you see why I had to push you away?”
“And that would be?” asked Ginny, her voice sounding strangely distant.
“You!” said Harry, pulling her even closer to his chest. “Of all the terrible things that have happened since Voldemort decided to come after me and my parents, there has only been one thing I couldn’t possibly survive, only one thing that would surely kill me. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, Ginny. I couldn’t bear to have him kill you because of me.”
Ginny gasped audibly as the depth of Harry’s feelings began to wash over her.
“Look,” continued Harry, as the words he’d been unable to say moments earlier flooded out of him in torrents, “I know I’ve been selfish. I’ve only thought about what I needed in order to survive. I know I’ve hurt you … more than once … and I half expect you to never want to speak to me again. I just need you to know that I love you and, when forced to choose between you and my duty to kill Voldemort, I chose you. I couldn’t possibly have done anything else. I couldn’t let Bellatrix Lestrange kill you like she killed Sirius.”
Ginny felt Harry becoming more agitated and loosened their embrace.
In less than a second, he was up, pacing the floor nervously. At a loss for words, she sat quietly; waiting to hear whatever else he intended to say.
“It took me a while to figure things out. At first, I only understood that I couldn’t handle the guilt of being responsible for your death. After all, Voldemort had killed my parents because of some stupid prophecy about me. Then he had Cedric murdered when all he really wanted to do was to kill me in front of his Death Eaters. Then that bitch killed my godfather because Sirius had come to save me from my own stupidity. Then I thought he had Dumbledore killed because he was training me. Ginny, Voldemort had already taken away everyone I loved or depended upon, and then some, and I knew I couldn’t take it if he killed you!
“Then on my birthday, when you kissed me and Ron went mental, I realized that I was walking away from you without any promises. You were free to move on if you wished to and suddenly I saw that there was more than one way I could lose you. It practically killed me right then, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was sodding terrified that Voldemort would figure out how much I loved you, and that it would guarantee your death. So, I just moved ahead with my plan until Bill and Fleur’s wedding, when all further choices were taken out of my hands.
“There’s something else, too. I had a job to do — something no one else could do, if you believe in prophecies. I had to kill him, being “The Chosen One” and all,” Harry said with a noticeable hint of anger. “I had to kill him or be killed by him, and I couldn’t do that until all the Horcruxes were destroyed. Like it or not, that’s something I couldn’t possibly do if you were with me. You saw it tonight. If forced to choose between you and my damned duty, I’d always choose you. I just can’t help it, Ginny.”
“And you just couldn’t tell me any of this before you walked away?” she asked, anger mingled with pain. “You didn’t think I’d be better off knowing all of this — what I meant to you?”
“Like I said before, I’m really sorry,” reiterated Harry, meaning every word. “I tried to tell you at Dumbledore’s funeral … at least I tried to tell you what I knew at the time … that I couldn’t bear it if you died, knowing that Voldemort would come after you if he knew what you meant to me.”
“I guess it sounded something like that, but it would have helped to know a little more about what you were thinking before you turned your back on me,” she replied.
“One more look … one more word … and I would have lost my resolve. All I can say is that a year ago, I only knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want you to die … especially not because of me. I can’t change what I have or haven’t done in the past, but things have changed since then. I may be pretty thick, but when you face death … I mean really face the end …”
Harry stammered, his heart pounding ferociously in his chest. He swallowed nervously, wondering why it was harder to say something important to his girlfriend than it was even to face Voldemort. It made no sense, but Harry knew he had to finish his thought. “Well, when … when you know you are going to … die … it becomes pretty clear what’s most important. And, Ginny, when that time came for me last night, the only thing I could think about was you.”
Ginny watched in silence as Harry walked to his chest of drawers and pulled a tiny object from his pocket. Placing it on top of the dresser, Harry flourished his wand, and said, “Finite Incantatum.” In moments, the object had become a full-sized bag, which clanked loudly while Harry worked to withdraw the velvet-covered box he had stashed among the galleons. He returned to the bed and placed the box on the duvet Ginny had been snuggled under. Despite his trembling fingers, Harry managed to open the box so as not to reveal its contents to her. Removing a small drawstring pouch, he snapped the lid shut and lifted his emerald green eyes to gaze longingly at Ginny.
“There so many more things I need to tell you, and you may not like everything you hear. But I need for you to understand everything I tell you with the complete and absolute certainty that I love you. I love you and always will!”
Ginny shifted uneasily, wondering what could possibly be making Harry so nervous.
Her silence only served to intensify his anxiety. “How many times can I tell her that I love her,” Harry wondered, “and get nothing in return? Maybe it really is too late.”
“You may not realize this, but ever since I first arrived at Grimmauld Place, you have been my rock. More often than not, you have been the only person who has been able to reach me. You’ve never been afraid to tell me when I’m heading around the twist, but you’ve also stopped long enough to listen to what I have on my mind. You’re incredibly brave, too. If you could have seen your face in the Forbidden Forest when I tried to keep you from coming to the Department of Mysteries … well, it was rather intimidating, to say the least!
“You probably have no idea how insanely jealous I was that day Ron and I found you snogging Dean Thomas. It was then that I realized how much I wanted to be more than your friend. … And watching you fly, Ginny. Merlin! I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I wanted you! “So, long before I kissed you in the Common Room, I was totally taken with you — so taken that I was willing to risk losing my best friend in order to be with you. You’re the only person I have ever felt completely at peace with, and the only one I ever felt comfortable being completely myself in front of.
“This may not be the right time. We haven’t even buried your brother yet. But, Ginny, I have something to ask you, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.” Harry fumbled with the drawstring, nearly dropping the pouch as he withdrew a gold ring bearing a glittering emerald-cut diamond, offset on either side by blazing rubies. Before Ginny could recover from the shock, Harry sank to one knee. “Ginevra Weasley, I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”
In the blink of a tear-filled eye, Ginny thought of every reason Harry’s proposal made absolutely no sense. She was still only sixteen, at least for a couple more months, with a year left to go at Hogwarts. As Harry had told her, Fred had been killed less than twelve hours before. Her family was devastated. Most importantly, Harry had broken things off with her without asking for her input — without any consideration of her own wishes and desires. For Merlin’s sake, they had only dated for a few short weeks. No, it made no sense at all. So, Ginny took a deep breath, looked deeply into Harry’s loving eyes, and shocked herself with her response.
“Yes, Harry, of course I’ll marry you.”
Harry released the breath he had been holding far too long, feeling nearly as deprived of oxygen as if he had been Apparating for hours. Relief coursed throughout his body as a single tear escaped his eye, and Harry slipped the ring onto Ginny’s finger. With a simple tap of his wand, the ring adjusted magically, insuring a perfect fit for its new owner.
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Ginny.
“Not anywhere near what you deserve,” he answered, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I think they belonged to my mother, Ginny, but the moment I saw them, I knew they would look perfect on you — Gryffindor colors, of course, and brilliant rubies to match your brilliant hair. And the diamond is strong, yet sparkling, just like you. But if you don’t like them, or just want something completely new, I can take them back to Gringotts and let you pick something for yourself.”
Ginny frowned momentarily, weighing a question in her mind. “Them, Harry?” she asked at last.
He nodded silently in response, opened the velvet-covered box, and retrieved a simple gold necklace, bearing a stunning ruby of identical size and cut to match the center stone of her engagement ring, surrounded by glittering diamond baguettes. Harry held it up for her approval and when she smiled brilliantly, he leaned forward to fasten the clasp behind her neck and, for the first time in nearly a year, pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips.
Ginny responded immediately, wrapping her arms around him, and melting into his embrace. When Harry slid his finger upwards and entwined them in her thick tresses, Ginny quivered slightly and parted her lips, inviting Harry inside. He moaned ecstatically as they slowly lay back upon the bed, never breaking their kiss. Time stood still, as it had the first time their lips met, until Ginny reluctantly broke away. “They’re wonderful, Harry. I couldn’t even conceive of anything more perfect, and I’m so touched that these belonged to your mum. I’m overwhelmed, really.”
“I only want you to be happy,” he whispered, gazing at her reverently.
“I am,” she replied. “I assume you have a plan for this.”
“No, not really. This is as far as I’ve gotten. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m not making any plans without you, Ginny … never again.”
“Then what are we going to do? I’ve got another year to finish here at Hogwarts, and I’ve no idea what you’re going to be doing.”
“Well, I’ve already got a couple of options. Kingsley has asked me to consider taking over the Auror Department….”
“Oh, Harry,” interrupted Ginny. “That’s unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable is right, Ginny. I’ve already told him that his team won’t be too impressed with working for an 18-year-old wizard who is best known for his deadly Expelliarmus!”
Ginny smiled but a look of concern lay hidden behind her eyes. “So, we’re getting engaged, but you’re going to be spending the year at the Ministry while I’m here at Hogwarts?”
“Well, I’m really leaning toward my other offer. Professor McGonagall has invited Hermione, Ron, and me back to finish our education and take our N.E.W.T. level exams,” answered Harry. “Hermione has already accepted her invitation, and Ron practically wet himself following her along. How does that sound?”
“It sounds wonderful, Harry. I found lots of new hiding places all over the castle this year.”
Harry creased his brow concernedly, bringing a quick scoff from Ginny’s lips. “Just hiding from the Carrows, you daft boy!” she added quickly. “But I think we could put them to better use if it’s too cold or wet to sneak out by the lake.”
“Well, I don’t want to rush you, Ginny, but Professor McGonagall has also asked if I would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts — just for this year. It may be more than you can handle, but she’s offered me a flat in the teachers’ quarters. I’m pretty sure they have proper accommodations for married faculty.”
“You are certainly full of surprises today, Mr. Potter!” replied Ginny, a sly smile spreading slowly across her face. “Mum’s going to have kittens!”
“Well, we could wait until August 11th and elope quietly,” Harry suggested.
“Not on your life!” shrieked Ginny playfully. “The first Weasley daughter in generations isn’t going to skulk off and get married without her family!”
“Just kidding!” Harry exclaimed. “Your brothers would kill me.”
“There wouldn’t be anything left of you once Mum got finished,” said Ginny with a happy giggle. “You know, Harry, an hour ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible that I could be happy — even laughing — with all we have lost. I really don’t know what to say … except that I really do love you … always have.” She sighed contentedly and leaned her forehead gently against his.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Harry when she came to rest upon the exact spot where he had collided with the Common Room floor.
Ginny looked up at her fiancé, and noticed for the first time that a nasty bruise that had risen next to his scar. “How did that happen?” she asked with concern. “It looks painful.”
“Long story. I sort of passed out just before coming up here. Anyway, I fell out of the chair I was sitting in and smacked my head against the floor. Ron and Hermione were carting me up here when all hell broke loose.”
“And you told my arse of a brother that you loved me?” teased Ginny, before adopting a softer tone of voice. “When, exactly, have you last slept, Harry?”
“I don’t really know, love. We got a couple of hours of sleep night before last, just before we broke into Gringotts.”
“Broke into Gringotts! I thought that was impossible!”
“Well, necessity is the mother of invention, and Voldemort really didn’t leave us many choices. But we had Hermione with us, so it had to work, didn’t it?” he said with a light note of laughter in his voice. “Oh, Ginny, there’s so much to tell you, and some of it isn’t going to be easy for me to talk about — or for you to hear.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve you and Hermione in a sleeping bag, I think I can deal with it — whatever it is.”
“No, I told you that dating opportunities were going to be pretty thin on the ground. You’re engaged to a pathetic virgin,” he mumbled grumpily, although Ginny was confident that she saw a smile lurking below the surface.
“That makes two of us, Harry, but I’m actually pretty happy about that, you know.”
“There’s never been anyone but you, Ginny. Never. But it was kinda cute, the way you told Cho that Luna would be the one taking me to the Ravenclaw Common Room.”
“Just watching out for my interests,” she responded, while watching her fiancé’s eyes drift shut momentarily.
“Really?” Harry mumbled, fighting against the onslaught of desperately needed sleep.
“You know, I really don’t mind getting engaged to a virgin, Harry, as long as I don’t have to marry one,” she whispered tenderly into his ear.
Harry shuddered contentedly, then answered with equal tenderness, “Promise?”
“Absolutely, but for now, you’d better get some rest.”
And with that, Ginny turned her back to Harry and snuggled against him as tightly as possible. With his last ounce of energy, Harry draped an arm over her and cupped her breast protectively. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the intoxicating flowery aroma of her hair, and drifted peacefully off to sleep. It took Ginny a few moments longer to drift away, during which time her eyes were transfixed upon the perfect diamond and blazing rubies that adorned the ring finger of her left hand. Despite all she had lost, Ginny Weasley felt complete for the first time since she had met Harry on Platform 9-3/4.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - All Manner of Surprises
Author's Notes: I know my take on Molly is different from conventional fan fiction wisdom, but given her own history, I think things might play out differently!
Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand, pulling him away from Harry’s bedside as quickly as possible. She moved forward silently, hoping to put a little more distance between themselves and the reunited couple before she unloaded on her new boyfriend. She was only half-angry, for despite her frequent protestations, she had always loved the gallant side of Ron’s personality. However, in this situation, her sympathies lay wholly with Ginny, who definitely didn’t need an incensed big brother to intervene on her behalf. As far as Hermione was concerned, Ginny had already been forced to deal with enough challenges in her relationship with Harry Potter.
For the past year, Ginny had sacrificed everything she had ever wanted so Harry could maintain his sanity. She had done her best to understand Harry’s noble, yet maddening, attempts to keep her safe. She had understood. She had understood perfectly, but it had hurt her deeply. Hermione had been her only confidante during the first few weeks following their break-up, so the older witch had seen first-hand how terribly Ginny had suffered. Hermione also knew how thoroughly Harry had been devastated to break things off with Ginny. She had seen the haunted expression in his eyes and heard his anguished outbursts whenever his dreams dredged up his gravest fears -- an attack by Voldemort upon his precious treasure.
Ron, of course, had snored right through Harry’s nightmares; at least he had before he left them to fend for themselves. Thankfully, Ron had returned, beleaguered and ashamed. With the passage of time, he had managed to work his way back into Hermione’s good graces, but had it ever been a question? She had been head over heels for this maddening boy for years, although their mutual insecurities had managed to make a mess of things until the preceding evening, when the perils of war had stripped away the last of their defenses.
Hermione was rather proud of herself for making the first move and finally eliminating the obstacles that had kept them physically apart for so long. She hadn’t batted an eye when their headmistress caught them snogging, and she remained determined that nothing would come between them, not now that Ron knew unequivocally how she felt. But, damn, that man could be so daft at times! It was really quite infuriating -- cute, most certainly -- but infuriating nonetheless.
At last they reached the entrance to the Common Room, where Ron started to take a turn to the right. Hermione would have nothing to do with it, however.
“Ron,” she implored, “take hold of my arm and hang on tightly.”
He looked inquisitively into her deep brown eyes before nodding his assent.
Before he knew what was happening, Hermione turned on the spot, and the pair Disapparated. There was hardly any time for the pressure to mount against their bodies before the couple reappeared with a soft pop in a bedroom decorated in a distinctly feminine fashion. It took only a moment for Ron to realize that he had entered the forbidden territory of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory.
“This one is mine,” said Hermione cheerfully, as she directed her boyfriend onto her bed. “I’ve missed my comfortable bed, no matter how … interesting … it has been to share a tent with you.”
“And Harry,” answered her boyfriend, sounding something less than chuffed. “You’ve no idea how frustrating that has been for a poor bloke, Hermione.”
“No more frustrating than it’s been for me, love,” she answered shyly.
“Really?” he asked, amazed at both her confession and the affectionate nickname she had used for him.
“Yes. Really. Although you tried my patience when you walked out on me and Harry,” she replied sarcastically, knowing full well that his departure had done far more than simply tried her patience. However, it was not her intent to revisit that subject, for Ron had more than proven the depth of his remorse. Still, the pain managed to work its way to the surface more frequently than Hermione liked to acknowledge.
“Well,” thought Hermione, “I’m not going to continue to dwell on things we can’t change. We’ve waited far too long already.”
“Yeah, you and Harry,” muttered Ron, a tinge of jealousy rising in his voice.
“Ron, you knew as well as I did when we decided to go with Harry that his task was going to take precedence over everything else. Everything! Unless Voldemort could be vanquished, none of us could look forward to much of a future, anyway.”
“Well, certainly not Harry,” said Ron.
“Nor you, Ron. Neither you nor anyone else named Weasley had any hope of a decent life. Blood-traitors wouldn’t have fared much better than we Mudbloods once the Death Eaters got their plans fully implemented. I’m actually surprised your family didn’t have to go into hiding earlier than they did, especially after Ginny tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor!”
“Speaking of Ginny, we really shouldn’t have left those two alone, Hermione. It’s not right, especially after what Harry did to her last year.”
Somewhat miffed by the shift in Ron’s attention, Hermione decided to let her rising annoyance fuel her courage. Obviously, she was going to have to lead this adventure into the realm of romance.
“Ron, I’m giving you about two minutes to talk about Harry and your sister, and then I’m going to shag you senseless. We’ve wasted far too much time already, and I don’t intend to wait any longer! Do you understand?” she said, straightening her back and gazing forcefully into his eyes, daring him to contradict her or catch on, whichever came first.
From the absent look in his eyes, Hermione knew immediately that he hadn’t understood what she was saying — not in the slightest. He was thinking about his best friend and his little sister, whom he seemed to have forgotten was less than three months shy of being of age.
Hermione had thought the word “shag” would have seized Ron’s attention, as if it had been an anvil dropped from the top of the Astronomy Tower. But once Ron Weasley got focused, he had always been hard to redirect.
“Well,” Hermione thought contemplatively, “I doubt our children will ever have problems with concentration. Children! Where in Merlin’s name did that come from?”
“Harry was really off base back there, wasn’t he?” asked Ron.
“No! Harry wasn’t off base. Ginny doesn’t need her big brother to protect her any longer. She’s a big girl now. However, before you get all worked up at me,” she continued, fully aware of the scarlet coloring that was rapidly spreading up his neck, “he did go too far in one instance.”
“Exactly what do you mean by that?”
“I mean he accused you of having criticized everything he’s done with regard to Ginny. You haven’t been that way. You really haven’t. In fact, I was very proud of you last year … at least once we got past Harry’s birthday..”
“Really?”
“Yes, Ron. Really.”
“Honestly, Hermione, I’ve never felt like you were proud of me.”
“Well, you do make it hard sometimes” she teased. “But I am proud of you … except when you’re driving me mental. You’re brave … and strong … and loyal … and when you don’t let your insecurities get the best of you, you’re right sexy.”
“Sexy?” he asked, a grin beginning to spread across his face.
“Yes, sexy. Why else would I have fancied you for the last five years?”
“Five years? But … but … but what about Krum? I thought you fancied him … that you snogged him.”
“No, Viktor tried to snog me, but he didn’t have any luck. All he managed were a few chaste kisses.”
“Why not? He’s an international Quidditch star … and you even said you liked really good Quidditch players.”
“You really are daft, sometimes. Truly! I only said that because I was hurt and jealous.”
“You were hurt? What about how I felt after Ginny said you’d snogged Krum?”
“Ginny said what?” Hermione queried, as a large piece of a particularly frustrating puzzle fell resoundingly into place.
“That Harry had snogged Cho, and you had snogged Krum, and that I was only mad at Ginny because I was the only one who hadn’t snogged anyone!”
“And this would have been when?” Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.
“Sixth year. When Harry and I caught her with Dean Thomas. Just before … just before … well, just…” he said, trying to complete the sentence.
“Just before you started making an arse of yourself with Lavender Brown,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Hermione knew full well when things had started, but she had never understood why Ron accepted a date to attend Slughorn’s party with her, then immediately started carrying on with Lavender -- thrashing around like a pair of eels, as Ginny had described it during the discussion about Harry’s alleged hippogriff tattoo.
Hermione couldn’t suppress a tiny laugh, hoping soon to confirm that Ron did not have a Pygmy Puff permanently etched into his tantalizingly freckled skin. Things had started to become … well … normal for a few weeks, as she, Ron, Harry, and Ginny had settled into a comfortable period together. Then, Dumbledore had died, Ginny’s heart had been broken, and Harry’s task had taken priority over whatever had been building between Ron and Hermione.
“So much wasted time, no matter how important the reason,” Hermione lamented. “All the more reason to act now!” “Ron, I never snogged Viktor,” she said emphatically. “But if I had, why should it have mattered? You never showed any interest in me. Why would you hold something against me from a time when you weren’t interested?”
“I’ve always been interested in you, Hermione.”
“But you never said anything. You never did anything. And when I asked you to go to Professor Slughorn’s party, all I got in return was the chance to watch you sucking Lavender’s face!”
“Because you had snogged Krum. I was a loser … a tosspot … and you were the girlfriend of an international hero.”
“Ron Weasley! I was never his girlfriend. I never snogged him — not even once. I never even wanted to, because … because … well, because he wasn’t you!”
“Really?” said Ron, as a look of hope began to sparkle in his eyes.
“Yes. Really,” Hermione answered for the third time, more softly, yet determined to let her feelings be known. “Because he wasn’t you.”
The look on Ron’s face was one of sheer disbelief. Hermione could tell that he wanted to believe it, but the concept was totally foreign to him. He must have thought that no one, Lavender Brown excluded, had ever wanted him in that way. But he was wrong, she knew, because she had wanted him that way for almost as long as she had known him. She had wanted him from the moment he sacrificed himself on the chessboard, showing more bravery than Hermione had ever thought possible. But she realized that he had never known it, so she decided she would have to make him understand.
“Ron, when you allowed yourself to be nearly killed on the chessboard, you melted my heart. When you stood up for me to Professor Snape, and when Malfoy called me a Mudblood, I knew you were braver … and kinder … and more worthy than anyone else I had ever met.”
“Anyone would have done those things. I didn’t do anything special.”
“Bloody hell!” huffed Hermione. “If you won’t believe me, then I have no choice but to show you,” she added with more than a hint of frustration in her voice, although it didn’t match the wicked grin beginning to spread across her face.
“Mind your language, Hermione Jean Granger!” said Ron, although Hermione thought he seemed pleased with her unusually colorful choice of words.
In fact, Hermione knew without doubt that the time for words had passed. In a flash, she threw her arms around his waist and began kissing him fiercely. In order to have the maximum contact possible, she hoisted her right thigh over his legs, which had been dangling over the edge of her bed. Running her tongue over his lips, she invited him to deepen the kiss.
The feeling was becoming familiar, yet exciting nonetheless. Their first kiss had taken place less than twenty-four hours earlier, but Hermione already knew that snogging wasn’t going to be enough. She slipped her arms beneath his Weasley jumper and ripped his shirttail from his jeans, as the hunger to feel his skin consumed her.
“Hermione, what are you doing?”
“I’ve waited years for this, and I’m not putting things offg a moment longer. I told you I was going to shag you senseless, and I meant it.”
“Sh ... sh ... sh … shag?” he stammered.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“Hell, no! Not as long as you don’t,” Ron answered, all the while helping Hermione pull both his shirt and jumper over his head.
As soon as his chest was exposed, Hermione began fumbling with the buttons of her blouse — moving as quickly as her fingers would allow. Despite her uncharacteristic bravado, she found she still had to overcome the fundamental nervousness that had kept her from acting on her feelings for the last several years. But only moments later, when her bra had been cast aside and her delicate skin was pressed tightly against Ron’s chest, the sensations proved so much more than Hermione had ever dared imagine. She felt incredibly daring, yet totally safe in Ron’s arms. She could tell that he was having a similar reaction, for Ron shuddered noticeably when they had finally come together without the annoyance of clothing between their bodies. Ron’s arms held Hermione tightly; one hand nestled between her shoulder blades, the other brushing her neck before reaching reverently into her thick brown hair. It felt brilliant, and Hermione bemoaned all the time they had wasted playing silly games, sacrificing happiness in order to protect themselves against their childish insecurities.
“Well,” she thought, “we were children at the time. But a year spent trying to evade danger and death certainly ended that.”
Hermione broke their embrace, reluctantly pulling her lips from his, but she needed to look at Ron. She needed to run her fingers through the light dusting of red hair on his chest. “God, he’s gorgeous,” she thought silently.
As she pulled away, Hermione heard a gasp escaping Ron’s lips. She looked up to find him staring, awestruck, at her. She smiled softly, knowing full well that Ron was not disappointed. Hermione was tempted to gaze into his eyes forever, but the need to taste his lips was even more pressing. She once again closed the gap between them, kissing him with every ounce of emotion she possessed.
Ron’s hands slipped slowly down her sides, eliciting another shiver from Hermione.
They moaned simultaneously as Ron pulled her more firmly against his body. She was quickly losing control, but chastised herself silently -- knowing that her plan all along had been for precisely this moment to happen. It had been for that reason, after all, that she had taken an opportunity to cast the Contraceptive Charm while she had searched the women’s bathroom while hunting for Ginny.
She broke free of their kiss and slid her lips to his ear, trailing a line of kisses along his jaw as she moved. She opened her lips as they reached their destination and began flicking her tongue against the shell of his ear, keeping perfercty time with the beating of their hearts.
She realized that she must have been affecting his equilibrium, for he seemed to sway unevenly in her arms. She had never imagined having this much power over a man — this man — and the thought was completely intoxicating.
“God, Hermione,” he gasped. “You’re so beautiful!”
Hermione had been so aroused … so excited to take charge of the situation … so near the point of losing control, that Ron’s adoring words propelled her almost desperately forward.
“Are you sure about this, Hermione?”
“Of course I’m sure. Have you ever known me to do something this important on a whim?”
“Well,” he replied, “before … before we do this, I need you to know that ... that … I love you.”
“Of course you do. We wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t,” she answered gently.
Her eyes drifted up to his, expecting to find the reverent gaze he had shown her only moments before. Instead, a wrinkle of concern creased his brow.
How could she have been so blind? How had she assumed that he would know what she had felt for so incredibly long?
“Oh, Ron,” she whispered passionately. “I love you, too!”
Her sardonic sense of humor made her want to tease him by adding the words, “you daft boy” to her sentence. However, she managed to withhold the comment, understanding that nothing about this moment was funny to Ron — not funny in the slightest. No matter how astonishing his sense of humor, it was his heart that demanded she understand just how much she meant to him before they made love for the first time.
“Oh my,” thought Hermione. “He really is the most wonderful man!”
As Hermione’s “I love you” came out, she felt Ron’s grip on her hands relax, telling her that she had permission to continue. She was completely inexperienced with men, and her confidence wavered momentarily as she wondered exactly how far things had progressed between Ron and Lavender — at least she worried until it became clearly evident that he was just as lost about the process as was she. Somehow they blundered blissfully along together until it was time to sleep.
******
Three soft pops announced the return of all the residents of Malfoy Manor. As impossible as it seemed, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco had not only survived the Battle of Hogwarts, but had also been allowed to walk away without a single question being asked. They had remained seated quietly in the Great Hall while announcements had been made and celebrations begun, waiting anxiously for someone — anyone — to confront them, yet it never happened. They would have been even more surprised about being allowed to go free had they known that Harry Potter had stared directly at them from beneath his invisibility cloak, but Lucius had insisted that they quietly sit there while their enemies congratulated themselves.
It had taken every ounce of self-discipline he possessed, but Lucius had forced his entire family to endure the celebrations of people he despised without once drawing unwanted attention upon any of them. Ironically, it had been a stroke of good fortune that the Dark Lord had stripped him of his wand, for surely he would have been hauled off to Azkaban, or worse, had he been able to join actively in the final battle. And what a joke the Dark Lord had turned out to be in the end; overlooking the fundamentals of wand lore, failing to monitor his Horcruxes, and making himself fatally vulnerable to an unremarkable Half-Blood like Harry Bloody Potter.
Lucius turned to look at his wife and son, anger etched into every pore of his face. “Do you realize how incredibly lucky we are, Narcissa? Had the Dark Lord not been mistaken in his wand lore, we would all be dead now! Telling your master that Potter was dead while he was still alive! What were you thinking?”
“I was only thinking of our son!” she replied, with equal anger. “Draco was trapped in the castle, and I couldn’t think of any other way we save him. If Potter was declared dead, the battle would end and Draco would survive.”
“And what about you?” Lucius asked, turning his anger upon his son. “What in Merlin’s name were you doing in the castle?”
“I was trying to kill Potter … trying to save our family from the disgrace of having your wand taken from you, Father.”
“Trying, but failing yet again,” answered Lucius, a sneer lacing his voice.
“I had him dead to rights, but Crabbe got careless with Fiendfyre and almost killed us all. After that, it was all I could do to escape with my own life” Draco lied, determined to prevent his father from learning that it had been Harry Potter who had saved his life when the Fiendfyre had raged out of control. Neither would he admit that Ron Weasley had saved him later while the battle raged. Some facts were better kept to oneself.
“Well, it’s always been hard being the most intelligent Death Eaters,” snapped Lucius. “We’re going to have to recruit more selectively in the future.”
“Recruit?” asked Narcissa, disbelief evident in her voice.
“Of course,” answered Lucius. “Now that we know how to gain control of the Death Stick, why should we give up?”
“You’re fucking joking, right?” replied Draco, his voice dripping with disrespect — something he had never before dared show his father. “It’s quite obvious that the Elder Wand isn’t unbeatable.”
“No, Draco, you misunderstand the Wand of Destiny. If you understood it, you never would have left Hogwarts without it — at least not after Severus had finished your job for you.”
“Like I had a bloody clue that Dumbledore possessed the Elder Wand,” answered Draco, “or a way to get it back once it had flown over the parapet.”
“Now, now, Draco, let’s not curse,” drawled Lucius, patronizing his son while pointedly ignoring his foul mood. “It’s not becoming for someone of your station in life.”
“My station in life? We’re lucky not to be in Azkaban, and you’re carrying on about our station in life!” spat Draco, a look of contempt etched on his face. “The Dark Lord has fallen, if you haven’t noticed.”
“True enough, son. But Darkness, itself, never dies. It simply has to find a new champion. Now that I know how to master the world’s most powerful wand, we can set about doing things properly. All we have to do is defeat Harry Potter.”
“And how will you do that, Father? Didn’t you see him out-duel the greatest wizard of the century?”
“I did, but who said anything about taking on Potter in a duel? There are other ways to finish a wizard, especially when he won’t be expecting an attack. For the moment, let’s keep a low profile and wait for the right opportunity to present itself. I don’t think it will be too long in coming.”
*****
Molly Weasley was exhausted, thinking herself beyond the capacity to react to anything emotionally. Preparing the bodies of Tonks and Remus for burial had been one of the worst experiences of her life, but she had barely survived the same process with her beloved son.
Molly had endured more trials with her twins than with all of her other children combined, and Fred had been the undeniable instigator of the vast majority of their misbehavior. Of course, she had loved him as well as all the others, but it would be a lie to deny that she had spent much of his short life annoyed by his antics. It pained her to recall how she had thought Fred and George were lacking in ambition, especially since they had become the most financially successful of all her children. Likewise, she regretted having told anyone who would listen how she would have preferred for them to take jobs at the Ministry rather than opening their joke shop, realizing at last how such employment would have destroyed their creative genius.
In fact, at that moment she would have given anything to erase those feelings, and prayed with all her heart that Fred had known how very much she loved him.
“Bloody Voldemort!” she muttered. “That bastard ruined everything he touched. He took my brothers, and now my son. He took our friends, our associates, and even my children’s innocence — something I tried so hard to preserve.”
As she trudged up the stairs into Gryffindor Tower, Molly promised herself she would never again lose her temper with any of her children. After preparing the corpse of her son for burial, what could ever again bring her to anger?
The Fat Lady opened for her without question. It had never occurred to Molly that she could Apparate now that the wards had fallen before Voldemort’s onslaught. The walk had done her some good, anyway, and she had begun to focus once again. As she entered the Common Room, Molly was surprised to find it empty, but she realized that her children, Harry, and Hermione had stayed up through the night and were undoubtedly exhausted. Thinking for a moment, Molly decided that Ginny was the one she most to see. Molly’s only daughter, though fiercely independent, had always been willing to talk with her mum — really talk about her feelings, hopes, and desires. Ginny could be counted on to lend a willing ear to her mother’s grief, and perhaps Molly could provide her daughter a shoulder to cry upon, as well. Maybe then she could begin to recover in the warmth and assurance of her family.
So, desperately in need of her daughter, Molly turned from the Gryffindor Common Room and climbed the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. She reminded herself that Ginny was nearly of age, nearly an adult, and silently reiterated her intent to treat her daughter like a grown woman. Fred’s death had taught her to cherish every moment with her children, as there were no promises of tomorrow.
Nothing could bring her to waste a moment on any emotion other than love and appreciation. Nothing, except …
“RONALD WEASLEY!” she shouted. “WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING HERE?”
The sight of her son, lying naked with Hermione Granger, broke through her resolution and spurred her into an instinctive reaction.
Ron and Hermione awoke instantly. Without thinking, Ron pulled the cover over Hermione and replied, “Bloody hell, Mum! I’m sleeping with my girlfriend. Isn’t that obvious?” His voice contained no indication of embarrassment or remorse. He was proud of Hermione and prouder still to belong undeniably to her.
“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” added Hermione, demonstrating the same calm demeanor she had shown with Professor McGonagall.
Molly’s temper receded as quickly as it had risen. She had long suspected that something was brewing between her youngest son and this gifted witch. She chastised herself for not having expected something like this to be happening, although the time and place seemed out of context. However, Molly well remembered that she and Arthur had come together during a time of war and had chosen not to wait for marriage in order to be together. After all, they had been made for each other. As far as she could tell, the same thing applied to Ron and Hermione. In fact, they reminded her remarkably of herself and her husband — Ron with his phenomenal capacity for love and loyalty; Hermione with her brilliance, strength and determination.
“I’m so sorry, dears,” she said softly. “I was looking for Ginny and thought she might be up here.”
“No, Mum, she’s not,” said Ron. “She was over on the boys’ side with Harry last we knew.”
“With Harry?” she asked, her voice rising higher than she intended.
“Yes, Mum.”
“When did that happen?” asked Molly. She was fully aware that Ginny had once been infatuated with the famous wizard, but had never realized that these feelings had progressed.
“They started dating last year, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione softly. “He broke things off with her, but only to protect her from Voldemort.”
“I see,” replied Molly. “Was it serious?” she continued, not knowing what to expect.
“Don’t know,” muttered Ron. “I think….” but Hermione cut him off.
“Yes, Mrs. Weasley, it was. I think it still is. Harry was frantic to see her once he had finished tying up things with Ron and me.”
“So, are they … ah … do you think they are as … far along as you two seem to be?”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione. “But I wouldn’t be too surprised by anything Harry might be thinking at this point. I’m not sure what you picked up from tonight’s confrontation, but before Harry fought Voldemort in the Great Hall, he went into the Forbidden Forest and took a Killing Curse without even trying to defend himself. "So, Harry has come face to face with death even more intensely than Ron and I have. I think he knows exactly what is important to him, and Ginny sits on top of the list.”
“Well, I guess that’s true, love, but you were pretty close to death when Bellatrix Lestrange was torturing you,” interjected Ron.
Molly gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, but Hermione responded as if Mrs. Weasley hadn’t been there.
“Yes, Ron, that was close enough for me … and you’ll notice that I’ve made some decisions regarding priorities, as well,” said Hermione, a playful grin spreading across her face.
“You have?” he asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully before looking pointedly at Ron, then down at herself, and finally sweeping over the bed, where they still lay together.
Mrs. Weasley was a touch quicker on the uptake, as the awkwardness of the immediate situation finally overcame the trauma of having completed ablutions for her friends and family. “Let me apologize again, dears, for interrupting you. It’s time I tried to find Ginny.”
Molly started to leave, but turned back toward Ron and Hermione. “By the way, Minerva decided to have a ceremony at 4:30 this afternoon for those who want their loved ones buried here at Hogwarts. I’m not sure if Fred would have wanted to be buried here, where he gave his life fighting for everything he believed in. What do you think?”
Ron looked at Hermione, who looked back quizzically. She wasn’t a Weasley. It wasn’t up to her. However, she noticed the ambivalence in Mrs. Weasley’s voice and found it a little unlikely that Fred would have chosen Hogwarts for his burial place. He’d never been particularly academically inclined, and had seemed his happiest at the shop he and George had opened in Diagon Alley, or at home at the Burrow.
Hermione’s face must have betrayed her misgivings because Ron’s eyes were studying her intently. At last he spoke. “Mum, I don’t think Fred ever felt like Hogwarts was his home. It’s not like he hated it here, but he seemed happier once he and George got out on their own.”
“So, where would you suggest?” she asked, fidgeting noticeably.
“In the family plot at home,” Ron said as gently as he could. He’d never before seen his mother quite so undone, and it tore at his heart. He knew instinctively that she needed reassurance. “Fred would have wanted to be at the Burrow since he was happiest at home with you, Dad, and the rest of us.”
“I see,” said Molly, tears brimming in her eyes. “I couldn’t get an answer from your father. He’s been pretty torn up and has been busying himself with work for the Ministry today.”
It worried her to think of her husband throwing himself into work, delaying the inevitable grief that had yet to come home to roost. However, she had been in love with Arthur for so long that she knew he would have to deal with this terrible blow in his own way.
“Thank you, dears,” said Molly as she prepared to leave the room. She heaved a deep sigh at the thought of burying one son while letting yet another one go to a young woman who now owned his heart. “Burial service at 4:30 by Dumbledore’s tomb, but I think you’re right about Fred. We’ll take him home tonight. Will you two be coming home to the Burrow?”
“Yes, that sounds good,” said Hermione, looking deeply into Ron’s eyes, “unless Ron needs some time alone.”
“Not bloody likely,” he replied without breaking eye contact. “But after Fred’s burial, I believe we’ll need to make a trip to Australia and retrieve your parents, don’t you think?”
Hermione tried to reply but the words simply wouldn’t come. Molly could tell that she was overwhelmed with emotion, as the younger witch gazed reverently at Ron with a mixture of gratitude, respect, and love.
Molly turned to leave, tears of pride and indescribable pain mingling as they trickled down her face. The same war that had taken Fred’s life had turned her youngest son into a man. It had truly been too much to hope that nine Weasleys could go into war and escape unscathed, yet they had come so very close. Molly knew they had been fortunate beyond all hope, but nothing could take away the pain of losing a child.
*****
As she returned to the stairwell, Molly reflected upon the bizarre scenario she had just left behind. Had she really stood beside Hermione’s bed, discussing burial plans for Fred while her youngest son lay naked with his lover? Had she been so desperate to communicate with her children that she had been willing to violate Ron and Hermione’s privacy? For Merlin’s sake, they were both 18 years old, the same age she and Arthur had been when they married. Molly couldn’t stop her mind from reflecting back upon the names of those who had given everything to stop Voldemort: Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, James and Lily Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, all dead or worse, having paid the price for choosing what was right over what was easy. Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, her beloved brothers, Fred Weasley, her cherished son, had also been taken from her. The sense of loss was overwhelming, causing Molly to feel a stab of pain with each step upon the stairs.
She wobbled noticeably and had to grab the handrail to keep her balance as she thought of each friend or family member who should still be part of her daily life. “Mollywobbles, indeed!” she thought sardonically.
Reaching the landing for the Gryffindor Common Room, Molly had another choice to make. Should she wait there in privacy, return to the Great Hall, or fulfill her original mission by finding Ginny? Her only daughter was more like Molly than any of her other children and not solely due to the fact that she was female. Ginny was fiercely independent and possessed the strength of character to match her impressive magical powers. Ginevra Molly Weasley was every bit as much a Prewett as she was a Weasley. Fabian, Gideon, and Molly had been considered among the best witches and wizards of their age. That very morning, Molly had demonstrated why people had thought so highly of the Prewett children’s abilities by single-handedly taking down Bellatrix Lestrange. No doubt about it, the Prewetts had been strong — were still strong, with Molly as the matriarch of the Weasley clan. As far as Molly was concerned, her Ginny fit the Prewett mold perfectly. Other than Ron, who had more than fulfilled his duties in the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the Weasley men were keeping themselves fully occupied with the demands of the recovery effort. Molly, of course, could have joined them. However, making herself busy didn’t seem the proper response. She needed to talk. She needed to grieve. She needed to see Ginny’s warm brown eyes gazing up at her in understanding.
Knowingly risking a repeat of her experience with Ron and Hermione, she began climbing the stairs that led to the boys’ dormitories. The way was not new to her, as she had made frequent clandestine visits up the same stairs during her own years at Hogwarts. Once she had begun dating Arthur Weasley, her heart had been taken completely. She had never regretted the decision to marry that wonderful man, or her choice to stay at the Burrow to raise their family. In that role, she had been the heart, soul, and strength of the family — the disciplinarian and the caregiver. But now, except during summers, the Burrow was empty and Molly’s children had scattered to the four winds. Now that Hermione and Ron were obviously together, and Harry and Ginny had apparently taken an interest in one another, Molly wondered how long she would have even one child at home for the summer. At last she arrived at the doorway of the seventh-year boys’ dormitory. The door swung open easily, telling her that it was probably safe to enter — either that, or Harry and Ginny had been too swept up in their reunion to cast any locking or silencing charms.
She moved cautiously into the circular room and immediately spotted her fully clothed daughter sleeping peacefully with Harry’s arm draped protectively over her shoulder. Ginny appeared content, the remnants of a gentle smile lingering on her lips.
Molly couldn’t help noticing the ruby pendant, and recognized it immediately as the one Lily Evans had worn on very special occasions. The central stone was perfect, weighed more than three carats and was framed by four flawless diamond baguettes. No one knew how deeply this piece of jewelry stretched into the history of the Potters and their Peverell family forebears. The fact that this particular piece of jewelry now resided on her daughter’s neck provided a clear answer to the question of how seriously Harry felt about Ginny. It was not the kind of thing to be parted with lightly.
Molly’s eyes drifted farther down Ginny’s body until, ignoring the fact that Harry’s hand was cupped over her daughter' breast, her vision focused on Ginny’s left hand. She should have expected to see Lily’s ring, the inverse of the pendant, with its stunningly perfect three-carat diamond, offset by blazing rubies. Still, the sight of an engagement ring on her sixteen-year-old daughter’s hand came as a major surprise. Suddenly her last question was answered. Ginny would not be living at the Burrow much longer, and Molly and Arthur would be starting the next phase of their lives sooner than expected.
Overcome, she couldn’t suppress an audible gasp.
With a sweeping movement that was far too fast to comprehend, Harry flung as much of himself as possible over Ginny and pointed his wand directly at the intruder.
It took him only a second to identify his future mother-in-law, and an embarrassed smile of recognition spread slowly across his face. “Sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry whispered, trying to keep from waking Ginny. However, the commotion had already been too much.
“Mum?” mumbled Ginny. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you, dear,” she answered while closing the distance between the entry and Harry’s bed. “Oh, Ginny, your ring is so beautiful! And the pendant, too!”
“Thanks, Mum. I’m sorry, but this isn’t exactly the way I’d planned for you to find out that Harry and I are engaged.”
“Oh, Harry, your mother’s jewelry,” whispered Molly. “How romantic! And, Ginny, has Harry told you the history behind these pieces?”
“No,” answered Harry. “I don’t know any history. I assumed that they belonged to my mum since they were in my family vault. But when I saw them, I knew they would look perfect on Ginny.”
“Well,” replied Molly, “these pieces have been handed down for generations through the Potters — and the Peverells before them. Sirius told us all about them, although James and Lily wouldn’t say a word. This is some of the most valuable jewelry in the Wizarding World.”
“I didn’t know,” answered Harry honestly as a look of slight embarrassment crept across his face.
Molly smiled warmly and reached out to hug Harry, who had disentangled himself from Ginny to sit on the side of his bed.
“Congratulations, Harry dear,” she whispered warmly. “You’ve found yourself a wonderful witch.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” he answered, “She is rather wonderful, isn’t she?”
“She’s right here if you hadn’t noticed,” interrupted Ginny, “or would you two prefer to continue talking about me instead of to me?”
Molly dropped her hold on Harry and turned her attention back to her daughter, first taking Ginny’s left hand into her own and examining her engagement ring. She had never been a fan of emerald-cut diamonds, but this particular stone was as stunning as any she had ever seen. Luxuries had never been a part of the life she had chosen with Arthur Weasley, nor had she ever missed them. Instead, Molly had chosen a surplus of love and the riches of family with a man who had been made specifically for her. It appeared, however, that her daughter was going to have both.
As her gaze traveled from the ring to the pendant, Molly couldn’t help noticing the swell of her daughter’s breasts. When exactly, she wondered, had her precocious little girl grown up to be such a stunningly beautiful woman?
At last, her vision locked upon Ginny’s remarkably bright brown eyes, framed by her blazing red hair. Ginny’s look of contentment, mingled with pride, told Molly everything she needed to know about her daughter’s decision. She also saw that Harry had been right. This jewelry looked as if it had been custom designed for Ginevra Weasley.
“Oh, Ginny, I’m so happy for you — happy for both of you.”
“No concerns about being too young, or having another year to go in school?” asked Ginny.
“No, dear. You’re only a year or so younger than your father and I were when we became engaged.”
Molly could tell that Ginny had expected almost any answer but the one she had been given. A soft smile spread across her daughter’s face while her eyes welled with tears. It was too much for Molly to bear, as the flood of mixed emotions she had been carrying crashed down upon her. She pulled Ginny fiercely to her chest and allowed her own tears to flow.
Moments later she looked at Harry, who had walked quietly away from the bed. The uncertainty in his eyes showed clearly that he was feeling like an intruder upon an intensely private moment. “I’ll let you have some time alone together,” he said softly, his voice registering barely more than a whisper.
“Thank you,” replied Molly. “There’s a memorial service planned for 4:30 this afternoon by Professor Dumbledore’s tomb. I’m not sure who will be buried here, but we’ve decided to take Fred back to the Burrow. I hope you’ll come home with us tonight, Harry.”
“Of course I will,” he answered, “as long as it’s okay with Ginny.”
At the mention of her name, Ginny stepped away from her mother’s embrace and walked over to Harry. Taking him briefly into her arms, she placed a gentle kiss upon his lips. “Where else would I possibly want you to be?” she asked with a smile.
“Then I’ll go tell Professor McGonagall that I’ll be coming back to Hogwarts. Should I say anything about housing?”
“Tell her you want the flat. I have no intention of sneaking around in broom closets or sharing a bedroom with Hermione!”
“Brilliant!” said Harry before heading toward the door. “I’ll see you at 4:30.”
“What was that all about?” Molly asked with a glance toward her daughter.
“Let’s talk about that at home tonight, when Dad’s around, if you don’t mind,” answered Ginny. “I think you had something else on your mind.” “Yes, dear, I did.”
*****
Harry and Professor McGonagall arrived only moments before the service began. Most of the survivors had remained at the school, so the crowd was substantial. Nevertheless, Harry had no trouble locating the Weasley family. Eight distinctive heads of hair, ranging from ginger to auburn to Ginny’s blazing red, were easily found on the right hand side of the crowd. Hermione was wrapped protectively under Ron’s right arm. As the ceremony began, Harry crept quietly along the side of the congregation and slipped into the empty seat next to Ginny. He took her small soft hand into his own and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.
“I love you, Ginny," he whispered softly against her ear.
She responded by snuggling against him and resting her head against his shoulder.
Andromeda Tonks had decided to have her daughter and Remus Lupin buried on the grounds of the ancient school. Surprisingly, so had the parents of Muggle-Born Colin Creevey. They and his brother, Dennis, had decided that Colin had been happiest in the Wizarding World, making Hogwarts the logical choice for his final resting place. The word “final” seemed quite out of place for a 16-year-old wizard, but Colin was far from the youngest person ever murdered by Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Only the perfect spring weather kept the proceedings from becoming unbearably depressing. Even in victory, the price of war seemed almost intolerable. At last, the crowd began to disburse slowly as friends lingered to comfort and console one another before returning home by their preferred means of magical travel.
Harry sat quietly with Ginny, his eyes focused unmoving upon the ground. At last, Ginny broke the silence. “Well, what did Professor McGonagall have to say?”
“That she was very pleased that I’d accepted her offer,” he replied, looking up as a slight grin began making its way across his face.
“And?” she prodded.
“And, what?” he teased. No matter how heavily the deaths of his friends weighed upon him, Harry had never felt more contented in his life. Voldemort was dead, the prophecy had been fulfilled and, most importantly, Ginny Weasley had agreed to become his wife. Better still, for once he didn’t feel guilty about it in the least. Amidst the pain and sorrow, Harry’s recovery had begun.
“You know exactly what,” Ginny replied.
“I do?”
“Yes, you daft boy! What did Professor McGonagall say about our living situation?”
“Oh, that …” he began before pausing momentarily for effect. “She said we would be surprised by how many faculty members are married, and that she was sure we’d be quite comfortable either here in the castle, or anywhere else we might choose to live.”
“Anywhere else?”
“Yes, anywhere else. She’s willing to waive the residency requirement if we prefer to live elsewhere, especially since you’ll be able to Apparate legally before start of term.”
“It would hardly seem like Hogwarts if we lived somewhere else, don’t you think? And we’ll want to play Quidditch, won’t we? I know I will,” she said, a small grin creeping across her face.
“Yes, I feel the same way, and Hogwarts has always felt more like home than anywhere else,” answered Harry. “Professor McGonagall showed me a couple of the unoccupied flats this afternoon, and I can show them to you this evening. But first I need to tell you everything -- what I’ve been up to with Ron and Hermione, the memories I got from Snape last night, and exactly what happened in the Forbidden Forest.”
“Tonight?” asked Ginny.
“I need the Pensieve in McGonagall’s office, and I really think it’s best to get this done right away. You need to know everything that’s happened if you’re planning on spending the rest of your life with me.”
“The rest of my life…” whispered Ginny. “That sounds perfect.”
With that said, Harry and Ginny stood to face her family and Hermione.
“Harry,” said Arthur, “Molly says you and Ginny have reached a big decision.”
“Yes, sir, we have,” he answered, pulling her gently to his side.
“Right, then,” Arthur continued. “Perhaps we can have a word when we get home tonight.”
“Of course, sir,” Harry replied, a wave of discomfort washing over him. He had expected Ginny’s mum to be the resistant parent, not soft-spoken Arthur. “We can talk later tonight, but first I have to go over some things with Ginny here at Hogwarts — in Professor McGonagall’s office.”
“Very well,” Arthur responded, “as long as you two aren’t out too late. Everyone’s a bit knackered, you know.”
Harry was certain that the look in his eyes revealed a concern about more than just exhaustion.
“Yes sir,” answered Harry.
“Right, then,” said Mr. Weasley as the rest of his surviving children and Hermione began edging closer toward the newly engaged couple. Unable to restrain herself any longer, Hermione threw her arms around Harry’s neck, nearly knocking over Ginny in the process.
“Oh, Harry, I’ve already told Ginny how excited I am. This is wonderful news.”
“Right, mate,” interjected Ron. “It really is wonderful. And by the way, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I guess I’m still a bit of a git from time to time.”
“It’s alright,” said Harry, smiling. “No telling how long I would have stammered around like an idiot, trying to find a way to tell Ginny how I felt about her. You just kind of sped things along …” he continued while pulling Ron close enough to whisper “even if you were a bloody wanker about it!”
The rest of the family began talking simultaneously until Hermione’s voice cut through the din. “Harry! Look! It’s Rita Skeeter!”
He looked up to see the reporter approaching rapidly, her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill bobbing along beside her. “I’m sorry everyone, but could we meet you back at the Burrow in a few hours?”
“Of course, dear. Take your time,” answered Molly as she threw a knowing look in her husband’s direction.
“Ginny, could you please take my arm?” Harry asked.
As soon as she had done so, Harry turned on the spot and the couple Disapparated with a pop. The last thing Harry saw before the darkness descended upon them was an astonished Rita Skeeter with one hand raised in greeting.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Embracing Memories
Author's Notes: I hope this has been "cleaned up" enough!!! I've tried to retain the emotion intensity while limiting the specificity. Our young couple is, after all, intensely emotional.
It only took Ginny a few seconds to recognize the office into which she and Harry had Apparated. It now belonged to Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Things were moving more quickly than Ginny had imagined possible. Not even twenty-four hours before, she had been summoned back to Hogwarts in anticipation of a rebellion against the powers of Darkness, simultaneously filled with excitement about seeing Harry for the first time in more than nine months, and terrified about what might come to pass.
In the brief period of time that had elapsed since she had been called back to Hogwarts, Harry had shockingly defeated Lord Voldemort and then surprised Ginny with a proposal of marriage. But these high points had been counterbalanced by the deaths of Fred, Colin Creevey, Tonks, and Lupin, not to mention the seemingly endless period of time in which it had appeared that Harry was dead. Conflicting emotions were swirling in Ginny’s mind, overwhelming her physically as well as mentally. On top of everything that had transpired over the last twenty hours or so, she was about to learn everything that had been so frustratingly kept from her all this time.
Ginny had made every effort she could to accept the role that had been handed to her, but try as she might, she hadn’t been able to suppress all of her feelings of resentment toward the trio. It was not in Ginny’s nature to sit idly by while others did the important work. She loved Harry and understood why he had so desperately needed to avoid putting her in mortal danger, but it had grated against her fundamental character. Ginny Weasley was a person of action, not a spectator.
So it was with raw emotions that Ginny prepared to learn the things that Harry hadn’t previously entrusted to her. She was even more on edge because he had warned her that there would be things that were difficult to divulge and hard for her to accept. She had made light of Harry’s concerns when he had behaved so nervously before asking her to marry him. However, now that the time had come to fill in the sizable gaps in her knowledge, the feelings of frustration and resentment were bubbling up toward the surface of her emotions.
Apparently Harry had picked up on her sensitivity for he made no romantic gesture nor wasted any time with small talk.
“I’ve tried to figure out where to start, Ginny. You know just about everything that happened during my fifth year, including the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. I think it’s also clear that you were the only person who was able to get through my thick skull for all of that year. If I hadn’t been such a ‘daft boy,’ as you are so fond of calling me, I would have realized that I had already fallen in love with you back then.”
“But you couldn’t see past Cho Chang,” snapped Ginny without any trace of humor in her voice. She wanted to say more, to let her built up anger vent, but somehow Ginny managed to bring her emotions back under control. It really didn’t make any sense to punish Harry when, at long last, he intended to tell her everything, albeit after the fact. She wondered when, if ever, she would be able to look back upon being left behind without anger or pain.
“Since I broke things off with you to protect you from Voldemort, I thought it might make sense to start with the times he and I came face to face, but before I truly understood what I was up against. Have you ever used a Pensieve before?” asked Harry.
“No, but I know they’re used for watching memories,” answered Ginny.
“Pretty much,” Harry replied. “So why don’t we start with the time Voldemort tried to use Professor Quirrell to get the Philosopher’s Stone.”
So Ginny accompanied Harry to the Pensieve and gazed for the first time down into the silver substance that was neither liquid nor gas. She felt him take her hand and mimicked his action as he leaned over the stone basin. The sudden sensation of falling through time and space was unnerving, as was the uncomfortable jolt when her feet made an impact upon the stone floor.
Ginny had heard enough about this confrontation to recognize that she and Harry were taking in a scene that had occurred in the lower levels of Hogwarts Castle at the end of Harry’s first year. Standing before her was an eleven-year-old Harry Potter and a wizard she had never met who was wearing a turban and staring quizzically in front of what had to be the Mirror of Erised. She knew the fundamental plot of the confrontation that had taken place, but nothing she had been told could possibly have prepared her for the horror of seeing the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle erupting angrily from the back of Professor Quirrell’s head. She was amazed at Harry’s presence of mind as he withstood the attack of a fully-grown wizard, battling back with his bare hands until the memory went dark, and she found herself standing once again in the Headmistress’ office.
Ginny found that she had lost her sense of anger, and it had been replaced with enormous respect for the boy who had somehow managed to survive the terrifying attack while denying the world’s most powerful Dark Wizard what he most wanted, immortality through the Elixir of Life.
Before Ginny could calm herself enough to speak, Harry prodded the surface of the Pensieve with his wand. Misty images swirled about until she recognized the Chamber of Secrets. Harry took her hand again as they leaned toward the basin and tumbled once more into Harry’s memory.
Ginny could scarcely tolerate the vision of her nearly dead body lying in the terrifying lair of the basilisk. She had not been prepared for Harry’s panic-stricken reaction as he begged her unresponsive eleven-year-old form to return to life. As had been the case with the first memory, Ginny soon discovered that mere words could never hope to explain the terror of what had happened deep beneath Hogwarts.
She watched in horror as Tom Riddle twirled Harry’s wand in his long fingers and at last called the basilisk. She gasped at the arrival of Fawkes and as Harry pulled the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. She was astounded by the courage of twelve-year-old Harry as he battled the giant serpent, finally slaying it while suffering the puncture wound that would have ended his life had it not been for the healing powers of Phoenix tears.
Through the entire experience, Harry had remained loyal to Albus Dumbledore and committed to Ginny’s safety. She saw for the first time the sheer look of terror in Harry’s eyes, not for his own safety, but for hers. At last, as the memory of Harry was revived from the brink of death, Ginny felt tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She had understood intellectually that her interaction with Tom Riddle’s diary had nearly resulted in her death; however, she had not been prepared for the emotional shock of watching her life slipping away, nor had she contemplated the terror of Harry’s struggle and the selfless sacrifice he endured so she might possibly survive.
No wonder he had buried this memory so deeply that he hadn’t thought to ask her about being possessed.
So, as Ginny’s physical presence was returned to the office of the Headmistress, the bitterness she had harbored against Harry withered into nothingness.
“I’m so sorry,” said Ginny.
“What?” asked Harry, dumbstruck.
“I’m sorry I jumped all over you when you forgot that I had been possessed by Voldemort. Now that I’ve seen it from your perspective, it’s easier to see that it wasn't all about me.”
“Well, it was and it wasn’t. Saving you from the Chamber of Secrets was all about you, and it certainly didn’t hurt to give me a swift kick in the arse when I thought everything was all about me after your father had been attacked. Like I said before, you were the only one who could really get through to me when I fell apart during fifth year,” he admitted with remarkable frankness.
“What happened to you was horrible, Ginny, and I know from personal experience that it will haunt you for the rest of your life. It’s just that Voldemort did so many horrible things to so many people that all of us tended to focus on ourselves rather than thinking about what he did to others. It was one of the ways he kept us isolated from one another.”
“Still, Harry, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve for me to treat you that way, regardless of what we all went through.”
“I’m not sure what I did or didn’t deserve,” said Harry reflectively. “But whether or not I deserved it, I certainly needed it! I needed someone to wake me up. I needed to pull my head out of my arse, and you were the only one who had the courage to confront me when everyone else was too worried or too scared to say anything." “Fifth year was hard for me. I spent the summer isolated from all my friends and even cut off from news of our world. Then came the Dementor attack and news that there would be a hearing. When I got to Grimmauld Place I learned that Dumbledore had even made Ron and Hermione agree not to contact me. So, I got angry with everyone — even my best friends. If you hadn’t stood up to me, I might have pulled away from everyone. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. We need to go back to what happened between Voldemort and me.
“Third year was pretty interesting but had almost nothing to do with Voldemort, himself, so I haven’t pulled any memories from that time for you. By the way, I’ve never shared these with anyone before.”
“Not even Ron and Hermione?” asked Ginny, astounded by the gravity of the implication.
“Not even Ron and Hermione. The memories … well … they’re just too personal. I’d feel kind of violated to let other people see them, especially the next one.”
“Harry, you don’t have to show them to me, either,” whispered Ginny. “I don’t know what you think I won’t like, but I’m not going to stop loving you or change my mind about marrying you.”
“You still need to see them, Ginny. I know I’ve hurt you, and you need to understand why I needed to protect you more than anything else.”
Harry paused momentarily, allowing Ginny a chance to see the muscles along his jaw quiver as his entire body stiffened with tension. “You need to know what I’ve been up against … and I also need to do this for me, because for the first time in my life I want to share this with someone. I want to share this with you … only with you.”
Ginny’s lips turned slightly upward, gratified to know that, despite all of her past jealousies, Harry had at least saved this part of his life for her. She turned to place a gentle kiss against his cheek, running her fingers over the familiar line of his jaw, even though it was dotted with stubble.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered.
He turned to look into her eyes and smiled softly back at her. Taking her hand, he directed her attention back toward the Pensieve. This time their feet landed on soft grass. Ginny felt a cold wave pass over her that wasn’t entirely due to the dank weather that blanketed the graveyard like a pall. She gasped at the sight of Harry bound tightly to a headstone, as a man she knew had to be Peter Pettigrew sliced into Harry’s arm with an ugly blade. She then watched in terror as Voldemort emerged from the cauldron. The scene was surreal, as Peter Pettigrew completed his task while bleeding profusely from his self-inflicted sacrifice and Harry struggled against unimaginable terror.
Even fully aware that she was viewing Harry’s memory and not the real event, Ginny found it hard to maintain her composure, and found it difficult to hold back an angry command for his enemies to leave Harry alone. The scene continued to unfold as Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters, healed his servant’s severed arm, and began to torment Harry with death threats and lies.
Ginny’s heart skipped a beat when it appeared momentarily that Harry might escape, only to be summoned back to face Voldemort in a duel. It was even more frightening than the duel she had just witnessed in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. In the memory, it was Voldemort, not Harry, who instructed his followers to stand helplessly aside during the confrontation. During the standoff, Voldemort mocked Harry mercilessly and, not surprisingly, he never offered Harry the opportunity for mercy that Harry had offered him in the final confrontation. Instead, Voldemort channeled nothing but hatred and the promise of death.
The attack was as sudden as it had been cruel.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
The spells collided in the memory, much as they had in the Great Hall, but that was the only similarity. In the darkness of the graveyard, an eerie dome had spread over the combatants, and ghostly images emerged from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Ginny had heard the story, but the vision was far more terrifying than even the most vivid of scenarios she had conjured from her imagination.
She gasped once again at the sight of Harry’s parents as they counseled him from beyond the grave. She shuddered as an image of Cedric Diggory begged Harry to take his body back to Hogwarts.
At last, Harry lifted his wand and ended the effects of Priori Incantatum. Ginny watched, mesmerized, as Harry sprinted to Cedric’s body, summoned the Tri-Wizard Cup, and the memory faded to black.
Again, she and Harry stood beside the Pensieve in Minerva McGonagall’s office. Neither could find words; the memory had been too much for both of them. Ginny threw her arms around Harry’s neck and she crushed against him as firmly as she could manage. If it had been possible, she would never have broken the embrace, as the reality of Harry’s brush with death overwhelmed her. At last, Harry managed to break the silence.
“The next few memories don’t really involve me, other than the fact that they are my memories of journeys into the Pensieve with Professor Dumbledore. I don’t have his original memories, so these will have to do.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Harry and Ginny watched as their former headmaster took Harry through the history of the sad life of Tom Riddle, a tragedy that led him at last to the creation of the Horcruxes. Throughout this process, Harry relaxed noticeably and seemed to be enjoying the time with Ginny. They talked freely, with Ginny playing the role of fascinated student while Harry relished the chance to share important information with her.
Overcome with emotion, Harry made the decision to extract another memory to share with Ginny. “How about my favorite memory ever?” he asked.
“Okay.”
Moments later they landed beside the portrait of the Fat Lady.
“You’ll see,” was all he said before his memory entered the Gryffindor Common Room, Ginny ran toward him and flung her arms about his neck. Harry took her in his arms and kissed her without hesitation. The memory took no more than three minutes but left both with smiles on their faces as they found themselves once again beside the Pensieve in Professor McGonagall’s office.
Harry swept Ginny into his arms, kissing her even more passionately than he had in the memory.
Ginny melted into him, deepening the kiss while moaning enthusiastically.
“Haven’t we seen enough?” Ginny asked playfully.
“Unfortunately, no,” replied Harry. “Now is when things start to get difficult.”
“Start to get difficult?” Ginny asked, incredulous.
“I’m afraid so,” answered Harry as he turned again toward the Pensieve.
Ginny followed reluctantly.
Harry and Albus Dumbledore were standing on a rock in the midst of the sea, a high cliff towering over them. Ginny watched fearfully as the two wizards threw themselves into the frigid water and swam into a cave, but things only grew more frightening as their former headmaster cut deeply into his arm, allowing blood to pulse forcefully against the rock wall. Moments later, she saw them pass through a door that had opened upon the offering of Dumbledore's blood sacrifice before they entered a deeper cavern that contained a large black lake. The tension mounted with every moment, as Dumbledore and Harry climbed into a tiny boat that had been brought to the surface by the older wizard.
Ginny forced herself to keep her eyes open as she witnessed the journey across the terrifying lake, which was filled with dead bodies lying just beneath the surface. When she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, Ginny watched as the wizards arrived on a small island in the center of the lake and Dumbledore began to consume a sickly green potion before becoming disabled. Eventually it became necessary for Harry to pour the remainder of the noxious liquid down his professor’s throat. She breathed a sigh of relief when, at last, the potion had been fully consumed, but her relief became short-lived when Harry was forced to retrieve water from the lake to save his mentor.
The resultant attack of the Inferi was the most terrifying thing she had ever witnessed. She watched Harry fight bravely but fail to repel the attackers. Only when Dumbledore managed a feeble rally from his death-like state and cast fire at the Inferi could she again draw breath.
Ginny was shocked when after they had escaped from the cave, Harry managed to perform side-along Apparition in order to bring the severely weakened Dumbledore back to Hogsmeade.
“I didn’t know you could Apparate during your sixth year,” she whispered.
“Neither did I,” answered Harry. “Desperate times called for desperate measures.”
Ginny then watched in silence as Harry’s memory faithfully played out the scene atop the Astronomy Tower. She had, of course, heard the entire story that very night as she, Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest of their group had been assembled in the Hospital Wing. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Severus Snape casting the Killing Curse against the only man who had stood up for him against his critics in the Wizarding World.
The memory continued to play out as Harry chased after Dumbledore’s killer. Ginny was touched to see Harry take notice of her own situation and saw that the Impedimenta Curse he had fired at Amycus Carrow had been the only delay Harry had allowed in his pursuit of Snape. It was becoming obvious that there was nothing that could keep Harry from trying to protect her.
She also recalled that had Harry not instructed Ron and Hermione to share the Felix Felicis with her, she might not have survived the battle that night. These memories of his concern for her went even further toward convincing Ginny that Harry had never neglected her despite the fact that she had never become part of the trio.
Ginny’s heart was racing as she watched Harry pursue Snape from the castle, and she shared his frustration when the former potions master casually turned aside curse after curse that had been thrown at him. Her fears subsided somewhat when she saw the memory of Harry watching as Snape escaped from the grounds, with Buckbeak harassing him at every step. Moments later, her heart broke for Harry as he tried to tell Hagrid that his beloved headmaster had died at the hand of another teacher, and she couldn’t stop her tears from falling as she watched Harry refuse to leave Dumbledore’s body until, at last, she saw the memory of herself enter the picture, take Harry’s hand, and escort him to the Hospital Wing.
It was approaching eight o’clock when Harry turned to Ginny and asked if she was too tired to continue. Her stomach was growling with hunger, but she couldn’t possibly stop until Harry had shown her everything he deemed important.
“No, Harry, I want to see it all now that we’ve gone this far.”
“Well, you’ve seen everything that led up to Dumbledore’s funeral. Hopefully you can at least understand how terrifying it was for me to face Voldemort time after time and to lose everyone I ever loved — everyone but you, Ron and Hermione.
“I do see,” answered Ginny, “but you still let them come with you.”
“Only because Dumbledore had already insisted that I share everything with them. I had already brought them into the secret. I had already shared everything about the Horcruxes. They were already at risk and were vulnerable to Legilimency.
“You weren’t at risk in that way, but you were at even greater risk as my girlfriend. Everyone I had ever loved had been taken from me by murder, Ginny. Murder! My dad … my mum … my godfather … my mentor … all killed because of their association with me.
“So I did what I thought I had to do and broke up with you. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but I believed … still believe … that I had no choice. As it turned out, you and your family were at risk as blood-traitors, but even after the raid during Bill and Fleur’s wedding, you were all allowed to remain free. Would that have happened if you were my girlfriend?”
Ginny remained silent, unsure of the answer, but convinced that Harry’s decision had been made entirely out of love.
Her insecurities faded even further into the background as Harry took her hand and turned back toward the Pensieve. He hesitated for a moment, however, and turned again to face her.
“Ginny, for the last nine months, Ron, Hermione, and I were searching for Horcruxes. It took us a long time to figure out what we were doing, so we wasted a lot of time and effort. It would take us all night to go through those memories, so I think it’s best if I just summarize what happened before last night. Is that okay?
“I’ll answer any questions whenever you ask, now or any time … forever … whatever you want to know.”
“Of course it’s okay,” Ginny answered. “Whatever you think is important for me to know.”
The idea of having forever to spend with Harry sounded wonderful and brought a momentary smile to her lips despite the pervasive darkness of these memories.
With her permission, Harry proceeded to summarize the events from the moment he, Ron, and Hermione had Disapparated from the wedding until the time of Nagini’s attack in the home of Bathilda Bagshot.
Ginny found herself astounded by everything her friends had endured — all the risks they had faced and all the uncertainty they had overcome. She was appalled at Ron’s decision to abandon his friends and shivered with fear as Harry described the visit he and Hermione had made to Godric’s Hollow.
“Hermione was amazing, wasn’t she?” Ginny asked.
“Yes, she was,” answered Harry, “and, it was all the more amazing considering how terribly Ron had broken her heart by leaving. She had barely spoken to me about it, and I had no idea how to make her feel better. That’s always been Ron’s department.” Harry smirked as a nostalgic look came over his face. “She loves him, you know.”
“I know,” Ginny replied. “I’ve known that for a long time, but haven’t we all?”
“Well, maybe everyone except Ron,” said Harry with a snicker. “Somehow he seemed to be the last to figure it out … not that she was any better at understanding what he was thinking. Sometimes I think they were both mental, but it seems like they have things straightened out now. And it’s not like Ron never redeemed himself. He did, and without him I would not be standing with you now!”
Harry then concluded the narrative, taking Ginny from their escape from Godric’s Hollow to the moment he, Ron, and Hermione had entered the Shrieking Shack to witness the murder of Severus Snape.
Ginny was no less amazed by all that had transpired — pleased that Ron had returned and thankful that he had arrived just in time to save Harry from drowning at the hands of the locket Horcrux.
She was terrified to hear of the torture inflicted upon Hermione and thrilled by their escape, only to feel the shock of loss upon learning of Dobby’s untimely death.
When Harry described Nagini’s assault on Professor Snape, Ginny was grateful that Harry had spared her the sight of his memory.
“Harry?” she asked quietly. “What about Snape? You told Voldemort that Snape wasn’t his man, but your memory shows that he was with Voldemort to the end.”
“Well, that brings us to the final set of memories. Are you up for another couple of trips into the Pensieve?”
“Yes,” she answered, “but what about Snape? Is his body still in the Shrieking Shack?”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Harry, “I suppose he is — at least what is left of him. I guess we’re going to have to figure out what to do with him. But, first things first …”
Harry meticulously removed his memories from the Pensieve and returned them to his mind. He then took the bottle Hermione had conjured at the Shrieking Shack and emptied Snape’s memories into the stone basin.
Ginny offered her hand once again, lowered her face to the surface, and found herself in a small park in which Severus Snape was observing two young girls. Scene after scene from Snape’s life played out before her as Ginny fought to control her astonishment, as well as a newly discovered and totally unwelcome pity for the man she once loathed.
The fact that Severus Snape had been obsessed with Harry’s mother was simultaneously sad and disconcerting. After viewing the succession of memories leading up to Lily’s death and Snape’s decision to help protect Harry from harm, Ginny realized she had never before understood the concept of pathos. While her initial reaction to Snape’s obsession had been revulsion, his lifetime of unrequited love could only be described as pathetic. And so it was that Ginny Weasley allowed herself to accept for the first time that their potions teacher might not have been entirely evil.
That revelation paled in comparison to the one that followed. Ginny gasped in horror at the memory of Albus Dumbledore informing Snape that Harry had become an accidental Horcrux. Despite the drama unfolding before her in the memory, Ginny threw herself forcefully at Harry, clinging to him with a level of desperation she hadn’t known was possible.
“Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed as the memory faded, and the couple found themselves once again in Professor McGonagall’s office. “How could he do that to you?”
“I think it was just as Dumbledore said, Ginny. ‘If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.’ He knew that I would do what my whole life had been meant to accomplish, and he was right.”
So Ginny watched silently, unsure of what to say as Harry siphoned Snape’s memories from the Pensieve and returned them to the bottle. He then extracted one last memory of his own and placed it into the bowl, took Ginny’s hand, and again they entered the world of memory.
Ginny saw Harry lying prone on the very carpet on which they were then standing, and watched in horror as he made his way out of the castle, protected from being seen by his invisibility cloak. She was struck with anxiety and fear as Harry approached Neville, lied about where he was going, and explained the need to kill Nagini.
Then she saw that Harry had stopped to look at her as she tended to an injured girl … saw how he had hesitated as if wanting to say something to her … saw that he had decided against it and moved forward into the Forbidden Forest.
“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, taking his hand gently into her own.
“I’m sorry, Ginny,” was all he could muster in reply. The memory was proving too difficult to allow much in the way of conversation.
“You’re sorry?” she asked.
“For not stopping to say good-bye. You have to understand … I could never have gone through … with it … if …” but he didn’t finish the sentence.
“I understand,” whispered Ginny. “Is this what you were so afraid of showing me?”
Harry squeezed her hand and nodded as tears leaked from his eyes. He didn’t even try to speak, and for the second time that day, Ginny realized that the boy — no, the man — who was brave enough to face death alone was terrified that he might lose her. The hero who had stoically endured a lifetime of pain, who had offered himself for the safety of those he cared about, was having a breakdown over her.
That simply would not do.
By the time her attention returned to Harry’s memory, she saw him surrounded by the images of Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Harry’s parents. She heard him ask if it hurt to die, saw his look of determination, and found herself pulling desperately at his hand, pulling the present-moment Harry away from the Forbidden Forest.
“It’s just a memory,” he whispered, pulling her gently forward.
So Ginny walked with him, watching as he dropped a stone from his hand, and as the ghostly images dissipated into nothingness. She watched as he tucked the invisibility cloak and wand inside his robes and faced Voldemort unarmed, and she became sick with fear as the Dark Lord cast the Avada Kedavra at the person she had loved since she was barely ten years old.
As the memory turned dark, she and Harry were yet again standing before the Pensieve.
“I’m sorry, Ginny, …” he said again but never finished his thought.
“You brave, brave man,” she whispered.
“But I thought I was a daft boy,” Harry replied, making an effort at levity.
“Never,” she answered emphatically, taking him into her arms and kissing him with unbridled passion. If Ginny had anything to say about it, Harry Potter would never again fear losing her.
As Harry lifted her from the floor, Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him fiercely toward her. The strength of her embrace apparently surprised Harry, causing them to tumble awkwardly to the dusty carpet.
Neither complained, however, as hands groped desperately at unwanted clothing until the couple lay naked together for the first time. Ginny had spent many hours imagining the first time she and Harry would make love, but she had never once considered the possibility that it would happen in a frenzy upon the floor of their headmistress’ office.
Somehow there was no room for subtlety as Ginny’s power merged with Harry’s.
Overwhelmed with all that she had seen in the Pensieve, and literally aching to show him how much she loved him, Ginny scarcely allowed their lips to part until she had crawled on top of him. She felt his readiness pressing firmly against her inner thigh.
Ginny had only a vague idea of what she was doing, having never before been undressed with a member of the opposite sex. In fact, she had never even thought about anything beyond snogging with either of her earlier boyfriends. Truth be told, try as she might to get over being hopelessly in love with Harry Potter, she had never really wanted to be with anyone else.
Everything she had seen in the Pensieve confirmed what she had always believed about Harry — that he was unlike any other wizard she had ever met or could ever hope to meet. She reached beneath her, took Harry in her hand, and positioned him directly against her opening. Despite the absence of foreplay, she was more than ready to consummate their relationship. And without thinking about the pain she had been told she would feel, without worrying about the fact that they were in Minerva McGonagall’s office, she lowered herself forcefully upon him. The pain was only momentary and Ginny was determined not to allow it to affect the moment.
Apparently Harry sensed something wrong, for his eyes popped open to stare at her with concern.
“Don’t worry,” she gasped, pausing only momentarily to allow the pain to subside. In a matter of seconds, Ginny regained her composure as the pain migrated toward pleasure.
At last her own fears were conquered, and Ginny was driven single-mindedly to show Harry that he should never doubt her commitment to him. She gazed back into his emerald green eyes and said what she needed to say, a single word punctuating each movement. “And … please … don’t … ever … doubt … my … love … again!”
Her blazing red hair swished from side to side and her bright brown eyes remained fastened constantly to his. Harry’s eyes communicated the same love he had shown that morning as he practically begged her to marry him, causing Ginny’s reactions, both physical and emotional, to spiral out of control.
“So beautiful,” he managed to whisper between ragged breaths. At last she fell against his chest, kissing him again with equal intensity, if only with a little less desperation.
“Merlin, Ginny,” panted Harry, “that was unbelievable.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to marry a virgin,” she said lightly, knowing instinctively that they had ventured more deeply into Harry’s emotions than he had ever allowed with anyone else, and that he would desperately need to know she did not regret their actions.
“I guess we took care of that problem,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice telling her she had set the appropriate mood.
“I’m not sure,” Ginny responded, “I think it’s going to take a lot more practice before the wedding.”
“And when should that be?” asked Harry.
“As soon as we can without Mum and Dad going mental,” answered Ginny, a soft smile shining on her face.
“As soon as we can.” “Sounds good to me,” said Harry. “It needs to be before the start of school and not too close to July 31st or August 11th.”
“Right. We can’t celebrate an anniversary and a birthday too close together. We might miss out on some presents.”
“Exactly,” laughed Harry.
“Speaking of Mum and Dad going mental, what time is it, Harry?”
“Almost eleven.”
“Then maybe we should get dressed and Apparate back to the Burrow,” Ginny suggested.
“Right,” replied Harry, reluctance lacing every word, “your mum seemed happy about things, but I’m not so sure about your dad.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Ginny answered confidently.
“And why not?” Harry asked.
“Daddy’s little witch,” she said, holding her little finger in the air, while her engagement ring sparkled in the candlelight. “He’s always said I had him wrapped around my little finger.”
Harry chuckled softly and pulled Ginny toward him, bringing her lips back into contact with his.
“So, how are we going to manage all this practice when we’re back at the Burrow?” Harry asked cautiously.
“I’m sure we can figure something out,” she answered. “Anyway, you do own a house … or had you forgotten?”
“Merlin’s beard! I guess I had forgotten. We have a house elf, too. Maybe Kreacher wouldn’t mind straightening up a bit — make things a touch more habitable.”
“That would be nice,” said Ginny.
“But speaking of Kreacher,” continued Harry, “we really need to think about him. He’d probably rather die than leave the House of Black, but I can’t own a house elf. Hermione would kill me, and it would just be wrong. What would Dobby think?”
“Why don’t you just offer him lifetime employment and present him with clothes?” suggested Ginny, “If you can afford it, of course.”
“If we can afford it, you mean,” answered Harry, “and yes, we can. Money is one issue we won’t have to worry about, not with everything we have from both my parents and the Black family holdings.”
“I never really thought about that,” said Ginny, as a blush of embarrassment crept up her neck.
“I know,” he replied, “and I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. But everything that’s mine is yours, Ginny. I want you to share my life completely.”
“That’s not necessary, Harry. I’ve never had money, anyway.”
“But you will now,” he responded. “You’ll just have to get used to it if you want to be married to me.”
“I guess I can manage that,” she answered softly.
“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered, a look of reverence reflecting clearly on his face. “
I love you, too,” she replied before pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Professor McGonagall said she’d be back after midnight to clean up her office,” said Harry. “I’ll leave her a note about Snape’s body and we can head back to your family. I know they’ll be anxious about you.”
He walked to the desk that had briefly belonged to the man who had never warmed to Harry, yet always loved his mother. Ginny watched as he picked up a quill and jotted a quick note for the current headmistress. He then returned to her side.
“Ready to Apparate?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Yes, but I can do it myself,” she answered.
“Really?” asked Harry, the note of amazement obvious in his voice. ”You’ll have to tell me about that — and everything that happened to you during the past year.”
“I will,” she answered, “but not tonight.”
He stared at her, a look of doubt mingling with concern.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Harry. I’ve already told you there has never been anyone but you.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” she replied. But for now we need to get home before Dad passes out from waiting to have his little chat with you!”
So, with two soft pops, Harry and Ginny disappeared into the darkness.
In a matter of seconds, the claustrophobic pressure abated, and Ginny drew fresh air into her lungs. It felt wonderful to be back home and even better to have Harry at her side. She took his hand and started to head toward the house, but immediately felt herself pulled back into his arms.
Harry kissed her gently. “Ready to face your father?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she laughed as they walked the short distance to the kitchen door. She opened it quietly, not wanting to wake anyone who might be sleeping.
Her concerns were unnecessary.
“Ginny … Harry,” said an obviously agitated Arthur Weasley. “It’s late. What kept you?”
“Harry had a lot he needed to tell me,” answered Ginny honestly.
“Right, then,” said her father. “We still need a word, Harry.”
“It had better be nothing but congratulations,” said Ginny with a solemn tone of voice that did not in the least match the innocent smile she offered her father.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur replied. “Your mother has already spoken with me.”
Ginny’s smile suddenly became even more radiant as she watched her father throw an arm over Harry’s shoulder before escorting him back toward the garden and the dilapidated shed where everything of consequence to the Weasleys was eventually discussed.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 - Arthur's Advice
As they Disapparated from Hogwarts, Harry hadn’t known exactly what to expect from Ginny’s father, but an arm over his shoulder had certainly not been it. He had been thrown somewhat off guard, so he relied upon Ginny’s brilliant smile to be his guide. Surely his anxiety about talking with Mr. Weasley was unwarranted. In fact, he found it rather strange to suddenly think of Arthur as Ginny’s father, rather than just Mr. Weasley.Harry had felt as if he had been a part of the Weasley family for a long time and had taken great comfort in the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley considered him almost as one of their own. Then again, perhaps that fact, alone, might be enough to make Mr. Weasley uncomfortable with the thought of Harry having fallen in love with his daughter.
As they walked into the garden, Arthur broke the uncomfortable silence. “Harry, before we discuss anything else, I want you to know how thrilled Molly and I are that you’re going to be an official part of our family. You’ve been as good as a son to us for many years now,” he said in the gentle manner with which Harry was so accustomed.
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” answered Harry, a tiny sigh of relief escaping from his lips. “I’ve always felt at home here.”
“I won’t deny it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron sat in your compartment first year. It seems like half of us wouldn’t even be here without you,” Arthur continued pleasantly.
“In all honesty,” said Harry, “I think most of those problems started because of me.”
“That’s rubbish, Harry, pure rubbish! Voldemort was rising in power before you were even born, and Molly and I were already targets. Remember what happened to her brothers. So were your mum and dad. You were a victim … perhaps one of the worst victims of his terror, and you need to let go of any misplaced guilt you might be feeling. Voldemort was the cause of all our problems, not you!”
“I really don’t know what to say, Mr. Weasley.”
“You don’t need to say anything, son. Molly and I just want you to understand that we care about you and that we’re grateful you came into our lives.” Arthur took a seat on one of the old stone benches that flanked a small table in the shed and began to look around.
Harry stood for a few moments, waiting for an indication of what he should do. However, when Arthur failed to look him in the eye, Harry took a seat directly across the table from his future father-in-law.
“Now … about Ginny … I take it you’ve thought this through,” said Arthur, still unable to meet Harry’s eyes.
“Yes sir,” said Harry with confidence. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
“How so, Harry?”
“Because I’ve been in love with her for two years -- maybe three, if I’m completely honest with myself. Because I haven’t even thought of another girl since the first time I kissed her. Because she’s the only thing I thought about when I let Voldemort try to kill me last night. Because she’s perfect for me … and because I’m the same age as my mum and dad were when they became engaged … when you and Mrs. Weasley got engaged, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No need to be defensive, son,” said Arthur soothingly. “I just want you to have someone to talk things over with, seeing as how your mum and dad aren’t around.”
“Thank you, sir, but it’s a little strange, given that you are Ginny’s father.”
“Yes, well, I see your point. As I said, Molly and I couldn’t be happier. I just thought you should reflect on some of the big issues, like children and careers. Have you and Ginny discussed these things?”
“We talked a lot while we were dating last year … about all kinds of things. Ginny is the only person with whom I’ve ever felt comfortable sharing personal things. I mean, it’s not like we talked about getting married, because we didn’t, but we learned quite a bit about each other. For instance, I know that we both want children, but Ginny wants to have a career, as well — that she would love to play for the Harpies if she got the chance — that she loves flying more than just about anything,” said Harry, trying very hard to make his case without sounding as young and naïve as he feared he might.
“And you are fine with that?”
“Perfectly fine … I just want her to be happy. I want us both to be happy … together.”
“And you’re fully aware that she’s independent-minded, completely stubborn when she sets her mind on something, and absolutely irrepressible?” Arthur questioned, as a small smirk began forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, sir, I am …” Harry began, trying to maintain a serious expression, before breaking down into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked, a look of bemusement settling on his face.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry, “but you’re making it sound like those are bad qualities, Mr. Weasley.”
“Certainly not!” replied Arthur. “It’s just that Ginny isn’t an ordinary witch.”
“No, she’s not ordinary, and thank Merlin for that! But those qualities you mentioned … I was telling her earlier tonight that one of the things I love most about her is that she always stands up to me when I act like a git. She’s strong … smart … competitive … courageous. She may have quite a temper, but she’s kind and compassionate. I’ve never seen her take advantage of anyone. She’s everything I could possibly ask for.”
“I see,” Arthur said reflectively.
“I want a partner — an equal — someone to share everything with, and I know that person is Ginny. And we have a great situation ahead of us this year.”
“This year?” asked Arthur.
“Yes, sir — if you and Mrs. Weasley don’t object. Ron, Hermione and I have been given the chance to go back to school and finish our educations. We’ll be taking our N.E.W.T. level exams with Ginny’s class, and I’ve also accepted the job of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
“Teacher?” asked Arthur, surprise showing clearly through his eyes.
“Yes,” answered Harry. “Professor McGonagall had planned to ask Remus to come back if Voldemort was defeated, but that’s not possible now. So, she asked me and I’ve accepted.”
“That’s very impressive, son, and after what you accomplished with Dumbledore’s Army, well deserved.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied. “Professor McGonagall also offered me the chance to live in faculty housing. She seems to think I might feel a bit out of place in the dormitory.”
“Really?” said Arthur, astonished by Minerva’s modern attitude.
“I’ve taken her up on that, too, and Ginny and I have decided we’d like to live there this year while we fix up Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and make it a little more inviting.”
“That’s very fast, don’t you think?” asked Arthur, apprehension showing on his face for the first time that day.
“After what I’ve been through for the last seven years, and especially after last night, I really don’t see the need to wait, unless you and Mrs. Weasley have a problem with it,” Harry concluded, looking at his feet.
“Well, I can see how you might feel ready for marriage right away, but what about Ginny?”
“She’s actually the one who suggested that things would be best sooner, rather than later, though she was concerned about your reaction — yours and Mrs. Weasley’s.”
“I see,” Arthur replied before falling momentarily silent. He took a deep breath before continuing his thoughts. “No, we don’t really have any objections. In fact, Molly said she thought you two would be moving quickly. Like I said, we’re happy for both of you. We just want to]==else to live — even build something new if that’s what she wants. After our first year, Kingsley has made it clear that I can have a spot in the Auror Department — well — the top spot in the Auror Department if I want it. So, Ginny and I should be fine, sir.”
“I’ve never thought finances would be a problem,” said Arthur, chuckling quietly.
“So, are you and Mrs. Weasley okay with the idea of Ginny marrying me … before the start of school?”
“As long as the two of you are sure this is what you want, you have our blessing. In fact, we can start talking about the details as soon as you and Ginny say so.”
Arthur took a deep breath before looking around the shed, almost as if he expected to find someone lurking in one of the corners. Finally he regained his voice. “Just be prepared for Molly to be … well … to be a little exuberant. At least she will get there in time, what with Fred and all.”
As Arthur and Harry rose from the table, the older wizard took his future son-in-law into a surprising embrace. “Welcome to the family, Harry. Welcome.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied. “Thank you very much.”
“I think there’s a certain red-haired witch waiting to see you inside,” said Arthur as he loosened his grip on Harry and headed back toward the house.
“Mr. Weasley, have you … have you made plans for Fred’s funeral?” asked Harry. “Yes … yes we have,” answered Mr. Weasley with a defeated sigh. The happiness that had been in his eyes as he discussed Harry and Ginny’s future had suddenly disappeared.
“We’ve notified the Delacours, Aunt Muriel, and a few of Fred’s friends, like Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson. The burial will be tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. So, it will be a small affair here at the Burrow.”
As they approached the back door, Harry was pleased to see Ginny waiting for him at the kitchen table with what looked to be a platter of Mrs. Weasley’s wonderful roast beef, a bowl of peas and carrots, and an extra large portion of treacle tart. Two glasses of cold pumpkin juice sat on the table beside the place settings Ginny had laid out for them. It had been ages since he had managed a proper meal, and he would take any excuse he could find to spend more time with Ginny.
He had been afraid she might have gone to her bedroom and had begun thoroughly dreading the thought of being separated from her. Their rushed love-making after almost a year apart had changed him in ways he had never imagined possible and had left him with no interest in being apart from her, even if it turned out to be only for a night or two while under her parents’ roof. His mind had begun spinning … contemplating what things were going to be like during their engagement.
While he had been discussing their future with Mr. Weasley, Ginny had obviously taken a quick shower and had changed into what looked to be a faded pink flannel nightdress, the hem of which fell just above her knees. Her hair was still damp, but she had taken the time to arrange it in French braids. He loved her long flaming red hair — the touch, the smell, and the look of it — regardless of how she wore it, but whenever she wore it in rich loose waves, it drove him absolutely crazy. During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry had figured out that French braids at night were responsible for the creation of his favorite look, so his imagination went into overdrive. Having made a lifetime commitment to Ginny, he found himself most anxious to get on with their life together.
Harry opened the door for Mr. Weasley, who walked directly to his daughter. As she rose to greet him, Arthur gathered her in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.
“I love you, pumpkin,” Arthur whispered tenderly and held her longer than he had done since she was a little girl. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he released her, offering a warm smile to both of them. “Very well then,” he continued at last, “I don’t think we’ve inflicted any lasting harm on poor Harry.”
“Daddy?” Ginny asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Not to worry,” replied her father. “Not to worry.”
“Thank you, again, sir,” said Harry warmly.
Mr. Weasley started to head out of the kitchen but stopped suddenly, as if something had caught his attention.
“Ah, yes,” he said, stepping over to the little desk located near the doorway. “This came from Gringotts shortly after Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” He retrieved a thick parchment envelope and handed it to Harry.
“What is it, Mr. Weasley?”
“It’s probably your bank ledger,” Arthur replied.
“A bank ledger? I’ve never received one before,” said Harry, obviously confused.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” answered Mr. Weasley. “They were most likely sent to Dumbledore while you were underage. After all, your godfather had been in Azkaban and you were living with Muggles.”
“Yes,” thought Harry silently, “one more part of my life that Dumbledore controlled for me!”
“Very well,” said Mr. Weasley as he turned toward the staircase. At the last moment he looked back to face Ginny and Harry. “It’s nice to have some joy amidst all the pain. Truly.”
*****
“Draco?” called Lucius Malfoy as he entered the foyer of their family estate.
Given the tone of voice, a visitor to Malfoy Manor might have believed that Lucius was about to ask a question of his son. Draco, however, was not fooled. It was a summons to appear before his father — a command rather than an invitation.
“Yes, Father?” Draco replied indignantly as he plodded from the living room. “I didn’t realize you had been out.”
“There really isn’t time to waste, son,” answered Lucius. “I have something I need for you to do.”
“Yes, Father,” he repeated.
“I understand on good authority that the Weasleys are planning to bury their childish purveyor of jokes tomorrow afternoon. I need you to pay our respects at the funeral.”
“What?” shrieked Draco, taken completely by surprise.
“You heard me, Draco. I want you to represent our family at the funeral, and while you are there I need you to learn anything you can pick up about Harry Potter. I still have friends in powerful places, and they are abuzz with rumors I can hardly even begin to believe.”
“But the last time Potter saw me, I was trying to kill him!” exclaimed Draco. “And you want me to walk right up to him … or one of the Weasleys?”
“I’m sure you can convince Mr. Potter and his friends that you were only doing what you had to do to keep your family safe from the Dark Lord.”
“That’s impossible,” said Draco flatly.
“Impossible?” sneered Lucius. “I think not — not if you want to inherit all of this some day.”
“You wouldn’t …” began Draco before words failed him.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the Old Ways, son. By mixing with Muggles and Mudbloods, wizards risk extinction or worse.”
“What could be worse than extinction, Father?”
“Mediocrity, Draco. Mediocrity,” answered Lucius with disdain coating every word.
*****
The sounds of Arthur’s footsteps faded as he ascended the stairway, but Harry waited a few extra moments before moving next to Ginny and taking her into his arms.
“I missed you,” he whispered, bringing his lips to meet hers affectionately and running his hands up and down the sleeves of the faded, but incredibly soft flannel.
She smelled fantastic, as her unique flowery scent lingered on her skin and damp hair. Harry found himself thankful that he had managed a shower before the memorial service at Hogwarts.
“You were only gone twenty minutes,” answered Ginny playfully while reaching for another kiss. “I missed you, too.”
“This looks great,” said Harry, casting a hungry eye at Mrs. Weasley’s leftovers.
“Better than I do?” asked Ginny, trying to keep a serious look on her face but failing completely.
“Never,” Harry replied, “but since we’re in your parents’ house, it’s probably all I really ought to be thinking about tonight.”
“That doesn’t seem to be stopping Ron and Hermione,” said Ginny.
“What?” asked Harry, shock clearly etched across his face.
“Well, Hermione wasn’t anywhere to be found when I ran upstairs a while ago, and Percy was pretty upset that Ron’s door seems to have been Imperturbed. They’ve even tried to talk Bill into breaking the spell, but he won’t have anything to do with it.”
“I always knew Bill was cool,” Harry replied.
“That he is,” said Ginny. “Now, what did Dad have to say?”
“Not a whole lot, really,” said Harry. “He started off by saying how happy he and your mum are for us and that they didn’t have any objections. He mainly wanted to know that we had thought it through and that we had similar ideas about kids and careers.”
“Did you tell him we’d talked about all that while we were dating at Hogwarts?” asked Ginny.
“Yes. Your dad thinks you can do just about anything you set your mind to, Ginny. I think his biggest concern is to make sure that I don’t want to keep you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,” Harry concluded with a laugh.
Ginny, however, wasn’t laughing in the least. Harry watched in surprise as the smile she had been wearing disappeared and all the color drained from her face.
“Ginny?” Harry asked softly. “What’s wrong, love?”
“The charm, Harry. I forgot to cast the Contraceptive Charm.”
“Is it … is it too late?” Harry stammered.
“Not entirely,” she whispered, fumbling clumsily for something. When at last she managed to gain control of her wand, Ginny looked quickly over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming down the stairs. Satisfied that they were alone, she completed a series of complicated motions above her abdomen and said, “Contraceptus.”
“I hate to be a total clod, but what does ‘not entirely’ mean?” Harry inquired.
“Oh, Harry, you’re not the clod … I am. And it’s not entirely too late, because the charm acts kind of like a Muggle spermicidal. It disables your little swimmers, or so Madame Pomfrey says. As long as I haven’t ovulated in the last two or three days, we ought to be okay.”
“I’m sorry, Ginny. I should have done it … I wasn’t even thinking …”
“Stop with the guilt, Harry! I did kind of jump you,” whispered Ginny, a hint of her normal color returning to her cheeks. “But it was a little overwhelming to watch the man I’ve loved for years just stand there and take a Killing Curse, even if it was in a Pensieve.”
“There really wasn’t anything else I could do, Ginny. As long as even one Horcrux was left, he couldn’t be killed. I’m so sorry …”
“Will you please quit apologizing? You’re the bravest wizard … the bravest man …” Ginny said quietly, then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly.
“What else did Daddy say?” she continued when at last they broke apart. “Did he say anything about timing?”
“I told him we want to be married before start of term.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And he said that as long as you and I are sure this is what we want to do, he and your mum are ready to start putting things together.”
“Well, sooner is better than later, especially if I’m up the duff,” she added.
“What?” asked Harry.
“If I’m pregnant, silly.”
“What should we do?”
“What is there to do? We wait a couple of days and cast a Sensory Charm to see whether or not you’re going to be a daddy.”
With his head spinning, Harry dropped the thick envelope on the table, and began slowly picking at his food.
“I thought you were hungry,” said Ginny.
“I was,” he replied, “but it’s a little overwhelming to think about us becoming parents.”
“It’s not something I would plan to do, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. We are getting married,” she stressed, “and I don’t plan on abstaining from sex, so we’ll just have to be more careful in the future. Now, why don’t we eat some dinner, and maybe we can have another go before Hermione comes downstairs.”
Harry felt a burden lift from his shoulders and he thanked Merlin for the incredible gift of Ginny Weasley. He didn’t need her father to remind him that she was an extraordinary witch. He knew that she had been stung by the realization that they hadn’t used a Contraceptive Charm — he’d seen it in her face. But Ginny was nothing if not resilient, and had seen that she intended to make the best of whatever came their way.
As he began to relax, Harry realized he had begun fumbling absentmindedly with the envelope from Gringotts. He looked up to see Ginny staring at him as if she had something on her mind.
“Should we take a look?” he asked.
“Later!” Ginny exclaimed, nearly hissing at him. “I’ve got better plans for you if you’ll hurry with that food.”
Harry was famished, and dinner was every bit as good as it looked, so Ginny’s encouragement was scarcely needed to spur Harry into high gear. He hesitated only once when Ginny snickered audibly.
“What?” said Harry. “I thought you wanted me to hurry things along.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, “but if you had red hair I’d swear I was watching Ron at a feast.”
“That bad?”
“Not really,” replied Ginny. “It’s actually kind of cute to see you so excited!”
Harry noticed that Ginny had also made quick work of her plate, but decided not to mention anything about it. While it was true that she had a remarkable sense of humor, Harry thought it wise not to test her limits. At last, Harry gulped down his last bite of treacle tart, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and made as if to start gathering the dishes. Ginny reached out and stilled his movement with a gentle touch on his forearm.
“Allow me,” said Ginny. “It will be quicker and quieter.” Taking her wand and pointing it at the platter of roast beef and bowl of peas and carrots, she said “Depulso,” banishing the leftovers to the cold hamper in silence. Then, drawing a quick circular motion around their dirty dishes, she whispered “Tergeo,” causing the plates, cups, and silverware to move soundlessly to the sink, where they magically washed themselves. Finally, Ginny tapped the table lightly with her wand and said “Scourgify,” leaving the table as clean as it had ever been.
“I need to learn those,” said Harry, admiring both her skills and efficiency.
“Yes, you do,” she answered, taking his hand and pulling him forcefully toward the staircase.
She scampered lightly up the stairs, arriving at her door only a few moments later. As she tugged Harry through the doorway Ginny spun around, coming to rest snugly against his chest.
Harry closed the door softly and uttered the incantations to locking and silencing charms before stowing his wand in the pocket of his jeans and encompassing Ginny in a warm embrace.
“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered softly into her ear before trailing kisses down her neck. The feeling of having her against him was almost too much to take. He had come so close to losing everything that her touch seemed to be out of a dream of a better life.
“Love you, too,” she replied, shivering noticeably as her body melted into his. “I’m having trouble believing everything that has happened since this time last night.”
“Me too,” said Harry, his hands roaming gently down her back. The fabric felt as warm and wonderful as it had the first time he had touched her in the kitchen, but Harry desperately wanted more. He wanted to feel Ginny, his Ginny, and nothing else. The desire was becoming so strong that his hands had begun to quiver.
Ginny stood on tiptoes to kiss him, her lips parting as they reached his.
Harry did the same, allowing their tongues to meet luxuriously as they drank in the mystery of each other. As she had risen to kiss him, Harry’s hands had moved further down her back and slipped over her bum. It felt like heaven as he fumbled with the hem of her nightgown and, at last, his fingers were on nothing but skin. He moaned uncontrollably when he discovered that Ginny was wearing nothing beneath her nightie.
Their first effort at lovemaking had been overwhelmingly fast and totally unexpected. This time Ginny had made it perfectly clear that she meant for it to happen, and Harry was bound and determined to lavish his affection upon her sumptuously. Gathering the worn material in each hand, Harry began to lift the nightdress slowly over her body. As he reached her shoulders, Ginny raised her arms, allowing Harry to lift the clothing over her head.
Harry was completely inexperienced with women, but he couldn’t imagine how anyone could rival Ginny for beauty. She had always been described as small to average, but that description was woefully inaccurate. The only words that his mind could come up with were perfect and petite … perfectly petite. He had never asked, but Harry guessed Ginny to be somewhere near 5’2” in height. Her body was perfectly proportioned, with surprisingly full breasts accenting her athletic frame. Her skin was the color of fresh cream and was dappled throughout with freckles. The curls between her thighs were slightly darker than the dazzling red tresses that had always driven Harry mad with desire.
She stood before him with the same blazing look she had worn the day he finally kissed her. After delaying only a moment to appreciate her beauty, Harry lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed in which she had slept since she was a toddler. He laid her upon the coverlet and knelt on the floor beside her, kissing her reverently. He parted her lips, and shuddered with intense emotion as their tongues met once again. In his most passionate dreams, Harry had never imagined the possibility of feeling so incredibly complete. Every pain he had ever endured was worth the price he had paid, as they had led him to Ginevra Weasley.
“You’re still dressed,” Ginny reminded him as his kisses trailed down her neck.
“Not for long,” he replied while pulling his shirt over his head.
“What happened here?” she asked, reaching out to run her fingers over the ovular scar that had been seared into his chest. “Locket Horcrux … burned into me when Nagini attacked,”
“And this?” she continued while pointing out the lightning bolt scar located just to the left and down from the reminder of the Locket Horcrux.
“Killing Curse,” answered Harry as his lips returned to her neck before drifting slowly downward.
Ginny sighed audibly and arched upward. “Harry, please,” she gasped, arching her hips upward once again, obviously wanting something more.
Harry wanted to extend her pleasure as long as possible, but knew instinctively not to prolong her frustration, so he responded more directly to her request.
“More,” cried Ginny hoarsely, “please!”
Harry’s heart was hammering inside his chest almost as ferociously as it had when he stood before Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. He was, however, immeasurably happier than he had ever been in his life. Despite his horrible fears of the preceding morning, Ginny had forgiven him and she was now undeniably his, just as he had given himself completely to her.
At last, Ginny shuddered, followed quickly in kind by her fiancé. She looked up at him with her sparkling eyes before smiling softly at him once again.
“I love you, Harry,” she whispered. She curled up against him, sighing blissfully.
“Can we afford for me to sleep here?” asked Harry.
“For a while,” she answered. “I’ll set an alarm.”
With that said, she waived her wand at the nearby clock. In a matter of minutes, Harry heard her only her gentle breathing.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - With All That I Am and All that I Have
“AARRGGHH!” huffed Hermione as she stamped her foot in utter frustration.She had exhausted her entire repertoire of charms, spells, and curses, but Ginny’s door remained utterly impassable. She had knocked, kicked, shaken the doorknob and … been reduced to frustrated tears. She had done everything she could think of or imagine, but to no avail.
Hermione was under no illusion that her visit to Ron’s room the previous evening had gone unnoticed, but something told her that, no matter how understanding Molly had been at Hogwarts the previous day, things might be different if she and Ron were to be discovered together — in bed — under the roof of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Gathering a deep breath, she prepared to scream her loudest before catching herself and stifling the sound she had intended to make. “After all, she thought, it won’t improve my situation if I manage to wake everyone in the house who is not currently sleeping behind such impressive locking, silencing, and privacy charms.”
She thought momentarily about heading back up to Ron’s room, but his incessant snoring would do nothing to solve her desperate need for real sleep. It simply wouldn’t do to camp out on the landing, which would call even more attention to her situation, and she lacked the cover of an engagement ring, which might — just might — prepare the Weasleys to accept the same behavior from Ginny. She checked the time and saw that it was already a quarter past five. Shoulders slumping in defeat, Hermione headed downstairs in hopes of finding a cup of coffee, but fearing the Weasley larder would have nothing available that would be more potent than tea.
******
As Ginny’s clock reached 5:30 a.m., an enchanted wooden cuckoo emerged from the workings and flew across the room, landing on Harry’s shoulder. The wizard jerked awake instantly, made sure his body was between Ginny and the doorway, and whipped his wand out from beneath the pillow. It took a few moments to realize what was happening, as Harry’s heart pounded feverishly in his chest.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, flinging the charmed wooden bird from his shoulder.
“What?” mumbled Ginny, still groggy after only two hours of sleep.
“The clock,” answered Harry grumpily.
“You scared the crap out of me,” said Ginny as she snuggled back against him.
“Sorry, I overreacted. I guess it’s going to take some time to get used to regular life.”
“That’s okay, Harry. I’m here to help you through it,” she replied, a gentle smile sneaking across her face. “We can start by overlooking the fact that you’re seriously unhinged!”
“I wouldn’t know what to do without you, but being hinged is totally overrated.”
“Well, we’d better start by getting you out of here,” she said, disappointment showing in her eyes. “Mum and Dad are normally up by six, and it’s probably best that we not be together when they get up.”
“Okay,” said Harry leaning forward to kiss her gently on the lips.
“Ugh!” Ginny groused. “Who knew the world’s most powerful wizard would have morning breath?”
“And you’re the breath of freshness?”
“I most certainly am,” laughed Ginny, wrapping her arms around his neck before kissing him deeply.
“Do that again, and I might never leave,” he said, smiling.
“You’d better talk to Kreacher about fixing up Grimmauld Place today,” whispered Ginny against his ear.
“I will,” promised Harry as he slipped into his clothes and prepared to sneak quietly onto the first floor landing. Before disabling the Privacy and Silencing Charms, he turned back and smiled broadly at Ginny. “Sneaking out in the wee hours … just like Hogwarts.”
Ginny’s smile dropped from her face instantly. “Oh, Harry, you have no idea what it was like at Hogwarts this year. You wouldn’t have recognized the place.”
“Yes, I kind of got that idea as soon as I came through the tunnel from the Hog’s Head and saw the situation in the Room of Requirement.”
“No, Sweetheart,” answered Ginny, “that doesn’t even being to describe what life was like at school. What you witnessed was the little slice of paradise that we created as things grew worse. It was our refuge — a safe place, and without Neville I can’t bear to imagine what would have ended up happening.”
“Oh, Gin… I’m so sorry.”
“Stop that this instant, Harry. You chose not to let me go with you, and I know you still think it was the right decision to ‘keep me safe,’ and I have forgiven you for it. You did what you thought was right, but Hogwarts was no safe haven.”
“Oh, Ginny,” Harry resumed, but found himself facing his fiancé’s outstretched palm.
“No!” she snapped. “No sorrow … no sympathy. It was war, and war spreads its nasty tentacles everywhere. Gryffindor House was full of half-bloods, Muggle-born sorcerers, and the worst of the worst — Blood Traitors like me. Were it not for the old professors and, most importantly, Professor Snape, none of us would have escaped without serious, serious consequences.”
“Tell me about it, Ginny. Please!”
“I will, but not now. Mum and Dad will be up any minute and I really don’t want to embarrass them in front of all my brothers …” Ginny stopped suddenly, gathered her wits, and continued, “… well, all of my brothers except for Fred.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Harry could find for verbal communication, so Harry gathered her shaking frame in his arms, slipped his fingers reverently into her beautiful hair, and kissed her gently.”
She looked upon, brown eyes meeting green. “It’s okay, Harry. We’re okay. Now let me get some sleep and I’ll see you downstairs. With any luck, maybe Hermione will be ready to trade places.”
*****
Harry opened the door silently and peeked cautiously out at the landing. It was empty, and he was unable to hear anyone stirring in the house, so Harry stepped out of Ginny’s room, his head swirling with doubts. The one action he had felt so certain of now looked like one of the worst he had ever made. Ginny had lived through her own hell and his actions had sent her there. Guilt pangs flooded over him in torrents. Sleep was out of the question. Harry headed down to the ground floor where, much to his surprise, Hermione was reading quietly at the kitchen table.
“Morning, sunshine,” he whispered, hoping not to startle her.
The effort was futile, as Hermione jumped, spilling her cup of tea and knocking her copy of Hogwarts, A History to the floor.
“Honestly, Harry!” she exclaimed. “You gave me quite a fright.”
“Sorry,” he answered, “I tried to be quiet. How long have you been awake?”
“A little while,” she said softly. “Ron and I stayed up late talking.”
Harry tried gallantly to keep a smirk from taking up residence on his face but was only partially successful.
“What?” asked Hermione.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t try that with me, Harry Potter. I know it’s something.”
“Well, isn’t an Imperturbable Charm a bit much for conversation?’ he said teasingly. “I’d have tried a Muffliato, perhaps?”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Harry,” Hermione huffed. “You’re not going to be able to wind me up about sleeping with Ron. Anyway, you and Ginny had her room sealed up as tight as Hogwarts when I came downstairs.”
“And what time might that have been?”
“About half an hour ago. Happy now?”
“Very much so,” he replied, deciding not to reveal Ginny’s comments to her. This guilt was something he would need to work through with Ginny, and Ginny, alone. For the time being, he would thank Merlin, Morgan, and Gandalf, himself, that somehow Ginny had escaped in one piece.
“I should probably feel guilty for being so bloody happy, but I can’t. Can you believe it, Hermione? She said ‘yes’ and her parents aren’t having kittens about us getting married!”
“Have you seen Harry Potter?” Hermione asked playfully. “You look a bit like him, but he’d never act like he was arse over elbow.”
“But I am — arse over elbow, and not a bit ashamed of it!”
“Oh, Harry, we’re all so happy for you and Ginny. You deserve it.”
“Like you don’t? It was about time you and Ron admitted how you felt about each other and started to enjoy being in love.”
“I do love him. He’s wonderful. And can you believe he’s going to come back to school just to be with me this year?”
“I suspect he’d follow you into a den of Acromantulas if that’s what it took to be with you.”
“That’s sweet to say, but I don’t think there is even the slightest chance that Ron would do that.”
“He’d do anything for you, Hermione. Anything.”
“Harry?” she asked as the smile faded from her lips. “Did you hear about Fred’s funeral?”
“Yeah, two o’clock this afternoon — just family and a few close friends.”
With that, Hermione excused herself and slipped up to Ginny’s room, saying she wanted to catch up on some much needed sleep. Harry thought momentarily about joining up with Ron but decided against it. He knew Ron would either be full of questions about Harry’s night with Ginny or snoring so loudly Harry would have no chance for rest. Neither option was very appealing, as Harry had no desire to share what he and Ginny had done with anyone, much less the bloke who was both his best friend and her older brother.
So he chose to remain downstairs and wished Mr. and Mrs. Weasley a good morning when they arrived in the kitchen just before six o’clock. It was obvious from the start that both of the Weasleys were on edge, which was totally to be expected. Harry had been surprised at the way Arthur and Molly had been able to continue functioning throughout the previous day, almost as if nothing terrible had happened. Certainly, the day had been full of surprises, with Ron and Hermione becoming a couple and Harry and Ginny’s engagement.
However, the happiness that those developments provided had burned away like a thin layer fog beneath the searing reality of death.
Harry quickly spotted that Molly’s eyes were glazed over, and her hands trembled noticeably as she set about preparing breakfast. He offered to help, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She patted him on the arm, told him she could handle the cooking, and began to turn away when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.
“What happened to your arm, Harry?” she asked, taking his left forearm into her hands and rubbing across the red scars of two puncture wounds.
“Just a little bite,” Harry replied vaguely.
“What kind of bite?” asked Arthur, stepping over to join his wife. The wound looked all too similar to those he had suffered a little more than two years previously.
Harry looked around uncomfortably but could think of no way to divert their attention from his arm. He felt unable to deal with sympathy at the moment, especially not from the people who had been more like parents to him than anyone else in the world — people who had lost close friends — people who were about to bury their twenty-year-old son.
“Harry?” prompted Mr. Weasley. While it had been asked as a question, the look on Arthur’s face made it perfectly clear that he had issued a gentle command.
“I had a bit of a problem with Nagini when I went to Godric’s Hollow last Christmas.”
“My goodness, Harry, how did you escape?” Arthur continued.
“Well, I wouldn’t have made it except for Hermione. I made a foolish mistake, thinking Dumbledore might have left the Sword of Gryffindor with Bathilda Bagshot. Instead, she was already dead, and Voldemort had Nagini impersonating her. It was magic I had never seen before, just like Remus warned me.”
The mention of Remus Lupin caused Molly to gasp, as she raised her hand shakily to cover her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley …” began Harry.
“Nonsense, dear,” Molly replied. “Thank God you survived. It must have been terrifying.”
“It was, but Hermione kept her cool. She’s a remarkable witch — truly remarkable.”
Harry, Arthur, and Molly drifted into companionable silence as Mrs. Weasley finished preparing breakfast for the three of them. At last Harry gathered the courage to speak.
“Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, if there is anything I can do to help today, please let me know. I realize there’s nothing I can do to make this any easier, but I’ll do anything that you need done.”
“That’s sweet, son,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You’ve already done more for all of us than should ever have been asked of you. I hope you realize that, dear. You’ve also given us all something positive to look forward to.”
Harry blushed furiously and could think of nothing to say.
“Arthur says you and Ginny would like to have the wedding soon.”
“We would, as long as you’re comfortable with it.”
“Of course we are, dear,” she said, patting his arm.
“Good morning, Mum … Dad,” said Percy as he entered the room, effectively ending the conversation. “Did you manage some sleep?”
“A bit,” answered Arthur.
“Same here,” continued Percy. “I let Bill and Fleur have my room, so I stayed with Charlie and George. We didn’t do much sleeping, but it gave George the chance to talk. He and Charlie fell asleep about an hour ago, so I thought it best to let them rest.”
“That’s good,” said Molly. “It so nice to have you home, son.”
As Percy entered into conversation with his parents, Harry took advantage of the opportunity to slip into the family room and settled into one of the comfortable wingback chairs. He carried with him Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts, A History that she had left in the kitchen. He checked his watch, seeing that it was not yet 7:00 a.m., and began to calculate exactly how little he had slept in the forty-eight hours that had elapsed since he, Ron, Hermione, and Griphook had set out from Shell Cottage. It was more than the human mind could readily accept, leaving Harry to wonder how they had done it all without even using a Time-Turner.
As if beyond his control, Harry’s mind began a recitation of the events, beginning with the break-in at Gringotts. It was not something he wanted to repeat. It had been hard enough reliving everything with Ginny the preceding evening, so he forced his mind to focus on better things: the taste and feel of Ginny, the acceptance of her parents. However, this line of thought was almost as torturous as the first, for it made him hunger to be back in her bed, back where he belonged. So, in desperation, he opened the cover of Hogwarts, A History for the first time in his life. But before he could turn the cover page, the need for sleep overwhelmed him, and Harry drifted into a world populated only by blazing red hair and bright brown eyes.
When at last Harry woke, his battered watch told him that it was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning. The ground floor was buzzing with wizards and witches, but not the one he most longed to see. Apparently Ginny had been serious about her intention of sleeping until noon. Arthur, Bill, and Fleur were gathered together by the front entry, and Percy was busily following his mother’s directions in the kitchen.
“Molly,” called Arthur across the dwelling, “we’re off to the hilltop to meet the Delacours.”
Harry recalled that Fleur’s family had arrived by Portkey the previous August to attend her marriage ceremony. He assumed that they would arrive in the same manner for Fred’s funeral but hoped that the similarities to that day would end with the arrival of the rest of the Delacour clan. At least he, Ron, and Hermione should not likely be forced to Disapparate from this family gathering. Voldemort was dead, Harry’s scar hadn’t burned for even a second since his nemesis had fallen, and he doubted that any of the surviving Death Eaters could have had a chance to reorganize as of yet.
So Harry dared to hope that this Weasley family liturgy could be conducted in peace. Undoubtedly it was going to be terribly difficult on all of them to part forever from Fred, and especially difficult for Arthur, Molly, and George.
“Merlin’s beard,” thought Harry, “Poor George! How in the world could George survive the loss of a constant companion who was not only his twin brother but also his best friend?”
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the Burrow’s front door. Molly hurried to answer it, mumbling audibly about how Arthur should be able to let himself in, and something about his predictable reaction to the arrival of women of Veela descent.
But it was not the Delacour contingent that had been knocking. Instead, Molly greeted Alicia Spinnett, Katie Bell, and a distraught looking Angelina Johnson. Each of the young women was bearing a casserole dish brimming over with traditional English meals.
It dawned on Harry that this would be the first funeral he would ever attend, other than Dumbledore’s, which could not have been a representative experience. He had been too young when his parents had been killed, and Sirius’ body had been consumed by the fluttering veil.
“How strange,” he thought, “my life has been surrounded by death — defined by death — but I know nothing about funerals.”
“Oh, my,” gasped Molly as she recognized the girls who had played on Fred and George’s Quidditch teams, “please come in.”
“We thought you might not have time to cook, so we brought a little something for your family,” said Katie.
“How kind of you,” replied Molly, obviously touched by the gesture. “Please come in, girls. I believe George is still upstairs, as is Ron, but Harry is right over in the family room.”
The three young women waved cautiously in Harry’s direction before carrying their dishes over to the kitchen. For his part, Harry was pleased to see his former teammates but was surreptitiously cringing at the thought of having to answer detailed questions about what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts and his final confrontation with Lord Voldemort. Thankfully, Ron and Hermione descended the stairs at that precise moment, hand in hand, and proved to be an adequate distraction.
Moments later, the door swung open as Monsieur and Madame Delacour entered the Burrow along with their two daughters, Bill, and Mr. Weasley. Silently, each of the Delacours embraced Molly. Harry relaxed momentarily, thinking he might be allowed a few more minutes of solitude, but Gabrielle soon came over to the sofa and took a seat close to him.
“So, ‘ello ‘Arry,” she said softly.
“Hello, Gabrielle,” he answered. “How are you? Good year at Beauxbatons?”
“Oui, but I understand you did not attend ‘Ogwarts.”
“No. Hermione, Ron, and I spent the year working to destroy Voldemort. We weren’t able to go to school.”
“But not Ginevre?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“No, Ginny went back to school, at least until Easter holidays.”
A knock upon the Weasleys’ door distracted Harry momentarily, but Gabrielle’s attention had become even more intensely focused upon the young man who had once sacrificed a chance at winning the second task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament in order to ensure that she was not left at the bottom of the Black Lake.
“Zen, you and Ginevre ‘ave stayed apart?” she inquired eagerly.
“Not at all. In fact, Ginny and I are engaged,” Harry replied.
“Engaged!” she exclaimed, practically screaming in surprise.
Gabrielle’s outburst was timed to coincide perfectly with the arrival of Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, Dean Thomas, and Luna Lovegood.
“Engaged?” they asked, practically as one, and the force of their combined voices brought with it the attention of everyone else in the Burrow.
Harry felt suddenly uncomfortable, not with the fact that his engagement to Ginny was rapidly becoming public knowledge, but out of a desire to maintain the focus of the day’s activities upon Fred Weasley and his grieving family — their grieving family. He hadn’t expected the news to slip out in quite this fashion, just as he had not anticipated that Ginny would hear that he loved her while he screamed at Ron. He looked across the room, finally locking eyes with Mrs. Weasley, fearful that she might resent the attention being shifted away from her son.
Instead, his gaze was greeted with a tender smile.
“Yes,” said Molly softly to the guests. “Harry and Ginny are to be married soon, though they haven’t set a date as of yet. We’re all delighted, of course, as I’m sure Fred would have been.”
With that transition handled graciously by Mrs. Weasley, the focus of the guests returned immediately to the Weasleys, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
*****
The moment she heard Gabrielle shouting the word “engaged” across the ground floor of the Burrow, Molly Weasley knew Harry would be mortified. In her opinion, never had so much attention been shined upon someone who sought it less, and she intended to protect her future son-in-law as if she was the mother who had been taken from him. So, she had said with a definitive edge to her voice: “Yes, Harry and Ginny are to be married soon, though they haven’t set a date as of yet. We’re all delighted, of course, as I’m sure Fred would have been.”
Then, like the hostess she had so often been throughout her life, Molly greeted the latest group of four. While she had expected Lee and Angelina to attend the service, she had not anticipated that so many of Fred’s friends and classmates would be coming. She stopped for a moment to reflect on the situation and found she was grateful that the first group of young women had thought to bring food with them. The funeral was not scheduled to begin for almost four hours, and there were already more guests in her home than she had expected for the day.
“Girls, would you mind if we served …” but Molly’s request was interrupted by another tapping at the front door.
Molly watched as Percy stepped stiffly to the door and opened it to find Augusta Longbottom accompanied by her grandson, Neville, and a very pretty blue-eyed, blonde girl whose name she did not know. However, the fact that the young woman’s left arm was supported in a sling allowed Molly to recognize her as one of the students who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.
“Hannah!” came Hermione’s voice from the staircase. “I didn’t know you were injured.”
“Not too seriously. Anyway, Neville was there to pick me up and keep me safe,” she answered.
Molly couldn’t help noticing that she was smiling adoringly at Neville despite the fact that she was talking to Hermione. Neville and the girl named Hannah made their way into the kitchen, walking directly up to Molly and Arthur. Neville was the first to speak.
“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, please allow me to introduce Miss Hannah Abbott.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hannah,” said Molly, a cloud of painful recognition passing across her face. “I’m so sorry about your mother, dear. It must have been such a terrible shock.”
Hannah nodded silently, apparently at a loss for words. After swallowing deeply and batting back a few tears, she managed to reply, “I’m touched you would remember, Mrs. Weasley, especially now.”
“We’ve all lost loved ones, my dear,” answered Molly. “It’s so kind of you to come … and a Hufflepuff …”
“Fred was popular with people in all the houses,” replied Hannah, “as is George.”
Molly suddenly found herself fighting back tears, touched by the knowledge that her son had made a positive impact upon many people, both at Hogwarts and in Diagon Alley. Arthur took notice of Molly’s reaction and gently slipped an arm around her shoulder. As she turned her attention back to the casserole dishes, Arthur cleared his throat.
“Molly, dear, perhaps you should take it a bit easier.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, “we have guests.”
However, as she resumed her work in the kitchen, Molly Weasley noticed that her hands had resumed trembling.
*****
Harry smiled as Hermione descended the stairs, followed closely by Ron. She had one hand trailing behind as she came downstairs, her fingers mingling gently with his. They came directly over to the sofa upon which Harry and Gabrielle were seated.
“Good morning, Gabrielle,” said Hermione brightly.
“Bon jour, ‘Ermione … Ronald,” answered Gabrielle. “ ‘Arry was just telling me of ‘is engagement to Ginevre.”
“Speaking of Ginny,” said Harry, interrupting Gabrielle brusquely, “is she up yet, Hermione?”
“Yes, but only just,” Hermione replied. “She seemed a bit knackered this morning.”
“Well, I think we’re all a bit exhausted at this point,” said Harry, managing to keep a straight face despite the mirthful twinkle in Hermione’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, Gabrielle, I have a few things I need to cover with Ginny.”
As Harry headed toward the staircase, he looked over his shoulder to see that Ron had taken his seat on the sofa as Hermione curled up on his knee. The couple was already in an animated discussion with Gabrielle, while Luna, Dean, Neville and Hannah had gathered around attentively.
*****
As he reached the first floor landing, Harry came face to face with Ginny, who was clearly on her way to the bathroom. She gave him a soft smile and leaned against his shoulder, her arms filled with necessities.
“I love you, Ginny,” he murmured softly against her ear, the words refusing to stay inside him. “God,” he moaned, “you’re going to get sick of me saying that, aren’t you?”
“Never,” she whispered in return as tears fell from her eyes. “I’ll never be tired of hearing that you love me.”
“Why the tears, love?”
“Fred …” was all she could say before her towel and other toiletries fell to the floor and Ginny’s arms were flung fiercely around his neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, knowing the words could do nothing to ease her pain.
“Do you remember that day in the library when you wanted to contact Sirius?” she asked.
“I play that moment over in my head more often that I’d like to admit.”
“Do you remember what I said about growing up with Fred and George?”
“Yes, that you began to think anything was possible,” Harry answered.
“I never imagined the day when Fred would be gone forever. Dead … it just seems impossible,” she continued before breaking down into tears.
Harry held her firmly as wracking sobs tore at her body. He had no idea what to say; what words could possibly help, so he poured all his love into their embrace — willing Ginny to feel every ounce of comfort he could provide.
Before long, Harry’s cheeks were also covered in tears. The losses of so many people, most especially Fred, Tonks, and Lupin still stabbed at him like a knife, but this felt different somehow. His heart ached in a way it had never troubled him before, not even in his darkest hours of loneliness and despair. Then, as Ginny’s body lurched and she uttered an even louder sob, his ache grew more painful still. At last, Harry recognized that his heart was breaking not for himself, but for Ginny, and he realized in yet another way how Dumbledore had always been right — that love was, indeed, the greatest of all powers.
How long they stood together on the first floor landing, Harry had no idea, but eventually they were interrupted by the emergence of Charlie and an ashen George. As they passed by, Harry was again at a loss for words, so he simply reached out and touched George on the shoulder. As a result of the physical connection, George looked up from the floor, upon which he had been focused, and he gazed momentarily at Harry. To his shock, Harry saw precious little more life in George’s eyes than he had seen in Fred’s moments after he had been killed. Harry became even more concerned when he realized that the only sign of life he had seen in George had been pain.
Harry found himself again overwhelmed with emotion as he realized that while he was in love with Ginny, he had also come to love the entire Weasley family as his own. However, he knew it was not his place to fall apart, especially not on this particular day. Ginny needed his strength — his sense of purpose — and he was determined not to fail her.
“Why did you come upstairs?” asked Ginny softly.
“It’s a bit of a long story,” he answered. “Basically, Gabrielle planted herself next to me on the sofa and started asking if we were still apart. So I told her we were engaged, and she shouted it to the entire room full of people.”
“Room full of people?” asked Ginny.
“Yes … there’s quite a turnout developing. The Delacours are here, of course, but so are Neville, his grandmother, Hannah Abbott, Luna, Dean, Katie, Alicia and Angelina. Oh, I forgot Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan.”
“That’s a room full of people,” Ginny agreed.
“Well, your mum said something nice about our engagement and got the focus back on Fred. I figured that I was a distraction, so as soon as Hermione said you were awake, I decided to come up and get out of the way.”
Ginny smiled gently at Harry and placed a palm softly against his shoulder. “Why don’t you wait in my room while I get cleaned up?” She leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss before walking to the bathroom.
Harry gladly accepted her invitation and stepped into the solitude of her bedroom. He smiled as he looked at the picture of Gwenog Jones, confident that there would soon come a time when the rooms of young witches would be filled with posters bearing the caption, Ginny Weasley, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. He stopped in mid-thought to correct himself as the reality hit him that the posters would read, Ginny Potter, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. The thought temporarily drove all pain of loss from his mind.
Hermione’s camp bed had been hastily assembled in the room, so Harry carefully wove his way across the crowded floor to the desk that sat in front of Ginny’s window. The thick envelope from Gringotts lay there waiting for him.
The time was approaching noon, and the May sunshine and warm breezes were entering Ginny’s room through the open window. Harry reflected momentarily upon the weather and thought it might be more fitting had the day turned out cold and rainy, but then chastised himself for such morbid thinking. Certainly the Weasleys needed nothing to further darken their collective mood. He marveled at Molly’s determination to serve as hostess, rather than bereaved mother, although he noticed how her composure had begun to crack as more and more guests arrived.
At last Harry’s attention returned to Ginny’s desk and the thick envelope made of fine parchment adorned with burgundy ribbon and matching wax seal. He slipped the index finger of his wand hand beneath the flap of the envelope and popped it open with care. The first page was an extraordinarily thick piece of parchment framed with an elaborate filigree of burgundy and gold and cut in a square to fit neatly inside the main envelope. The figures left Harry stunned and confused.
GRINGOTTS BANK & TRUST - SUMMARY OF ACCOUNTS
CASH ON HAND — 31 July 1997
Vault 687 Potter, Harry James, 100,000g, 11 s, 31 k
Vault 17 Potter, James and Lily (D), 1,832,726 g, 7 s, 52 k
Vault 34 Potter Family Trust, 105,389,262 g, 2 s, 17 k
Vault 29 Black Family Trust #4, 237,509,189 g, 5 s, 30 k
Vault 7 Peverell Family Trust #7, 14,887,415 g, 1 s, 67 k
Total Cash 359,718,593 g, 9 s, 197 k
JEWELRY
Vault 17 Potter, James and Lily (D)
Diamond and Ruby Ring, 17,287 g (appraised value)
Gold and Ruby Ring, 3,308 g (appraised value)
Ruby and Diamond Pendant, (11,805 g appraised value)
Gold and Ruby Earrings, (5,207 g appraised value)
REAL ESTATE
Number 287 High Street, Godric’s Hollow 74,021 g (appraised value)
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London 254,851 g (appraised value)
Chateau Peverell, Lac Annecy, France 12,812,376 g (appraised value)
Potter Manor, Cornwall 9,684,271 g (appraised value)
Plots 3 through 7 — Potter Family Garden 2,500 g (at cost)
St. Andrew’s Church Cemetery
Godric’s Hollow
Plot 18 — Peverell’s Rest 500 g (at cost)
St. Andrew’s Church Cemetery
Godric’s Hollow
Stuffed in the envelope was an assortment of ledgers and appraisals, none of which Harry found in the least bit interesting, for his eyes had fastened upon a smaller envelope made of fine pink parchment addressed simply to “Harry” in distinctively feminine handwriting. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he opened the envelope, trying not to tear or damage the precious paper in any way. He knew instinctively that the letter was from his mother.
Our dearest son,
Happy seventeenth birthday, Harry! If you are reading this letter, our greatest hopes have been fulfilled and you have lived to come of age! You are probably quite tired of our tradition of presenting you with letters on each of your birthdays, but we desperately want you to be continually assured of just how much we love you. I am fighting back tears as I write this letter, knowing that we may not be with you to share this momentous day in your life. However, if this letter reaches your hands, Voldemort will be dead or defeated and you will have survived against the greatest of odds. We pray earnestly that the accursed prophecy has had no impact upon your life.
Know this, Harry, your father and I love you above all else in this world. Oh how we hope that these letters will have been unnecessary, and that we will have spent this most important day with you. I fear, however, that we will not. Dumbledore’s protections should be enough to protect us while at home, but James and I will have to continue fighting, and we fear that one or both of us may fall. Such is the way of war.
But if we do perish, our lives will not have been given in vain if you, our son, have survived and Voldemort has not. We choose to work full-time in the Order of the Phoenix because we have no need for money and wish only to make the world a safer, better place for you.
Again, I am filled with hope that we are spending this day with you and your brothers and sisters, and this letter will have been long ago destroyed, but logic tells me otherwise. Your father, wonderful man that he is, works tirelessly to bring down the powers of Darkness. We have thrice successfully defied him, as the prophecy states. Perhaps fate will continue to shine on us, but we cannot depend upon that for your future. For that reason, we have taken these steps and have prepared this, our final letter of love for you, our beloved son.
We have entrusted this letter to the goblins of Gringotts because it will be accompanied by a statement of all the accounts and assets that become fully yours today. We take this step only to ensure that no act of jealousy will be made to deny you of what is rightfully yours. We are sure you will take steps to see that Petunia, Vernon, and your cousins are made whole financially for providing your care should the worst come to pass for James and me.
All of our other letters, dealing solely with matters of the heart, will be given to you by my sister, whom I love as ever. While she may have lost affection for me, she will undoubtedly care for you as one of her own if that proves sadly necessary
.
As you will probably have guessed by now, you are one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain — perhaps in the entire world. We know you will use this wealth well. We offer no financial advice with the knowledge that your heart will guide you, as it should. We only pray that you will do as your father and his family have done for generations. Keep this information a secret, known only to you and, when the time comes, your chosen partner. Money is a blessing but can become a curse. Many generations have passed since the Peverell fortune was disseminated among many heirs, and there are few who realize the extent of your family’s wealth. Beyond Dumbledore and your godfather, only the goblins of Gringotts know the complete picture.
Harry, your birth is the greatest gift that James and I have ever received. We love you beyond the power of words to describe. Oh how we hope that neither this letter, nor any of the precautions we have taken to ensure your safety, will have been necessary. But Voldemort is strong and gains more power every day. We would have been in more than enough danger had that prophecy not been made. Now that we know of it, and that Voldemort has taken it to mean that you are the only enemy who can ever defeat him, we would be utter fools not to do all we can to protect you.
Again, the Fidelius Charm should protect us here in Godric’s Hollow; your father’s simplest, but most beloved of homes. Yet we cannot allow our friends to fight in our stead while we cower behind our protection. We must do what we can to protect our world and to give you a chance for a future free from fear and oppression.
Your father is a great man, Harry. As a member of one of the oldest and most celebrated of pureblood families, James would be welcomed grandly by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Instead, he has chosen to love me, a Muggle-born witch, and to fight against the evil which threatens to overpower all that is good. Always be proud that you are a Potter.
If we live, it is my greatest dream to surround you with brothers and sisters. But for now we fight.
All my love,
Mum
Appended to the letter was a short note written in a less delicate hand.
My dearest son,
Your wonderful mother has shown me this letter, and I can scarcely think of anything to add. She is, as always, perfect.
Know always that we love you!
Dad
Harry moved the letter to the side of Ginny’s desk so his tears, which had begun falling freely, would not spoil the words that he had so longed to read throughout his entire life. His eyes repeatedly returned to one sentence:
“You are probably quite tired of our tradition of presenting you with letters on each of your birthdays, but we desperately want you to be continually assured of just how much we love you.”
Harry promised himself that once Fred was buried and the Weasleys were settled back into the Burrow, he would confront Aunt Petunia and claim the letters that she had unforgivably kept from him. Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn’t hear when Ginny returned to her room. However, he must have sensed her presence, for he relaxed the moment her soft hands settled gently upon his shoulders.
“What’s wrong, love?” Ginny asked.
Unable to form words, Harry reached for his mother’s letter and handed it to his fiancé. He had no desire to add to her burdens, especially not when her brother was about to be buried, but he had no choice. This was something she needed to see, and no delay could be acceptable.
Harry watched as Ginny read the letter is silence, tears gathering in her remarkable brown eyes from the very beginning. She read slowly, and Harry knew she was taking in the full meaning of every word. At last she returned the letter to the desk and draped herself over his still seated form.
“Oh, Harry, how could that awful woman have hidden your mum’s letters from you?”
He melted into her, completely unsurprised that Ginny understood without explanation what had hurt him so deeply.
After his emotions were finally under control, Harry rose from the desk and handed the Gringotts statement to Ginny.
“You need to see this,” he whispered.
Ginny’s eyes swept over the document, a small gasp escaping from her lips as she completed her review of the fortune that had come to Harry.
“This is yours, Harry,” she said calmly, “you don’t need to show this to me.”
“No, it’s ours, love,” Harry replied.
“I don’t want this, Harry. It’s your money, and I’ll sign anything I have to make it clear that this is yours. Wizarding law allows for pre-nuptial agreements.”
“No!” Harry repeated, more forcefully than he had intended. He calmed himself and continued, “I went to a Muggle wedding once with the Dursleys. I don’t remember much about it other than one line, when the groom turned to the bride and said ‘With all that I am and all that I have, I honor you.’ That is precisely how I intend to live my life, Ginny — honoring you with all that I am and all that I have.”
Harry took her gently into his arms and held her lovingly, willing her to understand exactly what she meant to him, silently begging for her to see how he meant for their lives to be. So they stood together, locked in a silent embrace until a couple of desires took shape in Harry’s mind.
“Ginny?” he asked quietly. “Would you think about two ideas I have?”
She nodded wordlessly, her lovely eyes still watering, although her tears had ceased to fall.
“I’d like to create an orphanage that will provide properly for children who have lost their parents — give them a proper home. I want to keep children from suffering the fate I had to endure, worse yet, the kind of existence that turned Tom Riddle into the heartless monster he became.”
“That sounds wonderful, Harry. But you said you had two ideas,” she prodded him gently, seeing that he was reluctant to give voice to the second subject.
“I want to bury Professor Snape at Godric’s Hollow.”
Chapter 6: Chapter 6 - Unwelcome Arrivals
Author's Notes: Shoot first, ask questions later!
“I don’t care how they try to explain this, I think our fathers have gone around the bloody twist,” complained Pansy Parkinson. “The last time Potter saw me, I was pointing at him and trying to get everyone at Hogwarts to hand him over to the Dark Lord. He isn’t going to be too chuffed to see me.”
“At least you weren’t trying to kill him!” replied Draco, raising his eyebrows demonstrably to drive home the fact that he wasn’t kidding.
“No?” asked Pansy. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“I wish I wasn’t, believe me. Crabbe, Goyle, and I managed to catch Potter, Weasley, and the Mudblood in the Come and Go Room— the room in which I repaired that old vanishing cabinet.”
“The cabinet you used to let in the raiders last year?”
“Yes, the same. We surprised them completely and had them on the run, but when it looked like they might be able to get away, Crabbe went crazy and conjured some Fiendfyre.”
“Is that how Vincent was killed?” Pansy asked, astonished to hear the story.
“Yes, the gormless berk — using Fiendfyre in a room full of old broken-down shit!” “Language!” teased Pansy, anything but offended.
“Well, I could say ‘shite’ if you insist, but since you aren’t my image-obsessed father, I figured you could handle the real thing,” Draco added with a suggestive twinkle in his eye.
“I’d love a little of the real thing,” Pansy purred while running her fingers across Draco’s chest. “Unfortunately, I think our fathers are on the way up the hallway right now.”
“Then I might as well tell you the worst of it before they get here, because I certainly won’t ever tell this to my father,” began Draco, fidgeting noticeably. “You see … well … shit! When the fire got completely out of hand, which didn’t take very long, I got trapped … and fucking Potter scooped me up on his broom and saved my life.”
“No!” screeched Pansy, horrified.
“Yes,” confessed Draco. “Weasley was none too pleased with him for doing it, but Potter saved my life. I can’t tell you how embarrassing that was; being saved by Harry Bloody Potter. Shit!”
“Shit, indeed,” agreed Pansy. “But why are you telling me?”
“Because, if we are going to attend this funeral together, you’ll probably hear about it anyway. All things considered, I’d rather you hear it from me. Stupid bleeding Crabbe! At least he had the decency to die.”
“True enough,” agreed Pansy as her father, Malcolm, walked into the study along with Lucius Malfoy.
“Hello, children,” said Lucius in his inimitably patronizing manner. “It’s getting near two o’clock. Are you two ready for your mission?”
“We’re not children, Father,” answered Draco, fully annoyed. “We’re both of age, as you well know.”
“Being of age doesn’t make you a man, Draco,” sneered his father. “A man completes his missions efficiently and doesn’t get his assistants killed.”
“So, Father,” hissed Draco, “perhaps I should start calling you ‘son’ for now?”
Lucius Malfoy slid swiftly across the room and pressed his serpent-headed walking stick firmly against Draco’s cheek. “I’ve had about enough of this impertinence, young man. A broken prophecy is a far, far different thing than a dead accomplice. And speaking of the death of young Mr. Crabbe, you may be interested to know that I had an interesting conversation with Gordon Goyle this morning, and I heard all about your misadventures in the Room of Requirement.”
“And?” asked Draco.
“And I understand you would have perished if young Mr. Potter hadn’t saved you from the Fiendfyre.”
Draco’s chest deflated immediately and a crestfallen look took hold on his face.
“That’s right, Draco. I learned the true magnitude of your failure even though you seem to have felt it was necessary to deceive me.”
“I hardly saw the point in telling you, Father, especially given the fact that you haven’t even been allowed a wand.”
“Enough!” exclaimed Lucius, raising his voice noticeably. In one swift motion, the elder Malfoy whipped a wand out of his cane. For all intents and purposes, the new wand looked identical to the one Voldemort had confiscated before Potter’s holly and Phoenix feather wand had destroyed it.
“So you are no longer wand-less, Father?”
“Elm and Dragon Heartstring … an identical duplicate of my original wand. Being a wizard of means, I purchased a matched set from Olivander before I set off to Hogwarts.”
“Why didn’t you do the same for me?”
“Who says I didn’t?” drawled Lucius as he reached inside his robes and pulled out a Hawthorne wand for his son.
“Th … thank you,” stammered Draco.
“I trust you won’t lose this one to Potter, now will you?” whispered Lucius, a sinister edge lacing his words. “And while we are discussing Mr. Potter, there is something vitally important you need to understand. Wizards often speak of owing a life-debt to someone who has saved them from death. Have you heard the term, Draco?”
Draco thought momentarily about lying to his father but elected not to push his luck. “Yes, I’ve heard the term before.”
“You need to understand that the concept of a life-debt is nothing more than a custom and is definitely not a binding magical obligation.”
“And your point would be?” began Draco.
“That Mr. Potter was very foolish to save you, son. You owe him nothing.”
“So you want us to kill him?’ asked Draco, looking cautiously at Pansy, who now stood next to her father.
“Not today, Draco. Today you and Ms. Parkinson are to attempt to make peace with Potter and the Weasleys and learn everything you can about our young hero’s plans for the next few weeks.”
“I understand what you want us to do, but I’m not really sure how we can manage it. Neither Pansy nor I will be well received by anyone even vaguely related to the Weasleys.”
“You must learn to adapt, and it’s imperative you start immediately. How else do you think I managed to survive after the Dark Lord was nearly destroyed all those years ago? I learned to adapt, and because of that, we managed to keep our wealth and influence despite having been in the inner circle of Death Eaters. I managed to convince people I had changed while most others around me wound up in Azkaban for well more than a decade. You need to learn this talent, too, and you need to learn it now!”
“So we just go to this place called the Burrow and act like you made me follow the Dark Lord?” asked Draco.
“No, you imbecile! You go to the Weasleys and tell them how Voldemort forced our entire family into his service, or else we would all have been killed. It’s really rather simple,” replied Lucius.
“Simple? How do you figure that?”
“It’s easy, son. Fools like the Weasleys want to believe the best about people. They are looking for a way to forgive. All we have to do is give them that reason. Now, Arthur will never believe that I have changed; our history goes back too far. You, however, are a totally different story. They will be falling all over themselves to find a reason to welcome you back into the fold.”
“I will try, Father.”
“No, both of you will succeed,” interrupted Malcolm Parkinson, looking back and forth between Draco and Pansy. “You must succeed. Do you understand, Pansy?”
“Yes, Father,” replied Pansy. “We will make them see that we understand how the Death Eaters went wrong and that we were forced to follow the Dark Lord. Then we will learn everything we can about whatever Potter and the Weasleys are up to and, finally, we will report everything back to you and Mr. Malfoy.”
“Nicely said, Ms. Parkinson,” said Lucius approvingly.
“But we’ll be the only Slytherins there,” protested Draco.
“Not at all,” answered Malcolm. “Lucius has already arranged for Blaise Zabini and Marcus Flint to be there. If I’m not mistaken, you should also expect to see Horace Slughorn in attendance.”
“Professor Slughorn is on our side?” asked a stunned Draco.
“No,” answered Malcolm, “but you can count on him to be anywhere there is a chance to suck up to the victors. Old Sluggy will never miss a chance to endear himself to people he thinks are going to be important — and that means he will be with Potter and his friends at every opportunity.”
“Here are the coordinates, son,” added Lucius. “They will deliver you about a quarter mile from the Burrow. The Weasleys live just outside a little village in Devon called Ottery St. Catchpole. Behind the house, if you can actually call it a house, is a tacky little garden. Beyond that is a lake — well a pond, really — and an orchard of sorts will be a little further south from there. The funeral will be held in the family plot that is located on the western edge of the orchard. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” replied Draco.
“I suggest that you arrive a few minutes after the actual service has started. That way you can fit into the back of the crowd quietly,” suggested Lucius. “I understand that a lot of people plan to attend. Make sure you do nothing to raise suspicion and surrender your wands if they request that you do so. If they attack, do not defend yourselves.”
“Don’t even defend ourselves?” asked Pansy incredulously.
“That’s right. The Weasleys will not use Unforgivable Curses unless they have to, so don’t give them even the slightest reason to do so. Your job today is to begin building confidence and to gather as much information as possible. However, do try to be subtle … if you can,” concluded Lucius.
“You do as Mr. Malfoy says,” added Malcolm Parkinson sternly. “He’s in charge now. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes, we understand,” answered Draco, chancing a slight smirk in Pansy’s direction. “We understand completely.”
As the conversation drew to a close, Draco and Pansy walked out of the sitting room in which they had been meeting with their fathers. With a few more paces they crossed the foyer and stepped into the dazzling sunshine of a perfect May afternoon.
“What do you think?” asked Draco.
“I think your father has a pretty good idea of how to survive after you’ve been on the losing side,” answered Pansy.
“I’ve no doubts about that,” Draco agreed, “but what about their plans to start back on the quest for pureblood supremacy?”
“It’s madness,” replied Pansy. “I mean the fundamental idea is still as true as it’s ever been, but I don’t see how your dad thinks it’s feasible right away. After all, most of the Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban. It’s remarkable that no one has come for your father, really.”
“I agree completely,” said Draco. “I thought for sure some of the Aurors would come take us away while we were just sitting there in the Great Hall for everyone to see. But no one bothered us at all — not Shacklebolt and not even Potter.”
“Why do you think that was, especially since you, Crabbe, and Goyle had just tried to kill him?” she asked, doubt lingering with the question.
“Well, apparently my mother lied to the Dark Lord about Potter being dead right before they carried his body up to the castle. I guess Potter thought that earned her some leeway, and Father and I got the benefit of the doubt along with her.”
“Why would she do something that risky? It could have gotten you all killed,” said Pansy.
“I think she figured that Father and I were going to die, anyway, so she took her only chance at keeping us all alive and together. Looks like it worked.”
“I still think you three got very lucky.”
“Maybe so,” replied Draco.
“So, why does your dad want to push his luck, and why would mine be willing to follow him when even the Dark Lord failed?
“I think it boils down to two ideas, Pansy. First, my father says that it was preordained that Potter would be the only one capable of defeating the Dark Lord. Second, he got lucky in gaining possession of the Elder Wand.”
“The Elder Wand?” asked Pansy.
“Oh, that’s right. You evacuated from Hogwarts before the battle began. The Elder Wand is an ancient wand that is supposed to be unbeatable. It’s also called the Death Stick or the Wand of Destiny. When I disarmed Dumbledore, I became master of the Elder Wand. However, since it flew over the parapet of the Astronomy Tower, I never possessed it.
“Potter managed to steal my wand from me when that damned house elf helped him escape from my house … and that, in turn, made Potter the master of the wand. Do you follow?”
“I didn’t know wands had masters,” said Pansy, unsettled by the thought.
“Well, apparently they do. At any rate, the Dark Lord took the Elder Wand from Dumbledore’s tomb and tried to kill Potter with it,” continued Draco.
“If it’s unbeatable, why didn’t it work?”
“You’re not listening, Pansy! Potter was the master of the Elder Wand, not Voldemort.”
“Draco!” gasped Pansy. “You dare speak his name?”
“He’s dead, Pansy. Dead! He isn’t coming back this time. He’s gone forever so, yes, I dare speak his name. Anyway, Voldemort didn’t understand enough about wand lore and tried to kill Potter with a wand that wouldn’t kill its true master. It was doomed from the start.”
“So, if Potter owns the Elder Wand, why does your dad think we can take power when the Dark Lord could not?”
“I think he plans to ambush Potter, killing him without a duel. That way Father will become the master of the Elder Wand, and he believes that way he will become invincible,” said Draco without enthusiasm.
“Draco, if the owner of the Elder Wand is invincible, how did you manage to defeat Dumbledore? For that matter, how did Dumbledore come into possession of it?” pressed Pansy.
“I didn’t say the plan would work. I’m just telling you what Father believes. Personally, I think he’s a bloody nutter.”
“So, what do you think we should do?” continued Pansy inquiringly.
“We need to be careful, Pansy, very careful. I’ve learned my lesson with Potter, and he isn’t to be trifled with. Neither is the Weasley girl. For that matter, her whale of a mother killed Aunt Bellatrix one-on-one.”
“But I thought you hated them, Draco?”
“It’s one thing to dislike them, another thing entirely to underestimate them. Not only did Voldemort fail to kill Potter when he was a baby, but he tried to kill him in five of the last seven years. Obviously he failed every time. So, I repeat: we need to be careful — very careful.”
With that said, Draco turned to his companion with a map of Devon and the coordinates of their intended point of arrival. He studied them carefully and then offered the map to Pansy. She studied the map briefly before nodding to signify her understanding.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” Pansy replied, “but let’s be careful.”
“Careful it is,” said Draco, a sardonic smile becoming etched on his face.
Two soft pops could barely be heard above the sounds of spring, as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson Disapparated into the crushing darkness.
*****
“What time is it?” asked Ginny as she and Harry began to disentangle their limbs.
They had spent the last hour clinging to one another in a strong embrace, taking opportunities now and again to exchange gentle kisses. For the most part, however, they satisfied themselves by simply drawing strength from each other.
“It’s about one-thirty,” replied Harry.
“Then I had better get dressed,” said Ginny, who was still wearing the robe in which she had returned from her shower. “Something black, I think.”
“All the students are wearing Hogwarts robes for some reason,” said Harry. “That’s the only thing I have that’s black, anyway.”
“Well, I do have my little black dress, but that wouldn’t work for a funeral,” replied Ginny, attempting to be lighthearted but not quite succeeding. “So, Hogwarts robes it has to be.”
“Mine are up in Ron’s room. Should I see you downstairs in a few minutes?”
“No, meet me here, Harry. I’d prefer to walk down together,” she said quietly, standing before her mirror and brushing her long red hair. “It’s silly, but I find it rather difficult to be apart since you asked me to marry you.”
“Except when you get a chance to sleep until noon,” Harry said lightly, a smile creeping across his face as he walked from behind and slipped his arms around her waist, savoring the opportunity to breathe in her intoxicating scent. He pressed a gentle kiss against the softness of her cheek and whispered, “I love you.”
“Hurry back, love,” she replied as he released his grip and headed for the door, a slightly crestfallen look crossing her face. “And, Harry, I love you, too. By the way, have you spoken to Kreacher about renovations at Grimmauld Place?”
“Not yet. I’ll try to reach him by floo once we get downstairs. I’ll bet he’s still at Hogwarts. Unless, of course, you’d like to make a visit out to Cornwall or over to France.”
Having planted the idea of investigating their other properties, Harry hurried up the stairs, reaching Ron’s fifth floor bedroom in record time.
*****
Ten minutes later, Harry and Ginny descended the stairs to find the ground floor surprisingly empty. No one was in the living room, but they heard a loud crash coming from the direction of the kitchen. Already a bit unnerved by the absence of people in the living quarters, Harry drew his wand.
Ginny followed the example set by her fiancé. Moments later they peeked around the corner and saw only Molly Weasley, muttering as she knelt on the floor, picking up shards of glass and stray pieces of something wrapped in bits of bacon. Her hands were clearly shaking — the trembling Harry had noticed earlier in the day had clearly progressed.
“Merlin, Morgana, and Dumbledore,” she spat in obvious frustration, then wiped tears from her face with her shirtsleeve.
“Mum!” shouted Ginny as she leapt to her mother’s side, wrapping the older witch in a loving embrace.
“Oh, Ginny, dear,” Molly murmured against her daughter’s shoulder. “There’s so much to do with all these guests …” she tried to continue before dissolving into tears.
“No, Mum, there’s nothing else for you to do here. It’s almost time for the funeral to start, and here you are cleaning the floor like a Muggle and shaking like a leaf.”
“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry whispered, “I thought Katie and Alicia offered to help, and where did Percy go?”
“Had to throw him out of the kitchen … tried to tell me how to do things … got too bossy.”
“Mum, let’s get you ready. Harry and I will help get things organized after the service. Where is everyone, anyway?”
“In the garden … too many for the house,” Molly sputtered weakly.
“Harry, I’m going to take Mum upstairs for a few minutes and get her cleaned up. Could you check on Dad and see if things are under control?”
“Just as soon as I speak with Kreacher,” answered Harry as he headed to the fireplace in the family room. As he turned away, Harry heard Ginny utter a few quick Cleansing Charms before she took her mother by the arm and helped guide her up the stairs.
Harry hoped she would be able to make it up four flights of stairs to the master bedroom without assistance, but then realized that Ginny could do just about anything. Moments later, Harry tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the empty fireplace and stuck his head into the green flames.
“Hogwarts kitchen,” he said very clearly.
Soon he found himself staring into the massive kitchen located directly below the Great Hall. He saw a few house elves darting about, but Kreacher was nowhere to be seen.
“Kreacher!” Harry called loudly. “Are you here, Kreacher?”
There was a loud scuffling of feet, and Winky soon appeared in front of the fireplace. To Harry’s surprise, Winky’s eyes were less bloodshot than he had seen them since the day he met her at the Quidditch World Cup match he had attended before his fourth year — before she had been caught holding Harry’s wand after Barty Crouch, Jr. used it to conjure the Dark Mark.
“Harry Potter, sir, Winky is pleased to see you, sir,” she said in a clear voice.
Harry was pleased to see Winky sober, although he still thought he discerned a slight aroma of butterbeer on her breath.
“Well, Dobby had said she was improving a bit,” thought Harry.
“Winky is needing to tell Harry Potter that Kreacher is not here at Hogwarts. He is returning to Grimmauld Place yesterday, he is. He is saying Master Harry will need his house cleaned properly.”
“Thanks, Winky,” said Harry as he pulled back from the floo.
Harry took another handful of Floo Powder and tossed it back into the fireplace.
“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he commanded, again with a clear strong voice, remembering all too well what had happened just before beginning his second year.
Only a moment later, he was shocked to see the kitchen sparkling as he had never seen it before, not even after Mrs. Weasley had managed a major cleanup for the Order of the Phoenix.
“Kreacher?” he called softly, not wishing to startle the old elf.
“Yes, Master Harry, victor over the Dark Lord. What can Kreacher do to help you?”
“Well, I see you are already doing it!” said Harry, delighted. “The place looks wonderful, Kreacher. Thank you!”
“Kreacher hopes Master Harry will not be too angry that Kreacher has left Hogwarts Castle. Kreacher thought Master might like his home to look presentable when he was ready to come back.”
“I’m very grateful; however, I have something else to ask you at the moment.”
“Yes, Master, Kreacher will do anything.”
“I’d like you to come to the Burrow and be with me for Fred Weasley’s funeral, please.”
“Master Harry has work for Kreacher to do for the Weasley family?”
“No, Kreacher,” answered Harry. “I’d just like for you to come be with us for the funeral, especially since they are about to become my family.”
“Family, sir?” asked Kreacher, confused.
“Yes, I’ve asked Ginny Weasley to marry me, and she accepted. She will soon be coming to live with me, and we would like it very much if you would continue to work for us.”
“Kreacher has no choice, sir, but Kreacher will be proud to serve the brave Harry Potter, defender of house elves.”
“Well, Ginny and I would like you to work for us, and we’ll talk about the details in the next day or two,” answered Harry, unwilling to risk upsetting the aging elf by mentioning their plan to offer him both a lifetime employment agreement and his freedom. Something told Harry that this would be a difficult subject to discuss with a proud magical being whose family had served the Noble and Ancient House of Black for generations on end.
“But for now, could you please put on a clean pillow case, or something else, and come join us at the Burrow right away?
“Yes, Master,” replied Kreacher, bowing deeply before disappearing with a loud crack. Harry swallowed hard, fighting back tears. The last time he had heard the distinct crack of a house elf’s Apparition, Dobby had been in the process of rescuing him from the dungeon prison of Malfoy Manor.
Five minutes later, the air in the Weasley’s family room resonated with another crack, and Kreacher appeared before Harry, bowing immediately.
“Kreacher is here, Master,” he said with pride. “What is it that Master would like Kreacher to do?”
“Nothing,” answered Harry. “I was simply inviting you to come pay your respects to Fred Weasley, who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. He was one of Ginny’s brothers.”
“Yes, Kreacher knows who young Mr. Weasley is being. He is being one of the young men who tries listen on private conversations with what they call Extendable Ears.”
“Yes, he was,” answered Harry with a bittersweet smile, while the memory of Fred’s unbridled excitement over the Extendable Ears played over and over again in Harry’s mind.
The conversation was interrupted as Ginny and her mother came slowly down the stairs. At first Ginny appeared confused at the sight of a house elf bowing before her as she stepped onto the ground floor of her home.
“Mistress Ginny,” said Kreacher with reverence, “Kreacher is sorry hearing your loss.”
Harry thought Ginny wanted to say something in return, but the words clearly wouldn’t form for her. Harry looked from his fiancé to his future mother-in-law. While Ginny appeared tongue-tied, Molly looked as if she hadn’t even noticed the bizarre presence of a house elf in her own home.
“At last,” thought Harry sadly, “the reality of Fred’s death has finally overwhelmed her.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Kreacher to the funeral since you are becoming part of the family he serves,” Harry said in response to Ginny’s puzzled expression.
“Kreacher is proud to serve Master Harry and Mistress Ginevra,” said Kreacher, bowing low once again.
Harry did a double take, having finally noticed that Kreacher was not only wearing a sparkling clean pillow case, but had also cleaned himself and had somehow managed to remove all of the excess hair that had previously sprouted wildly from his ears. All in all, the elf looked much younger than Harry had thought possible.
And so, it was precisely two o’clock in the afternoon when Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Harry, and Kreacher stepped out of the Burrow to face one of the largest gatherings of witches, wizards, and other magical beings Harry had ever seen outside of Hogwarts or Platform 9-3/4.
Grawp stood tallest among the crowd, at least two feet taller Madam Maxime, who was in turn another head taller than Hagrid. Hogwarts robes were everywhere — the familiar crimson and gold of Gryffindor House most prominent, but a fair number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws could be spotted among the crowd. Much to Harry’s surprise, Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini were also in attendance, standing near the front of the crowd and wearing the green and silver of Slytherin House.
Harry braced himself, in anticipation of hearing Hagrid’s booming voice call across the crowd, but it never came. Instead, the massive professor simply raised his hand in recognition. Harry made a mental note to speak with Hagrid before the afternoon was over, as he had not spoken to his friend since he had carried Harry from the Forbidden Forest, brokenhearted in the mistaken belief that Voldemort had killed the young hero. Harry knew that Hagrid deserved a bit of his time. In fact, Harry wanted to speak with his first friend from the Wizarding World, but he had needed to be with Ginny and the rest of her … no … their family.
It took Harry a few seconds to count back the time, realizing to his utter disbelief that it had only been about thirty-two hours since Voldemort had fallen. It seemed, instead, to have been an eternity since he had squared off in the Great Hall against the monster that Tom Marvolo Riddle had become.
In stark contrast to the subtlety of Hagrid’s welcome, Harry noticed a flurry of activity as a full head of platinum blonde hair moved rapidly through the crowd. It took less than a minute for Rita Skeeter and a small band of associates to descend upon Harry, Ginny, Molly, and Kreacher. As she came uncomfortably close, her Quick-Quotes Quill already freed from her crocodile handbag, Harry held the palm of his hand up in the reporter’s face.
“Not now, Rita!” he hissed loudly. “I will give you some time after the funeral, but for now, leave my family alone!”
“Your family?” she asked, nearly shaking with excitement over Harry’s unintentional revelation.
“His family,” said Ginny as she reached to take Harry’s hand in her own and brought it down between them. In the process, Ginny’s diamond and ruby engagement ring blazed in the afternoon sunlight.
“A bit young for marriage, aren’t we?” said Rita, turning her question into a judgmental statement, a heavy dose of cynicism lacing her words, as her eyes took stock of Ginny, her ring, and the brilliant ruby and diamond pendant that rested upon her graceful neck as if it had been designed specially for her.
“I think that’s for us to decide,” said Ginny forcefully. “Harry said he will speak with you later.”
Throughout the brief encounter, Molly stood with a glazed expression on her face, staring across the garden toward the orchard, beyond which an open grave waited hungrily for her son. Harry looked up; shocked to see the vacant stare that had taken hold of this woman whom he had always counted upon to be full of life and love. He had not noticed that Kreacher had raised his wizened hand toward Rita Skeeter, as if he intended to strike at the reporter in defense of his master.
“Later!” Harry repeated angrily, as he stepped quickly away from the reporters and photographers before heading toward a group comprised solely of the Weasley family and Hermione, whose arm was wrapped gently around Ron’s waist.
Bill was obviously giving them instructions.
“Ah, Harry,” said the eldest of the Weasley siblings, a look of relief spreading across his face. “Our officiant has asked if someone from the family would say something during the burial service. We were wondering …”
Harry looked at Bill, who was obviously struggling to find the words he wanted to say.
At last, Bill swallowed noticeably and resumed his question. “Well, I hope it’s not too much to ask, but we were hoping you might, perhaps, be able to say a few words on our behalf. None of us feel up to it,” he concluded, looking a little ashamed that he wasn’t able to handle the duty himself.
Harry hesitated only a moment before accepting their request. Although he wasn’t normally comfortable speaking in front of crowds, he saw no way to deny such a request.
“Okay,” he answered softly, as his mind began to race. For the first time in his life, Harry felt uniquely qualified to speak about something — life and death — as the subject had defined his life since he was only a few months past one year old.
No, he thought, “it has defined my life since before I was born.”
Molly shuffled slowly over to join her husband, who looked equally as lost, equally unfocused.
Touched by Harry’s quiet acceptance of familial responsibility, Ginny reached up to kiss him softly, yet fully, on the lips.
“Ginny!” he thought warmly. “how on Earth did it take me so long to see her for who she is?”
Moments later, the same tuft-haired wizard who had presided over both Dumbledore’s funeral and the wedding of Bill and Fleur stepped over to join the bereaved family. He went straight to Bill and whispered something in his ear. Harry found that he had to squint, as the bright spring sunshine reflected off the intensely white robes of the wizard whose name Harry still did not know.
“It’s time to begin,” said Bill to his family. “We’ll go to the gravesite in a procession. Harry, would you join us to escort Fred’s coffin?”
Harry looked at Ginny who squeezed his hand and pressed another gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll be fine, love. You can go with them — your brothers.” So it was that Harry was seen by all, walking side by side with the five surviving Weasley brothers.
The tuft-haired wizard had placed a Hovering Charm on the coffin, so the six pallbearers were not burdened by the weight of their fallen brother. Otherwise, the funeral procession looked very much like the Muggle burials Harry had seen from time to time on the Dursleys’ television. They were led by the magical liturgist and followed closely by Arthur and Molly. Ginny followed arm in arm with Aunt Muriel, and Hermione had fallen in line behind them. Finally the entire congregation of teachers, students, their family members, and assorted representatives from the Ministry of Magic followed silently as a loosely organized group.
Rita Skeeter led the pack of reporters who crept along several paces behind the main body of the procession.
Harry’s mind was racing, attempting to collect his thoughts in hopes of not embarrassing the Weasley family with his comments. As a result, he heard almost nothing of what their liturgist was saying as they processed past the garden and the pond, finally arriving at the orchard. Somehow, only the words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” seemed to penetrate through the haze that engulfed him. Finally, they completed their walk past the orchard and beyond the wood that stood between the grounds of the Burrow and the River Otter, which sparkled a bright shade of blue in the sunlight.
There they came upon a small graveyard, speckled lightly with simple headstones, all bearing the last name “Prewett.” It came as a slight surprise for Harry to discover that The Burrow and its grounds had come down to Arthur and Molly through the family’s maternal line.
At the instruction of the liturgist, Harry and the Weasley brothers placed Fred’s coffin above the freshly dug grave, where it continued to hover ominously in place. Turning aside, they rejoined the family.
Harry, of course, took his place next to Ginny, their fingers interlacing. Kreacher stepped up next to Harry, looking solemn and proud to be asked to attend such an important event in the life of his master and future mistress.
*****
Draco and Pansy arrived, as Lucius had designated, on the main road outside Ottery St. Catchpole, immediately adjacent to the Weasleys’ property and about a quarter mile from The Burrow. The land featured rolling hills and was densely wooded in sections. As a result, The Burrow, itself, was well hidden from passersby, both Muggle and magical.
They set out carefully, making their way up the side road, heading in a generally westerly direction toward the River Otter. Within ten minutes, they crested a small hill, and the Burrow came into sight.
“And I thought you said they lived in one room,” said Pansy, looking at the patchwork construction of the six story structure.
“Who knew,” answered Draco, “but how does that hideous thing remain standing?”
“Magic, I guess,” said Pansy.
“I can’t see anyone there,” ventured Draco. “I think we can take a chance and stay on the road. It looks a little difficult to go cross-country.”
They made haste to follow roughly the same path the funeral procession had tred some fifteen minutes earlier.
“This looks surprisingly pleasant,” said Pansy as they walked past the garden and pond, heading at last toward the forest beyond the little orchard. “Rustic, to be sure, but very pleasant.”
Draco thought Pansy was right but something kept him from adding his agreement to the conversation. His father’s plans made Draco very uncomfortable but not enough so to tempt him to turn away from seven years of spiteful harassment.
“The cemetery is supposed to be on the other side of the woods, just beyond those — is it possible — Quidditch hoops?” mused Draco, amazed at what he was seeing.
“No wonder the Weasley girl is such a good flyer,” replied Pansy. “I’ll bet they have nothing better to do out here in the country.”
“Right,” Draco replied distractedly. His mind had moved on to thoughts of what might happen when they arrived at the graveyard.
He hadn’t been kidding earlier. The thought of surprising Harry Potter and the entire Weasley family had him more than a little unnerved.
“Is something wrong, Draco?” Pansy inquired. “You seem tense.”
“Let’s not forget what we discussed back at my house. We need to be careful — very careful. I don’t think any of these people are going to be happy to see us, and I don’t trust any of them.”
“Don’t you think our fathers were right? They wouldn’t do permanent damage to either of us — not them. They’re just too, I don’t know … goody-goody to try to actually hurt us.”
“I hope you’re right, Pansy. I’m not so sure that I haven’t pushed Potter too far.”
At last, they came to the edge of the forest. Harry’s voice reached their ears before they came into view.
“During my fifth year at Hogwarts, I was having a particularly hard time with things and Ginny came to my assistance. I won’t go into details, because the plan involved an unusually large measure of rule breaking. I will, however, share with you something Ginny said to me, and it has stuck with me ever since.”
‘The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.’
“That’s what Ginny told me, and I realized she was right. That’s the way Fred and George went about life. Would you listen to me? ‘Fred and George.’ The phrase rolls off the tongue so naturally, as if they did everything together, but thankfully George is still with us.”
As Harry stopped to compose his thoughts, Draco had a moment to reflect upon the magnitude of the tragedy that had struck the Weasley family. He had never really cared for either of the Weasley twins. Their exuberant lifestyle had always struck him as being rather odd and completely undisciplined. Yet even Draco was aware of what a phenomenal success Fred and George had made of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. It was one of the most popular shops in Diagon Alley, and the place where he had purchased the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder that had helped facilitate the invasion of Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night Dumbledore was killed.
Draco realized that even he, a staunch enemy of the entire Weasley family, could tell how the death of a twin would devastate all of them, but George perhaps more than any. Draco tried desperately to clear his mind of such thoughts and almost missed the resumption of Harry’s eulogy.
“George, I know that you are hurting terribly, and that nothing any of us can say will be able to take away that pain. However, if you look at how many people have turned out to pay their respects to Fred, I hope you can see just how much you have also come to mean to so many people and know that you are not alone.
“If there is one thing I have come to learn over my life, and especially in the last few days, it is that this life, itself, is a great blessing. It is something to be embraced and cherished intensely.
“Professor Dumbledore was absolutely right. Love is the greatest power, and it is something we must not ignore. The cost of living life without love is too terrible to bear. If we should pity anyone, we should pity those who live without love.
“Fred Weasley embraced life vigorously, and he embraced it with love. That’s why so many of you have turned out today, and that’s why this family is so devastated at the loss of this incredible man.
“This life is meant to be lived with love and enthusiasm, just as Fred lived his life. But I have learned something else in the last couple of days — something I never understood before. As much as this life is to be treasured, death is not something to be feared. At least death is not something to be feared by those who, like Fred Weasley, are inherently good at heart.
“I have seen what becomes of broken and defiled souls, as I have seen what becomes of those you die with their souls intact and whole. I can assure you that Fred Weasley has nothing to fear in death! He has embarked upon the next great adventure, and he awaits us all when our time here is through. Until then, however, it would serve us well to live with the sense of joy that defined Fred Weasley — that defines his entire family — which I am blessed beyond words to be joining.”
Draco and Pansy had resumed walking as Harry brought the eulogy to a close.
“Did he say he was joining the Weasley family?” asked Draco rather more loudly than he had intended. His voice rang out across the silenced crowd, and drew Ginny’s attention immediately.
*****
Ginny had been sitting quietly, her eyes riveted upon Harry as he spoke about her brother. It had been hard to see through her tears, but she now understood completely why Harry had been so determined to waste no more time until they were married. Life was too short and too important to be wasted — not when you knew — not when you had always known with whom you were meant to share your life.
The sudden unexpected appearance of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, who stepped from the edge of the woods no more than twenty yards behind Harry, sent a burst of adrenaline through her body. Every protective instinct she possessed spurred her into action as she pulled her wand from beneath her robes.
“Stupefy!” she bellowed, pointing her wand directly at Malfoy’s chest. A blast of red light shot across the open space, stunning Draco instantly.
Before Ginny could turn her attention to Pansy, intending to welcome the unexpected witch with a Bat Bogey Hex, the warm air was split by a loud crack.
Kreacher had thrust his hand forcefully in Pansy’s direction, and the girl was blasted twenty feet backward, where she lay unmoving in the grass.
“You shall not harm Harry Potter!” Kreacher called loudly.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Ginny, smiling brilliantly at the aged house elf.
“It is Kreacher’s duty, Mistress Ginevra. Kreacher’s duty and his pleasure.”
Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - Making Love, Making Plans
Author's Notes: It's a short chapter by my standards, anyway, but I think you will all understand why it needed to end where it did. Also, I saw no reason to bore everyone with a drawn out explanation of how Draco and Pansy skulked around after the funeral became a reception.
“Oh, God!” Ginny screamed, as wave after blissful wave crashed over her body, shaking her from head to toe. For a few moments she couldn’t focus, but soon enough she was able to make out the contours of Harry’s face, which showed clearly that he was still fighting to maintain control. She smiled warmly down at him, unable to suppress the soft giggle that escaped.
“Now, baby … now!” She watched Harry’s teeth relax the grip they had held on his lower lip, and a guttural groan burst suddenly from him. The effect was intoxicating, bringing forth yet another wave from somewhere deep within her. In fact, Ginny could have sworn that this one had come from her heart, although that couldn’t have been possible … or could it?
“I love you, baby,” she whispered.
“More than anything,” he answered. “More than life, itself.”
Silence fell over them as Ginny reflected on what Harry had just said. “More than life, itself.” She allowed the words to turn over repeatedly in her mind. The phrase was powerful, so powerful that Ginny found it surprising that she accepted everything it implied without doubt.
“Ginny … love?” The upward inflection told her that Harry was beginning a question. “Do you understand … now … why I came after Bellatrix instead of Voldemort?”
“Yes, Harry,” she answered. “Yes, I believe so.”
Ginny understood the pervasive need to protect the one she loved the moment Draco and Pansy appeared behind Harry’s back during Fred’s funeral. She had understood that she had only a split second to act, for if Malfoy had meant to make an attempt on Harry’s life, even a moment of hesitation might spell the difference between life and death for the man she loved more than life itself.
So she had taken action, stunning Draco without hesitation. She had also been prepared to do the same to Pansy Parkinson, but Kreacher had obviously come to the same conclusion. Acting together, Ginny and Kreacher had neutralized the threat against Harry, choosing to hex first and ask questions later.
“You were brilliant, you know that?” Harry asked as he reached up to stroke her face reverently. ”Who really knows what Parkinson and Malfoy had in mind? Just because they say they meant no harm after you and Kreacher hexed them doesn’t mean their intentions were completely benign.”
“Kingsley didn’t seem to think I was so brilliant,” she replied.
“Kingsley didn’t know that Malfoy had tried to kill me the last time we saw each other,” replied Harry.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t report that and insist that he be arrested,” Ginny added.
“I only asked Kingsley to let him go because his mother saved my life while I was in the Forbidden Forest. If she hadn’t lied to Voldemort, I don’t know how things would have ended, but given that I was surrounded by Death Eaters l doubt it would have been a happy ending.”
“Okay,” replied Ginny. “Despite the fact that you damn near killed me by playing dead, your plan worked out quite well, so I’ll defer to your decision to let Draco off the hook, but don’t get used to me being deferential, Harry!”
“Understood,” said Harry, winking at his fiancé. “But what do you think Malfoy was really doing here?”
“Well, he certainly wasn’t overly fond of either Fred or George.”
“And I’ve never heard any of the Malfoys say a single nice word about any member of your family. They sneer and condescend at every opportunity. So, again, why in Merlin’s name do you think he came, and why bring along Pansy Parkinson? She absolutely hates all of you, not to mention what she thinks of me.”
“Assuming they were not there to attack us, then we should look at what they did after Malfoy was revived and Parkinson regained her composure,” suggested Ginny.
“Of course!” exclaimed Harry, an idea entering his mind. “What did they do as opposed to what we would have expected them to do?”
“Exactly,” agreed Ginny. “You’d have expected them to hang around with Flint and Zabini. Instead, they stuck to Professor Slughorn like they were joined by Spell-o-Tape!”
“Precisely! And what is Sluggy’s stock in trade?” Harry asked.
“Ignoring the rhetorical nature of your question,” said Ginny, her eyebrows rising, “the answer is ‘information’ … information and favors.”
“Then it is our job to figure out precisely what information they were after,” added Harry.
“Harry!” huffed Ginny. “What do you think … that they were wondering where Fred would be buried … whether or not the family would be grieving?”
“Of course not.”
“I hate to sound paranoid, Harry, but the only information that was not widely know before the funeral was our engagement and Hermione’s plan to visit Australia in search for her parents.”
“That’s true,” answered Harry.
“I have to think he and Pansy were trying to get all the information they could about you, Harry.”
“Me?” he replied, baffled.
“Yes, you!” Ginny huffed. “If Neville’s parents were hunted down and tortured by some of the Death Eaters who avoided incarceration after the first war, don’t you think you’re going to remain a target after what you just did to Voldemort?”
“I guess,” said Harry reluctantly, “but don’t you think the Malfoys will lay off of me after I let them walk?”
“Narcissa, maybe … just maybe … and I wouldn’t bet any money on that, Harry! As for the other two, and marginal players like the Parkinsons … well, you’d be foolish to think they won’t be looking for blood.”
“All I want to do is be left alone,” replied Harry. “If, and I mean IF I become an Auror some time in the future, maybe I’ll be taking on Dark Wizards again, but for now, all I want to do is settle down with you, teach a few classes, and start our new life.”
“Good luck with that, Sweetheart! It’s a wonderful idea, and we don’t have to go looking for trouble, but let’s face it, Harry; when hasn’t trouble come looking for you?”
“Yet you still want to tie yourself to me forever?”
“Of course I do, you daft boy! I said ‘yes,’ didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“And I wanted to go with you last year, but it was you who wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I’ve said I was sorry and admitted it was a stupid mistake.”
“But you did it because you love me … and that’s the only reason I’ve forgiven you … AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT!” Ginny’s underlying smile gave comfort to Harry that she was truly past her anger — or at least working her way through it.
“Okay,” answered Harry, “now let’s get some sleep.”
“Not tonight,” said Ginny, disappointment etched on her face. “Mum and Dad are surprisingly understanding, but I don’t think they can afford to accept the excuse that we’ve been helping Kreacher with cleaning all night.”
“But, Ginny,” pleaded Harry, making his best effort to imitate her ‘I-want-something' eyes.
“Not working, love!” she said, laughter lacing her every word. “Time to head back to The Burrow, but if you’re a good boy, I’m sure Hermione can be imposed upon to switch places again after everyone else is asleep.”
*****
“Well, Draco,” drawled Lucius softly, “all things considered, I think that went even better than I could have dreamed of. You managed to obtain useful results despite making a complete and total mess of things.”
“Better?” asked Draco. Everything about his appearance bore witness to his depressed state of being. “I was thoroughly embarrassed, Father, but you think it went perfectly?”
“Perfectly,” replied Lucius. “I can’t imagine a better way to put Potter and the Weasleys on the defensive than for them to wrongfully attack an unarmed guest.”
“I wasn’t unarmed, Father. I had my wand with me, as you well know.”
“Don’t be so blindly literalistic, Draco. You sound like that know-it-all Mudblood. My point was that you were doing nothing threatening, despite walking up behind the speaker rather than the congregation, and Arthur Weasley’s daughter attacked you. It was completely unprovoked, which left them in the position of having to apologize to you.”
“Neither Potter nor the Weasley girl apologized for anything, Father. In fact, Potter seemed pretty pleased with his child bride.”
“And that’s the point, son. You have confirmed that Harry Potter is, in fact, engaged to that silly little girl?” asked Lucius.
“Oh, yes,” answered Draco. “That’s about all anyone wanted to talk about after the funeral.”
“Rather ironic, don’t you think,” asked Lucius, “all that fuss about Mudbloods and Muggles, and Potter goes off and gets engaged to a pureblood?”
“The Weasley girl is a Blood Traitor, just like her parents,” interjected Malcolm Parkinson.
“True, Malcolm, but like Draco, you are missing the point. How easy will it be to discredit our hero of Mudbloods and half-bloods if we can manage some support from the press about him marrying the pureblood Weasley girl!”
“Ginny,” said Pansy, speaking at last.
“What?” asked her father.
“Ginny. Her name is Ginny, not ‘the Weasley girl.’ Have you people been listening to yourselves?” said Pansy, a flush of anger spreading across her cheeks.
“Since when have you cared about the Weasley girl?” asked Draco.
“I don’t care about her, but you’re the one who said we needed to be careful of her, Draco. Now you’re talking about her as if she isn’t even a person, when she just kicked your ass.”
“You’re one to talk!” replied Draco. “Flattened by a house elf!”
“Now, now, children,” interrupted Lucius, “play nicely.”
Draco and Pansy glared across the table at one another, each wondering how things had gone so sour between them. They had been getting on fairly well until they had been attacked by Ginny and Kreacher. More than anything else, Draco’s pride had been seriously wounded, especially when he woke to find Ginny standing over him, holding not only her own wand, but his new Hawthorne wand as well.
Pansy had not been Stupefied but had immediately surrendered her wand when it had been requested by Ron Weasley. The experience had been humiliating, to say the least, but Pansy realized that that had been the point all along. They had been instructed to make amends with Potter and the Weasley family, and while seven years worth of damage could not be overcome in one afternoon, it was a beginning.
At least it appeared they had been well received by everyone other than Harry and Ginny. It was evident that Potter would never like or trust Draco Malfoy, but what he thought wouldn’t matter if Lucius’s plans were successful.
“So, tell me more of what you learned,” instructed Lucius, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had developed around the Malfoy’s conference table.
“I overheard an interesting conversation between Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt,” said Pansy. “Apparently Shacklebolt offered Potter the chance to head up the new Auror department.”
“Yes, I had heard that rumor,” said Lucius. “What did he say to the Minister?”
“Potter told him he was going to return to Hogwarts to finish his education and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Shacklebolt seemed unhappy with the decision but told Potter that he would think about holding the job open — but only for the one year.”
“Very interesting,” said Lucius. “And the others?”
“Ron Weasley and the Mudblood are going to Australia to find her parents,” interjected Draco. Apparently she sent them away while she was helping Potter fight against the Dark Lord.”
“And the wedding? Have they set a date?” asked Malcolm Parkinson.
“Saturday, the sixth of June. The day after my birthday” answered Draco. “At least that’s what I heard Mrs. Weasley tell some old hag she called ‘Aunt Muriel.’ She practically had to scream it at the old bat in order for her to hear it. Apparently Potter and the Weasley girl don’t want to waste any time.”
“I guess not,” replied Lucius. “That gives us less than two weeks to put our plans in place.”
“You’re going to attack Potter on his wedding day?” asked Draco.
“Can you think of an occasion when they might be more distracted?” asked Lucius. “With the fall of the Dark Lord and a family celebration to organize, when do you think they might be less on guard? Add to that the fact that Potter’s sidekicks will be traveling out of the country, and I suspect there will be little attention paid to security.”
“But surely they will be back for the wedding,” objected Draco. “Those three have been joined at the hip for seven years!”
“Surely,” agreed Lucius. “But they won’t be here for the preparations. Who will be left to think about security? Dumbledore is dead, and so are Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, and the werewolf, Lupin. The rest of the Weasleys will be moving straight from a funeral to a wedding, so they will be distracted. I can’t imagine a better setting for a surprise attack.”
“But even if you are successful in killing Potter, how do you plan to take control so soon?”
“I don’t plan to take control, Draco. Not yet. I only plan to take control of the Elder Wand. As long as no one knows that it is I who killed Harry Potter, I can seize the Wand of Destiny and be its rightful master. Then I can take my time and do things the right way. The Dark Lord became distracted by his personal quest for immortality. That was his downfall. My goal is simpler — to protect wizard-kind against destruction from within.”
“And how will you manage that, Father?” asked Draco.
“In stages, Son. We start eventually by seizing power. With the unbeatable wand, I can rally those who have been sympathetic to our cause but lacked the courage to become Death Eaters. Once they realize that I cannot be defeated, we can build a coalition of witches and wizards who do not want to see magical blood diluted by mixing with Muggles and Mudbloods. We inspire people who have respect for their heritage and we teach them to fear the dangers of further diluting our genetic legacy.”
“Are there enough purebloods left to make your plan feasible?” Draco said, doubt etched in every word.
“Of course not. But we don’t have to start with purebloods, alone. Didn’t you see how people turned on one another once we gained control of the ministry? People were desperately trying to prove their own magical heritage, as long as they could show they weren’t Mudbloods.”
“And you expect that to happen again?” asked Draco, skepticism evident in his tone of voice.
“Of course. It has happened countless times through history, magical and Muggle, and we can depend on people to act the same way again. They want safety and security, so we can count on them with complete certainty. We simply need to know how and where to draw the line.”
“But Voldemort just failed. What makes you think you can succeed with the same strategy when he failed?”
“The Dark Lord was too distant from his followers — too disagreeable to the population at large. He scared away those he needed. His primary motivational tool was fear, so he had two groups of natural enemies. There were zealots like Potter and the Weasleys, who do not believe that it is important to protect the purity of Wizarding blood. They actively approve of intermingling with Mudbloods and Muggles. We will never win over the zealots. However, the Dark Lord also alienated those who lacked the stomach to deal with his methods.”
“So you intend to put a prettier face on the same plan.”
“Exactly, Draco. People don’t want to see ugliness, no matter how necessary it is to accomplish a worthy objective — not even when it is for their own good.”
Pansy had been sitting quietly, taking in everything being exchanged between father and son. The plan was remarkably simple, really. Lucius Malfoy intended to simultaneously take control of the most powerful wand in the world while eliminating the central rallying figure for the opposition.
“You know what?” said Pansy. “I think your plan can work, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco looked at his part-time girlfriend and thought, at least momentarily, that Pansy had a screw loose. He had a long way to go before he would be able to sign off on his father’s plan. For that matter, they still didn’t know the full content of that plan. Yes, his father wanted to attack Potter at his wedding, but exactly how that was to be accomplished remained a mystery.
*****
“So, how do we get to Australia?” asked Ron, slipping an arm around Hermione at the breakfast table.
“I think we’ll have to fly,” she answered, gazing directly in Ron’s piercing blue eyes. She was still amazed that he was determined to accompany her on the journey to find her parents and bring them back home to England.
“Fly?” asked Ron, shock evident on his face. “I thought you hated flying.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said teasingly. “I mean we’ll have to fly on an airplane like the Muggles do, not on brooms! It’s the only dependable way to travel long distances in a short period of time, especially if we don’t want to alert every Death Eater who isn’t yet in Azkaban..”
“Can’t we just Apparate?”
“You know Apparition isn’t safe over long distances. In all honesty, I think we were testing the practical limits by hopping all over Britain for the last year. Even then, we managed to get you splinched. I certainly don’t want to live through that again, and it’s not like we can just jump from country to country, ignoring all the laws against international Apparition. On top of all that, we would still have to cross far too much open ocean to reach Australia.”
“So, we travel like Muggles? How do we do that and is it safe to fly in those aer-o-plane thingies”
“Yes, Ron, it’s safe. In fact, it’s the safest mode of Muggle transportation. And I spoke with Kingsley yesterday afternoon after the funeral. He said he could arrange Muggle passports for us by tomorrow. The Ministry of Magic has arrangements with the Muggle Prime Minister for such things.”
“But what happens if the flight crashes?”
“It won’t crash Ron, but if it does start to go down, we can always Apparte to someplace safe.”
“But how will we know where to Apparate?” asked Ron.
“I’ll study a map, Ron. There are inhabited islands, even if something goes wrong over the water.”
“Okay,” he finally relented. “But how do we pay for the trip?”
“When Mum and Dad agreed to have their memories modified, they moved some money into a bank account for me when they were making plans to have their patients cared for by other dentists. We have enough cash to get us down there and bring all of us back, with plenty to spare.”
“You’re amazing, Hermione, really you are. We’d all have been dead in the first few days if it hadn’t been for you. Harry and I would have been hopeless on our own,” said Ron, gratitude ringing clearly through every word.
“It took all of us in the end — all three of us, plus Neville, and everyone who fought at Hogwarts. But we did it Ron! We fought to the end and we survived. We survived, and we have each other,” said Hermione, a single tear escaping from her eye as she leaned toward the only man she had ever truly wanted.
Ron responded enthusiastically, accepting her kiss and deepened it immediately. Electricity flared through their bodies, but the couple was interrupted by a contrived cough as Ginny entered the kitchen with Harry closely in tow.
There had been no question that Harry and Hermione would be trading places on the night following Fred’s funeral, even if it did mean the four would be up before anyone else in the house. She had needed to be with Ron, to feel whole and alive once again. She had known that Ron felt the same way, only more so. It was his brother they had buried, after all, and what better way was there to cling tenaciously to the gift of life than to share your passions?
Hermione had watched Ron’s mood darken progressively as the time inched progressively closer to the hour of Fred’s funeral. No matter how many friends and acquaintances arrived unexpectedly to pay their respects, nothing could have mitigated the pain that accompanies such a loss. As an only child, Hermione realized that she had no basis for comparison — no basis, other than her remarkable relationship with Harry Potter.
Hermione wasn’t sure when, exactly, she had come to think of Harry as her brother. She often reflected upon her lengthy relationship with him, knowing that she loved him intensely, yet realizing from the very beginning that there had never been even the slightest romantic attraction. But she knew that she would do anything for Harry; give anything for him — even her life — which she had risked on numerous occasions. It was a relationship that was as close to having a sibling as Hermione could possibly imagine. However, there had been almost twelve years in her life before she had met Harry — such a long period of time when her world had been comprised of only her parents, her books, and herself. She had not made friends amongst the Muggles in her early schooling.
In stark contrast, Ron had never lived a day without Fred as a significant person in his life. Hermione also realized that comparisons weren’t important. She had not lost Harry, although there had been that awful period of time when she thought Voldemort had killed him. Of course, Ron had shared the same awful feeling, for he was as much Harry’s brother as she was his sister. But Ron had lost Fred. He had endured that searing pain that had to cut to the very core of his being. Yet he still had several saving graces: he had the rest of his family, with whom he shared a life-long bond of love and affection; he had Harry; and, he had Hermione. That particular source of grace rested with her, and she intended to pour every ounce of her love, every ounce of her being, into Ron’s recovery.
So she gazed into his remarkable blue eyes, willing every bit of the love she felt for him to radiate through her own.
“I love you, Ron,” she murmured softly.
“Why?” he responded with a cheeky grin. “Because I’m magnificent in bed?”
“UGH!” interrupted Ginny, trying to keep from waking the rest of the household. “Can’t you save that kind of talk until I’m nowhere around.”
“Get used to it, Ginny,” snapped her brother. “Anyway, I have to put up with you and Harry snogging around every corner!”
“Well, we just spent almost a year apart … and you two would have been together that whole time if you’d had the good sense not to leave your best friends in a lurch.”
“I’ve had enough of your shit!” screamed Ron, incensed at his sister’s accusation. “You have no idea what it was like … out in the cold, eating nothing but wild mushrooms and trying not to get caught … or killed! Instead, you got to stay safe, warm, and well fed at Hogwarts!”
Ginny stopped instantly, her features hardening into something approaching hatred. Her complexion turned a deep red until it had spread up her neck and covered her face. The flushing did not stop progressing until she was practically purple. Veins popped to the surface of her neck and forehead. At last, Ginny flung the cup of tea Harry had poured directly at her brother.
“You have no fucking idea, Ron Weasley! None!” she roared defiantly before turning her back and sprinting up the stairs.
In only a matter of seconds, the three teenagers remaining in the kitchen heard the slamming of Ginny’s bedroom door.
“You really can be a wanker when you want to Weasley, a complete and total wanker!” spat Harry before turning his back and following his fiancé up the stairs. If he could persuade her to talk, it was far past time that he learned exactly what Ginny had endured prior to her rescue over the Easter hols.
Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Putting Things to Rest
Harry leapt up the stairs taking two at a time in his rush to get to Ginny before she had time to magically seal her bedroom door. He had never been taught how to overcome a powerful Colloportus charm. While he had managed to pick up a pretty decent selection of locking, sealing, and silencing charms, not to mention a nice assortment of concealment and obfuscation spells, while the trio had been on the run, he had never thought to figure out how to reverse the same.To his relief, upon arrival on the first floor landing, Harry found Ginny’s door firmly closed but not enchanted. He hesitated momentarily, raising his hand to knock, but decided against it. Turning the doorknob slowly, Harry entered the room to find Ginny facedown upon her bed.
“You had better be Harry Potter, or get the hell out of my room!” she commanded.
“It’s me, love,” whispered Harry.
“Thank goodness,” answered Ginny as she turned to face her fiancé.
Harry was relieved, yet unsurprised, to see Ginny’s eyes dry and clear. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect. Ginny was clearly upset, but crying wasn’t normally in her nature.
“What an arse!” Ginny practically screamed. “What does he know about safety except for what it was like hiding at Shell Cottage while you and Hermione faced dangers at every turn!”
Harry thought about defending Ron, especially his role once he had managed to return to them, but decided better of it. He had no desire to be on the receiving end of one of Ginny’s patented Bat-Bogey hexes.
“Some times I wonder if Mum didn’t run into a red-headed stranger about the time my youngest brother was conceived! Well, both Ron and Percy.”
Harry remained silent, allowing Ginny to slowly vent the anger that had risen in her like a pressure cooker.
“I’ve had it up to here with everyone who thinks Hogwarts was a picnic ground this past year! It wasn’t! It was bleeding horrible!”
“Why don’t you tell me, so I don’t have to keep guessing,” asked Harry. “I think you need to talk with someone, and I want to be the person you know will support you unequivocally.”
“Are you sure you want to hear it, Harry? It isn’t pretty, and you’ve been through so much of your own misery.”
“Ginny … love … you mean everything to me. Nothing will ever change that and I want nothing to be hidden between us.”
“Okay,” she replied before taking a deep breath. “It began at King’s Cross Station. It was obvious when family members who were not students could not pass through the barrier to Platform 9-3/4. I knew things were going to be bad, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.”
Harry pulled up the chair to Ginny’s desk, took a seat directly in front of her, and took her hands in his as she sat up and dropped her feet to the floor. His eyes locked onto hers, but he said nothing.
“It’s not like we hadn’t expected something bad, not with Snape as Headmaster and the decree ordering mandatory attendance. However, nothing could have prepared us for what to expect.
“Ministry officials and Aurors were everywhere, but they weren’t Kingsley or Tonks. No! Instead, Runcorn and Umbridge were there, along with the Carrows, and they were organizing the students, rank and file. It was a nightmare.
“It must have been instinct driving me toward self-protection, but I immediately sought out Neville, Seamus, Demelza, and Luna. We walked quietly to the line that was comprised mainly of Gryffindors, figuring there might be safety in numbers.
“That worked out well enough until someone I didn’t recognized spotted Luna among the rest of us. Whoever he was came over, grabbed her, and physically dragged her to the Ravenclaw line. Of course that was after he smacked her across the face when she said she wanted to stay with her friends.
Harry cringed, then nodded for Ginny to continue.
“Things were worse when we got on the train. Prefects were turned away from the Prefect’s Cabin after being informed that their responsibilities no longer extended beyond their common rooms, and that they were, for all intents and purposes, being replaced by the newly reconstituted Inquisition Squad!
“Crap!” exclaimed Harry.
“At least the ride to Hogwarts was fairly civilized. The new squad members were the people you’d expect, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters, a bunch of people I didn’t really know, and of course, their leader, Malfoy. They spent most of the journey stalking from cabin to cabin, reminding us who was in charge and verbally abusing some of the weaker students. Of course, they tried picking on Neville, but he stood up to Malfoy right away. It cost him a swift kick in the ribs and a black eye, but only after they had petrified him. Neville treated it like a badge of honor, and it kind of put a stiff rod in our spines.
“Later that evening, after the sorting was finished and dinner was held in complete silence at Snape’s command, I approached Neville and Seamus about resuming the DA and beginning the resistance.”
“I figured something like that must have happened once we heard you had tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.”
“Well, you were right about that, Harry, but that was one of our later acts of sabotage. We started slowly with our resistance, figuring out what we could get away with and what we couldn’t.”
“Do I dare ask what happened when you couldn’t?” asked Harry.
“Well, everything sort of escalated. At first, Snape left the choice of punishments up to the Carrows. They started out as unpleasant chores, like cleaning the loos the Muggle way, but soon things started to escalate.”
“How so?”
“The first really serious punishment came when Neville was caught painting graffiti in the hallways. For that ‘crime,’ Amycus had him chained in the dungeon for three days with nothing but an occasional sip of water. But that didn’t stop us. We simply learned to be more subterranean in our methods.”
“How long did that work?” inquired Harry.
“Not long! They must have set up some kind of surveillance network — maybe some eavesdropping spells or something similar, because they started to catch us more frequently. I was the first to suffer the Cruciatus from Alecto after she found out I protected a first-year Hufflepuff from Malfoy. The little ferret didn’t have the courage to face me himself, so he ran off to the first Death Eater he could find.
“After that, the Cruciatus became the standard punishment if anyone crossed the Carrows. They were indiscriminate and seemed to enjoy the hell out of hurting people, even Slytherins who were not children of influential Death Eaters. Finally Snape intervened and things went back to more traditional punishments, like detention with old-line faculty like Hagrid, Flitwick, or McGonagall.
“Then things really began to change. Whenever one of the Inquisitorial Squad caught one of us doing anything they disapproved of, they would take us to an empty classroom where we would be turned over to Crabbe and Goyle. It was brutal for the boys. You saw what some of them looked like when you came to Hogwarts for the final confrontation.
“It was even worse for the girls. First they were satisfied with embarrassing us — vanishing our robes and other clothing, leaving us to find our way back to our common rooms in our bras and knickers. Then things really got out of hand. Goyle spread excrement all over Demelza. Then Crabbe raped Romilda Vane.”
“Merlin, Ginny!” gasped Harry.
“Yes, some kind of safe zone!” she sneered. “Ron ought to thank his lucky stars that his precious Hermione wasn’t there! Pretty soon Crabbe and Goyle started picking off Muggle-born witches for ‘special disciplinary actions’! It was sheer bedlam.”
“Then we were caught stealing the Sword of Gryffindor. Neville was taken off and put under the Cruciatus, Luna disappeared, and I was dragged into a classroom with Crabbe, Goyle, and Amycus Carrow. They banished my clothes … ALL OF THEM!”
Harry winced, but managed to control his wildest instincts and somehow kept quiet so Ginny could continue. His mind was racing wildly, terrified he might hear the worst, yet his worst fears were kept in check by the memory of Ginny’s statement before their first time together, when she had told him she had still been a virgin — not that his feelings would have changed. He was hers forever regardless of whatever had happened.
“Thank Merlin they took time to ridicule me for my freckles, pale complexion, and red hair. Crabbe even told me that he could never understand how Malfoy lusted after me — an ugly Blood-Traitor! I curled up in a ball on the floor, trying to cover myself and praying for anyone who would listen to come save me!
“Later I learned that it was one of the portraits that got the word to the Headmaster, but at the time it simply seemed like a miracle! Suddenly the door burst open and Professor Snape swept into the room, his long black cape already in hand, rather than draped over his shoulders. He threw the cape over my body, then turned and stunned everyone else in the room. Then he conjured a privacy curtain, summoned my clothing, and stepped out of the room to allow me some privacy.
“As I left the room, the Headmaster asked if I would like to have my memory modified so I wouldn’t have to remember the terrifying incident. Of course, I declined the offer.”
“Oh, Ginny!”
“Just let me finish, Harry, please!”
“Of course.”
“Three days later we got the message that we would all be serving detention with Hagrid. After that, the rapes and sexual violence came to an end, but the beatings continued. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Mum and Dad kept me out of school after Easter hols, even if I did have to go into hiding and felt guilty as sin for leaving everyone else behind.”
*****
A soft pop announced the arrival of Minerva McGonagall on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. Although magical families had called the area home for more than ten centuries, the majority of the population was still comprised of Muggles. For that reason, the Headmistress of Hogwarts took care to Apparate along one of the smaller roads leading into the community.
It was a beautiful morning, so she enjoyed the short walk into the town square, arriving twenty minutes in advance of her appointment with the Vicar of St. Andrew’s Church and allowing herself to take advantage of the opportunity to meditate before the statue that, for magical eyes only, commemorated the events of October 31, 1981.
Despite her reputation for cool, detached efficiency, Professor McGonagall felt overwhelmed with affection for the young man who had been denied the presence of a loving family throughout his formative years, yet had maintained such purity of spirit that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for those he cared about, indeed for all of the Wizarding World. She fought against the lump rising in her throat and wiped away the tears slipping from her eyes. Harry had entrusted her with the final arrangements for the burial of Severus Snape, and she intended to ensure that everything was handled properly.
Her slender fingers clasped the official paperwork that Harry had given her — documents that would allow Professor Snape to be buried in a plot in the section of the church graveyard known as Peverell’s Rest. According to the map she had obtained from Gringotts, this plot was located some twenty-five yards uphill from the grave of Harry’s ancestor, Ignotus Peverell — a place within eyeshot of, yet a respectful distance from, the graves of Lily and James Potter.
It was the best way Harry had been able to think of to honor the bravery of Severus Snape without endorsing the obsessive way in which he had pined for his mother.
*****
Ginny rolled over, opening her eyes in the hope of seeing Harry beside her. Instead she saw only the crumbled sheets. She let out a small huff of frustration, sat up, and took stock of the situation. The door to her bedroom was slightly ajar, and Ginny thought she could hear water running in the shower across the landing..
All things considered, she would have preferred to find Harry still in their bed, but the presence of the majority of the Weasley family at The Burrow made that inappropriate. However, the shower held new and inviting possibilities. Wearing only her timeworn bathrobe, Ginny began to move toward the bathroom. She stopped suddenly, returned to her small bedside table, and picked up her wand. The sudden appearance of Draco Malfoy at her brother’s funeral had shown her the importance of remaining prepared at all times. Even at that time, when her heart had felt beyond the point of breaking, Ginny had been ready for the unexpected.
Having chosen to spend the rest of her life with Harry Potter, she figured they might never be entirely safe from the reach of evildoers. She knew full well what that choice entailed, but a life with Harry was what she had wanted since she was ten years old, and the price seemed miniscule in comparison to the joy of being his — of him being hers.
Passing the toilet, a wicked grin passed over Ginny’s lips. Knowing the quirks of water pressure at the Burrow, she giggled slyly as she reached for the handle and flushed.
“Shite!” yelped Harry indignantly as scalding water blasted him “Does someone think that was funny?”
“Yes, love?” she replied, pulling back the shower curtain with a thoroughly innocent look on her face. Growing up with six older brothers had given her plenty of practice at subterfuge.
She kept her eyes latched onto Harry’s until he looked away when her bathrobe slipped off her athletic shoulders and floated to the floor. She could tell that he had been a bit annoyed at first, but his expression changed dramatically as his eyes separated from hers and began to trace their way down her naked body. In a matter of seconds, Ginny found herself in his arms, their lips locked together, with warm water streaming upon them from the showerhead. Ginny parted her lips eagerly, inviting Harry to taste her, wanting to taste him. The touch of his hard, masculine body felt wonderful. The feel of the hot water was luxurious.
While they had taken only a short break for some much needed sleep, it felt as if it had been years since they had last made love, and Ginny wanted more. Wanting almost desperately to hold him in her embrace, she managed to slip her wand in the receptacle outside the shower next to Harry’s. God, she loved this man and wanted to show him in every way possible.
Since their first kiss, Ginny had been thrilled with the fascination Harry displayed with her long, bright, red hair. The feeling sent a raw thrill through her that only intensified when she realized he had taken some of her shampoo and had begun to caress her scalp. It was yet another first in a remarkable series of first-time experiences she had shared with Harry in such a short period of time.
She was still a couple of months shy of her seventeenth birthday, but having lived through the things she had endured since her very first year at Hogwarts, Ginny knew she was ready for this commitment. She had been eleven years old for less than three weeks when Lucius Malfoy had slipped that damned diary into her cauldron in Flourish & Blotts and she had survived possession by the most powerful of Dark wizards, fighting him for months and nearly escaping his clutches with nothing but her own magical power to rely upon. After struggling her entire life to be seen for who she was amidst six highly accomplished brothers — after having gone unnoticed by the boy she could not stop loving, no matter how hard she tried to move on — after watching him walk away from her, claiming that it was for her own protection — after being torn apart from him for almost a year — after watching Hagrid carry his death-like body back to Hogwarts Castle while Voldemort trumpeted his claim of having finally killed The Boy Who Lived — after all that, Ginny Weasley was no ordinary witch of sixteen. She was no ordinary witch at all.
“Harry?” she asked. “Why don’t you dry me off and let’s go get some breakfast? Everyone will be up soon and I want to get an early start at your house.”
“Our house,” replied Harry.
*****
Harry moved quietly about his newly renovated kitchen, trying not to wake Ginny, who had managed to fall asleep while making renovation plans for their master bedroom. He could hardly believe it was possible for his life to have changed so abruptly and so completely. Just over forty-eight hours earlier, he had been locked in mortal combat with Lord Voldemort, bringing to a close a period of almost ten months on the run — ten months in which he and his closest friends had faced untold terrors — but this morning, his greatest challenge was to decide what to prepare for lunch to share with his fiancé in the comfort of their own home.
Then Harry realized that wasn’t entirely true, for number twelve Grimmauld Place was only one of four homes they now possessed. Over the past seven years, Harry had grown accustomed to the fact that he did not have to worry about money. However, this had only been of minimal comfort for he would have given all the money in the world to have his parents back. The discovery that his wealth was much greater than he had ever dreamed possible was an added comfort, and he had only begun to consider the ways in which he and Ginny could use their fortune to its best effect.
As nice as such things were, however, there was only one reason for the irrepressible happiness that surged through him every time he paused to think. Ginny Weasley was his, as he was hers, and they would be one in less than a month. Things had come together very quickly the preceding afternoon following Fred’s funeral. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had approached the young couple, who had just managed to break free from a lengthy discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall, and had collapsed on the living room sofa. When her mother had asked Ginny what type of wedding she wanted, she had answered, “Simple … short … soon.”
When pushed for an explanation for these desires, Ginny told her mum that while Fleur’s elaborate wedding had been beautiful, she would prefer something more in line with the way they lived on a daily basis. Therefore, she wanted it to be simple, filled only with friends and family, and as soon as possible. She wanted to have as much of the summer together with Harry as they could manage.
Mrs. Weasley had hurriedly consulted with Aunt Muriel, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and the Delacours. Everyone seemed more than ready to move on from tragedy, and only Molly’s insistence that she needed at least ten days of preparation time kept the wedding from being held the next weekend.
Ginny. The very thought of her, the feeling of that searing birthday kiss, and the blessed relief of seeing her each night on the Marauder’s Map had kept Harry from falling into despair when things had been their darkest. Ginny — the person who inspired his last thought when he faced certain death. Ginny — who was sleeping peacefully after a night and morning he would never forget.
The dining decision was easy; it had to be another breakfast — the meal he had cooked a thousand times in the Dursleys’ kitchen. It was the only thing he knew how to prepare flawlessly and that was what she deserved — something flawless — for that was the way he thought of her. So Harry set about doing the things he had done so many mornings at number four, Privet Drive, but the feeling was totally different. Instead of the drudgery of preparing a meal for people who could barely tolerate his existence, he was thrilled to be doing something for the woman he loved more than life itself. He took great care, tending to every detail, turning something mundane — scrambling eggs, brewing tea, making toast and frying bacon — into an expression of love. He cooked in the tradition of Muggles, having never before used magic to prepare a meal, and the sheer physicality of the effort brought him back to what had happened earlier in the morning when Ginny had slipped into the shower to join him.
He tried toremain quiet, aware that he had kept her up very late throughout the preceding night. He tried to avoid waking her but had obviously been unsuccessful, for as he looked up, she entered the kitchen wearing nothing but one of his white button-down Oxford-cloth shirts. She looked so gorgeous that the breakfast he had been trying to prepare so perfectly nearly became an afterthought.
“You look … amazing, Ginny,” he stammered, moving across the room to take her into his arms.
“I’m in a shirt — hardly amazing, I’d say.”
“It’s my shirt, love.”
“If I’d have known it would be that easy, I would have nicked one of your shirts a long time ago!” Ginny chided.
“So beautiful…” muttered Harry, beginning to lose himself in her spellbinding brown eyes.
“Hmmm, Harry? Were you planning on burning that bacon?”
“Bugger!”
Minutes later, Harry was again gazing into her bright brown eyes — this time across the breakfast table. As Ginny reached for the butter and jam, the diamond on her finger seemed to gather every trace of light in the room, reflecting it back with increased intensity. To Harry’s eyes, this reflected light was then gathered in the rubies, which burned with an intensity equaled only by Ginny’s radiant hair. He had to pinch himself to test if this was all a dream. It wasn’t, of course, but it hardly seemed like something out of the life of Harry Potter.
Dreams instead of nightmares … Harry could hardly believe it was possible. His reverie, however, was broken by a call from the floo.
“Mr. Potter … I mean, Harry?” The voice belonged to Minerva McGonagall.
“Yes, Professor?”
“May I drop in?” she asked.
Harry looked at Ginny, who looked down at her clothing, thought for a moment, and then nodded her agreement.
“Of course, Headmistress, please come in.”
With a flash of green flames, Professor McGonagall stepped out of the floo and into the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“My! I hardly recognize this kitchen,” she said, a look of surprise etched on her face. “It’s beautiful.”
“Kreacher and some of the Hogwarts elves thought the place should be fixed up a bit — make a proper home for Ginny and me.”
Professor McGonagall turned her gaze to Ginny, trying hard to suppress the look of shock at seeing her sitting at their breakfast table, obviously wearing Harry’s shirt rather than something of her own. Ginny smiled softly and looked perfectly at home.
Harry was surprised for only a moment, for it was now, after all, her home.
“I’ve spoken with the Vicar,” Professor McGonagall said softly, “and everything is set for this afternoon at four o’clock. I’ve also notified all the Hogwarts staff members, but I doubt many will attend. Professor Snape was only marginally more popular with the faculty and staff than he was with you students.”
“Is the plot far enough removed from Harry’s parents’ graves?” asked Ginny.
“I guess such things are subjective, Miss Weasley, but I think so. Yes.”
“What about his mother?” asked Harry. “Has anyone been able to locate Eileen Prince? We really should have her permission to do this, although it’s not technically necessary.”
“No, it’s not necessary and would be impossible to obtain at any rate,” replied the Headmistress.
“Impossible?” asked Harry.
“Impossible,” she said in return. “Professor Snape never mentioned anything about it, but apparently his mother died almost five years ago.”
“Died!” gasped Ginny. “And nobody knew about it?”
“Severus never said a word about it, nor did Dumbledore,” Professor McGonagall continued, “but she was beaten to death by her estranged husband, Tobias Snape, who is in a Muggle prison for murder.”
“Beaten to death!” Harry replied. “How could a witch be beaten to death by a Muggle?”
“It’s rather easy when she does nothing to defend herself as it appears was the case. According to police records, there was no sign of a struggle even though she was beaten terribly.”
“So, he truly died alone,” whispered Harry.
“Not alone, Harry,” Ginny interjected. “You were there with him.”
“Rather ironic, don’t you think?” asked Professor McGonagall. “Of all people to have with him at the time of his death — the boy he despised above all others.”
“I don’t think he cared about me, Professor, but if I had to guess, when he demanded that I look at him, he was trying to find my mother in my eyes.”
Ginny, Harry, and their Headmistress were suddenly at a loss for words and looked around the kitchen, searching for anything to look at rather than one another. At last, Ginny gazed up at Harry with a gentle, compassionate look in her eyes that told him she understood how horrible that final moment in Snape’s life must have been for both of them.
Once again, Harry gave thanks for the gift of Ginny Weasley in his life and found that ten days seemed an impossibly long time to wait until she would become Ginny Potter.
“I really must go now,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is truly a great thing to do, Harry, even if he’ll never know you did it.”
And with that, she stepped back into the fireplace, tossed down a handful of floo powder, and was gone.
Harry looked at Ginny, an expression of doubt crossing his face.
“What’s wrong, love?” she asked.
“After what I’ve seen over the past seven years — after what I saw with the Resurrection Stone — I’m not so sure he won’t know. I’ll never feel warmth for him, Ginny, but for some reason, this feels right.”
*****
Hermione and Ron were the first to arrive in the graveyard beside the church in Godric’s Hollow. Ron had been extremely nervous about coming to the town where Harry and Hermione had nearly been killed during his absence. The feelings of guilt had been overwhelming and, truth be told, he feared that Hermione might get the urge to beat him senseless once again. He knew that the fear was irrational, but it was there nonetheless. Horcrux or not, Ron had walked out on his best friend and the woman he loved, and no amount of forgiveness from Hermione would ever completely clear his conscience.
Hermione must have sensed his distress for it was her idea to arrive an hour before the scheduled time of Snape’s burial. Ron found himself most grateful for her understanding and allowed her to take him there with Side-along Apparition. He was amazed at her soft, gentle approach to things as she led him about the village, eventually guiding him to the home in which James and Lily Potter had been killed and the house of Bathilda Bagshot from which she and Harry had barely escaped with their lives. Throughout the entire excursion, Hermione never lost contact with Ron, holding his hand, wrapping her arm about him, pausing to place soft kisses against his lips, his face, and his hands.
Ron wondered how she knew exactly what he needed to know — needed to hear. She never left anything unsaid; yet always refrained from telling him how much safer things would have been as a trio rather than a pair. He marveled at her ability to discern, without benefit of words, when the guilt had built to intolerable levels and how she would then stretch upward on her tiptoes, place a kiss on his cheek, and whisper, “I love you” into his ear.
Ginny and Harry arrived in the graveyard a few minutes after Ron and Hermione had begun to wander about the village. She walked slowly with Harry, hand in hand, as they moved from headstone to headstone, seeing names such as Gryffindor, Peverell, Dumbledore … and Potter. Tears began streaming down her face as they came upon the graves of Harry’s parents. She thought about how she had grown up, loved and protected — over-protected — with parents and siblings, any of whom would have died for her, but who had thankfully not been called upon to do so.
Harry had been loved with equal intensity, but his parents died for him, and it broke her heart to think of it. Not for the first time, she marveled at the fact that he had grown up with a pure heart and an apparently unlimited capacity for love, and she thanked Merlin, Morgana, Dumbledore, and all the hosts of heaven, if such a place existed, that Harry Potter had chosen her — that he loved her every bit as much as she loved him — as she would always love him.
At last, the appointed hour came upon them, and Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron gathered together beside a freshly dug grave amidst many headstones bearing the name of Peverell. They were standing slightly uphill from the graves of the three brothers with a clear view of the headstone that read Lily Potter.
Ginny gained a sense of relief when she saw that James Potter’s final resting place was also clearly visible. She knew without doubt how difficult this was for Harry, although he had said very little about it.
“How,” she wondered, “could Harry honor the man who had always despised him, passed on the prophecy that eventually doomed his parents to death, and remained obsessed with Lily Evans Potter for the remainder of his life?”
Moments later, the tuft-haired wizard emerged from the apse of the little church, accompanied by Minerva McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid, who carried the body of Severus Snape in much the same way he had carried Harry from the Forbidden Forest. As they approached the open grave, Ginny heard a soft pop behind her and turned, her wand drawn instantly.
The new arrival was clearly dangerous but not in the way she had feared — it was Rita Skeeter, the only journalist who had been told of the burial.
“Should we wait?” asked the liturgist. “Surely more people will be coming.”
“I think not,” answered Harry. “I think not.”
And so Severus Snape was buried, amidst families not his own, just as he had lived among Death Eaters who never embraced him, and members of the Order of the Phoenix who never trusted him.
Rita Skeeter stood within earshot as Harry repeated everything he had learned from Snape’s memories of his love for both Lily Evans and the Dark Arts. Harry carefully disclosed the things that Albus Dumbledore had described as the best of Severus Snape’s life, when torn by remorse, he made the terrible decision to turn spy against Lord Voldemort at great personal risk. It had been a role he played well. It was a role that led directly to his death at the hand of his former master, beneath the fangs of his terrible serpent.
Both McGonagall and Hagrid gasped audibly as more and more news was disclosed, and the Quick-Quotes Quill recorded every word exactly as it was spoken.
At last the simple service came to an end, and each of the attendees picked up a handful of dirt. Hagrid lowered Snape’s body, wrapped only in a pall that was as black as the Potions Master’s robes had been while he lived. Each person cast his or her bit of soil down into the grave, covering Snape’s body with only a token amount of physical material yet an enormous quantity of symbolism. The liturgist then cast a hovering charm upon the heap of soil and dropped it with a resounding thud, burying his physical body forever.
Harry looked quietly at this tiny gathering of people he loved, cleared his throat, and offered one final observation: “Dumbledore once told Professor Snape that only he knew whether or not his soul had been ripped by the evil deeds he had done or failed to stop. I am sure, however, that no matter what happened to his soul at the time he did those things, Severus Snape endured the most painful period of lonely remorse I could ever imagine having to endure. As such, I feel certain that his soul is whole once more.”
Hermione looked directly into the bloodshot blue eyes of Rita Skeeter and raised a finger of warning. “One false word, one misquoted phrase, one misplaced context, and I will tell Kingsley Shacklebolt everything. Do I make myself clear?”
“Indeed you do,” scowled Rita in return. “Indeed you do.”
Ginny turned to Hagrid, took his gigantic hand in hers, and asked, “Would you please join Harry and me for dinner tomorrow night at Grimmauld Place?”
Harry approached their new Headmistress and thanked her sincerely for making the final arrangements and for attending the burial. He knew there had been precious little love between the respective heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses.
“We’ll come visit on Friday evening to figure out how everything will work next year,” Harry said, confirming the understanding they had reached the previous day.
“I’ll have an outline, at least, by then.”
At last, Ginny and Harry approached Ron and Hermione. “Are we still going to see you this evening?” asked Ginny.
“Of course,” replied Hermione, smiling brightly. “We can’t head out to Australia without saying a proper good-bye.”
“It feels strange that you two are leaving without me,” said Harry, although a wicked grin began to spread across his face as he looked at Ginny. “Still, I think we can all survive the separation.”
“Then we’ll see you at seven-thirty,” said Hermione. “And, Harry, this was the right thing to do.”
“Do you think we can trust Rita to play it straight?” asked Harry, a look of doubt reflecting in his eyes.
“It will be fine, mate,” Ron replied. “She knows better than to pick a fight with Hermione.”
“As should we all,” Harry answered with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll see you tonight, but for now there are a couple of things I want to show Ginny.”
*****
Ginny and Harry walked hand in hand down the lane in Godric’s Hollow. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and the village was filled with families, young and old. Ginny found herself taken by the atmosphere of the place, wondering what it would be like for a young witch or wizard to grow in such an environment, mixed in with Muggles as well as others of magical blood.
At last they reached the bungalow that had belonged to Harry’s family, which now belonged to Harry and would soon belong to them. The building was not so vastly different from the Burrow, though somewhat smaller in size. She laughed softly, for despite the destruction of one corner of the upper level, it was still easier to understand how this home held itself together. Despite the overgrown appearance of the lawn and landscaping, Ginny could easily understand how James Potter had favored this dwelling above all others, no matter how grand they might be.
“This looks like a wonderful place to raise a family, Harry. Do you think so?”
“I know my parents were happy here,” he replied. “And from what my mum put in a letter to Sirius, so was I.”
Chapter 9: Chapter 9 - Divergent Reunions
Author's Notes: Have you ever been to a family reunion at which everything goes perfectly well?
“Your house is looking wonderful, Harry,” said Hermione from across the dining room table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“Kreacher has been working his arse off. It’s going to take quite a while to finish the entire house, but he’s off to a good start,” Harry answered, folding his arms in front of him and casually surveying his surroundings.
“You’re not really going to keep a slave, are you?” Hermione asked as her eyes darkened and a deep crease formed in her forehead.
“Now isn’t the time to talk about it, Hermione,” Ginny whispered, signaling for Hermione to keep her voice down. “Harry and I have plans to keep Kreacher with us forever, but we won’t own any slaves.”
“Just until he finishes your renovations?” Hermione continued, obviously surprised and incensed.
“No, Hermione, we aren’t going to own any house elves!” exclaimed Harry, irritated that he was being lectured while playing host in his own home.
The clattering of a service tray was the first indication that Kreacher had entered the dining room. The service door was located behind the chair in which Harry was seated and far to the left of Ginny’s line of sight. Otherwise, Harry would never have been baited into making such an adamant statement about house elves. He and Ginny had been very careful not to say anything that might frighten Kreacher, looking for the right time to approach him about his freedom, accompanied by a lifetime employment agreement.
“M … M … Master is sacking Kreacher, is he?” stammered the elf.
“No!” exclaimed Harry and Ginny in unison.
Kreacher stood there looking astonished as tears began pouring down his face. Harry immediately took stock of the situation and hoped things wouldn’t get as far out of hand as they had when he, Ron, and Hermione had confronted him about the locket Horcrux.
Before Harry could get another word out of his mouth, Ginny had closed the distance between them and knelt next to him so she could look him squarely in the eye.
“You’ll always be with us, Kreacher, as long as you want to be here,” Ginny said reassuringly.
“Kreacher must be here. Kreacher is owned by Master Harry.”
Ginny looked up at Harry, searching for guidance. For once in his life, Harry looked as if he had no clue as to the proper course of action. At last, he lifted his shoulders and then nodded toward her, as if to give her permission to carry this encounter.
“Kreacher,” she continued, “Harry and I are so pleased with you and have been talking about what to do with your future here at Grimmauld Place and with us as your master and mistress.”
Kreacher simply stared at Ginny, as if he had no idea how to deal with such a situation.
“Harry and I do not believe in slavery, and we think it is wrong for wizards and witches to own house elves. We want to treat you like an equal. As you know, Dobby became a free elf because of Harry.”
“Dobby was much troubled finding work, Mistress Ginny.”
“Yes, he did have problems finding work, but you will not. Harry and I want to give you a lifetime contract to work for us, here, or wherever we end up living. It will be just as if you were still owned by us, but only if you want to stay with us. So, you will be free, and you will be paid for your work. If you do not want to work for us, you will be free to go wherever you please, whenever you please.”
“Kreacher doesn’t need paying, Mistress Ginny. Kreacher is proud to work for Master Harry and Mistress Ginny.”
“And you may continue to work for Harry and me as long as you want to,” continued Ginny. “Nothing will change that. But we want you to be a free elf, able to make your own decisions and to be free to go where you choose if you do not like it here with us.”
“What if Kreacher want not to be free elf?” he asked, doubt showing in his eyes.
Ddsdq
“Then we will honor your decision, but we will still pay you. Do you have any family?” Ginny inquired softly.
“Yes, Mistress Ginny, Kreacher has family — two sons and a daughter.”
“What about your wife?” asked Ginny cautiously.
“Kreacher’s wife died eighteen years ago. Her head used to hang on the wall with all the other former house elves of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Kreacher took them down because Master Harry said he did not like them two years ago.”
Ginny was at a loss for words. Like Harry, she had found the Black family’s collection of preserved heads unsettling and, well, just wrong. Still, she didn’t know how Kreacher had felt about his ancestors and his wife serving as decorations in their place of employment. In fact, there was very little either she or Harry truly understood about the ways of these magical creatures.
The Weasley family had been far too poor to have servants, while Harry had grown up in the Muggle world. Yet Ginny couldn’t abide the thought of Kreacher’s family being owned by wizards spread across Great Britain or who knew where else. So she looked up at Harry, willing him to understand where she was heading with her series of questions.
As if he had read her mind, Harry stepped away from the table and made his way to the spot where Ginny still knelt next to Kreacher, gently holding his hand in her own.
“Where do your children work?” asked Harry.
“Kreacher’s children are out of work, Master Harry. Kreacher’s children worked for the Lestranges and the Mulcibers. They died in the battle and have no family left to inherit Kreacher’s children.”
“Then what if they also came to work for Ginny and me? We have four houses, all of which probably need a lot of work done on them. What do you think?” Harry inquired softly.
“Master Harry would own all of us?”
“If need be, yes,” answered Harry. “However, we would prefer to employ all of you as free elves, like Dobby was.”
“But you would not sack Kreacher … or Kreacher’s children?”
“No, Kreacher,” said Ginny soothingly, “we won’t sack any of you. You’ll work for us as long as all of you so choose.”
“And we want you to have your own rooms,” said Harry. “No more living beneath the furnace.”
“Kreacher will have his own room?” asked the elf disbelievingly.
“Of course,” answered Ginny. “There are more than enough rooms here, and I’m sure we can make do wherever we end up living. And we’ll make arrangements for you to have proper clothes.”
“C … C … Clothes!” stammered Kreacher.
“Yes, clothes,” added Harry. “All of you will be free elves, and you could wear clothes, just like witches and wizards.”
“Clothes are a sign of a master’s dismissal,” countered Kreacher.
“No, Dobby once told me that wearing pillow cases and such was a mark of a house elf’s enslavement. Ginny and I will not have slaves. You will wear clothes, and each of you will have two days off each week, and each of you will be paid a fair wage,” said Harry forcefully.
At last Kreacher’s face adopted a smile, and the aging elf bowed deeply to Harry and Ginny. “Kreacher must fetch new plates,” he said before quickly casting a cleansing charm with the sweep of his hand.
“See, now,” said Hermione smugly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Both Harry and Ginny grimaced, but bit their tongues. It was not a night to fight battles with friends.
*****
British Airways flight number eleven was scheduled to depart London Heathrow heading for Singapore at 9:15 a.m., with a change of aircraft required to reach Sydney, Australia, where Hermione’s parents had been living for almost a year. The first leg of the flight was supposed to take twelve hours and forty minutes, followed by another six hour and ten minute flight into Sydney.
Ron had never thought about traveling by aircraft, so he was on edge with anticipation and a touch of fear. Perhaps it was due to his father’s misguided adventures with Muggle paraphernalia, but Ron neither trusted nor appreciated non-magical technology.
For her part, Hermione had flown several times, although she had been fairly young when she joined her parents on trips abroad. Those flights had lasted no more than three hours and had been over almost before she could grow tired of flying. Today’s travel would bear precious little resemblance to those trips across the English Channel and around Europe.
Hermione was relieved that Ron’s attention had become singularly focused on their travel arrangements because he had been quite upset with her the previous evening at Grimmauld Place. While he loved and admired Hermione’s passionate sense of justice, Ron believed that the relationship between wizards and elves was complicated by centuries of acclimatization to the present system and that the house elves had developed a coping mechanism that eventually made their enslavement a badge of honor. As such, he appreciated the difficult situation in which Harry and Ginny had found themselves now that Voldemort had been defeated. There was no longer a compelling security concern making it absolutely essential for Harry to maintain ownership of Kreacher.
However, all of Ron’s irritation disappeared once he and Hermione arrived at Heathrow. Confronted by a world of totally unfamiliar practices, he retreated behind Hermione’s lead. As a result, when they approached the ticket counter with their baggage, the ticket agent found herself slightly amused by the sight of the tall, powerful looking young man who was practically cowering behind the petite, bushy-haired woman who was handing two shiny new passports to her.
“Where will you be traveling today?” asked the agent.
“Sydney, Australia, please … Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.”
“Seats 36-D and 36-E,” continued the ticket agent as she opened the passports to compare the names and pictures with the young people who were traveling together. She was not surprised to see that neither passport bore any stamps. Neither Ms. Granger nor Mr. Weasley had ever traveled outside of the U.K. before — at least not under their own passports.
“First international flights?” she asked, kindness resonating through her words.
“First air travel ever,” answered Ron nervously.
“It has been a while for me,” said Hermione, not wishing to be patronized, but appreciating anything that could make things less difficult for Ron.
The ticket agent considered the situation and made a decision on the spot. The flight wasn’t particularly full, and she felt for the cute couple who would otherwise be forced to spend the lengthy flight crammed in the middle seats in the rear section of the Boeing 747 Luxury Jet.
“May I have your boarding passes for a moment, please,” she asked as a warm smile spread across her face.
“Is … is … is there a problem?” Ron asked cautiously.
“No, sir,” answered the agent. “I just thought you two might enjoy flying in our first class cabin today.”
*****
Harry had never felt less inclined to get out of bed in his life. First, it had been an emotionally exhausting evening, for despite Hermione’s happy proclamation that things with Kreacher hadn’t been “so hard,” he and Ginny had found it necessary to frequently reassure the elf that he was not being sacked and that they truly intended to keep him and his children employed for as long as they so desired. Second, neither he nor Ginny seemed capable of getting enough of one another, and the feel of her incredibly smooth skin as they lay spooned together in the afterglow of their love-making was nothing short of intoxicating. Finally, as much as he wanted to confront his Aunt Petunia and give her a well-deserved piece of his mind for withholding his mother’s letters from him, the thought of making a return trip to number four, Privet Drive was nauseating.
One of the benefits of being seventeen years old and virtually insatiable when in Ginny’s presence began making its presence known, pressing firmly against her bum and eliciting a happy purring sound from her chest. Harry slid his right hand over her side to rest against her smooth, flat stomach, pulling her even closer to him while his thumb moved lightly across her breast, which tightened instantly in response.
Ginny shifted, leaning forward in nearly imperceptible increments while lifting her right leg and sliding it backward over Harry’s leg. Suddenly he himself positioned exactly where he needed to be. Instinctively, his mouth found its place where the base of her neck met her incredibly smooth shoulder at exactly the same moment that her entered her from behind. The sensation was different, yet the same -- exquisitely, completely, and unmistakably Ginny.
Harry was lost in her once again, consumed with love, absorbed in the wonder of their union, totally awash in both excitement and comfort. He moved slowly, deliberately, luxuriously as she met him in equal measure, driving him toward the brink surprisingly quickly for such a gentle coupling, the emotional impact of their actions far exceeding the physical.
Alarmed at the rate with which he was losing control, Harry allowed his hand to slide lower, passing over her navel and eventually settling perfectly.
“Oh, my!” she screamed suddenly, rewarding him for his efforts and taking him with her over the edge. They shuddered simultaneously, then stilled, spooned together blissfully.
“I love you, Ginny,” Harry whispered softly against her ear.
“I love you, too,” she answered breathlessly, “but we can’t stay in bed all day.”
“Why not?” he asked, pulling her even closer to him.
“Because you’ve already told the Dursleys you were coming,” Ginny answered.
“I really don’t want to,” Harry confessed with a sigh.
“Let’s just get this behind us, and I’ll be there for you the whole time. Then you’ll never need to see them again as long as we live.”
“I do love you, Ginny. Truly.”
“I know,” she answered easily, a smile lighting her lips, though Harry couldn’t see it from behind. “It’s a good thing, because I’ve loved you all my life.”
*****
Harry reflected upon Professor Dumbledore’s lesson that it was considered the height of rudeness to Apparate inside another wizard’s home and smiled mischievously at Ginny. He patted the parchment envelope inside his emerald green dress robes and took Ginny’s crimson-clad arm in his. They couldn’t have looked less like Muggles if they had tried, which, of course, they had.
“You look gorgeous, Ginny,” he whispered against her ear.
“It’s called ‘afterglow,’ you daft boy!” she answered with a sparkle in her bright brown eyes.
“But I thought I was a brave, brave man,” replied Harry, matching her radiance and pulling her against him for another soft, deep kiss.
“Are you sure you don’t mind Side-Along Apparition, love,” he asked as she took a firm grip on his arm.
“Not this time, Harry, but don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” he said with a brief laugh before turning on the spot and disappearing once again into the crushing darkness.
Two soft pops announced their arrival in the living room of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. As they had rehearsed, both Harry and Ginny pulled their wands immediately upon their arrival and pointed them directly at Petunia and Vernon Dursley.
The massive Muggle and his horse-faced wife looked horror-struck, as all the color drained from their faces in panic. They were lucky to be seated on their settee, for had they been standing, they surely would have fainted. Harry’s cousin, Dudley, was seated off to the side in a wing chair and almost split his side from laughing. He had never before seen his parents so completely undone, and it was something to see.
“Put that thing down, boy,” Vernon said at last, once he was relatively sure that Harry wasn’t going to turn him into a toad, or worse.
Harry didn’t know what made him do it, but instead of lowering his wand, he stalked around the settee table and jammed the tip of his wand into one of the many rolls of fat that hung beneath his uncle’s jowls.
“Don’t push me, Vernon,” he roared, surprised by the amount of wrath that was pulsing through his veins. “Shut up and keep quiet if you know what’s good for you!”
Vernon Dursley swallowed fiercely but said nothing.
“Could you keep a wand on him, love?” he asked Ginny.
“Of course, Harry,” she responded sweetly, but her eyes were growing cold as she gazed at the horrible people who had heaped a lifetime of abuse on the man she loved.
“I didn’t come to talk with you, anyway,” Harry practically spat at his uncle.
“Where are my mum’s letters, Petunia?” he asked, turning his wand in her direction.
“Letters? Surely you can’t believe I have any letters.”
“I know you do, you jealous old cow!” bellowed Harry into her ear. “I’ve seen Severus Snape’s memories, and I know all about how you tried to get Professor Dumbledore to take you into Hogwarts School. I’ve seen firsthand how you turned against you sister, who somehow loved you until the day she died. I also have a final letter from my mum — a letter that told me she had given you a letter to give me on each and every birthday of my life.”
Harry’s angry tirade was interrupted by a touch of laughter coming from Dudley’s chair.
“You wanted to be a witch, Mum?” said Dudley. “You? A witch?” he continued until at last laughter overtook him. “Now that’s a laugh.”
“I most certainly did not!” objected Petunia.
“This is Veritaserum,” snarled Harry as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial filled with clear liquid. “It’s the most powerful truth potion in the world. Should I give you a good taste of it? Three drops should do the trick!”
Ginny had to exert every ounce of discipline she possessed to keep from laughing out loud, knowing full well that the vial was filled with nothing but water.
“T … t … truth serum?” asked Petunia.
“Yes, that’s close enough,” answered Harry. “Would you like to try some or would you just like to come clean?”
“All right,” said Petunia, eyeing the tiny bottle suspiciously. “So what if I asked for admission to that school? That was before I knew what a freak my sister was.”
“She had a name, Petunia,” said Harry, anger lacing each word. “Her name was Lily, and she was one of the bravest women who ever lived. Did you know she gave her life so I could live? Did you know that she and my father fought full-time against the world’s Darkest wizard, or do you still want to tell everyone they were unemployed drunks?”
Petunia Dursley was turning even paler by the moment as Harry’s wand began to tremble in her face. She cleared her throat as if to speak but remained silent.
At last, Ginny turned to Harry’s cousin and spoke, “Dudley, surely you heard from Mr. Diggle that your cousin defeated Lord Voldemort and restored peace to the Wizarding World?”
“Yes,” answered Dudley, although his eyes never left Ginny’s wand.
“And you know that Harry is the most famous wizard ever to fight on the side of Light?”
“Blimey, Harry,” said Dudley as he turned to face his cousin, although words had clearly deserted him.
“Dudley, Harry and I are to be married next Saturday, June sixth. If you would like to attend, Harry and I will arrange to pick you up here at four o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Married!” blurted Vernon loudly. “Surely you must be kidding. You’re just a boy!”
“He’s the bravest wizard ever to live,” Ginny hissed at Vernon, “and it would do you well to show him some respect.”
“I have nothing to fear,” said Vernon, who suddenly looked like he had remembered something important. The color began to flood back into his face. “You can’t do magic outside of school! That woman … Mafalda something or other … will have you bloody well arrested this time.”
Ginny whipped her wand directly toward Harry’s uncle. “You should know bloody well that Harry came of age when he turned seventeen years old, and he can perform any magic any time he bloody well pleases.”
“Poppy-cock!” spat Vernon, starting to rise from the settee.
”Petrificus Totalus” shouted Harry quickly.
Vernon Dursley’s arms snapped firmly against his sides while his legs locked against one another. He fell, half on the settee, half on the floor, with only his eyes capable of movement.
“Now, you gigantic sack of lard,” said Ginny harshly. “You will stay still until and unless Harry gives you leave to move.”
Vernon’s face turned crimson and the veins on his forehead and neck somehow found a way to work their way through layer upon layer of fat in order to reach the surface. He looked like he was about to explode.
“Lily’s ring!” gasped Petunia, who had at last looked closely in Ginny’s direction. “And her pendant!”
“That’s right,” said Ginny, pride infusing her voice.
“That should belong to me!” said Petunia wildly.
“Not a chance in Hell,” answered Ginny. “This jewelry belongs to the Potter family, and in the Potter family it will forever remain!”
“My letters,” ordered Harry interrupted firmly. “I want my fucking letters, Petunia.”
“They’re in the bureau,” said Petunia shakily. She had never seen Harry behave this way before. Gone was the little acquiescent waif she and her outrageous husband had intimidated for years upon end.
“What?”
“The bureau, Harry. Your mother’s letters are in the bottom drawer of the bureau.”
“Accio Mum’s letters!” cried Harry as he turned to cast his wand in the direction of his aunt’s bureau. The drawer sprang open and out flew a stack of fifteen letters sealed in parchment envelopes identical to the one he had received from Gringotts.
Harry grabbed the letters in his left hand and cast a gentle look at Ginny. Simultaneously, the couple lowered their wands and stepped toward each other. Ginny could see tears welling in her fiancé’s eyes as he clutched the letters close to his heart. She knew instantly that Harry would no longer be able to continue this well-rehearsed confrontation as he had planned it. The emotions were simply too overwhelming.
Ginny leaned toward him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. She, too, was struggling to maintain her composure as she imagined what a difference those small pieces of parchment could have meant to Harry’s upbringing as he marked each and every birthday. She pictured his bright young eyes poring over those letters time and time again, and never feeling completely lost or alone. But now was not the time to focus on her own emotions, so she gathered her strength.
“Let me do it, Harry,” she whispered.
He could only nod in response as he fought against the weight of his emotions. Ginny kissed him softly once again, reached inside his robes, and pulled out a thin envelope with the elaborate Gringotts “G” engraved on its flap.
“Harry would like you to have this,” she said, thrusting the envelope at Harry’s uncle. “He knows what an expensive burden it was to raise him, so we would like to clear the ledger, so to speak.”
Petunia sneered at Ginny yet took the envelope nonetheless. She looked at it cautiously, as if expecting something noxious to pop out of it at any moment. After what seemed to have been an appropriate amount of time to ensure safety, her twig-like fingers fumbled with the flap of the envelope. Moments later she pulled out a Bank of England cheque payable to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley in the amount of £50,000.00.
“We trust that will be sufficient, if not excessively generous, compensation, plus the monetary value of all the labor Harry provided while here,” said Ginny curtly. She then turned back to Dudley and asked, “Have you had enough time to consider our invitation, Dudley?”
“Er … yes, I have. I’d like to come.”
“Then my brother, George, will pick you up at 4:00 in the afternoon. The wedding is at our house, but being a Muggle, you’ll need to be escorted by a wizard.”
“As for you two,” Ginny began, “if we never see you again it will be too soon. You have lost the right to ever see, speak, or otherwise contact Harry again. Do you understand me?”
Petunia sat in complete silence. Vernon, of course, had not been released from the spell, and had begun to slide further down onto the floor.
“You have seen what wizards can do, and I assure you, George Weasley is an extremely talented wizard with a completely wicked sense of humor. If I were you I would not trifle with him when he comes to collect Dudley.”
“My Dudders will not be going to any freak wedding,” snapped Petunia, anger lacing every word.
“Then I guess we will have to take possession of that cheque once again,” Ginny threatened.
“You will most certainly not!” spat Petunia. “It’s mine, and no undersized ginger freak is going to take it away.”
”Incendio” barked Harry, igniting one corner of the cheque.
Petunia dropped the document immediately while the fire quickly spread, consuming it rapidly and leaving behind only a tiny strip of ashes on the table.
“I gave you a chance,” said Harry, shaking his head sadly. “I tried, but that money will serve a much better purpose going to my foundation.”
“F…f…foundation,” stammered Petunia.
“You don’t need to know!” answered Ginny brusquely.
“It’s truly a shame,” said Harry, “because you could have used that money to repair and remodel my cupboard under the stairs.”
Petunia looked at Harry, clearly not understanding what was about to occur.
Slowly, Harry turned to gaze down the hallway where he could clearly see the door to the hated cupboard.
”Reducto” said Harry, as only a moment later his spell collided with the door to the cupboard. The door exploded noisily, leaving a gigantic pile of splinters to spread about the hallway.
Ginny took Harry by the arm and smiled warmly into his eyes. “Let’s go home, Harry,” she said softly, but loud enough for the dumbstruck Vernon and Petunia to hear. She made sure Harry had taken a firm grip on her arm and, just before she had turned on the spot to Disapparated, Harry flipped his wand in Vernon’s direction.
”Finite Incantatem” he ordered, pointing at his uncle, just as they vanished with a soft pop.
Gathering his wits, Vernon screamed, “You come back here, Boy!”
There was, of course, no answer.
*****
Hermione and Ron walked briskly up the walk toward the small house located in a well-kept neighborhood in Sydney.
“Alohomora,” Hermione whispered while pointing her wand at the lock, which clicked open without resistance.
Once inside the home, she and Ron moved quietly toward the rear of the dwelling, from which they could hear the sounds of the telly.
“Don’t ask,” whispered Hermione when Ron’s face lit up at the strange device that was transmitting the image of human beings into the family room.
Both of Hermione’s parents were side by side on the settee, concentrating on the program. She winced, knowing that in their normal state of consciousness, neither of her parents would have chosen to while away their hours in such fashion. Still, it had been for their protection. She looked silently at Ron and prayed fervently that she had mastered the complicated spell work that would restore their memories and allow her to bring them back to England.
She felt completely terrible about how she was going to do this, but knew she had little choice. She couldn’t just walk up to them as two total strangers. So, both she and Ron drew their wands and cast identical spells at her parents, calling “Stupefy” as jets of red light streaked across the room.
Hermione moved rapidly to her parents’ sides and began a complicated series of wand movements, murmuring a string of incantations, being extremely careful to get each step done precisely as she had learned them. After five minutes that seemed like so many hours, Ron stepped beside her, slipped his arm firmly about her waist, and kissed her tenderly against her cheek. A moment later, his blue eyes were locked lovingly upon her brown, and unspoken words of love passed between them.
“Ready, love?” he asked gently.
“Ready,” she answered.
Although the timing was irrelevant, Ron and Hermione swished their wands in identical arcs and called “Rennervate!”
It took only a moment for both of her parents to begin batting their eyelids. Then, first her mother, followed quickly by her father, looked directly at their only daughter. Time passed agonizingly slowly for Hermione, whose heart was pounding wildly in her chest.
“Hermione!” said both of her parents simultaneously.
Hermione burst into tears and rushed to hug her parents fiercely as tears flowed freely from her eyes.
Ron let forth the breath he had been holding tensely, his own eyes also filling with tears. To his complete surprise he found that he cared more intensely for Hermione’s happiness than he did for his own.
Chapter 10: Chapter 10 - Contrasts and Surprises
Author's Notes: I know it's brief and the second chapter posted in less than 24 hours. You may be surprised to learn that this is not gratuitous and will become important later. AND, it's short because this is for all audiences and I have probably pushed the limits, even with what little remains!
Lucius Malfoy sat perfectly upright at his conference room table at Malfoy Manor and nodded at his guests, Malcolm and Pansy Parkinson.
“Truly, Lucius, it was a stroke of genius to place the Extendable Ears at the Muggles’ house — and how fitting to use a Weasley product to eavesdrop on their future son-in-law. However did you think of it?”
“It was rather simple, Malcolm. Potter lived there under their care for most of his life, and no matter how unpleasant those years were, he was sure to return there to tie things up at some point in time.”
“But how did you know he would neglect to place an Imperturbable Charm on the premises while he was there?”
“Like the rest of his kind, Potter trusts too freely. Like Dumbledore before him, he wants to think the best of people now that the Dark Lord has fallen. He won’t adopt protective measures until Dark events begin to resurface. Unfortunately for him, the first of such events will be his death.”
Draco shifted uneasily in his seat and glanced surreptitiously across the table at Pansy. He found it rather unsettling to hear his father exuding so much faith in the overconfidence of his enemies. The potential for irony was not lost on the younger Mr. Malfoy, and from the look in Pansy’s eyes, he was not alone in his doubts.
“Well, now that we know the place, date, and approximate time of the wedding, we should be safe to start making plans,” said Lucius. “No matter how small the guest list may be, I think it is safe to assume that the nuptials will be taking place outdoors — probably in the garden. That house, if you can call it a house, is far too small to accommodate a wedding ceremony.”
“Do you think they’ll erect a Marquis, as they did last August?” Malcolm asked.
“Possibly,” answered Lucius, “but I tend to think not. The Weasleys are far too poor for such an expense. Therefore, I expect they will have a simple ceremony in the garden. As long as the weather remains cooperative, we should have a rather easy time of things. All I have to do is get close enough to make sure I hit Potter, then Disapparate immediately out of there before anyone can see me.”
“How will you make sure you got him, if you’re so focused on escaping, Father?” asked Draco.
“You and Pansy will be there to cause a distraction in the event that something goes wrong with my plan or just to keep attention away from me.”
“What?” shrieked Pansy, who had been sitting by silently. “We’re supposed to bring attention on ourselves while you get away completely? And where will you be, Daddy?”
“Your father, Pansy, will be in Romania preparing for a visit to the Durmstrang Academy that he is scheduled to make with me. Since Ottery St. Catchpole is in the south of England, I will take a Portkey across the English Channel, then Apparate into Germany, where I will catch another Portkey that will be pre-arranged to take me into the suite we will be sharing in Romania
“If you are caught, which is highly unlikely, your wands will clear you of any involvement. It’s really quite simple,” Lucius drawled dismissively before turning to Malcolm. “Malcolm, I believe we have an appointment in Hogsmeade. Come.”
Pansy watched as the two older wizards strolled out of the conference room and couldn’t help noticing how much more elegantly Lucius Malfoy carried himself than did her father. Although her bloodline was just as pure as Draco’s, there was something to be said for the other aspects of breeding. Lucius had it. Narcissa had it. Draco had it — that unpracticed air that set the Malfoy family apart from and above all the other surviving pureblood families. In their prime, the Black family demonstrated the same elegance, and Draco was descended from both. It made her heart race as she reached across the table, extending her fingers until they made contact with Draco’s folded hands.
Draco looked up from his thoughts to find her eyes darkened and set firmly upon him. He knew the look well, given that they had been intimate through his last two years at Hogwarts. She was a pureblood and about as pretty as any pureblood other than Ginny Weasley, who would never be a candidate for his bed and the Greengrass sisters, for whom he had other plans. So Draco allowed his thoughts to roam.
“What?” he asked, knowing full well what was on her mind. Still, he liked the idea better if she had to ask for it. Begging would have been even better, for that matter.
“They’ll be gone for some time, don’t you think?” Pansy asked, giving him her best ‘come hither’ look and attempting to be coy.
“So?” he shrugged, baiting her further.
“It’s been months, Draco,” she said softly as she increased the pressure of her fingers upon his still folded hands.
“Months?” asked Draco, remaining impassive, yet pleased with himself.
“Draco, are you going to make me beg for it?”
“For what, Pansy?”
“For you to fuck me,” she hissed, embarrassed to be pushed to this point but unable to refrain. He was far too handsome, far too confident, and far too hard to resist. He was what every pureblood witch should want … what she had always wanted … and definitely what she wanted at that very moment.
Draco withdrew his hands slowly beyond her reach and offered a slight smile that she prayed wasn’t a smirk. At last, he began to push his chair away from the table; slowly … so slowly she couldn’t help thinking he was intentionally tormenting her. When finally he stood from his chair, Draco stretched his back, as if he was preening for her.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Shall we what?” she replied, her heart beginning to race. She hadn’t ever had sex with anyone but Draco and hoped there would be no need to ever touch any another man.
“My room is upstairs,” he said as he turned his back and began to move toward the foyer and up the stairs.
It took Pansy a moment before she could force her legs to move. Was he really going to make her chase after him? He’d never been this aloof before … well, at least not with her. Was it a game? Was he trying to make her want him even more than she already did? Could he not kiss her here? Could he not hold her hand as they ascended the stairs?
“Draco, wait for me!” she nearly screamed as she set out to follow him. Her heart leapt as he extended his hand behind him, as if he wanted to touch her, but he didn’t hesitate.
It had to be a game. It had to be his way of making her desire him all the more. He couldn’t be that aloof when he hadn’t been inside of her for months. Could he?
Draco wasn’t entirely certain what he was thinking. He hadn’t had sex since his last time with Pansy, and he had thought about her from time to time. Or had he thought about it … the act, itself, and not his partner? He realized suddenly that he couldn’t tell the difference. Sex had always meant Pansy Parkinson and Pansy Parkinson had always meant sex.
Pansy wasn’t unattractive, but something about the way her father so willingly subordinated himself to Lucius Malfoy had begun to make her seem less desirable. There were purebloods, and then there were purebloods. But that, itself, was a big part of the problem. Thanks to the two Voldemort-related Blood Wars, a serious toll had been taken on the old pureblood families as well as the entire wizarding population. Other than Pansy, the only truly attractive pureblood females in Britain Once again, his thoughts turned to Ginny Weasley and the Greengrass sisters, Daphne and Asteria. The Weasley girls detested him and adored his mortal enemy. The Greengrass sisters were the kind of witches you married, not the kind you took to bed for recreational purposes.
By the time Pansy managed to catch up with Draco, he was hanging his robes neatly in his closet. Next he removed his shoes, dusted them lightly with a cloth, and placed them on his shoe rack. It took him another three or four minutes to finish removing and placing each item of clothing where it belonged.
“Are you going to close the door, Pansy?” he asked as he turned and made his way, naked, to the bed.
“Wh … what?” stammered Pansy as her eyes moved hungrily over his body. As disconcerted as she was by his distant behavior, she had always been enamored with Draco’s physical appearance. The last year had been kind to him, as the body that had withered away due to stress during their sixth year had added weight and muscle while in the service of the Dark Lord. When at last he turned to face her head on, Pansy gasped audibly. The Dark Mark was still clear to be seen on his left forearm.
“The door, Pansy. Are you going to close the door? And how much longer are you intending to wear those robes?”
Mesmerized, she turned, pushed the door closed behind her, and began nervously toying with the top few buttons and hooks that secured her robes.
Meanwhile, Draco pulled down the duvet on his side of the bed and fluffed up his pillows. He stretched languidly on his mattress and never once took his eyes off his most frequent sexual partner.
At last Pansy swallowed hard, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her robes to the floor. She had never before been left to undress herself, and the thought somehow unnerved her. But when she looked at Draco, she was reassured that his eyes were latched unwaveringly upon her. So she quickly stripped away the rest of her clothing and settled into bed next to him, cuddling up beside him and resting her head upon his chest.
Draco had watched her carefully, his cold gray eyes taking in every detail. Her skin seemed far paler than he had remembered it, and the last year at Hogwarts had softened her body noticeably. Her dark shoulder length hair stood out in contrast to her pale skin, as had her lower curls the previous times they had shared a bed, but not this afternoon.
“Why did you shave?” asked Draco, his voice still locked in a lazy drawl.
“It’s quite the style in the Americas,” answered Pansy, “North and South.”
“Do they shave their heads, too?” he asked, sounding much like his father.
“No, Draco … North America and South America. It’s quite the style now, so I thought I’d try it.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I think you’re the one who is supposed to answer that question.”
“We’ll see. Are you just planning on lying there?” he continued.
Draco had never before simply sat there waiting for her to initiate activities, but Pansy figured variety was a good thing and rolled onto her right side while she slipped her left arm across his chest and reached for his lips with her own.
Draco turned slightly away from her, offering Pansy the chance to nibble on his ear rather than his lips. He had always enjoyed it when she had toyed with his ear in the past, and today proved to be no different. She felt him shiver when her lips met the shell of his ear and was further rewarded when she began thrusting her tongue forcefully against the opening.
At last, she couldn’t wait a moment longer and began trailing kisses down his neck, over his shoulder, across his torso before settling in his lap. The sensation of being with him again after so long was overwhelming, so she took him in her mouth. His response told her she didn’t have a lot of time to waste. Grabbing her wand from the bedside table, Pansy cast the contraceptive charm while Draco remained lying flat on his back.
When Malfoy made no movement to pursue her, Pansy realized it would be up to her to get whatever she wanted. Swinging her left leg across him, it took only a moment to position herself properly. Pansy could feel the tension building within her almost as soon as she mounted him, but the passionate exchange she had come to expect from Draco was completely missing. Instead, he was simply lying there as she rose and fell against him.
Pansy convinced herself that he was trying his best to remain under control and wait for her to reach her destination, but the fantasy dissolved moments later when Draco uttered a soft grunt and threw his hips upward against her.
“Pansy, that’s enough,” he said, a note of protest in his voice, as his hands reached for her hips and slid her back to her side of the bed.
“What’s wrong, Draco?” she asked, unable to hide the tone of dejection and disappointment that had crept into her voice.
“Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t shaved,” Draco muttered as he sat up on the side of the bed and then headed off in the direction of his bathroom.
*****
With a combined crack, Ginny and Harry returned to their bedroom at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He was still clinging tightly to her, overwhelmed with emotion from the combined effects of the tidy stack of letters he held against his chest and the way in which Ginny had taken charge and acted on his behalf when he had lost the ability to do so. He wondered exactly how he had ever been able to draw a single breath without her love.
Harry gazed deeply into her liquid brown pools that were dilating quickly in response to the desire she saw forming clearly within his emerald eyes. Without losing contact with her, Harry removed his mother’s letters and set them gently aside on the bench that sat at the foot of their four-poster bed. No matter how much he longed to read each and every one of the notes from his mum, Ginny Weasley was the living, breathing center of his universe. Everything else could wait.
Without breaking eye contact, Harry’s left hand returned to cup the side of her face before his fingers slid deeply into her thick mane of brilliant red hair. His smile expressed a wide variety of emotions ranging from gratitude for what she had done for him at number four, Privet Drive, to the unquenchable fire of his love and desire for her. Everything made sense to Harry for the first time in his life. He brought his right hand up to cup the other side of her face when, at last, he closed his eyes and his lips sought to merge richly with hers.
Ginny moaned softly as Harry’s tongue met hers, causing a jolt of electricity to flow through both of them and eliciting the mutual shudder that never failed to draw them progressively deeper into their kisses. Harry had no idea how long they stood there drinking deeply of one another, drawing strength from their love until at last, Ginny’s fingers plunged inside his deep green robes and began unfastening his garment as quickly as she could. Harry followed her example and, before long, their clothing was discarded haphazardly about the room, and they were lying together in their bed. Harry’s emotions were on fire, causing everything that was happening to seem amplified. With each touch, Harry treated her with complete and total reverence. Ginny’s hair seemed a more vibrant shade of red, her eyes were an even brighter brown than he seemed to remember. Her freckles were somehow a more golden color than ever before, contrasting against an even fairer complexion. Her touch was like the feeling of pure magic as it spread in concentric circles from wherever her fingers reached him, and when at last he entered her, he felt consumed by her warmth … as if nothing else could ever be so perfect. He was completely lost in the love he felt for this extraordinary witch. … this woman who so clearly loved him every bit as much as he loved her.
It was as if their souls had merged, yet she was still undeniably her own. The fact that he had wanted her so thoroughly, needed her so desperately, and loved her so completely filled her heart in a way she would never have thought possible. So Ginny met his lips with equal intensity and threaded her fingers into his thick black hair.
“I love you, Ginny,” he said forcefully — perhaps more forcefully than he meant it to sound. But to Ginny, no amount of emphasis could ever be too much when it came from Harry Potter.
*****
Harry hated to disturb her as Ginny began drifting into sleep, but he suddenly sat bolt upright in bed.
“Ginny!” he gasped. “The charm … we forgot the charm!”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said groggily. “I was going to wait to tell you until you’d settled down from our trip to the Dursleys. I did a sensing charm this morning.”
“And?” asked Harry, his heart suddenly in his throat.
“Harry,” she said softly while shifting to rest her head in his lap, “we’re going to be parents.”
Chapter 11: Chapter 11 - Exploration and Discovery
Author's Notes: After removing the stuff that made this story "restricted" and filling in the blanks, I took advantage of the site's maintenance and jammed two chapters together. That way, what was left wasn't too short! I hope it makes sense!!!
“Parents?” gasped Harry, although he had not failed to understand what Ginny had said. He was simply trying to gauge her reaction before allowing his own to take root.
“Yes, Harry. Parents,” she answered.
“Are you sure?” he asked, although he knew she was.
“Yes, love, the Sensory Charm was quite clear. We’re going to be parents.”
“Oh, Ginny, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Not even a trace of morning sickness or anything else.”
“No, Sweetheart. I meant are you fine with this … with being pregnant?”
“Like I said in Professor McGonagall’s office, I’d really rather have waited a few years, but it isn’t a tragedy. We are getting married, you know.”
“I know, but I also know this wasn’t in your plans. We have options, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but this is our baby, Harry … yours and mine ... our son or daughter. There’s only one option as far as I’m concerned,” she continued before staring up to meet his eyes. A soft smile crossed her lips. “We’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Ginny, I’m so sorry, love,” he gasped, unable to grasp the magnitude of what was happening in their young lives.
“It’s my doing, Harry. I’m the one who jumped you and shagged you senseless. Anyway, I’m not sorry at all — just surprised.”
“Oh, Ginny,” he repeated as the knot in his stomach began to ease. “Of course we’ll be fine. God knows we can afford as much help as we need along the way. Whatever you need, Ginny — we’ll get you whatever help you need to make this work.”
“We want a family regardless of the timing. Let’s just relax and enjoy the experience as best we can,” answered Ginny.
“You’re amazing, Ginny. Truly amazing!” he replied as a wide smile began to spread across his face.
“I wonder what Professor McGonagall is going to think about this?” asked Ginny, a sardonic smile flickering on her lips. “I bet it was going to be hard enough to have a married couple in school. Now we’ll be parents before the end of the school year. It has probably never happened before at Hogwarts!”
“I think Minerva will cope with it just fine,” answered Harry. “I know Dumbledore would have done.”
Ginny reached her arm around Harry’s neck and pulled herself up to meet his lips. As hard as it was to accept being pregnant at the age of sixteen, she couldn’t have asked for a better situation. She was with the man she had loved ever since she could conceive of such thoughts. The war had ended in a fashion better than they could have possibly hoped for, even with the loss of so many friends and her beloved brother. But the future looked brighter than Ginny could have dared to hope for when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had Disapparated from Bill and Fleur’s wedding. There were many worse things that could befall them than adding a child to the equation of their love. Harry’s lips responded immediately to her kiss. He had been afraid to let his emotions run free, waiting to see how Ginny would react to the news of being pregnant. As much as he had looked forward to a few years of being a couple on their own, the thought of having his own family was causing Harry’s heart to soar. After almost eighteen years of being all but alone in the world, he was going to have a family of his own … and not only that, a family with the woman he loved more than life itself.
He looked into Ginny’s alluring brown eyes and allowed himself to relish the fact that his life had turned from an endless nightmare into a dream that seemed almost too good to be true. Sliding his arm down to her waist, Harry pulled her firmly against his chest. Her lips parted as they deepened their kiss.
“Harry?” she asked longingly, “Do you think it can always be this wonderful?”
“Yes, love,” he replied, “always. Always this good.”
Pansy sat up in Draco’s bed, the sheets pulled up tightly against her chest, and wondered what had happened to harden his heart over the last year. The pain in her own heart was palpable, as real as if he had struck her with the Cruciatus curse and had only momentarily relinquished his assault. Although no promises had ever been exchanged, Pansy had always assumed that she and Draco Malfoy were destined to be together. In fact, she had never even considered the fact that she might end up with another wizard.
Pansy heard the shower running in the next room and allowed her mind to consider the possibility of going in to join Draco — to make him see the error of his ways, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. She had long though about how incredibly erotic it would be to share a shower with her one and only lover — how they could find new and exciting ways to love one another. Now she realized that he was doing nothing but washing her scent off his body. The thought was devastating, and she suddenly found that she could think of nothing but getting out of Malfoy Manor as quickly as possible.
She literally jumped out of his bed and began wrestling herself into her clothes in rapid fashion, pausing only to wipe herself against Draco’s duvet, wishing that she could expel every drop of him from her body. At last, tears began to well in her eyes. She felt ashamed for the first time in her life and the feelings were overwhelming. As the tears began to cascade down her cheeks, she slipped on her blouse and skirt and reached for her robes. In only another moment or two, she would be free to walk out of Draco’s room and out of his life. Nothing had ever seemed as clear to her as the need to be away from this man in whom she had invested far too many of her emotions.
Pansy fumbled with the buttons on her robes, hoping to be gone before Draco got out of the shower, but suddenly she froze.
The doorknob turned, and a freshly showered, totally naked Draco Malfoy emerged from his bathroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Away,” was all she could manage in response.
“Away?” he replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a lot to figure out.”
Despite her best efforts, Pansy’s heart soared momentarily. What could Draco mean about having things to figure out? Had she misunderstood everything that had just taken place? She thought for a moment before responding. “Exactly what do we have to figure out?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” he continued. “We have to figure out how to keep Father’s plan from killing us.”
Pansy’s sense of logic knew without doubt that Draco was right. Lucius and Malcolm were setting them up in the worst way, leaving them behind to cause a diversion while Lucius escaped to safety. They needed to have their own plan of escape, but none of her powers of logic could stop her heart from dying within her chest.
She thought about Ginny Weasley, who would soon be marrying the man she had always loved, while she could no longer avoid the obvious conclusion that she would be starting anew.
“Well,” she thought, “unless someone stops Draco’s father, Ginny Weasley will be starting anew, as well.” Strangely, the thought did nothing to ease Pansy Parkinson’s agony.
*****
Harry sat at the desk in their bedroom, listening to Ginny’s soft breathing as she slept peacefully in their bed. He looked away from his stack of letters; bittersweet tears still streaming in rivulets down his face. The afternoon sun was fading, yet Ginny’s brilliant hair continued to glow radiantly upon their golden sheets. No matter how frequently he glanced in her direction, it shocked him every time to see that she was actually there.
On his desktop sat his mother’s letters, which had been written for his birthdays, two through ten. On top of the dwindling pile to his left was the letter she had prepared for his eleventh birthday — his last before returning to the Wizarding World. He found himself oddly reluctant to open this letter. The first nine had been overwhelming; with each one describing a bit more about what it meant to have magical blood.
Each letter had been filled with loving advice, coaching Harry in ways to deal with being different — about being a wizard in a world full of Muggles. She had lived through the same process of discovery and knew what it would be like for Harry. She had offered hope that he might come to meet a few of his own kind along the way, as she had with Severus Snape. She also warned of the dangerous temptation of the Dark Arts and begged her son to avoid them at all costs. Her letters did not state explicitly that Snape had fallen victim to these temptations, but given the insights he had gleaned from Snape’s memories, Harry winced in sympathy for his mum and the terrible loss she had suffered when her first friend in the Wizarding World had been lost to the allure of evil.
He reached for the next letter — the one that his mum had intended for him to read on his eleventh birthday — and began to read the next missive sent to him from beyond the grave, for Lily had long since stopped writing as if she hoped these letters would not be necessary. He swallowed deeply and wondered exactly how long his mum and dad had known that they had little, if any, chance of survival.
Our dearest son,
Happy birthday, Harry! Be especially gentle with your Aunt Petunia today, for this will undoubtedly be a painful time for my sister.
Today you turn eleven, a momentous day in the life of any wizard, for you will now reach the age at which you will be officially accepted by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Unlike most Muggle-born witches and wizards, I already knew that I was a witch thanks to the knowledge Petunia and I had gained through our friend, Severus Snape. Although she had known the truth long before I turned eleven, this birthday will undoubtedly remind her of the watershed event that separated two formerly close siblings and set us upon paths that could not have been more widely divergent. I pray that she has managed at some point to find peace with the fact that she was born without magic.
Attending Hogwarts will be your first full step into the magical world, as it was for me. I beg you, son, to be very cautious as you begin to make friends and associates. I can only assure you that things will not always be as they seem, and you must be very careful of those with whom you associate. I entered my first year believing that my dear friend Severus would always prove kind and good. In contrast, I found myself completely repulsed by a cocksure man, who would go on to become my wonderful husband and your father, and his best friend, your godfather, Sirius Black.
Other than a general warning to choose your friends wisely, I can only add this piece of advice: Avoid anyone who claims that some wizarding families are better than others based upon purity of blood!
Hopefully, Lord Voldemort will have fallen long before now and issues related to purity of blood will be long behind you. However, such issues have caused problems for as long as magical blood has run through human veins, and it would be naïve to think such prejudice will die whenever he falls.
Do not take this to mean, however, that you cannot trust pureblood families. Your father and godfather are both purebloods and are two of the finest, bravest wizards I have ever met. As I have mentioned to you in previous letters, Lord Voldemort would welcome either with open arms. He would do the same for the Longbottoms, Frank and Alice, who have also fought with us against the powers of darkness. Assuming he survives, you will soon meet their son, Neville, who was born on July 30, 1980, only a few hours before you came into the world. You will doubtlessly become acquainted with the Weasley children, whose parents are also purebloods who have never been tempted by the evil plans of the Dark Lord.
Hate and fear have always fueled the powers of Darkness. Evil leaders use fear to turn otherwise good people into their followers. Lord Voldemort and his inner circle of Death Eaters have convinced many within the Wizarding World that our kind will die out if we marry and reproduce with Muggles or Wizards of less than “pure” blood. Once this idea has been introduced, it becomes easier to convince otherwise decent people that it is necessary for our survival to alienate or even kill those who are less than pureblood.
You, Harry, will be called a Half-Blood wizard because I am Muggle-born. The fact that your father comes from one of the oldest and most respected wizarding families will not be considered important by Death Eaters. Neither will they concern themselves with the fact that I was at the top of my class in Hogwarts and am considered by many to be a powerful witch.
Of course, discrimination is not limited to wizarding families. Ever since Petunia was denied admission to Hogwarts due to her lack of magical abilities, she appears to have lost all affection for me. Your father and I have discussed whether or not it would be best to have you placed under the care of your godfather, but Professor Dumbledore insists that should something happen to us, you will be better protected by growing up amidst Muggles. I trust Professor Dumbledore above all others, as should we all. He is the only wizard Lord Voldemort has ever feared, and your father and I trust him without exception. He is not only a talented and powerful wizard, but also a good man.
Enough with warnings and advice! It is your birthday, and a most important one at that. Hogwarts School is a marvelous place, full of exciting things to be learned and wonderful people who will become your friends for life — the place where I met and fell in love with your father — the place that will do more to inform your life than anywhere you have been before and are likely to go afterward. If only we could be taking you to Platform 9-3/4 to experience this great joy with you! How I pray it will prove unnecessary to be writing these letters, but your father and I know better. Still, hope lingers even in the midst of the darkest of times.
Give Petunia my love today, and if possible, find ways to show her how grateful we are to her for her opening her home and heart to you.
Enjoy this new and wonderful chapter of your life and know always that your mother and father love you beyond anything we could have imagined possible before you came into our lives.
With love always,
Mum and Dad
Harry folded his mother’s letter as carefully as he could, wanting desperately to keep it in perfect condition, and added it to the stack on the right side of his desk. His heart ached terribly, and he knew without doubt that he could continue no further this day.
His mind reached cautiously back into the past, remembering his first meeting with Draco Malfoy in Madam Malkin’s shop and how, despite his insecurities, the arrogant ramblings of a Death Eater in the making had left him both terrified and saddened by human nature’s capacity for heartlessness.
He flashed forward in time, only a few weeks later, to his meeting with Molly Weasley, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. His mother’s words about the Weasley family echoed in his ears, foretelling the manner in which he would come to make his first lifelong friend and meet the girl who now shared both his bed and his life, fulfilling him in a way he could never have anticipated, becoming his equal in all things and his soul mate in ways he hadn’t known could exist.
He remembered sitting with Ron Weasley, his first friend and the pureblood wizard who represented all that was good in the Wizarding world, yet who suffered for his perceived inability to compete with the glories of his brothers before him.
He thought further forward to the arrival of the pompous little girl who, despite her know-it-all attitude, was already seeking to help others in need, even if it was only a lost toad! Hermione Granger, who despite her compulsion to excel, was as loyal and pure of heart as anyone he could ever hope to meet — the sister he had always wanted but could never have had otherwise.
As lonely as Harry had been in so many ways, he wondered how he could possibly have been more richly blessed. He swallowed deeply, wiped the tears from his eyes, and rose from the desk. With only a few steps, he crossed the space between the desk and the bed, raised the covers, and slid back into place next to Ginny. He slipped his arm over her and cupped her breast as he had the first time they slept together. He had intended to avoid disturbing her sleep but obviously failed to do so, for her fingers rose up to interlace with his as she snuggled her back firmly against his chest.
“I love you, Harry,” she whispered before drifting back to sleep.
Molly Weasley sat at the Burrow’s kitchen table fidgeting noticeably. No matter how adamantly Ginny kept repeating the word ‘simple,’ the more it seemed to bother her mother. The guest list looked woefully short, and it wasn’t anything at all like Molly had always had in mind for her youngest child and only daughter.
“But Ginny, you’re the only female Weasley for generations. In fact, it’s been so long since there has been a daughter in your father’s family, no one can remember when the last girl was born.”
“That’s not my fault, Mum,” replied Ginny, who was starting to bristle a bit at the unwanted pressure. “If it helps, think of me as just another female Prewett in a long line of female Prewetts, because I want a simple ceremony and so does Harry. Otherwise, we’re going to be overrun with reporters, governmental flunkies, and everyone else who wants to be associated with Harry.”
“I know, dear, but surely you want to have someone other than family in attendance,” pleaded Molly.
“We do, Mum,” Ginny said with exasperation. “We have Neville, Luna, and Hermione.”
“Hermione’s as good as family, dear. I’m half surprised Ron hasn’t already asked her to marry him.”
“It took him years to admit that he fancied her, Mum. I expect Hermione’s going to have to ask him if she wants to be young enough to have children when they get married,” said Ginny with a touch of wry laughter.
Ginny had no intention of telling her Mum that she was already pregnant. It might only serve to confuse her parents as to why she had accepted Harry’s proposal in the first place. That simply wouldn’t do, so she had made that fundamental decision even before telling Harry, who had readily accepted her plan to keep this information in trust between them only.
“But don’t you want a few more friends?” asked Molly.
“Neville and Luna were at the Ministry with us and helped me with the DA last year. They’re special friends. Beyond that, we’d have to open the doors for everyone, and that’s exactly what we want to avoid. Anyway, once Charlie, Percy, and George bring dates, and Bill and Fleur bring all of her family, we’ll have a garden full of people.”
“But what about Hogwarts professors, dear?” continued Molly.
“We’ve invited the Headmistress, Hagrid, Professors Flitwick and Sprout, and Madam Pomfrey. Who else would you want us to invite, Mum?”
“Oh, all right, Ginny. I give up! But why do we have to cater all the food?”
“Because you’re not going to work like a slave, Mum, and Kreacher and his children are also coming as our guests. Anyway, Madam Rosemerta’s food is wonderful,” said Ginny emphatically.
“But it’s so expensive,” Molly replied, a tinge of concern lacing her words.
“Harry can afford it. Can’t we just let go of all these details?”
“But, Ginny dear, how can he afford all this?”
“Mum, please let it go,” she began, placing a hand on her mother’s arm. ‘There’s no need to go into details. Just try to understand that this won’t be a hardship for Harry, and it’s something he wants to do. Like he says, it’s a stupid custom that says a bride’s family has to pay for everything, and we’re not doing anything nearly as elaborate as what you did for Bill and Fleur.”
“But …” began Molly before she was forcefully cut off.
“Let it go, Mum!” Ginny exclaimed, finally allowing some of her frustration to come through. “Just let it go!”
“But about the dress, Ginny …” Molly said, trying to resurrect the discussion about Ginny’s wedding attire for the hundredth time that morning.
“Dress robes, Mum … dress robes,” Ginny answered once again. “Harry and I have already gone to Madam Malkin’s and been fitted for our robes. Ron and Hermione can have theirs done as soon as they get back from Australia.”
“When will that be?” Molly inquired.
“As soon as they’ve found Hermione’s parents and restored their memories,” said Ginny.
“But what if they don’t make it back in time? You won’t have any attendants.”
“Then we won’t have any attendants. It’s not required for a valid marriage. Anyway, they promised they’d be back in time,” muttered Ginny. She hoped it was a promise Ron and Hermione could fulfill. It would be terrible to get married without their closest friends in attendance.
Molly was about to ask again when two soft pops came from beyond the open kitchen window. She knew her daughter was becoming irritated with her requests, but realized that Ginny would come to understand things better when her own daughter was preparing to walk down the aisle. Molly smiled nostalgically, remembering that she had asked much the same thing of her mother when she and Arthur had married.
“Hermione!” exclaimed Ginny as she saw her friend entering the Burrow’s kitchen. “You’re back already!”
“Yes!” answered Hermione excitedly. “We found my parents right away, and the reversal spell worked perfectly. Ron and I gave them a summary of what’s happened since they left, and they wanted to come back home immediately.”
“I’m so glad for you, Hermione!” Ginny offered with a smile “Where is Ron, by the way?”
“I left him with Harry and Kreacher out in the garden. They seemed to be excited about something.”
“Harry’s thinking we ought to go to Chateau Peverell and, if it’s not in too bad a condition, see if we might use it for our honeymoon.”
“How long has it been since anyone’s lived there?” Hermione continued inquisitively.
“Forever, as far as Harry has been able to find out, but it’s supposed to be absolutely beautiful,” Ginny added, unable to keep a trace of excitement out of her voice.
“And you own it?” asked Hermione, her excited voice carrying farther than she had intended.
“What?” sputtered a surprised Molly.
“Yes, Hermione, where did you hear that?” added an equally shocked Ginny. She and Harry had agreed to keep such information a secret amongst the two of them, only.
“I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret,” answered Hermione. “I simply heard Kreacher asking ‘Master Harry’ about instructions for fixing up your new house. It was really obvious with that bull frog's voice of his.”
“I’ll have to speak with Kreacher about keeping such things quieter in the future,” muttered Ginny.
They hadn’t thought about the risk of including their primary house elf in their secret, since he and his children would be responsible for caring for their residences.
“Such things?” asked Molly.
“Harry has inherited a little real estate, Mum, that’s all,” answered Ginny.
“A little real estate called Chateau Peverell? ” continued Molly suspiciously, as her thoughts about Harry’s inheritance began to come together.
“Yes, and we know nothing about it. That’s why we’re going to pop over there tomorrow afternoon and see what kind of condition it’s in. I did a little research on Lac Annecy, and it looks absolutely beautiful. It would be a brilliant place for a honeymoon if it’s not too shabby.”
“So you’re taking Kreacher and all three of his children?” asked Hermione.
“All three of his children?” Molly asked incredulously. “Harry owns four house elves?”
“No, we employ four house elves. We presented them with clothes and offered them contracts to work for us as free elves, and they all accepted.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ginny.”
“We do, Mum. Just let go and trust Harry. I do.”
*****
The next afternoon, the weather was perfect and the sun glimmered brilliantly as it reflected off the cold, clear water of Lac Annecy. Harry and Ginny had arrived at the Official Apparition Point in the wizarding quarter of Dijon, where they presented their official travel documents to the dumbstruck employees of the French Ministry. Although it had been only a few days since Lord Voldemort had fallen, Harry’s fame preceded him even into Burgundy.
From there, the young couple had taken a Portkey to the village of Annecy, which was perched quaintly upon the northern shore of the glacially carved lake. The French Alps towered majestically to the east, while the western shore was flanked by rugged, densely forested hills. The surroundings reminded them of Hogwarts and the Black Lake, although the scale was much grander.
A quick review of the legal documents Harry had obtained from Gringotts went quite satisfactorily, and a pair of goblins escorted them to their property, which was nestled on the eastern shore near a famous Muggle resort. Although Harry and Ginny had the written directions to their unplottable chateau, they doubted if they could ever have found the property without assistance.
A tiny lane ran downhill from the main road that paralleled the eastern shore of the lake, quickly falling into the woodlands that obscured the small castle from view. The ancient building was constructed primarily of grey limestone, although the trim had been made of deep red bricks held tightly in place by grey mortar. The leaded glass windows towered four stories above them and reflected the glittering sunset from the water’s surface.
Ginny opened the sheet of incantations the goblins had provided and held them in plain view so Harry could recite the phrases necessary to open the locks.
“We’ll add you to the blood wards the moment we’re married,” said Harry as the front door sprang open and they walked into the foyer.
“Oh, Harry, I feel so tiny,” whispered Ginny as she took his hand in her own. “It’s magnificent.”
“Yes, sweetheart, it is,” he answered, “but so are you.”
“Oh, Harry, thank you for the compliment, but that’s ridiculous!” she chided him.
“Why don’t you shut up and let me be the judge of that, Ginevra?” Harry responded firmly. “It’s my opinion that matters, anyway.”
“It’s just that you act like I’m the most beautiful and talented witch in all of Britain,” she said sardonically.
“And France,” Harry added quickly. “You forgot about France, love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry!”
“I’m not being ridiculous!” he protested insistently as he closed the distance between them, slipped his fingers into her gorgeous red hair, and placed a passionate kiss on her lips. The familiar feelings of fire and spice spread instantly through his body as she melted into him. So they remained locked together while passion flared intensely between them.
At last Ginny reluctantly broke their embrace and stared into his emerald eyes.
“Unless you want to have me on this flagstone floor, I think it’s time we summoned Kreacher,” she said huskily.
“Kreacher!” Harry called, barely raising his voice to a normal speaking voice.
Four sharp cracks rang out in the foyer as Kreacher, his sons and his daughter appeared out of thin air.
“Amazing!” said Harry respectfully. “We wizards have to go through all this regulatory nonsense, but you can simply Apparate.”
“Wizards is never respecting Elvish magic,” answered Kreacher proudly.
Harry swallowed hard and thought how that simple truth had saved his life and the lives of his closest friends, though Dobby had perished in the process.
“Ginny, may I introduce you to Kreacher’s daughter, Melpomene, and his sons, Winston and Randolph.”
“Pleased to meet each of you,” said Ginny politely.
“Mistress Ginny,” replied each of Kreacher’s children in unison.
“There is no need to call us mistress and master,” said Ginny as a kind smile spread across her face, matching the sparkle in her eyes.
“Kreacher and his children would be preferring the old ways, Mistress Ginny,” answered Kreacher. “Now, what would Master Harry have us do?”
“Would you please prepare the house for us to stay overnight, Kreacher?” requested Harry. “It seems so nice here, and I think we’d like to stay.”
“Indeed,” replied Kreacher. “Winston and Randolph will start by serving dinner on the terrace while Kreacher and Melpomene will begin with the living quarters.”
Winston and Randolph bowed deeply and made sweeping gestures with their hands, directing Harry and Ginny forward into a great room with massive fireplaces on either end and a long wall of leaded glass windows that looked over a well-kept terrace, immediately below which sparkled the pristine waters of Lac Annecy. Ginny’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed out over the beautiful sunset that was forming above the rugged hills that flanked the western shore of the lake.
Harry’s attention was riveted on the beautifully set table on the terrace, featuring white tapers burning brightly in crystal candlesticks, matching claret glasses, and fine china. Harry had spent hours with Kreacher earlier in the afternoon while Ginny had been making wedding plans with her mother. He prayed nervously that she would be pleased with his efforts.
He need not have worried, as Ginny held tightly to him when they approached the outdoor dining table. The weather had complied perfectly with his wishes, the temperature remaining balmy yet retaining the crispness so typical of the French Alps in late spring.
“Oh, Harry, it’s perfect,” she whispered.
“Like you,” he answered, following his heart but immediately wishing he had tempered his response when she grimaced and rolled her eyes.
“I’m nothing even vaguely approaching perfect, Harry,” she said firmly. “I really wish you wouldn’t put that kind of burden on me.”
“You’re perfect for me, love,” he answered, a hint of irritation lacing his reply. “I really wish you’d accept that, Ginny. I know you’re not an objective ideal. I only mean that you’re exactly who I want, and I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
Her features softened slightly, yet she still shook her head.
“Tell me that again in seven years, Potter, when all you blokes start into the seven-year itch.”
“I like a challenge, Weasley,” said Harry as he pulled out her chair and helped her take the seat that looked out directly upon the glittering lake. “You know I’ll never lose, don’t you?”
“Hmmpf!” she said indignantly, although a jolt of electricity was running down her spine where he had allowed his hand to stroke lightly against the thin fabric of her blouse.
“It really is beautiful here, Harry,” she sighed as her gaze stretched out across the water.
Taking advantage of her distraction, Harry slipped a small jewelry box onto her plate. It was wrapped in gold paper with crimson and silver ribbon. He quickly slid into the seat to her left, his gaze vacillating between her profile and the present that still lay unnoticed upon her serving plate.
“Harry, are those swans?” she asked excitedly as a small flock of long-necked birds descended to the surface of the water.
“I think so,” he mumbled as his fingers began tapping impatiently upon the tablecloth.
“They are so beautiful,” she murmured as she turned to gaze into his eyes, never once looking down at the present he so desperately wanted her to discover.
She reached for him with her right hand and as she moved it from the surface of the table toward his face, she accidentally bumped her fingers against the box that sat otherwise unnoticed upon her plate.
“Harry!” she gasped, finally taking notice of the carefully wrapped package that lay before her. It took only a moment for her to break through the wrapping paper and extract the jewelry box from its cardboard container. In the blink of an eye, she pried it open and sat staring incredulously at the ruby and diamond earrings that had last been owned by his mother.
“I love you, Harry,” was all she could say before her lips rose to meet his.
“I was going to give them to you at the wedding, but I couldn’t wait.”
“They’re gorgeous, Harry, but honestly …” she began before hesitating, haunted by second thoughts about what she wanted to say.
“But what?” asked Harry as a crestfallen look washed over his face.
“Nothing,” she whispered, wishing desperately that she had been able to keep her concerns to herself.
“It’s not nothing,” he answered as he searched her eyes for clues about what he had done wrong.
“It’s just that I’ve never had anything like this,” she replied, trying hard to find the right words to describe what she was feeling. “I’ve never had money or jewelry or a fancy house — not that you could even call this a house. And we haven’t even seen your estate in Cornwall. It’s all a little overwhelming.”
“I know,” Harry said softly, no longer able to look into her eyes. “At least I was smart enough not to give her Mum’s other ring,” he thought silently while his appetite disappeared. “How could I have been so fucking stupid?”
“I’ve not only never had these kind of things, Harry, I’ve never even missed having them.”
Harry fidgeted with the edge of the fine cotton tablecloth and looked at the elaborate collection of china and crystal. He knew that Ginny was right. It was all a bit overwhelming; exceeding even the level of formality at a major Hogwarts feast.
“Look, Ginny,” he whispered, “it’s not about the things. I’ve never had them either. It’s all a little new to me, too. I guess I went a little overboard with the dinner, but I wanted tonight to be perfect for you. And I want you to have the jewelry because it was my mum’s … because it’s perfect for you … because I want you to know how much I love you … because I want to honor you with all that I am and all that I have.”
“Oh, Harry,” Ginny gasped as she reached out to raise his chin so she could again look into his eyes.
“Your mother’s jewelry is so beautiful, and it means the world that you want me to have it. I love it, as a matter of fact. What I’m trying so poorly to say is that all I really want or need is you.”
*****
Following one of Molly Weasley’s exceptional dinners, Mark and Elizabeth Granger sat in the comfort of the Burrow, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the world into which their daughter had adapted so beautifully. The magical dwelling couldn’t have been more different than their neatly organized home in Oxfordshire. Still, the warmth and love that exuded from the Weasleys had almost instantly put them at ease.
“Wendell and Monica Wilkins!” said Arthur with laughter lacing his words. “However did you choose such names for your parents, Hermione?”
“I don’t really know, Mr. Weasley,” she answered timidly. “I guess I chose a last name starting with the letter ‘W’ then let the rest sort of come out of the blue.”
“The letter ‘W’?” asked Ron, a sly grin slipping across his face. “Why the letter ‘W’?”
Hermione blushed brightly and turned her eyes downward to gaze at the tea service that sat upon the Weasleys’ living room table. “No particular reason, Ron,” she answered softly, “other than the fact that I was thinking about you at the time.”
“Blimey!” he replied, slipping his large, masculine hand around hers, lacing his fingers through her much smaller, softer ones.
“Hermione’s spell work must have been pretty good,” said her father, “because I never once thought it strange that my name was Wendell Wilkins, although I always felt a bit odd calling my wife ‘Monica.’ Very strange, that!”
“And I never got comfortable with the idea of being retired,” added Elizabeth. “It seemed like we ought to be doing something other than watching the telly.”
“Always wondered how that worked!” added Mr. Weasley excitedly. “How exactly have Muggles figured such things out? Brilliant, I tell you! Brilliant!”
“I’ve often wondered the same thing,” said Mark Granger understandingly. “It’s a bit different field of science than either Elizabeth or I studied at university … waves and such.”
It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but Elizabeth Granger was losing the battle against the need to yawn when all eyes in the room turned to her.
“Excuse me,” she said politely, yet blushing profusely. “The company is wonderful, and your meal was delicious, Molly. However, I’m afraid the jetlag has hit us rather hard.”
“Jetlag?” asked Arthur curiously.
“It happens when the body becomes dehydrated for so many hours when you travel by air — especially when you move across several time zones.”
“Fascinating!” said Arthur once again. “Well, Molly and I will be happy to escort you back home. I’m sure Ron and Hermione are both too jetlagged to risk Side-Along Apparition tonight.”
“Are you quite certain that it’s safe with Muggles?” asked Mrs. Granger, even though they had arrived at the Burrow by the same method of travel.
“Absolutely, dear,” answered Molly with a kind smile. “Just hold on tight when we tell you we’re ready, and don’t let go. Everything will be fine.”
“Aren’t you coming along, Hermione?” her mother asked when the young witch made no move to join them.
“Maybe later,” answered Hermione. “I’d like a little more time with Ron, if you don’t mind.”
“More time, dear?” replied her mum. “You’ve been together for days!”
“Not alone, Mum,” she nearly whispered, surprising everyone in the room with her frankness.
“Oh, my!” gasped Elizabeth, “I’m sorry dear. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay.”
“Yes, by all means, we’ll just let Arthur and Molly zip us back home and let you two have some quality time together. Will you be home late?” asked Elizabeth.
“Not until tomorrow, Mum,” answered Hermione with finality.
Arthur Weasley smiled knowingly in the direction of Ron and Hermione as he took Elizabeth by the arm and followed Molly and Mark toward the door. Just before he stepped outside, where it would be safe to Apparate, Arthur looked back over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione.
“I think Molly and I will stop by the Leaky Cauldron on the way home for a nightcap,” he said with a light note to his voice. Turning back to speak to the Grangers, Arthur continued, “Now remember to hold our arms very tightly. You’ll get used to the feeling after a few trips!”
*****
Pansy Parkinson tossed uncomfortably in bed. It was far too early to retire, as the sun had set no more than thirty minutes earlier, but she dared not return to the main portion of her home. Only by feigning a splitting headache and case of nausea had she been able to convince her father that she need not accompany him to Malfoy Manor. He had departed reluctantly, reminding Pansy that they still had much planning to do if they were going to successfully complete their plot to assassinate Harry Potter and gain control of the Elder Wand for Lucius Malfoy and the remaining Death Eaters.
Pansy had wanted to ask her father exactly why it was so bloody important for a Malfoy, rather than a Parkinson, to lead the pureblood revival but her heart wasn’t truly in it. She had suffered severe misgivings when Lucius first shared his plan with them, but her inherent dislike for Harry Potter combined with the embarrassment of how easily Ginny Weasley and a house elf had disarmed both her and Draco had led her back into the fold.
On the c0ntrary, the disregard shown for her personal safety by Lucius had been compounded by the disrespect that Draco had shown for her as a human being. It was enough to make anyone think twice.
She also wondered why she wasn’t enjoying the thought of Ginny Weasley being widowed on her wedding day. She was everything Pansy resented in the world, for the Weasley girl gathered friends effortlessly, excelled in her class work, and flew better than any witch she had ever seen.
“Bugger,” thought Pansy, “she flies better than any wizard I’ve ever seen, except maybe Viktor Krum, himself!” Pansy slammed her fist down upon her pillow and cursed beneath her breath, unaware of what was making her hold her emotions inside. The Weasley girl had everything Pansy wanted, including the love of a man she had always loved — even worse, Ginny’s choice was the most famous wizard in all of Britain and potentially the most powerful. It was enough to make her go round the twist with jealousy. “Why then aren’t I happier about what we’re planning to do?” she wondered.
“It’s only because Lucius is setting Draco and me up to take the fall. Isn’t it?”
*****
Hermione fidgeted nervously as her parents left the Burrow with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She hadn’t meant to give them such a direct indication of the point to which her relationship with Ron had progressed, but she had expected a bit more discretion from her mum as well. Still, Hermione had to admit that she had previously told her parents nothing of her romantic interest in Ron. In fact, she had gone to great lengths over the years to speak of Ron and Harry as if they shared equally in her affections. Somehow she had expected her parents to pick up on the fact that Ron had accompanied her to retrieve them from Australia while Harry was preparing for his wedding and draw the proper conclusions.
“Well,” she reflected, “it hadn’t been particularly subtle, but it should be clear now exactly how I feel about Ron Weasley!”
As the door latch clicked shut, Ron looked up sheepishly at his girlfriend, trying hard to keep a grin from spreading across his face. He was fairly certain Hermione wouldn’t see the humor in the situation, yet he couldn’t keep the twinkle from his eye as his gaze finally caught hers. Whatever he had been expected, her actual reaction wasn’t it!
Hermione smiled broadly and let out a burst of laughter before covering her mouth with her hand.
“Guess I haven’t gained any subtlety since Borgin & Burke’s,” she said, gasping to catch her breath between waves of laughter.
“Well, your mum and dad aren’t likely to be sending Death Eaters after us, so no worries,” answered Ron. “And they seemed to take the hint quickly enough.”
“Yours, too,” giggled Hermione as she reached out to take Ron by the hand. “I take it they’re going to give us some time on our own.”
“It’s not like they’ve ever tried to keep us apart,” said Ron.
“No, but they’ve never left us with the house to ourselves,” Hermione replied as she pulled Ron up from his seat. “Where shall we begin?”
“B … begin?” stammered Ron in response.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d like a change from making love with the Chudley Cannons flying around the room.”
“But … but … but Mum and Dad. They can’t be gone long enough to …”
“Long enough for what, Ron?” she asked.
Without another word, Ron’s fingers laced into her hair and he lowered his lips to meet hers softly. In only a moment, his tongue parted her lips and met with hers, where they began dueling ferociously, one with the other. Fire surged through him instantly, rising within him until he couldn’t suppress the moan that passed from his lips into hers.
Unwanted clothes were cast unceremoniously aside as Ron’s hands found their way over Hermione’s body, claiming her after the longest three days of his life. It had seemed reasonable that they should refrain from sex during the time it took to make their way back from Sydney to London and that Hermione should stay at her parents’ home on their first night back in Oxfordshire, but Ron had never thought three days could seem so interminable. As irrational as it seemed, Ron had ached for Hermione in a way he couldn’t have believed possible, and as their lips merged and their clothes flew in all directions, the ache that had filled his soul for three days turned into a raging fire.
“I’ve missed you, Hermione,” he breathed into her ear.
“It’s seemed like forever, hasn’t it?” she breathed back.
Ron’s hand slipped gently down over her bum before reaching back up her inner thigh. His eyes popped open to find her gazing at him humorously.
“I told you it’s seemed like forever,” she said softly before wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him down to the settee on top of her. Her hips rose up to meet his, her hand reaching down to guide him into her in one smooth motion. Ron felt overwhelmed, as if he was home after a long journey. He melted into her and lost control completely, shuddering against her with an intensity that shook him to the core.
“Hermione,” he gasped, “I love you.”
“And I love you, Ron.
Hermione jumped up quickly and began gathering their clothes while Ron remained kneeling, dumbstruck that she had moved so quickly away from him. At last, he felt her hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Ron,” she whispered into his ear. “How long do you think it takes to have a nightcap at the Leaky Cauldron?”
“Not long,” he answered as two soft pops greeted his ears from the garden.
Hermione took his hand in hers and pulled Ron quickly to his feet and up the stairs.
“Upstairs!” she exclaimed. “It’s time to go back to the Cannons!”
*****
Arthur and Molly took their time puttering about in the garden, rearranging some of the chairs and tables and talking happily and in full voice about the lovely evening they had shared with the Grangers.
“Oh,” Arthur said as if it were an afterthought, “I filed our consent forms at the Ministry today. Ginny is now free to marry, or do whatever else she chooses. Our youngest is now officially of age.”
“It was going to happen in a couple of months, anyway, Arthur,” she answered. “Nevertheless, it makes me a little sad. I really couldn’t be happier for her … and for Harry.”
“Me, too,” answered Arthur quietly. “Me, too.”
After a few moments, Molly noticed light shining briefly from Ron’s fifth floor bedroom before being extinguished.
“I think it’s okay to go in now, Arthur,” she said softly, while taking her husband by the hand.
“Right,” answered Arthur as a smile creased his lips.
Molly pulled her husband into the house and toward the stairwell in much the same fashion Hermione had only minutes earlier led Ron up to his room. Molly wasn’t entirely sure if it was due to the excitement of Ginny’s upcoming wedding, or the obvious love that flowed between Ron and Hermione, but for the first time since Fred had been killed, she craved the comfort of making love with her husband.
As they entered their bedroom, Molly and Arthur were greeted by the sounds of Ron’s bed creaking softly above them. “Ah, to be eighteen again,” said Arthur with a quiet sigh.
“I don’t know, love,” answered Molly. “I actually think things have gotten better over time, don’t you?”
“Hmmm, glad you think so,” whispered Arthur as he took his wife in his arms and began to press kisses gently against her face.
“I do,” she said, shivering slightly when Arthur’s lips met her ear.
With a flip of her wand, Molly doused the candles that had illuminated their bedroom, shrugged out of her robes, and fell into bed with her husband hundreds, if not thousands, of times before.
*****
So far, the night at Chateau Peverell had turned out differently than Harry had planned, but had been lovely nonetheless. The property had proven to be in much better condition than he and Kreacher had anticipated. Whether or not Harry’s parents had ever visited their French estate he would probably never know; however, it had become obvious that the name ‘Potter’ was not new to the French wizarding authorities. No fuss had been made when Harry James Potter arrived with supporting documents from Gringotts. The magical protections that had been placed upon the property when it had last been visited had kept even the dust and cobwebs at bay. All Kreacher and his children had needed to do was organize the furnishings, make the beds, light the fires, and prepare their meals for the evening.
Harry found himself wondering at times how it had come to pass that Chateau Peverell had been magically protected, as if kept lovingly over time for its owners, while number twelve Grimmauld Place had fallen so deeply into disrepair. Then it hit him that while Chateau Peverell had been cherished and lovingly protected for future generations, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had fallen into decay as the family, itself, had fallen apart. Mrs. Black had survived the disappointment of Sirius and the loss of Regulus and lingered only a few years before dying a bitter and broken woman. The continuing ministrations of a depressed and alienated house elf had no chance of maintaining the once darkly magnificent home.
At Chateau Peverell, Kreacher and his children had been anything but depressed as they seized happily upon the chance to serve ‘Master Harry’ and ‘Mistress Ginny’ in their magnificent new estate. As a result, the hallways had soon been lit with magical candles, draperies had been flung open to catch the crispness of the evening air, and fireplaces had been lit the moment that the crispness had taken on the chill edge of night that was ever-present in the Alps.
Dinner had been marvelous, as Winston and Randolph had gone to great lengths to prepare even Harry’s favorite treacle tart for dessert. When he asked how Kreacher had known, Ginny merely smiled like the proverbial Cheshire cat and allowed the conversation to move on to other things. As they sat on the terrace, enjoying the food and the passage from sunset into night, Harry had finally focused upon the only thing he needed to feel complete — Ginny.
The house elves had done everything in their power to remain unobtrusive through the course of dinner, sweeping in with each change of dish … with each empty glass. As the chill descended from the peaks towering behind them on the eastern shore of the lake, Ginny moved closer to her fiancé, sharing his warmth and obviously enjoying his embrace. The setting was so perfect that he hardly dared move, fearing on some level that any change might burst the magic bubble in which he and Ginny now resided. Only when Kreacher arrived to ask if ‘Master Harry’ would require anything else before retiring did he allow himself to think of what would happen next.
The master suite of Chateau Peverell dwarfed that of Grimmauld Place both in size and beauty. Located on an upper floor at the eastern end of the castle, the room looked out over Lac Annecy. The moonlight that twinkled upon the surface of the water was intoxicating. The coolness that wafted in through the open windows was refreshing. The fire that blazed in the fireplaces at either end of the bedroom warmed them despite the effects of the room’s high gothic ceiling to keep them cool. Their massive four-poster bed sat on an elevated platform of the split-level room, inviting the young couple as if it were a living force. The surface of the bed rose precisely to the level of Harry’s hips, causing him to think immediately of the things he and Ginny could manage to enjoy before he even took the step up to lie between the covers.
Harry allowed himself the luxury of believing that she was thinking similar thoughts as they stepped up beside the bed and into one another’s embrace. As they always did, Harry’s hands reached up to touch Ginny’s face, and his fingers intertwined with her glorious hair. His touch was reverential at first, for that was precisely how he felt about this young woman who seemed to have been made as specifically for him as he knew he had been for her. He wondered as he often did, exactly how he had failed to see Ginny for what she was for so many years, only to be suddenly and surprisingly overwhelmed by his need for her early during his sixth year. Since that moment of awareness, no thought for any other woman had entered his mind, and Harry doubted it ever would, for Ginny was everything he had ever wanted. Indeed, she was everything he could ever imagine wanting in a partner.
As her lips parted and their tongues met, Harry’s sense of reverence became melded with passion in a way he had not known possible before becoming one with Ginny. He frequently wondered how it was that he could be filled simultaneously with admiration and respect for someone when all the while he wanted desperately to ravish her physically. Perhaps it was the disrespectful way in which so many of his male classmates had come to talk about the various witches they found attractive and the things they had openly fantasized about wanting to do to them. But Harry had never once thought about doing anything to Ginny Weasley. Instead he thought only of the things he wanted to do with her … the things he wanted to do for her … the desperation with which he wanted to make sure that she knew he adored her.
What his friends seemed to feel about other witches, Harry had never felt for anyone, so there was no sense of shame in what he felt for Ginevra Molly Weasley. Instead, the fire of his emotions for Ginny seemed as pure as it seemed overwhelming in nature. He knew without doubt that she was everything to him … everything.
How long they stood beside the bed, exploring one another’s mouths with their tongues … one another’s bodies with their hands … Harry had no clue, but it must have been quite a while, for his legs had begun to quiver. Somehow their clothes lay strewn about them as he struggled to find a way to deepen their kisses. His right hand remained buried deeply in her hair while his left moved freely over her body, seeking just as passionately to pull her somehow closer to him.
Neither desire was physically possible, but he felt compelled to try, nonetheless, until their teeth clanked gently against each other and she moaned passionately back at him.
“I need you now, Harry, please,” she whispered when at last their kiss broke momentarily.
“Yes, love … now,” he answered as his foot reached for the pillowed step that stood beside their bed. “I think you’ll need this,” he gasped while offering her the little step.
“Yes,” she gasped, stepping up and turning away from him to crawl onto the thick pillow-top mattress and luxurious duvet.
The vision of Ginny’s bum and her erotic scent drove Harry beyond the edge of desire. As she pulled herself up, Harry reached forward and grasped her by her left hip and right thigh, halting her progress when her knees had barely made it up onto the edge of the bed. He moved forward hungrily, pulling her back against him so he could continue kissing her in a surprisingly new fashion.
Ginny released a feral moan, telling Harry he had done something as welcome as it had been unexpected. She rocked back against him. Liquid fire was running through his veins as he poured his affection into her, eliciting another throaty moan and a shivering sensation that seemed to run through Ginny’s entire body. The feeling was electrifying.
Harry wanted desperately to give her a level of physical fulfillment that she had never yet achieved, all the while wondering if that were even possible with all they had already accomplished so early in their relationship. Then, again, he knew it wasn’t really that early, for they had spent nearly a year apart as he longed for her … ached for her … feared for her … all the while knowing that she had been his only reason for living, and his greatest source of strength at the very last moment when he had offered himself up to death.
“Oh, Harry!” Ginny screamed as she shuddered uncontrollably, bring him rapidly back to the present.
In a flash, Harry followed her up on the bed where her face was partially concealed in a tangle of beautiful red hair as she fought to regain control on the duvet. Harry worried that it might be too soon for her, so he asked, “Are you okay with this, love.
“Yes, please,” she answered. “I want you now, Harry.”
An emotionally intensity had held sway over Harry since they had begun kissing beside the bed and took him instantly tumbling over the edge with her.
“Ginny!” he screamed before collapsing beside her. Only then did he recognize that this act had as biologically irrelevant as it had been emotionally indispensable, for she was already carrying their child, and this realization caused another wave of emotion to crest over him. He pulled her firmly back against him until her back was nestled warmly against his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her, and her fingers were entwined with his.
“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered against her ear before pressing a string of gentle kisses down her neck and across her shoulder.
“I love you, too,” she replied, shivering happily at the feel of his lips and the gentle pulses of his tongue as he moved across her still inflamed skin. He wanted absolutely no space between them, as if even a fraction of an inch of separation would be too much.
“Funny,” he thought, “ordinarily I don’t feel this needy. What in Merlin’s name is happening to me?”
Harry felt momentarily as if their entire beings had merged … their bodies … their minds … their souls … perhaps even their magic? Was it even possible to become one with another person to such a degree? <
i>“Obviously,” reasoned Harry silently, “the answer is ‘yes,’ because that’s exactly how this feels.”
Chapter 12: Chapter 12 - Plotting and Planning
Author's Notes: For those who like references to canonical events while moving forward, I present Chapter 12!
Pansy knew she would not be allowed to beg off from yet another meeting at Malfoy Manor no matter how much it sickened her to even look at Draco. Then, again, no matter how disgusted she was at her own behavior with Draco, and his with her, she had come to realize that Draco was absolutely right when it came to his father’s plot. Lucius Malfoy and her father were setting up their own children to be accused of the murder of Harry Potter.
Yes, they might eventually be proven innocent of the murder, itself, but could they really expect to be allowed to leave Great Britain and join their fathers without casting suspicion on the entire group? Wouldn’t it become obvious that they had been, at the very least, conspirators in the assassination of the wizard who was a hero to the vast majority of the wizarding world?
“Ugh!” Pansy screamed at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “Since when have I even started to think like this?”
Pansy began recalling things she no longer recognized about herself; questioning the wisdom of her father, finding Lucius Malfoy revolting rather than inspiring, becoming concerned about the way Draco treated her, worrying about Ginny Weasley, for Merlin’s sake! Yes, she knew the plan could very well work as far as the killing of Potter was concerned, and she had said so emphatically, but beyond that, the whole thing seemed destined to fall apart.
Pansy had never before suffered from confusion. Her life had been one of complete clarity based upon her certainty in the superiority of blood purity and the wisdom of the Dark Lord. But suddenly she was overwhelmed with doubt. Was her own behavior a stain on the reputation of Slytherin House, or was it reflective of her cunningness and sense of self-preservation? Was she becoming tougher or losing her edge? Was she allowing the beliefs of her enemies to influence her behavior, or simply becoming more independent? She had no idea what she should do or how she should act until she could work her way through this moral and intellectual quagmire, and until then, she would have to protect herself.
So, when her father knocked on her bedroom door, she was ready and waiting. Tonight she would learn the final details of the plan and then, she figured, she could start the process of deciding whether or not to participate in such a risky endeavor.
“Are you ready?” asked Malcolm.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied.
“What’s bothering you, Pansy?” her father asked as a crease formed in the middle of his forehead. “You haven’t seemed like yourself for a few days.”
“I’m fine,” answered Pansy. “However, I have been wondering why Mr. Malfoy has to be the leader of the new pureblood movement. His blood is no purer than ours, and he had clearly fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord long before his death.”
“It all comes down to a question of what each of us is willing to risk,” said Malcolm. “Lucius is willing to be the one to kill Harry Potter while I will be safely in Bulgaria. It’s a very risky plan, and Lucius either underestimates that risk or he figures it’s worth almost anything to possess the Elder Wand. I’d rather be second in command if he succeeds than risk everything and end up spending the rest of my life in Azkaban.”
“But Father,” she said with a whimper, “I’m supposed to provide a distraction. If Mr. Malfoy fails, I won’t be sitting safely in Bulgaria. I’ll be the one who ends up in Azkaban.”
“Pansy, if Lucius misses with his Killing Curse, then I want you to Disapparate immediately and leave the distraction to Draco. Do you understand?”
“Disapparate?”
“Yes, dear,” Malcolm replied. “If Potter isn’t killed instantly, I want you to get away from The Burrow as fast as you can — and be careful to leave no sign of your presence.”
“But what about Mr. Malfoy’s plan?”
“Bugger his plan and bugger him. If things go to shit, I want you to Disapparate and come back home without hesitation. Your mother already knows to say that you have been here all along … that you have never left the house. Do you understand?”
“I do,” she answered. “But won’t Mr. Malfoy come after us?”
“What do we have to fear if he doesn’t have the Elder Wand?”
“Not much, I guess,” she said.
“Nothing. We have nothing to fear. If he comes after either of us, I’ll kill him without asking a question.”
“But what about Harry and Ginny?” she asked.
“Harry and Ginny?” said her father, a hint of doubt showing on his face. “Since when have they been Harry and Ginny to you?”
“I meant Potter and the Weasley girl,” said Pansy, as shocked as her father had been that she had called their enemies by their first names.
Madam Malkin’s wand was flashing at a speed that made Hermione blink as the beautiful periwinkle blue dress robe she was wearing was marked for alteration. Never before had she seen the aging witch move so quickly.
“I really wish you could talk Miss Weasley into something nicer than dress robes,” said Madam Malkin, a touch of concern showing in her eyes. “Her mother is very upset that things are going to be so casual … and so private.”
“Ginny isn’t one to make a big fuss over herself,” replied Hermione, not wanting to insult either Madam Malkin or Mrs. Weasley, but remaining protective of Ginny’s desires at the same time.
“But she’s the first Weasley daughter in at least a century,” continued Madam Malkin in protest. “And she’s marrying the most famous wizard in Britain. You’d think she would want to do things up right.”
“She’s doing it right for herself, Madam Malkin. Ginny and Harry don’t want a big production, and Harry’s had more than enough attention to last a lifetime.”
“Has he?” asked Madam Malkin.
“He has,” answered Hermione. “Can you imagine what it’s been like for him? Ever since he returned to the wizarding world, everyone has wanted to know about him. The Prophet has kept him in the headlines constantly since he was fourteen, and most of it hasn’t been complimentary. He needs a break.”
“But everything is complimentary now,” said the older witch.
“It doesn’t matter. Harry doesn’t want the attention. He only wants to be with Ginny.”
Ron sat back, having already been fitted for his robes that were fashioned from identical blue fabric. He smiled serenely as he watched Hermione defend the young woman who was both her closest female friend and his little sister. It didn’t seem possible, but with each passing day, Ron knew he was coming to love Hermione even more than the day before.
“If this keeps up,” he thought silently, “I’m going to explode. A teaspoon, indeed!”
Hermione looked up just as a soft smile spread across her boyfriend’s face. She made a mental note to ask him at a later time what it was about. Something about that look told her it was neither the time nor place to ask such a question.
“You look beautiful, Hermione,” Ron murmured when he noticed that she was looking right at him.
He thought for a moment of telling her that the robe was almost identical in color to one she had worn to the Yule Ball during their fourth year, but he stopped himself before the words could leave his lips. Reminding her of that particular night was exactly what he wanted to avoid. The memory of his cowardice in allowing someone else to ask Hermione to the ball still burned as if it had happened only yesterday; not to mention his subsequent display of petulant jealousy!
“Thank you, Ron,” she answered softly as an inquisitive look crossed her face momentarily, only to be replaced with a contented smile. “But this color looks better with your eyes.”
Madam Malkin’s wand stopped in mid-air as she took a short break to look from Ron to Hermione and back again. No, she hadn’t imagined it. These two were most definitely smitten with one another. She’d never been more certain of anything in over thirty years of crafting wedding attire for witches and wizards from all over Britain.
“Well, maybe you’ll let me make something a touch more romantic for your wedding.”
“Our wedding?” asked Hermione. “No, we’re not getting married.”
“I don’t know about that,” interjected Ron before he even realized the words had slipped out of him. A bright red flush shot up his neck and spread across his face in record fashion, even for a Weasley.
“Shite!” he thought. “Did I really just say that out loud?”
“Where were you yesterday?” Draco whispered to Pansy, though a look of intense panic leapt from his cold gray eyes.
“I needed to be away from you … you bloody prat.”
“But I told you we have important things to discuss,” Draco whispered, hoping their fathers couldn’t hear them from the study.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t jump at your command any longer, Draco.”
“This is more important than what happened in my bedroom,” his whisper having definitely turned into a hiss.
“To you, maybe,” she replied, her voice laced with disgust.
“Look, I’m sorry that I don’t feel the way you want me to, but is that any reason for us to get ourselves killed?”
“Not ‘ourselves,’ Draco. I have no intention of dying.”
“And just how do you intend to avoid that?” he asked.
“I won’t know until I hear all of your father’s plans, but I’m not dying for him … or for a wanker like you!”
Draco looked at the young woman he thought he knew — thought he controlled — and saw that things had changed dramatically. He took a moment to gather his wits, but before he could respond to her challenge, the door to his father’s study slid open and Lucius Malfoy appeared beneath the lintel.
“Draco. Pansy,” called Lucius, his eyes sparkling malevolently. “Please come in. Malcolm and I need to share some details with you.”
Harry’s breathing was returning to normal as Ginny slid off his sweat-soaked body and turned her back before snuggling tightly against him. In what was becoming a well-rehearsed pattern, he rolled toward her and allowed his right arm to move over her before settling protectively over her breast.
“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered softly against her ear.
“I love you, too,” she answered as the smile that had taken up residence on her face expanded. “It’s really beautiful here. I think it’s perfect for our honeymoon.”
“So do I, love. It’s really idyllic.”
“For a honeymoon, Harry, but I don’t think I could ever live here. It’s just, well, a bit much,” Ginny offered tentatively.
Chateau Peverell was truly magnificent, and Lac Annecy was perhaps the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her short life, but it didn’t feel like home to Ginny. Perhaps it was just too much of a departure from the Burrow, but she had a hard time thinking of the two of them bouncing around in such a huge, formal place. Then, as her thoughts moved into their immediate future, she realized she couldn’t visualize little feet moving rapidly across the cold hard floors. But Harry didn’t respond straight away. She held her breath, amazed that he had not agreed with her immediately.
“Harry?” she asked softly. “Are you thinking about living here?”
“What?” he said in response. Her question had clearly flown right past him.
“I asked if you were thinking about living here?”
“Oh! No, it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like home,” Harry answered at last.
Ginny exhaled a breath she had been holding for what seemed like an eternity. She wondered what, exactly, had caused him to hesitate about the decision to not make this their permanent residence.
“Then what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that this would be a great place to come for special events, like our honeymoon, or for a place to come with Ron and Hermione. It might even be a great spot for Weasley family celebrations, although I can’t really see anyone wanting to be anywhere other than at the Burrow.”
“Well, we haven’t seen your house in Cornwall,” she offered gently.
“You mean Potter Manor?” Harry asked as a gentle scoff slipped between his lips. “As I recall, the property was appraised at almost ten million galleons. The architecture may be different, but I suspect it’s much the same as this.”
“Well, at least it’s in England,” Ginny continued.
“Still …” Harry muttered, “can you see our kids running around there?”
“Kids?” asked Ginny, hoping that Harry could neither see nor sense the smile that had spread across her lips.
“I thought we wanted more than one,” said Harry, pulling her closer to his chest.
At last Ginny stopped suppressing the giggle she had been stifling and rolled over to face her fiancé.
“Of course we want more than one. But I’d like a little time for just the three of us after this one is born,” Ginny replied before another giggle escaped from her lips.
“Well, we have loads of time to decide,” said Harry. “We can stay at Grimmauld Place after our honeymoon, but if the cleaning gets too overwhelming, we could always bounce around between here and Cornwall — or we could just buy a house — or build one. We have options, you know.
“Anyway, starting a little before the first of September, we’ll have a flat at Hogwarts. That will solve the problem for a while,” he concluded.
Ginny broke eye contact and pretended to be fascinated with the stitching on the duvet cover. She didn’t know why she was so nervous about what she wanted to ask. After all, the worst thing Harry could do was say he didn’t like her idea. But there was something about what she was thinking that had already caused Ginny to become emotionally invested in the idea. At last, she cleared her throat and looked directly into Harry’s brilliant green eyes.
“What about Godric’s Hollow?” she asked quietly.
“Godric’s Hollow?” Harry replied, a look of disbelief passing across his face.
“Well, your mum’s letter said it was your father’s favorite home.”
“Before anyone was murdered there,” Harry countered.
“But it’s the perfect place to raise a family,” she continued, undaunted. “It seems like such a waste to leave it as a moldering ruin, especially since your parents seemed so happy there. We could renovate the nursery, make it a study, and add a new nursery downstairs.”
“You seem to have given this quite a bit of thought,” said Harry as a quizzical look caused his brow to crease.
“Guilty as charged,” she replied sheepishly. “If there are simply too many bad memories for you I’ll understand, but it seemed like such a lovely village and the house … well it reminded me a little of the Burrow. I mean you can simply feel the magic radiating from the place.”
“I don’t know, Ginny. I’ve never even thought about living where my parents were murdered. I don’t know what to think about it, really.”
“I thought you might not like the idea,” Ginny whispered, disappointment evident in every word.
“No!” exclaimed Harry, a compassionate smile warming his face. “There’s no need to apologize. I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I only said I hadn’t ever thought about it.”
“Still, I should have known it was a silly idea … going back to the place where your parents died. But it’s also the place where your parents lived … the place where you were born.”
“How do you know I was born in Godric’s Hollow?” asked Harry, astounded. He had never given the matter any thought and was surprised by Ginny’s certainty. “I assumed I was born when my parents lived at Potter Manor and that they only moved to Godric’s Hollow when they went into hiding.”
“Hogwarts’ library,” answered Ginny quietly. “I did a little research last year in my spare time.”
“L … last … last year?” stammered Harry. “Even after ... well ... things ended?”
“I never really gave up hope, Harry. I would have thought that was obvious after your birthday kiss.”
“Oh, Ginny. I never gave up on you, either. I hope you know that. Every night … every bloody night I would look for you on the Marauders’ Map. I couldn’t have survived if you hadn’t been safe. I couldn’t have gone on.”
“I know,” Ginny replied. “Why else do you think I took you back so easily? I knew you only broke things off with me for your stupid noble reasons.”
“You know me too well, love,” said Harry, a profound sense of peace sweeping over him.
“Yes, I do, Potter. It’s because we were made for each other.”
“That we were, Ginevra,” Harry whispered in reply. He looked into her intoxicating brown eyes and a decision came to him with astonishing clarity. “You know, I think it’s a great idea.”
“What is?” she asked. “What’s a great idea?”
“Living in Godric’s Hollow. My parents were happy there, and according to Mum’s letters, so was I. It’s a great idea.”
“Oh, Harry,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” he answered. “It’s wonderful … and Ginny?”
“Yes?”
“I love you,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact.
“A rehearsal and dinner?” asked George, incredulously.
“Yes, George,” replied Molly. “Certainly we need to have a practice run through things, even if Harry and Ginny haven’t thought of it.”
“Are you sure about that, Mum?”
“Of course I’m sure. Everyone who is in the wedding will be here tonight, so it should be easy enough. We’ll just bring out the Vicar from St. Andrew’s in Godric’s Hollow, and maybe you could go collect Harry’s cousin. After all, he’s the only blood relative Harry is on speaking terms with. I think it would be nice.”
“But aren’t you worried about what Harry and Ginny will think?”
“Not at all. Could you just pop on over to Little Whinging and see if Harry’s cousin would like to come? It would be nice if he could have a chance to become accustomed to the wizarding world.”
“If you’re sure, Mum. I guess I could do that. But their entire family lived in the wizarding world for almost an entire year.”
“I know,” Molly answered, “but can you even begin to imagine how it would have been with his parents there. Dedalus said they were absolutely horrid.”
“All right, I’ll do it,” sighed George.
Molly turned away from her son, a smile crossing her lips. It would be the first time George had ventured from The Burrow since returning from the Battle of Hogwarts … the first time he had done anything since Fred had been killed.
“As you can see,” said Lucius, standing above a map of The Burrow that had been spread across his conference table, “the layout of the Weasley property is not without its challenges.”
“I should say,” Malcolm replied. “Exactly how do you plan to get off a clean shot without being seen?”
Lucius cleared his throat and launched into his explanation.
“As shown on this map, there are only three buildings on the Weasley property. In addition to this … thing … they call The Burrow, there is a shed and an out-building that’s hardly larger than a broom closet. Since both ancillary buildings are on the opposite side of the Burrow from the main garden, we will be unable to use either structure for shelter. Therefore, the only place that affords both shelter and a clear shot at Mr. Potter is the house itself.”
“But how will you gain entry to the house, Father?” asked Draco. “Don’t you think they’ll still have security on the grounds?”
“Yes, Draco, I do. But, I expect to be able to Apparate onto the roof. According to this plan, there is a flat surface over the bedroom on the upper floor. There is a slight peak in the roofline just beyond this area, which will provide both cover and a rest for me to take aim. It will be a long shot, if they hold the wedding beneath this tree,” said Lucius as he pointed emphatically at the diagram.
“And why do you think the bride and groom will be there?” asked Draco, unable to keep a sneer from his voice.
“Where else would you hold a wedding, Draco?” his father sneered in equal measure. “It will be an afternoon ceremony, and the garden is on the west side of the property. This tree offers the only shade in the garden while the remainder of the area is surrounded by hedges and this ridiculous bit of fencing. They really don’t have any option unless they want everyone sitting in direct sunlight.”
“But you said it yourself, Mr. Malfoy, it’s literally a long shot. How can you be sure you’re going to hit Potter?”
“Leave that to me, Pansy,” Lucius replied. “It will take a while for the spell to reach him, but no one will be paying attention to anything other than Potter and his child bride.”
“But you have to be counting on them to stand still, Father. If we raise a distraction, won’t that cause people to move about?” asked Draco.
“The distraction should be raised immediately after I have killed Potter. If you are here,” said Lucius, pointing beyond the hedgerow that ran behind the tree, “you should be able to create a distraction that will draw everyone’s attention away from the … house. And if you are quick enough, you could Disapparate without ever being seen,” he concluded.
“So, we cast what kind of spells, Father?” asked Draco. “Incendio? Reducto? Or maybe we should conjure some Fiend Fyre?”
“No need for Fiend Fyre, my son,” said Lucius, unable to keep the condescending air from his voice. “And Incendio is too quiet. We need some noise, so you might want to try a Fireworks spell.”
“Do you happen to know any Fireworks spells, Father?” asked Draco. “It’s not something they teach at Hogwarts, you know.”
“Then perhaps you two should pay a visit to Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes,” suggested Lucius. “You did well with their Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Draco. Maybe you should put a few more of their silly little inventions to work for us.”
“Do you honestly think the Weasley brothers are going to sell me anything dangerous?” huffed Draco. The more he heard of his father’s plan, the less he liked it.
“If you hadn’t noticed, there is only one surviving Weasley twin, and my sources tell me he hasn’t been back in his shop since before the Dark Lord fell. I suspect you could walk into the store and buy whatever your heart desired. But, if you’re feeling uneasy about such things, perhaps Pansy, here, could take care of the Fireworks.”
“Me?” asked Pansy, a sense of panic rising quickly within her. “Don’t you think they’ll figure out who set off the Fireworks if I just happened along on the day of the wedding and purchased a set.”
“Precisely why we have this,” answered Lucius as he set a tumbler of muddy potion on the tabletop.
“Polyjuice Potion?” gasped Pansy, not believing what she was seeing. “I thought that took a month to brew properly.”
“That's exactly why we keep a store on hand at all times, my dear,” chortled Lucius.
“But I thought the Aurors searched your home immediately after Voldemort fell.”
“Surely you’re not naïve enough to think I would store such … shall we say, controversial substances, on the premises,” answered Lucius.
Ron Weasley had been struggling to hold his temper in check for more than an hour as Madam Malkin moved about Hermione, making adjustments at a snail’s pace.
“What does she mean, we’re not getting married?” Ron thought as his emotions began to slip perilously out of control. “Why in Merlin’s name did she want to shag me if she doesn’t want to marry me?”
At last, the seamstress finished marking the robes that Hermione would be wearing to the wedding. She struggled back to her feet, exuding an air of confidence.
“You may pick up your robes before the close of business,” she said, addressing both Ron and Hermione. “We should be finished in an hour or two if you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe spend a little time at Flourish and Blott’s.”
“Oh, could we?” asked Hermione. “I’d love to go to the bookstore and see what’s available. I haven’t seen a new book in over a year.”
“Whatever,” muttered Ron softly, yet unable to suppress the bitterness that burned within him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately sensing the rising aggravation in his voice.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, although his voice clearly said otherwise.
“Ron, I know something’s wrong, so why not save us the trouble and be out with it?”
Ron seemed to be conducting some inner battle until, at last, he blurted out, “What do you mean by saying we’re not getting married?”
“What?” asked Hermione, shocked by Ron’s outburst.
“You told Madam Malkin that we’re not getting married. She asked if she could make something nice for our wedding, and you told her emphatically that we’re not getting married!”
“Why are you acting like this? We’re not getting married.”
“Then why did you sleep with me? Why’d you tell me you love me if you don’t want to marry me?” Ron continued, the famous Weasley flush moving rapidly up his neck and spreading once again over his face in almost no time.
Hermione watched as the evidence of his uncontrollable panic became unmistakable. Before Ron had been poisoned, Hermione would have found herself involved in one of their frequent rows — the one thing they could be counted on to do whenever they had a misunderstanding and one wrongfully accused the other. She could barely suppress a chuckle when she thought back to the flock of angry canaries she had conjured when their worst misunderstanding had spiraled out of control. So, Hermione took a deep breath and laughed.
“Wh … what … what are you laughing at?” sputtered Ron indignantly. “Do you think the idea of marrying me is so sodding hilarious?”
“No, that’s not it … not at all,” she replied as another fit of laughter overtook her.
“Well, what is it?”
“Oh, Ron, I only meant to let Madam Malkin know we aren’t engaged — not that I would never marry you!”
“So, you would marry me if I asked you?” said Ron, the words registering only slightly more than a whisper.
“Do you really want me to tell you what I’d say if you were to propose to me?” Hermione replied, her eyes still twinkling with mirth.
“What?” asked Ron, a touch undone by Hermione’s obvious entertainment at the conversation’s change of direction.
“You’re asking me to tell you what I would say, without actually asking me to marry you. It’s not really fair, you know.”
“Oh, I guess I am. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she answered while taking Ron’s hand firmly in her own. “What do you think about getting a Butterbeer?”
Ron grunted his assent as Hermione pulled him out of the clothing store and back into the busy thoroughfare that was Diagon Alley. Hermione’s heart soared as they returned to the heart of wizarding London, where everything had already begun to take on the feel and appearance she had originally discovered in preparation for her first journey to Hogwarts.
It was nothing short of amazing to see so many witches and wizards returning to the lives each had led prior to the return of Voldemort and the Death Eaters’ coup at the Ministry of Magic. For some reason, it came a something of a shock when Hermione realized that most the people surrounding them on the cobbled street hadn’t even participated in the latest war against evil. Yet that was always the way of war — the few giving up so much for the benefit of the passive masses. Still, she would do it all again — risk everything with Ron and Harry — to ensure the freedom of all magical beings.
“So, do you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron?” asked Ron.
“Where?” replied Hermione.
“The Leaky Cauldron — would you like to go there for a Butterbeer?”
“No,” answered Hermione definitively before offering her arm to Ron.
“Where, then?” he asked.
“Hold tight,” Hermione replied, continuing to offer her arm.
At last Ron took her arm firmly. Convinced that his hold was adequate, Hermione turned on the spot and the couple disappeared into the crushing darkness.
“So, have you decided Father’s plan is achievable?” asked Draco, anxiously awaiting Pansy’s response.
“Well, I guess it all depends upon your father’s skills with his wand,” answered Pansy. “It’s more than fifty yards from the roof to the wedding tree. Other than that, the plan is as close to foolproof as it could be — as long as your Father can Apparate to the exact spot, launch an unerring curse from long distance, and Disapparate before anyone sees him, the whole thing’s a piece of cake.”
“He can do it,” replied Draco.
“What happens if your father is off by a few feet, Draco?” she asked haltingly. “What if her misses Potter and kills the Weasley girl?”
“Then Merlin save us all,” said Draco softly while contemplating the unthinkable. “If Father kills Potter’s precious little witch and leaves Potter standing, then we’d better be out of the country within a matter of minutes.”
“I was thinking the same thing, because Potter will still be the Master of the Elder Wand, and he’ll stop at nothing to avenge Ginny’s death.”
“And what if they have guards? What if Father is wrong, and the Weasleys haven’t let their guard down? What if Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Aurors are there in force to protect Potter during his wedding?” asked Draco.
“That would be the best of all worlds, wouldn’t it?” whispered Pansy, fearful that their fathers might return at any time and hear their doubts and concerns. “Surely your father would abort the mission. With any luck, we could Disapparate and go back to our everyday lives.”
“A life in which I don’t have to see you or your father ever again, Malfoy!” she thought silently.
With the sudden appearance of a redheaded wizard in her otherwise spotless kitchen, Petunia Dursley’s dish dropped to the floor, and her family’s favorite creamy chicken casserole splattered everywhere.
“What are you doing here?” she screamed angrily.
“Mum has decided to have a rehearsal this evening followed by a casual supper. We thought we’d invite Dudley along so he can get comfortable before it’s time for the actual wedding.”
“Well, Dudders won’t be going with you, and that’s final,” said Petunia with a snap.
“Where can’t I go, Mum?” asked Dudley as he stepped into the kitchen. He came up short, recognizing George as one of the culprits who had tricked him into eating Tongue Ton Toffee.
“To Harry and Ginny’s wedding rehearsal and dinner,” answered George. “Mum says you’re welcome to spend the night at The Burrow if you’d like.”
“She does?” asked Dudley, dumbfounded. “Why would she want to do something like that for me?”
“Because you’re Harry’s cousin,” George replied, “and Harry is like another son to our Mum.”
“That sounds nice,” said Dudley, who didn’t seem nearly as dimwitted now that he had stopped trying to be so intimidating. “Let me run upstairs and pack a few things.”
“Why don’t you let me help?” suggested George. “With a little bit of magic, we can have your things packed up and shipped to the Burrow in no time!”
“Dudley!” screamed Aunt Petunia. “You can’t be serious!”
“I can be, and I am, Mum,” said Dudley, as a burning look of defiance took up residence on his face.
“I forbid you to go with th … th … that lot!” huffed Petunia.
“I’m eighteen, Mum. You can’t keep me from going!” finished Dudley before heading upstairs.
As they reached the first floor landing, Dudley stopped suddenly and looked at George. “You’re one of the twins, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m George.”
“Where’s your twin brother?” asked Dudley. “He came with you last time.”
Dudley knew something was horribly wrong as he watched all the color drain from George’s face. “Oh, shite!” he muttered, as George’s smile faded and the lights that illuminated his eyes disappeared instantly.
“Fred was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts.”
Two soft pops echoed through the empty kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as Hermione and Ron staggered slightly before regaining their balance.
“Blimey, Hermione!” exclaimed Ron as soon as he recognized where they had landed.
“I’ll get the Butterbeers,” Hermione whispered as she reached up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.
As she turned her back to him, Ron quickly scurried toward the stairway. “I have to use the loo!” he called cheerfully behind him
Ron did not, however, stop at the toilet. Instead, he hurried up the stairway and skidded to a halt in Ginny and Harry’s bedroom, where a small wall safe had been installed for Ron’s benefit. Not even Harry knew what Ron had stashed in the secure location, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his best friend’s future plans with Hermione.
Ron’s hands were trembling as he performed the spells necessary to open the safe. Reaching in, he took a small, carefully wrapped box and headed back down toward the kitchen. He was growing warmer with each successive step, and the slight trembling in his hands had progressed to a noticeable shakiness.
“Ron, are you okay?” Hermione asked.
“I think so, love,” he answered, slowing to a normal gait as he returned to the kitchen, where he found Hermione seated at the long table with two bottles of Butterbeer perched in front of her.
“So, why do you only think you’re okay?”
“I guess it all depends on your answer, Hermione,” said Ron, whose voice had fallen to a mere whisper.
Hermione’s hands flew up to cover her mouth momentarily as she identified what Ron was carrying. As he held out the tiny box toward her, Hermione lowered her hands to accept the gift.
Ron took Hermione’s upper arm in his hand and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her neck, while she worked furiously to unwrap the package. When at last she had removed the wrapping paper and freed the inner box from its container, Ron’s lips moved up against her ear.
“Open it, Hermione,” he breathed into her ear.
“Oh, Ron,” she answered softly as she snapped open the lid on the tiny velvet box.
“Will you marry me?” he breathed once more into her ear before pulling away to gaze into her deep brown eyes that were rapidly welling with tears.
“Yes, I will.”
Ron removed the ring and slid it on Hermione’s waiting finger.
“Oh, Ron, it’s beautiful,” she murmured as she examined the yellow diamond solitaire.
“I hope you like it,” whispered Ron. “I know it’s a bit old-fashioned, but this ring belonged to my Grandmother Prewett, and Mum thought you should have it since neither Harry nor I would have made it through this past year without you.”
“I love it,” she answered. “I’ve never seen a yellow diamond before.”
“They’re very rare,” added Ron, “or so Mum tells me.”
“When are you thinking we should get married, Ron? We have another year to go at Hogwarts, and I don’t think Professor McGonagall would be too chuffed to have a second married couple in the student body,” Hermione asked while working the possibilities over in her mind.
“I was thinking we could get married immediately after N.E.W.T.S. are finished,” Ron replied, pulling Hermione close against his chest.
“What time is it, Ron?” she asked, a sly grin creeping over her face.
“Not quite four o’clock,” he replied.
“And we need to pick up our robes by five-thirty,” said Hermione, staring deeply into Ron’s bright blue eyes. “Didn’t Harry tell us we could use his guest room at any time?”
“Yeah, he did,” Ron agreed.
“Then come on,” said Hermione while pulling her fiancé up the stairs to the bedroom that Harry and Ginny had prepared especially for them.
Chapter 13: Chapter 13 - The Wedding
Author's Notes: And at last, Ginny and Harry are wed!
Sleep was a difficult commodity for Pansy Parkinson to come by as Friday night crossed into the early hours of Saturday morning. Yet even when she did sleep, Pansy wished she had been able to remain awake. For each time her body gave in to exhaustion, her mind awoke to terror — the terror of Ginny Weasley screaming over the lifeless body of her husband and wailing plaintively to her family.
Pansy tried to gain control of her emotions as she turned over in her gigantic bed. Perhaps her decision-making abilities would return with the dawning light of day. Surely then she would be able to separate herself from these unthinkable feelings that crept up on her during sleep; feelings for the very people she had detested for years. Certainly it was just reflective of the situation, for what woman — even the Weasley girl — deserved to have her husband murdered on her wedding day? No, everything would be fine once the sun rose.
But each time her eyes closed, the nightmare returned, jarring her awake as fear washed relentlessly over her body. She tried to tell herself that her fears were nothing more than self-preservation. She tried to convince herself that her only true fear was being caught while providing enough cover for Lucius to escape.
While awake, she imagined the terror of staring into the hardened eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt as she tried to explain how this murder had not been her idea — of how she had unsuccessfully tried to coax Lucius Malfoy into giving up his plot. While awake, Pansy tried to convince herself that she was only doing what any good Slytherin would do — worry about protecting her own best interests. But while asleep, she was haunted by the idea that she would do nothing but stand by and watch while the hero of the wizarding world was struck down by a coward.
So she fought against sleep, but it stole relentlessly over her once again. This time as she dreamed, there was no attack, though she still found herself back at The Burrow, watching the marriage ceremony drawing to a close, watching as Harry and Ginny turned to one another for their first kiss as husband and wife. Pansy expected them to break their embrace quickly and to turn and face the congregation, but the young couple deepened their kiss instead. They remained focused solely upon one another, becoming more passionate as hands roamed to private places and clothes flew off rapidly, until Harry and Ginny were naked in the garden and began making love.
In the dream, Pansy watched as Harry attended to each of Ginny’s needs, loving her completely, placing her desires ahead of his own. The sight was as painful as it was mesmerizing, for it reminded her of everything she had ever wanted but failed to achieve with Draco Malfoy.
“Damn this!” cried Pansy aloud as she woke once again from her the torment of her dreams, her left hand clutched firmly to her breast while the right was otherwise occupied.
As the morning sun peeked through their bedroom window at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Ginny collapsed against Harry’s heaving chest.
“If Mum thinks it’s bad luck for you to see the bride before the wedding, I wonder what she’d think about this,” Ginny said happily through the giggle she couldn’t suppress.
“I don’t know, love,” replied Harry, “but she probably has a pretty good idea what’s going on since she knows you’re here.”
“God, I love you,” Ginny whispered into his ear before grasping his hand and tugging him forcefully from their bed. “I need a shower.”
“Oh, Merlin!” Harry exclaimed, unable to keep a huge smile from forming on his lips. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in the last thirty minutes!”
George Weasley gazed sympathetically across the kitchen table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Dudley Dursley appeared only slightly alive as his pounding head rested painfully next to his plate of bangers and fried eggs. A glass of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes hangover potion stood next to his untouched breakfast. Like Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, George and Dudley had come to Harry’s London residence to make room for the Delacours and Aunt Muriel to stay at The Burrow.
George suppressed a grin as Dudley moved tentatively, groaning at the effort. Half a bottle of Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey could make you feel absolutely terrible, as George knew from personal experience. He’d consumed at least that much every night since Fred had been killed, or he had done so before last night, when something about watching Dudley’s first encounter with Wizarding potables brought George to his senses. Alcohol wasn’t the answer to his problems, although he had tried very hard to make it serve that purpose. Drinking himself into a stupor every night, followed by a terrible hangover the next morning, could do nothing to help him past the pain of losing his twin brother any more than it could help Dudley deal with the guilt of having walked out the door against his mother’s wailing protests.
“Better drink up, Big D,” George said softly as he reached across the table to touch Dudley’s massive shoulder. “I promise, you’ll feel a whole lot better if you do”
“Is it magic?” moaned Dudley.
“Not really,” George answered, knowing exactly how terrible Dudley had to be feeling. He had been certain he was going to die following his first experience with Firewhiskey, and he’d only had about quarter as much as Dudley had poured down his throat the previous evening. “It’s not magic,” George continued, “just a potion designed specifically to cure a hangover.”
“Uh huh,” muttered Dudley as his hand reached ever so slowly for the glass of frothing red liquid. “You really drink this stuff?”
“Only if you want to feel better before tomorrow,” George replied.
“Okay,” grunted Dudley as his massive fist closed around the glass and his head rose slowly from the table. “But I’m a little afraid to drink anything else made by wizards.”
“I don’t know much about Muggle whiskey, Dudley, but I’d bet you’d still be feeling pretty bad if you drank a half-liter of that,” George added, unable to keep himself from laughing wryly.
Dudley drained the contents of the glass tentatively and returned it to the table. Almost immediately, his bloodshot eyes began to clear and his skin tone started to shift from its previously ashen appearance, regaining its normal pink complexion. His trembling hands suddenly stilled as Dudley sighed audibly.
“That … that’s bloody amazing,” he stammered, a shocked smile spreading slowly across his face.
“Glad to help,” George replied, returning the smile.
“That’s so much better than any of the hangover cures my dad uses.”
“Is he a big drinker?” asked George.
“That he is,” answered Dudley as the smile faded from his lips. “Mainly whiskey and brandy, but he’ll have a pint now and again.”
“Yeah,” said George cautiously, “he has that ruddy look about him … like he knows how to bend an elbow pretty well.”
“That he does,” said Dudley, looking down at his breakfast and poking absentmindedly at his food. “George, I’m really sorry about your brother. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” George replied.
“Is it nice having a big family?” asked Dudley, unable to look George in the eyes.
“Yes,” answered George, “but I took it for granted until, well … until it happened.”
“I never thought about having brothers or sisters until I saw all of you lot together last night.”
“But you grew up with Harry.”
“We weren’t close,” said Dudley, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the tabletop. “But he still saved me from the Dementors.”
“Well, that’s just the way Harry is. He saved Ginny when she was captured… then my dad when he was attacked by a massive snake … then he saved Ron when he was poisoned. And he saved us all when he took down Lord Voldemort,” George replied.
“That’s what I gathered last night,” added Dudley. “That’s some story … the prophecy and all. We didn’t know anything about it at home.”
“Harry never talked about it at your house?” asked George.
“No, not that we’d have let him. Mum and Dad hate magic. It wasn’t until Ginny and Harry came by the house that I found out about my mum trying to get into Hogwarts as a Muggle. Guess she felt left out, so she hated her sister and everything else about witches and wizards.”
“So, after last night did you decide we’re not all a bunch of freaks?”
“I guess,” answered Dudley, “except for the fact that you lot tried to kill me with that Firewhiskey last night.”
“No,” said George with a smirk, “I saved you with the potion this morning. It was you who tried to kill yourself with the Ogden’s Finest.”
“Do you party like that every night?”
“Not bloody likely,” George replied. “But it’s not every day that you get to celebrate your little brother’s engagement and your baby sister’s wedding!”
“I don’t think I’d have the stones to call Ginny a baby,” Dudley said, raising his eyebrows.
“We don’t …” said George. “… at least not to her face.”
Draco was beside himself, watching the clock move at a glacial pace as he continued working over his father’s scheme in his mind. He’d been suffering doubts from the very beginning, but by now his mind was in overdrive. For what seemed like the five hundredth time that morning, Draco found himself wishing he could talk to Pansy. Regardless of the fact that he was not in love with her, he had gained at least some modicum of respect for her judgment over their six years together at Hogwarts. Besides, she was the only person he could talk to about this particular problem, and try as he might to minimize it, this was a problem.
Draco was in totally unfamiliar territory, for as much as he tried to deny it, it mattered that Potter had saved his life — twice. If he really thought about it, it was more than that. Had Potter not defeated the Dark Lord, his entire family would have been summarily executed. Narcissa’s treason heaped on top of Lucius’s string of failures and Draco’s inability to kill Albus Dumbledore would have guaranteed their deaths. So, in reality, Draco owed Harry Potter a lot more than just a life debt.
But his father had said there was no such thing as a life debt or at least that such things were not magically binding obligations. So why, he wondered, was the idea of killing his arch nemesis tearing at his conscience? He had hated Potter ever since their first ride on the Hogwarts Express, so he should be pleased with the idea that his father was going to kill him. After all, it wasn’t like Draco had to do the job himself. All he had to do was stand aside and maybe create a little disturbance to help his father escape. Still, the thought of assisting in Potter’s murder wasn’t sitting well at all, but neither was the idea of abandoning his Father.
“Fuck!” thought Draco, “I really wish I could talk to Pansy.”
Narcissa Malfoy rolled over in bed and was surprised to see that her husband wasn’t sleeping. “You do realize, Lucius, that this whole plan of yours is madness. We’re free. We have all our possessions. We have our son. None of these things were certain a week ago, so why do you think it’s necessary to possess the Elder Wand? Can’t we just leave well enough alone?”
“You surprise me, Narcissa,” answered Lucius, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you truly willing to stand aside and allow people like Potter to destroy the wizarding race forever? Just look at his best friends — a Blood Traitor and a Mudblood! Surely you see the disaster that will befall us if we leave the future of the wizarding world to those people!”
“Yes, dear,” replied Narcissa as she closed her eyes and pretended to acquiesce to her husband’s wishes. For the first time in almost twenty years, she thought about her sister, Andromeda Tonks, and wondered how she could possibly be surviving the loss of her husband and daughter.
By four-thirty in the afternoon, the Burrow was abuzz with activity. Madam Rosemerta and her staff had taken over the kitchen after forcing Molly to move into the garden to entertain the wedding guests as they arrived. Ginny and Hermione had settled into the master bedroom and were pretending to be busy with wedding preparations. In reality, the young witches were enjoying a few minutes alone together for the first time in more than ten months.
“So, my daft brother actually gathered the courage to propose?” asked Ginny, still stunned that Ron had overcome a lifetime of self-doubt and unfounded fears.
“Oh, Ginny, he was wonderful,” answered Hermione.
“Do you mean he didn’t stammer all over himself and make everything come out backward?”
“No, he was … well, he was Ron — straightforward, completely honest, and totally heartfelt. I’m telling you, Ginny, he melted my heart.”
“Bugger!” answered Ginny, obviously frustrated. “I was hoping he’d give Harry and me something to take the mickey out of him for years to come.”
“I’ve no doubt that Harry will find a way regardless of the situation. He always seems to know exactly how to wind Ron up!” said Hermione, a touch of trepidation making itself known through the tiny crease forming across her forehead. “That’s probably why you’re marrying him.”
“Not at all, Hermione!” answered Ginny with a sly smile spreading across her lips. “I’m marrying him because he’s a god in bed!”
“Ginny!” shrieked Hermione. “That’s too much information!”
“Well, just this morning …” began Ginny before being cut off emphatically.
“Unless you want to hear how fantastic your brother is between the sheets, you’d better stop now,” threatened Hermione.
“Okay,” replied Ginny with a smile. “No details about our respective brothers, but I’m glad you don’t know what Harry’s capable of. Otherwise, you might not have been able to keep your hands off him during all those lonely nights you two were off camping in the woods!”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t be so hasty,” teased Hermione.
“Why don’t you help me pin my hair up?” replied Ginny. “I think we should leave some tendrils hanging loose. I just love the way Harry likes to play with my hair.”
“I need both of you to review your assignments before we leave,” said Lucius Malfoy to his son and Pansy Parkinson.
“Ten minutes before you Disapparate, Father, Pansy and I are to Apparate to the Prewett Cemetery. From there, we will use a Disillusionment Charm to help disguise us while we make our way to the outer side of the hedge. We will hide there until you cast the Killing Curse on Potter. Then we will set off the magical fireworks before Disapparating away, hopefully without being seen.”
“Not hopefully, Draco. You will Disapparate from the Weasley property without being seen. I will do the same as soon as I have completed my task. I will then follow my established route to Romania and join Malcolm after I have stopped by Hogwarts to retrieve the Elder Wand.”
Draco looked furtively at Pansy as his father strode from the room. At last, he shook his head and grimaced, doubt showing through his facial expression. Pansy looked no more enamored with the plan than did Draco. It was going to be a difficult day if things went perfectly, though each of the young Slytherins had his or her serious doubts.
“I think it’s time we got moving,” said Pansy.
“Right,” answered Draco. “No time like the present.”
Molly Weasley looked radiant as she walked through the opening left between the chairs that had been arranged in three rows in the midst of the garden. There was neither a bride’s side nor a groom’s, as all in attendance were friends of both, save for Aunt Muriel who had spent the day quizzing Molly to see if Ginny was pregnant. Since Molly, herself, was unaware of Ginny’s situation, Aunt Muriel had learned nothing.
Molly had chosen to be escorted by George, who helped her take her place of honor, before he sat immediately to her left. Molly slipped her hand into his and gave it a firm squeeze.
“I love you, son,” she whispered into his good ear while patting his thigh with her other hand.
“I love you, too, Mum,” he replied “And I’m really happy for Ginny … and Harry.”
Moments later, the vicar of St. Andrew’s Church, who had come from Godric’s Hollow to celebrate the wedding ceremony, stepped up on the raised platform that had been carefully constructed by Bill and Charlie. The platform stood three steps above the lawn and had been placed directly beneath the only tree growing along the perimeter of the garden. Neither of the eldest Weasley brothers could have known that they had done exactly as Lucius Malfoy had predicted.
The vicar was followed onto the platform by Harry, who wore forest green dress robes, and his best man, Ron, whose periwinkle blue robes took on a near-royal hue in the late afternoon sun. Harry couldn’t help wondering why he had heard so many stories about terrified grooms who spent their wedding days tied in nauseated knots of worry. Perhaps the terrors of marriage paled considerably in comparison to a lifetime spent in conflict with the world’s most powerful Dark wizard. On the other hand, Harry was absolutely certain that there was nothing disconcerting about the prospect of spending a lifetime with Ginevra Weasley. To the contrary, building a future with Ginny was what he wanted more than anything he could possibly imagine.
As he waited for Ginny to join him, Harry looked out over the congregation. Despite the fact that there were fewer than thirty people gathered for the ceremony, he took great comfort in the fact this particular assembly represented everything Voldemort and his followers had most feared. Rubeus Hagrid sat hand in hand with Olympe Maxime. Dudley Dursley had managed to overcome a lifetime of hate-filled prejudice to sit comfortably amidst wizards and other magical beings. Kreacher and his children sat proudly among the guests, wearing beautifully scaled dress robes, indicative of their status as free elves. Diminutive Professor Flitwick was seated next to the tall, prim, and proper Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.
Pureblood Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott, a Half-Blood whose wizarding heritage traced back centuries through the village of Godric’s Hollow, were happily amidst the collected crowd. Badly scarred Bill Weasley sat directly behind his mother, gently caressing his part-Veela wife Fleur, whose parents and sister offered another vision of mixed heritage that had grown to be a part of the Weasley clan, whose blood was perhaps the purest of the lot, yet who counted themselves no better than any of the others in their midst.
Harry’s high spirits threatened to break as he thought of the werewolf who should have been in their midst, who should have been there smiling up at Harry while caressing his Half-Blood wife, whose Pureblood mother had been pruned from the family tree of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for the unforgivable sin of marrying a Muggle-born wizard, Ted Tonks, a man who paid the ultimate price for his lack of blood purity. But Harry could not linger long on such thoughts, for once he thought of the Blacks, he felt the burning loss of Sirius ripping through him as if it had happened only yesterday — saw the sickening green flash in his mind — the same sickening green flash that had haunted him as far back in time as his earliest memory — the same sickening green flash that had struck down Hedwig — the same green flash that had missed Ginny by no more than an inch during her confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange.
It was the thought of Ginny that brought him back from the precipice of gloom that was threatening to overwhelm him. It was the thought of Ginny and her irrepressible fire that brought him back to the present. It was the thought of Ginny that filled him with hope for the future, as it had for those long months on the run. It was the thought of Ginny that allowed him once again to look at the congregation present and to appreciate the fact that this was precisely why he had endured so much loss at the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle.
So Harry smiled, knowing that his own Pureblood father had married the beautiful Muggle-born witch, Lily Evans, whose sacrifice had set into motion the series of events that would ensure the defeat of the Half-Blood Dark Lord who ironically held purity of blood to be the most desirable of attributes. This irony was not lost on Harry, another Half-blood orphan who had chosen a completely different path through life … a path that led to the friendship of the brilliant Muggle-born witch who was now walking toward him as his de facto sister.
Vaguely aware that the string quartet arranged for by Madam Rosemeta had begun playing, Harry grinned at Hermione, who beamed in reply. It was the same broad smile she had given him in the Gryffindor Common Room near the end of their sixth year when, at long last, he had kissed the young woman he was now about to marry. To his surprise, Hermione stepped out of her appointed pathway and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.
“I’m happy for you, Harry,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
As Hermione turned and walked to her assigned location, the quartet changed tunes and increased its volume while Ginny stepped into the garden, accompanied by her father. Her golden dress robes shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, seemingly gathering in all the fire of Ginny’s brilliant red hair, the blazing intensity of the Peverell ruby pendant, and the dazzling rays of the sun as it sank toward the horizon.
Harry looked at his bride-to-be, swearing that he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life.
Thanks to the rising strains of the Bourree from Handel’s Water Music, no one in the crowd could possibly have heard the two soft pops that announced the arrival of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, especially not at the distance of more than two hundred yards that separated the wedding festivities from the Prewett family graveyard. Pansy’s feet sank noticeably in the freshly turned earth beneath which Fred Weasley’s remains lay in his coffin.
“Shit!” gasped Pansy, who surprised even herself by not screaming at the macabre discovery.
“Shhh!” whispered Draco frantically. “Be quiet!”
“You be quiet,” spat Pansy by way of reply. “This is out of control, Draco! Out … of … control!”
“Be quiet or you’re going to get us killed!” hissed Draco.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Draco. No one is going to be killed today.”
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls, Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter,” said the vicar, who smiled at the remarkable resemblance that this young couple bore to another pair whose marriage he had performed some twenty years earlier in the village of Godric’s Hollow.
“Who presents this woman to be married to this man?”
“Her mother, her brothers, and I present her,” said Arthur, nearly choking over the words.
“But I give myself to you,” Ginny whispered to Harry, so only he could hear.
Harry’s heart melted at the sight of Ginny’s trademark grin — the one she reserved only for their own most closely kept secrets.
“Do you, Harry James, take Ginevra Molly as your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward until death do you part?” asked the vicar.
“I do,” answered Harry, his gaze locked upon her mesmerizing bright brown eyes.
“Do you, Ginevra Molly, take Harry James as you husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward until death do you part?”
“I do,” replied Ginny, her voice rising to give a firm answer.
Kingsley Shacklebolt’s head jerked instinctively around, certain that he had heard the soft yet unmistakable pop of wizarding Apparition.
Lucius Malfoy had been careful to keep his head down as he landed on his hands and knees upon the flat portion of the Burrow’s roof that was shielded from the garden by the pitched roof over the attic above Ron’s room.
The stir in the congregation was minimal, as only Kingsley and Minerva McGonagall seemed to have noticed the unexpected sound. The Minister’s eyes locked upon those of the Headmistress as he cursed himself for having been so ill prepared for such a potentially unwelcome surprise. Surely Alastor Moody would not have been caught unprepared, as the words “constant vigilance” rang in his mind. Kingsley could have sworn that he heard the old Auror’s gravelly voice mocking him from the grave.
Kingsley’s head turned in a near three hundred-sixty degree circle as he sought desperately for the only possible cause of such a sound, but there was no one to be seen. The noise could only have come from beyond the Burrow, he concluded as he nodded silently to Professor McGonagall. He would walk in one direction while the Headmistress would walk in the other.
“Ginevra, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you.”
The vicar wrapped his white stole around Harry and Ginny’s joined hands before looking up at the assembled congregation.
“In as much as Harry and Ginevra have honored one another through the exchange of vows and giving of rings, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce that they are husband and wife.”
He lowered his gaze to the young couple and tightened the stole even more firmly about their hands before pronouncing directly to them, “I declare you bonded for life.”
The vicar loosed their hands so Harry could lace his fingers into Ginny’s beautiful red hair, and their lips met for the first time as a married couple.
The crowd watched reverently, tears welling silently in almost every eye in attendance, until suddenly all hell broke loose.
“What do you mean, ‘No one is going to be killed today’?” asked a stunned Draco as Pansy turned on the spot and Disapparated before his eyes.
Draco spun about, muttering helplessly and wondering what to do.
“Where would she go?” he thought to himself. “How could she stop the murder?”
“Father!” he gasped aloud, before following Pansy into the crushing darkness.
Lucius Malfoy peeked cautiously above the roofline, his wand at the ready. He was delayed momentarily in striking with the Killing Curse by the sudden pop of Pansy’s arrival only a few feet to his right.
Pansy was prepared the moment she could draw air back into her lungs. In a flash, her wand was out and she made a slashing motion, hoping to slice the elder Malfoy’s wand cleanly into two pieces.
Draco’s appearance was less well planned, and he stumbled into his father as he Apparated onto the roof immediately to his left side.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Sectumsempra!”
“No, Father!”
A sickly green jet of light flashed over the roof of The Burrow, hurtling in the general direction of the bride and groom. Reacting immediately to the horror that had haunted Harry’s mind since he was fifteen months old, Harry shoved Ginny forcibly aside and stood erect between her and the direction from which the Killing Curse had originated. Behind him a tremendous explosion took place, and debris began raining all around him. A hefty branch had been shattered into pieces, one of which struck Harry hard upon his shoulder, spinning him around to see his wife prone and pinned to the stage by a larger portion of the limb that had previously served to protect them from the afternoon sun.
“Ginny!” he screamed in horror.
“No, Father!” screamed Draco as his arrival coordinates had caused him to bump his father directly into the line of the Dark Curse Pansy had learned under the tutelage of the Carrows during her final year at Hogwarts.
Pansy gasped in sudden fear as the spell that had been meant to cleanly sever Mr. Malfoy’s wand landed first against his left shoulder, swept in a downward arc across his chest and sliced clean through his right wrist. Blood poured freely from the gash that lay open the wizard’s shoulder and chest, sickening Pansy in the process. She had never before seen so much blood, but even this horror was nothing in comparison to the projectiles that spurted from the stump of her victim’s right wrist. With each of Lucius’s wild heartbeats, another jet of blood flew through the air, landing with a forceful spatter on the roof of the Burrow.
Had Pansy been a student of physics, she would have known that for each action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As her curse had cut powerfully down across Lucius Malfoy’s wrist, the tip of his wand had been forced upward, causing the Killing Curse to miss its intended target, but crashing instead into the upper branches of the single tree, beneath which the wedding ceremony was being conducted.
“Ginny!” cried Harry in despair as his gaze found his wife’s terror-filled eyes, which struggled momentarily to remain open before they fluttered closed.
In the midst of the turmoil, one calm voice began barking orders.
“Poppy!” snapped Minerva McGonagall, “See what you can do for Mrs. Potter!”
“Hagrid!” she bellowed. “Do what you can to help Madam Pomfrey get to Ginny. Be quick, but be careful!”
“No, Father,” Draco stammered repeatedly, fully aware that his father had no chance for survival. Draco’s own damage had been far less severe during his sixth-year duel in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, but he had still been in grave danger at the time. Had Severus Snape not been available immediately, Myrtle’s cries of “Murder!” might well have proven accurate. In a matter of seconds, all signs of life had disappeared from Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray eyes. Unable to cope with the reality of what was happening right in front of them, neither Draco nor Pansy thought to make any effort to keep Voldemort’s former lieutenant from toppling sideways and tumbling helter-skelter down the ramshackle magical structure that was the Weasley’s residence. His lifeless body landed with a thud in front of The Burrow, causing the family’s small flock of chickens to scurry away in fright.
“She should be fine, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey as she tended carefully to Ginny’s injuries. “I’ve seem much, much worse from Bludgers, and Miss Weasley’s as tough a player as I’ve ever seen.”
“Mrs. Potter,” said Minerva McGonagall softly from where she stood, only a few feet away from Harry.
“What?” asked Madam Pomfrey.
“Mrs. Potter,” repeated the Headmistress, gazing directly at Ginny. “Do you think it’s safe to transport Mrs. Potter to St. Mungo’s, Poppy?”
“Yes, I think so,” answered the Hogwarts’ nurse. “There’s no head injury, and nothing that appears life threatening. Still, something’s not quite right.”
Chapter 14: Chapter 14 - The Aftermath
A PROPER EPILOGUE - Chapter 14Ginny wondered if her imagination was playing a trick on her, for her first kiss as a married woman seemed somehow deeper and more meaningful, yet her body reacted in the same rapid fire way it did whenever her lips met Harry’s. However, as her eyes opened, she was expecting to see the deep emerald green of her husband’s eyes, not the unmistakably sick green glow that belonged only to the Killing Curse. She reacted immediately, but not as rapidly as did her husband, whose instincts had been honed to the finest of points after ten months on the run.
Ginny felt the burn of adrenaline surging through her body as she spun backward under the force of Harry’s hand and watched him step directly between her and the source of the spell. A brief moment after the jet of green light flew the associated sounds reached her ears:
”Avada Kedavra”
“Sectumsempra!”
“No, Father!”
Her eyes darted quickly about, looking for signs of a second curse, but found none. Before she could relax, however, a loud explosion came from above and behind her. Quickly searching her memory banks for the proper lesson from Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ginny tried to drop to the floor but was unable to avoid the danger that was falling rapidly from above. Instantaneously, she felt something slam into her back with more force than anything she had ever felt before. Instinctively, she rolled to her side, hoping to avoid a direct impact upon her abdomen as she slammed into the makeshift stage upon which she and Harry stood with the other members of the wedding party. She was only partially successful.
“Oh, God!” she thought silently as the air she had just inhaled was pushed forcefully from her lungs, “Our baby!”
She struggled to breathe, fighting desperately to maintain consciousness, but not even her remarkable will was strong enough to cope with the impact of the tree limb that had shattered under the onslaught of the Killing Curse.
“How had they been so careless?” she wondered.
The wedding plans had been rushed — obviously too rushed. Nevertheless, Kingsley had posted three trained Aurors in a triangle around the area in which the wedding took place. An Anti-Apparition Hex had been cast over the immediate area where the wedding was to take place, but the portion of the property up to and including The Burrow, itself, had been left unrestricted so guests could arrive by Apparition.
Ginny thought she might have heard her husband scream her name in utter desperation as a wave of panic swept over her in the brief moment before her world world went black.
“No, Father!” Draco had screamed as soon as the crushing pressure of apparition had abated, not quite sure whom he was hoping to protect. In his confused and disoriented state, he was both inaccurate and unstable as he rematerialized on the Weasley’s rooftop. He stumbled, bumping into his father and knocking him slightly forward.
Lucius had cast his spell before Draco could get his words out, but not before the collision that thrust the elder Malfoy’s body directly into the path of Pansy’s Sectumsempra.
Even before his eyes found his father’s heavily bleeding body, Draco knew that things had slipped completely out of control. He silently cursed himself for his cowardice, a trait that had dogged him for as long as he could remember — for many years before he had left home for Hogwarts and attempted to make a place for himself by bullying thugs like Crabbe and Goyle and by toying with the emotions of Pansy Parkinson. He knew full well that he was now paying the price for such behavior, for just as Crabbe and Goyle had rebelled against Draco’s authority in the Room of Requirement, Pansy had rebelled at The Burrow. In each instance, the rebel had cast a curse far more powerful than had been necessary for the job. Vincent Crabbe had died because of his unskilled use of Fiendfyre. Now his father was rapidly dying before his eyes due to Pansy’s imprudent choice of Sectumsempra when a simple Expelliarmus, or even Accio, would have sufficed.
But that was often the case with Slytherins, as Draco knew only too well. He had always thought that the ends justified the means; so a little excess magical power wasn’t generally frowned upon by the impetuous sons and daughters of Slytherin House. He recalled how the Death Eaters had mocked Potter for his naïveté manifested by his repetitive dependence upon defensive spells, particularly Expelliarmus. Now the price of Pansy’s failure of nerve — or had it been a sudden surge of conscience — had come home to roost, as Draco surveyed the blood-drenched roof of the Burrow and his father’s body, now fallen and already surrounded by the curious chickens that were no longer afraid of the once powerful disciple of the Lord Voldemort.
Death, the great equalizer of all mankind, had claimed yet another victim, leaving Draco and Pansy paralyzed, at least momentarily, upon the roof of The Burrow.
Kingsley Shacklebolt drew his wand quickly and screamed “Protego!”an instant after the Avada Kedavra soared over his head, and he chastised himself for having ignored his well honed instincts and attending this wedding without benefit of a full Aurors’ entourage. The partial crew of three additional Aurors had obviously proven inadequate for the task. Kingsley knew full well that Harry Potter was far more important to Wizarding Britain than any government official, including even himself, and that it had been less than two weeks since Voldemort had fallen. Any idiot could have foreseen — should have foreseen — what had just happened.
“Bloody hell,” muttered the Minister of Magic as his eyes scanned the surrounding garden, looking for anything unusual or out of place. It took only a moment before his eyes were drawn upward and he spotted two heads suddenly sticking up above the crest of The Burrow’s rickety roofline — one blonde, the other nearly black. They seemed to be staring directly at each other and posing no immediate threat, so Kingsley raced beyond the limits of the Anti-Apparition hex, turned on the spot and reappeared on the blood-soaked rooftop in less than a second.
“Expelliarmus!” shouted Kingsley as soon as he found his footing, causing the wands of both Pansy and Draco to fly directly to his outstretched hand. He cleared his throat to begin his interrogation, but the trembling witch spoke first.
“I was just trying to stop Mr. Malfoy from killing Potter,” said Pansy hurriedly, obviously trying to grasp the opportunity to tell her version of the story of what had unfolded.
“Mr. Malfoy?” asked Kingsley, his eyes once again sweeping the immediate vicinity.
“Down there,” said Draco, a single tear sliding silently down his face as he pointed shakily toward his father’s body.
“So, exactly what happened?” demanded Kingsley.
Pansy and Draco stared at each other, neither knowing exactly what to say, each wishing that he or she had done something … anything … to avoid the awful disaster that had just played out at The Burrow. Pansy thought as quickly as she could, wondering if there was some version of the story she could concoct that might be less personally damaging than the truth. However, she realized it wouldn’t be in her best interest to stray too far from what had actually taken place in the inevitable event that Draco’s versions of the story diverged from her own.
“It’s a long story, but Mr. Malfoy has been plotting to kill Potter and take control of Dumbledore’s Wand,” Pansy blurted impulsively, relieved at some level to be free to tell the truth. “He wanted Draco and me to provide a distraction so he could cast the Killing Curse and Apparate away before anyone could see him.”
“And you were helping him just now?” asked the Minister of Magic, thoroughly angered, yet somewhat confused. “If you were helping him, then why is Lucius dead?”
“I just couldn’t do it,” answered Pansy. “And apparently, neither could Draco.”
Draco simply nodded his agreement, allowing Pansy to continue in the lead.
“I’ve spent the last few hours working out a plan to stop Mr. Malfoy and decided that I could surprise him and destroy his wand before he could kill Potter.”
“So you used Sectumsempra when you tried to break his wand?” Shacklebolt asked incredulously.
“I didn’t know what to use, really. I remembered what Professor Carrow had taught about Sectumsempra … about how powerful it is … and figured I could instantly cut his wand in half. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and we could all just Disapparate out of here and avoid any trouble.”
“Hmmm,” said Kingsley indistinctly as he pondered the situation at hand. The evidence certainly seemed to support what Miss Parkinson was saying, although Kingsley wondered what could possibly have made her play along to this point, and only then try to handle the situation by herself.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to come to the Ministry for assistance?” he asked carefully.
“I never thought about that,” replied Pansy honestly. “At first, I guess it seemed like Mr. Malfoy was just plotting something that he’d never really do. Both Draco and I thought the idea was … I don’t know … so insanely ludicrous! But when it became clear that he intended to go through with things, I never thought about the Ministry. I don’t know why.”
“Well, I think we had best discuss the rest of this at the Ministry,” said Kingsley.
“You’re arresting us!” exclaimed Draco, breaking his silence at last.
“We’ll see,” replied the Minister. “We certainly need to figure out exactly what to do.”
Turning aside from the young witch and wizard, he pointed his wand and said, “Expecto Patronum!” His shimmering lynx burst forth and streaked rapidly off toward London to request immediate assistance.
“Ginny!” cried Harry, his voice filled with despair. His eyes searched Ginny’s, but instead of her normal, mesmerizing appearance, Ginny’s were filled with terror before her bright brown pupils dilated and began to roll up in her head. At last, her eyelids shuttered and closed softly. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her whisper “baby” before she curled into the fetal position beneath the heavy branch that pinned her to the floor.
Harry looked up beseechingly to find Minerva McGonagall rushing toward him. She was barking orders rapidly at Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid. To the small extent possible, he felt some modicum relief. The sight of Ginny knocked unconscious was proving to be his undoing. After seven years of dealing with incredible pressures and challenges … after seven years of constantly carrying the burdens of the wizarding world … the reality of his wife lying injured before him had left Harry upon the brink of helplessness. She meant everything to him, yet he had absolutely no idea what to do to help her.
In the midst of it all, Harry heard snatches of sentences.
“She should be fine … I’ve seen much, much worse … St. Mungo’s … Still, something’s not quite right.”
The final sentence riveted Harry’s attention. Something wasn’t quite right with Ginny, and the fear that welled up inside him felt protective, instinctive — his wife — his baby. He thought for a moment that his own world was fading into darkness as he swayed on the spot, but a reassuring hand steadied him from behind.
“Hermione … th … thank you,” Harry stammered when he noticed who had come to his assistance.
“It’s okay, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has things under control. She says Ginny is going to be okay.”
Harry turned toward Hermione, knowing that he had to speak with someone … trust someone. Who better to turn to than this witch who was more of a sister to Harry than many biological siblings were to one another. Still, it was hard to form the words. He struggled to tear his eyes away from Ginny and leaned close to Hermione’s ear.
“She’s pregnant,” he whispered.
“What?” replied Hermione, making every possible effort to keep her voice from being heard by any of the others in attendance.
“She’s pregnant,” he repeated. “We haven’t told anyone because we didn’t want them to think that was why we were getting married. It happened after we were engaged.”
“Of course it did!” hissed Hermione. “You hadn’t seen her for ten months, then got engaged in the first ten minutes after you were alone together.”
“Hmmph,” grunted Harry. “Hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“It’s okay, Harry, but her caregivers need to know. You have to tell Madam Pomfrey. She knows something isn’t right. You have to tell her, Harry, so she’ll know what to do.”
Harry struggled back to his feet and took the few steps necessary to stand beside the nurse. For a moment, he struggled to form words. Reassured at last that his vocal chords had not frozen entirely, he took the nurse by the arm and leaned in to whisper, “Ginny is pregnant, but we want to keep it quiet.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I could tell something was wrong, but it was hard to get a clear read on things. Thank you, Harry. I know what to do now.”
“Will she be alright?” asked Harry,
“I think so,” she answered quietly. “But we can’t be sure about the baby. Something is wrong. Ginny seems to be okay, but she’s shut down to the outside world, like she’s trying to shield something … or someone.”
Madam Pomfrey smiled meekly at Harry as if trying to reassure him, yet not make any false promises. She parted her lips as if to continue speaking with Harry until something caught her eye, and she turned quickly toward Ginny’s prostrate form.
“Hagrid! Put down that silly umbrella. Any of us could levitate that branch. I want you to do it by hand — carefully — by hand. We can’t afford to let it slip away and hit Miss Weasley again. I mean that we can’t let it hit Mrs. Potter again!”
She turned next to Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, we need to transport her to St. Mungo’s. We need someone strong and not likely to lose his concentration.”
“I can do it,” volunteered Harry. “It should be me.”
“You’re the last person who should Apparate with her,” answered the Headmistress, authority lacing every word. “You’re too shaken.”
So the Headmistress looked around for no more than a moment before a look of assuredness crossed her face.
“Bill,” she called across the disorganized crowd of wedding guests. “I need you to carefully lift Ginny and take her directly to the ground floor of St. Mungo’s. She needs to go directly to the Artifact Accidents Department. She was simply hit by this falling limb, not by a curse.”
“Yes, Minerva,” Bill replied with the quiet confidence of an accomplished Curse Breaker.
“Poppy will be along immediately to supervise Ginny’s transfer.” Professor McGonagall then turned to Harry. “You need to use the Floo Network. I don’t want you getting splinched on top of everything else!”
Before another word could be spoken, Harry found himself sprinting to the hearth in the Weasley’s sitting room. Upon his arrival, he bent over, clutching his side and willing his heart rate to slow slightly. When he managed to catch his breath, Harry took a pinch of floo powder and stepped into the unlit fireplace.
“St. Mungo’s!” he hollered as he cast the magical powder toward his feet.
Ginny’s world had gone black, but she knew not for how long. After what could have been a matter of seconds or several hours, a soft glow began to surround the newly married witch. She thought for a moment that she might be dead and having the same sort of experience that Harry had described having experienced at King’s Cross just before Dumbledore’s arrival, but she was acutely aware of the fact that she could feel nothing — nothing but a searing pain through her abdomen. Consumed by a desire to protect her baby, Ginny curled back into the fetal position and moaned, fearing the worst — fearing that the worst had already happened — for a sense of profound loss was already gripping her.
As she felt the weight that had pressed mercilessly against her begin to lessen, Ginny curled even more tightly, protecting her midsection even though she realized that the threat had passed; even though she knew that what was done was done. The thought of losing her baby — Harry’s baby — their family — was too much for her, so she squeezed her eyelids even more tightly together, sealing out the rest of the world and willing her body to protect the child she and Harry wanted so desperately despite the fact that she had never once considered being pregnant before coming of age. Somehow, amidst the fog of pain and fear, Ginny realized that she was , at least technically, of age — thanks to her parents’ consent. More than being of age, she was married … Ginevra Molly Potter.
Still Ginny felt herself lost in the fog, be it physical or mental, she could not tell until … hands … large hands … strong hands … hands that were rough, yet ever so gentle. She fought to rouse herself back to consciousness but failed miserably. Try as she might to return to those who were trying to help her, she could concentrate on nothing except pain … pain and loss … a sense of loss that was growing more definitive all the time.
There was a shift in the hands that held her as she began to wonder. Were they Harry’s hands? No! The touch was warm and loving, but not loving in the way Harry held her.
She wanted to know … needed to know. Who was holding her? Who was helping her and her baby … Harry’s baby … their baby.
The hands drew her close, tightening their grip upon her. The hands squeezed her to someone’s chest, and she suddenly knew. It was Bill’s chest. If there was anyone she could trust to save her almost as much as she could trust Harry, it was Bill … her eldest, closest brother.
Bill’s grip tightened, and for a moment Ginny felt something akin to hope. She fought unsuccessfully to open her eyes. She tried to bring herself back from this state of suspended animation … this state of protectiveness for her much-loved child that dwelled within her.
But her eyes would not open. Ginny could not return to the outside world, so she reached within. She reached for the child she had loved since the first moment the sensory charm had told her unequivocally that she was pregnant, but she found — nothing. No matter how hard she searched within, no matter how desperately she sent out her emotions like loving hands to cradle the life within her, she found nothing.
Bill’s hands gripped her even more tightly, this time anchoring her arm against his side, which was pressed warmly against her. Suddenly motion gripped her, spinning Ginny forcefully into the crushing blackness. The gray fog gave way to dark, hopeless pressure. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t bring the precious breath of life within her lungs, and without doubt … without hope … Ginny knew.
Chapter 15: Chapter 15 - St. Mungo's
CHAPTER 15 — ST. MUNGO’SHarry closed his eyes as tightly as possible while traveling by floo, knowing that the flashes of uncounted kitchens and living rooms would probably be more than his shaken psyche could endure. The fear was simply too much for him to take and so much worse than anything he had ever faced before — his lonely march to face death in the Forbidden Forest and the final showdown with Voldemort included. Ginny meant everything to him and Harry couldn’t even begin to contemplate the possibility of losing her, especially not on their wedding day. He clung fiercely to Madam Pomfrey’s statement indicating that Ginny should survive her injuries and closed his thoughts to anything negative.
He forced himself to think instead about St. Mungo’s, wondering momentarily where he might emerge from the Floo Network, and concluded that the entryway must be through the fireplace in the Visitor’s Tearoom, which was located on the fifth floor near the Hospital Shop. He squeezed his eyelids tightly shut in fear of becoming so disoriented that he might be unable to recognize the proper exit, and only when he calculated that he should be approaching the magical hospital did he dare open them. Despite this precaution, he was so dizzy upon arrival that he fell flat on his face the very moment he stepped out into a rarely used alcove through which St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was connected to the Floo Network.
The Trainee Healer for Magical Triage leapt to her feet, intending to offer assistance to the wizard who had stumbled into her normally quiet territory. However, she froze in her footsteps, transfixed by the sight of the legendary lightning-bolt scar that came into view when Harry lifted his eyes to meet hers.
“Mr. … Mr. P … P … Potter!” she stammered in confusion. “Are you injured? How may I help you?”
“My wife … Ginny Weasley. I mean, Ginny Potter. Do you know where they’ve put her?” replied an equally shaken Harry.
“No, but I’ll help you find her right away,” answered the Trainee as she took Harry by the arm and led him quickly around a corner and through the main hallway toward the hospital’s registration desk.
Their journey was interrupted almost immediately, for as soon as they turned the corner, Harry ran headlong into Minerva McGonagall.
“Come with me, Harry,” she said softly, taking him by the hand. “They’ve called Hippocrates Smethwyck down from the Dai Llewellyn Ward, and he’s already with Ginny in one of the examination rooms. She really couldn’t be in better hands.”
Ginny sensed more than felt the moment when Bill had arrived at St. Mungo’s with the soft pop of Apparition, but the harder she tried to return to normal consciousness, the more deeply she seemed to slip away from the present moment. She focused all her efforts and heard something that sounded remotely like English being spoken, although it seemed as is if the words were coming from miles away. Realizing instinctively that it was important to maintain contact with other members of the wizarding world, she tried to cast aside the myriad thoughts and fears that had assaulted her brain ever since the Killing Curse had streaked directly over her head. As if she had tuned the Wizarding Wireless poorly to a distant station, Ginny was finally able to make out what was being said.
“Have you tried to revive her, Poppy?”
“Not really, Hippocrates,” answered Madam Pomfrey — a voice Ginny would recognize anywhere. “I didn’t want to waste much time, so I’ve only tried to use Ennervate.”
“And did you get any response whatsoever?” asked the other voice.
“No, it’s almost like nothing is going on inside her mind, but the tree limb fell across her back. I saw no head injury, and none of my Diagnostic Charms suggested any brain trauma at all, so I think she must simply be completely unconscious.”
“Hmmm,” murmured Healer Smethwyck. “I wonder if her problem isn’t just the opposite — too much coming at her at once. Did you check for any other injuries”
“I did a quick scan that indicated something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. However, one of Miss Weasley’s … I mean, one of Mrs. Potter’s friends told me that she was expecting a baby. I’m concerned because nothing like that showed up on my body scans.”
Ginny heard uncertainty in Healer Smethwyck’s voice, followed by the complicated incantation of a spell she did not recognize. She fought to maintain focus upon the conversation taking place above her, though she already knew the answer. At last, she heard a sad sigh escape from his lips of her Healer.
“Are you certain Mrs. Potter was pregnant, Poppy?”
“It was confirmed by Mr. Potter,” replied Madam Pomfrey, “but we didn’t run any independent tests, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t think we’ll need anything that sophisticated,” said the deep voice Ginny now knew belonged to Hippocrates Smethwyck. “Let’s just take a look at the visual evidence, now that Mrs. Potter has been here for a while.”
Ginny knew what was coming without another word being spoken. In the midst of everything else that was assaulting her mind, she was not surprised to hear the incantation to the levitation spell.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” said Smethwyck quietly.
Ginny felt her body rise weightlessly from the hospital bed. A moment later, she heard an unmistakable gasp that confirmed what she already knew instinctively. Her baby was lost forever. The pain was almost impossible to bear and was accompanied by another fear that was building within her.
As her body returned to the mattress, Ginny heard Healer Smethwyck call for a Calming Draught to be delivered to the bedside. She began to relax ever so slightly in anticipation of the potion. When at last the soothing liquid slid down her throat, Ginny felt as if hundreds of competing voices and ideas had been instantaneously silenced. The relief was palpable even though a deep sadness remained in her heart and she longed only for Harry to be with her. Where was he? Her eyelids opened slightly until she was able to focus on the light blue eyes of the Healer.
“Mrs. Potter,” said Healer Smethwyck gently. “I’m sorry, but your baby has been lost.”
“I knew,” whispered Ginny. “Somehow I already knew. Is there any permanent damage? Will we be able to have other children?”
“We have no way to tell without a complete battery of tests, and even then, we might not know with certainty,” answered the Healer. “There is almost always some residual damage whenever there’s a miscarriage. Sometimes there is no way to know until there is another conception … if there is another conception.”
The Healer’s words struck with a force almost as powerful as that of the tree limb that had struck her to the ground. The words began playing in a continuous loop within her mind. “There is almost always some residual damage … Sometimes there is no way to know … if there is another conception.” Ginny fought against the fear that welled up within her, but there was no way to hold the negativity at bay. As the Calming Draught took full force, allowing her traumatized body to enter a deep, healing sleep, she felt an even deeper ache spread through her soul.
“I may never be able to give Harry his family.”
Harry followed Professor McGonagall as quickly as he could on legs that seemed to be rebelling against his brain’s order to move forward. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or even more concerned to learn that Hippocrates Smethwyck, himself, had been called in to work with Ginny. He was a Healer of some renown throughout Britain and represented a family tradition of Healing that stretched back at least two centuries. No one in the wizarding community truly remembered when the family had first entered the art and science of Magical Healing, but absolutely everyone knew it was an ancient tradition.
Harry’s mind was reeling when, at last, they approached an area of the hospital that appeared to be partitioned away from the others. Headmistress McGonagall shoved open the heavy bronze doors that were engraved The Celestina Warbeck Wing for Prominent Witches and Wizards. Harry’s eyes were drawn immediately to a plaque bearing the names of significant donors — a list of names topped by one that made Harry’s skin crawl immediately — Lucius Malfoy.
Ever since Harry had sat in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup, he had known that Lucius Malfoy had given a substantial gift to St. Mungo’s. It had never crossed his mind that this donation might have gone to a wing for prominent witches and wizards, but it made perfect sense once Harry stopped to think things over. How else would an elitist like Lucius Malfoy earmark his contribution?
As he pushed his way into the wing, Harry made a mental note that his own name would never appear on the orphanage he and Ginny planned to establish for the youngest children of war victims. He would insist on complete anonymity rather than parading about as if he were a peacock strutting around the grounds of Malfoy Manor!
The Celestina Warbeck Wing was the most luxurious facility Harry had ever seen, with dark-stained hardwood paneling and rich, thick carpeting of forest green. The nursing station looked more like an executive office complex, with Healers and Nurses seated behind massive oak desks that were also finished in a dark stain and accented with gold filigree. There were five rooms on either side of the central area with what appeared to be family waiting facilities on the right and patient rooms on the left. Through the last doorway on the right, Harry spotted a number of redheaded Weasleys and realized that he must have been the last of Ginny’s family to arrive at the hospital.
“She’s in the last room on your left,” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry nodded in her direction, waved at Arthur Weasley, who was staring at him through the doorway to the family’s waiting room, and rushed directly into Ginny’s treatment room, nearly striking Madam Pomfrey with the door as he hurled it open in front of him.
“Excuse me!” she blurted while jumping neatly out of harm’s way.
“I’m sorry, Madam Pom…” Harry began before the look in her eyes brought him to a sudden stop.
Harry’s stomach seized immediately, for he had seen that exact look in so many pairs of eyes as he had grown up in the Wizarding World — the look of unspoken sympathy — the look people gave him when they couldn’t find whatever words should be said to a young wizard who had lost his parents as a toddler — the look that told him unequivocally that something terrible had happened.
“Ginny!” he gasped uncontrollably.
“No, Harry,” whispered the Hogwarts’ nurse as she took Harry’s hands in her own. “Ginny is going to be all right, but I’m afraid the baby was lost.”
Relief washed over him, followed immediately by a sense of shame that he held, at that particular moment in time, concern for no one other than his wife. Yes, he felt pain at the loss of the baby he had already come to love. He knew instinctively that it was a loss he would feel forever, but for the time being he needed to focus on his wife.
“Ginny’s okay?” he asked compulsively, needing additional confirmation that his world had not come to a crashing end.
“Mrs. Potter is fine,” replied Madam Pomfrey as she directed Harry’s attention to a tall wizard in Healer’s robes. “This is Healer Smethwyck, and he will be in charge of your wife’s recovery.”
“Mr. Potter,” he said with a gentle nod of his head. “I’d like to learn as much about your wife as I can in the hopes that something you tell me might help us keep her in the present. We spoke for a moment right after the Calming Draught had been administered.
“Sh … Sh …She spoke with you?” stammered Harry, unsure he was hearing things correctly. “Ginny was able to speak?”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. She was able to speak and was quite lucid, acknowledging that she was aware that a miscarriage had occurred and worrying that there might be permanent damage to her reproductive system.”
“What?”
“Her primary concern seemed to be whether or not this incident would leave her incapable of bearing children in the future. I can’t put my finger on it, but there was a sense of focus and determination in her eyes. It was rather surprising for someone who has been through what your wife has just experienced. Is it normal for her to be so …”
“So … focused? So … determined? So … so … what, exactly?” asked Harry, his facial expression softening noticeably as his thoughts lingered on those attributes of Ginny’s personality that made her so strong … so irrepressible … so utterly irresistible.
“Some combination of those things, Mr. Potter. It seems silly to read too much into such a brief encounter — especially under such adverse circumstances — but there was such a sense of strength about her.”
“You have no idea,” answered Harry, surprised to find that he was willing to talk to a stranger about the things that made Ginny … well … Ginny. Then, as quickly as the desire had risen within him, it was gone. When it came to his emotions, there had only been one person who had ever been able to reach inside the complex web of feelings that defined Harry Potter, and that person was Ginny.
Harry thought back to that terrible day he had visited Arthur Weasley in this very hospital, only to hear that Mad-Eye and others thought he might be possessed by Voldemort — how he might be a weapon in the hands of the enemy. He thought about how everyone had danced around him, as if walking on eggshells; half-fearing while half-pitying him. Ginny was the one person who had stood her ground, defiantly willing to deal with Harry head-on.
“Healer Smethwyck,” Harry said softly while never taking his eyes off his wife. “Here’s what you need to know about Ginny. She’s strong-willed, independent, and believes everything is possible. She’s exceedingly powerful and as strong mentally as she is magically.”
“Then I have no doubt she’ll recover quickly and completely, Mr. Potter. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to see her functioning normally as soon as the effects of the Calming Draught have worn off. I think I’ll get back to my patients upstairs, but please call me the moment anything changes.”
“I will,” said Harry while pulling a chair up beside Ginny’s bed. “And thank you for everything.”
“My pleasure, entirely, although I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances,” the Healer said as he turned from the room, leaving the newlywed couple alone together.
Harry laced his fingers gently, yet deeply into Ginny’s fiery tresses and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead.
“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered against her ear.
It was sheer bedlam at the Ministry of Magic as Kingsley Shacklebolt moved quickly through his investigatory paces. He felt so much more at home while functioning as a highly-trained Auror than he did in his new capacity as Minister of Magic, even though the Wizengamot had recently acted to remove the qualifier of “Temporary” from his title. Kingsley had recently wondered if he would ever feel worthy of such an appointment, but these thoughts were far from his mind at present. Instead, he was deeply engaged in an effort to determine whether or not Harry Potter and his family faced any other immediate threats.
Once he had transported Draco and Pansy back to the Aurors’ offices at the Ministry, he had separated them in individual rooms and assigned his most skilled personnel in the art of interrogation. Pansy, who had never studied Occlumency, proved an open book, confessing her involvement in the plot to murder Harry and seize control of the Elder Wand for Lucius Malfoy. Watching through the rooms’ magical mirrors, Kingsley had been surprised by her willingness to divulge so much information freely, confessing to having been involved in the plan, along with her father, Draco, and Lucius from the earliest stages.
“Why wait until the last minute for the change of heart, Ms. Parkinson?” asked the Auror assigned to her questioning as their interview was coming to an end.
“I’m not really sure of that, myself,” answered Pansy, a perplexed look taking up residence on her face.
“And what, exactly do you mean by that?” the interrogator continued.
“I always thought Mr. Malfoy’s plan was stupid, but as the time approached … well … well …”
“Yes, Ms. Parkinson?”
“Well, something about it just seemed wrong.”
Kingsley looked quizzically at his detainee, wondering who was more surprised that Pansy had, for the first time in her life, determined that something was inherently wrong and not simply risky. It was not a trait he typically associated with the students of Slytherin House.
His senses honed by months of running from death, Harry instinctively felt the silent opening of the door to Ginny’s room, breaking his vigil at his wife’s bedside as effectively as if an explosion had ripped through the hospital. He whirled away from her still unconscious form in a single fluid motion, his wand pointing instantly at the witch and wizard entering. Both froze instantly, knowing exactly how dangerous Harry could be when protecting those he loved.
“Oh, it’s you,” he whispered, his body relaxing instantly. “Sorry about the wand.”
“It’s all right, mate,” answered Ron. “We just thought you might appreciate a little company.”
“Right … thanks,” Harry replied, pleased to see his best friends approaching with their hands clasped gently together.
The fading light of evening seemed to gather in the diamond on Hermione’s hand, magnifying the illumination in the room. Harry realized immediately that no natural stone possessed such qualities and chalked the effect up to his horrific fears for Ginny’s well being that still haunted him despite the efforts of the healthcare professionals to assure him of her overall excellent health. Knowing first hand the depth of emotion that accompanied the giving of such a ring, Harry turned back to gaze at the brilliant diamond and ruby ring that adorned Ginny’s left hand. The addition of the gold band, inlaid with alternating baguettes of flaming rubies and sparkling diamonds, screamed to him of everything that Ginny was — of her irrepressible radiance and her unquenchable fire, held within a perfect circle with him — and suddenly Harry relaxed.
Whatever the impact of the miscarriage might be; Harry was confident that Ginny would not be beaten. She was powerful. She was vibrant. She knew that almost anything in life was possible. Healer Smethwyck and Madam Pomfrey were right. Ginny would face her challenges with strength and determination. Ginny would weather whatever storm she had to face.
“Still with us, mate?” Ron asked while Harry continued to stare at Ginny, obviously lost in thought.
“Harry?” said Hermione, moving her hand gently to Harry’s shoulder. “Healer Smethwyck came to the family waiting area and told us Ginny’s going to recover completely. We’re so relieved for you both.”
“Yeah … thanks,” Harry replied softly while turning back to gaze longingly at Ginny’s cheek. “What else did he have to say to the entire family?”
“Nothing, Harry. He kept everything else confidential,” she assured him.
“That’s good,” answered Harry, relief washing over his face and tension draining from his shoulders. “That’s really good.”
“What are they keeping confidential?” asked Ron, alarm etched into his features. “What else is wrong with Ginny?”
“Nothing, Ron,” said Hermione.
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I’m not an idiot,” said Ron. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”
Hermione looked pleadingly in Harry’s direction, her eyes imploring him not to keep Ron on the outside. “Harry, we’ve been through everything together.”
Harry swallowed hard, keeping his eyes locked on Hermione’s. It wasn’t that he wanted to exclude his best friend from such important information, but Ron was Ginny’s brother. He would have preferred for Ginny to make this decision, but any further delay would only serve to alienate the man who had been more than a brother for nearly seven years.
“She was pregnant, Ron,” whispered Harry, struggling to force the words past his lips. “Ginny and I were expecting a baby, but she had a miscarriage when we were attacked.”
“Pregnant? You and Ginny?” asked Ron, incredulous. “Ginny was pregnant?”
“Yes,” whispered Harry, his eyes downcast.
“Ginny was pregnant?” Ron repeated, his voice rising with tension.
“Now, Ron,” said Hermione, who reached out her hand in an effort to impede her fiancé who was rapidly closing the distance that separated him from Harry.
“I’m so … so … sorry,” he whispered hoarsely while pulling Harry into a firm embrace.
Harry shuffled his feet quickly to maintain his balance, shocked by Ron’s emotional show of support. “I’d rather keep it quiet unless Ginny wants to talk about it,” he croaked into Ron’s ear.
“Of course you would,” answered Ron.
“Anyway, all that matters is that Ginny is going to be okay,” said Harry, meaning every word with every ounce of his being. “As long as she’s okay, we’ll be fine.”
Despite the reassurances of Healer Smethwyck, the scene in the family waiting area was tense. No one had expected an attack to foil Ginny and Harry’s wedding, and all of the witches and wizards there were silently cursing themselves for being so ill prepared for such an event. Arthur shook his head as he took in the forlorn appearance of the normally boisterous Weasley crowd, and for the first time since Fred’s death, he cleared his throat and spoke as the head of his family.
“Everyone, I’d like to say something, please,” he began while every set of eyes in the waiting area snapped to attention. “We’ve all been guilty of a terrible lapse in judgment, but the good news is that Ginny is going to be okay.”
“Thank Merlin,” said Molly while stepping beside her husband.
“Now, did anyone see what happened?” he asked.
His question was met with silence, as every member of the Weasley clan had jumped to Ginny’s assistance rather than searching for the attackers. Slowly, every eye in the room turned toward Minerva McGonagall.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I started to go with Kingsley but came back to help Poppy with Ginny. I really don’t know anything you don’t. I’m just as much in the dark as you are.”
A sudden clearing of a throat was followed shortly thereafter with the unmistakable voice of the Minister of Magic. “I can shed some light on things for you, but only the bare essentials. Then I need to have some time with Harry — alone.”
Ron broke his embrace, gave Harry an awkward grin, and thumped him hard on the back. When at last he spoke, Ron’s voice sounded forced, louder than required by the situation, and dripping with testosterone.
“Really, I am sorry, mate. Just try to take better care of my sister from here on out,” said Ron, although there was no accompanying threat in his voice.
“I’ll try,” answered Harry, “although I think Ginny can pretty well take care of herself.”
“Hmmm? Yes, I think she can,” murmured a voice from immediately behind Harry.
“Ginny!” he cried, spinning quickly around just in time to catch the slightest of openings in his wife’s eyelids.
“Keep him quiet, Harry,” she whispered before her eyes shut and her breathing deepened into a slow, rhythmic pattern.
“You heard her,” said Harry in hushed tones. “You two go get some rest.”
“G’night, Harry,” mouthed Hermione silently while pulling Ron with her out of the room.
Harry returned to his chair, an enhanced sense of relief coursing through his veins. Ginny had roused from whatever condition had seized her, and her first words seemed to speak volumes. Ginny’s inimitable sense of humor was still alive and in working order, no matter how great her personal tragedy.
“Lucius Malfoy?” gasped Arthur, flushing a bright shade of crimson in the process. “Didn’t I tell you, Kingsley? Didn’t I beg you not to let that family walk away after the battle? Didn’t I say they were still a risk?”
“That’s perfect hindsight, Arthur, but what choice did we have after what Harry told us about Mrs. Malfoy? If it hadn’t been for her, Harry would surely have been killed in the Forbidden Forest.”
“That was Narcissa, not Lucius,” spat Arthur. “Maybe she deserved a little leniency, but he didn’t. He was a Death Eater through and through.”
“I’m sorry,” answered Kingsley. “I’ll take the blame personally, but at least it seems that Ginny is expected to make a full recovery.”
“Yes, she is,” said Arthur, struggling to regain control of his emotions, “but that was just a matter of good fortune. We really let our guard down today.”
Few people other than his wife were aware of the existence of this more aggressive side of Arthur Weasley’s personality. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had learned about it six years earlier during their confrontation in Flourish & Blotts that had led to an outburst of Muggle-style fisticuffs. But other than those who had been present for that particular eruption, most people thought of Arthur Weasley as a kind, gentle, and accommodating wizard.
Arthur took a deep breath, but his efforts to remain calm were failing. At last, he reached forward and took a firm grip on Kingsley’s forearm.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not good enough to satisfy ourselves by talking about Ginny’s recovery. Something’s wrong with my daughter. You can see it in Smethwyck’s face. He’s holding something back from us, and I’ll be damned if I know what it is! But, whatever it is, it’s Lucius Malfoy’s fault!”
“I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Arthur,” protested Kingsley, struggling to free his arm from Arthur’s vice-like grasp. “If you’ll settle down, I’ll tell you everything else we’ve learned, but first, I need to talk to Harry.”
“That’s my daughter in there, Kingsley. I think you’d better talk to me first!”
“She’s also Harry’s wife,” answered the Minister. “He is Ginny’s next-of-kin now, but if it’s okay with Harry, I can share this information with both of you.”
“Oh, right,” replied Arthur grudgingly. “But this is going to take a bit of getting used to.”
Two soft pops announced the arrival of Ron and Hermione back in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“It’s a lot easier coming and going now that we don’t have to Apparate on the front step,” said Ron gratefully.
“Tell me about it,” sighed Hermione, shivering noticeably at the recollection of their abortive return from the Ministry of Magic with Yaxley clinging to her arm. That disaster had brought the Death Eaters into their secret hiding place and left Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the run less than a year earlier. “But I guess we shouldn’t have let our guard down so soon after Voldemort’s death.”
“Lucius sodding Malfoy,” muttered Ron distastefully, treating the name as if it were some vile object that needed to be spat from his mouth as quickly as possible.
“If it hadn’t been Lucius it would have been someone else,” answered Hermione, sadness filling her voice. “History is full of examples of evil springing up to replace evil, oftentimes for the worse. That has to be why Professor Moody was so obsessed about constant vigilance.”
Hermione and Ron had stopped by the waiting area to say goodnight to all the collected Weasleys and the handful of other wedding guests who had come to St Mungo’s to await news concerning Ginny.
“I wonder what Kingsley wanted to talk about with Harry,” mused Ron, continuing to verbalize his rapidly shifting chain of thoughts. “You could tell he had something under his skin.”
“I think you’re right about that,” answered Hermione thoughtfully. “Judging by the look on Professor McGonagall’s face, I suspect there is a lot more going on than just this attempt to assassinate Harry.”
“Harry?” asked Ron.
“Of course,” replied Hermione. “No matter how much the Malfoys have always hated your family, Ron, I have to think Harry was their intended target. How would it serve the Malfoys’ interest to kill Ginny?”
“That’s a good point,” he added, nodding his head in agreement.
“Of course it is,” said Hermione. “You pointed it out as soon as the Battle of Hogwarts was over — that Harry disclosed too much information about the Elder Wand — especially with the Malfoys in the audience. You really have a knack for strategizing, Ron” she added, “and it isn’t limited to wizard’s chess.”
“Well, thank goodness Ginny’s going to be okay,” said Ron, his voice registering barely more than a whisper. “But I have to admit that you were the first person I looked for after the Killing Curse flashed by us.”
“I did the same thing,” answered Hermione. “It’s only natural to think about the person who is most important to you first. It took me a moment to figure out that Ginny had been hit by that branch.”
“Most important to you?” asked Ron, a disbelieving smile beginning to spread across his face.
“Of course you’re the most important person in my life, Ron,” she replied without any hint of insincerity or exaggeration whatsoever. “What’s so surprising about that? I did agree to marry you, didn’t I?”
“I know,” he whispered as his eyes dropped toward the floor. “It’s just a little hard for me to think about being the most important person in your life. I mean, no matter how much I hoped you might like me, there was always Harry.”
“No, there was always Harry’s mission. No one has ever been more important to me than you.”
“Really?” he asked, blushing brightly.
“Really,” she answered, almost purring at him while lifting his face so her brown eyes could fasten upon his blue. “You need to learn to accept that, Ron, because I’ve always wanted you. I’ve only wanted you.”
Hermione’s heart ached for him as Ron shuffled about, obviously not knowing what to say in response. She had always known of Ron’s pervasive sense of insecurity; of the weight he carried as the youngest in a long line of popular and successful Weasley sons and the best friend of the most famous wizard of their generation. She had always admired the way he bore the weight of his position in life and how rarely he had allowed himself to give in to the bitterness that had come with it. She smiled softly and reached out to take his hand in her own.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered gently. “I need to … I mean … well, I need you.”
With a gentle tug at his wrist, Hermione led him up the stairs until they reached the top landing and the room that had once belonged to Sirius and had now been generously designated for their use by Harry and Ginny. Kreacher and his children had done a marvelous job of renovating the space into a pleasant retreat for the recently engaged couple.
In one motion, Hermione pulled Ron through the doorway, pushing it gently closed and turning to slip her arms around his waist. Rising slightly onto her tiptoes, her lips met his. Wasting none of their time, which seemed ever more valuable in light of what had befallen Ginny, she parted her lips and met Ron’s enthusiastically.
“Harry, are you awake?”
The words were delivered so softly that Harry thought he might be dreaming. His eyelids fluttered open to the sight of Ginny’s brilliant red hair reflecting what little light the moonlight provided through the window of her hospital room. In a single motion, Harry interlaced his fingers into her hair and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. For a moment, he thought she might be stirring, but Ginny’s breathing quickly resumed its slow, even pace.
“Harry? The Minister would like a word with you.”
“What’s that?” he asked, finally recognizing the voice of Molly Weasley.
“Kingsley is in the waiting area and was hoping you could spend a little time with him. He wants to bring you up to speed about the attack and to ask you a few questions.”
“Now?” asked Harry, suddenly realizing that his normal sense of curiosity had gone completely dormant.
“I’m afraid so,” said Molly, placing a soft hand on her son-in-law’s shoulder.
“But I want to stay here with Ginny,” he protested.
“I’ll keep watch on her, Harry,” she replied. “Kingsley says it’s really important that he speak with you tonight. I know he wouldn’t interrupt you unless there was a good reason.”
“Right,” Harry whispered resignedly as he gently slipped his fingers out of his wife’s hair and placed yet another gentle kiss on Ginny’s forehead.
“It’s okay,” said Molly reassuringly. “I’ll take good care of her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you called me something else, like ‘Mum’ or ‘Molly’?”
Harry hesitated for only a moment.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Mother, you have to help these gentlemen with their investigation. Tell them what you know, and I mean everything.”
“My name in John Dawlish,” said a tall gray-haired wizard, “and this is my new associate, David Woodson.”
Narcissa Malfoy shuffled her feet indecisively, weighing her options — if she had any — and wishing desperately that her husband had followed her advice for once in his violently truncated life.
“But I had nothing to do with this ridiculous scheme,” she protested weakly.
“As the Minister has already explained to your son, you had a obligation to report Lucius’ activities the moment you first learned of his plans,” Dawlish replied, his voice formal and harsh. “I’m sure you’re aware that sins of omission can be just as deadly as sins of commissions.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Dawlish,” said Narcissa, hoping she might have discovered a loophole already. “I thought the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was supposed to investigate crimes, not sins.”
Narcissa’s mind was working as quickly as possible under the circumstances. Only five minutes beforehand, a tawny owl had arrived at the kitchen window of Malfoy Manor and had been granted entrance by one of the family’s house elves. It came as no surprise that Lucius’ plan had gone astray. In fact, she had, for the first time, dared to speak openly to her husband concerning what she considered avoidable risks. For years, she had seen the Dark Lord fail because of errant assumptions in his planning. The 17-year-long debacle with Harry Potter had both begun and ended with the irrepressible arrogance of Lord Voldemort.
The irony of her current situation was rooted in the fact that Lucius had seen these errors as clearly as she, and had even dared discuss their leader’s impetuous presumptuousness before Voldemort had fallen victim to his own rebounding spell for a second time! More than that, they had seen how the Dark Lord had repeated these errors time and again, from the catastrophe at the Potter’s bungalow in Godric’s Hollow, to the standoff at the graveyard in Little Hangleton, and culminating in his demise at the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. Each confrontation more unnecessary than its predecessor, yet equally doomed to failure.
“How presumptuous, then, was Lucius’ fiasco when seen in the light of this continuum?”
Still, Lucius had been exceedingly blessed in one thing — his ability to keep himself and his family free, functional, and financially whole despite his personal history as one of the Dark Lord’s primary lieutenants. How then could she manage the same feat? Concentrating as hard as she had ever done in her lifetime, Narcissa looked straight into the pale gray eyes of her son and saw … disgust.
“Mother, please drop the pretenses and help these people. Father failed to kill Harry Potter because Pansy and I intervened. If we can help them find Malcolm Parkinson and the others involved in Father’s plot, the Minister says we’ll be allowed to go free.”
“Others?” asked Narcissa, doubt beginning to cloud her blue eyes.
“Mother!” screeched Draco. “Now is not the time for games.”
“Right,” answered Narcissa. “Your father kept a list in his study, but it was written in magical ink. The permanent copy is in our vault at Gringotts.”
Ginny woke as the first gray light of morning invaded her room at St. Mungo’s. She turned quietly, expecting to find Harry sleeping exhaustedly in the chair at her bedside. Instead, she found her mother’s gentle brown eyes gazing lovingly upon her.
“Mum?” she asked. “Where’s Harry?”
“He’s been here with you all night, dear, but Kingsley needed to see him for a few minutes. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.”
“Oh, Mum,” she whispered, her voice filled with grief as tears began flowing freely down her cheeks.
“What, dear?” Molly asked softly.
“God, Mum … this is a total disaster.”
Chapter 16: Chapter 16 - Some Stupid, Noble Reason
CHAPTER 16 — SOME STUPID NOBLE REASON“Why are you so upset?” Molly asked, tears welling in her own eyes. “It’s a difficult way to start your marriage, but you and Harry have endured worse already — a year apart, not even knowing if he’d survive.”
“It’s more than that, Mum. Didn’t Healer Smethwyck tell you?”
“He said he needed to talk to Harry, but the rest of us were only told that you were going to be fine.”
“Oh, Mum …” Ginny said, her voice trailing off into nothingness.
“What, dear?” Molly asked gently. “I’ve never seen you this … this … cut up.”
Ginny sat up on the edge of her bed while turning her gaze downward toward her pillow, unable to find the right words to convey her feelings. She certainly did not want to paint the impression that she was embarrassed or unhappy about being pregnant in the first place, as her emotions were centered primarily upon the loss of their baby — that, along with the abject terror that she might never again be able to conceive, that she might not be able to give Harry the family he had been denied since he was a toddler.
“Mum, I don’t … don’t know … how you’re going to take this, but after Harry asked me to marry him … well …”
Ginny watched as the color washed completely from her mother’s face.
“Are you pregnant?” Molly asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was.”
Ginny wondered if she looked as helpless as she felt, unable to find more words, unable to express all that was tearing simultaneously at her soul. As tears cascaded freely down her cheeks, she continued to stare silently at her pillow, wondering what on earth she could say.
“Oh, baby,” said Molly softly as she pulled her daughter close.
Ginny felt her mother’s protective embrace followed by a barely perceptible shudder. At last, she looked up, expecting to see the bright brown eyes she had inherited, only to find them bloodshot and brimming with tears. With that sight, the dam broke in full as Ginny could no longer hold back the deluge of emotions she had been suppressing since the first moment she had known her baby was lost forever. At last, she felt her mother’s controlled shudders give way to wracking sobs.
“What a sight we must make,” Ginny thought silently. “Two Weasley women … no, two Prewetts … known for our strength … broken down and crying like a couple of little girls.”
As if reading Ginny’s thoughts, Molly looked tenderly at her daughter. “It’s okay to let it out, dear.”
“So Ron was right,” said Harry with a dejected huff, his eyes darting back and forth between Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall.
Of all the things Kingsley had expected to hear from the young hero of the wizarding world, this hadn’t even crossed his mind. He looked momentarily at the Hogwarts Headmistress, who silently nodded back in the direction of Harry.
“What?” asked Kingsley.
“Ron. He was right,” Harry replied. “He basically told me that I was a gormless berk for explaining the secrets concerning mastery of the Elder Wand in front of everyone in the Great Hall. In fact, he even pointed out that the Malfoys were the last people on Earth who should have ever learned about the wand.”
“Young Mr. Weasley said that?” asked McGonagall.
“Yes, it was practically the first thing he said to me after we left the Great Hall.”
“What else did he say?” asked Kingsley, carefully pondering the situation.
“He basically told me I’d probably bought a lifetime of trouble rather than ending one.”
“I’m afraid he may be right,” replied Kingsley. “At least he has a very good chance of proving to be correct if we don’t take the proper action soon.”
“What do you mean?” asked Harry.
“Look, Harry,” said Kingsley cautiously, “I honestly don’t know if Draco Malfoy would have had the courage to take down his father alone. He’s a weak, rather pathetic coward of a person, and I don’t fully believe his explanation. Even when interrogated under the influence of Veritaserum, he appears at best to have had doubts and concerns about his father’s plan. There is no definitive proof that he meant to stop his father, and his defense revolves primarily around the fact that he screamed the word ‘no’ at Lucius upon his appearance on the roof. Unfortunately, there is also no definitive proof that he meant to go along with the plot.
What we do know unequivocally is that, without the intervention of Pansy Parkinson, the plot to kill you might have been carried out successfully. We’re quite confident that she meant to stop Lucius from killing you, even if she didn’t mean for him to die in the process.”
“I understand that, but what does it have to do with taking the proper action right away?”
“Ever since we debriefed both Pansy and Draco, young Mr. Malfoy has been doing everything he can to cooperate with our investigation. I think he is taking a page from his father’s successful rulebook for avoiding prosecution after the first Voldemort war. He is trying to become indispensible to our efforts to protect you moving forward. He has even been successful in convincing his mother to help, as well.”
“His mother?”
“Yes, his mother,” answered Kingsley. “At Draco’s prompting, Narcissa opened up their home, including all of her husband’s private documents.”
“And?” asked Harry.
Kingsley felt slightly ill at ease, hating the idea of telling the young man who had offered everything for the benefit of the wizarding world that his work was not quite done. In fact, Shacklebolt knew that Harry’s work was far, far from being complete. He shuffled on his feet, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it. Relief washed over him when Minerva cleared her throat.
“It’s like this, Harry,” she said in her normal matter-of fact tone of voice. “Kingsley tells us that Lucius Malfoy’s list of followers wasn’t limited to Malcolm Parkinson.”
“Not by a long shot,” said the Minister of Magic, thankful that his friend and fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix had broached the subject. “Narcissa gave us a list of approximately thirty witches and wizards who seem to be more that willing to pick up where Voldemort left off.”
“What?” gasped Harry, dumbstruck.
“The majority of these people reside outside of Britain, though a few are still living here.”
“So that’s why Malfoy and Parkinson were headed for Romania?
“Exactly,” said the Minister.
“Have you been able to capture them yet?” asked Harry.
“No,” answered Kingsley. “We’re very short-staffed right now, as you already know. We’ve added a few new people, but we lost so many Aurors — Moody, Tonks …”
“Enough!” cried Harry, his voice nearly a shout. “I’ll do it, as long as it’s okay with Professor McGonagall.”
“Of course it is,” answered the Headmistress. “Kingsley and I have already talked it over.”
“But what will Ginny and I do? She wants to finish her seventh year, and we were planning on living at Hogwarts.”
“And so you shall,” McGonagall answered firmly. “Kingsley has kindly agreed that I can call on you for guest lectures and hands-on training, so you’ll still be part of the faculty. You and Ginny will be able to move ahead as planned.”
“Not quite as we planned,” Harry muttered under his breath.
“And you’ll be doing the right thing,” added Shacklebolt, warmly wrapping one arm around Harry’s shoulder as his heart filled with pride. All the things Albus Dumbledore had told him about the purity of Harry’s soul snapped suddenly into place. “I know it seems like a lot to ask, especially now, but we really need you to help us finish this mess before it starts to grow a new life of its own.”
“There’s one condition,” Harry added flatly.
“What’s that?” inquired Kingsley, worried that things might not have fallen into place as easily as it had seemed.
“I promised Ginny that I’d never again make a big decision without discussing it with her. I’ll do this only if she agrees.”
“Of course,” answered Kingsley, as wave of relief swept through his body. He hated to admit just how desperately the Ministry needed the help of this young wizard.
Ginny’s hands were shaking frantically as she clawed at the rings adorning her left hand. She couldn’t stop long enough to explain things to her mother. In fact, she wondered whether or not an explanation was even possible. Things had gone terribly wrong, and the thought of being Mrs. Harry Potter was simply too overwhelming for words. At last, the rings came free, allowing Ginny to place them unsteadily on her bedside table. The wedding band nearly rolled off the surface before she could stop its progress, bringing the matched set to an uneasy rest.
“What are you doing?” asked Molly, the sense of urgency in her voice registering firmly upon Ginny’s consciousness.
“I can’t, Mum,” Ginny managed to gasp as her hands began fumbling with the clasp of Lily Potter’s ruby and diamond pendant.
“You can’t … you can’t … what?” asked Molly as she raised her arms to embrace her daughter’s shoulders.
Ginny twisted free; driven by a sense of urgency she could barely comprehend as she managed to open the clasp of the necklace. A short moment later, the pendant clattered onto the tabletop, joining Lily’s rings in a disorganized array.
“Ginny!” screeched Molly as she finally managed to capture her daughter’s hands between her own. “Stop it! Stop it this instant!”
Ginny’s eyes sought out her mother’s as tears began once again to cascade down her face in rivulets. She struggled to free her hands, but her mother’s grip only strengthened.
“You stop it, Mum!” Ginny cried plaintively. “I need you to help me!”
“And that’s exactly what I intend to do young lady.” Molly’s tone was surprisingly harsh.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Ginny added frantically.
“I am, dear,” came her mother’s voice, this time more reassuringly. “But I don’t understand why we’re talking about sides. What in heaven’s name are you getting at?”
“Oh, Mum!” cried Ginny with a growing sense of anxiety. “What if I can’t have children?”
“What are you talking about, Ginny? You just told me you were pregnant.”
“Healer Smethwyck told me there’s always some damage from a miscarriage … and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to conceive again.” The words tore at Ginny’s heart as dramatically they burst from her lips, giving voice to the fear that was quickly becoming a near-hysterical obsession. “What if I can’t give Harry a family? It’s what he’s wanted more than anything for his entire life.”
Molly Weasley’s heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest as she watched her precious daughter overcome with agony. How many other women in this situation, she wondered, could be so selflessly concerned about their husbands rather than themselves? But Ginny had always been unique.
“Try to calm down, dear,” Molly whispered. She could hear the sense of desperation in her own voice, but it didn’t matter.
“I can’t,” answered Ginny.
Molly felt the trembling beginning again to gain control over her daughter’s extremities.
“You must, dear,” she whispered, pulling her daughter close.
“I … I know,” stammered Ginny.
“It’s okay to cry, dear,” Molly continued, her voice still nothing more than a whisper now that her lips were pressed against Ginny’s ear.
Pansy paced relentlessly back and forth across the kitchen floor of her parents’ mansion, listening to her mother’s derisive stream of consciousness.
“What were you thinking, turning on your father like that?” said Diana Parkinson.
“I didn’t turn on Father,” said Pansy. “I simply tried to stop Mr. Malfoy from killing Potter.”
“It’s one and the same thing!”
“Like hell it is!” Pansy replied, the volume of her voice rising to match that of her mother’s. “Dad thought the plan was nutters and told me to get out of there if things went wrong.”
“There’s a huge difference between getting away from The Burrow and killing Lucius Malfoy!”
“I told you I didn’t mean to kill him, Mother! I was only trying to sever his wand when Draco buggered everything up.”
“Sever his wand? With Sectumsempra? When did you go mental, Pansy?”
“I’m not the one who was mental!” Pansy answered defensively. “The plan was mental from the very beginning. Worse yet, it was wrong!”
“Wrong?” gasped Diana.
“Yes, it was wrong, and it was stupid, too. Stupid to make such an obvious play for the Elder Wand and wrong to kill a woman’s husband on their wedding day.”
“Stupid? It sounds to me as if everything was going perfectly until you mucked it up. Now your father will be on the run until they catch him and throw him in Azkaban, and we’ll be out on the street instead of living here in this home Malcolm has always provided for us.”
“I won’t tell you again, Mother, so listen carefully. I didn’t mean for Mr. Malfoy to die. I was only trying to stop him from killing Potter. If Draco hadn’t blundered into things, we could have all Apparated away from there and no one would have been any the wiser.”
“Damn it, Pansy! Your plan failed, and then you told the Ministry about your father’s involvement.”
“I did not!” huffed Pansy, blood pounding in her ears. “Draco’s mum is the one who gave the list of conspirators and supporters to the Minister.”
“You’re grasping at straws here,” muttered Diana as the fire faded from her voice and she sat resignedly down at the kitchen table.
Pansy’s pacing slowed in response to the change of tone, and then she turned to face her mother, whose eyes were cast down at the marble flooring. The flatness of her voice was more frightening to Pansy than the screaming had ever been.
“I want you to leave,” said Diana, her eyes still fixed at her feet.
“What?” asked Pansy.
“I want you to leave … now.” Diana’s voice had fallen into a harsh whisper. “You’ve destroyed your family. It’s best that you leave. No! I Insist that you leave this instant”
“You can’t mean it, Mum,” Pansy replied, stunned at this turn of events and angered that she had not seen it coming.
With a quickness Pansy had never known her mother capable of, Diana leapt to her feet and drew her wand in a single motion.
“Go, now. Pack a bag and get out of this house, you thankless bitch! You have ten minutes to get out of your father’s house, and no magic! If you so much as touch your wand, I will kill you.”
Five minutes later, Pansy Parkinson stepped out of the front door of the only home she had ever known, tears streaming silently down her face, with no clue as to where she would spend the night. With her family in tatters and a non-existent relationship with the only wizard she had ever thought she loved, Pansy was alone. She thought reflectively as she approached the edge of her family’s property, beyond which she would be able to Apparate anywhere she chose. At a loss for ideas, yet convinced that she had done the right thing, Pansy turned on the spot and disappeared into the vice-like grip of darkness, deliberating on the one place she knew she could find an affordable room, unaware of the countless number of witches and wizards who had made the same choice through the ages. A brief moment later, her lungs gratefully drew in the stale, smoky air of The Leaky Cauldron.
Ginny had no idea how long she had been crying in her mother’s protective embrace before she managed to draw a steady breath. She raised her head to stare into her mother’s loving eyes.
“Are you okay, dear?” Molly asked gently.
“I think so,” answered Ginny, although she wasn’t entirely sure her statement was true.
“Now,” began her mother tenderly, “why in the world would Harry not want to be with you, even if you can’t have children. After all, there was no certainty you could conceive when he asked you to marry him.”
“That’s not the issue,” answered Ginny as a new wave of emotion began to wash over her. “I’m sure Harry would have me. It’s just that he’s never had a family of his own, at least not one that he can remember.”
“You’re his family now, dear,” said Molly soothingly. “We’re his family. He’s already been as good as a son to your father and me.”
“Don’t you see, Mum? I understand that you and Dad have loved him as well as you love any of us. In fact, the thought terrifies me from time to time.”
“Terrifies you?” asked Molly.
“Yes,” whispered Ginny as a single tear slid from her eye.
“Why would that terrify you, dear?” Molly’s hand came up to cup Ginny’s face on one side while her lips pressed against her daughter’s opposite cheek.
“Oh, Mum,” gasped Ginny. “I know it sounds crazy, but when I feel insecure, I sometimes wonder if Harry loves me more because I’m a Weasley than because of who I am on my own.”
“Ginevra Molly Potter,” said Molly, again kissing her daughter’s cheek with almost imperceptible softness. “Harry has been a Weasley for six years now. He didn’t need to marry you to be a part of this family.”
Shocked at the simple reality of her mother’s words, Ginny felt a tiny smile beginning to creep across her face. “You think so, Mum?”
“I know so, dear.”
“But he deserves a family. It’s what he has wanted more than anything else.”
“Has he told you this?” asked Molly.
“No, but don’t you remember what Ron said he saw in the Mirror of Erised during their first year?”
“Of course,” Molly replied as tears began to roll down her own face. “What parent could ever forget something like that — his heart’s deepest desire was to be loved by his family.”
“So, don’t you think Harry deserves to be with someone who is sure she can give him that — a family of his own?”
“But no woman knows that, Ginny,” answered Molly.
“That’s easy for you to say when you have seven children,” said Ginny, unable to keep a tiny trace of jealousy from slipping into her voice.
“Oh, my!” said Molly as a veil of sadness seemed to slip from nowhere to dim the brightness that almost always animated her eyes.
“Mum?” asked Ginny, realizing immediately that she had ventured into unknown territory.
“Precious girl,” whispered Molly. “I’ve always wondered if Arthur and I made a mistake by keeping certain things from you children.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Ginny.
“I know it seems like your father and I can produce babies like clockwork, but that hasn’t always been the case.”
“It hasn’t?” Ginny replied, suddenly feeling self-absorbed and as if she hardly knew her parents at all.
“No, it hasn’t. I lost our first baby just a few weeks after Arthur and I found out we were expecting. I have no idea why, but one morning, I woke up and … and … and it just happened.”
“Oh, Mum,” Ginny managed to say while swallowing tears for her mother’s pain.
“It was hard, dear, but we managed to get past it. Eighteen months later, Bill came into our lives.”
Ginny pulled her mother close, reversing the roles the women had played only minutes before.
“I’m so sorry, Mum. I mean, I never knew.”
“And perhaps we weren’t doing all of you children a favor by not telling you such things,” said Molly regretfully.
“You can’t criticize yourself for that decision,” said Ginny.
“There is more to tell, dear,” continued Molly. “Much to our surprise, we learned that I was pregnant again shortly after Percy was born.”
“Fred and George?” asked Ginny.
“No,” said Molly softly. “It happened again, just like it did the first time. I woke up one morning, felt terrible for a few hours, and lost the baby.”
Ginny found herself speechless. She would never have guessed that her parents had suffered so much loss before she had even been born. Neither could she have anticipated sharing a similar experience before turning seventeen.
“Of course, very soon thereafter we were blessed with Fred and George,” said Molly as her voice began to shake. “My sweet handful. Your father and I often wondered if we hadn’t been given our mischievous twins to make up for the loss of our other children.”
Ginny smiled softly and slid her hands down her mother’s arms until their palms were pressed gently together.
“Oh, Merlin!” whispered Molly. “My poor sweet boys. Who would have thought it? George injured so terribly and Fred … Fred …”
“It’s okay, Mum,” answered Ginny, feeling embarrassed to have thought her own problems so unmanageable.
As if she had read her daughter’s mind, Molly turned and added reassuringly, “It’s okay, dear. We all have our problems, and there is no way to rank whose are the hardest to bear. The only thing we can know about life is that there are no guarantees. Just because you’ve suffered this miscarriage doesn’t mean you won’t have a Burrow full of your own.”
“But what if I can’t?” asked Ginny as her fears returned, albeit at a lesser degree of intensity.
“Then you won’t, and you will be Harry’s family,” Molly replied.
“But what if I’m not enough?”
Harry walked slowly from the waiting area in which he had been meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall, anxious to talk to Ginny, although not primarily about the things he had been discussing. He had been gone too long and feared he might have missed his wife’s return to full consciousness. The capture of Malcolm Parkinson and the other wizards and witches who had agreed to serve under Lucius Malfoy would be his problem soon enough. Until then, he needed to be with his wife.
Harry turned the doorknob as quietly as he could in an effort not to disturb Ginny in the event that she was still asleep.
“Then you won’t, and you will be Harry’s family,” said Molly.
“But what if I’m not enough?”
“What does that mean?” asked Harry softly. “How could you possibly not be enough?”
Molly pressed a final kiss on her daughter’s cheek and rose from the seat she had taken when Harry had been called to meet with Kingsley.
“Ginny, you need to talk this over with your husband,” Molly added before heading out of the room, pausing only long enough to give Harry a motherly pat on the arm.
“Thank you, Mum,” called Ginny, her voice full of appreciation for her remarkable mum.
Harry’s eyes moved rapidly over the situation before him. Ginny’s eyes remained bloodshot and the tracks of her recent tears were still evident on her face. As he noticed the haphazard stack of jewelry that had still been on his wife when last he left the room, Harry’s stomach twisted into a painful knot.
“Ginny?” he repeated. “What if you’re not enough for what? To be my family? Is that what your mum was talking about?”
“I was just telling Mum that I’m worried about what Healer Smethwyck had to say about my ability to have children — how we can’t know for certain that I’ll be able to get pregnant again.”
“And?” asked Harry, unable to voice the fears that were rushing at breakneck speed through his mind. For only the third time in his life, Harry both heard and felt the pop from deep within his chest as adrenaline flooded his system. The first time had occurred when he came upon Ginny’s near-lifeless body in the Chamber of Secrets and the second when he had witnessed Lord Voldemort’s gruesome rebirth in the graveyard of Little Hangleton.
“Harry, I … I love you more … more than life itself,” Ginny stammered, looking as fearful as Harry felt.
“So you rip off your rings?” he replied, not knowing whether fear or anger would win the battle that was raging within.
“I just thought maybe you’d be better off if you could be free to choose someone you knew could give you a family.”
As quickly as it had risen within him, the surge of adrenaline subsided and a sad smile spread across Harry’s face.
“And you thought I broke up with you last year for a stupid noble reason,” he whispered.
“Well, it was,” answered Ginny.
“No more stupid or noble than this,” Harry added, moving steadily toward the pile of jewelry.
“What?” Ginny asked, her eyes glued to Harry’s movements.
“That you thought I should run off and find someone better suited for breeding.”
“Mum said you wouldn’t see the logic in it.”
“Because there isn’t any logic in it,” Harry said flatly while gathering both rings in his right hand.
“Is too,” Ginny whispered while meeting his smile with one of her own.
“Obviously you haven’t accepted what I’ve told you at least three times already.”
“What’s that?” she asked softly.
Harry took her left hand in his and slipped both rings back in place before answering her question.
“That I intend to spend the rest of my life honoring you with all that I am and all that I have.”
Chapter 17: Chapter 17 - Moving Forward, Changing Plans
Author's Notes: Have you ever had one of those experiences when it seems like you couldn't handle one more problem, one more burden, then come upon someone who deals seamlessly with even more?
CHAPTER 17 — MOVING FORWARD, CHANGING PLANS
Pansy wobbled as she arrived at The Leaky Cauldron thinking momentarily that she might have splinched herself in the process. She could never recall having been more upset or distracted, and she cursed at herself for not having anticipated her mother’s reaction. Then again, she had truly not meant for Lucius Malfoy to die.
Nearly broke and completely friendless, Pansy began searching anxiously to find a quiet corner in which to sit. She was immediately stymied, however, as the old tavern was filled to overflowing. With no better idea of how to blend into the scenery, Pansy made her way slowly toward the bar, hoping to catch the eye of Tom, the aging bartender. She sidled up to one of the customers sitting at the bar, extremely careful to avoid eye contact.
“Excuse me, Tom!” Pansy called in the general direction of the back of the bald head she knew belonged to the barkeep.
When Tom failed to respond, Pansy wasn’t sure whether the feeling that crept over her was frustration or embarrassment. She was in a tight spot, with only thirty galleons in her purse and another thousand or so at Gringotts.
“Well,” she thought, “if they have a room available, I can at least make it through tonight. But can I make it until Monday, when Gringotts will next be open?”
Pansy stood silently, hoping Tom would soon turn in her direction, wondering if he had lost his hearing along with his hairline and teeth. To her left, she could hear the name Harry Potter mentioned, along with questions being asked by an unknown witch as to whether anyone knew what had happened to his wife.
“Wife?” asked another patron, obviously surprised.
The wizard sitting beside Pansy finally lifted his gaze from Tom’s direction and answered the curious wizard.
“That’s right,” he said softly. “Harry Potter married Ginny Weasley this evening, but they were attacked by Lucius Malfoy.”
A hush descended over the entire room as every eye focused on Neville Longbottom.
Pansy froze immediately. She had never stopped to consider that one of the few attendees at the Potter/Weasley nuptials would have gone to The Leaky Cauldron following the violent outburst of the early evening hours.
“Ha … Hannah and I were there,” he continued, nodding at the petite blonde girl who had been hidden from Pansy’s view by the bartender, who had obviously been giving her instructions. Both were wearing aprons embroidered with the tavern’s name in golden lettering.
“Malfoy was trying to kill Harry and Ginny, but only managed to get himself killed in the process.”
“Lucius Malfoy? Dead?” asked another voice that Pansy did not recognize. “How did that happen?”
“A … apparently he was stopped by Pansy Parkinson,” replied Neville with full voice.
Pansy felt the room begin to spin as her vision narrowed, and she felt as if she was viewing the world through an incredibly weak telescope. Just as she felt consciousness slipping away, she reached out toward Longbottom in an attempt to avoid crashing to the floor.
“Pansy!” exclaimed Neville.
The surprised look on the wizard’s face was the last thing Pansy saw before the tunnel closed and her world turned completely black.
George Weasley was growing anxious at the Burrow as he waited to hear news of his sister’s recovery and was regretting his decision to stay home with Dudley Dursley rather than taking the Muggle back to Little Whinging and joining his family at St. Mungo’s. Dudley hadn’t felt comfortable joining the Weasleys on a trip to the wizarding hospital, but neither had he wanted to return home to his parents. As a result, someone had to stay behind, and George had offered to take on the responsibility.
“But why would anyone want to hurt Harry or Ginny now? I thought your side had won the war,” said Dudley, obviously confused.
“It’s not that simple,” George replied. “Voldemort played on prejudices that already existed in our world. He didn’t invent them.”
“Prejudices in the wizarding world?” asked Dudley. “I know my Mum and Dad are prejudiced against witches and wizard, but why do some wizards hate others?”
“It’s all about blood status,” answered George. “Our enemies would call it blood purity.”
“But it seems to me that you either have magical powers or you don’t,” Dudley replied. “Why would one wizard’s magical power be better than another’s?”
“It is and it isn’t,” said George, shaking his head sadly from side to side.
“What does that mean?” asked Dudley.
“Well, some witches and wizards are more powerful than others. Take Ginny for example. She is a very powerful witch despite being so tiny. She happens to be a Pureblood, which means that she comes from a long line of witches and wizards who were also Purebloods.”
“So, Purebloods are more powerful?”
“Not at all,” George began. “Harry’s a Half-Blood, but he’s powerful.”
“But Harry’s parents were both magical!” Dudley protested.
“That’s right,” said George, obviously disgusted. “Even though both his parents were magical, Harry is considered a Half-Blood because his mother’s parents were Muggles. Because of that, your Aunt Lily was called a Mudblood.”
“What’s a Mudblood?”
“It’s what our enemies call witches or wizards born to non-magical parents. Your Aunt Lily was one. Ron’s fiancé, Hermione, is another, and she’s about as gifted a witch as you will ever see,” George continued.
“And that was the basis for this war you’ve just fought? And why someone tried to kill Harry and Ginny?” asked Dudley, looking appalled. “That’s ridiculous!”
“No more ridiculous than your mum hating Harry and his mum,” said George sadly.
“That’s only because my mum was scared and jealous of her sister’s power.”
“Exactly!” answered George. “It’s the same with the Pureblood radicals. They’re afraid and jealous, too. When that happens, people end up hating each other instead of trying to see their similarities.”
“And because of that, all those people died?” asked Dudley. “Because of that, your twin brother was killed?”
“Y … y … yes,” stammered George as tears began flowing down his cheeks, no matter how hard he fought to hold them back.
“Fine time to break down,” he thought. “In front of a Muggle, no less!”
Only then did George realize that he was also falling victim to prejudice and stereotyping. After years of hearing that Dudley Dursley was a tremendous git, he was proving to be a rather nice person to talk to.
“It wasn’t just my mum and dad,” added Dudley, shaking his head slowly. “In a lot of ways, I treated Harry worse than anyone — at least I did until the night he saved my life from those Dementors.”
“Yes,” George answered, “and he almost wound up expelled from Hogwarts in the process. Harry’s had a hard time of it. I don’t know what he’ll do if he loses Ginny.”
Suddenly the conversation between George and Dudley was interrupted by the arrival of a shimmering silver weasel.
“Ginny is awake and will make a full recovery. At least some of us will return home shortly.”
“Whoa!” exclaimed Dudley. “What was that?”
“My dad’s Patronus,” replied George. “They’re right useful for everything from defense against Dementors to delivering messages in a pinch.”
“Is that what Harry used to save my life? All I remember is something silver.”
“Yes. You’re lucky that Harry learned that charm earlier than most wizards do. It saved both of you that night and has saved Harry on a number of occasions. He even taught it to the rest of us a couple of years ago.”
“Taught you?”
“Yeah, he taught us Defense Against the Dark Arts when the Ministry wouldn’t let the us use magic in class.”
“Crikey, George! There’s a lot about Harry that I don’t know anything about, isn’t there?”
“Undoubtedly so. But that could be said about all of us,” answered George.
“What about Ron and Hermione? They seem to know him better than anyone.”
“They’ve been close for years, that’s for sure, but I think Ginny is the only one he really opens up to. I watch him with my little sister and he’s … I don’t know … different, somehow. It’s like he lets his guard down with her — that he’s somehow softer. With Hermione and Ron, there’s still an edge to him.”
“Speaking of Ron and Hermione, I understand they’re going back to school?”
“We’ll see about that,” answered George, a telltale smirk crossing his face. “Ron’s pretty taken with young Miss Granger, but he’s not really that much of a student. If I have any say in things, I’ll see if I can entice him to help me with the joke shop. He has quite a head for planning and strategizing, even if he doesn’t give himself credit for it. I think he could have quite a future in marketing.”
“But won’t Hermione kill him if he doesn’t go back to school with her, with it being so far away?”
“Don’t forget about Apparition, Dudley. Our dad has worked in London his entire life, but we live out here in the country. All it takes is …”
“Destination, determination, and deliberation” said Ron, stepping out of the floo. “So what’s this about working at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes?”
“Heard that, did you?” asked George, grinning madly. “Well, what do you think?’
“It sounds interesting, but not right away. Hermione would kill me if I didn’t go back to Hogwarts with her.”
“Just like I said,” Dudley chimed in enthusiastically.
“Maybe something part-time,” said Ron happily, “but finishing school has to be my priority. Nothing short of saving the Wizarding World could convince Hermione to let me skive off my final year.”
Draco and Narcissa Malfoy stood together in the foyer of Malfoy Manor watching the forms of John Dawlish, Oliver Wood, and Kingsley Shacklebolt walking slowly away from their home. The Minister of Magic had joined the Aurors near the end of their investigation and taken the time to sit at the family’s dining table to discuss the situation in which the Malfoys had landed.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt began, “I have been in consultation with the Chief of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he has decided to recommend a suspended sentence be granted to Draco for his role in the plot to murder Harry Potter. This accommodation is being offered because … and only because … it appears that your son may well have changed his mind at the last moment and decided to take action to thwart your husband’s schemes. However, it was his duty, just as it was yours, to report such things the moment you became aware of them.”
“I understand,” was all that Narcissa had been able to utter in response. A suspended sentence was certainly better than imprisonment in Azkaban but might well cause Draco problems gaining employment, which he might need depending upon the remaining decisions taken by the Ministry.
“Furthermore,” Kingsley had continued, “it will be recommended to the full Wizengamot that you not be charged with any crime. It is apparent that you were not directly involved, so our prosecutors feel your failure to report the plot can be more easily overlooked.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Narcissa whispered in response.
“I want to make it clear that these decisions were influenced significantly by Harry Potter’s request that you be treated leniently due to your role in deceiving the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest.”
Narcissa had nodded silently.
As they approached the edge of their property, Narcissa slipped her arm gently around her son’s shoulders. She hadn’t embraced Draco in years, but at that particular moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. She was surprised to find him thin and hunched over, as if the last ounce of life had been sucked from him by the events of the day.
“Are you all right, son?” she asked softly.
“Of course,” came Draco’s defensive response.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to act so strong,” she added, squeezing his shoulders.
“A suspended sentence!” he huffed indignantly. “That’s what I get for stopping Father!”
“Given your involvement in everything from the planning stages up to the last moment defection … a defection Shacklebolt appears to doubt … you’re extremely lucky they are taking such a lenient stance. You could just as easily have been sentenced to Azkaban for ten years or more. And, had you not taken action, you would be facing a life sentence no matter how much Potter says in your defense.”
“But now I’m left with nothing but a tarnished name!” Draco continued.
“No, Draco, you’re left with everything. We’re left with everything. When they decided not to prosecute me, it left everything in your father’s estate in my name. Everything!”
“The Ministry can’t seize it?” Draco asked, amazed.
“No. It’s all mine now, and the Malfoy fortune is even larger than you’ve ever imagined.”
“More than Father told me?”
“Absolutely. Your father always thought it would go to your head if you knew how truly wealthy your family is. So, as long as you hold your tongue and keep a cool head, none of this will matter to your future.”
“And without Father, I can control things properly from here on.”
“No!” Narcissa snapped. “I will control the family’s money from here on; at least I will do so until you demonstrate the good sense to stay out of political intrigue.”
“So you think Father was wrong to be a Death Eater?”
“Right or wrong doesn’t matter, Draco. Your father’s decisions were ill advised, at best. There may have been no way to walk away from the Dark Lord while he was striving to take over the wizarding world. Had he done so, we probably would have wound up like the Potters or the Longbottoms. But once he was gone, it was idiotic to make a move for the Elder Wand.”
“Idiotic to protect blood purity?” asked Draco, stunned at his mother’s reaction.
“Blood purity has always been a ruse to justify the quest for power — something that other Purebloods could identify with — something that allowed them to be controlled.”
“And that’s a problem, Mother?”
“Yes it is. We have our wealth and we have each other. Before long, your involvement in all this will be largely forgotten, and life can begin again. You can choose a bride and the family heritage can live on. All you have to do is learn from the mistakes of your father.”
“So, what do we do first?” asked Draco quietly.
“First, we visit Horace Slughorn and try to get that damned Mark removed from your arm.”
Ginny shivered, feeling the combined effects of Harry’s soft warm fingers and the hard cool gold of Lily Potter’s necklace against her neck. Although she knew it was physically impossible, her heart felt literally filled to the bursting point with love for the young wizard who had just reiterated his pledge to spend the rest of his life loving and honoring her with all of his being. The thought simultaneously thrilled and overwhelmed her.
She stopped for a moment to contemplate this development, for prior to the attack, Harry’s commitment had felt perfectly right — completely natural. After all, she had been nearly consumed with love for him since she had been barely ten years old. The memory of chasing after the Hogwarts Express was as clear in her mind now that they were married as it had been only three weeks past her tenth birthday. Pausing for only a moment to take stock of the situation, Ginny tried to think of the things that had changed since earlier in the day, and she returned once again to the same problem.
“Harry?” she asked softly. “Are you sure?”
“Sure about what, love?” he replied.
“Sure about me. Are you absolutely sure about spending your life with me after what has happened?”
“Of course I’m sure,” answered Harry, obviously shaken by this sudden display of insecurity from his wife. “I’m completely serious, Ginny. I know we’ve talked about wanting children, but I don’t need them to be happy as long as I’m with you.”
“And you’re sure it’s me? After all, you’re already as much a Weasley as any of us and have been for years,” Ginny continued, fully aware that her mother had already addressed these fears, yet needing to hear the answer from Harry.
Ginny had always hated feeling insecure and absolutely despised looking needy! She had scrupulously avoided such character traits since the time of her earliest memories. Being the youngest of seven and the only girl in the group had served to toughen her senses. Nevertheless, Harry’s sudden and unexpected return, his feigned death and stunning victory over the Dark Lord, the whirlwind proposal, an unexpected pregnancy and her devastating miscarriage had left her reeling emotionally. It was not something Ginny Weasley was accustomed to feeling.
Her vision was riveted upon Harry’s brilliant green eyes as she waited for his response. The lump in her throat told her unequivocally how afraid she was of the answer to her question, while her intellect scolded her for being needlessly, ridiculously insecure. Harry was obviously contemplating something, for he stood silently in place, swallowing hard while his eyes glistened with building moisture until a single tear slid down his cheek.
At last, Harry smiled gently and whispered, “That’s ironic, because I thought this was about you becoming a Potter, not vice versa.”
“What?” gasped Ginny.
Harry gathered her into his arms and began pressing soft kisses on her forehead and along her eyebrows.
“I know I’ve been as good as a son to your parents for years; and Ron’s been every bit of a brother to me since first year. Please, Ginny, don’t ever confuse what I feel for you with the fact that you were a Weasley.”
The tension that had been gripping Ginny drained from her body almost instantly while her practical, headstrong nature began chastising her for being so weak. Merlin! She hated to look so stupid. However, the look in Harry’s eyes told her that he was gazing at a vision, not a silly, insecure girl.
“Ginny, neither of us is perfect, but if I sat down to design a woman who was perfect for me, she would be you. You’re everything I want and could ever imagine wanting. It may sound stupid but, from the first moment we kissed, and probably for a long time before that, I haven’t even wanted to look at another woman. You, Mrs. Potter, are everything to me and you always will be.”
“I’m not drinking that potion,” said Ginny Potter, fully aware that she actually intended to do exactly as Healer Smethwyck had instructed. She simply didn’t like the idea of sleeping away her first full day as a married witch.
“It’s either that or back to St. Mungo’s,” answered Harry. “Your healer only agreed to release you from hospital because you promised to rest for the next twenty-four hours and let us take care of you.”
Ginny looked across the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, where her mother was currently occupied with the production of a lavish brunch. Her father was settled at the end of the table, a copy of The Daily Prophet spread before him. George was seated next to his father, sneaking peeks at the newspaper between sips of coffee. Percy and Charlie were sitting side by side in the middle of the table, barely able to keep themselves awake after having spent the night with their family at St. Mungo’s.
“So, everyone’s here?” Ginny asked.
“Well, everyone was has been around at some time through the night,” answered Harry, “but Bill and Fleur went back to Shell Cottage for some rest.”
“Ron and Hermione?”
“Upstairs, I think,” Harry replied as a sly smile worked its way across his face. “At least we haven’t seen anything of them yet this morning.”
Ginny slipped her arms around Harry’s waist and buried her face against his chest. “That sounds so nice.”
“It sure does,” whispered Harry, trying to keep his lascivious look away from the eyes of Molly and Arthur.
“I’m not sure I can wait two weeks,” Ginny answered in an equally soft voice.
“It’s what the healer recommended,” said Harry.
“Recommended — not ordered,” Ginny offered suggestively.
“You asked him how to have the best chance of total healing.”
“I know,” answered Ginny, feeling more frustrated than she could express. “But this is supposed to be our honeymoon...”
“We’ll still have a honeymoon, sweetheart. We’ll just have to wait a little while. But if it’s any consolation, I’m just as frustrated as you are.”
“Well, that we can take care of,” said Ginny with a wink. “Healer Smethwyck didn’t say anything about you having to abstain.”
“I’m willing to wait until it can be about you, too.”
“Oh, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “It’s still about me even when it’s just for you.”
“Still,” Harry replied, “I don’t want to frustrate you more.”
“Frustrated!” hissed Ginny. “Frustration is knowing that they can regenerate bones overnight with a cup of potion, but all they can do for a uterus is tell you to rest.”
As Ginny vented, Hermione and Ron staggered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and with arms wrapped around one another. All eyes in the room focused immediately upon the pair who had obviously not been expecting company.
“Oh … hi!” said Hermione brightly, seemingly unshaken by the situation. Obviously Hermione had no sense of embarrassment about sleeping with Ron. Still, Ginny found it impressive that her friend could walk into the kitchen obviously fresh from lovemaking, find almost the entire Weasley family sitting there, and not even flinch.
Arthur and Molly were equally calm, looking up at each other only long enough to share a fleeting smile of reminiscence before returning to their respective activities.
Making eye contact with Hermione and recognizing the glow that radiated from her friend, Ginny fought to suppress the wave of envy that swept over her. She had spent her wedding night in St. Mungo’s instead of in the arms of her husband, and the she was none too pleased about it. To top things off, Healer Smethwyck wanted her to wait two weeks before feeling Harry inside her again. Shaking her head in exasperation, Ginny wondered momentarily how things could get any worse.
A flash of green flame in the floo caught Harry’s attention moments before Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice resonated through the kitchen.
“Harry?” he began. “It’s Kingsley calling. May I Floo over?”
“Of course,” Harry replied.
In a flash, the Minister of Magic stepped quickly into the crowded kitchen, his deep purple robes flowing behind him. Moments later, he was followed by an ashen Minerva McGonagall.
“Arthur … Molly,” I’m glad you’re here, too,” said Kingsley quickly. “And Ginny, It’s good to see you out of St. Mungo’s so soon.”
“Thank you, Minister,” replied Ginny, “and welcome to our home.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Arthur immediately; and beating Harry to the question. It was obvious that something had shaken both the Minister and the Headmistress.
“There has been an attack at Hogwarts,” said Kingsley, his gaze riveted to the floor. “Augusta Longbottom and Pomona Sprout have been killed.”
“What?” gasped Harry. “How did that happen and what was Neville’s grandmother doing there?”
“As soon as we learned that the attack at your wedding was centered upon Lucius Malfoy’s desire for the Elder Wand, Minerva and I decided to place a watch on Dumbledore’s tomb. Pomona volunteered to take some of the watches and asked Neville to sit with her.”
“So why was his grandmother there?” asked Ginny.
“This morning, Neville was supposed to start work at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Augusta didn’t want her grandson to be exhausted for his first day at work, so she took his watch.”
“Oh, my!” whispered Ginny. “Poor Neville!”
“We were so busy with the investigation of the Malfoys and the Parkinsons that we were spread too thin, and with Lucius dead, we really didn’t expect an attack. The watch was just a precaution … or so we thought.”
“So what happened then?” asked Arthur, obviously distressed.
“As best we can tell, a large number of hostiles surprised our lookouts and killed them.”
“The Killing Curse?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” answered Professor McGonagall, shaking her head sadly. “Then they broke into Albus’ tomb and took the Elder Wand.”
“What?” said Harry, as his immediate future flashed before his eyes. Who else, after all, could reclaim the Elder Wand other than its master?
“Oh, Merlin!” gasped Ginny, a panic-stricken look upon her face.
“Harry, have you spoken to Ginny about our discussion?” asked Kingsley, a sense of urgency invading his voice.
“Not yet. She’s barely had time to wake up.”
“It’s okay,” said Ginny. “It’s obvious Harry will have to do this, and I’m going with him.”
“You are not!” screamed Molly as the room began to buzz with the voices of the entire Weasley family. Bill and Fleur entered the room at that precise moment, looking flustered and concerned.
“Of course I am,” said Ginny, her normally bright brown eyes having hardened instantly.
“But you’re not even of age.”
“I became of age the moment Dad signed the authorization, Mum. Anyway, Harry’s my husband, and I’m going with him. I won’t be left behind again.”
“And we’re going, too,” said Ron and Hermione simultaneously, a look of solidarity passing between them.
“We will all do our parts,” said Arthur calmly, instantly stopping the sense of panic that was filling the room. “But do we even know who we are looking for?”
“I have to assume that Malcolm Parkinson is behind this,” answered Kingsley. “After all, he was in with Malfoy on the ground floor of this operation, and we know he was already settled in with a group of sympathizers in Romania while Lucius attempted the assassination here in England.”
Harry cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He took Ginny’s hand in his own and addressed the Minister. “How do we get started?”
Pansy rolled over in bed, opened her eyes, and saw that it was already well past time for breakfast. It was okay, as she wasn’t really hungry. However, she was feeling much less terrified for her future since she had returned to consciousness the previous evening with Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott standing next to her bed.
Somehow she had been transported upstairs and was settled safely into a room at The Leaky Cauldron. She recalled that she had blurted everything out to Neville and Hannah as if they had been old friends rather than antagonists while at Hogwarts. Hearing Neville give her credit for saving the lives of Harry and Ginny Potter had done something to make her feel less distant from those who had not supported Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
The conversation had been much easier than she could ever have anticipated, as Pansy had never thought her former enemies could have forgiven her so quickly — so readily. But they had, much more deeply moved by what she had done to save Harry and Ginny the preceding night than they had been by her willingness to hand Harry over to the Dark Lord when he had demanded that those in the castle hand over Potter in exchange for the semblance of peace.
Pansy’s heart ached at the recollection of having been tossed unceremoniously from her life-long home, yet she felt relief even more strongly somewhere deep within her mind. The conversation had been burned deeply into her consciousness.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need shelter,” Hannah had said without hesitation. “After what you did for Harry and Ginny, it’s the least we can do for you.”
“But I’m nearly bankrupt, and I have no idea how to come up with more money,” she answered.
“Don’t worry about money,” Hannah replied. “Right now, you need a place to rest and some friends to talk with, both of which we can provide you.”
Noise from Diagon Alley brought Pansy’s attention back to the present, though she still found the entire development difficult to believe. Had Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom actually offered her friendship as well as a free place to live while her life was in shambles? It was the last thing she would have expected to experience outside of her clique of Slytherin acquaintances.
She had meant to properly express her gratitude, but an urgent voice had summoned Neville back to the pub and Hannah had left with him. Pansy then stretched, wondering what had been so important, and closed her eyes for a few more hours of sleep. It was all she could think of to soothe the pain of losing everything so suddenly.
“So, Kingsley and McGonagall resurrected the idea about leading the Auror Department while I was out?” asked Ginny.
“Yes,” answered Harry, “but I told them I was through making decisions without you.”
“Only because you now understand what you were missing when you spent almost a year on the run!” Ginny said with a wink.
Relieved to see her smiling, Harry sighed audibly.
“Stressed, Mr. Potter?” she asked.
“Yes,” Harry admitted. “I’d rather settle in peacefully at Hogwarts, but Kingsley was right all along, and so was Ron. We have to clean up this mess and get it done quickly. Otherwise someone is going to rally all the remaining Death Eaters, and this time, he or she will add Blood Purists from all over Europe to the cause.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Ginny inquired.
“What is?” replied Harry.
“You have to stop them from using the Elder Wand, but if you fight, the Elder Wand will not kill you, so they won’t be stupid enough to use it against you. Unless, of course, someone defeats you with a different wand, in which case you will no longer be the Master of the Elder Wand, and that witch or wizard would possess the wand with all its loyalty … and all its power.”
“Right,” said Harry, frustration etched clearly on his face. “But if I don’t fight, the Elder Wand may well work against the Aurors. That’s why Kingsley wants me to lead the team.”
“So he feels they didn’t extract all they could from you the last time around?”
“I don’t think that’s how he looks at it, Ginny,” he replied.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. They need you and you won’t feel right unless you do everything you can.”
“I think it’s still my job,” Harry said determinedly. “At least it is for now. But I’ll still be able to spend almost every night with you at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall …”
“I heard what the Headmistress said, but we’ll just have to see about that.”
“What?” asked Harry, suddenly deeply alarmed. “Don’t you still want to be with me? After all, we are married!”
“Don’t be a gormless berk, Potter!” Ginny responded. “You might be spending the nights with me at Hogwarts. Then, again, we might be spending nights together somewhere else.”
“What?” repeated Harry, dumbstruck.
“I mean that we are most definitely going to be together. We’re going to be together every night, but it may be that I’m with you, wherever that is, rather than you being with me at Hogwarts!”
Harry’s pupils dilated suddenly as he stared into Ginny’s bright brown eyes. He had never seen such determination in them before, and long gone was the quiet acquiescence he had seen following Dumbledore’s funeral. He started to speak — to find any suitable words for the circumstance — but couldn’t.
“So, I take it you’ve learned from past mistakes, Mr. Potter?” asked Ginny.
Harry continued to fidget nervously. He had promised to never unilaterally make this sort of decision again, and he had meant every word. He also knew that she would never allow him to force her to the sideline again, and now that she was no longer pregnant, he wouldn’t have that excuse.
Swallowing harder still, he realized that even a pregnancy would not have deterred her from fighting at his side if she thought that to be the best course of action.
“Good!” she said, her eyes still latched firmly to his. “It’s nice to see that you know when you’re beaten.”
“Uh huh,” he muttered, knowing she was right.
“So what’s next?” she asked firmly.
“I guess we go with Kingsley for a crash course in advanced Defensive Strategies Against the Darkest Spells,” he answered, frustrated to know he was expected to lead, yet still had much to learn. The protections that had served so well against Voldemort would be almost useless against threats emanating from anything other than the Elder Wand.
“That doesn’t start until tomorrow,” said Ginny as she took Harry’s hand gently between her own. “Why don’t we try to find Neville and see what we can do to help? He has to be feeling terrible — his grandmother and Professor Sprout — it has to be devastating.”
“But where can we find him?” asked Harry. “At his grandmother’s estate?”
“Maybe,” answered Ginny, “but I think I know somewhere else he’s likely to be — someone he’s likely to be with.”
“No, love, I was just as surprised as you were when Kingsley insisted that I go with Harry,” Ron said carefully.
“But you are going?” Hermione asked, her lips compressed into a thin line of concern.
“No, I didn’t say that!” he protested. “I know it’s important to complete my education.”
Hermione tried to suppress the laughter that was building inside her but failed miserably.
“What are you laughing about, Hermione?”
“I’m laughing at the thought of Ron Weasley sitting idly back with his girlfriend at Hogwarts while Harry Potter heads out to face the forces of evil.”
“I can … and I … I … I will!” said Ron, color rising in his cheeks as he fought to assert his willingness to abide by the agreement he had struck with Hermione only a couple of hours after Voldemort had fallen. “And you’re not just my girlfriend!”
“No, you can’t, Ron, and I wouldn’t let you if you could!” exclaimed Hermione.
“You what?” he replied.
“I won’t let you come back to Hogwarts, at least not only to be with me,” she said firmly.
“But we’re engaged!” Ron continued.
“And so we will stay until we are married,” said Hermione, her soft smile laced with love.
And so we will stay until we are married?” asked Ron repeating her words. “What in Morgana’s name does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said!” huffed Hermione. “Sometime … sooner or later … our engagement will end with our wedding. Until then, we’ll remain engaged.”
“I figured it would have a deeper meaning than that!” Ron replied, matching Hermione huff for huff. “You never say things that obvious.”
“Well, it does mean more than that. At least it does if you’re interested.”
“Could you not just spell it out for me, Hermione? I’m bloody tired — up all night and all.”
“And all?” asked Hermione, grinning fully at Ron’s growing sense of frustration. “Would you have preferred to do without the ‘and all’ and gone straight to sleep?”
“Of course not! Why would you think…” but Ron stopped talking as soon as he realized Hermione had been taking the mickey.
Silence ruled over the young couple, but Hermione rejoiced in the comfort of it. As much as she hated to admit it, a little bickering with Ron was simply fun. At last, she stopped giggling and looked deeply into his bright blue eyes.
“Ron, one of two things is going to happen. Either I will be going with you and Harry into this conflict, or I will be heading back to Hogwarts on September first.”
“Okay.”
“If I return to Hogwarts, you’ll probably need to visit me there.”
“Okay,” he said again.
“I don’t want to go sneaking about in search of a filthy broom closet. In fact, I won’t. I simply won’t.”
“Or …?” asked Ron.
“Or I’ll be with you every day, sometimes in crowds of Aurors.”
“Of course,” Ron replied, wrinkling his brow expressively
“I’m telling you that, in either event, I think it best that we get married sooner rather than later.”
“Are you sure?” Ron asked, stunned, yet smiling irrepressibly.
“I’m completely sure,” said Hermione, pulling her fiancé back into their bed. “And that’s not all I’m completely sure of,” she added before her lips were covered and Ron’s hands were again running all over her — touching her just as he had been doing only moments before they stumbled into the Weasley clan at the breakfast table.
“I love you, Hermione!” Ron nearly shouted when at last their lips parted, if only momentarily.
“So you’re saying yes to my proposal?” she asked happily.
“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked in return.
“Never,” Hermione answered before pressing her lips to his. “No doubt, whatsoever!”
Hannah cradled a broken Neville Longbottom in her arms, placing occasional kisses on his forehead. Disturbing news had begun flowing into The Leaky Cauldron shortly after midnight concerning a problem at Hogwarts, taking the assembled crowd completely by surprise. Everyone had expected the demise of the Dark Lord to bring about immediate peace. Everyone, that is, except the Longbottoms and a few other magical families who had suffered greatly at the hands of angry Death Eaters after Voldemort’s disappearance following his first confrontation with Harry Potter.
As a result of their family’s experience, Augusta and Neville Longbottom had been more than willing to answer Headmistress McGonagall’s request for volunteers to watch over Dumbledore’s tomb. Few knew that the Elder Wand had been returned there following Voldemort’s death. Nevertheless, Harry, Shacklebolt, and McGonagall had thought it wise to post a guard.
“It’s all my fault,” muttered Neville, his body shaking fiercely despite the fact that his eyes remained dry.
“Your fault?” asked Hannah, as she came to understand more fully why Neville hadn’t slept a wink through the night. As the noon hour approached, she silently redoubled her commitment to be there as long as he needed her.
“Last night was supposed to be my turn to watch at Hogwarts, but Gram took my place so I could rest before starting work at the Apothecary.”
Hannah drew a deep breath as the final pieces clicked into place. Neville was holding himself responsible for his grandmother’s death, and it broke her heart.
Over the past few weeks, she had come to respect this quiet, unassuming wizard more than she would have ever thought possible. She had heard stories of the transformation that had become obvious in Neville during what would have been her seventh year at Hogwarts. However, following the murder of her mother, Hannah had not returned to school. As a result, the changes that led Neville to stand defiantly before Lord Voldemort and slay the evil wizard’s snake had been more of a surprise to Hannah than to the students who had been with him as he and Ginny stepped forward to lead the D.A. She paused momentarily to admit that what appeared to be such a sudden change in her eyes had also served to make Neville almost shockingly more appealing.
“Yes, my fault,” answered Neville, bringing Hannah back to the present. “It’s my fault that Gram died. I should have been the one there last night.”
“No!” gasped Hannah, shocked by the intensity with which the thought of Neville’s fallen body terrified her. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her.”
“Might as well have,” said Neville, a tone of self-derision clear in his voice. “It’s all my fault!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist against the pillow. “Gram and my favorite professor … both dead … both dead because she thought I needed sleep.”
“No!” Hannah reiterated. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong, and your Gram wanted you to have a good start at your job. Anyway, she had her own nights on watch. It could have happened on any of those nights.”
“But it happened on my night,” Neville continued.
Hannah struggled to find words that might have an impact upon this young man she was rapidly growing to love. She had never had to face the concept that she might have been the cause of her mother’s death. It had been a tragedy that happened to her, not as a result of something she might have done differently. Her mind raced, knowing that anything she said would sound hollow to a person who had endured as much as had Neville.
“Merlin!” she thought silently. “How could I have ever doubted why he belonged in Gryffindor? So brave … so strong … so demanding of himself.”
“I don’t know what to say, love,” whispered Hannah as she placed yet another kiss on Neville’s brow. The endearment had slipped so naturally from her lips that it didn’t even surprise her. “I don’t know how to make you feel any better — make you see…”
But before she could finish her sentence, the desk bell rang, announcing the arrival of visitors.
With two soft pops, Harry and Ginny arrived in the small courtyard that divided The Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley. The newlyweds had left number twelve, Grimmauld Place in a great hurry and Healer Smethwyck’s sleeping potion remained untouched. Harry had noticed their unspoken decision but somehow knew that their mutual friend would need them now more than ever.
“Do you really think they’ll be here?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” answered Ginny confidently. “Hannah and her family have purchased the pub and she’s learning how to run the place from Tom.”
“Are they moving him out?” asked Harry.
“No, not from what I’ve heard,” Ginny replied. “But Hannah will take over the operations as soon as she is able. Tom will be staying on as an employee, just as before.”
After passing through the bar, Harry absentmindedly tapped the bell that rested upon the countertop of the tiny reception desk. Moments later, a slight shuffling could be heard from upstairs, followed by the appearance of an exhausted looking Hannah Abbott.
“Ginny … Harry!” said Hannah, a warm, yet muted smile crossing her face.
“Hi, Hannah,” Ginny replied. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
“No, I haven’t,” the blonde witch answered. “Though you look like you’ve been through hell yourself.”
“She looks more beautiful than ever,” said Harry, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. “I mean, I almost lost her last night…”
“That’s okay, Harry,” said Hannah.
“Been up with Neville?” asked Ginny, eager to change the subject.
“It isn’t pretty,” answered Hannah. “He’s blaming himself for the deaths of both his grandmother and Professor Sprout. I can’t make him see that it isn’t his fault.”
“I understand,” said Harry, the voice of experience ringing through his words.
The feel of Ginny’s arm wrapping gently around his shoulder told him that his wife understood as well. Then, again, Ginny always understood him, even if she didn’t always agree with his decisions. He stopped for just a moment to reflect on how fortunate he was to have a partner who knew him so well and supported him so completely.
“We thought we’d stop by to visit,” said Ginny softly. “Of course, that’s if you don’t mind.”
Harry marveled at Ginny’s touch. He knew that Hannah and Neville had been seeing quite a lot of one another since the Battle of Hogwarts, but Ginny, it seemed, understood implicitly that there was more to this young relationship than a few meals out and an escort for the post-war funerals and a wedding.
“Certainly,” said Hannah, her voice equally soft and filled with concern for Neville. “He’s up in Room 11.”
Hannah began to step aside to allow the Potters unimpeded access to the stairwell but, this time, Harry was the one to intuit the proper response. “Hannah, you are more than welcome to join us.”
“Are you sure?” asked Hannah, obviously willing to do whatever was best for Neville.
“Of course,” Harry replied. “I’m sure it will mean the world to Neville to have you with him.”
Harry looked deeply into Neville’s agonized face, not needing any further explanation for the debilitating emotions that were so obviously consuming his friend. He knew the horrors that were racing through Neville’s mind only too well. Empathizing with his condition, Harry reached down and placed one hand on Ginny’s that was, in turn, tightly holding on to Neville’s. To his side, Hannah was holding Neville’s other hand while occasionally planting gentle kisses on his eyebrow, forehead, or temple.
“No, it isn’t your fault!” Harry insisted. It was at least the tenth time he had repeated the phrase in less than an hour.
“But it is,” Neville mumbled, shaking his head from side to side.
“No! No it isn’t!” Harry repeated.
“But it …”
“NO!” Harry said as forcefully as he could without screaming. “It isn’t your fault. The fault lies with the witches and wizards who attacked your grandmother and Professor Sprout.”
Neville’s face screwed up as if he had fallen into renewed pain of the most unimaginable sort, causing Harry to curse at himself for stupidly identifying the people being mourned. It was too soon to try to help Neville heal. For the time being, Harry needed his friend to do nothing more than see reality, that he was in no way responsible for their deaths.
“No, Neville, please,” Harry resumed. “It isn’t your fault. But I know exactly how you feel.”
“No you don’t!” Neville protested. “You were always fighting against evil, not letting people die in your stead.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong,” answered Harry. “Didn’t you hear Voldemort listing the people that died in my stead? Don’t you know how horrible it was to think that they all died so I could live … Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, Moody, Dumbledore, Sirius, my mum and dad.”
“But that was never your fault, Harry. That never would have happened if the Dark Lord hadn’t learned of that stupid prophecy.”
“That’s right!” said Harry, glad to see that Neville was capable of seeing the truth, at least when it didn’t apply to him. “And you’re not responsible for anything that happened tonight at Hogwarts.”
“But it’s different.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry insisted. “Evil people are trying to follow in Voldemort’s footsteps. They were going to kill everyone there, and unless I’m terribly mistaken, they did it with total surprise — just like they tried at our wedding.”
“I don’t know,” Neville said softly, the will to fight obviously declining at a rapid rate.
“I wasted years of my life trying to blame myself for causing tragedies. I even hid from my closest friends for nearly an entire day, afraid I might kill against my own will — afraid that I was possessed by Voldemort.”
“Which was NEVER the case,” said Ginny, a note of tension lacing her words. “Of course, had you had the brains to ask someone who might know about such things …”
“What?” asked Neville, surprised to hear any tension exchanged between Harry and Ginny.
“Harry has always tried to blame himself for things that weren’t his doing,” said Ginny. “He even tried to blame himself for becoming Nagini and attacking my dad at the Department of Mysteries, all while he was sleeping safely at Hogwarts.”
“A dream?” asked Neville.
“A vision would be a better description,” said Harry. “But Ginny’s right, and everything Hannah and I have been telling you is just as true. You simply are not responsible for anything that happened tonight. It was just the way things turned out. Anyone unfortunate enough to be there was marked for death.”
“And thank Merlin it wasn’t you!” interjected Hannah before leaning forward, taking Neville’s face between her hands and kissing him firmly upon the lips. “Thank Merlin it wasn’t you. I couldn’t take losing another person I love.”
Harry, Ginny, and Neville all looked up instantly. When the shock had worn off, Harry and Ginny looked away from the pair who were still locked in an embrace.
“You … you … love me?” stammered Neville.
“I do,” Hannah replied.
Harry winked in Ginny’s direction before standing up and patting Neville softly on the back. “I think we’ll leave you two alone, but fire-call if you want to talk some more.”
Wasting no more time, Harry pulled Ginny to her feet. Moments later they had wished Hannah good-bye and departed from the room.
“We’d better hurry, or everyone will be showing up for dinner,” whispered Ginny.
Harry recognized the playful smile on her face and turned to face his wife with a questioning look on his face.
“But Healer Smethwyck was adamant when he said we had to wait two weeks,” he said for at least the second time that morning.
“No, Harry. He said I had to wait two weeks before I lift heavy objects, bend over too far, or do anything too stressful to my abdomen. He didn’t say anything about you.”
“But, Ginny …”
“Don’t ‘but Ginny’ me!” she said, nearly hissing in the process. “I’ve already told you it could be all about you and still be all about me.”
Harry relaxed, seeing that his wife had transitioned from hissing to flirting in the blink of an eye.
“Just take me home,” she concluded. “And be thankful you have such a wonderful wife.”
So he did … taking in her by Apparition, saving enough room for mental deliberation concerning their destination, yet never losing focus of the jewel who was his wife — the woman who was able to handle so many concurrent stresses and strains while never losing sight of the things in life that were of utmost importance.
Chapter 18: Chapter 18 - Embracing Realities
CHAPTER 18 — EMBRACING REALITIESAs they left Room 11 of The Leaky Cauldron, Harry’s mind was racing with thoughts about Neville’s delicate state of being, and he thanked Merlin, Morgana, and a handful of other powerful wizarding predecessors that his friend now had Hannah Abbott in his life. He reached gently for Ginny’s tiny hand, gathering it in his own palm and treasuring her like the jewel he knew her to be. He wondered how it had taken him so long to see her for who she really was, a powerhouse of a witch in her own right with an intellect that rivaled Hermione’s in her own way, a sense of humor that kept him in stitches and on his toes, and above all, a soul that seemed to have been made specifically to merge with his own.
He chastised himself for not having seen all this when she stood up to him not once, but twice, during the volatile times of his fifth year. He wondered how on earth he could have been so thick that he didn’t notice how it had been Ginny who brought him out of his near-depression after witnessing how his father had harassed Severus Snape. After arriving at Grimmauld Place following the Dementor attack, it had been Ginny — and only Ginny — who could reach through whatever malaise had been haunting his spirit and how only she could help set him back on the right path.
Harry squeezed her hand gently and whispered his thanks to the powers of magical existence, grateful that it would always be Ginny who would be there for him, as he intended to be there for her.
“Did you say something, Harry?” she asked softly.
“What?”
“You squeezed my hand, and then it sounded like you were saying something.”
“Oh,” he answered thoughtfully. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Ginny continued.
“A lot of things — where we’ve been — what we’ve been through — and what is facing us now.”
“And?” she said in that inquiring tone of voice that melted Harry’s defenses and made him want to tell her everything that had been running through his mind.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, half hoping she wouldn’t be able to hear his confession, half desperate to pour out the terror that had been running through his mind since he had seen her fallen at his feet.
“Why, love? You’ve faced worse than Malcolm Parkinson,” Ginny answered, turning to face him directly, her brown eyes radiating nothing but love and concern for her husband.
“Have I?” he asked.
“Of course you have,” she replied. “You’ve just defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time.”
“With my mother’s protections, the mystery of our wands and their twin cores, and all the protections that Dumbledore and Snape could muster behind the scenes. How else could anyone defeat even a modestly trained wizard with nothing more than Expelliarmus?” Harry said, a trace of bitterness echoing in his voice. “It’s more like I fulfilled my role in destiny instead of me defeating Voldemort.”
“But it took more courage than I could ever imagine,” said Ginny, a note of protectiveness shining through her words.
“Maybe so,” Harry replied slowly, “but this time, I won’t have all of those advantages working for me. This time, it will only be me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ginny answered. “This time it will be us. In fact, this time, it will be all of us.”
“Hurry, Draco!” cried Narcissa across the foyer of Malfoy Manor.
“Why the rush, Mother?”
“Because Professor Slughorn is waiting for us with all the ingredients he needs to remove that Curse from your forearm.”
“But why do we have to meet him in Diagon Alley? Couldn’t we find someplace more private?”
“You’re lucky he will meet with you at all, Draco,” Narcissa replied. “He won’t normally associate with anyone who has fallen so far out of favor.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’ about it!” hissed Narcissa. “You’ll meet him wherever he says to meet him, and you’ll be there on time.”
Two soft ‘pops’ were the only evidence that the surviving members of the Malfoy dynasty had moved forward into the next phase of their family’s history.
A rivulet of sweat slid uncomfortably down Kingsley Shacklebolt’s back before pooling along the elastic waistband of his shorts. It seemed ridiculous, for Sunday evening was rapidly descending upon the small gathering of witches and wizards who had left number twelve, Grimmauld Place the moment Ginny and Harry had gone to visit Neville Longbottom, only to reconvene in the cramped quarters of the sitting room of the Burrow. A moderate breeze was stirring outside and was wafting pleasantly through the open windows. Glancing about at the others in attendance, however, Kingsley realized that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortably warm.
“I hate to be repetitive, Kingsley, but you’re simply asking too much of Harry!” huffed Arthur, whose hairline was blotchy and redder than the hair that receded back toward his temples. It was the second time in as many days that Arthur Weasley had raised his voice while speaking to the Minister of Magic.
“Arthur, please!” implored Kingsley, his voice uncharacteristically begging his long-time friend to understand his position. “We need Harry at the front if our enemies decide to use the Elder Wand. In that eventuality, he is our one best hope.”
“But that’s what he’s been his entire life!” Arthur protested fiercely. “That poor boy has been nothing but the one best hope of the entire wizarding world since he was little more than a toddler!”
“He’s not a boy,” said Kingsley, exhausted. “He’s of age…”
“Stop it!” shrieked Molly. “I’ve heard that phrase enough for a lifetime, as if reaching the age of seventeen makes it right to ask him to sacrifice everything for us yet again! Harry deserves to have a life of his own — something he has never had before, even when he wasn’t of age!”
“Calm down, Mum,” said Bill quietly from his seat near the floo. “I don’t think that’s what Kingsley means … right, Kingsley?”
“That’s right,” Kingsley replied. “I only mean that Harry will never stand to the side and let others fight in his stead. He knows all about the Elder Wand. He has already demonstrated as clearly as possible that he is its Master — that he commands the loyalty and obedience of the wand.”
“I’m afraid that misses the point, Minister,” said the stiff voice of Minerva McGonagall. “As long as the Elder Wand owes its allegiance to anyone other than the witch or wizard who is trying to use it, it won’t function properly.”
“Right!” added Arthur. “As long as someone other than the wand’s rightful master tries to use it, any of us will have more than enough power to prevail. That’s why it wasn’t binding for the Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts.”
“Not so fast!” countered Shacklebolt. “There were other factors at work during the Battle. We can’t forget what else Harry did — what else he told You-Know-Who. He offered his own life freely to save the others. It wasn’t only his inability to wield the Elder Wand properly. His main problem was a result of Harry’s sacrifice”
“Any way we look at it,” added Percy, who had been sitting quietly off to the side, “we need Harry and, thankfully, saving people is what Harry does. That’s who he is.”
“NO IT ISN”T!” bellowed Molly before lowering her eyes and voice in defeat. “It’s what Dumbledore made him. It’s what we have made him.”
“Well, that’s part of it,” agreed Headmistress McGonagall, “but only part of it. We mustn’t forget the other factor Albus always made clear: None of this would matter in the slightest if it was not for the purity of Harry’s soul — if not for his unblemished capacity for love.”
“So that’s settled, then?” asked Ron, a smile spreading across his face.
“Yes,” Hermione answered, a girlish giggle Ron had never before heard sneaking from her lips. “Yes, it’s settled.”
“Whom do we tell first?” he whispered.
“Are you in a hurry, Mr. Weasley?”
“It’s the seventh of June, and we have less than three months until we’ll be moving back to Hogwarts. And if we’re going to wait for Harry and Ginny to get back from their honeymoon, which won’t start for at least two weeks, and we don’t know what Kingsley has in mind for training, and …” Ron replied, before being interrupted.
“Ron, slow down! I was only teasing.”
“Teasing?”
“Yes, silly. Since our plans are dependent upon Ginny and Harry’s honeymoon, I think we ought to tell them first.”
“Do you think they’re downstairs?” Ron asked, eager to share the excitement of choosing a wedding date.
“No, they were going to visit Neville and Hannah at The Leaky Cauldron.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron, fully aware that he was overreacting, but unable to temper his frustration. So consumed was he with excitement that he felt he would explode if he couldn’t share the news with his best mate.
“Expecto Patronum,” Hermione said, conjuring her shimmering silver otter. “Tell Harry and Ginny that we will meet them at The Leaky Cauldron in forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five minutes?” asked Ron, confused.
“Yes,” whispered Hermione, fisting Ron’s shirt and pulling him back toward her until their lips merged.
Wondering why he had ever been too insecure to tell Hermione how he felt about her, Ron parted his lips to accept his fiancé’s kiss. Electricity surged through him once again, eliciting a moan from deep within his chest.
“I don’t think forty-five minutes will be long enough,” Ron murmured as their lips broke contact momentarily. “Not nearly long enough.”
“We have the rest of our lives,” Hermione answered softly.
Ron gazed into Hermione’s deep brown eyes and wondered how anything so dark could burn with such brilliant fire. He puzzled over the apparent contradiction for only a moment before melting back into her embrace and deepening their kiss.
“The rest of our lives,” Ron repeated back to her, filled with love for the remarkable witch who had somehow agreed to marry him. “The rest of our lives, but it still won’t be long enough.”
“No, never enough,” Hermione agreed, her voice beginning to sound a touch raspy.
The huskiness in Hermione’s voice caused Ron to shudder involuntarily as he pulled her back into a firm embrace and his lips desperately sought contact with hers once again. He wondered momentarily if he might ever grow tired of being with her but knew instinctively that it could never happen. After all, he had never wanted anyone else, not even during the prolonged time he had spent snogging his brains out with Lavender Brown.
“Bloody Hell,” he thought silently, “half the time I was with her I was wanting to break up with her, and the other half all I could think about was making Hermione jealous!”
For just a moment, Ron felt guilty about having used Lavender so thoughtlessly, but a soft moan coming from Hermione’s lips drove the thought of any other witch immediately from his brain. This was heaven, or as close as Ron Weasley could ever come to imagining such a place to be. As they moved in tandem back toward the bed, clothes began slipping almost effortlessly from their bodies, causing him to take note of how natural this had become for them in such a short period of time.
“God, I love you,” groaned Hermione as they settled upon the rich duvet.
“Love you, too,” he whispered in return as his eyes closed slowly.
Pansy Parkinson moved gracefully between the tables of The Leaky Cauldron, a magenta Quick-Quotes-Quill poised above a tablet that followed her every movement. Hannah Abbott had been scheduled to work the afternoon and evening shifts but had come to Pansy’s room with the suggestion that the young graduate of Slytherin House work in her stead while she tended to Neville during his time of great loss. Pansy knew that she would have agreed to fill in for Hannah under any circumstances, but the promise of a free weekend’s lodging had given Pansy a chance to feel better about her decision to take a job she would have considered far beneath her less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Thankfully, the afternoon had begun quietly, with only a few customers stopping in for a beverage on the way to or from the shops of Diagon Alley. The slow pace allowed Pansy to become accustomed to the process by which orders were taken and filled, both for a constant stream of libations and the occasional late lunch or early dinner. Most importantly, Pansy had been spared the indignity of coming face to face with any of her Slytherin classmates. Try as she might to become accustomed to her new lot in life, her pride was causing her to dread the first time she would be forced to serve someone — anyone — who had known her during her former life.
Uncharacteristically, Pansy had momentarily let down her armor while Hannah had been giving her a crash training session and asked about the pub’s normal clientele. She had been relieved to learn that the only Slytherin of any consequence who regularly visited The Leaky Cauldron was Horace Slughorn; and since her former Potions professor had shown no interest in her while recruiting members of the Slug Club, Pansy’s pride had already suffered mightily on his account. If her status as the Pureblood daughter from a long line of Slytherins had not been enough to impress her Head of House, she thought it hardly mattered by this point in time if he were to see her waiting tables filled with everyday witches and wizards.
Then again, if what had happened over the last twenty-four hours meant anything to Pansy, perhaps it meant that it wasn’t so terrible to be an everyday witch or wizard, anyway. Being “privileged” had not proven to be as advantageous as had been advertised!
“Why would Slughorn live here in Diagon Alley, Mother?” asked Draco as they made their way up the stairway to the flat that was located immediately above what had previously been Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.
“He doesn’t live here, son! He is a Hogwarts Professor in good standing, so he lives in the castle. He maintains this place because Fortescue kept it stocked with almost everything he needs for his potions work,” answered Narcissa. “Anything else can be located over in Knockturn Alley.”
“But over an ice cream parlor?” Draco persisted.
“Draco, there is more to Horace Slughorn than meets the eye, just as there was a lot more to Florean Fortescue than people ever gave him credit for. Why else do you think he was one of the first to be captured and killed by the Death Eaters?”
“A confectioner?” said Draco, unable to keep the edge of a sneer out of his voice.
“You’d better learn to keep your arrogance in check, young man, or you’ll end up just like your father,” Narcissa replied, practically hissing at her son. “Looks can be deceiving, and it’s often in our best interest to be a bit less transparent to the prying eyes of the rest of the world.”
“What do you mean, Mother?”
“I mean Fortescue was one of the most talented Potions Masters in Great Britain and he had long worked with Professor Slughorn in the preparation of some rather interesting products — products that couldn’t be found in your everyday apothecary shop.”
“What kind of products?” asked Draco as he reached to knock on the only doorway located on the first floor landing.
“Products that were not smiled upon by the Ministry, even if they were not technically illegal,” answered Slughorn, who was standing just behind the door that had shockingly swung open a split second before Draco’s knuckles could make contact with the wood.
“N … not … not smiled upon by the Ministry?” stammered Draco.
“Neither smiled upon by the Ministry nor allowed by the Dark Lord to even his closest of followers,” said Slughorn. “Potions, salves, and ointments that can enhance or dilute the effects of Dark Magic. That sort of thing.”
“What?” asked Draco, shocked by the implication of what he had just heard.
“Florean Fortescue was a remarkably talented wizard who hid in plain sight of the wizarding mainstream,” interjected Narcissa. “That’s why he was taken when the Dark Lord reasserted his claim to power. In fact, the Dark Lord knew full well that Fortescue would never join the Death Eaters and feared that he could not be trusted to remain neutral through the conflict. Therefore, Fortescue was abducted and killed before he could cause problems.”
“Just as I would have been hunted down,” added Slughorn, “had Dumbledore not given me a safe haven at Hogwarts.”
“But why you weren’t killed after Dumbledore’s death?” asked Draco curiously.
“Dear boy,” replied Slughorn, “things are not as simple as that. I was allowed to live only because Severus Snape persuaded the Dark Lord that I was completely under his control. Thankfully, he was also able to convince the Carrows of my full complicity in their work. Otherwise, I would not have been long for this world.”
“So, why are you skulking around Diagon Alley now that the danger has passed?” Draco inquired cautiously, not knowing what to expect.
“Don’t be simple, boy!” answered the Potions Master. “Just because the Dark Lord is gone, it doesn’t follow that all my work will be freely accepted by the Ministry! In fact, reality is just the opposite. Things that were considered marginal at that time are being banned or tightly regulated as we speak. I assure you, Kingsley Shacklebolt does not intend to allow anything that appears even vaguely Dark to remain freely available in wizarding society.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” asked Draco, frustrated by the air of mystery surrounding the three of them in the tiny, unpleasant environment.
“It has everything to do with you!” answered Slughorn firmly, his voice taking on an authoritative edge. “We are here because it was no ordinary act of magic that etched that foul mark on your arm. We are here because neither ordinary magic nor an ordinary magician can remove it. We are here because your mother cares about your future, and because she happens to know perhaps the only surviving wizard who has the power to undo what has been done to you.”
Draco recoiled slightly as immeasurable power surged behind the puffy eyes that animated this aging wizard whom he had clearly underestimated since the day Slughorn arrived at Hogwarts.
“Now kindly shut your gob and roll up your sleeve,” commanded Slughorn. “We have work to do.”
Hermione’s Patronus arrived just in time, for Harry had already begun kissing Ginny tenderly on her lips after they had agreed to meet back at the Burrow.
“Ron and I will meet you at The Leaky Cauldron in forty-five minutes,” said the shimmering silver otter before it evaporated. The voice had been precisely that of Hermione Granger.
Harry looked at Ginny, a question clearly framing his expression.
“What is it?” she asked, guessing she already knew the answer.
“Are you up for this?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m a bit tired but less so than you’d expect. Why don’t we just have a seat in the pub? I could use a little food … and maybe a butterbeer.”
“A butterbeer … or something stronger!” Harry replied enthusiastically.
“I don’t know about anything stronger,” cautioned Ginny, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking we need to stay as sharp as we can.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Constant vigilance.”
“Exactly!” replied Ginny, a note of her old energy ringing through.
Ginny wondered if the fact that she could feel the power returning to her own voice meant that Harry could hear it, as well. She looked expectantly into his deep green eyes and was shocked to see them darken immediately. Whatever else was lurking in her husband’s mind, she was sure that he had not lost interest in that way. She shivered in favorable response and wondered exactly how long two weeks might feel. At last, she their way back toward the public room of the old Inn.
A moment later, she and Harry stepped back into the pub.
“Ginny! Harry!” cried Pansy, waving the young couple toward a four-top table that was snuggled safely into an alcove off the back corner of the room, just a few feet away from the door that led toward the magical archway into Diagon Alley.
Ginny shook her head in surprise, having never anticipated seeing Pansy Parkinson waiting tables. Neither had she anticipated the surge of affection that rose within her. She swallowed momentarily before stepping quickly across the room and planting a quick kiss of greeting on the older witch’s cheek. Biting back the desire to qualify her greeting with an expression of shock or surprise, Ginny smiled and simply said, “Thank you for saving our lives!”
Draco’s left forearm burned stubbornly as Slughorn applied a fourth separate ointment to the faded spot that no longer looked like a stylized Dark Mark. They had been at work in Slughorn’s hideaway for almost two hours, and each ointment the professor applied had been accompanied by one potion or another, until Draco felt completely nauseated.
“I hope you don’t have anything else for me to drink,” said Draco.
“Only this hangover cure,” said Slughorn. “It should make you feel remarkably better, but you need to get some food in your stomach as soon as possible.”
“I was thinking we should stop by The Leaky Cauldron,” said Narcissa.
“The Leaky Cauldron?” gasped Draco. “Why would we go out in public after what happened yesterday?”
“It is precisely because of what happened yesterday that we need to be seen in public as soon as possible. We need to be seen, and we need to keep our heads held high. Your father may have had his undoing, but we don’t have to follow in his footsteps.”
“But, Mother!” Draco whined loudly. “He died yesterday!”
“I’m not stupid and I haven’t lost track of time, Draco,” seethed Narcissa. “Just come along and do as you are told.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Tables at The Leaky Cauldron were filling slowly as the evening slipped toward the dinner hour, and the curious and distressed assembled from far and near in search of answers, or failing that, a bit of the latest gossip. Most of the bar’s patrons were entering the facility through the main entrance, but occasionally, a witch or wizard would stroll in through the rear doorway. Their table in the alcove gave Harry and Ginny a clear view to both entrances, though their proximity to the rear entry caused both Potters to tighten their grips on their wands.
Before long, The Leaky Cauldron was literally buzzing with conversation. The death of one of the country’s most prominent wizards would have stirred interest under any circumstances, but the fact that Lucius Malfoy had died while trying to murder the hero of the wizarding world had shaken an entire population at its core. Witches and wizards of all ages had breathed a collective sigh of relief when Voldemort had fallen, and it seemed that no one had anticipated that any of his followers would have already sought to renew hostilities.
On top of that, the brutal, merciless attacks at Hogwarts had sent a second shockwave through wizarding society. Two well-known, well-loved members of the community had been killed while the grave of Albus Dumbledore had been plundered for the second time in a month. Harry shook his head, however, as he flipped the pages of The Daily Prophet.
“Why doesn’t anyone realize these events are related?” he asked, frustration seeping from every pore.
“Because no one at the Ministry is saying anything about it,” answered Ginny thoughtfully.
“I guess that’s right,” Harry muttered, an exasperated sigh escaping from his lips. “Just because it feels like I told the whole world about the Elder Wand, doesn’t mean that everyone else has put the pieces together.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Ginny in response, a gentle smile creasing her lips. “We simply have to round up Malcolm Parkinson and his pseudo-Death Eaters, and the crisis will be over.”
“Will it?” asked Harry before thumping his elbows down on the table and cradling his face between his open palms in frustration. “It’s all my fault, Ginny. All my fucking fault.”
“It’s not your fault!” Ginny answered, assertively defending her husband from himself. “Like you just told Neville, it’s not your fault when other people choose evil over good.”
“But it’s not the same,” said Harry dejectedly. “This is totally different than what happened to Neville, just as it’s totally different from what Voldemort and his followers did to me in the past.”
“How’s that?” asked Ginny, confused by Harry’s certitude.
“I don’t know what in the world I was thinking — explaining everything to Tom Riddle as if there was the slightest chance he would repent.”
“You were only offering him a chance to save himself,” answered Ginny.
“No, I was trying to save him myself!” spat Harry, completely disgusted with the choices he had made in the Great Hall. “I don’t know who I thought I was, offering Tom Riddle the chance to find remorse somewhere within that fragmented soul. It was stupid! It was reckless!”
“No, Harry, you were being noble,” said Ginny, reaching out to stroke his forearm.
Harry looked up to find Ginny’s bright brown eyes staring softly into his own. Her smile was equally soft and completely genuine. He was overwhelmed with gratitude for this remarkable young witch, just as he had been one evening during his sixth year when Ginny had seen fit to stand up to Hermione about how he had defended himself against Draco Malfoy — using Sectumsempra without knowledge of its effects.
“But Voldemort didn’t deserve a noble offer, and forgiveness wasn’t mine to give,” Harry muttered. “Who on Earth did I think I was?”
“Does anyone truly deserve forgiveness? And maybe you were the only person on Earth who could offer him one last chance for remorse?” said Ginny, her eyes never wavering from his. “After all, you had a similar childhood without turning into a monster. In fact, you didn’t even have it in you to treat him monstrously — not even after he had killed your parents and brought about the deaths of so many other people you love. Even then, you offered him a choice — something he never offered to you.”
“Thank you,” said Harry gratefully, allowing his face to return the smile from which Ginny had never wavered. “You’re the best!”
Ginny began to answer but was unceremoniously interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione.
“Glad you finally noticed!” said Ron, a broad smile beaming at his best friend and his sister.
“And as quick a study as ever,” said Ginny, cynicism lacing every word.
“Don’t mind him,” Hermione chirped brightly. “He’s just a touch excited … as am I.” Her voice was practically begging Ginny and Harry to ask what she was so excited about.
At last, Harry broached the question. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why so excited?”
“We’ve decided to go ahead and get married almost immediately … as soon as you two get back from your honeymoon,” said Ron hurriedly. “Obviously we would like the two of you to stand up with us.”
Harry looked over at Ginny, who returned his smile with a wicked grin and a nod of her head.
“Right,” he answered, returning his attention to Ron and Hermione. “We’d be thrilled to be there for you.”
“So, mate, have you two set dates for your honeymoon?” Ron asked.
“We have,” answered Ginny playfully, obviously enjoying the tormented look on her brother’s face.
“And?”
“And what?” Ginny replied, the beginnings of a grin beginning to form on her lips.
“Please, Ginny,” interrupted Hermione. “What are the dates of your honeymoon?”
“Well, we have to wait two weeks, according to Healer Smethwyck, so we’ll be leaving for Lac Annecy on Friday, June 19, and returning after two weeks.”
“So you’ll be back on Friday, the third of July?” Ron asked anxiously.
“Not quite so literalistic, big brother,” taunted Ginny. “We’re going to stay through the weekend, so that will bring us back to Grimmauld Place on Sunday, July fifth.”
“Aarrgghh!” moaned Ron dramatically. “So Hermione and I will have to wait almost five weeks to get married?”
“Only if you want to,” said Ginny.
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Unless you two would like to go ahead and get married before Harry and I leave,” Ginny continued, turning her gaze toward her husband.
“But that would give us less than two weeks to get ready for our wedding,” said Hermione thoughtfully.
“Plenty of time,” teased Harry, all the while watching the equations firing behind Hermione’s eyes. “And where were the two of you thinking of going for a honeymoon?”
“There really isn’t any money,” whispered Ron, as if saying such a thing audibly would make their situation more real.
“Well, you could use Grimmauld Place while we’re gone,” said Harry.
“Or maybe you’d like to scout out Harry’s place in Cornwall?” asked Ginny, her grin having blossomed into a full-scale smile.
“N … no … no!” stammered Hermione. “We couldn’t impose upon you and Harry like that.”
“Well, it’s not like you’d be under foot the whole time,” laughed Ginny.
“Unless, of course, you wanted to be,” finished Harry.
Hermione and Ron looked questioningly at one another, obviously not knowing exactly where Harry and Ginny were taking the conversation.”
At last, Ginny and Harry simultaneously burst into laughter. “We’re asking if you’d like to join us at Chateau Peverell for a joint honeymoon,” Harry concluded. “The place is gigantic. Kreacher and Melpomene will be there to take care of things.”
“And the weather is supposed to be perfect!” Ginny added enthusiastically. “Not to mention that it’s one of the most beautiful places on the planet.”
Harry grinned happily as their closest friends stood dumbstruck before them. He and Ginny had discussed this possibility after they had learned their own trip would have to be postponed. They wanted Ron and Hermione to have the best possible start to their married life and, despite her frequent protests, Ginny absolutely adored her older brother. It seemed perfectly logical, especially given the way Harry had witnessed the advent of their love during the final battle.
“Merlin knows it was hard enough watching them sleep together for months, their fingers parted by mere millimeters,” Harry teased.
He interlaced his fingers with Ginny’s and waited patiently for a response to their invitation. The pause in their conversation served to emphasize how loud it had become in the pub. Things had become so loud, in fact, that Harry wondered how people could even think.
Pansy was working diligently at the next table, removing dirty dishes before wiping the surface with a clean cloth. Harry wondered momentarily if there wasn’t a better way to accomplish the same purpose by magical means. As he pondered the situation, Pansy looked up and smiled warmly at Harry and Ginny. It was a sight he would have thought impossible only the day before.
Suddenly, however, everything changed. Pansy’s warm demeanor vanished in an instant as all the color drained from her face. The back door of The Leaky Cauldron slammed loudly shut and the room fell shockingly silent.
Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had come into the bar through the entrance to Diagon Alley.
“Pansy, how nice to see you!” drawled Narcissa. Her greeting appeared almost warm, testifying to Narcissa’s prodigious acting abilities.
“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” answered Pansy. It was obvious that she would have preferred to be anywhere else.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come over last night when I received your mother’s invitation,” said Narcissa. “Hopefully I wasn’t missed among the crowd.”
Pansy stood silently, obviously unaware that her mother had hosted a gathering at their home.
“Oh my God,” whispered Harry, staring at Ginny in shock.
Chapter 19: Chapter 19 - Puzzle Pieces (or Deus ex Machina?)
Author's Notes: This is a short one, but a critical transition!
CHAPTER 19 — PUZZLE PIECES (OR DEUS EX MACHINA?)
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but I wasn’t aware that my mother had hosted a party last night,” said Pansy. “Truth be told, it didn’t seem like she would have been in the mood for company.”
“It did strike me as a little odd,” replied Narcissa, “given the situation with Malcolm. But she was inviting all the old crowd … Tina Mulciber, Alison Avery, Liz Yaxley … still the timing seemed off.”
“That, and the fact that she threw me out of the house,” grumbled Pansy.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Narcissa. “She didn’t blame you …”
“Could we please not talk about this here?” implored Pansy, her facial expression nearly begging the older witch not to ask questions.
Throughout the entire exchange, Harry had remained quietly at their table in the alcove, hanging onto every word. Hannah had proven almost clairvoyant in her decision to seat Harry and his group where they would not be readily on display. When at last Narcissa and Draco brought their awkward conversation to a close and sought to find their own table, Harry turned back to face Ginny, Hermione, and Ron.
“Is anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked everyone at the table.
“What’s that, mate?” said Ron.
“That we might want to look closer to home for the killers of Mrs. Longbottom and Professor Sprout,” said Harry excitedly. “We know that Mr. Parkinson told Pansy to flee from the Burrow if things went wrong and that their only contingency plan was based upon escape and denial, not revenge.”
“And that no one had anticipated that Pansy would be the one to derail their plans,” added Ginny, immediately picking up on Harry’s line of thought..
“Which left Malcolm in a foreign country waiting for their leader instead of taking charge himself,” Harry continued.
“But Mrs. Parkinson was right here and angry enough to throw her only daughter out of the house,” observed Ginny.
“I’ll bet she was angry enough to take things into her own hands — maybe angry enough to take the Elder Wand before anyone realized how inadequately we had protected the wand! Then they could worry about killing me later; all because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.”
“We’ve been through this before and we’ll have no more of it now,” said Ginny, staring a hole through her husband. “It doesn’t help anything for you to drown in your own guilt and self-criticism. You were trying to give Voldemort the opportunity to repent, not providing a playbook to the forces of Evil.”
“So, what’s next?” asked Ron, clearly picking up on Ginny’s efforts to get Harry out of his own head.
“Clearly, we need to talk to Kingsley,” replied Hermione. “And we’d better try to get the Malfoys to come along. I don’t trust those two even a little bit. We can’t leave them pondering the possibilities of joining forces with Pansy’s mum.”
“Better yet, let’s see if we can get Kingsley to come here,” Harry suggested, rising from his seat and making his way toward the back door. “Keep your eyes on Draco and Mrs. Malfoy until I get back.”
“Okay,” Ginny replied distractedly, her eyes obviously locked on Pansy.
In response, Harry also shifted his attention to Pansy, who still stood in the same place where she had initially greeted the Malfoys. Under other circumstances the sight might have been rather hilarious, for Harry’s former adversary appeared dumbstruck, her hand towel lying at her feet while the magenta Quick-Quotes-Quill still hovered beside her shoulder, ready to record the next customer’s order. Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, however, he saw only tragedy. In addition to the loss of the child he and Ginny had created, four other wizarding families who had somehow survived the latest Blood War were now irreparably harmed.
The Longbottom line had been reduced to Neville and his mentally disabled parents, who remained forever lost in St. Mungo’s. Harry noted with sadness that he had not known enough about Pomona Sprout in order to understand what was left of her family. And, even if there had been a certain sense of justice to some of the recent developments, Harry couldn’t help but be saddened by the irony that the Malfoy and Parkinson families were now damaged in fashions similar to the fates suffered by the Potters, Weasleys, Tonkses, Lupins, Creeveys, and a nearly endless list of other friends and foes. Undoubtedly, Harry reflected, “the cost of war was nearly insufferable — surpassed only by the cost of passive acquiescence to evil.”
Taking stock of his wife’s obvious concern for Pansy, Harry reconsidered what he had asked and modified his requests.
“On second thought, maybe you could keep an eye out for the Malfoys?” he asked of Ron and Hermione. “Please don’t let them leave until I’ve made contact with Kingsley.”
“Okay, mate,” answered Ron.
“And, Ginny, perhaps you could …” Harry began, before being interrupted in mid-sentence.
“… take care of Pansy,” concluded Ginny, reading her husband’s mind.
Pansy was flushed with humiliation and praying to be anywhere other than where she was at the moment. She couldn’t think of two people she could have been less pleased to see in her current situation, with the possible exception of her mother and father, and it had been made all the worse by the fact that her uncomfortable encounter had taken place in front Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Something about being thoroughly embarrassed in front of both her former conspirators and her new associates served to clarify exactly how alone she suddenly was in the wizarding world.
Her shoulders drooped noticeably while she stared hopelessly at the floor where her hand towel had fallen unnoticed by anyone else in the room. With absolutely no idea what next to do, Pansy stood as if anchored permanently to the barroom floor.
“Could I help you with that?” asked Ginny, stooping to pick up the fallen rag.
It took a few moments for the raven-haired witch to respond to Ginny’s presence, but eventually her eyes blinked and her voice answered hollowly, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was offering to help,” Ginny replied, slipping one arm around Pansy’s shoulders and guiding her a few steps across the floor to the seat Harry had vacated only a few moments before.
“Thank you,” Pansy gasped while taking the empty seat.
“Are you working the bar alone tonight?” Ginny asked softly.
“Only until seven,” answered Pansy, “when Tom is scheduled to come in. I’m just filling in for Hannah.”
“I see,” said Ginny, turning to face her brother. “What time is it now, Ron?”
“Quarter of,” Ron replied, checking the watch his parents had given him for his seventeenth birthday.
“I’m going to touch base with Hannah,” said Ginny, hoping to find some support for Pansy to cover the short time period before Tom was scheduled to start his shift.
“No!” exclaimed Pansy. “I can handle my own commitments.”
“Are you sure?” asked Ginny. “I’m certain Hannah would be happy to come down and give you some relief.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Pansy, sounding a bit defensive. “Hannah has been very kind to me, and she and Neville have much bigger problems to deal with than I have. It’s just that the last people I wanted to see were Draco and his mum. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s embarrassing.”
“That is ridiculous,” interjected Hermione, although the tone of her voice contradicted the harsh words of her statement. “It’s the Malfoys who ought to be embarrassed to make an appearance in public, Pansy.”
“That’s right!” added Ginny. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact you should be proud of yourself.”
“Indeed you should!” echoed Hermione. “You’ve done an honorable thing by saving Harry and Ginny, and you’re doing an honorable thing by working for a living. It’s a lot more than you can say for Draco and his mum.”
Except for the time Narcissa saved Harry’s life by lying to Voldemort, thought Ginny, but deciding not to contradict Hermione’s efforts to praise Pansy. At any rate, she had only done that to protect her son.
Pansy offered a sad smile to both Ginny and Hermione, still standing where she had from the beginning of their conversation. At last, she squared her shoulders, and made her way to a table of newly arrived patrons. As Pansy walked away, Ginny turned her attention to Ron, who had remained mysteriously silent throughout the discussion. She was tempted to say something to him about his appalling lack of interest in Pansy’s situation but held her tongue when she noticed how intensely he was studying Draco and Narcissa as they whispered animatedly back and forth across their table.
“Anyone else think those two are putting on a bit of a show?” asked Ron, tilting his head toward the Malfoys’ table.
“But for what purpose?” asked Hermione, a studious look creasing her brow.
“Haven’t we been here long enough?” asked Draco uncomfortably. While only a few eyes were actually locked upon the Malfoy table, Draco felt like he was on display for the entire wizarding world.
“We’ve only been here for five minutes,” Narcissa answered softly. “Just relax and carry on normally.”
“I wouldn’t normally be in a place like this, Mother!” huffed Draco, frustration lacing every word. “Malfoys don’t frequent institutions like the Leaky-bleeding-Cauldron.”
“If we are going to be seen, son, we have to go where ordinary witches and wizards congregate,” answered Narcissa. “And, Draco, if you consider yourself too good to visit this sort of place, then certainly you are above such common language.”
“Father would never have lowered himself to be seen here and you know it,” Draco replied, allowing his frustrated tone of voice to transition into outright sarcasm.
“And look where that got him,” said Narcissa, her voice flat and utterly devoid of emotion.
His mother’s reprimand left Draco momentarily speechless. Only a few days earlier, he had said much the same thing to the deceased father he was now trying so hard to emulate.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
“That’s alright, son,” replied Narcissa, “but things have changed dramatically. Your father would have done things differently, returning to public life at the Ministry instead of the Leaky Cauldron. However, that was during the administration of Cornelius Fudge and at a time before the Malfoy name had been desecrated by sycophantic servitude to the Dark Lord and a failed assassination attempt upon the wizard who brought about his downfall.”
Draco’s eyes shifted toward the floor, suddenly unable to face his mother. At last he managed to clear his voice and said, “It sounds so ugly when you put it that way.”
“I don’t know any other way to put it, and it’s critically important that we deal with reality, Draco. Anything less and we might still lose everything.”
After an absence of fifteen minutes, Harry rejoined Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.
“Anything interesting going on?”
“Not a thing, mate,” said Ron, his gaze still locked upon Narcissa and Draco.
“I’d guess that’s about to change,” said Harry, a note of intrigue highlighting his voice.
“How so?” asked Ron.
“Well, I had an interesting visit with Kingsley when he answered my Patronus.”
“So, what’s he going to do?” asked Ginny impatiently.
“He found the information about Diana Parkinson just as interesting as we did, and he doesn’t want to waste a single moment more. In fact …” Harry began before a general commotion rippled across the pub.
As one, every head turned toward the front entrance to the Leaky Cauldrom as the daunting form of Kingsley Shacklebolt suddenly filled the doorway. Taking advantage of the momentary turmoil, the foursome gathered their beverages and shifted quickly to a table immediately behind the seats occupied by Draco and Narcissa.
Simultaneously, a pair of Aurors entered through the back doorway. With no more than a quick glance about the room, the Minister for Magic walked directly to the Malfoys’ table.
“Mind if I join you, Narcissa?” he asked courteously.
“Is there a problem, Minister?” she asked in reply.
“Not at all,” he answered, smiling. “I just have a couple of questions for you.”
“I honestly don’t know what more either Draco or I could add at this point. We gave you full access to everything already.”
“New questions keep cropping up, so … if I could please join you for a little while?”
“Of course,” she said, sighing. “Draco and I are happy to do whatever we can to assist the Ministry.”
“Why do I get the feeling that while you may be willing to help out, you aren’t really pleased to do so?” said the Minister.
“I think you’re reading a little too much into things, Minister. Draco and I are more than willing to help out. In fact, we are anxious to prove our desire to be full participants in the new administration. It’s just that we get a little weary of being lumped as one with Lucius, when neither Draco nor I were co-conspirators in his plans.”
As one, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron drew deep breaths. Harry wondered how Kingsley might react to such a blatant fabrication — at least as far as Mrs. Malfoy’s statement applied to Draco — yet he dared not speak and call attention to their presence at the next table.
“Please, Narcissa,” said Kingsley, pulling up a chair. “Based on everything we’ve learned so far, I suspect the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will concur that there is no need to prosecute either you or Draco for your parts in the plot to kill Harry and Ginny Potter. However, you’re pushing your luck with all this feigned innocence.”
“Feigned innocence?” protested Narcissa. From his location, Harry was certain that he heard a huff of indignation escaping from the witch’s lips.
“Yes,” Kingsley answered calmly, “feigned innocence.” The Minister’s dispassionate display left Harry more impressed than ever with Kingsley’s capacity for self-control. “We could argue all night about whether or not you had a moral duty to report your husband’s murderous plot to the authorities. However, I cannot accept — will not accept — that your behavior over the past week was in any way ‘innocent.’ Not your behavior and certainly not Draco’s.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Malfoy, her voice diminished in both force and indignation.
“So, if you are, indeed, anxious,” he repeated, practically mocking Narcissa in the process, “I suggest the two of you cooperate immediately, and as completely as you possibly can.”
Narcissa’s eyes gravitated to the tightly intertwined fingers in her lap, telling Harry that she was buying time to consider her response without further input from either her son or the Minister for Magic. At last, she shuffled slightly, allowed a tiny sigh to escape from her lips, and to Harry’s total surprise, looked up to face the imposing wizard with a composed smile.
“I’m sorry to have overreacted,” she uttered softly. “By all means, I’ll be happy to answer any questions or provide any insights I can offer.”
“Then why don’t we start with whatever you can tell me about the invitation Diana Parkinson extended to you last night?”
Harry would have thought it impossible that his attention could be wrestled away from the drama unwinding in front on him, but the sound of shattering glass caused him to look away from the discussion between Kingsley and Narcissa. Pansy Parkinson was standing amidst a collection of broken glass, scattered salt, and pepper packets, looking as if she had been struck dumb. Obviously the witch who had saved him from certain death had drawn the same conclusion that had already occurred to Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. Who besides Diana Parkinson and her assembled group of Death Eaters’ wives could have been more highly motivated to bring Lucius Malfoy’s failed plot to fruition?
“There really isn’t much more to tell, Minister. Diana flooed me with an invitation to get together at her house with Tina Mulciber, Alison Avery, and Liz Yaxley.”
“And she didn’t tell you the purpose of your gathering?”
“Their gathering, not mine. I didn’t attend, and when I told her I couldn’t make it, she didn’t give me any additional information,” Narcissa answered.
“Just an impromptu get together only a few hours after your husband was killed by her daughter, and Malcolm had run off to Romania — all in an effort to murder Harry Potter and seize control of the world’s most powerful wand.”
“My mother has made no effort to deny what happened yesterday,” Draco interjected.
“As for Diana’s intentions,” added Narcissa, “I honestly haven’t a clue. I simply assumed that she was reaching out … one witch to another.”
“With the wives of a bunch of other Death Eaters?” queried Kingsley.
“I didn’t give it much thought,” said Narcissa plaintively. “I couldn’t give it much thought because we were trying to assist your investigation. For goodness sake, Minister, we helped your Aurors tear our house apart.”
“So I take it you were completely surprised when you heard Augusta Longbottom and Pomona Sprout were murdered last night and that the Elder Wand was stolen from Albus Dumbledore’s desecrated tomb?”
“Murdered?” gasped both Malfoys simultaneously.
Although he was no expert in such matters, Harry would have sworn to two things; Narcissa Malfoy had just heard this news for the first time, and the idea, itself, had been completely foreign to her. He began to turn the ideas over in his mind when his peripheral vision caught sight of something dropping silently to the floor. As he turned his head to the side, Harry became aware that it was Pansy, totally devoid of color, who had collapsed in the same spot in which she had listened to the entire conversation.
Chapter 20: Chapter 20 - Restoring Order Out of Chaos
Author's Notes: The best laid plans of mice and magicians ...
CHAPTER 20 — RESTORING ORDER OUT OF CHAOS
The thud of dead weight reverberated throughout the Leaky Cauldron as Pansy fell to the hardwood floor, raising questions in the minds of nearly all of the guests of the inn. Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom, however, felt nothing but the closeness of each other’s flesh and the erratic thumping of their bed. Neville’s spirit had been pushed to the breaking point while Hannah’s soul ached to share comfort with the incredibly brave wizard whose sufferings in life exceeded even her own.
Hannah had desperately hoped that the fall of Voldemort would bring an end to the spread of death and destruction, but the attack upon Harry and Ginny and the deaths of Neville’s grandmother and Professor Sprout proved the old adage that evil would always rise up to replace evil. While Lucius Malfoy might have been less than half as powerful a wizard as Tom Riddle, his ambition had propelled him into action when he was less than half as fully prepared. The result of such imprudent behavior had cost Harry and Ginny the life of their unborn child and had torn the young man Hannah had come to love away from his academic mentor and the grandmother who had raised him since the day his parents had been tortured into madness.
How ironic, thought Hannah, deeply saddened, that great evil has been replaced by petty meanness, but the results are equally tragic?
“Oh, Neville,” she whispered into his ear as she pressed down upon him with the full weight of her body.
“Wh … what?” he replied.
“You feel amazing inside me.”
Hannah’s words were barely discernible within her gasps as the climax that had been building inside her rolled outward, filling the core of her body in one direction while literally curling her toes in the other. She knew her boyfriend must have been feeling something similar, for his breathing had become ragged shortly before his body lurched in uneven thrusts and his normally soothing voice gave way to a series of feral grunts and moans.
“I didn’t know I could ever feel this alive,” Hannah said softly once her heartbeat returned to normal. Indeed, it was the first time she had felt whole since her mother had been murdered. She felt connected in a new and totally different way and realized without doubt that simply being with Neville Longbottom felt perfect. Better yet, it felt right.
“I love you, Hannah,” he said in reply, his voice firm, full of trust and adoration.
Her heartbeat erupted wildly within her chest when she recognized his tone of voice for what it was — certainty.
“I love you, too,” she answered, opening her bright blue eyes to find herself basking in the warmth of his gaze.
“Thank Merlin we found each other,” he added, his voice still firm despite the tears that threatened to pour down upon the cheeks Hannah found so adorably round and soft despite the way his body had hardened and matured during a year spent resisting the wrath of the Carrows at Hogwarts.
Hannah smiled silently as she continued gazing at the man Neville had become — the brilliant young herbologist who was simultaneously confident enough to stand toe to toe with the world’s Darkest wizard, brave enough to slay the terrible serpent, Nagini, as she prepared to strike, yet unpretentious enough to hold his girlfriend gently and with an obvious sense of awe at the love that bloomed between them.
“I want to help,” whispered Pansy as soon as her vision cleared enough to see the look of concern in Ginny Potter’s vivid brown eyes and the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning over the young witch’s shoulder.
“Excuse me?" asked Ginny, amazed at Pansy’s reaction.
“I want to help … help end this now … and I think I may be the only one who can, although I’ll need some help from Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Maybe we should get you some medical attention first,” suggested Ginny, checking Pansy’s pupils for uneven dilation. “Your head hit the floor pretty hard.”
“No!” exclaimed Pansy, her voice becoming louder, emphasizing her alarm and growing sense of agitation. “We need to do something now!”
“And so we shall, young lady,” said Kingsley, reaching down to help Pansy back to her feet, “but first let’s find someplace more private.”
“But I need help from Mrs. Malfoy!” repeated Pansy excitedly.
Minister Shacklebolt turned quickly to Ginny and asked, “In a moment, do you think you and Harry could escort Miss Parkinson back to the Burrow?”
“Of course,” answered Ginny.
“And Ron," the Minister continued, “would you and Hermione let Hannah know her barmaid will be away for the rest of the evening, and then join us at your parents’ house?”
Ron nodded in return, took Hermione by the hand, and headed for the staircase in search the pub’s new owner.
At last, Kingsley turned to face Narcissa and Draco, who had remained seated, dumbstruck by what was happening directly in front of them. “I’m going to need the two of you to stay with me for a little longer, please.”
Ginny couldn’t help being amused by the look on Draco’s face, thinking it defined panic in its purest form. She had spent years loathing, yet slightly fearing, the normally smug, self-satisfied expression he wore habitually. Seeing him lost and more than a little afraid left her with the thought that there might, after all, be some justice left in the world.
“Wait a second,” protested Draco. “Surely you don’t expect us to do anything with that nutter.” He was pointing at Pansy, who stood within Ginny’s loose yet protective embrace.
“For now, I expect that you and your mother will help us identify the killers of Augusta Longbottom and Pomona Sprout. Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure what to expect.”
“Well, let me assure you that our only concern is to stay out of trouble.”
Ginny watched in amazement as Narcissa Malfoy’s jaw dropped open, obviously shocked at her son’s open display of selfishness.
“I think what Draco means …” started Narcissa before being interrupted by the Minister’s outstretched palm.
“I think we all know what Draco means, and I must confess that I find the attitude extremely disappointing,” answered Kingsley, “especially coming from someone who claims to be so anxious to prove his desire to return to the mainstream of the wizarding world.”
“B-but … but I am anxious to …” Draco added.
“Please!” interjected Kingsley. “I’m not entirely stupid. Neither am I easily made a fool of, young man.”
Ginny realized that Draco had probably never before been spoken to in such a manner, based upon the confused, helpless look that glazed his eyes.
“So, Narcissa, will you be joining us at the Burrow, or would you and your son prefer a trip to Azkaban?”
“Azkaban? For what reason?”
“Yes, Azkaban — for obstruction of justice and providing aid to a known criminal conspiracy.”
Defeated, Narcissa Malfoy nodded her consent.
The summit at the Burrow was more sparsely attended than Harry had anticipated, although Kingsley explained that it was imperative to limit the number of participants to those whose loyalty was completely beyond reproach and who had a proven ability to maintain confidences. Things were going to be dicey enough with Narcissa, Draco, and Pansy involved at a high level, although Harry was convinced that the latter had already proven her trustworthiness. The surviving members of the Malfoy family were another matter entirely.
With each passing conversation, Harry was coming to have a grudging sense of respect for Narcissa. While it was clear that the witch was as self-serving as he would expect of any true Slytherin, it had become equally certain that she possessed a certain degree of steely courage that made it possible for her to do things that would otherwise run against her nature. He had seen it first in the Forbidden Forest when she had summoned the courage to tell her lord and master that Harry was dead. Yes, that particular bit of subterfuge had been in the Malfoy family’s best interest, but it had required courage, nonetheless, just as the plan this small group was incubating would demand of Narcissa Malfoy.
Her assigned task was to approach Diana Parkinson, apologize for missing the previous night’s gathering of Death Eater spouses, and attempt to solicit an invitation to join the group of disaffected witches if and when they were to assemble again. Kingsley had spoken passionately about the probability that the group would soon strike at Harry, especially now that they believed the Elder Wand to be in their possession. Once the time and place had been determined, Draco was to deliver the news to Pansy, who would continue in residence at The Leaky Cauldron. That way, if their activities were for some reason being monitored, nothing suspicious would appear to be happening, for neither Pansy nor Draco had yet had the opportunity or the inclination to spread the news of their breakup — if what had transpired between them had ever meant they were truly together.
Once Pansy received Draco’s warning, she would be able to pass the information to her new boss, Hannah Abbott, and things could be put into motion. Harry mulled the plan over in his mind, pleased with its simplicity, but worried that its success or failure hinged upon the willingness and ability of the Malfoys to stay true to their word. He comforted himself with the insight Horace Slughorn had shared with him during his sixth year at Hogwarts — that Slytherins didn’t inherently lack for bravery, but that their courage was always tempered by self-preservation. Harry knew that both Narcissa and Draco possessed a stronger than average share of this instinct which had previously kept them loyal to Voldemort.
Harry hoped their incentives for self-preservation were, by this time, sufficiently tied to Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Ministry for Magic and set about the implementation of his own part of the plan. He and Ginny had been instructed to remain in hiding, with their whereabouts known only to Ron, Hermione, and the Minister, as a safeguard against the possibility of treachery on the part of the Malfoys, or a preemptive strike by Diana Parkinson and her crew. So, the young couple waited impatiently at the only home they had not yet visited — their estate in Cornwall.
Afternoon temperatures had been hovering in the upper sixties, which was about normal for early June in Cornwall. Harry enjoyed the feeling of warmth on his back as sunlight bathed the moors surrounding Potter Manor. He tried to keep up with the pace set by Ginny as she hastened to reach the entrance to Merlin’s Cave.
“Come on, Potter! Keep up!” she shouted over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m coming as fast as I can,” shouted Harry. “I still don’t see why we couldn’t have Apparated.”
“And missed all of this?” asked Ginny excitedly. “To miss walking on the grounds where Merlin and Arthur first met? No way!”
Harry would ordinarily not have complained, but his wife had taken an immediate liking to Potter Manor and the surrounding grounds — an interest that had only grown when Kreacher had shared the mythology that surrounded Harry’s ancestral property. Unable to enjoy the life of most newlywed couples due to her injury, Ginny had made it her objective to cover every square inch of available land. If they were going to be exiled for their own safety, she meant to take full advantage of every opportunity.
“There’s the entrance!” she shouted, as Harry pulled up behind her. “If Kreacher is right, we’ll be able to see the ruins of the castle at Tintagel Head once we get there!”
“Arthur’s birthplace?” asked Harry, fairly certain that he remembered things correctly.
“You have been listening!” said Ginny, reaching up to place a kiss on her husband’s cheek. Thanks to the exercise, his skin was hot and a little sweaty.
Harry looked up at the yawning mouth of the cave — a dark chasm opening in the verdant hillside — and shivered in anticipation. As hard as he had tried to appear nonchalant about visiting Merlin’s Cave, Ginny’s excitement was infectious. Now that they had reached their day’s objective, he was more than a little excited. He pulled her into a firm embrace and kissed her deeply.
“You’re amazing, Ginny.”
“I know. And you’re a lucky man, Harry Potter,” she added, trying to maintain a straight face, but failing completely. The wicked grin that Harry loved so intensely simply refused to remain beneath the surface.
Harry kissed her again, overwhelmed with love for this young witch who meant the world to him. He couldn’t stop reflecting upon the multitude of facets that comprised her personality — her sense of humor, her compassion for those wrongly accused, her impatience with arrogance and stupidity, her commitment to justice, her hair-trigger temper, and her fiery passion. Harry shuddered as his fingers laced into her incomparably silky red hair, and the force of his own passion surged within him. His lips trailed along her jaw line until he settled into the spot behind her ear, and she moaned.
“Fuck!” muttered Harry, suddenly pulling himself away from her.
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t do this,” he grumbled.
“It’s okay,” Ginny replied, an equal amount of frustration lacing her voice. “Healer Smethwyck said it was only a precaution. We can use the contraceptive charm.”
“No!” gasped Harry. “Not when you were so upset about losing your chance to have children.”
“Then at least let me do something for you,” Ginny countered, slipping her right hand down his chest and grasping his belt buckle.
“G … God!” Harry stammered. “Not unless we can do something for you, sweetheart.”
“But who says it won’t be for me?” Ginny responded. “Please, Harry!”
Harry felt his willpower crumbling as he contemplated another twelve days and nights of abstinence, and the extra difficulties they would face while being exiled at Potter Manor. The place was magical in more ways than one, and neither he nor Ginny had been prepared for the effects of being at his family’s homestead. He hadn’t thought anything could make him want Ginny even more than he had before, but this excursion had done so. They were the last of the Potters, walking and breathing where Harry’s ancestors had lived — where Merlin, himself, had lived — newly married and looking forward to years and years together, assuming Diana Parkinson and her group could be thwarted. Everything seemed somehow to intensify in importance.
“God, Gin …” Harry gasped, unable to finish his thought due to the passion that raged within him.
“Please, Harry,” she repeated.
Harry’s eyes fastened upon her amazing brown eyes that had never glistened more brightly, not entirely due to the soft sunlight that continued to linger about them even now that they had stepped into the cave. He wanted her more than he could ever have thought possible and, suddenly, the noble gesture of waiting until she could fully participate in marital activities started to seem rather stupid — especially when she was literally begging for the chance to make love to him as fully as their situation allowed.
“Okay,” he gasped, amazed by the simultaneous smile that spread across his wife’s face.
“It’s about time, Potter,” she grunted while pulling forcibly on Harry’s belt buckle.
But a sudden crack split the air, causing both Harry and Ginny to switch gears without warning. It was a testament to their commitment to constant vigilance that both turned on the spot, instantaneously producing their wands and aiming at the source of the disturbance.
“M-Master Harry! M-Mistress Ginny!” stammered Kreacher, obviously terrified to be staring at the business end of both wands.
The couple lowered their wands immediately.
“What is it?” asked Harry, knowing full well that Kreacher would not interrupt their time together without good reason.
“Minister Shacklebolt sent his Patronus to the manor. He says it is time to move.”
“Already?” asked Harry, though he did not waste time before looking in Ginny’s direction.
“Let’s go,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“I’ll see you at the Burrow,” he replied before turning on the spot and disappearing into the crushing darkness.
Narcissa Malfoy had anticipated that she and Draco, alone, would attend her husband’s burial ceremony. In fact, it had taken her several requests before she had been able to find an authorized wizarding liturgist who would agree to celebrate over the burial. She had known that the Weasleys, Harry, or the Minister for Magic would have agreed to intervene on her behalf, but she had not wanted to risk public association with anyone from the Order of the Phoenix.
So she had been shocked to look up and find a small crowd of witches moving in her direction as she and Draco stood beside the open grave that would soon be the final resting place for Lucius Malfoy. Diana Parkingson, Tina Mulciber, Liz Yaxley, and Alison Avery had walked up silently only moments after the liturgy began. Afterward, Diana, alone, had approached Narcissa and whispered into her ear.
“Tonight — my house — 8:00 PM. And, Narcissa, we’re very sorry for your loss.”
Without another word, the group turned as one, Disapparating to destinations unknown.
Narcissa looked at her son and shared the news. “You know what to do, Draco. Do not let us down.”
“Yes, Mother,” Draco replied before heading off to Diagon Alley, where he first stopped at Gringotts to provide an excuse for his journey, and then moved on to the Leaky Cauldron and an uncomfortable rendezvous with Pansy Parkinson.
The scout team, comprised of Kingsley, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Pansy, Apparated onto a ridge in southeastern England, somewhere near the village of Stourmouth. Like most magical dwellings, the Parkinson mansion was well-disguised from human eyes, both magical and Muggle, so the team would have been hopelessly lost in their efforts to find their objective without Pansy’s assistance.
“Could I see the photo album?” Pansy asked. Her tone was almost brusque, the tension in her voice doing little to instill confidence in her compatriots.
“Certainly,” answered Hermione, digging rapidly in her beaded bag before producing the requested object. Her hands shook involuntarily.
Pansy opened the album to a large magical photograph of her family home. Immediately, Harry recognized the orchard that filled the valley that spread between them and the river below.
“That river is the Little Stour,” said Pansy, “and the larger river in the distance is the Stour, itself. Even at dusk, you will be able to make out these landmarks with little difficulty, which should help in your orientation.”
Harry glanced over at Ron, whose eyes moved carefully between the map and the landscape below them. He had never seen Ron so totally focused before — a sight that brought comfort to Harry despite the tension growing among the group.
Pansy drew a deep breath and continued: “We will follow the trail downward from where we now stand until we reach the edge of the orchard. Beyond that point, you will need my assistance to enter the grounds of the property. The protections are simple blood-wards, so anyone accompanying me will be granted access to the property. However, anyone trying to do so on their own will set off a Caterwauling Charm, and we will lose all hope of surprise.”
“And what about when we enter the property?” asked Harry, hoping that Pansy’s mother had not yet thought to modify the protections that had been set up around the premises.
Pansy flipped a few pages in her photo album and began, “This is a photograph of the rear of the house, taken from a point very close to where we will enter tonight. As you can see, the Great Room is located in the center of the building and opens onto the back terrace.”
“If we are able to maintain the element of surprise,” added Kingsley, “we must move quickly to prevent escape through either the foyer or onto the terrace. Hermione’s team will make their way to the front staircase and must move immediately to seal off the main entrance.”
“That’s right,” said Pansy. “Please remember that Apparition is not possible through the wards or within the house itself. However, it is possible to Disapparate from any point on the property outside the house, proper. We must seal both the front and back entrances at exactly the same moment that the attack group enters the house.”
“Ginny’s team will have responsibility for securing the doorways onto the back terrace,” continued Kingsley as soon as Pansy had completed her warnings.
“But I want to fight with Harry,” protested Ginny.
“No!” commanded Kingsley. “Our roles are offensive in nature and must move with dispatch. We’ll have adequate protection for Harry, but we simply cannot allow any of you to become distracted from your objectives. If you or anyone else can’t live with that, Ginny, then you’ll have to stay behind.”
Harry turned his attention to his wife and saw the resentment cross over her face before she nodded her reluctant assent to the plan.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings,” added Kingsley, “but I believe Remus and Tonks might still be with us had they not been fighting together.”
Harry’s temper flared briefly then subsided just as quickly when he remembered his decision to protect Ginny rather than attack Voldemort. “Okay, Kingsley, we get it,” he concluded, fully aware that he would always — always — put Ginny first in his life.
“I will lead the primary attack team, which will include Pansy, Ron, Arthur, Bill, and, if necessary, Harry,” said Kingsley. “Pansy will guide us through the kitchen entrance.”
The Minister for Magic pointed at a single doorway to the left rear of the mansion before nodding at Pansy to continue the discussion.
“We will pass through the kitchen and move into the Butler’s Pantry. It’s easily large enough for our team of six people, and we can wait there for the final signal to attack. If Mrs. Malfoy has done her job properly, we should have an easy time of it.”
“And if she hasn’t?” asked Harry, overwhelmed with thoughts of a battle raging within the Parkinson residence.
“Then Hermione and Ginny will lead their teams into the residence, where we will hopefully gain victory through superior numbers,” added Kingsley emphatically.
As long as Mrs. Parkinson’s group isn’t larger than we believe, thought Harry silently, in which case we could be royally buggered.
“Any other questions?” asked Kingsley, looking at each member of the scout team in turn. “Then let’s get back to the Burrow where each of you can brief the members of your respective teams and hopefully get some rest.”
At precisely eight o’clock in the evening, Narcissa Malfoy arrived at the edge of the Parkinson property by way of the main road that approached directly from the east, near the confluence of the rivers Stour and Little Stour. The walk had been short and familiar from her chosen Apparition point, although it was the first occasion on which Narcissa had visited without her husband’s company. As she reached the boundary of the area protected by the wards, her eyes could detect a slight shimmering that might have been nothing more than an optical illusion created as the sun sank toward the horizon in the west.
She drew her wand to cast an Announcement Charm, but the effort proved unnecessary. Diana Parkinson appeared suddenly right in front of her, allowing Narcissa a glance at the gray stone mansion through the opening in the protective charms.
“Welcome, Narcissa,” said her hostess, whose voice seemed to resonate with true concern. “We are pleased that you could join us.”
“Thank you, Diana,” answered Narcissa, trying to remain calm. “I hadn’t planned on leaving home tonight, but your invitation seemed so urgent — almost a command, if I didn’t know better.”
“Not a command, my dear, but we do have important things to discuss and precious little time in which to act.”
“Why is that?” asked Narcissa, virtually certain of what Diana and her coven of Dark witches had in mind. Reminding herself of Kingsley’s warnings, Narcissa shifted her mind smoothly into a protected state, her full powers of Occlumency already at work. While none of the Parkinson family was known as a skilled Legilimens, the same could not be said for Alison Avery.
“Is something wrong?” asked Diana.
“Not at all,” replied Narcissa. “I’m just not used to being without Lucius.”
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Diana, her eyes remaining cast upon the ground. “I still can’t believe my own daughter betrayed us on Saturday.”
“She said she didn’t mean to kill Lucius,” whispered Narcissa, as her emotions began to war against one another. No matter what else she might have thought about his schemes, Narcissa had truly loved her husband, just as she truly loved her son … her son who was waiting behind at the Burrow, unarmed and watched closely by Molly Weasley, the witch who had killed Narcissa’s sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Molly’s daughter-in-law, Fleur, a former Tri-Wizard Champion. If for no other reason, Narcissa blocked out any thoughts of deviating from the plan she had agreed upon with Minister Shacklebolt. Draco was undoubtedly no match for such powerful witches.
“Regardless of her intentions toward Lucius, my daughter betrayed us all when she tried to save Harry Potter. I will never forgive such disloyalty and have disowned her outright,” hissed Diana, her face etched with hostility rather than remorse.
“Really?” asked Narcissa, careful not to divulge the fact that she already knew of the falling out between mother and daughter.
“Yes,” spat Diana. “And as soon as Malcolm returns, we will go to the Ministry and to Gringotts to make it official.”
Narcissa rejoiced inwardly at the news that nothing “official” had yet been done to disinherit Pansy, although her face remained unchanged. Narcissa Malfoy remained a grieving widow to the outside world, with no visible trace of the treachery she intended to commit against her former allies and social acquaintances. As long as Pansy remained an official member of the Parkinson family, perhaps nothing had yet been done to prohibit her access to the property — access that was absolutely crucial for the success of their mission.
The two witches climbed the front staircase, which rose in grand fashion from the garth to the main floor of the mansion. Narcissa checked her watch and realized that the peace in which she and Diana now traveled would be rent asunder in less than seventeen minutes. She hoped the group of assembled witches would get right to business. Otherwise, she feared the attack would begin before the Elder Wand might be brought into the room.
Her fears abated as soon as Narcissa entered the mansion’s Great Room. Two wing-backed chairs stood before the hearth to her right-hand side. The chairs faced a seating arrangement comprised of a settee that was flanked by smaller upholstered sofas that could hold no more than two people each. In the middle of the seating arrangement was a low table, but instead of a silver tea service, the table supported a glass case containing a single wand — a wand she had last seen flying through the Great Hall of Hogwarts before coming to rest in the outstretched hand of Harry Potter while the Dark Lord had fallen dead to the floor.
The furniture arrangement was exactly as Pansy had described during their brief planning session.
With any luck, thought Narcissa, things just might go off as planned.
She immediately chastised herself for allowing such thoughts to enter her mind, for Alison Avery’s eyes fastened sharply upon her own. Was the other witch already trying to penetrate her mental defenses? Narcissa calmly shifted back into the type of concentration that would be necessary to properly protect her thoughts, simultaneously trying to make these precautions as unnoticeable as possible. As the wife of a highly ranked Death Eater, she had long before learned the tools of Occlumency!
The assault team arrived on the ridgeline overlooking the Parkinson property over a period of almost four minutes. Each “pop” of Apparition was therefore a singular event, guaranteeing that they would remain undetected by anyone who might be on guard duty at the mansion. Apparently their preparations were rewarded and their arrival remained undetected, for no response was heard from the property below.
Using Disillusionment Charms, and in Harry’s case, his invisibility cloak, the group moved quietly down the trail that the scout team had reconnoitered earlier in the day and gathered behind their respective team leaders. Joining Hermione’s unit were Neville Longbottom, Percy Weasley, and a pair of Aurors, John Smythe and William Holmes, both of whom were personally trained by and enthusiastically vouched for by the Minister for Magic.
Due to the size of the back terrace, Ginny’s team was larger. Her brothers, George and Charlie were with her, along with Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbott, and Aurors, David Woodson, John Dawlish, and another trio Harry had not previously met — James Simonton, and the McKenna twins, Cullum and Hamish.
Harry had never before gone into battle with a group of people with whom he was not thoroughly acquainted, and the presence of so many outsiders unnerved him a bit. He found himself particularly uncomfortable with the inclusion of John Dawlish, who seemed to work his way onto elite units regardless of who was the current Minister for Magic and to which cause that Minister owed his allegiance. Kingsley had spoken strongly in defense of Dawlish when Harry had objected, but now that his wife, his closest friends, and almost all of the Weasleys were about to enter a potentially lethal confrontation, he cursed the fact that this situation had arisen before he had a chance to become more intimately familiar with the entire staff of Aurors.
Of course, Kingsley had taken the opportunity to remind Harry that he had been offered the chance to take control of the Auror Department less than three hours after Voldemort had fallen. The conversation had taken place in front of Ron, who had begun to stick to Harry like glue the moment his best friend had arrived back at the Burrow from Cornwall, as if it was his sole responsibility to guarantee Harry’s safety. Harry had also taken note of the fact that Ron nodded enthusiastically whenever the Minister mentioned the amount of time that had already been lost in the effort to shore up the Ministry’s front line of defense against the Dark Arts, time that could have been used to prevent the situation in which Harry had suddenly found himself found himself — being largely dependent upon unfamiliar faces to thwart their enemies.
The assault teams waited in silence as Pansy walked up to the point where the property’s defenses stood unseen to anyone present. Harry expected the young witch to engage in some sort of elaborate ritual in order to gain entry, but learned quickly that he had been mistaken. Pansy held up her hand to ensure that everyone remembered not to follow her. The wards required members of the family to exit the property in order to escort guests back onto the grounds. She stepped forward and suddenly disappeared from view.
“Remind you of anything?” Hermione whispered into Harry’s ear.
“Yeah, of being cold, hungry, and scared out of our bleeding wits,” he replied. “But what do they do to make an Invisibility Charm cover an entire estate?”
“It’s relatively easy, Harry,” answered Hermione. “I read about it in Advanced Magical Theory right after we attended the Quidditch World Cup. You see, all you have to do is …”
But Hermione’s explanation was cut off by Pansy’s return through the invisibility barrier. “Shh!” she hissed in Hermione’s direction. “Follow me, and for goodness sake, be quiet!”
The assault teams moved forward, one person at a time, with each successive combatant taking Pansy’s hand in turn, as if being assisted across an open threshold. Once the final member of the group, Arthur Weasley, passed onto the Parkinson’s property, Pansy turned and moved back to the forefront. She nodded at Kingsley.
“Thank you, Pansy. Unless we’re terribly mistaken, our plan has worked perfectly so far. Now, I want each of you to follow your team leaders into position. And, Aurors, I know you are used to leading these sorts of missions, so I must ask you to please pay close attention to each of your team leaders. Hermione and Ginny are well versed with our strategies and are both experienced at working with Harry. They will lead you well, but you must give them a chance to do so.”
Harry watched suspiciously as Dawlish exchanged unhappy glances with the McKenna brothers. He wished momentarily that he had talked to Kingsley about leaving Ginny at the Burrow, but knew he couldn’t have done so. He had given her his promise that she would never again be left behind against her wishes, although as much as he had meant those words, he couldn’t completely dismiss the protective desires that rose instinctively within him. Ginny Potter was the center of his personal universe and always would be — whether leisurely hiking across the moors of Potter Manor or facing a moment of near-certain death. Tonight’s mission, he prayed, would not approach that unthinkable level of danger.
“It’s now exactly 8:00 PM,” Kingsley continued, breaking through Harry’s reflections. “We have precisely eighteen minutes to be in position — no more, no less. We cannot afford for anyone to arrive late, but we must not chance being seen before it is time to strike. Move out! Quietly! Now!”
And with that, Hermione’s team disappeared into the orchard that flanked the northern edge of the mansion and would lead them within a short jaunt of the front staircase. She moved with the skilled precision of a person who had spent months successfully avoiding capture in the wild during a time when she and her companions had been the most wanted persons in the wizarding world.
Ginny led her team in the opposite direction, sliding invisibly through the hop field that grew from their present location all the way up to the finely mown grass of the back garden. Her team would face the most dangerous course, as they had to cross approximately thirty yards of open lawn in order to reach the estate’s back terrace. It was critical that she lead her team into position before Narcissa created a diversion within the Great Room itself. Hopefully, that would distract their enemies long enough for Ginny and her followers to reach the terrace and prevent any of the assembled party from Disapparating to safety.
Kingsley’s team set out on the heels of Hermione’s party, and in less than ten minutes had reached the point at which the trees were no more than twenty feet from the back door to the kitchen. Harry looked in each direction and, as expected, was unable to see either group of his compatriots. He took a deep breath and waited for Kingsley to give the order to move forward, all the while begging the powers that be for the safety of his wife and friends and feeling impotent to help them.
“We will move forward in just a few seconds,” commanded Kingsley, the tone of his voice reflecting the practiced skill with which he had led many missions as a senior Auror. “And, Harry, I want you to get back under your invisibility cloak now. And stay there, young man. No heroics! Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Harry.
“And once you are in the Butler’s Pantry, you are to stay there, invisible, until and unless you are called for. Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Harry again.
“Listen to me, Harry. We cannot afford for anyone to defeat or disarm you in battle. That will cause everything we have done to date to go to waste. It will make your defeat of Voldemort meaningless if you allow anyone else to gain mastery of the Elder Wand. You understand this, yes?”
“Of course,” hissed Harry, tired of being lectured like a little boy. He understood the importance of not creating a new and deathly powerful Dark Lord.
“Control your temper, Harry,” cautioned the Minister for Magic. “You are here for the sole purpose of facing down Diana Parkinson or any other of our enemies in the event — and only in the event — that they seem to have mastery over the Elder Wand. You are our last resort, for the wand will not work against you.”
“And hopefully not against my friends and allies,” finished Harry. “I understand everything, Kingsley, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Very well,” said Kingsley. “Let’s move ahead. Remember, from now until we reach the Butler’s Pantry, we are following Pansy.”
Harry slipped the invisibility cloak over his head, suddenly thankful for being hidden from his friends and fellow comrades. After years of active resistance against the most powerful Dark wizard in history, he was disgusted with the thought of being reduced to a contingent role — condemned to hiding in a closet while his friends fought against evil.
“Psst!” hissed Ron in Harry’s general direction. “It’s okay, mate. I know exactly how you feel right now, but let it go. We’re here for you, Harry. Let us do our part.”
Harry simply shook his head in amused disbelief. Since becoming engaged to Ginny, he had almost forgotten how incredibly well his friend knew him.
“Okay, git!” Harry replied, amazed to hear a touch of levity in his own voice. “I’ll be a good boy, I will.”
Narcissa Malfoy sat bolt upright in the wing chair closest to the foyer, the table and Elder Wand between her and the southern wall of the Great Room. Her eyes darted momentarily to her right, straining to find a single illuminated wand tip, which would be her sign to spring into action. She glanced at her watch, the fifth time she had done so in the last five minutes.
“Do you have an appointment, Narcissa?” asked Diana from the wing-backed chair to her right. Obviously Narcissa’s nervousness had drawn attention, for their hostess had been in the process of describing her plan to lure Harry Potter into an attempt to retrieve the Elder Wand.
“No, of course not,” Narcissa replied. “I’m just not quite right since Lucius died. Everything seems out of sync — even time.”
“Yes, Lucius,” said Diana harshly, “the wizard whose arrogance and impatience cost him his life.”
Something clenched inside Narcissa, possibly due to Diana’s tone of voice, or maybe just a function of yet another insult being thrown at her husband. She tensed, stared directly at Diana, and said, “Yes, he overreached, but your husband had no problem following him into disaster.”
“My husband,” stressed Diana, “is safely abroad in Romania and has already been informed that we are in possession of the Elder Wand. He is busy pulling together like-minded wizards and will soon be spreading our network across Europe. All we need to do now is learn all we can about Harry Potter so we can entice him into our web when the time is right.”
“A much better plan than the one hatched by my late husband,” Narcissa acknowledged softly, regaining control of her temper.
The other witches murmured their collective approval from the settee and side chairs.
“That, of course, is where you come in Narcissa.”
“In what way,” she asked, somewhat discomforted by the wild look that had crossed Diana’s face.
“Expelliarmus!” screamed Tina Mulciber as she leapt to her feet, her wand pointing directly at Narcissa.
“What?” screeched Narcissa, watching helplessly as her wand flew across the room to the witch who had suddenly disarmed her.
“We know all about you and Harry Potter,” said Diana, condescension dripping from every word.
“About me and Harry Potter?” asked Narcissa, meanwhile fighting against panic and desperately attempting to maintain her composure. While this was not the diversion she had planned on creating, it would have to suffice. She glanced out the window, hoping to see Ginny’s illuminated wand tip, but it had not yet been lit.
“Yes, Gregory Goyle told us how Potter and his friends saved your son. And John Dawlish filled in the picture for us, telling how Draco claimed to be helping Pansy derail Lucius’s attack. He also told us what you did in the Forbidden Forest!”
“What lie did Dawlish tell you?” asked Narcissa, now fighting for time.
“Dawlish informed us that Harry Potter gave testimony to the Minister of Magic that you intentionally misled the Dark Lord into believing that Potter was dead.”
“Dawlish is a two-faced liar and a gormless berk!” protested Narcissa as, at last, Ginny’s wand tip glowed in the twilight. Improvising, Narcissa rose from her chair, swayed dramatically, and crashed down upon the glass box that shattered between her falling weight and the mercilessly hard surface of the table upon which the Elder Wand had been displayed. Pain shot fiercely through Narcissa’s chest as her world faded into darkness. The last things she heard was the clatter of the Elder Wand as it bounced aimlessly across the room.
As instructed, Harry had been the last member of the attack team to enter the Butler’s Pantry, where he remained under the protection of the invisibility cloak. They had arrived exactly on schedule, giving them three minutes’ grace period before Ginny was due to cast the Lumos Charm, thereby giving Narcissa the signal to begin her diversionary tactics. Surprisingly, however, the appointed time had come and gone while the assembly of witches in the Great Room remained quiet.
Suddenly, the silence had been broken and the Disarming Spell had echoed through the house, followed immediately by frightening accusations being hurled at Narcissa. Harry cursed himself for submitting to Kingsley’s judgment to include Dawlish on the assault team and began to wonder if he was in cahoots with the McKenna twins, with whom he had shared such a pointed expression about Ginny’s leadership. If that was the case, Ginny and her entire team were in grave danger.
Knowing that his role would most likely be relegated to hiding in the Butler’s Pantry while others fought in his stead, Harry reacted on instinct. He couldn’t sit idly by, knowing all the while that his wife’s team included at least one, and possibly three, traitors. He thought momentarily about sneaking away to assist Ginny but reconsidered. Instead, Harry tugged at the sleeve of the wizard standing in front of him.
“Ron!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m going to stop Dawlish from whatever he’s doing.”
Ron hesitated for no more than a second before responding, “Then go! I’ll handle things here.”
Hermione’s team ascended the front staircase in total silence. The evening was warm and the air was alive with the sounds of nocturnal insects waking from their day of rest. Neither they nor the group of witches and wizards had any clue that things had gone mad within the quiet-seeming mansion.
Things were entirely different for the team that approached the building from the rear.
“Freeze!” shouted John Dawlish as Ginny moved to her appointed position. Standing behind the rest of the team, Hamish and Cullum McKenna had also drawn their wands. Surprised, the others in the party stopped in their tracks.
“I thought they didn’t know what was happening,” said Hamish, his voice sounding more sheepish than Dawlish would have anticipated given the situation.
“They don’t,” Dawlish replied. “We’ve been with Kingsley all day, so I had no chance to send a warning. However, we can’t let them capture the wand! If they do, everything is over.”
“So, you’re going off on your own?” asked Cullum.
“What choice do we have?” said Dawlish, answering a question with a question.
“I don’t know,” muttered Hamish, “but I didn’t intend to be exposed in public. We’re not prepared to flee the country tonight.”
“Who said anything about running away?” replied Dawlish. “We’ll just kill this lot and no one will know they didn’t die in the battle.”
“What battle, you moron?” spat Cullum. “It’s as quiet as a church service in there.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” said Dawlish. “Let’s do it now!”
Unable to believe that three members of her group had paused to discuss something, Ginny knew instinctively the time had come to act. Throwing her own safety to the wind, she whispered, “Lumos!” instantaneously lighting the tip of he wand. She held it steady for a few seconds, unsure why her group was not following the established protocol, but not knowing that Dawlish and his cronies were preparing to strike. Instead, there was silence. Neither Dawlish nor either of the McKenna twins acted, each apparently afraid to be the first to act, none intelligent enough to improvise effectively.
“Now!” Dawlish repeated, yet nothing happened.
Satisfied that she had held the signal long enough for Mrs. Malfoy’s notification, and deeply disturbed by the apparent mutiny within her ranks, Ginny whispered, “Nox” and dropped her arm to her side, planted her pivot foot, and turned into the suffocating pressure of Disapparation. Less than a second later, she reappeared behind the turncoats who had ceased to follow her commands.
Tired of waiting for his compatriots to act, Dawlish quickly cast a Cutting Curse at the spot Ginny was in the process of vacating. The spell flew harmlessly past her suddenly empty location and smashed ineffectively against the back patio.
At the same time a dreadful crash could be heard coming from the Great Room as, without warning, all hell appeared to be breaking loose inside.
“Stupefy!” shouted Ginny the moment she rematerialized behind her adversaries, aiming first at Dawlish.
This aggressive action on Ginny’s part seemed to be the impetus the McKenna brothers needed to force them both into action. Cullum turned, spotted Ginny, and screamed, “Stupefy!” in return.
A red bolt of light erupted from his wand and sped toward Ginny, who had no time to react. However, a split second before the spell would have collided with its target, Ginny felt herself being tackled from the side, and the red flash sailed harmlessly behind her.
“What the hell?” Ginny cried, pleased to have been spared the force of the offensive spell, yet surprised to have been knocked off her feet.
“Move, Ginny! Move!” came Harry’s disembodied voice.
Understanding at last what had happened, Ginny saw a blast of sickening green light.
“Avada Kedavra!” screamed Hamish while pointing his wand in Ginny’s general direction.
Appalled to see the Killing Curse coming at her once again, Ginny hurled herself back toward the spot where she had been standing before the initial attack.
Hamish had guessed erroneously that Ginny would continue in the same direction in which she had been moving. Again, the spell sailed harmlessly by. Not requiring additional instruction, she dove back amidst the windswept hops and out of the sight of her attacker.
After knocking his wife out of the way of the attack launched by Cullum McKenna, Harry leapt to his feet, launching the most aggressive spell in his arsenal, Sectumsempra!
Cullum crumbled in a blood-soaked heap, totally disabled.
“Petrificus Totalus,” roared Charlie, and his spell found its mark with perfect accuracy, causing the last of the three traitors to tumble forward, completely petrified.
“Harry!” Ginny gasped in disbelief while emerging from the field of hops.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked while disentangling himself from his cloak.
“I’m fine, thanks to you,” she answered. “How did you know?”
“Long story,” he replied. “For now, let’s get up to the terrace and try to close off their escape route.”
But it was too late. As the remnants of Ginny’s team closed upon their originally assigned target, three soft “pops” split the air, and three witches who had only moments earlier fled from the building were gone to destinations unknown.
Kingsley’s assault unit had burst through the door that separated the Butler’s Pantry from the Great Room, wands at the ready. Narcissa Malfoy lay disheveled across the table, blood pouring freely from a wound beneath her right breast. Her complexion was even paler than normal, and her breathing was already ragged. His first inclination was to leap to her assistance, but Kingsley realized that the primary objective was still to regain possession of the Elder Wand, followed closely by their charge to capture Diana Parkinson and her associates. Narcissa’s needs, no matter how critical, would have to wait.
Alison Avery was the first to spot the intruders as they entered the room. Kingsley saw recognition flash in the witch’s eyes as they made contact, albeit briefly. To the Minister’s surprise, Avery dropped her wand hand and took a quick look at her surroundings before sprinting toward the front door of the mansion.
“Impedimenta!” bellowed Kingsley, instantaneously knocking Avery to the side of the foyer where she slammed against the wall. Before she could move, Kingsley was upon her. “Incarcerous” he shouted, binding the witch securely. Satisfied that she was well and truly bound, Kingsley returned his attention to the others in the room.
Bill Weasley and Pansy Parkinson were gathered together over the form of Narcissa Malfoy, with Bill chanting softly and moving his wand slowly over her wound. For her part, Narcissa was barely conscious, but murmuring her son’s name repetitively.
Ron was on his hands and knees, searching frantically for the Elder Wand.
“Mrs. Malfoy said the wand went flying across the room, so I figured it was most important to find it before someone else could.”
Three soft “pops” came from the terrace, confirming for Kingsley that the second phase of their mission had failed. Diana Parkinson and two of her compatriots had escaped. Kingsley felt frustration rising in his chest then halted momentarily; as quickly as his temper had risen, it receded. What more could he have expected from this mixed team of gifted, yet untrained witches and wizards? Shocking those surrounding him in the Great Room, Kingsley actually laughed.
At the same time, Harry rushed in from the terrace.
“What are you doing, Ron?” he asked when she saw his best friend scouring the floor.
“He’s trying to find the Elder Wand,” said Kingsley, trying mightily to contain his laughter. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
“Why don’t you give me the chance?” answered Harry.
“What’s so funny?” asked Ron, color rising in his cheeks out of frustration at becoming the butt of some unknown joke between Harry and the Minister for Magic.
“Accio Elder Wand,” commanded its master, causing the wand to leap into the air from beneath the settee and sail safely into Harry’s open palm.
“Shite!” muttered Ron, slapping his hand against the floor. “Well, at least I didn’t have to listen to Hermione asking whether or not I’m really a wizard.”
“So, how do you think Hermione will take this decision?” Ron asked as he and Harry strolled quietly across the moor closest to Potter Manor.
“She was there, Ron. She already understands that Kingsley has been right all along. The Auror Department is in a shambles and he needs good people to straighten it out.”
“But I never imagined myself working in the Ministry,” countered Ron. “And George had been talking to me about joining him at the joke shop. He needs a hand now that Fred is gone.”
“You just said so yourself, Ron. We already know of at least one group that is actively planning to overthrow the Ministry, and I’m willing to bet that the Parkinson group isn’t the only one that would like to see the current order stood on its ear.”
“Maybe George will have room for me later,” said Ron hopefully. “You know, after you have taken over as Minister and Hermione is running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“I thought Hermione didn’t want to work in the Ministry,” said Harry, surprised to hear that she might have changed her mind. “And I will never be Minister for Magic. Never!”
“She had her own change of heart after yesterday’s confrontation,” Ron explained. “She wants to make a difference, but she has had enough of the battlefield.”
“Haven’t we all?” asked Harry.
“Yeah,” Ron replied, shaking his head in frustration. “But I don’t think some of us are going to be able to avoid it.”
“As long as no one can find the Elder Wand,” said Harry softly, “perhaps it will be some time before anyone makes another attempt to seize power. Hopefully the recent failures will convince the bogus Dark Lords out there that it isn’t in their best interests to try to destroy us.”
“Right, mate,” Ron replied. “As long as we can be certain that no one is working from within to tear us down.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Harry, reaching an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Which is also the reason Hermione will be completely understanding of your decision.”
“And it’s not like we won’t be together most nights and evenings,” added Ron. “With the Headmistress allowing us to live at Hogwarts and all.”
“And all,” Harry agreed.
“But what about Kingsley?” Ron fretted. “What about our training?”
“Don’t worry,” Harry said reassuringly. “I’ve already made arrangements to begin formal Auror training tomorrow, with Kingsley providing much of the training personally. But I’m definitely taking two weeks off for our honeymoon at Lac Annecy. I’m sure he’ll happily allow the same arrangements for you.”
As they climbed out of the moor, the Elizabethan manor that had passed into the ownership of Harry and Ginny came impressively into view.
“Ginny loves it here in Cornwall,” said Harry casually. “We had been planning to live in Godric’s Hollow, but with the need for extra security, we’ve changed our minds and intend to live here instead. After Ginny finishes at Hogwarts, of course.”
“B-Bu …But it’s so huge,” stammered Ron.
“Lots of room for an official Quidditch Pitch,” said Harry jokingly. In reality, there was room enough for more than a hundred stadiums, each large enough to host the Quidditch World Cup. “You know Ginny still has it in the back of her mind to play professionally once she finishes at Hogwarts.”
Ron nodded silently, not surprised that his dynamo of a sister would aspire to such an occupation.
“And, of course, plenty of room for a large family to visit,” Harry replied. “Ginny and I decided it would be the perfect place for loads of Weasley cousins to gather, once we have our own children, of course.”
“And does Healer Smethwyck think things are promising?” Ron inquired.
“We really won’t know for sure until we start trying to have a family, but for now we’re following healer’s orders. However, I never realized two weeks could seem like an eternity.”
Ron recoiled dramatically, although Harry could detect a smile lurking beneath the surface. “Careful, Potter,” he protested. “That’s still my sister you’re talking about.”
The warm afternoon sun beamed down upon them as they crossed the well-manicured lawn leading to the back terrace of the manor. Ginny and Hermione stood side by side, waving at the men they had chosen to spend their lives with while sipping happily from a selection of fine mead that Kreacher had discovered in the cellar.
“We have so much to be thankful for,” said Harry thoughtfully.
“And even more to look forward to,” answered Ron.
Harry looked up at Ginny, a lump forming quickly in his throat and momentarily preventing him from speaking.
“Everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he thought with a smile. “Everything and a considerable amount more.”
Chapter 21: Chapter 21 - And Two Shall Become One
Author's Notes: There is still an epilogue to come!
CHAPTER 21 — AND TWO SHALL BECOME ONE
Ginny Potter stood gracefully next to her closest female friend, whose white robes glistened as if they had gathered every last ounce of the Cornwall sunset and reflected it richly, illuminating all in attendance. The crowd was larger than the one that had assembled just two weeks earlier in the garden at the Burrow, which seemed perfectly natural, although her eyes kept being drawn to the cluster of Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, and Pansy Parkinson. Ginny hardly needed to remind herself that Pansy had thankfully been present at her own wedding, but it was still shocking to see her as a guest.
“You’d better get used to seeing her around,” Ginny reminded herself, “now that Pansy has agreed to take on such important responsibilities for Harry.”
Of course, the press had once again been excluded. Ginny knew the day was coming when her husband would have to face the throngs of journalists who were now bombarding him with daily requests for interviews, but that time had not yet arrived. She and Harry needed peace, something that had finally been theirs for the last twelve nights — nights they had shared in deep conversations and frustrated desires.
She looked again at the young witch who stood beside her, the woman who was about to become her sister-in-law, although she had been like Ginny’s sister for years and the friend who had held her hand through the sad times when Harry Potter had acted as if he didn’t even know she was alive. Her heart swelled at the sight of Hermione Granger as she stared lovingly at Ginny’s brother, oblivious to everything else in the world, concentrating all of her considerable intellect upon the man who would become her husband in less than a minute, and Ginny knew it was as it should be. For the first time in two weeks, Ginny allowed herself a morsel of forgiveness for not having sensed the danger that had loomed unnoticed at her own wedding, because she knew that every bride deserved to be completely lost in this moment without fear or trepidation.
The Vicar of St. Andrew’s Church, Godric’s Hollow, stood before them once again on a platform populated only by Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. He smiled warmly at the latter couple, whose hands were clasped tightly together and bound in the white stole he wore for the most important of liturgical occasions: weddings, funerals, baptisms, and the highest holy days of his faith. Amidst the awe-inspiring events transpiring before her, Ginny’s emotions rose within her, waging war within her soul — the joy of watching Ron and Hermione join their lives together competing with the bitterness that she and Harry had been denied the rich blessings of what was to follow.
“In as much as Ronald and Hermione have honored one another through the exchange of vows and giving of rings, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce that they are husband and wife.”
The Vicar lowered his gaze to the young couple and tightened the stole even more firmly about their hands before pronouncing directly to them, “I declare you bonded for life.”
Mesmerized, Ginny watched as her brother took his new bride in his arms and kissed her — softly, respectfully, reverently — before a hungry grin flickered on his face and Hermione blushed ever so slightly. The bride giggled softly before lifting up on her tiptoes to meet her husband’s lips in another kiss. Her unbound arm slipped suddenly over Ron’s shoulders and her moan, though soft in volume, could be heard throughout the silent crowd. Ginny continued watching; completely entranced by Hermione’s uncharacteristic public display of affection, until she became aware that a wave of delighted laughter was spreading through the congregation.
The Vicar, smiling broadly and obviously fighting against his own desire to join in the laughter, cleared his throat and removed the stole from the couple’s joined hands. Immediately, Hermione’s now-liberated arm shot upward as her fingers clasped around Ron’s neck.
“I present to you Hermione and Ronald Weasley, two souls merged as one.”
The Vicar’s words washed over Ginny, soothing her in a way she would never have dreamed possible. All thoughts of jealousy dissolved instantaneously, leaving not even the slightest hint of bitterness. She was filled with happiness, joy for Ron and Hermione and gratitude for herself and Harry, for regardless of anything else that had transpired after Lucius Malfoy cast his Killing Curse, her soul had been irrevocably, unconditionally merged with Harry Potter’s, and the two of them had become one.
Passion surged within her as Ginny’s eyes sought those of her husband. Harry was delightedly watching the bride and groom, who had finally broken their embrace and turned to face the congregation of friends and family. She swallowed hard; there was simply something about that man that had driven Ginny mad since their very first meeting — the constantly disheveled black hair, the round-rimmed glasses that should have made him look like a silly boffin but never did, the lopsided grin, and those amazing eyes!
“Potter!” she half-whispered in Harry’s direction.
Suddenly his brilliant green eyes shifted slightly, and Harry was staring directly back at her, his grin transformed into a wide smile, and the thought that had been trying to form in Ginny’s mind jelled perfectly. She felt a wicked grin spread across her own lips and watched as a highly satisfactory reaction settled on her husband’s face. Whatever they had missed over the past two weeks, Ginny was determined to make up for it as soon as they could reasonably sneak away from Ron and Hermione’s reception.
Harry was enthralled by the blazing ruby and diamond pendant that danced above him on Ginny’s perfectly freckled breasts. The two-week wait mandated by Healer Smethwyck had seemed like an eternity, and Kingsley’s efforts to consume his days with a crash course in Auror Preparedness had done precious little to distract the frustrated newlywed.
The previous evening, Kingsley had dismissed Harry in his customary fashion: “See you tomorrow, Harry!”
“Not for two weeks, and you know it!” Harry had answered before giving the Minister of Magic a brief, warm smile and Disapparating.
He had been haunted by brief pangs of guilt that he had been unable to concentrate on Ron and Hermione’s nuptials. Hermione had looked beautiful, her wild hair tamed only enough to fall in tendrils down her neck, and he had been unable to miss seeing why Ron Weasley had been crazy about Harry’s chosen sister for so many years. But Harry simply couldn’t keep his eyes off the petite red-haired witch in the pale yellow bridesmaid robes. Ginny Potter, Matron of Honor extraordinaire, was undoubtedly the most alluring witch Harry had ever seen, and he had spent the entire wedding and subsequent reception literally aching to be back in his wife’s arms.
They had been making love for hours, christening their master suite at Potter Manor, and hoping from time to time that they had remembered to cast an adequate Imperturbable Charm. Ron and Hermione, however, were in the quarters the Potters had provided in the opposite wing of the manor and were, no doubt, engaged in similar activities. Kreacher had remained behind to tend to the next morning’s necessities, but his children had already moved on to Lac Annecy. Kingsley Shacklebolt was personally overseeing the elite Auror unit that was patrolling the perimeter, as no one had been inclined to make the same mistakes that had plagued Harry and Ginny’s wedding. All these factors combined to provide Harry with a greater sense of freedom than he could remember experiencing since he and his young friends had become consumed with the security of the Philosopher’s Stone.
Harry’s gaze had wandered from the shimmering pendant only to meet Ginny’s brilliant brown eyes — eyes that blazed more passionately than he could ever remember seeing. Suddenly he felt her begin to come undone. The sex was great, Harry knew without question, but the thing that truly overwhelmed him was the knowledge that he and Ginny were finally one with each other, with no legal, physical, spiritual, or emotional impediments.
As his heartbeat returned to normal, Harry looked up at his wife, breathed deeply, and whispered, “A wink of sleep before we leave for France?”
“If you can’t keep up, Potter...”
“What do you mean, ‘if I can’t keep up?’ I’ve been keeping up all night,” Harry insisted, suddenly concerned that Ginny was disappointed, something he’d tried to avoid every time they had been together.
Ginny must have noticed the cloud of worry pass over his eyes, as the hard edge disappeared quickly from her face.
“Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “You know I’m kidding, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” he responded, hoping desperately that what she had said was true.
“Oh, Merlin!” she gasped. “You are worried.”
“Of course I am,” Harry answered, his eyes searching for anything to look at other than Ginny’s eyes but failing completely. He loved those eyes and had ever since he noticed them peeking out at him all those years ago at the Burrow “I want everything to be perfect for you.”
“It is perfect, silly. It’s always perfect because I’m with you,” Ginny said soothingly, the look in her eyes now imploring him to see how earnestly she was trying to communicate with him.
Despite her soothing words, Harry felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks.
“You know,” Ginny said softly, “breakfast actually sounds better than a kip, but perhaps a shower first?”
Harry watched his wife pop gracefully out of bed, her perfect body still flushed from lovemaking.
“God, you are so beautiful!” Harry thought silently, not wanting to sound as completely pathetic as he felt. “No, you’re bloody perfect!”
His mind raced to the last time they had showered together at Grimmauld Place. A surge of adrenaline rose within him, or perhaps, he thought, it might be testosterone, but regardless of the cause, he felt desire building once again deep within him.
“Wait for me!” he called behind her.
Ginny turned, her fiendish grin having returned as her eyes riveted back on her husband. “Catch me!” she challenged, but Harry was certain what he heard in her voice was actually the sound of an invitation.
At the opposite end of the manor, Ron Weasley awakened slowly. His wife’s breathing was slow, rhythmic, reassuring.
As if she had felt his gaze upon her back, Hermione stirred, then struggled to open her eyes to the morning light.
“Morning,” he said softly, urging his voice to communicate exactly how much he cherished every moment with her.
“Morning,” she replied, a slight smile creasing her lips.
Ron leaned forward to kiss her, but his efforts were thwarted when Hermione raised her hand between them.
“Please!” she sighed emphatically. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“Are you a witch or what?” Ron asked, unable to restrain the playful laughter that accompanied their now long-running joke. Before she could think or say anything, Ron cast a gentle Refreshing Charm.
“That’s clever, Ron,” she replied, a devilish glint flickering in her eyes.
“Always the look of surprise,” he answered before closing the distance between them and kissing his wife — his wife — as passionately as he possibly could.
Hermione and Ron were slumped peacefully together, shoulder to shoulder, at the breakfast table in Potter Manor, fingers interlaced, eyes locked dreamily upon each other’s, conversation unnecessary.
Kreacher moved cheerfully about the kitchen preparing a full breakfast of black pudding, bangers, eggs, and toast for the young couples to enjoy before heading across the Channel and on to the Alps. He seemed as if years had been stripped from him, moving more quickly than Ron could ever remember, and smiling almost as if he was the reincarnation of Dobby. The thought of the fallen house elf caused a slight sigh to escape Ron’s lips. No matter how wonderful things were on so many levels, the steep price of victory would rise up painfully at the most surprising of times.
“Something wrong?” Hermione asked.
“No,” he replied. “I was just thinking about Dobby.”
“I know,” whispered Hermione. “Sometimes it’s just too much …”
But Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted as Harry and Ginny stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, and Harry tried to give his wife one last kiss before joining their newlywed friends for breakfast. Ginny giggled and pretended to resist his advances but submitted almost at the very first moment they were seated at the table.
Hermione gasped audibly when Harry turned in his chair while intertwining his fingers in Ginny’s long red hair; as he did so, Ginny’s bruised neck became visible.
“Oi!” shouted Ron in mock dismay. “Have neither of you ever heard of a Healing Charm?”
Ginny’s hand moved tentatively up to the spot slightly below and behind her left earlobe before an impish grin lit up her face.
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered playfully. “Why?”
Silence hung briefly in the air before both couples fell into good-natured laughter and knowing looks were exchanged without words being spoken. Moments later, Kreacher arrived at the table, levitating their breakfast plates before him.
“Master Harry, Mistress Ginny? Is you or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley requiring anything more of Kreacher?”
“Coffee, perhaps?” Harry mumbled.
“Kreacher has already put coffee and tea on the counter behind you,” Kreacher said proudly.
“Then everything is wonderful,” said Harry. “And, Kreacher …”
“Yes, Master?”
“Thank you for everything. And you shouldn’t call me ‘Master.’ You and your children are free elves.”
“Yes, Master Harry,” said Kreacher with a deep bow. “Kreacher will return to clean after breakfast, and then we leave for your honeymoons!”
As the elf took his leave, Ron looked quizzically back at Harry. “So, what did Parkinson say when you offered her the job?”
“It took a while to sink in, I think,” answered Ginny, who had made the actual proposal. “But after I told her why we thought she would be perfect for the position and Harry explained why the orphanage is so important, especially after the war, and how many lives the Wolfsbane program could save, she didn’t need much additional persuading.”
“Right,” added Harry. “As different as their respective situations are, Pansy is feeling a bit lost, herself. Her parents may be alive, but she is as good as dead to them. She no longer has a home of her own, and her mum has disowned her. I think it will be a job she can truly get into.”
“But are you sure you can trust her to run the operations?” Ron asked.
“Aside from you, Hermione, and your parents, Pansy will be the only person who knows that Ginny and I are funding both the Dumbledore Centre for Orphaned Children and the Remus Lupin Wolfsbane Potion Distribution Network. And yes, after all she has done in the last couple of weeks, I’m convinced we can trust her.”
“Merlin’s beard!” muttered Ron, shaking his head in genuine disbelief. “Who would have thought that Pansy Parkinson and Narcissa Malfoy would risk their lives to fight against Voldemort’s remnants?”
“It’s like Hermione explained while we were searching for Horcruxes,” Harry began. “Remorse may be painful to endure, but it can heal even the worst sort of evil.”
Hermione looked down at her meal and tried surreptitiously to wipe a single tear from the corner of her eye.
Reaching across the table, Harry took her hand in his and said, “You have been truly brilliant, Hermione.”
Obviously uncomfortable with such direct praise from Harry, Hermione looked away and cleared her throat. “But what about Draco?” she asked at last.
Harry looked first at Ginny before a sparkle flashed in his eyes. “I still think he’s a ferret,” he said as a note of levity filled his voice, “but I’ve asked Kingsley if he can see his way clear to allow Draco to avoid prosecution, at least for now.”
“Do you think that’s really wise?” Hermione asked, skepticism lacing her words.
“Honestly, I think he’s too weak to be much of a threat on his own. Malfoy has never been much of a leader — he’s just a bully -- and a coward who traded on his father’s position and power.”
“But Kingsley says he will keep Draco on a short leash,” added Ginny.
Ron leaned back in his chair, silently hoping his friend knew what he was doing, yet trusting in Harry’s judgment. After all, Harry had seen Malfoy falter atop the Astronomy Tower and Moaning Myrtle had watched while he wept in fear and despair. And who knew what he had truly planned to do when he followed Pansy onto the roof at the Burrow?
Clearing his throat, Ron gathered his thoughts to speak but was interrupted by Kreacher’s return.
“Minister Shacklebolt is coming with your Portkeys, sirs and misses,” the elf croaked excitedly. “It is time you is being off for your honeymoons!”
Ginny looked knowingly in Ron’s direction. “Just remember that you two are in the Western Wing,” she said, adding dramatic affectation to stress her point to her brother. “And we’ll see you occasionally for meals — maybe! And, if I hear one more comment about Healing Charms, I just might have to hex you!
Chapter 22: Chapter 22 - Epilogue
Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this long-winded story. I''ve had so much fun cleaning it up and making it, I hope, just a little better!
CHAPTER 22 — EPILOGUE
Saturday, June 5, 2004
Ron Weasley fidgeted in his seat, a combination of nervousness about the English Professional Quidditch Championship and his difficulty in finding a comfortable position in the undersized seats of the Top Box. Hermione had tried to magically expand the chair but had been unsuccessful in overcoming the powerful magic that held the massive facility in place.
Ron’s shoulder was heavily bandaged, ensuring that a liberal application of Dittany would remain in place no matter how excited he might become during the match. Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck had grown far too accustomed to treating the wounds suffered by Mr. Weasley and had only grudgingly agreed to this compromise, fully aware that the Senior Auror would have walked out of St. Mungo’s against medical advice had he tried to keep the impulsive young man away from the contest.
“So, have you decided who you are supporting tonight?” asked Harry playfully.
“Do I have a choice?” Ron replied.
“Of course you do,” said Harry, a vicious grin spreading across his face. “You can support your Cannons … as long as you don’t mind being on the receiving end of one of Ginny’s most uncomfortable hexes.”
“Sod off, Potter!” Ron muttered. “Bloody Cannons finally get their act together when it’s time to face off against the Harpies — my sister’s Harpies.”
“Well, at least you made it here,” added Harry. “I assume it’s not necessary to remind you how close we came to losing you yesterday.”
“I still can’t believe old man Parkinson used Sectumsempra instead of the Killing Curse. Guess we got off damned lucky this time.” said Ron, keeping his voice down so as not to be overheard by everyone streaming into the Top Box. However, despite his best efforts, Ron was unable to keep the conversation private from Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“You’re far too reckless, Ron,” whispered the Minister for Magic. “You have to trust that Harry can take care of himself without jumping in front of every curse thrown his way.”
“I don’t jump in front of them, Kingsley,” protested Ron. “But I do keep him from making my sister a widow at the tender age of twenty-two.”
“Merlin!” exclaimed Harry, shaking his head emphatically. “Six years. Six bloody years since we set out to capture Malcolm Parkinson and his bat-shit crazy wife.”
“Watch it, Potter! That’s my bat-shit crazy mum you’re talking about,” said Pansy, who had slipped unnoticed into the row immediately behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“Thankfully the condition doesn’t appear to be hereditary,” quipped Harry, although he looked at the Executive Director of both the Albus Dumbledore Centre for Orphaned Children and the Remus Lupin Wolfsbane Potion Distribution Networkwith compassion. “I’m sorry, Pansy. I know this can’t be easy for you.”
“They disowned me, Harry, and thank Merlin, Morgana, and Dumbledore that I got free from all that Pureblood insanity,” Pansy answered, though a certain hint of sadness remained in her eyes.
“You know,” said Ron, a nervous edge creeping into his voice, “sometimes I can’t believe you’re even the same person who suggested that everyone turn Harry over to Voldemort.”
“Ron!” blurted Hermione, turning beet-red as she looked at her husband.
“What? I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” he protested.
“It’s okay, and thank you, Ron,” Pansy answered. “I honestly think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Ron stared at her, relieved that she had understood the meaning of his ill-thought-out comment. She barely resembled the witch he had seen in Slytherin robes for six years, and all of the changes had been for the better. She even seemed to understand that he had meant his comment as a compliment, even if no one else within earshot could possibly have interpreted it that way.
He looked around the Top Box that was quickly filling with people named Weasley — those with red hair and those who had joined the family by marriage — along with a few other important friends, such as Pansy Parkinson and Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Arthur sat next to his wife, their hands clasped together upon Molly’s green robe. The family matriarch’s ensemble was completed by a gold blouse that peeked out at the collar and cuffs. Arthur was dressed in identical fashion, an endearing circumstance that brought a smile to Ron’s face. In fact, everyone in the booth, save the Minister for Magic, was clad in the green and gold colors of the Holyhead Harpies.
Strawberry-blonde Victoire sat immediately behind her grandfather, flanked by her mum and dad. She was the most beautiful five-year-old Ron had ever seen, but that wasn’t at all surprising for the daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley. Despite the deep scars that still marred his eldest brother’s face, Ron remained just a little jealous of Bill’s ruggedly handsome appearance, and Fleur was … well … Fleur. She remained the picture of elegance and grace despite the presence of Dominique, who was obviously holding on to her mother for dear life.
George and Angelina had just arrived and had yet to take a seat, despite the fact that the Quaffle was due to be released at any moment. Their son, Fred, was restrained tightly by one of his father’s hands as he tried to rush toward the front row of seats. The youngster had obviously inherited the same unrestrained sense of adventure and fearlessness that had fueled George and his still dearly missed twin.
Percy had just introduced everyone to his date, Audrey, who was looking from face to face and moving her lips silently. Ron chuckled lightly, catching his wife’s attention.
“Oh, stop it, Ron,” she whispered, feigning exasperation. “At least this one is trying to remember who is who in our family.”
Molly looked around, beaming at her rapidly expanding family before looking in Pansy’s direction. “What time did Charlie say he’d be here, dear?”
“As soon as Norberta can be successfully medicated. He says she has a nasty temper for a Norwegian Ridgeback.”
“What would you expect from a dragon who thinks Hagrid is her mum?” Ron asked, bringing a ripple of laughter from Harry and Hermione.
At last, the high-pitched trill of the referee’s whistle pierced the air, simultaneously bringing a response of silence from the crowd of more than one hundred fifty thousand witches and wizards. Those in the Top Box heard Kingsley whisper, “Sonorous,” as he lifted his wand to the vicinity of his vocal chords.
“Good evening and welcome to the final match of the English National Professional Quidditch Championships! Tonight’s contest matches the Chudley Cannons …” he paused for those wearing bright orange to cheer frenetically, “… against the Holyhead Harpies.” Again, approximately half the stadium erupted in cheers as supporters unfurled a large banner, Harpy green embossed with a wicked golden talon.
“At this point, three teams remain in the running for the championship trophy,” continued Kingsley. “If the Cannons …” he paused for another round of applause, “… defeat the Harpies by at least three hundred fifty points, the championship will belong to Chudley. However, a Cannons’ victory of less than three hundred fifty points would propel Puddlemere United to the title.”
A smattering of Puddlemere fans voiced their approval of this possibility.
“On the other hand, a victory of any magnitude will suffice to earn the Harpies their third consecutive English Professional Championship.”
“At least we have some suspense this year,” said Percy, obviously trying to impress his date with his knowledge of the sport. Everyone had been warned in advance that Audrey knew next to nothing about Quidditch. “If Gwenog had not insisted on playing Sylvia Bennett at Seeker despite her injuries, the Harpies would have run away with the championship already,” Percy concluded.
“But who else could play Seeker?” asked Charlie, who had just entered the box and taken a seat beside Pansy. His arm moved possessively around her shoulder as he looked about at his family. “Sylvia has been their Seeker for the last fifteen years, so Gwenog really doesn’t have a choice, does she?”
Ron looked in Harry’s direction but found his best friend silently studying the beautiful hardwood flooring of the elegant stadium suite.
“Ginny could do it,” answered George without hesitation.
Ron thought momentarily about seconding his brother’s opinion, although she hadn’t played Seeker since winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor during her final year at Hogwarts. It had been Ginny’s third time to earn the championship as Seeker, despite her clear preference to play as a Chaser
“They’ll not do that,” said Percy quickly. “I’ve recently learned that our little sister is being considered for a Chaser’s spot on the All-England team for the next World Cup!”
“It’s what she’s always dreamed of,” said Molly, her voice resonating proudly throughout the Top Box.
“She wants it more than anything, doesn’t she, Harry?” asked Percy.
Harry’s eyes never strayed from the floor, and he was spared the necessity of answering his brother-in-law when Kingsley resumed his duties as host.
“Tonight, to introduce the starting players for each squad, Puddlemere Keeper and current member of the All-England squad, Mr. Oliver Wood!”
The Weasley family sat respectfully while all seven Chudley players were introduced to the roaring crowd, followed shortly by the first six members of the Harpies. An astonished silence fell over the family when all three Chasers had been introduced without Ginny’s name being mentioned.
“Harry?” asked Ron quietly. “What’s happening?”
“And starting her first professional contest as Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Potter!” roared Wood, who was as surprised as everyone else in the Stadium.
Before the stunned crowd could come to its senses, the players took their positions, the Quaffle was released and the night air was filled with the whooshing sound of enchanted brooms being flown at break-neck speeds. Less than five minutes later, the Cannons broke the scoreless deadlock when Ginny’s replacement at Chaser, Cynthia Sherwood, fumbled the Quaffle directly in front of her own central goal. Cannons chaser, Colin Spencer, swept up the Quaffle and, in a single fluid motion, cast it directly through the hoop.
“The Harpies are going to be out of synch without Ginny at Chaser,” said Percy authoritatively.
Ron rolled his eyes as Audrey smiled in Percy’s direction and asked exactly how it was that he had become such a knowledgeable expert at Quidditch when he was responsible for so many departments at the Ministry.
“Prat!” Ron muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Hermione.
“If you weren’t already injured, Ron Weasley, I’d teach you a lesson about manners,” she whispered.
“But he’s such a wanker, acting like he understands Quidditch,” Ron hissed in return.
But Percy was quickly proven correct, as the Harpies were unable to generate any offensive cohesiveness and mistakes were turned into easy scores for the Cannons. Making matters worse, the Chudley Beaters were working to make Ginny’s evening a veritable nightmare. Crack after crack of the Beaters’ bats sent Bludgers blasting in her direction. The Cannons had clearly decided to ignore the Harpies’ weakened front line and were concentrating their efforts on Ginny Potter instead. Unless the Harpies’ inexperienced Seeker pulled off a miraculous capture of the Snitch, they could never hope to match up with the Cannons’ flyers.
An hour later, the Cannons had built the score to a shocking margin of 220 - 80 and the match was getting dangerously out of hand. Ginny had been kept dancing on her broomstick, trying desperately to spot the Golden Snitch while spending most of her time dodging ferociously aimed Bludgers.
“Oi!” Ron screamed while the entire Weasley family gasped in fear when, at last, one of the Bludger found its target. One hundred fifty feet in the air, Ginny wavered on her broom as the Bludger crashed forcefully against her left shoulder.
“Ginny! Watch out!” screamed Harry as the second Bludger missed his wife’s forehead by inches.
Robert Bertram, the Cannons’ Seeker, clutched his side in unrestrained laughter as Ginny began swerving through the crowd of players as yet another “crack” sent one of the Bludgers back in her direction.
Ron looked toward Harry, who was now holding his head in his hands, unable to look in his wife’s direction.
“What’s wrong with you, mate?” he asked laughingly. “Can’t stand to watch your wife play Quidditch any longer?”
“Something like that,” Harry replied, obviously making no attempt to match the levity that had filled Ron’s voice.
Simultaneous “cracks” split the air, and the entire stadium fell silent. Both Bludgers were rushing toward Ginny, who easily dodged the first projectile but was unable to complete the turn that would have saved her from the second. The Bludger smacked hard into the vicinity of Ginny’s right shoulder blade. Had the sight not been so frightening, what happened next would have appeared graceful.
Ginny and her broomstick pitched forward in a perfect arc before she began plummeting headfirst toward the deep green grass below. Her long red hair worked free of its restraining ponytail, waving in flaming ripples as she plunged forward. Somehow, Ginny had managed to maintain her grip on the handle of her broom, though that only served to hasten her acceleration toward the pitch. All eyes were riveted to the falling Seeker, as even her fellow players had come to a sudden stop.
Harry let out an agonizing groan as his wife fell, while Ron thought desperately through his memories, trying to recall the spell Professor Dumbledore had used to rescue Harry during their third year. At last the words came to him, but it was too late. Ginny was less than ten feet from the ground. Everyone in the Top Box braced for impact, fearing the worst for the fiery witch who meant so much to each of them, but the collision never came. Instead, Ginny’s left hand suddenly pulled the broom up at a 90-degree angle while her right snatched at something that had previously skimmed along the finely manicured lawn, unnoticed by anyone else.
The magically amplified whistle blast could barely be heard above the gasp of the crowd while the stadium commentator yelled in disbelief, “Ginny Potter has caught the Snitch! Harpies win! Harpies win the championship!”
The scoreboard turned a solid shade of gold while green letters spelled out the final score, Harpies 230 — Cannons 220.
Ron leapt from his seat, lifted both arms in celebration over his head, and collapsed back onto his chair in pain.
Ginny hugged her tongue-tied mum and gave her father a gentle kiss on his bright red cheek before telling her family that she was already late for post-game appearances. However, she had insisted on seeing her entire family before facing the press. Grabbing Harry by the hand, she stepped out of the private meeting room and began working her way toward the dais that stood along the back wall of the champions’ locker room. She had been called to the stand to receive the game’s Most Valuable Player award and was soon standing next to her captain, Gwenog Jones, who held the championship trophy proudly above her head.
“Ginny!”
“Ginny, over here!”
“Ginny, a question please!”
She looked over the sea of reporters, each calling her name, each wanting to ask one version or another of the same few questions.
“How does it feel to win another championship?”
“Brilliant!” she answered.
“How did you manage to pull out of that dive?”
“I actually learned it years ago while practicing with Harry at the Burrow,” she replied, smiling warmly back at her husband.
“What’s the Burrow?”
“Sorry. That’s our Weasley family home.”
“Are you badly hurt?”
“I’ve felt better,” she replied, “but I’ve also felt worse. It’s a rough game — Quidditch.”
“Will you consider moving to Seeker for the Quidditch World Cup?”
“I won’t be playing for the World Cup,” she said as calmly as if she happened to be discussing the weather.
“Excuse me?” several voices asked in unison.
“I said, I will not be playing for the All-England Team during the World Cup.”
The room went suddenly silent as all eyes were riveted upon the young star, who stopped and took her husband’s hand in her own.
“Are you sure?” she whispered to Harry, searching his emerald eyes for any sign of hesitation — any hint of misgiving. It was not Harry’s nature to allow such information to become available for public consumption.
“I’m sure,” he replied, squeezing her hand and smiling gently.
“I won’t be playing for the English World Cup team because, tonight, I am retiring from professional Quidditch.”
The room stilled completely, the only sound being that of quills scribbling furiously upon parchment.
“Why?” asked the lead Quidditch reporter for The Daily Prophet.
“Healer’s orders,” answered Ginny, a smile spreading broadly across her face. “Harry and I are going to be parents.”