Summary: Muggle and magical illnesses are separate. Until they’re not. Harry has always had a discernable enemy. This time, he’s fighting an invisible and indiscriminate threat. Part of the Cuts universe.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-Hogwarts
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2020.07.10
Updated: 2021.02.03
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 3: A Dramatic Change In Plans
Chapter 4: Caged
Chapter 5: Freed
Chapter 6: Connections
Chapter 7: Fitting
Chapter 8: Quidditch
Chapter 9: Office Politics
Chapter 10: Twenty-One Candles
Chapter 11: Quarantine
Chapter 12: Irritability
Chapter 13: Separation
Chapter 14: Alarm
Chapter 15: And Another
Chapter 16: Mortality
Chapter 17: Obliviate
Chapter 18: The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Chapter 19: Hope
Chapter 20: Reunited
Chapter 21: Revelations
Chapter 22: Here Comes the Sun
Chapter 23: Moving Forward
Chapter 24: Release
Chapter 25: It's My Party
Chapter 26: Interference
Chapter 27: Unintended Consequences
Chapter 28: The Important Things in Life
Chapter 29: Till Death Do Us Part
Chapter 30: The Ministry Gala
Chapter 31: And Life Goes On
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Author's Notes: I’m ba-ack! I hope you are all well and surviving quarantine, or self-isolation, or social distancing or whatever stage your place of residence might be right now. As for me, this is how I’m keeping busy – with a new story on how our favorite characters might cope with a contagion.
Now, my sickness will be very different from COVID-19, but you’ll definitely see some similarities in what the characters are going through. This story takes place in my Cuts universe, but there is no need to read those stories if you don’t want. This one can stand alone.
Huge thanks to my wonderful betas, Sherylyn and Arnel for all their help in beating this fic into submission. Also, thanks to my pre-reader, Sue, for the excellent comments and eagerness to keep me moving. Special shout-out to Dusk over at the Harry/Ginny Discord for her lovely aid with the summary. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t thank the writers over at the Ginny Lovers Discord for all their support and encouragement.
I hope you all enjoy it!
The air was heavy with the fragrance of damp earth and budding plants. The incessant spring rain was bringing nature back to life in its endless cycle of birth, decay, and regrowth. Trees surrounded the glen, some tall and erect, others gnarled and bent by the ravage of time. Small, reddish buds scattered the many branches, looking as if crimson popcorn was ready to burst. The wind rustled across the area, a silent and gentle reminder of the coming warmth.
A solitary cabin stood, partially hidden by the trees. It was small and oddly shaped, as if various parts were built and added on at different times. The thatched roof was drooping on one side, appearing as if one more strong storm would collapse it. Smoke curled from one of several chimneys, disappearing as it rose into the grey sky.
Inside the cabin, beneath the sagging, thatched roof, an elderly wizard moved with a quick grace that belied his ancient appearance. Slight of build, with a long mane of flyaway grey hair, he hurried from cauldron to cauldron, muttering under his breath and making notes on several different sheets of parchment.
The cauldrons were all bubbling with various colored potions, and the fumes of each rose and swirled in the air above, mixing and causing the wizard to cough and wheeze. His aged face was hideously pockmarked and scarred, and his flyaway hair was unrestrained, feebly attempting to hide his haggard visage.
“That’s not right,” he mumbled, hurrying to yet another cauldron and adding several more roots to the concoction.
“More potent, more potent,” he said scathingly. “They just don’t understand!” He pulled a grimy, cloth wrapped substance from an inner pocket and added it to yet another cauldron.
“It’s here somewhere, I’m certain of it. I need more Muggles!”
One of his cauldrons began spitting voluminous clouds of thick purple steam, and he hurried across the room. Grabbing his wand from the grimy work table, he circled it twice anti-clockwise, and the potion’s steam began to thin and dissipate.
“Aha, a newt,” he screamed, rushing back to his notes and jotting something down furiously. “At least the Dark Lord understood the necessity of testing. New Minister… short-sighted protocols…there’s a need for this…What? That can’t possibly be right.”
The wizard rushed back to the previous cauldrons, then began checking each one as he hurried about the room. He occasionally tugged at his flyaway hair, muttering incessantly. He stumbled several times, appearing confused. He’d stop, staring around the makeshift laboratory as if distracted, before returning to his pacing with a fanatic furor.
“It’s here. The answer is here,” he shrieked several times, becoming manic in his insistence. Sweat from his exertion and the combined heat of the potions began rolling in rivulets down his scarred face.
One of the cauldrons began bubbling over, a slow, thick slime slopping over the side and dribbling slowly down the outside. The smoke issuing from it, once again turned copious and purple. The pungent odor caused the wizard to choke and gasp, bringing his robes to his face.
“No, that’s not right,” he mumbled, stumbling and knocking into one of the cauldrons. It teetered for a moment on the edge before completely upending and splashing its scalding contents upon the wooden floor. A spark ignited into a flame, and he watched it, momentarily mesmerized. His wand hung limply in his hand as he watched the fire spread.
Another of the cauldrons hissed, and he turned in time to see it bloom into a violent explosion, spraying its contents across the whole room. He had a moment to notice his skin blistering before the entire room was engulfed in flame.
As the old cabin burned, a slender tendril of purple smoke rose into the air and was dispersed by the gently blowing spring wind.
Harry and Ron entered Grimmauld Place as quietly as they could, both sighing in relief when they found the kitchen empty. Stowing his broom in the corner, Harry sank onto a stool as Ron pulled a couple Butterbeers from the ice box. He slid one across the island counter-top towards Harry before returning to the ice box to scavenge for a snack.
Harry picked up the cold Butterbeer and held it against his swollen and rapidly darkening eye, grunting at the sting. Ron pulled out a plate of what remained of one of Mrs. Weasleys excellent custard pies, dropping it on the counter with a couple of forks.
“There’s no way Ginny’s not going to notice that,” he said, then groaned with pleasure as he swallowed a forkful of the pie.
“I’m not hiding it from her,” Harry said, helping himself to pie. “I’m just going to use some bruise balm. It’ll be gone in no time, and there’s no need to worry her over a stupid Quidditch bruise.”
Ron snorted. “I expect it’s more like she’d take the mickey over you missing the Bludger.”
Harry scowled and continued to eat his pie. He’d been with the Aurors for three years now, and had played on an inter-departmental Quidditch team since the beginning. He enjoyed flying as much as he ever had and always looked forward to playing with his team. Ginny, who played professionally on the Holyhead Harpies, loved to tease Harry about his “little league.” Being grazed by a stray Bludger wasn’t ammunition he’d enjoy giving to her.
“What’s going on with the Worthington case?” Harry asked, attempting to change the subject. He finally removed the Butterbeer from his inflamed eye and twisted off the cap, taking a long draught.
Ron shrugged, “Dunno. Williams doesn’t want to close it, but there haven’t been any new leads in over a month.”
Although they worked with separate senior Aurors, all the members of their team shared information on the various cases. They’d both completed their expedited training and had gradually been integrated into the existing Aurors. There had been several classes behind them who’d followed the same accelerated schedule. Now that the Aurors weren’t so woefully understaffed, the training had once again been lengthened and this had been the first summer without a new class of recruits joining the ranks. Harry, who’d been assigned the task of supervising one over-eager new recruit from the last class, wasn’t sorry for the reprieve.
“I can’t blame him for not wanting to give up,” Harry said. “Dark Magic doesn’t usually just stop.”
“Yeah, but it’s been a month, and no trace of anything else. Hell, we’re not even sure what spell was used,” Ron replied, finishing off his Butterbeer and reaching for another.
“Doesn’t hurt to keep the file open, anyway,” Harry said, frowning.
“Don’t think about it now,” Ron said sharply. “You’re due to go on holiday in three days, and Ginny’ll murder you if you volunteer to take on another case now.”
Harry shrugged, conceding the point. He hadn’t taken a holiday in over a year, and he’d promised Ginny they’d go away. He felt a thrill of anticipation in his belly as he thought of the small box he had hidden in the back of his sock drawer upstairs.
“Oh, for the love of Merlin’s saggy balls, Harry. Don’t even think of telling me what’s causing you to make that expression,” Ron said, revolted. “That’s my sister, and I still have no desire to know what you two get up to.”
For once, Harry’s thoughts had actually been innocent, but he wasn’t about to let Ron off that easily. “Nothing I’m sure you and Hermione haven’t got up to yourselves. I thought we agreed that our private lives were off limits.”
Along with George, the two couples had all resided at the renovated Grimmauld Place since Ginny and Hermione had left Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t been happy with the arrangement and pleaded with her daughter to come home. Ginny had outright refused, stating it was either Grimmauld Place or she’d get her own flat. She had no intention of returning to The Burrow. As Ginny was of age, and Mrs. Weasley didn’t want her living on her own, she’d grudgingly settled for staying with her two brothers. It didn’t stop her from trying to persuade her to come home every time they got together, however.
Ginny had confided in Harry that she had no intention of getting her own flat, but she knew the threat would get her mum off her back. Harry didn’t enjoy being at odds with Mrs. Weasley, but he wouldn’t trade having Ginny there every morning for anything. It was worth any discomfort he felt.
“And I’ve told you that I don’t give a flying WizBang what you get up to as long as I don’t see it. She’s obviously happy, but it doesn’t mean I want to see my best mate with that nauseating lovesick expression on your face. Have some dignity,” Ron said, scowling.
Harry gaped. “Dignity?” he sputtered. “Weren’t you the one blaring Celestina Warbeck’s love songs on the wireless the other day when Hermione locked you out of the room?”
“That was romantic,” Ron said, primly laying his fork on the counter.
“Romantic my left—”
“Hermione thought it was very romantic,” Ron continued firmly. “She expressed her gratitude quite enthusiastically.”
Harry grimaced and pulled away. “Now who’s sharing too much information?”
Ron smirked and took another gulp of his Butterbeer.
The kitchen door swung open and George strode in, stopping short, his dark eyes widening. “Whoa, what’d you do to hack Ginny off?” he asked, staring at Harry’s swollen eye.
Ron choked and sprayed Butterbeer on the counter.
“Funny,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.
George grinned, grabbing a Butterbeer and joining them at the counter. “Who gave you the shiner, then?”
“Bludger,” Harry mumbled. “I just have to find the bruise paste.”
“He’s hoping Ginny will fall asleep before he goes up so she won’t see him using it,” Ron replied unhelpfully.
“I told you I’m not hiding anything. I’m just hungry,” Harry said irritably. He stuffed another forkful of pie into his mouth as if to prove his point.
“Ah, your little team played tonight, then,” George asked, grinning.
“It’s not a little team,” Ron said, his face flushing. “I’ll have you know we won… again.”
“Oh, I’ll have Ginny let the Harpies know. Perhaps you could all scrimmage together,” George said, chuckling.
“Ha, ha,” Harry said without venom. He took a long look at George from behind his Butterbeer bottle. George had lost weight, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more prevalent at the late hour. He’d never fully recovered from Fred’s loss, and Harry doubted he ever would. Still, he’d curbed his dependence on alcohol, and the shop was doing very well. This caused George to devote longer and longer hours to running the shop. Everyone had urged him to hire more help, but as yet, George seemed reluctant to do so.
He and Angelina had been seeing each other off and on, but she hadn’t been at Grimmauld Place for quite some time now. Harry wasn’t certain if that was because George was so busy at the shop or if they were off again. He couldn’t keep up with the comings and goings of that relationship. He usually relied on Ginny to fill him in on what was going on.
“I told Oliver I’d meet him at the Leaky Cauldron for a pint. Why don’t you join us?” George asked.
“Oliver Wood?” Harry said, eyes widening, “On a Tuesday night? We have to be at work at half seven.”
“And? I have to work tomorrow, too, you know. It’s not going to stop me from meeting a mate at the pub,” George replied.
Harry shook his head. “Oliver is a Friday or Saturday night plan, George. I need a clear head tomorrow.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah, definitely can’t show up at Auror Headquarters after a night out with Oliver. Count me out.”
George shook his head despairingly. “I don’t know what’s happened to the youth of today. You’ve gone totally soft.”
“Or maybe we have real jobs and can’t just spend our time at a little shop.” Ron said, smirking.
George waved his hand in the air. “That little shop rakes in more Galleons in a week than you see in an entire month, Auror Weasley.”
Ron frowned, shoveling yet another large scoop of pie into his mouth. “Don’t I know it.”
“You’re disgusting, Ron,” George said, grimacing. Making a face, he turned toward Harry. “I expect you have more raids planned?”
Harry frowned. “What makes you say that?”
George shrugged. “Knockturn Alley seems to be thrumming again. Last time you lot raided, it settled down for a while.”
Harry sighed. Ever since Voldemort’s fall, the black-market trade in Knockturn Alley had thrived. No matter how many raids, and how many times the Aurors had tried to tamp it down, they couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. Various Dark potions and objects had been plentiful and easy to obtain during the time that Voldemort’s Ministry had been focused on hunting down Muggles and Undesirable Number One. After Kingsley became Minister and his regime took over, they put all sorts of new restrictions in place, but the underground had flourished. Harry had been assigned the task of curbing some of the more excessive violations, nonetheless it seemed every time he shut down one avenue, another two appeared in its place. He found himself constantly astounded by the number of wizards who didn’t flinch over trying something Dark or potentially hazardous to achieve their goals. Hadn’t they learned anything from the war?
“Any shop in particular that you’ve noticed?” he asked, running his hand through his hair in agitation.
George shook his head. “I’ve been too busy to watch closely. I’ve just noticed a lot more traffic heading in that direction. Dodgy lot, they keep their heads down and faces hidden. I haven’t recognized any of the usual lot, though.”
“I’ll let Owen know. Perhaps it’s time we do another sweep,” he said, feeling a twinge of guilt for hoping they wouldn’t find anything significant enough to delay his holiday.
“Whelp, if you two are going to be lame, I’m going to grab a pint with Oliver,” George said, pulling himself up. “I’m going spare with all work and no play.”
George appeared suddenly vulnerable as he said it, but before Harry could speak up and agree to go, Ron jumped in.
“Hang on, I’ll go with you — just one pint, though.”
George beamed at his younger brother, his face losing some of its haggardness as color suffused his cheeks, clashing with his hair.
Harry hesitated. He had a meeting with Gawain Robards, the head of the entire department first thing, but George really looked as if he needed the break.
“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Ron said, interrupting Harry’s guilty thoughts as if he’d suddenly become a Legilimens. “Wrap up your cases with Robards so you can go on holiday, or Ginny will make us all pay for it.”
“You sure?” Harry asked uncertainly.
“Trust us,” George said, grinning. “No one wants to live with a hacked-off Ginny, mate.”
“Too right,” Ron said, standing and slamming his bottle back on the counter. “You get to clean up though.”
“Fair enough,” Harry sighed, glancing at the crumbs of the now demolished custard pie remaining on the counter.
“See ya, Harry,” the brothers chorused, leaving him alone with the mess.
After he’d binned the rubbish and wiped down the kitchen surfaces thoroughly — some of Aunt Petunia’s old habits hadn’t been fully eradicated from him — Harry quietly climbed the stairs. He hoped Ginny would be asleep so he could find the bruise balm. Not because he was hiding anything but because she needed her rest, he justified. The Harpies’ practices always demanded a lot from her. She’d taken over a position on the first team not long after she’d joined them, and hadn’t looked back since. He quite enjoyed attending one of her matches and watching that glorious red mane whipping through the wind as she sped towards the hoops.
When he reached the closed door to their bedroom, he tiptoed past and into the adjacent bathroom. The oil lamps on each side of the mirror flickered to light as he entered. Glancing at his face, he grimaced at the vivid coloring of his very swollen eye. The lid nearly covered it completely, and only the faintest glimpse of green shone through the slit.
“Did you at least get the plate number of the lorry that hit you?” the mirror asked, sounding amused.
Ignoring it, he quietly opened a cupboard, and began tracing his hands over the various potions inside. He was so intent on his task that he didn’t hear the door open behind him.
“What did you do this time?” Ginny asked sharply.
Harry jumped, rattling the potions and spinning around. Ginny stood in the doorway, hair ablaze, arms crossed firmly across her chest and a scowl on her face. Harry couldn’t help but notice she was wearing one of his T-shirts, and with her arms folded that way, it had risen to expose her legs entirely right up to a tiny glimpse of her knickers.
He really liked when she wore his things.
“Ginny,” he said, attempting to sound casual. “You’re awake.”
“Obviously,” she said, not sounding amused in the slightest.
Harry was uncomfortably reminded of his old Potions teacher. That thought felt unnerving being directed at him from those beautifully athletic legs, and the knickers he was having a hard time not looking at with his one good eye. They were blue.
“Harry!” Ginny said severely, and he realized she’d caught him staring. “What did you do this time?”
Deciding her temper wasn’t to be trifled with at the moment, he reckoned honesty was best, but wanted to get it over with quickly as possible. “Nothing serious, just grazed by a Bludger.”
To avoid seeing any amusement on her face, he quickly looked back at the bottles in the cupboard and was relieved to find the bruise balm.
“Nothing work related?” Ginny asked, still looking fierce.
“Nope, just Quidditch,” Harry replied, un-stoppering the balm.
“No taking the hit for anyone else?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“No! I was looking at the Snitch and didn’t see it,” he replied, growing irritated. He was a fully qualified Auror, dammit, and didn’t appreciate being questioned like an errant schoolboy. “And I did catch the Snitch despite it.”
He saw the corner of Ginny’s lips twitch and braced himself. She might be softening, but he knew from experience it wouldn’t stop her from taking the mickey.
“Oh, let me do that,” she said, taking the bottle and gently dabbing at his swollen eye. “You know, Beaters are instructed to hit the Bludger at a Seeker when he’s close to catching the Snitch to give their own Seeker time to get there. Being the Youngest Seeker in a Century, I’d thought someone might’ve told you that.”
Ginny couldn’t hold her straight face any longer and burst into giggles as she smoothed the balm all over his bruise. It did feel rather nice, despite her teasing, and the throbbing was nearly gone.
“Ha, ha,” Harry said, grumbling. He didn’t want to give her any cheek in case she stopped tending him. After a lifetime of no one other than Madam Pomfrey bothering when he was sick or hurt, he’d grown quite fond of the way she always took such tender care of him.
“Here,” she said, putting the bottle back in his hands. “It looks much better, but you’ll probably have to put a bit more on before you go to work.”
Harry glanced at himself in the mirror and was pleased to see that instead of looking as if he’d just been struck by a Bludger, it looked as if the strike happened several days previously.
“Much better. Purple definitely wasn’t your color, dear,” the mirror said.
He frowned. “That mirror is bloody snarky. I think I’m going to replace it,” he said testily as he followed Ginny out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom. The light was dim and the covers folded back, a book still resting on the sheets where Ginny must’ve dropped it when she heard him.
Ginny stopped, turning around to face him as she giggled and rolled her eyes. “The new one would be just the same.”
“Why?” he asked blankly.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him, laughing outright now. “It’s a mirror, Harry — a reflection. The new one would be just as snarky because you’re snarky.”
Harry stared, dumbfounded. Even after all these years, there was still stuff in the wizarding world that he hadn’t realized.
Ginny playfully reached around and swatted his bum. “Come to bed and let me make certain there are no other marks on the rest of you.”
He raised his eyebrow, smirking and hurriedly followed her. “I think I know a spot that’s rapidly becoming in need of attention.”
“I’m certain you do,” she said huskily, her breath hitching as he reached for that strip of her knickers that had been driving him mad.
Perhaps getting smacked by the Bludger was worth it after all.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the warm welcome back!
The Office
Harry woke up so warm, so sleepy and so comfortable, it took a few moments for his foggy brain to recognize the sound of his alarm. He was spooned around Ginny, who was still sound asleep, and stray wisps of her hair were splayed across his face. Gently, he pulled up slightly in order to grab his wand from the bedside table and silence the alarm. He brushed Ginny’s hair from his face and snuggled back where he’d begun.
Although he’d never been all that comfortable with physical touch, now he couldn’t imagine waking up any other way. It astounded him how quickly he’d grown accustomed — and actually looked forward — to having her there beside him. On the few occasions he’d been kept away with an assignment, or she’d been traveling with the Harpies, he’d felt bereft. He could never quite settle for the night and found himself reaching for her, only to find her spot cold and empty. It wasn’t just the sex — although that was brilliant — it was simply having her there. For the first time in his life, he felt he truly belonged somewhere, and there was no way he wanted to give that up ever again.
He wasn’t certain if he’d just closed his eyes or actually dozed off, but it seemed like only a moment later when he heard her calling his name.
“Harry! Wake up, Harry. Aren’t you supposed to have a meeting with your boss this morning?” she asked, still sounding more asleep than awake herself.
Harry grunted and pulled her closer, burying his nose into the back of her neck and pressing more firmly to her backside. “Five more minutes — wish our holiday started today.”
The idea of being away without any demands, any interruptions — any brothers! — sounded like pure bliss to Harry. Perhaps they could spend the entire time cuddled just like this. There would be no one else there to complain if they spent their entire holiday in bed.
Ginny wiggled against him and giggled. “I can make you much later if you want, but I don’t see how that’s going to help us get away any sooner.”
That woke Harry up fully.
“Damn it, Weasley,” he grunted, forcing himself away from her and sitting up. “That’s not playing fair.”
“All’s fair in love and Quidditch,” she said in a singsong voice while snuggling back into her pillow. The Harpies were on their summer pre-season schedule, so she wouldn’t have to be to their training facility until later in the day.
Still grumbling, Harry made his way to the bathroom to have his shower. The cold water helped to wake him up, and he realized it was later than he expected. Giving Ginny a quick kiss on the head and foregoing breakfast, he hurried out the door.
He arrived at the Ministry, running late despite not having gone to the pub with George and Ron the previous evening. Both of their doors had been firmly shut when he passed this morning, but that wasn’t unusual since neither had to be up as early as he. He wondered how their evening went and felt rather regretful that he hadn’t joined them at the pub. Getting together with Oliver always meant a good time. He hurried from the Apparition point, and jabbed the lift button repeatedly. Why were they always so slow when he was in a hurry?
He swore as he waited, watching the door impatiently and causing a couple of older witches walking past to frown at him disapprovingly. The lift door finally opened, and he quickly moved inside, again jabbing the button for his floor. He wanted to grab a quick word with Owen before his meeting with Gawain Robards, the department head, to get his open cases in order before going on holiday.
Owen Savage had been Harry’s partner since even before he’d become a fully qualified Auror. When he’d first been assigned a partner during his training, he’d had the unlucky draw of John Dawlish. That partnership had been an unmitigated disaster. Completely annoyed by all the recruits from the start, Dawlish had resented Harry’s fame and refused to listen to any of his observations. After Owen’s rookie had quit the program, he took on Harry as a partner instead of Dawlish, and the both of them had been happier for it. Harry and Owen got on well, the senior Auror was someone he had learned a lot from — not the least of which was a string of new swear words. Owen rarely spoke a sentence without some sort of vulgarity.
At last the lift reached his floor, and he nearly collided with Percy Weasley as he leapt out. Percy frantically grabbed at a stack of parchment he was holding.
“Do be careful there, Harry,” Percy said, scowling. “I’ve been working on these reports for days.”
“Sorry, Percy,” Harry said, maneuvering around him and trying to hide a smirk. Despite a war and several different Ministers, Percy’s work habits hadn’t changed much.
When Harry finally reached his cubicle, and despite running late, he was still there before Owen, whose desk remained conspicuously empty. Harry glanced at the clock. He had fifteen minutes until he was supposed to meet with Robards. He’d have to leave Owen a note that they needed to talk when he was finished. As it so happened, however, Owen arrived before Harry had even put ink on his quill.
“Morning, lad,” Owen said, dropping some parchment on his desk and beginning to walk away once again.
“Morning. I need to talk to you for a mo’ — before I meet with Robards, preferably,” Harry said, quickly intercepting him. Owen was constantly like a whir of motion, and catching up with him usually involved actually standing in his way.
“Right. I’m going to grab a bloody cup of coffee first. I’ll meet you in the interrogation room. Want one?” Owen asked over his shoulder as he hurried away.
“Yes, thanks,” Harry said absently.
The Auror department had several conference rooms they used to discuss various cases in private, but Owen always preferred to use one of the interrogation rooms. He thought it was more intimidating to have people meet him there. Harry knew Owen way too well by now to be the slightest bit intimated by him. Instead, he detected a trace of Mad-Eye Moody’s “constant vigilance” vibe from his partner, and he wondered if that was something that simply came with age or if it was more part of the training some of those older Aurors had gone through.
Owen joined Harry a moment later, handing him a cup and unceremoniously dropping into one of the chairs. “So, what d’you know?” Owen asked.
This was Owen’s standard greeting, and Harry was always amazed at how often people would spill things that Owen had no idea about simply because they assumed that he already knew. Harry took a sip of the coffee — black, the way Harry preferred it. Ron always added too much sugar for Harry’s taste, but he found he enjoyed the strong flavor of the coffee the way Owen took it.
“George Weasley mentioned that he’s seen a lot of activity going in and out of Knockturn Alley again. No one he recognized, but he said it looked rather dodgy,” Harry said without preamble.
Owen looked up wearily. “Think it’s time for another raid?” he asked. “They at least get things under a semblance of control.”
Harry nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m heading into a meeting with Robards about my cases. Want me to bring it up?”
“I’ll go in with you. That way, if he agrees, I’ll get things rolling while you finish up. I’d rather do it while your head is clear and not after you’ve spent four days shagging your balls off,” Owen said.
Harry ignored him.
“I’m going to grab the file of the results of our last raid, and I’ll meet you there,” Owen said, already out the door.
Harry walked in the other direction toward Director Robards’ office. Robards had been a good choice for the Head job after Voldemort’s fall. His keen eyes missed nothing, yet he let his people do their work without micro-managing them. Whilst he didn’t tolerate mistakes well, he was willing to try a different approach if tried and true methods weren’t working. Harry hadn’t had a lot of contact with him on anything but rounding up stray Death Eaters, but on those few occasions, he’d been impressed.
He'd almost made it to the office when he spotted Hermione’s bushy head storming down the corridor toward him with a determined stride. He was momentarily swept back in time to various instances at Hogwarts or during the Horcrux hunt when he’d seen that same walk. It usually meant he’d done something that she didn’t approve of. Back then, it would’ve put him on guard, but now, after all he’d been through, he was merely amused.
“’Lo Hermione,” he said lazily, not bothering to slow his stride.
“I need to talk to you. You left this morning before I’d had the chance,” she said, stopping in front of him and halting his progress in much the same way he’d done to Owen.
“I have an early meeting.”
“I left a note on your desk yesterday, but you didn’t stop by,” she said, disapproval dripping from her tone.
“I had a Quidditch match,” he said. “I’ll swing by your desk after my meeting with Robards.”
She frowned, obviously unhappy with his answer. “We need to discuss my report on house-elf rights. I could really use your support on this, and I’ve been unable to get any representatives willing to go on record.”
Harry sighed. Unlike Ron and Harry, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts with Ginny to complete her final year of schooling. After leaving, she’d considered joining the Department of Magical Law, but after realizing she needed more work experience and her desire to make a difference in the Magical world, she’d instead taken a job with the Department for the Registration and Control of Magical Creatures. Harry thought she was a great addition to that department, and she’d already made a few well-needed changes in the way wizards dealt with magical beings and creatures.
Her house-elf fixation, however, had never abated. She was campaigning for a law she’d drafted giving them their freedom, but she was getting a lot of pushback from various members within the Ministry. As a war hero, she garnered a lot of respect and deference because of her status, but she wanted Harry to back her idea, feeling a united front would push it through.
However, Harry had never been invested in S.P.E.W., and after speaking at length with Kreacher about it, he had no intention of signing on to Hermione’s report unless she was willing to make some concessions.
“Hermione, I told you there had to be some actual house-elf representation on your committee before you can pass any laws that pertain to them,” he said patiently.
“That’s part of the problem. They’re so accustomed to their slavery, they won’t speak up for themselves, so we need to do it for them.”
“They don’t see it as slavery.”
“Of course, it’s slavery. The fact they don’t realize it makes it obvious they need our help. I don’t know why you’re dragging your feet on this,” she huffed.
“I’m not dragging my feet, but I see it differently. Didn’t you listen to what Kreacher said?”
“Kreacher is as much a victim of their oppression as any of them. He doesn’t see how this would benefit him. I would think after all Dobby did for us—”
“Don’t you dare bring Dobby into this,” Harry said, feeling the first bubble of real anger since the discussion had begun. “Dobby wanted freedom, most house-elves don’t. Hagrid told you back in fourth year that there were oddities in every race, and he wants nothing to do with this law. He had the respect of the Centaurs long ago because of the care and respect he shows to all magical creatures, so I think his opinion should hold some weight.”
“Once the report is finished and he sees how beneficial it will be, he’ll understand what we’re trying to do,” Hermione said fervently.
“I don’t have time for this right now, Hermione. I’ll come see you after my meeting,” he said, stepping around her.
“This is important,” she snapped.
“So is my meeting, and I can’t imagine if you had a meeting with your boss, and I wanted a word, that you’d be jumping to accommodate me, either.”
Hermione didn’t appear to have a response to that, so she dispelled a huff of breath, and said, “Fine. I’ll meet you when you’re finished.”
He didn’t answer and stopped in front of the door to Robards’ office. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself. Hermione still had the ability to exasperate him. She meant well, he knew she did, but she sometimes forgot that they weren’t in school anymore. Harry had actually been at his job a year longer than she had, and he was quite good at it. He’d concede that he didn’t always put in a lot of effort back at school, and she’d often assisted him in his classes. Never in Defense Against the Dark Arts, however. That had always been his forte, and he found that since his job focused on exactly what had interested him, he excelled here, as he’d done in that class at school.
He didn’t need Hermione’s help, and had actually learned new magic that she didn’t even know he knew. She still saw him in another era: — a school era, before the war, before Voldemort… just… before.
Harry was no longer that boy.
He hoped that she’d eventually see that although he wanted her friendship, he didn’t need her constantly looking over his shoulder. She hadn’t caught the hint, however, so he reckoned he’d have to put his foot down eventually. He didn’t want to hurt her, since she’d been faithful and loyal to him for so long. She’d stood by him throughout the entire Horcrux hunt, and even left her beloved education for him. He wouldn’t soon forget that, but he wasn’t going to let her talk to him like some sort of underling in their shared place of work.
He'd talked to Kreacher about her house-elf legislation, and Kreacher had said outright that house-elves would never agree to what she was proposing. It was insulting. What did they care about wizard gold? Their own economy was based on happiness with their job. The happier a house-elf was, the more powerful they became. Their status among their own society depended on their self-worth. It was why Grimmauld Place had become so dirty and derelict whilst Kreacher was left there alone. He’d had no one to serve, no pride to fill his account, and his magic had suffered.
Harry wanted some laws ensuring house-elves were treated with kindness and respect, but not to unilaterally force freedom on them without some actual house-elves on the committee making these decisions on what was actually beneficial to them. How was that showing respect by deciding for them?
Harry had tried to explain this to Hermione, but she’d brushed off his concerns without considering she might be the one in the wrong. Harry shook his head to clear it. Hermione and the house-elves could all wait until after his holiday, and before he could do that, he had to meet with Robards.
Rapping on the door, Harry pushed it open at the beckoning call. Robards was speaking to someone through the Floo, but he gestured Harry to take a seat. The office was sparsely decorated and the only picture on the wall was one that showed Robards himself shaking hands with Minister Shacklebolt.
Robards pulled his head out of the fireplace and flecked some soot off the shoulders of his scarlet robes. A stately wizard on the latter end of middle age with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing, dark eyes, Robards radiated authority.
“Potter, good to see you,” he said cordially, sitting at his desk.
Before Harry had time to respond, the door opened again and Owen joined them, nodding toward Robards before taking the empty chair next to Harry.
“Savage, I wasn’t aware you were attending this meeting,” Robards said, a hint of rebuke in his voice.
“Sorry, sir, but Potter and I suspect the illicit activity in Knockturn Alley is on the rise again. We’d like to organize another sweep. The last one yielded some successful results. I have the statistics here,” Owen said, sliding his folder across Robards’ desk.
“What illicit activity?” Robards asked, picking up the folder.
“Unconfirmed, sir. We have a report of a lot of suspect activity in the area again. As you know, we’ve been unsuccessful in extinguishing the black-market activity there.”
Robards shook his head. “I need something more specific.”
A heavy silence fell upon the office as both Harry and Owen simply stared unflinchingly at him.
“Who submitted the report of new activity?” Robards asked.
“Anonymous,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to drag George’s name into it if he didn’t have to.
“I can’t authorize another raid on an anonymous tip that something might be happening somewhere. For all we know, it’s competitors trying to upend a rival business. Bring me something solid, and we’ll discuss it. In the meantime, I have something I want you both to look into before Potter leaves on holiday,” Robards said.
Harry’s stomach dropped.
“Something new, sir?” he asked, envisioning his holiday plans going up in smoke.
“I don’t think it’ll amount to much, but St. Mungo’s has asked us to look into a potential missing wizard.”
“Potentially missing, sir?” Harry asked.
“It’s unconfirmed, and apparently the bloke can be rather unreliable, but they’ve asked us to look into it. You can see a Xander Peck in the potions lab on-site,” Robards said.
Owen nodded. “Will do, sir — and I’ll let you know if I find anything more solid on the Knockturn Alley situation.”
Robards nodded resignedly. “I’m certain you will. If that’s all, I’d like a briefing on Potter’s other cases before you go to St. Mungo’s.”
Owen bobbed his head and glanced over at Harry. “Come find me when you’re finished.”
Harry thought that once again, Hermione wasn’t going to be happy with him.
/* /* /* /*
After Harry finished outlining all his open cases to Robards, he went in search of Owen. He found him sitting at Harry’s own desk with Harry’s underling, Ethan Zeelus. Harry nearly groaned. Much as he, Harry, had been Owen’s trainee, Ethan had been assigned to Harry from the last class of recruits.
Ethan was a couple years younger than Harry, and his parents had pulled him out of Hogwarts during Umbridge’s reign. He didn’t remember ever meeting Ethan, but he reminded him uncomfortably of Colin Creevey. Over-eager, and a bit star-struck by Harry’s fame, he made Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable. Owen, naturally, found it hilarious and used any excuse he could find to bring Ethan along with them.
“There you are, Harry. About bloody time. I thought it would be good experience for Ethan to join us,” Owen said once he spotted Harry. His eyes were sparkling mischievously.
Ethan spun around. “Hi, Harry! Are you ready to go or do we need a debriefing first?” Ethan asked, beaming.
Harry took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day. He glared at Owen. “Did you come up with anything else we could use to convince Robards to check out Knockturn Alley?”
Owen shook his head, grinning with delight. “Nope, but it won’t be long before something else happens there. I’ve put the word out that we’re looking.”
“What’s going on in Knockturn Alley now?” Ethan asked, looking ready to sprint into action.
“Nothing, according to Robards,” Harry said irritably. It rankled him that even though they all knew trouble usually started there, they couldn’t do anything about it without solid proof of a specific danger.
“Put it out of your head for now. This way, it can’t get in the way of your shagging holiday,” Owen said, smirking.
“Are you taking a holiday, Harry? Where are you going? You know, my parents have a place in the south of France. We stayed there during the war. If I asked them, I’m certain they’d love to lend it to you,” Ethan said.
Harry gaped. Ethan’s open, earnest expression and curly blond hair reminded him so forcefully of Colin, that he had to look away. He found it very difficult to stay irritated by Ethan’s fervor when all it ever did was make Harry wish he’d been less short with Colin.
“Er, thanks, Ethan, but we already have plans,” he said, running his hand through the hair on the back of his neck. He turned to Owen, hoping to get the conversation back onto work. “Does St. Mungo’s know we’re coming?”
Owen shook his head. “I think we should just turn up, see if anyone looks startled by our presence.” Owen didn’t seem to realize that his mere personality startled a lot of people.
“All right, then. Shall we go?” Harry asked.
“Hermione Granger is looking for you. She was sitting here at your desk before we arrived,” Owen said.
“I’ll see her when we get back from St. Mungo’s,” Harry said tightly, not looking forward to another inevitable lecture.
The three of them took the lift to the Apparition point, and appeared in the lobby of St. Mungo’s moments later. The potions laboratory was located on the lower level of the hospital and not accessible to the public. Owen flashed his Auror badge at the Welcome Witch as they walked past. Harry wasn’t even certain she noticed, as her mouth had dropped open when she’d noticed Harry. Even three years after the fact, the wizarding world was still infatuated with him.
He wished they’d stop.
The corridor was lit with that same, eerie green light that illuminated the rest of the hospital, but in the windowless lower level, it gave their skin an odd glow. The lab was at the end of the corridor, and Harry could see a number of workers wearing what looked like fishbowls on their heads and working over their cauldrons behind a heavy glass wall. He recognized the Bubble-Head Charm, and for a moment was transported to the lake back at Hogwarts and seeing Cedric using one to rescue Cho from the merpeople…
Ethan automatically moved to enter through an opening in the glass, but Harry raised his arm and blocked him by pressing on his chest. Ethan looked at him questioningly.
“There are enchantments to keep any poisons escaping. Wait for someone to come out,” he said, and noticed Owen glance at him with an odd expression.
Before Harry could ask about it, one of the workers came into the corridor, removing his Bubble-Head Charm as he reached them.
“This is a restricted area,” he began pompously, clearly irritated by their presence.
“We’re from the Ministry,” Owen said gruffly, once again flashing his badge. “We’d like to speak to Xander Peck.”
The wizard in front of them straightened up — not an impressive feat since he was on the shorter side — and said, “I’m Xander Peck, Head Potions Master for St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.” He was a weedy sort, with thinning hair surrounding a large bald spot and a very thin mustache. He blatantly took pride in his title.
“Owen Savage, Harry Potter, Ethan Zeelus from the Auror Division. We were told to see you about a missing wizard,” Owen said, nodding toward each of them in turn. “What can you tell me about him, and how long has he been missing?”
Xander frowned. “Yes, Gwilym Gethin. He’s been with us for ages, but over the past few years has worked remotely. Gwilym has always been rather flighty, but it’s unlike him to just disappear for this long without contact. He was working on several important remedies that need to be used in a timely manner, and I’ve run out of ideas on how to reach him. The Floo network won’t connect, and owls return with unopened letters.”
Xander appeared more annoyed than concerned, Harry noted. “When did contact stop?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A couple months ago, I suppose. As I said, Gwilym has always been rather flighty, more so in the past few years, and he wasn’t always easy to contact, but he always delivered his potions on time.”
“What do you mean by flighty?” Owen asked.
Ethan hurriedly scribbled in a notepad he’d pulled from an inner pocket of his robes.
Xander shrugged. “Gwilym is a very good Potioneer, but he tends to fixate more on his own projects than what he’s assigned.”
“His own projects?” Harry asked.
“He was afflicted with a very bad case of Spattergroit as a youth. It left him horribly scarred. In between his assignments for the hospital, Gwilym was researching a potion that could alleviate the scarring. He’s worked at it for years, and its hard to blame him considering the devastating effect the disease had on his own life. He could help loads of people if successful, so… we tended to let him research when it was slower here.”
“What happened to make him work remotely?” Harry asked, quickly going over everything Xander hadn’t said.
The Potions Master shifted from foot to foot and straightened his collar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Well… you see… during the war, when the Ministry was being run by Death Eaters… the rules became very lax. They began pressuring us to experiment on more and more questionable potions, and their testing methods were extremely unethical.” Xander’s color had risen steadily throughout his stammering speech. By the time he’d finished, he’d looked as if he’d applied a very poor sunburn charm.
“Who did they make you test things on? Each other?” Harry asked sharply. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ethan’s eyes widening.
“What? No! They needed us to brew all sorts of heinous potions, plus all the standard remedies needed for a hospital to run,” he gasped, shuddering.
“So, who were you testing on?” Harry repeated.
Xander’s mouth twisted, and he looked as if he was in pain. “Muggles,” he whispered.
“And you did it for them?” Harry asked, feeling his own color rising with his temper.
Xander again straightened and appeared to grow before their eyes. His voice was quiet but impassioned, “Mr. Potter, if we’d refused, we would’ve been killed. Our responsibility is to the patients in this hospital. What would’ve happened to all of them? We tried to slow them down while doing the least amount of damage possible under horrendous circumstances.”
Harry looked mutinous, but Owen interrupted, “All right, all right. War is bloody hell. How does this relate to Mr. Gethin?”
If possible, Xander looked even more uncomfortable. “Gwilym felt he’d made significant progress on his own remedy during this time. He was most aggrieved after you defeated You-Know-Who and Minister Shacklebolt once again banned all Muggle testing.”
“Bloody right, he did,” Harry said, fuming.
“But… Spattergroit doesn’t affect Muggles. What good would testing on them do for him?” Owen asked, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t know exactly, but he’d made some modifications. When I informed him that he’d have to strictly adhere to Ministry guidelines, he decided to work remotely.”
“So, he continued with this practice, then?” Owen asked.
“I didn’t say that. His work here was always up to standard, but he no longer worked on any of his side projects in this lab.”
“Side projects?” Harry asked swiftly.
Xander’s eyes shifted to the floor. “He often did side work to fund his research.”
Harry only had a very loose hold on his temper, and he gritted his teeth to ask, “And where did this side work come from?”
“I wouldn’t know that,” Xander said, still not meeting Harry’s eyes.
“I bet I do. Did Mr. Gethim visit Knockturn Alley frequently?” he asked.
Xander let out a breath through his teeth. “Look, I’m not trying to get him in any trouble, and I really don’t think he was involved in anything nefarious. He hated the things the Death Eaters asked us to brew as much as we all did, but this Spattergroit remedy was his passion, his life’s work. He might’ve bent some rules to see it come to fruition. He hasn’t been here in months, and we’re short on supplies on some of the potions he was brewing for us. We need to find him.”
“Where was his last known location?” Owen asked, keeping a wary eye on Harry’s loosely held temper.
“I’m really not certain. As I said, he moved around a lot,” Xander replied.
“Thank you, Mr. Peck. We’ll be in touch,” Owen said, shepherding Harry and Ethan along.
“Mr. Potter,” Xander called after them, “you really did a great thing for more people than you know when you rid us all from You-Know-Who’s terror.”
“Call him Voldemort,” Harry said, snarling. “He’s not coming back.”
Once they were out of sight of Xander Peck, Owen put a restraining hand on Harry’s arm. “Take a breath, lad.”
Harry turned to him, furious. “They weren’t just testing on Muggles, the Death Eaters were looking for Potions that could kill them.”
Ethan, wide-eyed and very pale, watched the interaction between the two senior Aurors as if it was a sporting event.
“I know they were, but as Minister Shacklebolt has told us on numerous occasions, rebuilding takes much longer than destruction. Our job now is to try and locate this Gethin character and ensure he isn’t still messing with Muggles or anyone else. And, we did get some good news here.” Owen said, a broad grin stretching across his scarred face.
“What’s that?” Harry asked, surprised by the smug delight on his partner’s face.
“We now have the evidence we needed to sweep Knockturn Alley.”
Chapter 3: A Dramatic Change In Plans
Author's Notes: As always, many thanks to my wonderful betas, Sherylyn and Arnel for all their help in beating this fic into submission. Also, thanks to my pre-reader, Sue, for giving me feedback and letting me gauge her reactions.
A Dramatic Change in Plans
Harry Apparated onto the front steps of Andromeda Tonks’ cheerful home. His eyes automatically wandered, as they always did, to the small, shallow dip where he and Hagrid had once crashed Sirius’ old motorbike whilst fleeing Voldemort. The newest addition to the sloping grounds was a scattering of children’s toys securely placed in a small, fenced in area. Andromeda didn’t deny her grandson much, but she insisted all the chaos be neat and tidy in a confined space. Harry admired her for it. Whenever Teddy stayed with the him for a night, the house always ended up looking as if a battle had been waged.
Although he had felt clueless and overwhelmed by an infant Teddy, now that he was a rambunctious toddler, Harry thoroughly enjoyed his visits. Andromeda had ensured that both Harry and Ginny were able to Apparate within her protective enchantments, and he wanted to see his godson before he left on holiday.
Harry rapped on the door with his knuckles, still feeling awkward just barging in despite Andromeda’s repeated assurances that he could do just that. The door was opened by Kreacher, who peered around cautiously. His ancient, wrinkled face split into a wide grin when he saw Harry.
“Master, Harry, come in, come in. Mistress Andromeda of the most noble and ancient House of Black has told Master Harry he didn’t have to wait for Kreacher to open the door,” the elf said, swinging the door open wide while scolding him.
Harry entered the house as Kreacher bent down and picked up the post on the floor beneath the letter box, a Muggle newspaper resting on top.
“Mistress Andromeda insists on keeping up with events in the Muggle world,” Kreacher said, and although he managed to hold his tongue, Harry could hear the disapproval dripping from his tone.
Andromeda’s deceased husband Ted had been Muggleborn, and Harry knew Andromeda still kept in touch with his family. Kreacher had come a long way from the days when he would grumble under his breath about blood traitors and Mudbloods besmirching his home, but his prejudice towards Muggles stilled showed on occasion. Harry had sent him to stay with Andromeda after the Battle to help her care for her infant grandson, and the decision helped enormously. Andromeda had help with running the house, and as Teddy grew, he had a ready-made playmate. Harry had barely been able to contain his laughter when he'd come upon Kreacher dressed as the Hogwarts Express with Teddy riding on his back gleefully shouting, “Choo—choo!”
Kreacher led Harry into the sitting room, dropping the mail on a side table and gesturing towards the sofa.
“Sit down, Master Harry. Kreacher will inform Mistress Andromeda you is arrived, and then he’ll make some tea.”
“Thanks, Kreacher,” Harry said absently, sitting on the sofa and picking up the Muggle paper. The front page was devoted to several stories about a postman imprisoned for the murder of a teen-age girl, and an increase of dementia-related deaths in Wales. The story that really caught his attention, however, was about a race car that had set a recent land speed record. The unmoving photo showed a sleek and sporty car that Harry was certain his cousin Dudley was most likely drooling over.
Harry and Dudley had exchanged a few letters since the war, and even met for an occasional pint over the years. Both were very careful to avoid the subject of Dudley’s parents, and Harry was just fine keeping it that way. He never intended to see his aunt and uncle again, but he was pleased to have the casual connection with Dudley.
Before he’d read too far into the article, a sound like a rampaging Hippogriff came from the stairway. A moment later, a small blur of purple came streaking into the sitting room shouting, “Unca Hawwyyyyyyyyyyyy!”
Harry grinned, standing to scoop his three-year-old godson into his arms and swinging him around in a circle. “Hey, there, little sorcerer. What do you have to show me today?” he asked.
“I have me to show you, Unca Hawwy,” he said, grinning widely. His hair was a bright shade of violet, and that combined with his lopsided grin caused Harry’s vision to blur at the edges until he saw Tonks standing there, same hair, same smile. Harry had to shut his eyes tightly to dispel the image. He’d grown so used to these frequent and sudden flashbacks, that sometimes he hardly noticed them. Sometimes they made his chest ache.
This was the latter variety.
“Hello, Harry. It’s good to see you. Teddy, what have I told you about running on the stairs?” Andromeda said, narrowing her eyes at her young charge. “Thank Circe he didn’t inherit Nymphadora’s clumsiness.”
She still looked very much like her sister with her dark hair and lidded eyes, particularly when she narrowed them that way, but Harry had known her long enough now that her easy smile and kind spirit no longer allowed her features to startle him.
Harry leaned over and kissed each of her cheeks. “It’s good to see you, too. I hope I’m not too early. Ginny is coming right from practice.”
“Nonsense. You’re welcome here anytime, dear. We’ll hold dinner until Ginny arrives, but Kreacher said he’d prepare a pot of tea,” she said graciously.
Teddy placed his small hand on Harry’s jaw and forcefully moved his face — and his attention — back onto himself.
“Wanna play wif me?” he asked.
“Of course, I do. What d’you want to play?” Harry asked, bouncing the little boy in his arms.
“Twains!” Teddy cried joyfully.
“Why don’t you two head up to Teddy’s room, and I’ll let you know when dinner is ready?” Andromeda said, smiling fondly at her grandson. “I’ll have Kreacher bring a cup of tea up to you, Harry.”
Teddy owned an elaborate collection of toy wooden trains, and they were by far his favorite toys. They weren’t the average Muggle trains, however. The tracks could be placed anywhere throughout the room and they would stay connected at ridiculous angles, and the trains would run smoothly without any guidance involved. He also owned a set of toy army men that Harry had given him. These were the Muggle sort that didn’t do anything, but they’d always been Harry’s favorite toy of Dudley’s when they were very small. He’d managed to nick a few strays with missing or mangled body parts to keep in his cupboard, but playing with Teddy was the first time he’d actually ever used an entire collection.
He'd truly experienced a lot of his childhood firsts through Teddy, and the little boy’s open, innocent enthusiasm had allowed Harry to lose some of his instinctive reserve when playing with him. It frequently made him wonder what his own life would’ve been like if that fateful October night nearly twenty years ago had never happened. He wondered if he would’ve sat on a floor like this with Sirius making his toys fly around the room like Harry did for Teddy. He was going to be twenty-one in a few weeks’ time, the same age his parents were when they’d died. It seemed so surreal to him. Some days, he felt as if he’d aged decades during the war, but others, like now, he felt very young. He wondered what unrealized dreams his parents had left behind. Had they wanted more children, or would they have preferred an only child like James had been? He supposed he’d never know.
Reaching into his pocket, he felt the familiar shape of the small box he’d been hiding from Ginny for months. He hoped to finally give it to her during their holiday. The velvet of the box already felt rather worn from the number of times Harry had run his thumb over it, attempting to plan what he might say. Shaking his thoughts away, Harry used his wand to make several stuffed animals fly around the room, knocking over Teddy’s soldiers and making him scream in delight.
They played in Teddy’s room, Teddy chatting incessantly, until they heard Andromeda calling them down to dinner. They washed up quickly, splashing each other with water before heading downstairs. Upon entering the dining room, they found Kreacher serving an elaborate feast of roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. Ginny was sitting with Andromeda, a glass of Elderberry wine in her hand, and her smile lit up her whole face when she saw them.
“There are my two favorite troublemakers,” she said, beaming.
Harry felt that familiar swoop in his belly when he saw her, but it was Teddy who responded first.
“Aunt Ginny!” he said, running toward her. She pushed out her chair so he could climb up on her lap. “We pwayed twains and soldiers.”
Harry sat in the chair beside Ginny and leaned over to kiss her cheek. She smelled clean and fresh, and he knew she must’ve stopped at home to shower before joining them for dinner.
“Good practice?” he asked, feeling that pang he always did when he thought about her flying all day without him.
“Gwynog was a beast, but it was all right. The way she was shouting, you’d never guess the real season doesn’t even start until August,” she said, smiling over Teddy’s head. Her eyes sparkled at him before Teddy took her face and returned it level with his.
“Teddy, come on over here and sit in your chair so we can eat. Aunt Ginny is hungry after her long practice,” Andromeda said encouragingly.
“I want to sit here,” he said stubbornly, burrowing into Ginny’s front and holding on to her tightly.
“I don’t blame you, mate,” Harry said cheekily, causing Ginny’s eyes to fly open wide, and Andromeda to smirk knowingly. “Why don’t you sit in my chair, and I’ll sit by your grandmum?”
Teddy agreed happily, and Harry switched out their plates and Teddy’s glass of milk with his wine glass.
Ginny immediately grabbed the milk. “Oh, thanks, Harry,” she said, taking a big gulp.
Teddy looked at her in amazement, then an indignant expression crossed his little face, his violet hair growing slightly darker. “Hey! That’s mine!”
“Oh, did I take yours?” Ginny asked, turning toward him to reveal a large milk mustache on her upper lip.
Teddy burst into giggles, pointing. “I want to do it, too!”
The dinner was spent talking and laughing, and by the end, Teddy’s eyes had begun to droop. Harry picked him up and took him to bed before he and Ginny bid Andromeda farewell.
When Harry arrived at work the next morning, he found Owen already organizing a team to go into Knockturn Alley. While Ron wasn’t amongst those gathered, his old dorm mate, Neville Longbottom, was there. He waved across the room to Harry, and Harry made his way toward him. Neville had been in the training class behind Harry, but he was also now fully qualified.
“How are you, Neville?” he asked, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Doing well, thanks. Looks like we’re doing a surprise morning sweep of Knockturn Alley. One of your cases?” Neville asked.
Harry nodded. “Yeah. We learned the Death Eaters encouraged potion testing on Muggles, and some of it might still be happening.”
Neville winced. “Every time I think we’ve made some progress, something like this pops up.”
“There’ll always be evil in the world. We just have to keep putting it in check,” Harry said, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t I know it?” Neville replied.
Harry was sometimes surprised by how much Neville had changed over the years. When they’d met at Hogwarts, he’d been a frightened, clumsy, forgetful boy who often ended up doing extra homework when his spells went bad. He’d gradually grown and changed to the fierce leader of Dumbledore’s Army during the war, and was now quite a competent Auror. The only trace of that young boy was the notepad he kept in the front pocket of his Auror robes. Neville tended to record things meticulously as his memory was still rather faulty.
“So, d’you know if we’re sweeping the whole area, or are we targeting specific shops?” Neville asked curiously.
“If Owen has his way, it’ll be a full sweep, but we’ll have to see what was authorized. Between you and me, the main focus is anywhere selling potion ingredients,” Harry said, keeping his voice very low. The excited murmur in the room should keep their conversation private, but he’d learned long ago that people liked to listen in on his conversations.
Neville pursed his lips. “That pretty much guarantees a full sweep. Most of the shops sell things that can be harder to get elsewhere.”
“And how would you know that?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.
Neville flushed. “I keep a rather extensive greenhouse at home, and some plants simply thrive better using more unorthodox fertilizers.”
Harry’s mind flashed to a day long ago when he’d run into Hagrid in Knockturn Alley. As Harry recalled, Hagrid had been looking for something to use on the grounds, but he had the same shifty look on his face as Neville now wore. Who knew Herbology could have so many Dark undertones?
“Owen,” Neville said, nodding toward the front of the room.
Owen outlined the plan, putting people into groups and assigning areas to check and what to focus on. Harry was pleased to hear they’d received the authorization to do a full sweep. It couldn’t hurt, and maybe they’d turn up other nefarious plots whilst they were there. As the crowd was breaking apart, he heard a scathing voice behind him.
“I can’t believe they’ve pulled us all off important cases for a simple matter of Muggle-baiting.”
Harry turned quickly to see the speaker. He should’ve guessed. It was Michael Corner, who frequently let his disdain for Muggles be known. He’d been in Harry’s year at Hogwarts, and also a member of the DA. He’d joined the expedited Auror training with Neville’s group. He also happened to have been Ginny’s first boyfriend.
“If you have a problem with it, Corner, you can take it up with Robards. He authorized the raid,” Harry said coolly. He felt Neville standing behind him, arms crossed but not interrupting.
Michael’s eyes went wide when he realized who’d overheard him. “That won’t be necessary. I’m aware this administration has an abundant fondness for Muggles.”
“And you don’t approve?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing.
“As I’ve said before, I’ve nothing against Muggles, I simply feel we’d be better off focusing on magical folk and leave the Muggles to sort out themselves.”
“That would be fine if magic weren’t being used against them. As you say, we’re responsible for the magical community — to govern, to remain hidden, and to ensure magic isn’t being abused.”
“But from what Savage just said, you don’t have a Muggle victim, just suspected activity during the war. A lot of magical families suffered during the war, as well, Potter. I think our focus should be on them,” Michael said, two high spots of color appearing on each cheek.
“It seems to me, Muggleborns suffered most of all. D’you include them with the magical community, Corner?” Owen, who had made his way through the crowd and sidled up to them, asked.
“Of course, I do,” Michael said hotly. “If they’re magical, they’re magical no matter who their parents are, but once they join our community, they should leave the Muggle world behind. We shouldn’t mix.”
“Easy for you to say since you wouldn’t be expected to give up any of your family,” Harry said.
“By the time most leave Hogwarts, they’re fully immersed in the magical world, anyway. There would be a lot less need to monitor Muggle-baiting if we just kept separate. I don’t notice you spending an inordinate amount of time amongst Muggles, Potter. Weren’t you raised in the Muggle world before Hogwarts?”
Harry gritted his teeth. He sometimes forgot how much of his history was public knowledge as he never talked about the Dursleys if he could help it. “Everyone’s family situations are different. Why should you get to dictate who has to leave their family? There are loads of people who manage it just fine.”
Michael shrugged. “If you say so. You left fairly quick, and isn’t Weasley a Pureblood? What’s it to you?”
Harry had noticed that Michael tended to drop comments about Ginny into random conversations more and more often. It had begun about the time Ginny had started on the Harpies’ first team. “You’re well aware she is.”
“I’m aware she’s considered a blood traitor, but she didn’t make a point of dating a Muggleborn, did she? No, she went for the Most Eligible Bachelor in Wizarding Britain,” he said, smirking. “Seems neither of you are having much trouble separating at all.” He nodded at Neville and Owen before turning his head and moving to catch up with his mates.
Harry’s face burned hot. Witch Weekly had bestowed that title upon him the previous week, and he’d been enduring endless ribbing about it. Ginny loved to crow over it, particularly when he’d done something careless like leaving his socks on the floor.
“Ignore him, Harry,” Neville said.
Owen put his arm across Harry’s chest to stop him following Corner. “Just let him go. You can’t legislate people’s minds. Prejudices can’t be erased simply by telling someone it’s wrong. They’ll just hide their prejudices deeper from you. Best to let them rant. That way, you know who to keep an eye on.”
Harry sighed, feeling disgruntled and irritated. While it was true things were better since the war, and the damn Muggleborn Registration Act was looked upon as a dark stain on their history, there were still so many subtle attitudes like Corner’s. The cost of the war had been so high to still be dealing with these things.
“I’ll see you around. I’m going to join my partner,” Neville said awkwardly.
Harry followed Owen to the Apparition point and appeared moments later at the Leaky Cauldron, keeping his head down to go unrecognized. The plan called for them all to go in waves, so no one would be tipped off by a convergence of Aurors heading towards Knockturn Alley. Harry wasn’t certain how well it would work, since the shopkeepers there always seemed keenly aware, and some of Harry’s fellow Aurors’ scowls and demeanor identified them rather easily.
Owen and Harry were part of the first wave so they could at least get on top of it before their cover was blown. They were dressed in plain black robes and planned to move slowly along the alley until they were at the end, giving those behind them time to filter through before all entering the shops in sync.
A sense of dj vu washed over Harry as his feet skimmed over the stone steps down into the alley. He’d been twelve the first time he’d entered the dodgy street, and arrived there by a Floo accident. His skin crawled slightly as he remembered the many menacing, speculative looks he’d received and the sensation of fear and dread deep within his belly. He’d been on his own plenty of times before that day — the Dursleys never kept much of a watch on him — but never in an area so strange with no thought as to how to get back to familiar ground.
The alley was as dark and dingy as ever, despite it being a bright, early summer’s day. The windows were dirty, displaying various dark objects, and the names of the shops weren’t on vibrant display as on the high street. These were more subtle, wooden signs with coarse, unobtrusive lettering. Obviously, the shopkeepers here wanted their customers to be well aware of where they were headed rather than just stumbling in.
Harry scanned the various street vendors, all now watching them with suspicious eyes as they passed. He and Owen pretended to stop and look at various items before continuing their trek. At one point, Harry saw Michael Corner with a few others further behind him in the alley. Harry felt agitated and wished they could just get on with it. The ominous feeling of Knockturn Alley wasn’t helping his irritated disposition. Owen, apparently, had had enough of Harry’s short, snappy responses.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he asked. “Is it Corner?”
“He’s a ruddy git.”
“Yeah, he always has been, but you don’t usually let him get to you. Was it his lack of concern for the Muggles, or that he mentioned the Witch Weekly article?” Owen asked, linking his arm with Harry’s and batting his eyes dramatically. “I’m so thrilled to be seen about with you, by the way. I wished I had my hair done.”
“Gerroff me!” Harry said, shoving Owen harder than necessary.
Owen gave a deep, rumbling belly laugh, causing some of the vendors to turn their way. Many of them jerked upright, their eyes scanning the abundance of traffic in the area this early morning. Apparently, loud guffaws weren’t all that suspicious at this early hour, however. Looking up, Harry realized they were standing outside a tumbledown, rather creepy-looking bar.
As he scanned the area, he could see what George had meant. The alley was much more crowded, and it wasn’t just the handful of Aurors now roaming the street. There was a distinct thrumming in the air. Something dark and foreboding, and Harry had the feeling many unseen eyes had been following his progress from the moment he’d arrived.
They’d all been told to stroll around and take a look in the various shops, see if anything stood out as particularly out of place, or at least more disturbing than the rest of the items sold there. Harry and Owen had targeted an apothecary that advertised its availability of harder to get potions supplies.
Once Owen gave the signal, they all began their questioning. The owner of the apothecary was younger than Harry had expected. His steely grey eyes monitored their progress unflinchingly as they approached the till.
“What do you want?” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
Harry sized him up and made his decision quickly. “We’re wondering about a customer of yours, Gwilym Gethin. Has he been in recently?” Harry asked. He’d decided his best approach would be to pretend he already knew Gethin was a customer. The shopkeeper had wary, intelligent eyes; he wasn’t going to be tripped up with roundabout questions. Harry needed to be direct.
That sharp gaze swept over both of them, appraisingly. “Haven’t seen him. If you find him, tell him he’s making enemies by the day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Owen asked, eyes narrowed.
“He’s late. My customers don’t appreciate being kept waiting,” the wizard replied, turning back to the till.
“What potion is he making for them?” Harry asked.
“He knows what they’re expecting.”
“Well, if we find him, he’s going to be occupied for quite some time. We can get remedies to you if there’s some urgency,” Harry said, attempting to appear an ally.
The man studied him, and for a moment, Harry didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he said, “For a start, he brews the Wolfsbane for several clients. Full moon is less than a week away. There’s going to be a lot of trouble if he doesn’t get in here soon.”
Harry and Owen shared a brief look. It didn’t go unnoticed by the shopkeeper, “You can do a search if you want, but you’ll find nothing brewing here.”
“Meaning you don’t brew on-sight, so you must have another location where the potions are brewed?” Harry said sharply.
“Prove it,” the wizard said unconcernedly.
“You can rest assured, we intend to do just that,” Owen said, pulling Harry back outside.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, pulling his arm away. He had planned to ask a few more questions.
“Ethan,” Owen said, nodding.
Looking in the direction of Owen’s nod, he could see Ethan striding down the alley wearing an avid expression as he made a beeline towards them.
“What is he doing here?” Harry asked. Ethan and the other new recruits hadn’t been included in the raid.
“Harry, Owen, I’ve found him,” he said, gasping and holding an obvious stitch in his side. Despite it, he was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Both Harry and Owen stared at him, gaping.
“Found who?” Owen asked warily, being the first to regain his composure.
“Gwilym Gethin,” Ethan said proudly.
“Keep your voice down,” Harry said, hissing and holding up a hand to stop him until he’d cast a Muffliato Charm around them.
Owen apparently couldn’t wrap his head around how their eager young underling had beat them to the information. “How? Where?” Owen asked.
“I went up to the records department at the Ministry. They keep track of St. Mungo’s employees. It took me all morning to find his name, but he left an address in Wales as his residence. Here,” he said, thrusting a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.
Owen glanced around the alley. It seemed well in control. The Aurors were still questioning a few shopkeepers, and a few others were being taken back to the Ministry for further questioning.
“Shall we take a look?” Owen asked Harry.
Harry nodded. “I’m going to send a Patronus to Robards so he’s in the loop, and he can organize the questioning of this lot from there.”
“Can I come?” Ethan asked.
“No!” Harry and Owen said simultaneously. They’d both almost forgotten he was still there.
Ethan’s face fell. “Look, I found the address. You said I wasn’t ready for a sweep, but this is just checking out a house. We have no idea if he’s even there, and I was the one who thought to look through all those files.”
He had a point, and both of them knew it. “All right,” Owen said, sighing. “But you’re to follow instructions to the letter. If I say get out, you just go. Understood?”
Ethan nodded eagerly. “I won’t get in the way, sir.”
Harry doubted that, but he held his tongue. The three of them Apparated to the address in Wales and found themselves in a wooded clearing. The burnt shell of a building lay blackened on the ground around them. It wasn’t smoldering, so the fire had obviously happened some time ago. There was no sign of anyone, and Harry couldn’t see another house nearby.
“Spread out and move cautiously,” Owen said, perusing the scorched ground. “Ethan, check out the tree line and see if there’s any sign of footsteps. Harry, you take the left, I’ll go right. Try not to disturb the area too much until we can get an evidence retrieval team out here.”
Harry nodded, already moving. There wasn’t much left. Only the stone fireplace still stood, blackened and charred on the left side of the area. He could easily identify several stone cauldrons still intact, and the melted remains of some metal ones. Squinting at an area on the ground, he could just make out what he suspected to be bone fragments. At least one that appeared to belong in a leg, anyway. Using his wand, he Levitated the piece slightly from the ground to be certain. Before he could call out or even turn the bone, however, he felt his body become immobilized. A sheer, lighted dome appeared around him, surrounding the entire former structure — he and Owen both trapped within its boundaries.
Only able to move his eyes, he searched frantically for the spell caster. Ethan appeared a moment later, looking frantic.
“There’s a whole trail of dead plant life over there,” he said, pointing in the direction he’d just come. “I put contamination protocols in place. People from the Ministry should be arriving any moment.”
Harry swore beneath his breath. Ethan had followed Ministry procedure involving a potential hazardous crime scene to the letter, and he couldn’t fault him for it. Damn it all to hell, though. He knew what that entailed. It meant both he and Owen — and most likely Ethan, too — were on their way to a contained safe house for quarantine, and his holiday plans were going up in flames, just as this building had. The small box in an inner pocket of his Auror robes seemed to be weighing heavily on his immobilized frame.
He was a dead man.
Ginny was going to murder him.
Chapter 4: Caged
Author's Notes: I’d like to thank all of those who’ve taken the time to review. I appreciate the feedback very much. It’s my only way to gauge how the story is being perceived, so, please take a moment and share your thoughts. Special shoutout to perceptive reviewer Crys (I can’t respond to guest reviews, though) who commented that I was still setting the stage and introducing the players. Crys is right, and there is one more big player here, but I think this one really gets things rolling. I hope you enjoy!
As always, my thanks and gratitude to Arnel, Sherry, and Sue for their guidance and support along the way.
Caged
The Ministry safe house where Harry was now ensconced was located in Kent. He wasn’t certain of the exact location, but it mattered not since he wasn’t allowed outside the small, confined room where he now paced. He knew Owen and Ethan had also both been taken from the burnt grounds in Wales, but hell if he knew if they were there in the safe house with him. His sock-clad feet made a muffled shuffling sound as he paced back and forth. His shoes and the clothes he’d been wearing had been taken upon arrival, and he hadn’t seen them since. He was left with a thin robe of pale green, a pair of thick woolen socks and his irritated disposition.
Occasionally, a pair of wizards wearing Bubble-Head Charms and dragon-hide gloves entered the room and waved their wands over his entire body, but they always left without a word and without answering any of his questions. He knew that several safe houses like this one had been put in place after the war when multiple locations had been discovered booby-trapped. Like they’d done to Grimmauld Place, the Death Eaters had left Dark Magic reminders of their presence everywhere. The houses were a place for Aurors to go to be healed and have Charms removed without the danger of spreading the Dark Magic.
Harry had been confined to a few in the past after raids turned up something bad, but never one quite like this where they seemed to be withholding information. Those other times, he’d always known he’d encountered something Dark, and sometimes had the injuries to prove it. This, though… they really hadn’t discovered any magic, just some burnt remains of a building. He didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, and so he paced.
He absolutely abhorred being confined.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as his cupboard. There was space to walk and books to read, and although the food they’d supplied had been rather bland, he certainly didn’t have that gnawing pain in his belly that made him feel as if his insides were hollow. He had no fear about what would happen when the door finally opened, but he still hated knowing he couldn’t get out. Well, perhaps he could if he wanted, they hadn’t confiscated his wand, but… did he really want to attack someone from the Ministry? Not yet, anyway.
He'd used his wand once since his arrival… was it yesterday or even longer? He wasn’t certain. He knew he’d dozed at one point, but that might’ve been out of sheer boredom. He’d sent Ginny a Patronus telling her he was all right and would contact her as soon as he could. The Bubble-Headed jailers had offered him quill and parchment when he’d been shown to his room… cell… but he wasn’t about to put anything to Ginny in writing that could end up splayed across the gossip pages in the Daily Prophet. He’d learned that lesson already.
No, he’d sent the Patronus so she knew he was safe. He couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble he was in. They’d both been looking forward to their holiday away from all this. He supposed she probably knew more than he did by now since Ron would’ve heard any Ministry information and relayed everything to her. This fact only increased his irritation, and he quickened his pace.
Back and forth, back and forth. It took exactly seven steps to go the length of his room. The space consisted of a single bed and a desk with some shelves above it containing an odd assortment of books. A bedside table held a gas lamp and several magazines. There was a small wash closet through one door, and an even smaller toilet through another. Everything was tidy and fairly new, but rather antiseptic and boring. What was he doing here? Ethan had said he’d found some dead plant life, so perhaps something in those ruined cauldrons had been poisonous… but Dark? Certainly, they would’ve ruled out Dark Magic by now. So, what was in those cauldrons that would require them to keep Aurors locked up for this long? He didn’t know anyone who’d had such a lengthy stay, or had relayed complaints of being held without reason. Someone certainly had some explaining to do whenever he got out of here.
Harry flung himself down on his bed, slinging an arm over his eyes, trying to control his breathing. It would do him no good to get all worked up again. For some reason, if he focused too much on being locked up, it tended to make him breathe too fast and made his chest hurt. The overhead lighting had a very faint bluish tone, and he knew that had there been any severe traces of Dark Magic, his skin would have reflected red in the light. He glanced at his arms and bit of leg that was showing under his robes — no red. He’d examined himself quite thoroughly already, and the only bits of faint red came from old scars that had already been documented. He picked up one of the magazines and absently flipped through it before flinging it back on the table, heaving himself up and beginning to pace once again.
It had been an endless cycle, and he was beginning to feel like he was going mad. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, trying to envision the details that had led him here once again, beginning the cycle anew. He’d tried shouting to Owen, but there hadn’t been a response. He didn’t know if that meant Owen wasn’t near enough to him, or if there were Silencing Charms on the various rooms. He supposed that was more likely. Maybe they were just tired of listening to Harry’s litany of questions.
His stomach rumbled, causing him to wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten last. He’d only picked at the offerings, feeling too worked up to eat. Now, he regretted that decision. He glanced absently at his wrist for about the fiftieth time, despite being well aware that his watch, along with the contents of his pockets, was missing along with his clothing.
This was ridiculous.
Suddenly, a disturbance broke the monotony of his routine. He could hear raised voices from somewhere outside his room, and he was certain he recognized one of them. At least he knew they hadn’t Silenced the sound outside his four walls, anyway.
“I don’t care what procedures you’re following, get out of my way right now, or I’m going to Hex you,” Ginny’s voice warned from outside the door.
She sounded livid. He wished he could see her dressing down the two guards who’d so infuriated him with their silence.
“Ginny, I’m here,” he called, uncertain if she could hear him.
He could hear mumbling but not decipher any words. He pressed his ear to the closed door, and he could detect a very faint hum. There definitely were some sort of enchantments keeping him inside.
A shriek and a loud bang caused him to jump back from the door. Oh, they’d done it now. Ginny had a short fuse, and she tended to hex first, ask questions later.
“Ginny!” he heard another voice — Ron this time.
They were both here. They’d come for him. He knew they would eventually, but he was pleased nonetheless.
Foregoing his pride, he banged his fists on the door, trying to alert them where he was. “I’m in here.” Even to his own ears, the sound of his thudding was muted. Damn it all to hell, why had he harassed the guards so much when he’d first arrived?
He didn’t hear Ginny’s response, but there was more mumbling from outside. Suddenly, the entire front wall of his room seemed to shimmer, then it turned to a thick pane of glass, leaving him staring out into the hallway, mouth agape.
He jumped back, startled, but then his hand touched the cool glass, running his fingers along it. He didn’t know what spell had done this, but it was impressive magic.
“Harry!” he heard both Ron and Ginny shout.
He could see them then, outside his room, and he drank in the sight. Ginny wore her favorite pair of Muggle jeans that clung to her petite form perfectly, hugging all the right curves. Harry really liked those jeans because they peeled off rather easily…
“Are you all right?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present.
He had to take a deep breath. His relief at the sight of her, looking more concerned than angry, sent a physical slackening coursing through his body. He hadn’t even been aware how tense he felt. Ron stood beside her, tall and imposing despite the pallor of his skin. He was very pale, causing his freckles to stand out dark and heavy. Ever since the final battle, Ron tended to overreact whenever he expected his mate was in some sort of trouble. Harry really couldn’t blame him, despite how exasperated he sometimes felt. After all, he had run off to die on Ron once before.
“I’m fine — just hacked off at being locked up in here. D’you know what’s going on? Why am I locked in? Where’s Owen? Have you heard anything?” The questions tumbled from his lips faster than he could contain them, and he saw Ginny’s eyes widen in concern. He didn’t tend to ramble.
Ron shook his head. “I don’t know anything. They’re being unusually tight-lipped. Hermione is still at the Ministry trying to get some answers, but even Dad doesn’t know. They never even sent a message. The only way we knew you were in a safe house was from your Patronus.”
That wasn’t standard protocol. The other times either he or Ron had been compromised, an owl had been sent to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley immediately, as they were listed as next of kin.
“We tried to go to the Ministry and ask, but they kept shuffling us around. Finally, we decided to just check on the safe houses. This is the fourth one we’ve tried,” Ginny said, her eyes raking over him as she bit her lip.
“I’m not hurt,” he said reassuringly. “We found the burnt out remains of a house — or maybe it was a laboratory, I dunno. Ethan set off the protocol when he found some dead plants around the house, but they haven’t told me anything, just locked me in here. What happened when you arrived? I heard spellfire.”
Ron snorted. “That would be this one,” he said, jerking his head toward Ginny, who looked completely unabashed. “They had two Unspeakables using Bubble-Head Charms who tried to stop us from entering. We reckoned this was the one once we saw that. Ginny cast her famous Bat-Bogey Hex when they wouldn’t answer our questions, and she was really worked up because it shattered the Charm. The other one made this glass appear then dragged her coworker away. I don’t know where they went, but we’re probably going to have some trouble coming our way soon.”
Ginny tried to push the door to Harry’s room open, but it didn’t budge. “There’s no knob on this door,” she said.
“Something isn’t right,” Harry said, running his hand through his extremely mussed up hair. “They’ve got the Spell Detector lights on in here, but I’m not showing red. There wasn’t any sign of Dark Magic that I saw, so this is something else. I just can’t work out what yet. How did you know about this safe house? I don’t remember being here before?”
Ron’s ears turned red — a sure tell that he’d done something he probably shouldn’t have. “Er… I got the address from Aberforth, actually. I went to the Hog’s Head to see if there was any scuttlebutt going on about you.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, causing Ron to shrug. “You know me, I’d rather laugh with the sinners… they’re dead useful, too.”
Harry grinned. Aberforth always did have a way of knowing what was what, much the same way his late brother always had. “That they are. Thanks for coming, mate.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, shrugging again. “George and Hermione wanted to come, too.”
“What have you been doing this whole time?” Ginny asked.
“I dunno. How long have I been here? I tried to get them to answer my questions at first. They come in every few hours and wave their wands, but they won’t tell me anything,” he said.
“Have you slept? You look exhausted,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he said, knowing they wouldn’t believe him but trying to relax the tension in his face, anyway. “I just hate being locked up. D’you think you could talk to Robards and find out how long they’re going to keep me here?”
Ron and Ginny shared a glance, and Harry could plainly see the sympathy there. They knew him too well. He averted his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look into their all-too-understanding gazes.
“I’ll ask him, mate,” Ron said quietly.
“And I’ll get Percy to demand some answers from Kingsley. He owes you that much,” Ginny said, firing up once again.
“Have they fed you?” Ron asked. Food was still of the utmost importance to Ron. “We can bring you anything you like in a jiffy.”
“How would you get it in?” Harry asked irritably. “Besides, I expect they’ll be along any second to kick you out, and I’m not sure you’ll be invited back.”
“I’d like to see them stop me,” Ginny said.
Harry smiled tiredly. “There’s my girl. I’m really sorry about our holiday, Ginny. I wish I could undo all of this.”
Ginny shook her head. “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Her eyes were very soft in that special way she had. For some reason, this time, it made his throat tighten.
“Why don’t you try and get some sleep? We’ll find out what we can, we’ll have you out of here as soon as possible,” she said.
“I —” Harry didn’t even get to finish his thought, because at that moment, several large and burly wizards, all using Bubble-Head Charms, stormed down the empty hallway.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave. You’re trespassing on Ministry grounds,” the one in the lead said.
“And who are you?” Ginny said, hands on hips and unmoving.
Ron crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what this is all about. You’ve no right to hold the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, without any explanation. You don’t look like Death Eaters, but you’re sure acting like them.”
Several of the wizards shifted uncomfortably, and the one in the lead flushed heavily. “We work in the Department of Mysteries, and Mr. Potter has stumbled across one of our cases. There will be someone in later today to fill in some details,” the wizard said. “In the meantime, I’m going to have to ask you two to leave. You’re endangering yourselves by being here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What danger?”
“What do you mean they’re endangering themselves?”
Ginny, Ron and Harry all spoke at once. Harry’s eyes looked at the team of Unspeakables, all wearing the same protective gear as the ones who’d come into his cell every time. A prickle of fear ran down his spine.
“Ron, Ginny, I want you to leave now. I’ll let you know when they tell me what’s going on,” Harry said, his heart beginning to thump uncomfortably. Neither Ron nor Ginny was using a Bubble-Head Charm.
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going on and how long they expect to keep you here,” Ginny said stubbornly.
Harry knew that look well. She wasn’t going to go quietly.
The guard obviously didn’t know that look. “I’m sorry, miss, but you will have to leave,” he said, withdrawing his wand from the pocket of his robe.
Ginny had already pulled her own and much more quickly. “You’re going to have to make me,” she said.
Harry’s heart swelled, but he needed to get her out of here. “No, Ginny, don’t. Please. You’ll make it worse. Find out what you can from Kingsley. I’m all right,” he said, his fingers pressed hard against the glass.
Ginny frowned but gave him a good once over, nodding. She put her hand opposite his against the glass, and he saw it fog where she was pressing. Turning her head toward the guard, she said, “You’re to get him something decent to eat. He likes treacle tart.”
“And a few Butterbeers. It’s inhumane to keep him locked up without sustenance and something to dull the boredom,” Ron said. He’d been quiet watching the exchange, but Harry noticed he, too, had his wand in his hand.
“We’ll take care of it, but you have to leave now,” the guard insisted.
“You’d better. I’ll find out if you don’t, and I’ll make certain you never sit comfortably again,” Ginny said, very quietly, but locking the man’s gaze with her own.
Harry grinned as the man swallowed heavily.
Ginny finally released him, and turned her eyes back on Harry, instantly becoming warmer. “Get some sleep, love, and try not to worry. We’ll work this out.”
“Yeah, take care of yourself, mate. Have some good nosh and let the Butterbeers do their thing,” Ron said, knocking on the glass before turning toward the guard. “Some Firewhisky would be even better, you know. He is the Chosen One, after all.”
Harry shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I love you,” he said to Ginny, trying to keep his voice low so that only she could hear.
Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “What did you say? I didn’t catch that,” she said, holding her hand up to ear.
“He said he loves you,” Ron said loudly over his shoulder. “Give the bloke a break, he’s stuck in there like a reptile at the zoo.”
“Gee, thanks, Ron — hadn’t thought of it quite that way,” Harry said, shaking his head.
“No problem. We’ll see you soon, Harry,” Ron said, losing his grin and staring intently through the glass for a brief moment. Harry knew that look said Ron would do anything for him, and he knew it was true.
“Thanks, Ron. Stay out of trouble, you two,” he said, watching them walking away.
“Says the man whose got himself locked in a display box,” Ron grumbled. Ginny’s responding laughter was the last he heard before his glass wall solidified once again.
Harry wasn’t exactly certain how he spent the time, or how much time had actually passed since Ginny and Ron had left. It all sort of blended together. He’d dozed again, but he didn’t think he’d had a really good sleep. He started when he heard a loud crack, his eyes opening wide. He sat up quickly, heart racing, and reached for his wand. He was still alone in the room, but a tray of food had been placed on his desk. He was pleased to note several bottles of Butterbeer and a larger bottle of Firewhisky was included on the tray.
It must be evening as he didn’t think they’d give him the alcohol in the morning. Who knew, though? Ginny had put the fear of her wand in them. He supposed it didn’t really matter, anyway. There was no window, and his watch had been removed, so time was meaningless.
Dragging his protesting body off the bed, he used the toilet and washed up, glancing at himself in the small, rather dingy mirror that hung above the sink. Deep, sunken, bluish circles were prominent beneath his eyes, and his skin looked so starkly white in the odd overhead lighting that he could see his scar standing out redder than it had been in years. His hair was even more mussed than usual, and he thought he’d looked as if he’d awoken from a raucous night at the pub with Oliver — without benefit of the night out. Out of habit, he brushed his fringe down over the scar.
Harry swore irritably and moved away from the mirror. He lifted the cover off the food tray and the aroma of a steaming plate of steak and kidney pie rose to meet his nostrils. It was usually one of his favorites, but it looked uninviting. There was also a plate of his beloved treacle tart. He sat at the desk and forced a few forkfuls into his mouth, chewing mechanically. His stomach grumbled, and he knew that his body was hungry, but the food was still rather tasteless and unappealing.
He picked at his meal for a while, trying to force down a few more bites before finally calling it a bad job and rising from the table. He opened a Butterbeer and began his pacing anew. It seemed a fairly short time later when the door opened, and the two Unspeakables once again entered the room. Both wore the same protective gear, and neither spoke as they began waving their wands in complicated patterns around him. He noticed their eyes had widened beneath the Bubble-Head Charm, and they were giving him a rather wide berth.
He remained still and unresisting while they conducted their business, but when they appeared ready to leave, he cleared his throat and moved quickly to the side, blocking their exit. They both jumped, and Harry struggled to keep his face in his expressionless Auror mask. The urge to smirk was overwhelming.
“I was told there would be someone coming by to answer some questions,” he said, his voice sounding croaky from lack of use. “When?”
The male Unspeakable nodded. “She’s here. She’s in with Auror Savage now, and will be by to speak with you shortly.”
Surprised, Harry allowed them to leave without further comment. So, some answers were finally forthcoming, and that would mean Owen was also here somewhere. Harry amused himself with thoughts of how the grizzled senior Auror was taking his confinement. Knowing Owen, he wasn’t done swearing at this mysterious Unspeakable yet.
He sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his discarded copy of The Current Quidditch Standings, and began leafing through it once again. He strained his ears to detect any sound or indication where Owen’s room might be, but there was nothing but enduring silence. He was halfway through an article on the Arrows’ new Beater when his door opened once again.
Swiftly looking up, he found a witch of indeterminate age entering his room and seating herself at his desk, facing him. She wore the expected Bubble-Head Charm, and beneath it, she had light brown hair swept back into a tight bun with one streak of lighter hair on the left side. He couldn’t tell if the streak was blonde or grey. She wore large spectacles, but the hazel eyes underneath were sharp and clear. Harry had the impression of an attractive woman who went to great lengths to hide it. Her glasses were thin, but Harry knew that meant little in the magical world. His glasses were thin, and his vision was terrible.
In his first year at Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey had examined his eyes and cast a spell on his glasses that both thinned them out and, he’d assumed, caused his prescription to change as necessary since he’d never needed it adjusted since. It was definitely a benefit of living in the magical world.
“Good evening, Mr. Potter. I’m Vivian Scott from the Department of Mysteries. I understand you’re frustrated by your detainment here,” she said, her voice low and smooth with a slight Scottish accent. She was one of only a few people that didn’t seem the remote bit interested in who he was. He liked that about her.
“More like incarceration,” he said grumpily. “I want to know what’s going on, and why the need for all this secrecy.”
Vivian nodded, face expressionless. “Well, I’ll tell you what I can. I’m glad to see you’re more civil than your uncouth partner.”
Harry grinned. Owen must’ve really let her have it. “I suppose that depends on how upfront you are with me.”
“Fair enough,” Vivian said, her lips turning up slightly in what he supposed could be considered a smile. “You came across some ruins in Wales. Why were you there?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m not answering any of your questions until you answer some of mine. You’re the one holding me here.”
Vivian pursed her lips, the left side of her face twitching. “I’m currently looking into an increased number of Muggle deaths in Wales. I think there might be some magical influence on these casualties, despite the apparent presence of a common Muggle ailment. I think the burnt house you stumbled upon might be the origin I’ve been seeking.”
“Origin of what?” Harry asked.
Vivian shifted only vaguely, but Harry noted it. “The deaths appear to be attributed to the Muggle disease they refer to as dementia.”
“Hang on… I think I read something about that somewhere,” Harry said, racking his foggy brain for where he might’ve seen it. “What does dementia have to do with wizards?”
“Yes, the Muggle press is, unfortunately, onto the story. Thankfully, the Prophet hasn’t sniffed out anything suspicious,” Vivian said, and again Harry approved of her disdain for the paper. “These Muggles are reporting dementia-like symptoms, so they’ve lumped the illness in with what they know.”
“And you don’t think that’s the case. Why else would the Department of Mysteries be involved in a Muggle illness?” Harry asked, coming to his own conclusion.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed, studying him intently before answering, “We don’t think it’s strictly a Muggle illness, no. There are disturbing similarities to a wizard ailment, but I’ve yet to find the connection.”
“What magical ailment?”
“It’s a virulent sub-strain of Spattergroit called Cerebrumous Spattergroit,” she said simply.
Harry paused a moment to see if she was going to offer anything more, but when she didn’t, he thought it was time to share. Their cases had obviously crossed somewhere. “We went to that location in search of a wizard called Gwilym Gethin. He formerly worked at St. Mungo’s as a potions master. Apparently, Gethin suffered a debilitating case of Spattergroit as a youth and had been seeking a potion to alleviate the scarring. Under Voldemort’s reign, he was asked to begin experimenting with various potions on Muggles. He’s been missing for quite some time, and his last known address was that spot in Wales. I’m guessing you think your sub-strain began at that location?”
Harry was pleased to note that Vivian didn’t flinch at the sound of Voldemort’s name as so many still did. Her eyes had widened as his story unfolded, and he wondered what connection she’d made.
“Are you aware there were two separate sets of remains discovered at that location?” she asked.
Harry frowned, puzzled. “Two? I saw one near all the cauldrons.”
Vivian nodded. “That one did have a magical signature; although it’s as yet unidentified, we can assume that was Gethin. The second was in another area of the building entirely, and that one had no trace of a magical signature.”
Harry felt his stomach drop. “A Muggle, then? So… he did continue testing even after Voldemort’s defeat.”
“It would appear so,” she said softly, “although we can’t rule out a Muggle mate.”
“How is this connected to your sub-strain? What’s the difference to regular Spattergroit?” Harry asked. He didn’t have a lot of medical knowledge other than field healing, but he vaguely remembered Ron using the magical illness as an excuse for not returning to Hogwarts during the Horcrux hunt.
“Spattergroit is a skin disease noted for purple pustules that can leave scarring. Cerebrumous Spattergroit causes severe confusion, memory loss and impairment in addition to the skin affliction. Sufferers are unable to speak once the infection reaches their uvula. They can be bed-ridden for months, and never remember any of their illness.
There is a theory that it is why no one remembered the 1877 Quidditch World Cup,” Vivian said, and Harry was very much reminded of a professor in teaching mode.
“So… that does sound very much like dementia, doesn’t it?”
“Similar, but this strain appears to be much faster working… and virulent,” she said, her lips thinning to a straight line.
“Pardon?” Harry asked.
“It’s contagious — to both populations. Muggles don’t get Spattergroit, which is highly contagious, and magical people don’t get dementia, which isn’t contagious at all, but both are susceptible to this sub-strain. We need to learn how it spreads and how quickly. Knowing anything about his research might help us develop a way to stop it.”
“We?” Harry asked, fearing most of Gethin’s research was probably destroyed in the fire.
Vivian nodded resolutely, “Our cases have crossed, and I think we can help each other. I’d prefer to deal with you over Mr. Savage, but I’ll do what I must. This outbreak must be contained before we have an epidemic spreading across Britain and eventually the Continent — amongst both magic and non-magic people.”
Harry felt a thrill of dread go down his spine, his eyes locked on Vivian’s. “How long do I have to stay here? Do you think I — all of us — caught this illness?”
Vivian perused him with her intense gaze once again. “I don’t believe so, no, but I’d like to keep you all for another day to be certain. We haven’t detected any trace of it in any of our scans, and we believe the illness is fast acting. Exactly how fast, however, remains to be seen. You came across what I believe is its place of origin, but we have no idea how long it can linger without a carrier.”
Harry nodded. He hated the thought of more time spent locked up, but at least he now knew the reasons. “I suppose I’ll see you once I’m paroled, then.”
Vivian did give him a real smile then, and it softened her entire face, erasing the stern image. Harry suspected that was why she avoided it. “I’ll see you when you get out, then.”
Chapter 5: Freed
Author's Notes: As always, my utmost thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherry, Arnel and Sue, who always make my stories better with their thoughtful care and insight.
Also, thanks very much to the readers for voting for this story in the SIYE Trinket awards. Contagion received honorable mentions in both the New Story and Drama categories. Very much appreciated!
As always, please drop a comment and share your thoughts. I love to know what people are thinking, and which angles are working and which aren’t. The only way I can know is with your feedback.
Freed
Harry, Owen and Ethan were brought directly to the Ministry from the safe house two days after Harry’s meeting with Vivian Scott. Harry wasn’t certain what caused the delay, but he was more concerned that he hadn’t had a proper shower before their Portkey brought them directly to a meeting room in Auror headquarters. He’d assumed he’d be allowed to go home first, and he was quite disgruntled by it. He wanted to go home, put on his own clothes, and spend some time with Ginny. Was that really so much to ask? He knew this case was important, but what use would he be so discombobulated that he couldn’t think straight?
He was even more dismayed by the number of people crammed into the conference room, and he tried to discreetly sniff at his underarms to be certain he didn’t smell as bad as he felt. The three detainees hadn’t even had a chance to talk and compare stories of their detainment before a Portkey had been stuffed into their hands and swept them away from the safe house.
Ethan looked just as scruffy as Harry felt, though without the purple bruising beneath his eyes. Apparently, he hadn’t had the same trouble sleeping that Harry had endured. His eyes were open wide and round as he stared around the room, and Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he was counting the number of people it contained. The one bonus was that he appeared so overwhelmed, he was blessedly quiet for once. Owen looked tired and cranky, although with his thick beard, his lack of a decent shave wasn’t as readily apparent. His eyes scanned the crowded meeting room with the same apprehension Harry felt, although he, too, was oddly silent.
The long, oval table was populated with several department heads as well as a scattering of other personnel. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at one end, appearing regal and alert as he conferred with Vivian Scott, who was seated to his left. On his other side was Percy Weasley, shuffling a massive sheaf of parchment in front of him. Next to him sat Arthur Weasley, who smiled gently at Harry as those all-too-knowing eyes took in his appearance. Mr. Weasley had been promoted to the Head of International Magical Cooperation after Kingsley took over, and all Muggle-related matters fell under his lead.
Gawain Robards sat in the chair beside Vivian, looking grim and alert as ever. Ron was next to him, appearing strangely subdued. Harry wondered if Ron had been told off for storming into the safe house. He raised his eyebrows slightly as his oldest friend, but Ron gave a slight shake of his head, indicating he’d talk to him later. Harry really hoped he hadn’t ended up in trouble. Ron and Ginny’s appearance had been the highlight of a very stressful few days. If being trapped in that safe house had reminded him of being confined in his cupboard, Ron and Ginny’s visit had been like an old, nearly forgotten fantasy he’d always had of someone bursting into Privet Drive to take him away. He didn’t know how to express that appreciation to Ron and Ginny, though.
Next to Ron sat Hermione and her boss, Amos Diggory, from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Their appearance was a mystery to Harry, as he didn’t see how the investigation of this outbreak had anything to do with magical creatures. Perhaps Vivian had learned something new since she’d met with Harry… or perhaps she hadn’t told him everything she knew. Knowing the Department of Mysteries, the second option was most likely. Hermione was eyeing Harry with concern, and he again wished he could’ve gone back to Grimmauld Place to speak with his friends first.
The chairs next to Mr. Weasley were filled by Royden Gray, who was the head of the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and one of his department members, Astoria Greengrass. Harry thought she looked rather uncomfortable seated with the many department heads.
Harry, Owen and Ethan took the three empty chairs at the end of the table opposite the Minister, and the door behind them closed on its own, sealing itself so they couldn’t be overheard. Harry was relieved when a couple pots of tea and plates of biscuits appeared in the center of the table. He immediately poured himself a cup, and it felt wonderfully soothing slipping down his throat. Whoever made the tea in the safe house had been bollocks at it.
“I want to thank you all for clearing your schedules to meet here, and I apologize to our Aurors for the hastiness, but time is of the essence,” Kingsley began in his deep, soothing voice. “I hope you are all feeling well after your isolation.”
“I think we’d be better after a proper shower,” Owen said rather grumpily, but then straightened after a stern look from Gawain Robards. “But, yes, we’re all fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kingsley said, smiling slightly. “You’re all free for the rest of the day once our meeting is concluded.”
Harry perked up a bit at that.
“I think we’d all like to know what’s going on,” Amos Diggory said, keeping his eyes away from Harry. The two had clashed over an incident with the Giants several years ago, and Diggory tended to avoid contact with Harry ever since.
“I was approached by Vivian Scott from the Department of Mysteries,” Kingsley said without preamble, nodding his head in Vivian’s direction. “She alerted me to the potential of the spread of an unidentified illness amongst both the Muggle and magical communities. I’m going to let Unspeakable Scott fill you in on the details,” the Minister said.
Vivian got to her feet, her gaze sweeping the room in the cool, clinical way she had. Many sets of eyes turned to her, their faces reflecting more curiosity than alarm. “The Department of Mysteries has been aware that, during the war, the Death Eaters were trying to develop various potions to cause mass casualties in the Muggle world. I was assigned to investigate if any of these potential hazards had, indeed, been attained or released anywhere in the Muggle world. I’ve been keeping careful track of various Muggle anomalies over an extended period of time.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. She’d kept that quiet, but it explained why she was monitoring the situation of a Muggle illness in Wales.
“Coincidentally, Auror Savage’s team is investigating a missing Potions Master, and our cases have crossed,” Vivian continued, and Harry dragged his attention back to her, and trying to force his befuddled brain into submission. “After consultation, we believe our cases are connected, and the Potions Master in question was testing one of these Death Eater experiments. Unfortunately, there’s been an accident, and we believe the result is a hazardous contagion diffused to the public.”
“With all due respect to the Muggles, what does this have to do with the magical community?” Royden Gray asked, his brow furrowed.
“You mean aside from the fact that Muggles are yet again being victimized by magical means?” Hermione asked, frowning.
Gray pursed his lips, barely sparing Hermione a glance.
“I would’ve hoped we’d come far enough to be concerned by our effect on the Muggle world, but I’m sadly aware that it will not be enough to motivate some,” Vivian said, and this time, the censure in her voice did cause color to suffuse Gray’s face. “For those unenlightened few, I’m certain they’ll be more interested to note that there is now a confirmation of cases that wizards are being affected.”
Harry’s head shot up. This was news to him. A ripple went around the table, and all were now looking at Vivian with heightened concern. She appeared to have expected this.
“A Welsh family living in the area has contracted some sort of what is believed to be Spattergroit,” she said calmly.
“Spattergroit? Well, there’s nothing new about that. It’s a nuisance, but it can be managed,” Amos Diggory said, waving his hand inconsequentially.
Vivian regarded him coolly before continuing, “Some of you may be aware of a sub-strain entitled Cerebrumous Spattergroit, which caused severe memory loss and confusion back in the 1800s. This is very similar to what is happening in the Muggle population now. The difference — and a notable one — is that, while neither Spattergroit nor its sub-strain were lethal, this new strain is. There have been numerous Muggle deaths, and one member of the wizarding family has now succumbed.”
“What about the rest of the family?” Gawain Robards asked.
“They remain in isolation, but one witch is exhibiting symptoms. Whilst Spattergroit is a long, drawn-out affliction, this new strain is not. It’s moving alarmingly fast — and it’s spreading,” Vivian said.
“What do you mean by spreading?” Arthur Weasley asked warily.
Vivian turned toward Mr. Weasley, and Harry had the distinct impression she was weighing her words very carefully. “The initial Muggle cases were located in a village not far from where Auror Savage’s team tracked their missing Potions Master. What we believe to be his laboratory was destroyed, which is why we detained the entire team for the past several days. They’ve all been cleared, but this disease has since spread to others with whom the initial victim came in contact.”
“How did those people contract it in the first place?” Hermione asked.
Vivian put on what Harry was rapidly coming to view as her teacher mode, and he was struck by the realization that Vivian was very much an older version of Hermione.
“Unspeakables have swept the laboratory remains for any signs of fulmites — these are particles left on surfaces. The impact point appears to have been burnt clean or enough time has passed to eradicate survival, but we need to get a handle on how these particles are spread. What causes the illness, and more importantly, what cures it? We’re hoping to track down any notes on exactly what this potion was meant to do, and how it was modified. We need to learn why some in the village were infected whilst others remain absolutely fine. Our initial belief was that it was airborne, but now we think it’s spread by contact since we have a trail of contact points amongst most of the initial victims.”
Vivian paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “There is also the concern that our Potions Master was testing on Muggles. We’re fairly certain of this fact, and if any of his potential testers were from this nearby village — and it’s more than likely they were — this could eliminate the airborne question entirely.”
The Minister stood while Vivian took her seat. He gave Percy a moment to finish his notes before addressing the room, “Obviously, this will be a large-scale investigation, which is why you’ve all been asked here today. I have some tasks to assign for each for your departments, and we may need to call in others as we go along. We’ve begun looking into possible potion ingredients that could be used to create this lethal aspect to the sickness, and the Department of Mysteries suspects some sort of magical creature venom could be the cause, which is why we’ve asked your department here today, Amos.”
Diggory nodded whilst Hermione scribbled notes beside him. “You’ll get us a list of creatures under suspicion — or at least those you’ve ruled out?” he asked, addressing Vivian.
She withdrew a sheet of parchment from the stack in front of her straightaway, and handed it to Hermione, who immediately began to read.
Kingsley turned to Mr. Weasley. “Arthur, we’re hoping you’ll handle not only the Muggle relations but coordination with other countries on the Continent to monitor any sign of this infecting their populations. Use your judgement on how many others you’ll need to involve. I expect a strict level of discretion from everyone in this room. Until we have a handle on this and how bad the potential could be, I do not want word of anything leaking out. We don’t want to cause a mass panic, nor alienate any of our allies. I don’t have to tell you what a diplomatic nightmare this has the potential to be. Still, if it looks as if it’s spreading to other countries, we will have to alert them so that they can take the necessary precautions. Let’s see what we’re dealing with first, but let it be known that I expect any information gathered to be shared with anyone in harm’s way. We are one Ministry, let’s act like it.”
“If we aren’t even certain how this is spread, how can we be certain it will spread to other countries?” Royden Gray asked.
“If, as we suspect, it is spread by contact, it’ll be easier to control amongst wizards through banning any long-distance Portkeys, and temporarily banning long-distance Apparition. We can monitor Apparition points, but there likely will be some who ignore our warnings. The Muggle population is much more difficult. Their ability to travel and their propensity for it is far more widespread. That will be up to their Minister once we are certain this is what we think it is, and that it’s spreading,” Vivian said.
“Royden, we’ll need help from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes to coordinate a response in the magical communities here in Britain. I’ll expect a report from you on how you propose doing this,” Kingsley said, and like Hermione, Astoria frantically scribbled some notes.
“I want all hands on-deck. This trumps anything else going on in your various departments, and pull as many people in as you need, being mindful of keeping this quiet for as long as we are able,” Kingsley said.
“What about other crimes? We’ve just completed a sweep of Knockturn Alley, and I’m certain all departments have some high priority issues affecting the wizarding world,” Gawain Robards said.
“There won’t be a wizarding world if we don’t get a handle on this,” Kingsley said grimly. “This is to be your top priority.”
Amidst some grumbling, the meeting broke apart, some of the attendees hurrying out faster than others. Both Ron and Hermione began moving toward Harry, but Gawain Robards reached him first, so they were forced to keep moving.
“I want you all in my office for a briefing on your detainment before you head out for the day. I’ll get things started here, but you all look as if you could use a brief respite,” he said to Harry, Owen and Ethan before storming from the conference room, certain they would follow.
“A brief respite,” Owen said, under his breath. “From him, that was practically like… like caring.”
Harry snorted as he and Ethan followed him to Robards’ office.
Harry leaned back and shut his eyes, soaking in the comfort of finally being home. He’d taken a long, soothing shower, scrubbing himself raw, changed into his most comfy lounge trousers with a T-shirt and was stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room with Ginny snuggled firmly in his arms. This is what he’d been craving for days. He wiggled his toes in his sock-clad feet and sank deeper into the leather cushions.
Ginny had prepared a simple lunch of ham and cheese toasties with crisps and Butterbeer, and they’d consumed it right there on the sofa. Their dirty plates and empty bottles were scattered across the coffee table as the pair felt too lazy to move. Harry had briefly told her about the meeting that morning and his subsequent discussion with Robards.
Ginny’s head was resting on Harry’s chest near his shoulder, and he was tracing lazy circles along her back. Her hand rested on his abdomen, and there was something comforting feeling its weight there.
“So, there wasn’t anyone else from the Department of Mysteries there?” she asked.
It was one of the things that he loved about her — she was curious about what he was involved with, but she didn’t barrage him with questions, instead letting him answer at his own pace without interrupting his sometimes-prolonged silences as he marshaled his thoughts.
“Just Vivian,” he said finally. “Owen doesn’t like her, and he said most Unspeakables work alone since they’re so secretive. He said her teammates don’t even want to work with her.”
“Why?” Ginny asked, so startled that she clenched his T-shirt in her fist. She raised her head slightly to look him in the eye. “I thought you said you liked her.”
“I do, but he’s not impressed. I think they had words when she visited us in detainment. She wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of working with him, either,” Harry said, remembering Vivian’s distaste of Owen’s vocabulary.
“So, you’ll be stuck in the middle again?” Ginny asked, laying her head back down.
Harry chuckled. “I suppose so. On the bright side, we’ve found what it takes to shut Ethan up — a global pandemic.”
“That’s not funny,” Ginny said reprovingly, but he could feel her grinning against his chest.
“It’s a little funny,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I didn’t get to talk to Ron and Hermione after the meeting, but I know they wanted a word. I expect they’ll come home straightaway after work.”
“Hermione was beside herself when we couldn’t find you because the last thing she’d done was argue with you. She didn’t say why though. What did you argue about?” Ginny asked.
“House-elves.”
“Again? Harry, you just need to put your wand down and tell her you don’t agree with her,” Ginny said, and he knew she rolled her eyes without actually seeing it.
“It’s not that easy,” he said.
“Yes, it is, actually.”
“Maybe for you. You’re scarier than me,” Harry said.
Ginny snorted. “I’m scarier than the man who beat Voldemort? Oh, that’s rich.”
Harry kissed the top of her head, grinning. He could smell that flowery scent that he always associated with her, and he inhaled deeply. “Hermione knows us both better than that, and she definitely knows you’re scarier. Besides, Ron says she’s just mental when it comes to house-elves.”
Ginny shook her head, sighing. “I could never understand why anyone would listen to anything Ron says, but I know you appreciate him for some reason.”
“Sorry about that,” Harry replied good naturedly.
Ginny shrugged, “Well, everyone has flaws. I suppose that’s yours.”
Harry laughed, a low, rumbling laugh that began deep in his chest.
“Seriously, though, you need to tell her how you feel. I know you love her, and she knows you love her, too. Friends don’t always have to agree to still be friends,” Ginny said.
“I know that. I’ve stood up to her before, you know. It’s just… house-elves are always so personal to her. It’s like… it’s been a life mission for her or something.”
“Umm, but didn’t you say this Gwilym character’s life mission was curing Spattergroit scars? Look where that’s got us. Maybe if one of his mates had spoken up that he was getting carried away with the methods he was using to go about things, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“That’s not fair. Liberating house-elves isn’t reckless,” Harry said, aware he really didn’t support giving house-elves their freedom if they didn’t want it, and he wasn’t certain how he’d ended up defending the notion.
“Neither is curing Spattergroit scars,” Ginny said.
Harry pulled her closer, hugging her tight. “I’m never going to win an argument with you, am I?”
Ginny nodded, snuggling deeper. “I’m glad we finally have that straight.”
Harry supposed they ought to get up and clean their mess. He needed a kip before they were due at The Burrow later that night, but it was just so warm and comfortable here. His thoughts eventually faded as he thought no more and fell into sleep right there on the sofa, Ginny in his arms, where she belonged.
Harry ended up sleeping the entire afternoon away, and didn’t awaken until he heard Ron and Hermione coming home from work, and Ginny trying to shush them. Once he’d dragged himself off the sofa and changed his clothes, they all Apparated to The Burrow for one of Mrs. Weasley’s command Weasley family dinners. Since the war, she’d made certain they’d all gather together for at least one meal per week. It was always a raucous affair, but no matter how much anyone grumbled about having to go, none of them would miss it if avoidable, and they always ended up happy they’d done so by the time it was over.
As had become habit, Harry found himself in Mr. Weasley’s shed attempting to explain various Muggle discoveries to the excitable man. Mr. Weasley had begun stealing Harry away at the beginning of each gathering to show him his latest find. Harry always found the entire clan together overwhelming at first, so he very much enjoyed being eased into it, and Mr. Weasley seemed to understand this.
Mr. Weasley seemed to understand a lot about Harry, actually. At first, Harry had been really embarrassed by his attention, but gradually, he’d learned to look forward to these small chats as much as the food they’d consume later. Mr. Weasley was always so genuinely interested in whatever Harry was doing, and Harry was slightly ashamed to admit that he enjoyed the singular interest quite a lot. Eventually, various other Weasleys ended up joining them one by one until the shed became too crowded, and they’d all end up going inside.
For now, it was just he and Mr. Weasley looking at a broken microwave oven that Mr. Weasley had brought home to examine. Despite his promotion to a larger department encompassing many other things, Mr. Weasley had never lost his fascination with Muggles, something Mrs. Weasley still found exasperating.
“And you say it can heat food as fast as magic? Amazing! I daresay, I have to see that,” Mr. Weasley said, tugging at the plug.
The microwave looked as if it had been fried at some point, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Weasley had tried to microwave a fork or something.
“So, are you feeling better after a rest? You look much improved since this morning,” Mr. Weasley said, never taking his eyes off the plug.
It was another thing Harry always appreciated about Mr. Weasley. He never pounced on Harry to answer personal questions, but more eased them into the conversation and let him answer in his own time. He recognized the same trait in Ginny.
“I feel loads better after a kip. I never sleep well when I’m not in my own… house,” Harry said hastily, flushing slightly. He’d nearly said his own bed, and that was definitely a topic he didn’t want to discuss with Mr. Weasley. He felt his face growing hot, and noticed that Mr. Weasley’s ears had gone red, as well. Unlike Mrs. Weasley, who made her feelings precisely known, Harry and Mr. Weasley had been carefully dancing around the topic for years.
“Yes, well… quite understandable,” Mr. Weasley said, clearing his throat. “Kingsley is very concerned over the potential devastation this illness can cause.”
Harry felt a bead of sweat trickling down his back and searched for a change in subject, latching onto the meeting that morning. “Yeah. D’you know Vivian Scott, Mr. Weasley?” he asked. It had suddenly occurred to him that Mr. Weasley had been at the Ministry longer than any of them, and he might have some insight.
But Mr. Weasley was shaking his head. “Not personally, no. I know of her, of course, but those Unspeakables tend to keep to themselves.”
“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. That’s what everyone seemed to say about the Department of Mysteries.
“I do recall a bit of a hubbub surrounding her a few years ago, though just hearsay,” Mr. Weasley said, his ears reddening once again.
“What’s that? Harry asked keenly.
“Now, it’s just rumor, really, so keep that in mind, but… I’ve heard she tends to rub some people the wrong way. She doesn’t hide her disdain for those lacking her abundance of intellect.”
“Hmm,” Harry said. He’d only really spoken to her once, but he could easily see how that could be the case. “She and Owen appear to have clashed, although I haven’t heard the full story yet. Owen might’ve been in as bad a mood as I was whilst locked up.”
Mr. Weasley nodded. “I think you’ll be interested to know she clashed rather spectacularly with Dolores Umbridge when she was still at the Ministry.”
Harry’s head shot up. Dolores Umbridge was still rotting in Azkaban for her implementation of the Muggleborn Registration Committee, and Harry hoped she stayed there. “Why? What happened with Umbridge?”
“I’m not really sure. I wasn’t there, but I heard they had a blazing row, and Umbridge came off looking rather foolish for it. She tried to have Scott fired afterwards, but one of her department heads stood up for her. I’m not certain whatever came of it.”
If anything, that only increased his opinion of Vivian Scott. Anyone who has a go at Umbridge was all right in his book.
“You’ve always appeared to be an excellent judge of character to me, Harry, so give her a chance, and go with your instincts. Remus was always telling us how good your instincts were,” Mr. Weasley said, causing Harry’s cheeks to feel hot.
He nodded. “She’s certainly not overly warm, but I liked her,” Harry said. “She used Voldemort’s name straight off without any squeamishness, and I always see that as a good sign.”
“There’s a good lad,” Mr. Weasley said, picking up the plug. “Do you reckon this would still work if we found a place to put it in?”
Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it, Mr. Weasley. It looks like someone might have put something metal inside.”
“And you’re not supposed to do that?” Mr. Weasley asked, his eyes widening. Harry could see a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.
“It’s dangerous,” Harry said firmly, afraid he might’ve just given the man a reckless idea. “It can cause a fire and renders the microwave useless afterwards.”
“Ah, well… we certainly don’t want that,” Mr. Weasley said, peering into the scorched inside of the microwave.
“How would you get it to work here, anyway?” Harry asked. “I’ve tried several times to get a telly to work at Grimmauld Place, but the remote goes wonky and it stops working within a few days.”
Mr. Weasley nodded, “Yes, yes. Magic and eklectricty don’t mix well, I’m afraid. You need to get your experiments done very quickly.”
Harry laughed. “I didn’t want to experiment with it. I was hoping to watch a program,” he said.
Mr. Weasley’s head shot up, beaming. “Oh, wouldn’t that be marvelous? Bit like George’s Action Twin, isn’t it?”
The Action Twin was an invention of George’s that allowed them to all view Quidditch matches on the wireless. It had been widely successful, but as yet, wizard broadcasting hadn’t gone any further than sporting matches. Ron had come up with the idea after seeing a Muggle telly in Australia, and Harry found it amusing that Mr. Weasley assumed the Action Twin came first.
“It is like that, but they also have programs that teach you how to cook, or make you laugh, or even show you a story… like a book does but with people acting out the scenes,” Harry said.
Mr. Weasley looked thoroughly excited. “Oh, I’ll have to see that. I’ve taken apart loads of tellys, but I’ve never seen anything on them before.”
Harry doubted Mr. Weasley had ever seen an actual working one. He just liked to collect things.
“We can’t go look now, though, Molly would have our hides. She’s been fretting for days over this dinner,” Mr. Weasley said, looking as if he was considering it anyway and trying to talk himself out of leaving the party.
“What’s special about this one?” Harry asked. Ginny hadn’t mentioned if they were celebrating anything.
“Oh, nothing. With Percy’s wedding fast approaching, she’s all in a dither. Audrey’s mum is making most of the arrangements, see, and Molly is feeling a bit left out. She’s used to being in charge, my Molly,” Mr. Weasley said fondly. “Her one win is having the wedding here since we’ve so much space, so Molly is focusing all her energy on the plans.”
Percy had announced his engagement to Audrey Abbott who also worked at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law. Audrey was a quiet girl, soft-spoken, and she always seemed a bit overwhelmed by the abundance of Weasleys. Harry felt a certain affinity for her because he recognized the occasional panic in her eyes. Ginny had said that Audrey’s mum was even more overbearing than Mrs. Weasley, and the two women were having some sort of tug-of-war over wedding plans.
Harry thought it was all mental.
The shed door opened, and Ron had to hunch nearly double to come inside without hitting his head. “What are you two up to? Mum grabbed Hermione and Ginny to look at recipe ideas for Percy’s rehearsal dinner,” Ron said, sounding revolted. Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard Ron sound that way about food. “I’m sick of hearing about that bloody wedding. When I get married, I’m eloping.”
“That would break your mother’s heart,” Mr. Weasley said. “How near in the future will your wedding take place? Does Hermione want to elope too?”
“What?” Ron asked blankly, then all the color slowly drained from his face as he realized what he’d said. “No! I mean… eventually, yeah, but not now. I haven’t even asked her, and don’t you put the idea in her head. I just meant I’d want to avoid Mum’s fussing is all.”
“You’re babbling, Ron,” Harry said, holding back a laugh at the panicked expression on Ron’s face.
Ron gave Harry a two-finger salute, causing Mr. Weasley to say, “Don’t let your mother catch you doing that.”
“What happened at work today? Did you get assigned to our investigation?” Harry asked. “I reckoned you must’ve done since you were there with Robards.”
Ron’s ears turned red. “Yeah. I thought I was going to get read the riot act for busting into your safe house, to be honest. Some of the higher ups in the Department of Mysteries weren’t too happy about it, and they reported me, but it turns out, Robards isn’t a big fan of them, so instead, he assigned me to work on the case. I’m supposed to report to Owen tomorrow to help you lot track down leads on where else Gethin might’ve brewed his potions to see if he left any kind of a paper trail. Neville is on it, too. Robards is hand-picking people.”
“That makes sense. Kingsley said he wanted to keep it discreet for now,” Mr. Weasley said, continuing to tinker with the buttons on his microwave.
“Hermione is already tracking samples of various species’ venom, but she reckons we should alert the Muggles of a potential problem now rather than later,” Ron said.
“Vivian said they needed some actual facts before there was anything to tell,” Harry said.
Ron shrugged. “Yeah, well, Hermione didn’t seem all that impressed with Vivian, to be honest. She still tends to respect authority figures, but since she’s always liked Owen, and he doesn’t like Vivian, she thinks there has to be something wrong with her. I think she’s just not used to not being the brightest witch in the room,” Ron said, smirking slightly.
“Did you tell her that?” Harry asked, eyes widening.
Ron looked at him incredulously. “Of course not. I’m not mental.”
“And you don’t like sleeping on the sofa,” Harry said, grinning.
“Right you are,” Ron said, nodding fervently.
“Listen, boys, your mother knows about this investigation, and obviously Percy was there, but let’s not discuss any of this at dinner, all right. I haven’t said anything to Bill, Charlie or George,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Ginny knows, so I expect Percy has told Audrey,” Harry said.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Percy always follows the rules very strictly,” Ron said, rubbing his stomach so Harry knew he was getting hungry again.
“Now, the Minister knows people talk about their jobs to their spouses, it’s only natural. He just expects the spouses also only talk to their mates. It’s always worked that way,” Mr. Weasley said, unconcerned.
The shed door opened again and George stuck his head inside. “Mum says dinner is ready, so she wants you lot to come out. Bill and Percy have already set up the table. Hurry up, it smells delicious,” George said before retreating.
“Come on, lads, our feast awaits!”
Mr. Weasley, Ron and Harry made their way across The Burrow’s back garden to where the table had been set up, already overflowing with various dishes. The aroma wafted through the air enticingly, and Harry’s stomach grumbled, reminding him that his ham and cheese toastie had been consumed long ago.
Bill and Fleur were already seated, watching George on the swing with their daughter, Victoire, who was already a year old and squealing with delight at George. Percy and Audrey sat at the far end of the table, as far from the center as they could get, Harry noted. He usually tried to get that spot himself.
Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen door carrying yet another tray, and Hermione and Ginny followed with their arms laden, as well. The only one missing was Charlie, who planned to come home for the wedding.
Harry bade everyone a hello, then slid onto the bench next to Ginny, who took his hand under the table, running her thumb soothingly along it. He gave her hand a squeeze before filling his plate. The food was sumptuous as always, and Harry ate entirely too much. He wondered if he could inconspicuously loosen a notch on his belt after Mrs. Weasleys Black Forest cake had been devoured.
“Did you have a nice chat with my dad?” Ginny asked, keeping her voice low. The scattered conversations going on along the long table gave them a bit of privacy as no one was paying particular attention to them.
“Yeah. Did you enjoy wedding planning?” Harry asked, smirking and already knowing the answer.
“I’m so sick of hearing about that bloody wedding,” Ginny said, sounding amazingly similar to Ron. “Do you know Audrey has decided on pink bridesmaid robes? Pink is not my color. Oh, and of course Mum started in on how she wishes I’d move home.”
“I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest one there,” Harry said, squeezing her hand beneath the table.
“I’ll look like a bloody beacon with the way the robes will clash with my hair,” she said crossly. “Even Fleur didn’t make me wear pink.”
Harry, who’d never once considered the need to match his clothing with his hair color, stayed silent and just nodded, hoping his expression conveyed sympathy.
Ginny, of course, saw right through him and seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, “Oh, shut it, Potter. You’ve got lovely black hair that goes with everything.”
“I think it only goes with red,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Ginny looked as if she was trying to hold her cross expression, she really did, but he could read the softening a mile away. “You’re a prat,” she said, but she leaned over and kissed him, anyway.
“Hey, hey, none of that at the dinner table. There are those of us here hopelessly alone that don’t need to be reminded of it,” George called loudly from across the table.
“Where’s Angelina, then? Have you chased her off at last?” Ginny fired back.
“Yes, where is Angelina, George? I thought you said she was coming?” Mrs. Weasley asked, turning her attention on George.
George scowled, and Ginny stuck out her tongue.
“She had other things to do,” George mumbled.
Mrs. Weasley frowned. “She’ll be here for the wedding, though, right?” she asked, pinning her son with her gaze.
“I suppose, unless any of Fleur’s Veela cousins have been pining too badly for me that I should show some compassion and escort them for a stunning evening of dancing and frivolity,” he said, batting his eyelashes at Fleur.
Fleur turned to him, waving her hand, “None of zem ‘ave mentioned you, but I can arrange eet if you’re desperate.”
“Ooooh,” all the other Weasley brothers chorused in delight.
“I do just fine. Like to spread the wonderfulness that is me around. Mum taught us all to be generous,” George said. “It’s not my fault the rest of you have decided to be selfish with a single partner.”
“Yep, she definitely ditched him again,” Ginny said, finishing off the last of her Butterbeer.
“All right, that’s enough, Ginny. We do need an accurate head count for seating arrangements, though,” Mrs. Weasley said, taking charge. “Audrey, dear, I’m going to arrange to have the marquee delivered on the Friday beforehand. That’s what we did for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and it worked splendidly.”
Audrey’s eyes opened wider, and she looked rather panicked at being addressed. She turned towards Percy, her mocha-colored ponytail hung limply down her back, but with her head turned, Harry couldn’t see her expression.
Percy cleared his throat. “Actually, mother. We’ve decided to hold the wedding at a lovely country estate in Bridport Harbor that Audrey’s mother fancies. It’ll be a lot less work for you, and there is staff to do the cleaning and serving. I think it’ll be better all around, and you can simply enjoy the day.”
A pregnant pause greeted this pronouncement. They all knew how delighted Mrs. Weasley had been by the prospect of hosting yet another wedding in the garden. She was still perturbed that the Death Eaters had spoiled the end of Bill and Fleur’s day.
Mrs. Weasley stared at her third son for a moment, silent, and the rest of the group held their breath waiting to see what she would say. Harry could feel his heart thumping as his gaze flickered back and forth between the two. He’d faced down countless Death Eaters, but he still wouldn’t want to have Mrs. Weasley looking at him that way.
Audrey apparently couldn’t take it, either, for she said, “My mum really fell in love with the place, and I’m certain you’ll love it, too.”
Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself, but her voice shook only slightly as she said, “Well, if you’re certain you’d rather do it there, but I thought having it somewhere that meant something to you might be nicer.”
This tug-of-war had been going on for over a month. Audrey’s mum kept changing the plans, and Audrey never seemed to mind while Mrs. Weasley kept trying to insert her own opinion. Percy, however, tended to go along with Audrey.
Harry thought if it was just going along with Audrey it would be okay. He was certainly going to side with Ginny if it came to it, but it felt more like Percy was siding with Mrs. Abbott because he was trying to impress her, and that reminded him too much of the old Percy.
Percy had always been Harry’s least favorite Weasley, but like the rest of them, he’d changed after the war. He’d grown more relaxed and less disapproving of his family, but he still tended to be stiff and unbending when it came to work. As much as Harry approved of Vivian Scott for her row with Dolores Umbridge, Harry always remembered that Percy had once referred to her as a ‘delightful woman.’
He could feel the tension in Ginny beside him, and he hated that this was upsetting her.
“Well, Bridport Harbor is still in Devon, so it’s not far. The backdrop of the sea will be lovely, and there’s an Inn if some folks want to stay for a bit of a holiday,” Percy said.
“I see,” Mrs. Weasley said brittlely. “Well, I won’t order the marquee, then. I’d best get this mess cleared as it’s getting dark.”
And with that, she stood, gathered a few odd things, and marched back into The Burrow, her back ramrod straight, never looking back.
“Nice one, Perce,” George muttered.
Mr. Weasley stood up, nodded awkwardly to Percy and Audrey, then followed Mrs. Weasley inside.
Percy watched him go, stiff-backed, the same way Mrs. Weasley had been. “She’s probably disappointed because she loves a crowd, but it’ll really be better this way. You’ll see,” he said, his worried expression contradicting his words.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Ron said darkly.
“Why did you wait until now to tell her?” Ginny demanded, frowning at Percy.
“It’s just happened, and I didn’t think it would come up at dinner. Besides, it’s our wedding, it’s our decision,” Percy said, his face very red.
“And she’s all of our mum,” Ron said, his voice rising. “We don’t like seeing her upset.”
“That’s enough,” Bill said, his voice resounding over all the others. “Let Percy and Audrey work it out with Mum without all the rest of your opinions. It won’t do anyone any good. Perce, I think you might want a private word with Mum, though.”
Ron, who amongst all the siblings still held more of a grudge toward Percy’s past behavior, was having none of it. “You were all fine on having it here until something better came along, is that it?” he asked, getting to his feet.
Hermione tugged on his sleeve trying to make him sit back down.
“This isn’t something better, it’s just something different,” Percy snarled.
“Siding with her family over your own. Hmm, where I have seen this before?” Ron asked.
“That’s not fair,” Percy shouted. “I’m not siding with anyone, merely choosing the location of my own wedding.”
“Doesn’t look to me like you did the choosing at all,” Ron snapped.
“Ron! You’re not helping,” Ginny said. “And Percy, since you already told her the wedding would be held here, she deserved more than an offhand comment that you’d changed your mind. Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t realize that would upset her.”
Audrey looked ready to cry while Percy and Ron were still glowering at each other.
Harry felt awkward and out of place. He met Hermione’s eyes across the table and knew she felt the same. The Weasley family always included him like another son, but sometimes, he still felt very out of his depth. “Let’s help her with clearing up all this stuff,” he said, putting dishes on one of the empty serving trays.
Hermione jumped up to help him while the siblings renewed their bickering. Harry and Hermione cleared the table quickly and efficiently, and Harry used his wand to make whatever he couldn’t fit on the tray hover above it as they brought all the debris inside the kitchen.
It was dark and empty inside, although he could hear the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s sobs floating down the stairway. He looked helplessly at Hermione, who took charge. Flicking her wand, the oil lamps lit, filling the kitchen with warmth and light.
“Let’s at least clean the mess so she won’t have to deal with it later,” she said briskly. She began loading the dishes into the sink and cast another spell so they started to wash themselves.
Harry binned the leftover scraps of food and put the dirty napkins in the hamper by the washer. It was quite some time later, when the kitchen was clean and sparkling, that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came back downstairs.
“Ah, yes. We’d wondered who’d come inside,” Mr. Weasley said. “Thank you both for taking care of the mess. Is everyone else still outside?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, I don’t think anyone has left yet, though we probably should be getting on. We all have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Right. Why don’t we say good night, then,” he said, and Hermione followed him out the kitchen door.
Mrs. Weasley’s eyes followed them, but she made no move to follow after. She looked so bereft and unlike herself that Harry didn’t know what made him do it, but he crossed the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her and hugged tightly.
She seemed startled at first, but then she tried to squeeze the life out of him. Somehow, the hug seemed to bring her back to herself, for she was the first to pull away, patting him on the cheek as she did. “Not to worry, dear, when it’s your and Ginny’s turn, we’ll do it up right.”
Harry pulled back, startled, thinking of that little velvet box he’d been unable to present to Ginny on their failed holiday. Did Mrs. Weasley know? Did she suspect?
“Oh, the look on your face, dear,” she said, laughing. “I’m not pressuring. All in good time.”
Harry didn’t have time to give it more thought as all the other Weasleys began filing back into the kitchen, the conversation growing loud once again. Percy and Audrey were both conspicuously missing, but all the rest were carrying on without a misstep. Harry stood to the side, watching them all and feeling rather out of sorts. Ginny made her way over to him, and stood against the wall next to him.
She leaned over and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Want to go home and shag?”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Does that question really need answering?”
They made a hasty retreat, Harry not sparing another thought to where the wedding was going to be.
Chapter 6: Connections
Author's Notes: Thanks to my awesome betas – Sherilyn, Arnel and Sue for all their comments and suggestions. It’s truly thanks to them that this all came together.
I like to have a little buffer of what I’m posting compared to what I’m writing, so the first few chapters always sit for a while. It’s the comments from these three that kept me moving.
Please continue to review! It always gives me a thrill to hear your thoughts on the story! Stay safe and be well, everyone!
Connections
Harry and Ethan sat in Harry’s cubicle reviewing witness statements from the village in Wales. Unfortunately, those who had taken ill weren’t in much condition to talk, and as of yet, none of them had made a connection to Gwilym Gethin.
“What if he used some sort of Memory Charm?” Ethan asked, his head, which had been propped on his elbow, popped up suddenly. “I mean, he wouldn’t want to break the Statue of Secrecy and call attention to what he was doing.”
Harry looked up, rubbing his groggy eyes beneath his glasses. They’d been reading over these statements all day. “It’s possible. The body of one Muggle was found in the lab, but I suppose that doesn’t necessarily mean he was being held there.”
“Yeah, he might’ve tested a bunch of them, and then just held the ones who showed symptoms,” Ethan said, his eyes shining.
“Or it was a new test victim. I wish we could find some sort of record of what adjustments he made — how he was able to test on Muggles,” Harry mumbled, turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. He had a dull ache behind his eyes from reading so much small print.
“Did the team that searched the lab in St. Mungo’s find anything?” Ethan asked.
“Not that I’m aware,” Harry said absently, pointing to a stack of files in the corner of his cubicle. “Those are the notes we have to go through next.”
Ethan groaned. They’d sent a team to St. Mungo’s to search for any records of the Death Eater experiments during the war, but nothing had stood out glaringly. Harry suspected most of the records had been destroyed. Still, if any of the tests had yielded unexpected results, Harry felt certain they would’ve kept those notes hidden somewhere.
“There must be something in there, though. If they were testing on Muggles during the war, they had to make some alterations to sicken Muggles with magical ailments in the first place. Gethin could’ve used their findings in his own research,” Harry said. “For now, the priority is finding if there is a connection with this Muggle sickness, and the best way to do that is through Gethin. Arthur wants to inform the Muggle Prime Minister as soon as possible if we find anything. It’s going to involve working closer with the Muggles than we ever have before if it’s there.”
“How do you think the Muggle Prime Minister will take it?” Ethan asked.
“Dunno. I know he took over around the time the war ended, and Arthur likes him a lot. Arthur likes most Muggles,” Harry said, grinning as he remembered Mr. Weasley’s stories every time he had contact with the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry suspected it was far more often than necessary, and he’d bet his Quidditch tickets that Mr. Weasley made up excuses just to chat. He supposed it was good progress that they had more contact. Hopefully, it would help if they had bad news to share.
Ethan’s eyes were wide and round. “I’ve never talked with a Muggle,” he said. “D’you think I can go on any of the interviews for this case?”
“Never?” Harry asked, amazed. “How is that possible?”
Ethan shrugged. “We lived in a wizarding village in France. I did bump into one once at the station getting ready for school, but that wasn’t really a conversation, and none of the cases I’ve worked on here involved Muggles.”
“We’re going to have to get you in the field then,” Harry said, forgetting how secular most of the Wizarding population still was. He frequented Muggle London because he enjoyed the anonymity, but most wizards either avoided it or kept to themselves while running their errands. “You should go into a Muggle pub for lunch one day.”
“I wouldn’t know what to order,” Ethan said, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “What do Muggles eat?”
“Order whatever you’d usually get — the food really isn’t any different. Sweets and drinks, yes, but the food is all the same,” Harry said.
“What kind of sweets do they have?” Ethan asked, tilting his head to the side.
Harry grinned. “I used to nick Mars bars off my cousin at Halloween when we were kids. Chocolate bars with nougat and caramel. I liked those a lot.”
“Why did you nick them? Is that something Muggles do on Halloween?” Ethan asked, putting down the folder and leaning across the desk eagerly. “Is your cousin older or younger? What did he nick from you? Or is your cousin a she?”
The rapid-fire questions made Harry shut his eyes, again forcefully returned to the Gryffindor common room where Colin frequently questioned him the same way. He wasn’t about to tell Ethan that his first experience with sweets of his own came on the train with Ron before first year. “My cousin is a bloke,” he said, ignoring the other questions. “Come on, Ethan, we can’t move onto the next batch of files until we get through this one.”
Ethan’s shoulders slumped, and he looked as if a million more questions were just brimming to be asked. He pressed his lips into a firm line, however, and returned to his work.
They’d been reading for several more hours, their heads growing heavier and heavier as they both leaned on their elbows to support them, when Owen poked his head into Harry’s cubicle, “Hey, what do you know?”
“I know there’s absolutely nothing in these files of any use to us,” Harry said grumpily. He’d always hated paperwork.
“Yeah, well, drop them,” Owen said. “Follow me. Robards wants us in the small conference room. We may have something.”
Both Harry and Ethan quickly dropped the files they were looking at and scrambled to their feet.
“Zeelus, you stay and continue here, I just need Potter for the meeting. We’ll let you know if anything changes,” Owen said, and Ethan’s face fell comically.
Harry felt a surge of sympathy, but he’d been the new kid once, too, and did his share of grunt work. In fact, since he was from the first class of fast-tracked Aurors, he’d also had to deal with the disdain from older Aurors feeling he’d been given the job because of his name. His class had, at least, made it easier for the classes that came behind him.
He followed Owen to the conference room, and found Mr. Weasley, Ron and Neville already there.
“What’s up?” Harry asked, looking at Ron.
“Come in and shut the door,” Gawain said, wordlessly conjuring additional chairs around the small, round table. It was a tight fit, but they managed it.
“Has there been a lead?” Mr. Weasley asked, leaning forward.
“A couple of things,” Robards said, running his finger over his upper lip and considering them all carefully. Finally, he slid a folder across the table towards Owen, “First off, we have a witness account of one of the infected Muggles doing business at the house where we found Gethin’s remains. This is a neighbor of one of the infected Muggles, so not someone we initially took a report from. Savage, I want you and Potter to go talk to this witness — her information is all in that folder.”
Owen took the folder but didn’t open it, waiting to see what else Robards had to say. Robards turned his attention toward Mr. Weasley, who was still leaning forward in his chair.
“Arthur, once they speak to her, it’s highly likely it will lead to confirmation of a Muggle connection. I want you to prepare a statement for the Muggle Prime Minister. Let him know we will do everything possible to contain the spread from our end, and we’ll aid him in whatever way he sees fit to stop the Muggle-to-Muggle spread we fear is happening.”
Mr. Weasley nodded, “I’ve already started, just in case. Do you have proof of it spreading between Muggles?”
“It has to be. This lead is the first potential tie to Gethin, linking our worlds. Otherwise, it’s a new Muggle illness spreading amongst their population. We’ve confirmed a case in Cardiff that had direct contact with one of the cases in Queensferry.
“Weasley, take Williams and go the Muggle hospital in Flintshire. The infected Muggle in question was unconscious when we tried to interview him before, see if there’s any change, or if you can get any more information from family members.”
Ron nodded, quickly glancing at Harry, who briefly met his eyes. He wondered if these lingering symptoms of the war would follow them into their old age. Ron always worried when they followed separate leads.
“Longbottom, I want you to meet Proudfoot at the safehouse where the wizard family is being observed. The mother hasn’t allowed anyone to question the teenage daughter, and we’ve accommodated her wishes thus far, but it’s time for that to change.”
“Why doesn’t the mother want the daughter questioned?” Neville asked.
“I think it’s just protective instincts, but she’s not being rational,” Robards replied.
“You think she has it, too,” Harry said, and it wasn’t a question.
Robards nodded. “We’re waiting on the results of some tests. You should know by the time you get there, Longbottom.”
“If we’re going to contact the Muggles, does that mean you’re ready to alert other foreign governments, as well?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Robards sighed heavily, then pressed his lips together, causing them to turn white. “Not yet,” he said at last. “You might want to prepare preliminary statements, but I want to see what comes of these interviews first. Mostly, I’d like to keep it from the press as long as possible.”
Harry could appreciate that, and he’d like to avoid any press involvement entirely. They had a knack for consistently making everything worse. They’d been lucky there hadn’t been any leaks so far.
“Where’s Unspeakable Scott?” Harry asked, assuming she’d be the one who eventually would have to handle the press.
“She’s up with Amos Diggory narrowing down potential species venoms,” Robards said. “I’ll be certain to share any leads we may come up with. For now, let’s get a move on.”
The sound of scraping chairs and ruffled paper filled the air as the meeting broke apart. Owen took his folder and led the way back towards Harry’s cubicle.
Selfishly, Harry hoped Ethan had made some headway on the stack of reports, then, feeling guilty, he said, “We should take Ethan on the interview. He said he’s never chatted with a Muggle.”
Owen stopped and turned around. “No, shit? Is he Pureblood?”
Since the war, any queries about blood status had become nearly taboo. Owen, however, never followed many social norms.
“Dunno,” Harry said. “We probably should incorporate that into Auror training, anyway. This case, in particular, has a lot of Muggle crossover.”
“Probably — you can suggest it to Robards. For now, let’s get Ethan to lead the questioning,” Owen said, grinning.
“Er… Owen, I said we should bring him, not put him in charge. We actually need answers and don’t want to blow the Statue of Secrecy first off,” Harry said, alarmed.
Owen shrugged and continued walking, “I think trial by fire is a necessary part of learning.”
When they reached the cubicle, Ethan looked up blearily, “What did I miss?”
“Close up those files and lock them away, we’ve an interview to conduct. With a Muggle,” Owen said, and Harry knew he was watching for the response.
As expected, Ethan stood up, looking both nervous and excited, “A Muggle? Really? And I can come?”
“Not only can you come, you’re leading the questions. This is our interviewee,” he said, holding up the file. Ethan’s eyes grew round and wide.
“Er… me?” he asked, his voice even higher than normal.
“Yeah, you… looks like it’s the next-door neighbor to one of the Muggles who contracted this thing. Wonder how she knows her neighbor had contact with Gethin?” Owen said, reading over the file.
Harry thought he did a really great job of feeding Ethan his first question without outright ordering him what to say. Once they’d all read the brief bit of information and address, they walked to the Apparition point and found themselves in Wales moments later. Naturally, it was raining.
The village of Queensferry was a small, quaint area in Flintshire set along the river Dee, near the English border. The row of townhouses behind which they’d Apparated rested just outside the wooded area where the remains of Gethin’s cabin lay in ruins.
“She’s in number six,” Owen said, leading them around the front. They’d all transfigured their scarlet Auror robes into Muggle police uniforms. Harry remembered how he always used to like the uniforms when they came into his primary school for various presentations.
“Which one did our victim live in?” Ethan asked, staring up at the row of identical townhouses.
“Number five, next to it,” Harry said, again looking up. He could see faces in the various windows ducking behind curtains when they realized he’d caught them looking. He was reminded of his Aunt Petunia and how she always loved to spy on the neighbors and whatever nonsense she’d imagined them doing. If she saw the police entering any of their homes, she’d be certain to tell all her friends and anyone listening that she’d seen them removing a body from the home in question.
Owen rang the bell to number six. It was opened very quickly by a middle-aged Muggle woman who looked them all over suspiciously.
“Yes?” she asked rather rudely. She had short, curly hair and wore a lot of make-up. Harry wondered if she had plans to go out for the evening.
“Hello, miss. We’re investigating a burglary next door, and your name was mentioned in the file. We’d like to ask you a few more questions,” Owen said politely, smiling most charmingly — at least he always told Harry women found him charming.
Apparently, he was correct because the woman’s entire face lit up, and she lowered her lashes demurely. “Oh, by all means. Come in, come in,” she said, opening the door wide.
The investigating team had all used the burglary story as a cover to gain interviews with the Muggles while they tried to trace where they’d become ill. From what Harry had seen, the majority of folk enjoyed talking about themselves after the first few questions.
This woman led them into her sitting room where she perched on the edge of a frilly and — Harry thought — uncomfortable-looking arm chair. She gestured toward the sofa where Owen, Ethan and Harry sat down. It wasn’t an overly large sofa, and Harry felt rather uncomfortable being squashed in between his two colleagues. The Muggle had eyes only for Owen, but he stared expectantly at Ethan, who looked rather panicked.
“Er… yes… we were reading the case file from your neighbor, Mr. Tom Keaton, and it said you might have some additional information,” Ethan stammered.
The woman puckered her lips, frowning. “Now, it’s not as if I stick my nose into other people’s business,” she said, and Harry suspected that is exactly what she did. He was even more reminded of his aunt always spying on the innocent neighbors.
“Of course, you don’t,” Owen said, flashing his teeth.
The woman’s relaxed her shoulders, rosy color filling her cheeks, “But, of course I want to help in any way I can. You say Tom was burglarized? Well, I’m not one to spread rumors, but I would’ve pegged him as the one doing the thieving.” She fluttered her eyelashes, looking at all of them for their reactions.
Ethan immediately tried to refocus her. “What? No… the report says—”
“What makes you say that, miss?” Owen asked, cutting Ethan off. Harry gave Ethan a brief shake of his head, telling him to let her keep going. Ethan would learn that they often obtained more substantial information by letting witnesses continue without interruption.
“Well, he was always so secretive of what he did for work. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve invited him ‘round for tea, but he always had somewhere to be. A lot of odd jobs, you know? Anything to earn a few pounds. One day, I noticed him sneaking off into the woods behind us,” she said, as if this was the most scandalous thing anyone could’ve done.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea what he was doing in the woods, do you?” Harry asked. If she was really like Aunt Petunia, he’d bet she’d followed him.
“Of course, she does,” Owen said, acting scandalized. “Why, I bet you’ve thought of becoming a constable yourself, with those observation skills of yours.”
Harry really thought Owen was selling it too hard and she’d see right through him, so he was surprised when she fluttered her eyelashes even more quickly, staring only at Owen and continuing breathlessly, “I do always try to be aware of things around me, and I was curi… er concerned about what he might be up to, so… one afternoon this past winter, I followed him.”
“You did?” Ethan yelped. “Where did he go? Did he see you?”
Owen waved Ethan off, glaring a stern warning. “Of course, she knew not to get caught,” he said slyly, waving on the doting woman. “What did you see?”
“There’s this path along the wood — a rather well-worn path, so it wasn’t difficult to follow. There’s this little glen, about a ten-minute walk from the village, and it contains a cabin. I saw this funny little man come outside to greet Tom when he arrived.”
“Were you close enough to hear what they said?” Harry asked, envisioning the scene in his mind’s eye.
The woman frowned, perturbed. “Not entirely, only a few words. I couldn’t get close enough without being seen. It sounded like they were talking about scars, of all things. Now, mind, this funny man had a horribly disfigured face, and I know Tom has some horrible scars on his back.”
“Scars on his back?” Owen said.
“Yes, he’s quick to put on a shirt if anyone comes by, but I caught a glimpse of them once when he was working on his car around back. It was a very hot day, so I went to offer him a cold drink, mind.”
“How very thoughtful of you,” Owen said, and Harry couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Fortunately, the Muggle woman missed it because her attention was entirely on Owen — and he knew it. Harry was well aware Owen would be preening like a peacock by the time they returned to the Ministry.
“The two went inside, and I crept closer to the window, but… for some reason I couldn’t see inside or hear them anymore,” the woman said, pouting.
“How long did he stay there?” Owen asked as if she was telling him the most fascinating story he’d ever heard.
“Well, I don’t really know. I waited a bit, but I didn’t have all day to stand around in the wood, and the wind was cold, so I went home,” she said primly. “Do you think that little man was the thief? D’you suppose he and Tom could’ve been in on something together, perhaps trying to swindle his insurance company?”
“That’s certainly something we’ll have to look into,” Owen said.
“Thank you very much for your help. We’ll keep your name on record if we think of anything else,” Harry said, taking the lead himself or he didn’t think the woman would ever let Owen leave.
“You have to go already?” she asked, clearly disappointed.
“We have to get back to work, but you’ve been most helpful,” Owen said, shaking her hand as Harry ushered them all toward the door.
“Well, come back any time if you have any more questions,” she said. “You know where I live.”
Once they were outside, the woman bidding them numerous farewells, Harry muttered under his breath, “Don’t Disapparate until we’re on the side of the building where she won’t have a window to notice,” he said, certain that, much like Aunt Petunia would, the woman was watching them intently as they walked away.
By the time Harry arrived home for dinner, Ron and Hermione were already there. Ginny, who was on a light summer schedule before the season really began in August, had prepared dinner for all of them, and they were seated at the kitchen island, their plates already filled. Harry sank gratefully onto a stool and pulled some of the bangers and mash towards him, his mouth watering from the smell.
“Long day?” Ginny asked, leaning over to ruffle his hair and kiss him hello.
Harry nodded. “You don’t know the half of it. I had to listen to Owen flirting outrageously with a Muggle witness, then nod appropriately as he went on and on about how thoroughly charming he is. It’s a wonder he can get his head through a door.”
Ron snorted. “He does seem to have a lot of dates.”
While this was true, Harry wasn’t in the mood to be generous. It had been a long afternoon listening to the gloating.
“Why was he flirting with a witness? That doesn’t seem very professional,” Hermione asked, startled.
“Have you met Owen, Hermione? Tell me one time he hasn’t flirted with you,” Ginny said, handing Harry a Butterbeer. “He likes to imagine himself a great gift to witches everywhere.”
“Well, yes, but… that’s not the point. Weren’t you on an interview?” Hermione asked.
Harry took a long swig of his Butterbeer while nodding, “Yeah, I think we made the connection between Muggles and Gethin, actually. We reported everything we learned to Robards when we came back, and he’s going to alert Unspeakable Scott.”
“Dad’ll be happy. I heard him practicing his talk with the Muggle Prime Minister when I stopped by his office,” Ron said. “I didn’t get a chance to see if Neville had any luck. Did you talk to him?”
“No, I never saw him. We went right into the meeting with Robards, and most everyone had left by the time we were finished. How did it go at the hospital?” Harry asked.
Ron shrugged. “Nothing new. The Muggle we went to see was awake, but he wasn’t in his right mind — ranting and raving like a lunatic. He called me a leprechaun,” he said indignantly.
Ginny sprayed her Butterbeer as she was overcome with giggles. “No wonder Dad loves Muggles so much,” she said, once she regained control.
Hermione grinned, “Yes, well… you do fit their image. Do you think they’re going to inform the Prime Minister, then?”
Harry swallowed a mouthful of his dinner, nodding. “Yeah, I think so. Robards said he wanted some proof of a connection first, and now he has one. I’d bet that’s what he and Vivian are discussing now.”
Hermione made an odd sort of harumff noise as she scooped more potatoes onto her plate.
“You don’t think they should? I thought you wanted the Muggles alerted,” Harry asked, surprised.
“No, I think they should’ve been notified immediately, but I was overruled,” she said sourly.
Harry knew that Hermione and Vivian had clashed about it, but he didn’t want to get involved between the two strong-willed witches. “I heard you were looking into potential venoms today. Did you find anything?” he asked instead.
“Possibly. I have a few creatures with venoms of lower toxicity in mind, but Vivian is obsessed with Billywigs. While it’s true their venom causes giddiness, I’ve never seen it without the levitation aspect, and this illness hasn’t had the merest hint of anyone randomly levitating. That would certainly cause hysteria in the Muggle world. I’m more inclined to think the Glumbumble’s melancholy treacle can be manipulated. Vivian seemed quite ready to listen to me yesterday, but today she’s right back on her Billywig idea. Honestly, neither creature produces the exact symptoms, and it could just as likely be something else entirely,” Hermione said. “I think she’s just being stubborn.”
“So, you’re still looking then?” Harry asked.
“Yes, but Amos Diggory keeps trying to shoot down Vivian’s ideas, but he can’t deny their validity, so he can’t rule them out entirely, either, and it’s making him rather cross,” Hermione said, dropping her fork back on her plate without eating anything.
“He’s not the only one,” Ron said under his breath, and Hermione scowled at him.
“I know Vivian has a reputation of being hard to work with,” Harry said delicately, remembering Mr. Weasley’s words. He thought Hermione seemed both awestruck yet intimidated at the same time. It was an interesting paradox. “And everyone in the Department of Mysteries is always secretive.”
“Oh, she’s impossible,” Hermione said, fuming. “She always thinks her way is the only logical way of doing anything.”
The other three stared at her, dumbfounded. Harry quickly took another sip of his Butterbeer.
“I can’t imagine dealing with anyone like that,” Ron said, impressively keeping his face perfectly straight.
“Oh, I know how exceptionally bright she is, and quite honestly, she can talk rings around Amos, and she’s always correct, but there’s no need to talk to him as if he’s dense,” Hermione said.
“Wow. This doesn’t sound at all familiar,” Ron said, grinning at Hermione’s rapidly darkening face.
Harry and Ginny glanced at one another, both sensing the oncoming row so they dug quickly into their own dinners.
“If you’re talking about me, you’re obviously not paying attention to what I actually said, Ronald,” Hermione said.
“You mean to tell me that you’re not anything like an exceptionally bright witch at the Ministry who likes to always be right and prove to those more inferior how she’s right by telling them how inferior their thinking is? And you’re going to prove this point by telling me how inferior my thinking is in comparing you?” Ron asked incredulously.
“That’s not what I said,” Hermione snapped. “You misunderstood my point about not talking down to co-workers.”
Ron quirked an eyebrow. “Ha! Now’s the part where you tell me I’m missing the point and storm upstairs to slam the door.”
“I’m not storming anywhere, Ron. You’re purposefully twisting my words, and I’m not going to have this conversation while you’re being this way.” Hermione placed her Butterbeer on the counter top with exaggerated purpose and strode slowly from the room.
“Well, that went—” Harry began, but Ron silenced him by putting his finger in the air, tilting his head, listening.
A moment later, the sound of door slamming from somewhere above echoed down the stairs.
“I love it when she realizes I made a point,” Ron said, grinning foolishly.
Harry pursed his lips, controlling a grin. “So, I expect it’ll be another night on the sofa for you then, eh?”
Ron’s head swiveled back to Harry, and he swore violently.
This time, Harry really did grin. “I don’t think that’s happening tonight, mate.”
“Er, Ron… not that I don’t enjoy watching you stick your foot in it, but you probably should go after her,” Ginny said, clearly amused. “She does like it when you grovel.”
“Nah,” Ron said, spearing another sausage on his fork. “She’ll come back. She’s too afraid she might miss something if we’re talking about the case. Just give her a few minutes.”
“Where’s George tonight?” Harry asked, deciding long ago that he’d never understand the intricacies of the relationship between his two best friends.
“He hasn’t come home yet. I don’t think he’s made it for dinner once this week,” Ginny said, pointing to where she’d put a plate aside for him.
“He can’t keep this up. I mean, it’s great that business is so good, but he really needs to hire more people,” Ron said.
“I know. I think he doesn’t want to admit that he can’t do it alone,” Ginny said. “I worked a few hours this morning, but I think I was more a distraction than a help.” Since Ginny had begun playing on the Harpies’ first team, she’d drawn a lot of her own fans who would converge on the shop if she was there, looking for autographs.
“It’s a bit like being Harry,” she said, nudging him in the ribs. Harry couldn’t really help out at the shop for the same reason, unless he stayed back in the storeroom.
“You’re always a distraction to me,” he said happily.
“Urgh,” Ron said, pulling his head away. “What have I told you about that soppy stuff?”
“You’re just jealous that Harry’s going to get some tonight,” Ginny said, smirking.
“Am I?” Harry asked, perking up.
“Most definitely,” Ginny replied, causing Ron to get up from the counter and take his plate to the sink.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said.
“You were on your third plateful, Ron. Don’t expect a lot of sympathy,” Ginny said, also beginning to clear the plates.
Harry took them from her and handed her another Butterbeer, “You cooked, we’ll clean up.”
“Hark, look who’s counting,” Ron said, turning the water on in the sink as the dishes began washing themselves.
“Counting what?” George asked, entering the kitchen and slumping onto a stool. The ever-present bags beneath his eyes looked painful, and his shoulders sagged once he sat down.
Ginny immediately stood to grab the plate she’d set aside for him and placed it in front of him.
“Thanks, Mum,” he said tiredly.
Ginny frowned, “Get smart with me, and I can vanish it just as easily.”
George pulled the plate closer, shaking his head. “No! I take it back. Thank you, oh gracious sister. Whatever can I do to show my appreciation for your thoughtfulness?”
“Well, that’s a good start,” she said, smirking. “Was it busy today?”
“It’s busy every day,” George said, savoring his first mouthful.
“When are you going to get some help, George? You can’t keep up this pace, it’s killing you,” Ginny said, frowning at her obviously exhausted brother.
“Yeah, mate — there’s really no need to work yourself like a house-elf. You should focus on the inventing end, and let someone else handle operations,” Ron said, leaving the dishes washing in the sink and rejoining them at the counter.
“Who’s going to be able to do that? Lee is too busy with commentating the games on the ActionTwin, Quidditch starts next month so Ginny’ll be unavailable, and you two can’t just abandon your cases to help me out,” George said, exasperated.
“So? You can put an advert is the Daily Prophet outlining what skills you need,” Ginny said, speaking very slowly like she did to Teddy when he was having a tantrum.
“It’s a family business,” George said, not looking up.
“It can still be a family business with some help. Verity and Eileen aren’t family and you don’t mind them being there. Although, Verity is very easy on the eyes,” Ron said, speaking the last sentence very quietly even without Hermione in the room.
“They’re great on register and keeping the line moving, but there needs to be someone there if there’s a problem or to deal with thievery,” George said, moodily.
“What you need is an assistant. Someone to manage things so you don’t always have to be there when you’re open,” Ron said.
“You sound like Angie,” George said, focusing on his dinner plate rather than any of their faces.
“Ah, so that’s why you’re rowing? Because she told you some truths you didn’t want to hear. She has your best interests at heart, you know. You can’t keep up like this, George,” Ginny said.
“Fred wouldn’t have wanted you to burn out, mate. The shop is to create laughter,” Harry said in a low voice.
“I know… It just seems like… like I’m betraying him or something if I take on a partner,” George said, squirming on his stool.
“It doesn’t have to be a partner. An assistant manager would be a huge help. Hire two if you don’t want to give someone else too much control,” Harry suggested.
“Maybe,” George said, noncommittedly.
“Maybe what?” Hermione asked, reentering the kitchen to find them all still huddled around the counter-top.
“Ah, I knew you’d be back,” Ron said, grinning.
“I came to get a cup of tea,” Hermione said, pointing her wand at the kettle. It boiled instantly. As she very slowly and precisely prepared her tea, she asked, “What are you talking about?”
“About George getting some help at the shop,” Harry said, hoping she’d let the earlier disagreement go and come and join them. He always preferred when they all were getting along. He’d learned a long time ago — after many meals with the Weasleys had deteriorated into bickering and squabbling — that families didn’t always get along harmoniously. Still, he liked it when they were all together and happy.
“I didn’t say I was going to — just thinking about it,” George said, grumbling.
“Apparently Angelina isn’t talking to him because he’s being a bull-headed prat,” Ginny said, smirking.
George’s head shot up, his ear very red, “She never called me that.”
“Not to your face, anyway,” Ron mumbled.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s saying it behind your back,” Ginny said, nodding.
George rolled his eyes, again refocusing on his cooling dinner. “Oh, aren’t you lot so worth coming home to?”
Hermione brought her tea over and sat at the counter. Ron grinned smugly at Harry and Ginny over her head. “So, why don’t you want help?” Hermione asked George.
“All right! I said I’d think about it, didn’t I? What did you lot do today beside interfering where you weren’t asked?” George inquired, clearly at the end of his patience.
“We’re all still trying to work out what’s in that potion I told you about — the one that causes confusion and memory loss,” Harry said, recognizing that George had had enough needling.
They hadn’t confided in George about the illness, as per Kingsley’s orders, but instead they used the cover story of a mysterious potion that they’d found on their raid in Diagon Alley.
“Hermione’s looking into Billy whatsits and Glumby somethings,” Ron said. “Trying to see if their venom was used.”
“Billywigs and Glumbumbles,” Hermione corrected automatically. “Both have elements that can cause confusion.”
“Why just venoms? Why not look into plants?” George asked.
“What… like different potion ingredients, you mean?” Harry asked.
“Well, things like scurvy-grass, lovage and sneezewort are common in Befuddlement Draughts, but there are some rarer things that’ll cause similar results, like Alihotsy leaves. I use a lot of them in various products,” George said.
Hermione’s eyes opened wide. “I think Vivian mentioned something about Alihotsy leaves… earlier today when we were talking about the Glumbumbles. The hysteria the leaves produce can temper their melancholy.”
“So, she is looking at other options. I reckoned she would,” Harry said, not at all surprised Vivian knew what Hermione was talking about, even if it sounded like a foreign language to him.
“She only mentioned that one,” Hermione said, her voice still having that dreamy quality she always had when she was caught up in her own head.
“Trust me, I’d bet my broom she’s brewing several cauldrons down in the Department of Mysteries trying to duplicate whatever Gethin was making,” Harry said.
“D’you reckon she knows more than she’s saying?” Ron asked.
“Of course, but she doesn’t know for certain, or she wouldn’t need any of us,” Harry said.
“Well, now that I’ve given you all more to ponder, I’m going up to bed. Thanks for dinner, Ginny. I need to be back at the shop early to decide how to display the new line of Daydream Charms,” George said, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s new about them?” Harry asked, noting how George never referred to any of his new inventions as “his.” He always used a neutral term like ‘the’ or ‘an.’
George smirked, but it was Ginny who answered, “These are ones designed for adults, right — more fantasy-inducing than daydreams?”
Ginny looked particularly pleased about them, and something about her expression alerted Harry that he needed to ask her more about it when they were alone.
“Well, of-age students would still be all right,” George said, tilting his head to the side.
“Ah, you don’t want parents to catch on, then,” Ron said, grinning. “Wouldn’t want them thinking their little dears were hiding in the same broom cupboards they used to hide in,” Ron said, chuckling.
“Right in one, little bro,” George said, “but I still need them to sell, as I think they’re a potential Galleon mine.”
“Why don’t you make them owl-order only? Then, students can order without parental knowledge, and adults can order without being embarrassed about it. That way, you don’t have to do all the selling on your own, either. Anyone can fill mail orders,” Ron said, scratching his ear.
George looked rather stunned. “Er, Ron… that’s clever. I could just tell the girls at the shop to mention it to customers looking at the old Daydream Charms.”
“Or, you could slip a flyer in everyone’s bag alerting them to watch the owl-order form for new additions,” Hermione said.
George nodded absently, his mind obviously awhirl with thoughts and planning. “Thanks,” he mumbled, heading upstairs.
“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” Ron said, amused.
“It was a very good marketing strategy, Ron,” Hermione said rather stiffly.
“Er… thanks, and you, too… with the forms in bags idea,” Ron said, nudging her shoulder.
Harry and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other.
The four friends finished tidying up the kitchen — Harry doing his usual Aunt-Petunia-like wipe-down — and headed up to their own bedrooms. Ginny stuck her hand inside Harry’s, giving it a quick squeeze.
Harry kicked the door closed behind him and took her in his arms, feeling as if all his tension and other cares were draining away. “So, tell me, what did you do all day?” he asked.
“We had a photo shoot for that upcoming charity exhibition match,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she pulled away to pull her night things out of a drawer.
Harry paused, admiring the view as she slipped another one of his T-shirts over her head. An orange Chudley Cannons logo blared across the front, something Ron had once given him, he was sure. It looked much better on her than it ever had on him. “You didn’t enjoy having them tell you repeatedly where to look?” he asked, grinning and thinking of the loads of reporters that were always shouting at him, wanting photos.
Ginny sat at her vanity beside the bed and picked up a hairbrush, beginning to tug it through her long mane. “I know it’s for charity, but it all seems so ridiculous. They should use pictures from actual games, not these stupid posed shots. And I don’t think Gwenog even agreed to the whole thing for purely philanthropic reasons,” she said, wincing as the brush hit a tangle.
Once he’d finished changing his clothes, he moved over to her vanity and took the brush from her, beginning to gently undo the tangle, “What makes you say that?” He knew the Harpies were facing off against the Montrose Magpies to raise funds for St. Mungo’s Hospital in a match set to happen before the actual season began.
Ginny closed her eyes, obviously enjoying his ministrations, “During every break she was coaching us on what to watch for. I think she’s preparing a strategy for when we face the Magpies later during the actual season.”
“Of course, she is, wouldn’t you?” Harry asked, laughing.
“Naturally, but I think I could be far less blatant about it. She lacks the skill of subtlety,” Ginny said, putting her nose in the air in an expression Harry found adorable.
“Does she, now? I suppose since you’ve always been very good at getting away with things, you might have a point,” Harry said, the brush now flowing smoothly through her hair, flecks of gold playing of the dim oil lamps on the walls of the room.
“Of course, I do. I’m very clever, you know,” she said, her bright eyes twinkling mischievously.
“I’m not so bad myself. I did pass my Stealth Qualification with flying colors,” Harry said, grinning into the mirror so she could see.
“Yes, but I’m not sure how. I mean, you have that emotionless mask thing down pat, but it all goes to hell once someone gets to know you, and the way you show off that scar — it’s a bit… attention grabbing, know what I mean?” Ginny said, bolting from the vanity, giggling madly as he reached to catch her. She climbed up on the bed, scrambling away from him and gave a little shriek as he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back towards him.
“Attention grabbing, am I? I’ll show you attention grabbing,” he said, tickling her sides until she begged him to stop.
He climbed into bed next to her, grinning smugly. “I’m very stealthy.”
“Of course, you are,” Ginny said, still giggling.
“Speaking of stealth, what d’you know about George’s new Daydream Charms? You looked way too guilty about them, by the way,” Harry asked.
Ginny’s cheeks turned a delightful rosy pink color. “Oh… um… d’you remember that dream I told you about, the one where we shared a broom…”
Harry turned toward her, shocked. “You didn’t tell him about that,” he yelped, feeling his own face filling with color. That dream was definitely not brother-sharing material.
Ginny smirked and she scooted over, straddling him, “Well, perhaps not all the details, but… he got the idea. He’s adding a vibration spell that can be added to wands.” She leaned over, kissing him soundly. She ran her hand gently along his chest, making him shiver.
Harry gasped as she reached her hands between them, adjusting him. Suddenly finding it rather difficult to breathe steadily, he found he really didn’t care what she’d revealed after all…
Chapter 7: Fitting
Author's Notes: Thanks to DuarteN from the GinnyLoversDiscord for remembering which name I’d used for Harry’s owl. How embarrassing when you forget your own story details!!
Thanks to Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their beta expertise and for always fitting me into their busy schedules. I really appreciate all the assistance.
Please don’t forget to share your thoughts!!
Fitting
Ginny took a deep, steadying breath before entering Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. She was expected for a fitting of the dress robes for Percy’s wedding. She wasn’t surprised that he and Audrey had chosen to go the traditional route of wearing robes, but she’d be happier with a dress. Besides that, the robes were pink which was driving her spare. The other two attendants — Audrey’s sister and her cousin — were both blondes who would look perfectly lovely in pink. Ginny, on the other hand, looked like a hot mess with her vibrant hair clashing horribly.
When Ginny was young, her mum used to make her wear pink whenever she could afford anything new. She knew it was because her mum was so happy to finally have her girl, but Ginny had actually preferred the hand-me-downs of her various brothers than the pink, which she found garish and stained much too easily.
Professor Umbridge’s fondness for it had been the last straw. Yet, here she was, getting the final fitting of her new pink dress robes. Life was really bitchy sometimes.
Steeling herself, Ginny pushed the door open, spotting her mum, Hermione and Fleur immediately.
“Oh, there you are, Ginny, dear,” Molly said, wrapping her in a tight hug and dragging her inside. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss it entirely. We all thought we’d come and pick out our robes so we’d all have our colors.”
Ginny glanced quickly at Hermione and Fleur, who were both trying to cover their grins. Ginny knew perfectly well that her mum would’ve roped them both into the fitting so she wouldn’t have to spend any time alone with Mrs. Abbott.
“Brilliant idea, Mum,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Hermione and Fleur over her mother’s shoulder. “Have you had your fitting yet?”
“Yes, dear, mine are all set. The Abbotts are all back there being fitted now,” Molly said, absently adjusting Ginny’s hair around her shoulders. “Fleur found a lovely pale green one.”
“Oui, eet is tres bonne,” Fleur said, smiling her radiant smile.
“How about you, Hermione?” Ginny asked. She thought her friend looked rather agitated and harassed. She wasn’t certain if it was due to spending the morning going through the fittings, or if it was being away from the Ministry. She, Ron and Harry had all been putting in long hours.
“Oh… not today. I think I’m going to wear a dress, actually,” Hermione said, glancing nervously at Molly, whose lips pinched slightly.
“I wish I could wear a dress, too,” Ginny said.
“Well, it’s nice to see the old traditions upheld, too,” Molly said, narrowing her eyes at Ginny. She then turned to Hermione, a smile crossing her face, and said, “I’m certain you’ll look lovely in whatever you decide to wear, dear.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Her mother always let Hermione and Harry off the hook.
Before anyone could respond, a harassed-looking Madam Malkin poked her head out from behind the curtain. “Good, you’re here. I want to see all three girls lined up together. Come in, and we’ll get you into your robes,” she said bossily, waving Ginny inside.
Ginny followed her into the dressing area where Audrey was standing next to her mum looking at the other two attendants, who were standing on stools in their luridly bright pink robes.
“Hi, Ginny!” Hannah Abbott said, beaming as Ginny entered the room.
Hannah, who was Audrey’s cousin, was in Ron’s year at Hogwarts and a fellow member of Dumbledore’s Army. She currently worked at the Leaky Cauldron, and always arranged a private table for Harry so he wouldn’t be harassed too badly by unruly crowds. Ginny appreciated her very much for that. She knew Neville had fancied her as far back as Hogwarts, but as far as she knew, they’d never become exclusive.
“Hi, Hannah, good to see you. Hello, everyone,” Ginny said, giving the room at large a wave.
Madam Malkin urged her behind a curtain to change. Ginny allowed her assistance while observing the others in the room from behind her lowered lashes.
Hannah and Claire, Audrey’s sister and the third bridesmaid, were both looking in the mirror at their robes, which were pinned in various spots. The shoulder on Claire’s kept slipping, and she kept pushing it back up.
“Do stop fidgeting, Claire. It’s unbecoming,” Mrs. Abbott said imperiously. She was a stern, middle-aged witch with dull brown hair that she wore pulled back into a tight bun. Small ringlets outlined her angular face so perfectly, Ginny suspected they’d been placed rather than come undone from her bun naturally.
Audrey had her mother’s coloring, whilst Claire was blonde, like Hannah. Ginny supposed that came from the Abbott side of the family. She knew Audrey’s brother, who had been in Ginny’s year at Hogwarts, was blond, as well. He’d also been friendly with Zacharias Smith, so Ginny had never paid him much attention.
Once Ginny had put on her robes, Madam Malkin ushered her out to the one remaining stool and urged her to step onto it. Ginny reluctantly raised her head to look into the mirror that made up the back wall, cringing away from the clash of colors. She looked like a giant, bloodshot eyeball.
“Oh, la la! Ginny, zat color is ‘orrible with your ‘air,” Fleur’s voice rang across the room. Ginny hadn’t even realized that she, Hermione and Molly had all come into the back to watch the fitting.
“I’m aware,” Ginny said, sighing. Leave it to Fleur to point out the obvious.
“Oh, no… I think you look very nice,” Audrey said, lying, but clearly upset.
“Don’t worry about it, Audrey. Everyone is going to be looking at you, anyway,” Ginny said, trying to smile. If it had been any of her other brothers, Ginny knew she’d tell them exactly what she thought of the dress choice. Her relationship with Percy still seemed so tender, even three years after the war. Although they’d all tried to move past old wounds, there was still just a fragility to any disagreements.
She knew Percy had changed, they all had. He laughed more easily and always showed up to assist their parents with anything they needed. Ginny knew he must’ve missed them terribly when they were estranged.
When she was very young, she’d been closest to Ron, and they’d been playmates. As she grew older, she’d idolized Bill. He paid attention to her, and she thought he was cool. Once she was at school, she’d been closest to Fred and George. They’d been the ones who made the most effort to include her after her disastrous first year. They never tip-toed around her and even seemed to respect her own abilities. After the war, it was Charlie she’d grown the closest to while they both did their best to take care of their grieving mum and George. It had never been Percy, and she felt bad about that, so she was trying her utmost to bond with him and his new fianc.
She couldn’t say she was overly fond of Audrey, but she didn’t have that instant dislike she’d had of Fleur, either. Of course, she was no longer fourteen and jealous that she was losing a brother, so that could’ve explained it, but she just hadn’t found a connection with Audrey. Perhaps it would grow, as it had done with Fleur. Admittedly, Audrey wasn’t nearly as condescending as Fleur had been, but there wasn’t a lot of warmth to her, either. She was very reserved, and Ginny thought the Weasley family tended to overwhelm her.
In a way, she was a lot like Harry, but whereas Harry did get overwhelmed, too, he still appreciated the chaos and seemed to love everything about the insanity of her family. Audrey tended to shy away from it, and sometimes it made Ginny feel as if she was looking down her nose at them all.
Although Hermione wasn’t quite part of the family officially, Ginny knew it was only a matter of time, and though she could also be reserved, she never acted aloof. Like Harry, she genuinely seemed to like them all. Hermione was definitely her favorite sister-in-law… well, almost sister-in-law.
Ginny’s attention was dragged back to the present when Mrs. Abbott, who’d been staring at Ginny with consternation since Fleur’s comment said, “You could always wear your hair pulled back into a tight bun, or do a Color-Changing Charm. I suppose we could add some flowers around it.”
“Hide it, you mean?” Ginny asked coolly, feeling her temper rise. She was rather proud of herself for her restraint in not simply hexing the rude woman. She was trying for Percy’s sake, but if they wanted her in the damn wedding, she wasn’t going to let them hide who she was, either. “Is that something you’d like us all to do, Audrey?”
“Er… no… I mean, I don’t think you all have to have matching hairstyles,” Audrey said, glancing nervously at her mother.
“Of course not. It’s just a suggestion if you’re self-conscious about being ginger,” Mrs. Abbott said with syrupy politeness.
“And why should she be self-conscious about that? Some witches pay stylists a fortune to get their hair to look exactly the way hers does naturally,” Molly said, her face extremely red.
“Of course. It’s all a matter of… taste,” Mrs. Abbott said, her eyes locked on Molly.
“Well, I could always bow out of being a bridesmaid. It wouldn’t bother me at all,” Ginny said hopefully, knowing if she’d simply cast her hex, they’d probably kick her out. But she was being a good girl today, she thought sourly.
“Ginny! What a thing to say. Of course, you should be in the wedding. You’re Percy’s sister, after all,” Molly said.
“No, don’t be silly, child. Wizard custom says the wedding party should be made up of a blending of the families, and as you are Percy’s only sister, it’s fitting that you be there,” Mrs. Abbott said at the same time.
The two older women, who’d been glaring at each other a moment before, each adjusted her own robes, both taken aback by this apparent unprecedented agreement.
Ginny suspected Mrs. Abbott’s insistence that Ginny be part of the bridal party had far more to do with her desire to keep her own son as one of Percy’s groomsmen rather than to have Ginny in the party at all.
When it was her turn — and she suspected if her failed holiday had actually happened, she might be an engaged woman by now — she was having Hermione and Luna as her attendants, wizarding custom be damned.
“All right, then, pink it is, and we’ll all do our hair as we like, is that right, Audrey?” Ginny asked pointedly. She wished Audrey would give her own opinion for once, rather than looking to her mother for every little thing. It was her wedding, after all, and it was driving Ginny ‘round the twist.
“Y-yes,” Audrey said, swallowing visibly.
Before she could look for her mother’s approval, Ginny quickly said, “Excellent. I think I’ll do mine the way I had it for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. I liked all the loose curls for a change.”
“Oh, mais oui, you looked so lovely, Ginny,” Fleur said, winking. In that instant, she knew that she and Fleur were co-conspirators and more sister-like than they’d ever been before. “It suited you to perfection.”
“It did look beautiful. I remember Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of you,” Hermione said, giving Ginny a small smile.
“Well, yes, that and the fact the dress was rather low-cut,” Molly said, shocking her daughter with the mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Both Fleur and Hermione grinned widely.
“All right, that’s settled then,” Audrey said nervously.
They could all tell Mrs. Abbott wasn’t pleased, but there wasn’t really a graceful way out of it at that point, and she’d realized it.
“Well, let me just get these last few pins in, and I’ll have the robes sent to you by owl,” Madam Malkin said, still working on Ginny’s robes. She’d already adjusted the shoulder strap on Claire’s. “That includes the ones you purchased, Mrs. Weasley.”
For a moment, Ginny felt confused until she realized Madam Malkin wasn’t talking to her mother, but to Fleur. That was weird.
“Merci,” Fleur said before turning to Molly. “Shall we go and pick up Victoire?”
“Yes, of course. You’ll be all right, Ginny? We left Victoire with Andromeda,” Molly said.
“I’ll be fine, Mum,” Ginny said. “As difficult as it might be to believe, I can find my way home all by myself.”
“Well, it would certainly be easier if you still lived at home. Then you could just come back with me,” Molly said, her eyes narrowing, “and I wouldn’t have to worry so much.”
Ginny did not want to get into this argument again, particularly not in front of all the Abbotts.
“Ginny, why don’t you walk back to the Ministry with me? I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Hermione said, intervening quickly.
She smiled gratefully, thanking Hermione with her eyes. “That sounds perfect.”
Once her fitting was done and she’d changed back into her own clothing, she and Hermione walked up the street toward the Leaky Cauldron.
“Did you really have something you wanted to talk about, or were you just bailing me out with Mum?” Ginny asked, grinning.
“Just giving you an out,” Hermione said. “Have you talked to Harry today?”
“No, why? Is there something I should know?” Ginny asked, feeling apprehensive. “He’s not back in a safe house again, is he?”
“No, but Neville is,” Hermione said, glancing around to be certain they couldn’t be overheard.
“He is? What happened? Is he all right?” Ginny asked, alarmed.
“Apparently, he went to the safe house where that wizarding family who contracted the illness is being held. They thought the mother might have it, but she tested negative. Neville interviewed the daughter shortly before her test came back positive, so both he and Auror Proudfoot have been quarantined,” Hermione said.
Ginny swallowed, feeling rather alarmed. “So, what happens now? They watch him for a few days like Harry?”
“No. They know for certain he was in direct contact, so his quarantine will be longer. They have a few cases in England now, which isn’t surprising since Queensferry is close to the border, but they still haven’t nailed down an incubation period,” Hermione said.
“So, he’s stuck indefinitely?”
“Well, honestly, its better that than if he gets sick. This illness is odd. It has all the symptoms of Cerebrumous Spattergroit except the pustules most indicative of standard Spattergroit, and the fact it’s affecting Muggles. I’ve heard the term Muggleton Spattergroit several times now, but I keep insisting they come up with a different name. We’re going to have some of the Pureblood holdouts using this to blame the Muggles for it. It will somehow become the Muggles’ fault, and they’ll say they brought it to the magical community. I know they will,” Hermione said. In her agitation, she’d begun walking faster and faster as they spoke so that Ginny was nearly running to keep up with her.
“Hermione,” she finally said, gasping, “slow down, my legs aren’t quite as long.”
“Oh! Sorry, I’m just worried, and that fitting took longer than my lunch hour should’ve.”
“Did you eat?”
“No, but I don’t have time now.”
“Let’s stop at the Leaky Cauldron and you can take something back for Harry, too. I’ve noticed he’s been off food again,” Ginny said firmly.
Hermione smiled vaguely. “He always does when he’s worried about something. I remember I used to pile stuff on his plate before Quidditch matches, of all things.”
“That sounds like him. It’s definitely not a Weasley trait.”
“Definitely not. It’s always been a bad idea to keep Ron away from food. I’ll get him something, too. He’ll always eat again,” Hermione said, a shadow crossing her features. Ginny knew she was remembering their time on the run, but she didn’t want to make her friend sad.
“To be fair, I’ve been told I’m not pleasant when I’m hungry, either,” she said, nudging Hermione with her elbow. “And you can get rather short, yourself.”
Hermione nodded. “The Leaky Cauldron it is then. I wish I could stay, but I really do have to get back to the Ministry.”
“Not to worry, I’m supposed to meet the team for a planning session for our upcoming match.”
“I thought it was just exhibition?”
“It is, but that isn’t stopping Gwenog from going all out with her planning. This will get a lot of press, and we don’t want the Harpies’ going into the season with a loss.”
“But… it won’t matter in the standings, right?”
Ginny grinned. Even after all this time and living with four Quidditch fanatics, Hermione still didn’t understand the competitive mentality. “Yes, but perception is everything. Trust me, the Magpies’ captain is doing the same thing. Put it this way, if you went to a planning meeting on some new law, one where just ideas are being tossed around and it wouldn’t make a legal difference, would you want to be proven wrong outright?”
“Well, of course not, but…” Hermione trailed off, pressing her lips firmly together.
They’d reached the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside, walking directly up to the bar. Hannah Abbott was just coming out from a back room, tying an apron around her back. “Hey! Long time, no see,” she said, grinning.
“Oh, Hannah — we would’ve walked back with you, but we just decided to grab some lunch to go,” Hermione said.
“That’s all right, I was late for my shift, so I left quickly. I’m sorry my aunt was so rude, Ginny,” Hannah said, apologetically.
“It’s not your fault,” Ginny said, still feeling rather unforgiving towards Mrs. Abbott.
“She can be very forceful, but she really was good to me after I lost my mum,” Hannah said, grimacing.
“I’m glad she was there for you. And don’t worry, I’m not easily intimidated,” Ginny said, squeezing Hannah’s hand.
“What can I get you?” she asked brightly.
Hermione placed a take-away order, and when Hannah went into the kitchen to place it, another witch approached the bar.
“Unspeakable Scott,” Hermione said, her eyes widening.
Ginny spun around to get a look at this witch she’d been hearing so much about. She wore well-tailored Ministry robes and large spectacles that covered her eyes entirely, as well as a good portion of her face. Despite the fact she wore only minimal make-up, Ginny found her quite striking.
“Ms. Granger,” Vivian Scott said, nodding, “I see we both thought of grabbing some fortitude before the Minister’s meeting this afternoon.”
Hermione blinked. “Er… meeting? I had an appointment earlier, so I was taking lunch back.”
Vivian’s eyes travelled over both Hermione and Ginny coolly. “I see. Yes, the Minister wants to update the entire team at half two.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you thought to stop, then,” Ginny said brightly before offering her hand to the older woman. “Ginny Weasley.”
Vivian slowly reached out her hand to shake Ginny’s, a twitch showed briefly in her left cheek. “Vivian Scott. So, you’re the one who burst into my safe house and scared the life out of my guards?”
Despite her best efforts to tamp it down, Ginny felt her face coloring brilliantly. Damn Weasley coloring always gave her away. “Well, if the situation had been explained properly, it wouldn’t have been necessary,” she said stiffly, refusing to be cowed. She’d do it again if they tried to lock Harry up.
“Duly noted. Of course, Pierce, the one whose Bubble-Head Charm you shattered, is delighted to tell the story to anyone who will listen about how he was attacked by the Holyhead Harpies’ best Chaser while he was guarding the Dark Lord Vanquisher. He’s become quite the celebrity in the staff room.”
Ginny opened and closed her mouth several time, feeling slightly like a fish, but unable to find the words.
It was Hermione’s snigger that broke the spell. “Oh, he hates that one.”
Ginny couldn’t tell if Vivian was amused or simply inquisitive.
“Hates what?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“The nickname,” Ginny said. “He has loads, but he likes to pretend they don’t exist.”
“Ah, I see. You make quite the pair, then. I believed Pierce refers to you as ‘Wind Chaser Weasley’ when he tells his story.”
Ginny felt her color rising again. She had heard that name being chanted in the crowds during matches. “D’you follow Quidditch, then?” she asked.
“Not as avidly as some of my counterparts, but I do enjoy a good competition now and then. Green and gold are an excellent color combination.”
Ginny grinned. Anyone who followed Quidditch couldn’t be all bad, and a Holyhead Harpies’ supporter was even better. Before she could reply, Hannah returned from the kitchen, handing Hermione two large bags.
“Here you are, Hermione. I put in a few extra of the rolls Ron enjoys,” she said.
“Oh, thanks, Hannah, he’ll appreciate that. Cheers,” Hermione said, gathering the bags. “Ginny, I have to run. I expect we’ll all be late tonight if the Minister is having a meeting.”
“All right. I won’t wait up then. Good luck,” Ginny said, steering her toward the Apparition point. Once Hermione had disappeared, she turned back toward Vivian, who’d placed her order with Hannah.
“Well, I suppose I’ll be going. It was nice to meet you,” she said awkwardly.
“Do you all live together?” Vivian asked.
“Yes, along with another of my brothers who owns a joke shop here in Diagon Alley.”
“I see. The Minister did mention that Arthur had many children. Percy and Ron are the only ones who followed him into the Ministry, correct?” Vivian asked.
“That’s right. My oldest brother is a Curse-Breaker, and the next one is a Draconologist,” Ginny said, unable to cover the pride in her voice.
“I very much appreciate the fact that you have a houseful of brothers, yet you’re the Quidditch star. Good on you, Miss Weasley,” Vivian said, gracing her with one of her rare smiles.
Ginny felt oddly bolstered, uncertain why this stranger’s opinion was so important to her. “Well, I did used to sneak out to the garden to have a go on their brooms whenever they weren’t looking,” she said.
“I’m certain you did. It was a pleasure to meet you,” Vivian said, taking her order from Hannah. “Mr. Potter is a lucky man.”
“And I make certain he doesn’t forget it,” Ginny said, winking. The two women walked in easy camaraderie toward the Apparition point before disappearing toward their separate ways.
Harry arrived back on the steps of Grimmauld Place well after midnight, feeling haggard and defeated. The illness was in England now, as they’d all expected it would be. Still, expecting and knowing were two different things. He wasn’t certain if Ron and Hermione were back yet or not, but he suspected Ginny would’ve already retired. Lacking the energy to cook anything, he stumbled into the sitting room and poured a small glass of Firewhisky from the decanter there. He sank wearily onto the couch, enjoying the slight burn as he took his first swallow.
It had been an abysmally long day.
He swirled the drink around in the glass, appreciating the way the light from the oil lamps shone off the color of the whisky. It reminded him of Ginny’s eyes.
Crookshanks, Hermione’s aged and rather grumpy cat, hopped up onto the couch and moved onto Harry’s lap, kneading his legs with his paws. His face was more white than orange now, with several lighter shades mixing in with his fur. He purred contentedly as Harry scratched behind his ears.
Kingsley had held a meeting with the entire team, and they’d decided they could no longer keep this quiet. It wasn’t going away. The number of cases was spreading rapidly, so they’d worked out a statement to be given to foreign leaders, and a press release that they’d decided they’d hold onto until word leaked out. They’d tossed around ideas on how to contain the virus and keep it from spreading any further. With regular Spattergroit, the victims were easy to spot, and wearing a Bubble-Head Charm and dragon-hide gloves usually sufficed for any needed contact. Otherwise, patients were just left to wait it out. The itching didn’t usually come until the pustules were healing, and before that, the only other symptom was fatigue. That was fortunate, the infected could sleep through most of their confinement.
Cerebrumous Spattergroit’s symptoms included severe confusion, hallucinations, and memory loss, in addition to the skin irritation. Victims could be bed-ridden for months.
Muggleton Spattergroit — which this was being referred to despite Hermione’s protests — had the same forgetfulness and confusion symptoms of Cerebrumous, but only minimal skin irritation. It also was far quicker acting. Several of the Muggles were already showing signs of recovery, where others’ hearts had simply stopped. These were the first cases of any kind of Spattergroit proving fatal.
During their meeting that afternoon, they’d come up with a Preparedness Response, and what steps they should — and could — take to limit the spread. This wasn’t like any battle Harry had waged. There wasn’t a Dark wizard or a Death Eater to catch. It was an invisible enemy, and most of the battles were taking place in planning sessions and theorizing ideas on slowing the spread. So many different, clashing opinions, and no one was exactly certain which view was right. It was maddening.
Harry would much prefer if he could act rather than wage endless planning. His mind kept going back to the time he, Ron and Hermione planned to storm the Ministry right here at Grimmauld Place. They tried to cover each and every possible hitch in their plans, yet when they arrived, everything had gone to hell anyway.
It always did.
So, how were they to ensure they covered everything this time where there was very little for an Auror to do?
Crookshanks had grown impatient with Harry, who’d been lost in his own thoughts, and he butted his head against Harry’s hand.
“Sorry, was I not petting you enough?” he asked, once again scratching the cat, whose purring resumed.
A flutter of wings caught his attention as his owl, Zeus, flew into the room, perching on the back of the sofa beside Harry. He had a scroll tied to his leg, and Harry furrowed his brow, uncertain who he’d sent a letter to that required a response.
Annoying Crookshanks again, he removed the letter, stroking Zeus’ soft feathers. The owl rubbed his head against Harry’s hand.
“Thanks, Zeus,” he said fondly, unfurling the scroll.
Harry,
I have a practice in the morning, so I’m turning in. Have some dinner, and wake me when you get home. You’ll be happy you did.
Love and indecent things,
Ginny
Harry grinned. She certainly made coming home worthwhile. He’d noticed she was getting more and more like Mrs. Weasley with her attempts to feed him all the time, but he wasn’t complaining. He had a good idea that she was behind Hermione showing up with lunch for him and Ron earlier today. It was a good thing, too, since they hadn’t eaten since.
How on earth had he ever gotten so lucky?
Zeus and Crookshanks were now competing for his attention, so he spent a few moments stroking each before he heard the front door opening. He rested his head on the back of the sofa, waiting to see who would appear. A moment later, Ron and Hermione entered the sitting room, Ron carrying a pizza box. Hermione joined him on the sofa while Ron sank into one of the armchairs, placing the pizza on the coffee table. Zeus ruffled his feathers indignantly and flew back to his perch.
“I’m starving,” Ron moaned, pulling out a slice and groaning with pleasure at his first bite. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
Glancing at Hermione, Harry noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and the extra bushiness of her hair, which she’d tried to pull back. Typical of when she was working hard, various curls had pulled loose, and she kept blowing a puff of air to get them out of her eyes.
Harry didn’t expect he looked much better.
Hermione reached for a slice of pizza, handing it to him before reaching for one herself. Perhaps Hermione had inherited a bit of Mrs. Weasley, too. Harry took a bite of the pizza, relishing the taste as cheese spread over his tongue.
Perhaps he was hungrier than he’d thought.
Crookshanks had moved from his lap and walked over to Hermione, who made a spot for him on her own. She gave him a bit of cheese off the top of her pizza.
“I’m so tired, I think I might just sleep here,” Ron said, taking his third slice of pizza.
Hermione pulled out her wand, giving it a complicated little wave, and the pizza became whole again. “I feel bad for your dad. His department is so overloaded.”
“I know, and you’ve got enough to be getting on with, too,” Harry said. Mr. Weasley was arranging the contacts between other foreign dignitaries and keeping the Muggles abreast of what was happening while Hermione’s department continued the search for a potential venom. “There really isn’t a lot new for the Aurors to do aside from continuing the search for Gethin’s notes.”
“And looking for any links to the Death Eaters. Don’t forget they threw that bit in,” Ron said, swallowing.
“You’ll have a lot to do once the Ministry begins enforcing some of these containment measures. Unless someone they know gets sick, people aren’t going to like limiting contact,” Hermione said, tucking her feet beneath her. She looked as if she were considering falling asleep right there on the sofa, as well.
“Your dad will have to bring a lot more workers in, and with all the letters going out, there’s no way the Prophet won’t get wind of this soon,” Harry said.
“We’ll worry about that when it happens,” Ron said, reminding Harry fondly of Hagrid. He’d once told them the same thing before the war started.
“Should you tell Ginny we have pizza?” Hermione asked sleepily.
“Nah. She left me a note,” Harry said, waving his letter. “She has training in the morning, so let her sleep. Gwenog has been working them hard for this Exhibition Match.”
“Oh! She mentioned that today. I met her and your mum, Ron, for a fitting on the dress robes for Percy’s wedding,” Hermione said.
Harry snorted. “She hates those robes. How did it go?”
“It was all right,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Except at one point, I wasn’t certain who would hex Mrs. Abbott first — Ginny or your mum, Ron.”
“Why?” asked Ron, sitting up with a grin. “What did she do now?”
“She suggested that Ginny should hide her hair by pulling it up and muting the color with flowers,” Hermione said, launching into the story of what had happened that morning.
“Who does she think she is?” Harry asked, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. “She should’ve hexed her.”
How dare that foul woman tell Ginny she had to hide anything about herself? He’d be certain to spin her on the dance floor so her beautiful hair spun right into that old biddy’s face, he thought, fuming.
“Relax, Harry,” Hermione said, putting another slice of pizza on his empty plate. “Ginny can handle herself. You know that.”
“Oh, I don’t think either she or Mum’ll ruin Percy’s day or anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the old crow’s dress falls apart at the reception,” Ron said, laughing.
“I’ll be glad when this ruddy wedding is done and over,” Harry said, grumbling as he sat back down. He thought of the little box hidden away back in his sock drawer. He wondered if it would be easier to just elope, and if Ginny would go along with that idea.
Probably not.
She was the only daughter, after all. He wondered if weddings caused this much bickering in all families.
“It hasn’t reached Australia yet, and hopefully it won’t if we can all implement some containment measures,” Hermione said.
Her parents had remained in Adelaide after the war, but Hermione had kept in close contact. She and Ron had visited them several times on holiday.
“They’re clever like their daughter. They’ll be able to keep themselves safe,” Ron said, nodding. “They’ll probably want you to go there since it’s more removed.”
Hermione beamed at him. “Probably, but they know my work is important to me. Hopefully, we can get a handle on it before it even becomes an issue there. Your dad said he was hoping to get all the letters out before the weekend. Then, it’ll be up to the foreign ministries on how each country handles it. It’ll be so much easier to contain amongst the magical community. It’s the Muggles I’m more concerned about.”
“Dad’s already met with the Muggle Prime Minister, so he’s handling it from their end. Dad said the man wasn’t too forthcoming with information on what he planned to do, but Dad admitted he’d just sort of dropped it on him.”
Hermione shook her head. “I can just imagine how much your dad wanted to know how the Muggles were going to handle everything. It’s nice that his fascination with them has never waned.”
“D’you know the first time I ever stayed at The Burrow, he kept asking me to explain things like how the postal system worked and about different departments in Muggle government,” Harry said, grinning. “I was twelve at the time and had no idea about most of it. I hope he’s not still going by some of my answers.”
Ron and Hermione laughed. “Let’s hope not,” Ron said, still chuckling, “but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“He once asked me how aeroplanes stayed up. I told him what I knew, but explained I didn’t have a degree in aerospace technology. I didn’t just make something up,” she said, mock glaring at Harry.
He pulled himself onto his feet, “On that note, I’m going to bed,” he said.
The friends cleared their mess, Hermione stored the remaining pizza in the cold cabinet, scowling at Harry’s still-full second piece, and they all headed off to bed.
Chapter 8: Quidditch
Author's Notes: Thanks very much to my awesome betas, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue. They really helped me form this story, and their reactions always motivate me to keep going.
Special thanks to Eslon and JHA from the Harry and Ginny Discord for Brit picking and sports ball help. They both gave me numerous pointers on how League football works.
Quidditch
The day of the Quidditch Exhibition Match dawned clear and hot, the temperatures promising to rise much warmer than typical Quidditch conditions. Harry knew that Ginny was clever enough to keep casting cooling charms, but he was still worried. He didn’t want to see her toppling from her broom because of a heat stroke or anything. There was enough going on in their lives to be getting on with.
Though the Ministry had been monitoring the cases of the rogue Spattergroit intently, they’d all remained on the western border, near Wales, and nothing even close to London. The Department of Magical Games and Sports had argued vociferously that the match should be allowed to go on as scheduled. Since all their efforts and resources were focused on the English/Welsh border, they really didn’t have a leg to stand on in cancelling it. As of yet, the facts didn’t back up their concerns.
Harry had sent a missing person inquiry to the police in Queensferry, hoping to identify the mystery Muggle whose remains had been found in Gwilym Gethin’s lab, but as yet, he hadn’t made a connection. Perhaps this Muggle would be the key.
He was looking forward to the match and a day to just clear his head. He often found after such an occasion, that he was able to make a breakthrough in stubborn cases in the past, so he was hoping this time would hold true to form.
Today wasn’t about his job, however, it was about Ginny’s — his Ginny, who always supported him unquestioningly — well, unless he was being a prat. How lucky was he that by supporting her, he got to attend a Quidditch match? Poor Ginny only ever had to hear about investigations into Dark magic or attend boring Ministry functions. He had the far better end of that deal.
There had been a time when he’d believed this kind of happiness wasn’t possible for someone like him. He was enjoying proving fate wrong.
Still damp from his shower, he stood in front of his wardrobe, a towel loosely hanging from his hips, as he perused his many Quidditch jerseys — most of them Holyhead Harpies ones, of course — picking out which one he’d wear today. Andromeda and Teddy were joining all the Weasleys to attend the match, so Harry picked out his jersey that matched the one he’d given Teddy for his birthday. It had WEASLEY printed across the back.
He'd just pulled it over his head when Ginny bustled into the room, pulling off the earrings Harry had given her last Christmas and laying them carefully on her dresser. No jewelry was allowed to be worn during a Quidditch match.
“You’re running behind schedule again, I see,” he said, trying to control his grin. Some things about Weasleys never changed. The players were required to meet in the locker room well before the fans started filling the stands.
“I’m right on schedule,” Ginny said, tilting her chin upwards. She wore a track suit that highlighted her backside nicely, and Harry followed her progress across the room. Players would change into their match kit once they reached the stadium.
“See something you like, Potter?” she asked, smirking. She always caught him when he was staring, but she never seemed to mind.
“What’s not to like?” he asked, reaching for her, but she danced out of his grip, her eyes sparkling merrily.
“Uh-uh, I definitely don’t have time for that.”
“Oh, come on, Gin. We’ll make it quick,” he said, reaching out again.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Gin? Ginny is already a nickname, there’s no need to shorten it further,” she said. They’d had this discussion numerous times in the past. In fact, she usually corrected anyone who tried to call her Gin. Harry had been searching for a pet name she’d find acceptable with no luck as of yet. She’d never been much of a fan of them.
“How about Whisky, if you don’t like Gin?” he asked, pulling her against him. Her eyes were dancing playfully, and he knew she wasn’t really worried about being late.
“Whisky? Where did that come from?” she asked, laughing.
“Your eyes match the color when the light hits them,” he said. “Makes me feel all warm inside.”
Those very eyes softened slightly, but she shook her head and said, “You can be really sweet when you’re not trying to be.” She tugged on his towel, which fell to the floor, leaving him topless on the bottom. “But I still have to get to the pitch. I’ll look for you in the stands. We’ll have to take care of this later.”
With that, she kissed him chastely, lightly tapping his growing arousal, and hurried out the door. Harry grinned, noting she hadn’t outright shot down the nickname. This would require further investigation. Taking a few deep breaths, he quickly finished dressing and met Ron, George and Hermione down in the kitchen.
George and Hermione were both decked out in Harpies’ green and gold, but typically, Ron was bedecked in Chudley Cannons Orange.
“Ron, the Cannons aren’t even playing. Couldn’t you support your sister for one match?” Harry asked, exasperated.
“My pants are green,” Ron said, swallowing a huge mouthful of porridge. “Want to see?”
Harry glanced at Hermione. “Is that true?”
Hermione grabbed the waistband of Ron’s jeans and tugged outwards, peering down. “Yes, actually. They’re green with little gold Snitches,” she said, giggling.
George snorted with laughter as Harry forcefully shut his eyes, taking a moment to shake off the image.
“Is Andromeda meeting us here, Harry?” Hermione asked, shoving a bowl of porridge toward him.
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “She’s going to meet us at the stadium. I warned her there would probably be a lot of press.”
Teddy really didn’t like it when the reporters swarmed, barking questions and snapping pictures. They often tried to engage the child and get his picture, which only infuriated Harry, frightening Teddy further. Both Harry and Andromeda tried to limit his exposure as much as possible.
“You’re right about that. Maybe we should all go on ahead, so we don’t have to deal with the nuisance of being seen with ‘His Holy and Most Beloved Savior,’” George said, nudging Harry in the ribs.
George frequently came up with new and outlandish titles for Harry. He’d even tried to sell a line of T-shirts at the shop before Harry forbade it. George insisted he still got requests for them and had a thriving black-market business for the best titles.
“Oh, that’s right. This should be your first public appearance since Witch Weekly named you the ‘Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain,’ isn’t it?” Ron asked, cackling.
There had been a time when that title might’ve caused intense envy and jealousy in Ron, but now, after the war and all it entailed, he just seemed to find it endlessly amusing. There was a lot of life that annoyed Harry that Ron seemed to find amusing.
“Oh, you’re right. Witches will be vying for your attention even at your girlfriend’s match. Whatever you do, don’t accept anything from anyone to eat or drink, Harry,” Hermione said, frowning.
“Don’t I know it?” Harry asked, shuddering. He’d had enough experience with people trying to slip him love potions, starting off with Romilda Vane back at Hogwarts.
“Yes, best to not even trust the concession stand today. Let Ron or me get anything you need,” Hermione said.
“I’m not getting him anything,” Ron said. “I’ve already been poisoned once by one of his love-crazed fans.”
Harry tossed a piece of toast that bounced off Ron’s head. Ron picked it up, tearing off a huge bite.
“I’ll be on Harry-duty today, then,” George said, taking his own slice of toast. “I’ll pretend I’m a house-elf and sample anything before you eat or drink it.”
“That’s not funny, George! It’s exactly attitudes like that I’m trying to expose,” Hermione said, glaring at Harry.
He didn’t want to spend the day arguing with Hermione, so he kept his attention on George, “Thanks, mate. I’ll try and steer you away from anyone that looks too crazy.”
“Not to worry there. I always carry an antidote on my person for just such occasions,” George replied.
“You carry a love potion antidote regularly?” Hermione asked, obviously uncertain whether he was joking or not.
“I do. Some witches just can’t bear the thought of going through life without me,” George said, quite seriously.
Ron snorted and threw another piece of toast at him. It hit George’s chest and fell back onto the table. Before George could respond, the sound of the front door closing alerted them all that someone had entered the house.
All four of them grabbed their wands, as there weren’t that many people who could simply enter, and the majority of them were supposed to meet them in the stands. They all relaxed when Angelina Johnson skipped down the stairs into the kitchen, wearing a dark green Harpies’ jersey that hung well below her tiny shorts, making her appear nearly indecent.
“Angelina!” Hermione said, smiling widely. “I didn’t know you were joining us. George, why didn’t you say she was coming?”
“Didn’t know myself,” George said scowling, putting his wand back in his pocket.
Angelina shrugged, sitting at the counter between Hermione and Harry. “I had the ticket, and I wasn’t about to miss Quidditch,” she said, shrugging and ignoring George completely.
“We’re glad to have you,” Harry said, smirking. “George was just telling us how he had to watch out for mad witches. Now you can look after him.”
George picked up the discarded piece of toast and tossed it at Harry’s head. He ducked it smoothly.
“The rest of the Weasleys are meeting us there,” Ron said, reaching out to grab the toast and taking another huge bite.
“I think it’s going to be packed. I know all the other teams have representatives going for the St Mungo’s presentation before the match. I saw Oliver, and he said it was a good chance to scout out the competition and still benefit the hospital,” Angelina said.
“Why didn’t you tell him to join us here?” George asked, looking at her for the first time.
“He’s representing Puddlemere with one of his teammates, so he has to sit with the rest of the presenters. Besides, he’s been trying to get Freesia Martin from the Magpies to go out with him, so he’ll probably be wearing their colors,” Angelina said, still looking rather frostily at George.
“Traitor,” Ron mumbled.
“Hark! Look who’s talking in his Cannon colors,” Harry said, indignant on Ginny’s behalf.
“Cannons aren’t playing. It’s not the same,” Ron said, shrugging.
“I’m surprised you managed to get the day off to attend,” Angelina said, pinning George with her stare.
“He’s been working on expanding the mail order business to give him more time away,” Ron said, still chewing.
Harry was pleased yet surprised to see Ron supporting George in his dispute with Angelina, but that feeling dissolved a moment later when Ron said, “It’s a good thing, too. He’s been a right bear to live with on the few times we’ve actually seen him.”
Harry shook his head, still surprised at the oblivious way Ron could stick his foot in it.
“Shall we get going?” he asked before George and Angelina started bickering. “It’s a beautiful day, and since there aren’t any other matches, the stands will probably fill up fast.”
The Harpies had a family box where the Weasleys sat for Ginny’s matches, and they’d got to know a lot of the other players’ families. Still, there were an awful lot of them, and no one wanted to be left out. The Harpies’ practice facilities were located in Wales, and the Magpies’ were in Scotland, but for this exhibition match, it was being held on neutral territory where the English National team played.
They cleared their breakfast dishes — Harry carefully Vanishing all the crumbs from the tossed toast — and Apparated to the stadium. As expected, it was packed and chaotic on the stadium grounds. The sun was beating down, and vendors tried to sell their wares to the milling crowds slowly making their way toward the stands. Groups of fans were already rowdy outside small tents selling spirits and Quidditch paraphernalia. The group of friends hadn’t gone far before Harry was spotted by the press, and they converged upon them.
“Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter — over here, Mr. Potter!”
“You’re wearing Holyhead Harpy colors, so you’ll be supporting them today?”
“Is it true you’re leaving the Aurors to play for the Appleby Arrows?”
Harry kept his head ducked low, determinedly not making eye contact with any of them as Ron led the way through the throng toward the lifts that would take them up to their box. From the corner of his eye, he saw Angelina trip one reporter who was hurrying to catch up to them.
Hermione kept repeating, “No comment. No comment.” But it didn’t do any good. They ignored her and kept shouting their questions.
“Harry, look this way!”
“Are you matching the donations made today?”
“Harry, can you confirm the rumor that the Tornados are interested in trading for Ginny Weasley? Would she be upset by such a trade?”
One aggressive reporter managed to get his recording stylus right into Harry’s face, banging it into his lip. “No comment, now get out of my way,” Harry snapped, his lip smarting as he pulled his face away. Flashbulbs went off all around him, causing him to see stars before once again ducking his head.
“You heard the man, MOVE! Or he’ll do the same to you as he did to Voldemort,” George bellowed, causing most of the press and the surrounding crowd to shriek.
It caused a break in the crowd as people hurried to get away from them, and George pushed them all through, grabbing Hermione, who had slipped, before she touched the ground.
“Over here, Mr. Potter!”
“Harry, is it true that you and Miss Weasley have eloped?”
“Mr. Potter, I’ve heard rumors of the Ministry investigating an illness spreading in Wales, any comment?”
George and Ron grabbed Harry by each arm and frog-marched him into a lift, letting Hermione, Angelina and a woman with two teenagers slip in under their arms, but blocking any of the press from getting on the lift until the doors closed, cutting off their voices.
“Remind me why we go anywhere with you again,” Ron said, wiping sweat off his forehead.
The woman who’d joined them on the lift was pushed into the back corner, her arms wrapped around her children.
“Are you all right?” Hermione asked kindly. “Sorry about all that.”
The woman nodded mutely, her bulging eyes fixed on Harry, gaping like a fish.
“Hey, aren’t you Ginny Weasley’s boyfriend?” the little girl asked, staring up at Harry. She was about eleven and dressed from head to toe in Harpies’ colors right down to her trainers, which bore a gold talon along the side. “I saw your picture at the post-season Quidditch banquet.”
Her brother, who was about thirteen and wearing a Montrose Magpie jersey elbowed her hard in the side, “Nora, shut it!”
Harry, thoroughly delighted, said, “Yes, Nora, I actually am.”
“I’m a huge fan. I want to play Chaser when I get to Hogwarts, too, but they don’t let first years bring a broom,” the girl said, scowling and ignoring both her mother and brother who were tugging at her sleeves.
“That’s a shame, isn’t it?” Harry asked seriously. He was trying to ignore the face Ron was making on the family’s other side.
The brother buried his face in his hands. He looked as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. When the lift finally stopped, the mother, her face scarlet, ushered both of her children out and toward their seats.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry called.
“You moronic idiot!” the brother exclaimed as the doors closed once again, and they all burst into raucous laughter.
“Too bad they don’t let ickle first-years play, eh, Harry?” George asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
“Oh, that poor thing when her brother tells her who you really are,” Angelina said, leaning against George as she tried to get herself back in control.
“He really shouldn’t have called her a moronic idiot, though. That wasn’t very nice,” Hermione said fretfully.
“It doesn’t matter. Did you see how she was dressed? She’s all about the Harpies, and she was right. I am Ginny’s boyfriend,” Harry said, grinning so widely his jaw was beginning to hurt.
“Aw, don’t tell Ginny about this, mate. She’ll be unbearable,” Ron said.
“Oh, he’s so going to tell her first chance,” George said, shaking his head.
“If he doesn’t, I will,” Hermione said, smiling.
The lift stopped again, this time on the level where the private boxes were located. They walked down the corridor to where the family box was and filed inside. It was already fairly crowded, but they spotted a bunch of red heads in the lower left corner and made their way towards them.
“Unca Hawyyyy,” Teddy shouted, spotting them first. He bolted from Andromeda’s arms and ran pell-mell up the aisle toward them.
Harry scooped him up and tossed him in the air, earning delighted squeals from the over-excited toddler. As he’d expected, Teddy was wearing a Harpies’ jersey that matched his own. His hair was jet black, as was typical whenever Harry was around.
“Hey there, little mate. How many points is Aunt Ginny going to score today?” he asked.
“About a million,” Teddy replied, grinning happily.
“Sounds right to me.”
Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley, who’d been sitting next to one another, both stood to greet the newcomers. Hugs were given all around, and Mrs. Weasley pulled Angelina into the seat beside her. Harry saw George roll his eyes, and he suspected Mrs. Weasley was going to try and get all the answers about what had been happening in the couple’s relationship out of Angelina since George had been so tight-lipped.
Mr. Weasley sat in front of them with Bill, Percy and Audrey. Harry, Ron, Hermione and George filed into the seats in the very front row of the box. Teddy still clung to Harry’s neck, and he settled the little boy on his lap. Mr. Weasley greeted each of his sons and Harry with a slap on the back, and leaned over to kiss Hermione on each cheek.
“Was Ginny fired up and ready to do battle today?” he asked eagerly. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enjoyed Quidditch as much as their children did, and they derived particular joy in watching their daughter play.
“She was, and I think Gwenog has them all ready to play,” Harry said, grinning.
“Where’s Fleur? She’s not going to miss it, is she?” George asked Bill, who shook his head.
“Victoire was feeling rather irritable this morning, so she decided not to subject you all to an ill-tempered toddler,” Bill said easily. He did look rather tired, but it was also only a few days after the full moon, and he knew Bill always found it difficult to sleep on those nights.
“And we thank her for that,” Ron said, causing Hermione to elbow him in the ribs.
“Ron! I do hope she’s all right,” Hermione said, scowling at Ron.
“Oh, she’ll be all right. She has some teeth coming through along with a Veela temper,” Bill replied, chuckling.
“Percy, Audrey,” Harry said, still feeling rather put out with them over the way Ginny had been treated at the robe fitting.
Audrey appeared to have picked up on this as she smiled rather tremulously. Percy also looked rather nervous, and Harry suspected Audrey had filled him in. “Harry,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I say, how are you getting on with Vivian Scott? I hear she’s quite a handful.”
“I like her. She’s very upfront with her expectations, and she follows through with her plans,” Harry replied coolly.
Both Audrey’s and Percy’s faces colored slightly.
“Hey, Teddy? What do you say we go and get us some candy floss, eh?” George asked. He always showered both Teddy and Victoire with entirely too many sweets and ducked out when the sugar rush hit them.
“Yeah, let’s!” Teddy said, nodding his head vigorously and holding out his arms for George to scoop him up.
“Oh, George, must you?” Andromeda asked, exasperated.
George grinned wickedly. “I must.”
“Harry, I’m going to the concession stand, too. What d’you want, Butterbeer or a pint?” Ron asked, his eyes following George’s progress out of the box.
Harry thought about it for a moment. He usually tried to avoid anything stronger than Butterbeer when he had Teddy so he couldn’t be taken unawares, but Andromeda was here, plus all of the Weasleys, so he thought it would be all right. “I’ll take a pint,” Harry said.
Ron nodded. “Anybody else want anything?” he asked the assorted Weasleys, who all had cups in their cup holders already.
“I’ll take a pint,” Angelina said.
“And some chips,” Hermione said as Ron began making his way up the aisle. “Don’t forget the chips.”
“So, Harry, did I hear you say you’re enjoying working with Vivian Scott?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Anyone who rows with Dolores Umbridge is okay in my book.”
He saw Percy once again go red, but this time he felt bad about it. He hadn’t meant that one as a dig.
“Who’s Vivian Scott?” Bill asked.
“She’s an Unspeakable working on a case of Harry’s,” Mr. Weasley said smoothly.
Bill grimaced, causing the scars that lined his face to stand out starkly. “Ew, I never could stomach that department. They always seemed sneaky to me.”
“It is very difficult to get any information out of them,” Percy said.
“It always has been,” Mr. Weasley said cheerfully. “I think they like it that way. Since no one is ever certain what they do, it gives them some job security.”
“I suppose. Imagine sacking one right before he discovered a way to ensure no one was ever born a Squib or something?” Bill asked, shaking his head.
Ron, George and Teddy returned with their beverages just as the players began emerging on the pitch. Teddy carried a huge pile of pink candy floss in one hand, and a giant lolly in the other. Andromeda shut her eyes as if pained. Ron handed a pint to Harry, who just had time to slip it into his cup holder before a sticky Teddy bounded back onto his lap.
There was a podium in the center of the pitch, and a member of the Department of Magical Games and Sports magnified his voice, introducing a witch standing next to him as the Administrator from St Mungo’s. There were two Healers dressed in their green robes beside her. Two members of each team joined them around the podium. Harry could see Oliver and his team’s Seeker on his end. His eyes scanned for a sign of green, gold and red.
“There they are! There they are! Hi, Aunt Ginny. It’s me! I’m over here,” Teddy shouted happily.
He was right. Gwenog Jones and Ginny were the last to emerge, along with two Magpie players. Ginny smiled up at the box, but Harry knew she couldn’t really see them in this crowd. Teddy happily assumed she was smiling just at him.
After a short presentation, most of the people returned to the end of the pitch while the rest of the teams playing took the field.
Harry balanced Teddy on his hip as he began to sing the Harpies chant song, competing with the Magpies as they sang for their own team. Nothing was distinguishable, but it seemed support for each team was about equal. Since it was a friendly match, he assumed it wouldn’t be terribly exciting, but the thrill of being back at the pitch for a start of another season was good enough for him.
The captains shook hands in the center of the pitch, and they were off. Ginny streamed passed their box, causing both Harry and Teddy to yell their heads off, and then she suddenly had the Quaffle. By now, all the rest of the Weasleys were on their feet, and when she scored the first goal, their section cheered so loudly, it felt as if the ground under them shook.
“There you go, Teddy. Only nine hundred ninety-thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine goals left to go!” George said, ruffling the toddler’s hair.
“No, she’s going to score a million,” Teddy said seriously.
“Oh, right. My mistake,” George replied.
Harry and George grinned over his head, then watched as the Magpie Chaser streaked toward the other end of the pitch.
“That’s Freesia Martin — the one Oliver has been chasing,” Angelina said, watching the progress.
Freesia tossed the Quaffle, but the Harpies’ Keeper managed to block it with the very end of her fingertips.
“Oh, rotten luck for the Magpies,” the announcer called whilst the Harpies fans cheered again.
Harry took a sip of his pint, feeling the hot sun blazing down on his neck causing him to sweat. Teddy was switching back and forth between his candy floss and his lolly, and Harry kept forcing sips of water on him in between. Once Teddy had consumed his sweets, he switched to Hermione’s lap in order to help her with her chips.
The afternoon was spent with fun and laughter. It wasn’t the most exciting of matches as it was a friendly and all for a good cause. Teddy moved from lap to lap depending on who was eating something he wanted. Harry bought the next round of drinks, but found someone kept handing him another. The score mostly stayed balanced, but it didn’t stop Harry from yelling his head off whenever Ginny had the Quaffle.
It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that Harry sat straight up, squinting his eyes into the still-blazing sun. He’d seen a tiny flitter of gold nearly directly in front of him, only on the opposite side of the pitch. The Harpies’ Seeker saw it a moment after he did and began her dive.
“Grant has seen the Snitch,” he shouted to Ron, still watching intently.
“Where?” Ron asked, his head jerking around.
By then, the Magpies’ Seeker was also in pursuit, but it was too late. Theresa Grant had caught the Snitch, waving it in the air. The referee blew his whistle, and the celebratory Harpies converged on Theresa Grant. The final score was three hundred and fifty to one hundred ninety in the Harpies favor.
After the match, and the post-match press interviews, and the overview by her captain detailing every little thing each player needed to work on in the coming weeks, Ginny was finally able to join her teammates in a bit of celebrating. Food and beverages were supplied, but it more low-key than a typical win since the match had been a friendly. Still, she could tell that, like her, her teammates were anxious for the official season to begin.
She loved her job. Sometimes, she felt the need to pinch herself to be certain everything had really worked out the way it did after the war. If it weren’t for the aching bit of hollow in her heart that Fred used to fill, she’d assume it was a dream.
Although the match wasn’t nearly as competitive as she liked, she’d still enjoyed being up in the air with the roar of the crowd below. She’d caught fleeting glimpses of her family in the stands, and they’d looked like they were having fun, but she was eager to get home and hear about it firsthand.
It was close to seven in the evening before she finally arrived back on the steps of Grimmauld Place. As soon as she pushed open the door, she could hear music and loud voices filling the house. She followed the noise to find all her housemates still carrying on in the sitting room.
Someone — George most likely — had provided a case of beer that was open on the coffee table. Ron and Hermione were snuggled together on the sofa, Hermione’s legs resting across Ron’s lap while he rested a bag of crisps on top of her shins. George was busy trying to find something on the Wireless. He and Harry sat on the two wing-backed armchairs across the coffee table from the sofa.
Her eyes rested momentarily on Harry before anyone noticed her presence. He was grinning at something George was saying, but when he turned his head, she could see the back of his neck was a bright, scarlet color that made her wince just looking at it.
“Oh, Harry, did you mess up your sun-block charm again?” she asked, walking over and brushing the hair off the back of his neck to get a better look. He shivered slightly at her touch. She could feel the heat radiating off his neck. His skin was usually as pale as hers — minus the freckles — but now it was glowing as bright as her hair. That was going to blister if he didn’t put something on it.
“Ginny!” he said, squirming out of her grip and turning to face her fully. “When did you get here?”
His usually bright green eyes were glazed and dull, not quite focused even though she was only a few feet in front of him. A silly grin spread across his face as he reached up a hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. He’d obviously imbibed his fair share at the match, and knowing him, he hadn’t eaten much all day, either. Still, he was impossibly cute in these unguarded moments.
The others all greeted her, and she realized they were all a bit pissed. “Had fun today, did we?” she asked, amused. “I’m glad you could all enjoy yourselves while I was slaving away under the hot sun.”
“It was great,” Ron said. “And no one feels bad for you having to work. Oh, and nice job starting things off with the first goal.”
“Teddy really wanted to come back and see you, but he was rather cranky by the end, and Andromeda was hoping he’d go to bed early,” Hermione told her.
“Mum and Dad told me to say congratulations, so… Congratulations from Mum and Dad,” George said, grinning. His eyes were also a bit unfocused.
Ginny rolled her eyes, but still felt pleased.
“You played really well. I saw Oliver watching you. I bet Puddlemere will try and entice you again when your contract is up,” he added.
“I still think you should take the Cannons’ offer seriously, though,” Ron said.
“I missed you,” Harry said, pulling her onto the chair beside him. He budged over to make room, but she ended up balancing half on the arm of the chair and half on top of him. “I like it so much better when we’re together.”
Ginny groaned as she attempted to adjust herself on the chair. Despite the warm glow their words about other teams vying for her attention had given her, she glared at her brothers, demanding, “Which one of you has been feeding him drinks?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” George said airily.
“He’s a big boy, he can get his own drinks,” Ron said simultaneously, stuffing a bunch of crisps in his mouth and spreading crumbs everywhere.
Harry nuzzled his head onto her shoulder. He always became extremely affectionate when he’d had too much to drink. It was actually sort of sweet, but both Ron and George found far too much enjoyment in it, and encouraged it whenever possible. She knew who to blame for his condition tonight.
Every bone in her body ached from holding herself so tensely on the broom all day. She reached over and took one of the brews from the coffee table before leaning back and trying to put her feet up. The chair was pushed too far back, however, and she was too short to reach. Typical.
“I’m exhausted. My body isn’t nearly in Quidditch condition yet. I think I need to go and take a long soak in the tub,” she said, letting her head fall back against the back of the chair.
“Can I come?” Harry asked eagerly.
Ginny laughed as Ron groaned.
“Maybe when I finish my drink,” she told Harry, more to wind Ron up than anything. Now that she was sitting, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to get back up again.
“Okay,” Harry said happily. “I’ll wash your hair for you. You like when I do that.”
“Harry, shut it now, or I’m going to have to hurt you,” Ron said, looking as if he’d just tasted something really foul.
“Don’t you dare shout at him. You’re the one whose been feeding him pints all afternoon. Don’t think I don’t know it. You’re fully aware how he gets,” Ginny said, firing up at once.
“He gets revolting,” George said, pulling a face, too.
“And I also know that you were in on it, too, George Weasley. You can both suffer the consequences,” Ginny said, leaning back and glaring at the two of them.
“Who’s in on what?” Harry asked, looking puzzled. His hair was standing straight up in the back, and she attempted to smooth it down, knowing full well it never lay flat.
“I think Ron and George wound you up,” she said.
Harry looked appalled. He pulled back slightly from her hand, glancing over at her brothers. “They wouldn’t do that. I love Ron and George. They’re like my best mates.”
“I know they are,” she said, giggling again at his indignation.
“And Hermione! Hermione is my best mate, too,” he said, smiling fondly at Hermione.
“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said. She’d slipped down so that her head was now lying flat on the sofa, her eyes beginning to droop.
“What am I then?” Ginny asked in mock outrage. She couldn’t help herself winding him up in this condition — and it was a bonus that it was annoying Ron and George.
Harry looked stricken. He took her face between his hands, pressing her cheeks in so her lips puckered and stared at her intently, “You’re better than my best mate. You’re my perfect partner, and you sometimes know what I want to say without me even having to say it at all.”
“Wish now was one of those times,” Ron said, scowling.
“Be quiet, Ron,” Ginny said, and she was happy to see Hermione kick him.
“I love you, Ginny,” Harry said earnestly.
“I love you, too, Harry. Did you have fun with my family today?” she asked, knowing how easily distracted he was when he got this way. If she let him go any further, he was liable to get down on one knee right here and now, and she definitely didn’t want an audience for that. And she also wanted him to remember it.
A big grin spread across his face as he nodded, “Yes. Bill and Percy and Audrey were there. And Angelina! Angelina came with us,” Harry added the last part in a very loud whisper.
Ginny snorted, fixing her stare on George, who curled in on himself slightly. “When did you invite Angelina? And why didn’t she come back here with you?”.
“She barely spoke with me all day. She sat by Mum, who I saw interrogating her,” George said, looking rather surly.
“Come off it. She had a few pints and joked with everyone,” Ron said.
George shook his head. “She came because she likes Quidditch, not because she wanted to spend time with me.”
Hermione let out an exasperated huff. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, George. She could’ve gone to the match on her own, she had her ticket. She came here first, though.”
George’s head shot up, staring at her as if this thought hadn’t crossed his mind.
“Yeah, didn’t she say that she’d talked to Oliver Wood? She could’ve gone with him,” Ron said.
“She obviously misses you, George, and I know you miss her. You need to work this out,” Ginny said imploringly. She was tired of seeing him moping. He’d come so far since the Battle, since losing Fred. It was painful to see him slipping backwards now.
“I can’t work this out. She basically said it’s her or the shop,” George said dejectedly.
“That is not what she said. She said you needed to make her more of a priority, which means getting some help at the shop, so you’re no so tied to it,” Hermione said.
“I think that’s what you want, too,” Ginny said gently, wishing she could just fix this for him.
“Yeah, George. You and Angelina love each other, and I love you both, too,” Harry said, and even George grinned weakly.
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“We know you are, and now she knows it, too. Both Ron and I talked to her a bit about it at the match,” Hermione said.
George straightened up, staring at her. “You did? What did she say?”
“She said exactly what we just told you. You know what you need to do, now you just need to do it,” Hermione said.
“Maybe sending her some flowers wouldn’t be a bad idea, either,” Ginny added.
“D’you want me to send you flowers, Ginny?”
She reached over absently and patted him on the arm without taking her eyes off George. “Yes, that would be nice, Harry.”
He tried to stand up, nearly knocking her off the chair, and she rolled her eyes.
“Not right now, though, love. Tomorrow you can get me some flowers.”
“Okay.”
“Ask her out on a date — and whatever you do, don’t cancel on her,” Hermione said, ignoring Harry’s antics.
“Yeah, be absolutely certain you can make it. Take her somewhere nice, too,” Ginny said
“Remind her you fancy her,” Ron added.
George nodded at them all as if taking notes. “Okay, flowers and then a date. She’ll probably say no.”
“No, she won’t. Wait until tomorrow when you’re not pissed, though,” Ginny said.
“And send the flowers first,” Hermione said, winking at Ginny.
Ginny felt transported back to Hogwarts during her final year when she’d been accused of playing matchmaker by one of her dormmates. She suddenly missed both Siobhan and Liz terribly. It had been awhile since they’d all been together. She made a mental note to arrange something before too long.
Hermione and Parvati Patil had returned to Hogwarts to complete their final year, and they’d joined Ginny and her two surviving dormmates. It had been one of the best things about being back at Hogwarts after the war.
Meeting Hermione’s eyes across the coffee table, she suspected her friend was thinking about the same thing.
“All right, I have my orders for tomorrow, so I’m heading to bed,” George said.
“I am too, then,” Hermione said, pushing herself upright and taking her feet off Ron. “I was just waiting for someone else to say it first.”
Ron rolled up the empty bag of crisps and tossed it on the coffee table. When he noticed both Hermione and Ginny staring at him, he said, “I know I have to clean it up. I’ll do it the morning.”
Ginny tugged Harry to his feet and they all bid one another good night. She led Harry upstairs and into their bedroom. He was unsteady on his feet, and he kept listing sideways into her, making them both giggle as they climbed. Once they’d finally made it to their room, she led him inside. He sat on the bed looking confused as to how he got there while she took off his socks and trainers.
“I love you, Whisky,” he said, watching her tenderly.
She laughed, surprised he’d remembered his attempt at finding a nickname that morning. She had to admit, it was kind of cute, especially coming from him with his hair mussed up even more than usual, and his eyes all glazed.
Pulling him to his feet, she tugged off his jeans and pushed him back on the bed. His Whisky was going to have her way with him. She’d promised him that morning, after all, and a Weasley always kept her promises.
Chapter 9: Office Politics
Author's Notes: I had a lot of fun with this chapter – I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please don’t forget to leave a comment. Thanks!
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, patience and care in always reading over these chapters and letting me know what could be improved. I really appreciate the help.
Office Politics
Harry sat at his desk reading over a stack of files the team had requested from St. Mungo’s, trying to find any hint of what the Death Eaters had been trying to brew during the war. He was already on his second cup of very strong, black coffee, but the words on the pages were blurring together, and nothing was jumping out at him.
He'd always hated Potions.
Auror Headquarters was loud and full of chatter that morning, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He could hear various conversations and the occasional bark of laughter, and it irritated him that everyone else obviously wasn’t as busy as he was.
A number of inter-departmental memos in the form of paper aeroplanes kept whizzing overhead, and he had the irrational urge to grab them out of the air like a Snitch and crumple them up.
He shut yet another file and put it aside when someone pulled a chair up to the other side of his desk. Looking up, he was surprised to find Vivian Scott, who picked up one of the files on his desk and began perusing it.
“Can I help you?” he asked, perhaps more snippily than was warranted.
“Morning, Potter. I see your superior’s charming personality has been rubbing off on you,” she said, barely glancing up from the file.
Harry felt slightly chagrined — but only slightly. It wasn’t as if she was sharing everything she knew with the Aurors, anyway, which only made his job more difficult.
“Sorry,” he grumbled half-heartedly. “These files are nothing but endless lists of potion ingredients. I was rubbish at Potions. It’s not like I’m even going to recognize an ingredient that doesn’t belong there.”
“Don’t pay so much attention to the ingredients. Look for similarities in the notes. I don’t think they’d be so blatant as using an asterisk or different color ink — but a word or abnormality in the listing. Something to alert a potioneer that there is more there,” she said.
“You mean like a code? You think any hidden ingredients would be concealed?” Harry asked dubiously. If there was one thing he’d learned in Auror training, it was that codes could be broken.
Vivian seemed to know what he was thinking. “Not everyone is as suspicious as an Auror, and the potion makers at St. Mungo’s wouldn’t have wanted to reveal their alterations to every noob brewing common potion. Those in the know could cast a simple Revelio spell if something alerted them there was more there.”
“How long have you been looking into these potions, and how many do you have brewing in the Department of Mysteries?” Harry asked, feeling irritated. She hadn’t just pulled that tip off the top of her head.
“Pardon?” Vivian asked, raising her eyebrows.
It was a stall tactic Harry had frequently used in his younger, rule-breaking days. “Don’t ‘pardon’ me. What do you know? Why all the secrets if we’re supposedly working together?”
Vivian scrutinized him for several moments, her hazel eyes clouded. Harry couldn’t work out what she was thinking.
“Point taken, Auror Potter,” she said at last. “I’ve been called out for working too solitarily in the past, but some habits are hard to break.”
Harry felt as if there was more to that statement than he was aware, but he’d never been good at interpersonal stuff. He supposed both Ginny and Hermione would know what to say, but he didn’t, and he felt out of his depth.
He held his silence too long, and the moment was lost.
“Do you know Unspeakable Bowman?” Vivian asked, business-like once again.
The name rang a bell, but Harry couldn’t place it. “I think we’ve met,” he said slowly.
“She’s the leading expert on poisons here at the Ministry. She’s brewing several variations of the potions we believe Gwilym Gethin was looking into.”
“Has she had any luck?” Harry asked.
Vivian shook her head, and Harry wondered if that was why she was sharing this bit of information with him. The name had finally clicked into place. “She worked on a poisoning case a few years ago with Hermione Granger,” Harry said, hoping to avoid the fact that he’d been the one who’d been poisoned at the time.
“Yes, I remember,” Vivian said, and Harry was pleased she was tactful enough not to mention it, either. “I remember she wanted Ms. Granger to come and work in the Department of Mysteries very much. As I recall, Ms. Granger still had another year of schooling ahead of her.”
“Yeah, she went back after the war,” Harry said absently, rubbing the back of his neck. He was having difficulty reckoning the idea of Hermione working in the DoM.
Again, Vivian seemed to be following his thoughts. “Despite Unspeakable Bowman’s praise, I’m not certain Ms. Granger would be the right fit. She’s doing very well where she is.”
Harry grinned. “Hermione always wanted to change the world.”
Vivian nodded. “She’s very bright, but she overly fixates on specific details and misses the larger picture.”
“Funny. She says the same about you,” Harry said before he could stop himself.
Vivian’s lips twitched as if amused. “I suppose I’ve heard that before, as well. I daresay, it’s refreshing to work with someone unintimidated by my reputation.”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, but thinking about it, he supposed there were a lot of people that found Vivian intimidating. He knew from experience there were plenty of people at the Ministry who fawned over him, then complained about him behind his back. They all thought he sought out the attention, but he never had. Hadn’t he heard how difficult she was to work with, too? But he hadn’t found that the case.
“What brings you by, this morning? Anything specific or just helping me examine these files?” he asked.
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d seen the Prophet today?” she asked.
Harry scowled and turned back to his paperwork. “I’ve been avoiding it,” he said shortly.
The Daily Prophet had run a story the day after the Quidditch Exhibition featuring a large photo of Harry with a swollen and bloody lip, claiming he’d threatened to kill fans like he’d done Voldemort if they didn’t let him bypass the queue. Harry’s irritation with the article hadn’t abated. Rita Skeeter had lain low for a long time after he’d revealed her Animagus status, but over the past month, she’d been up to her old tricks once again.
Vivian raised her eyebrows, “Ah, right. They do tend to have a go at you rather frequently. Your lip looks better.”
“It was never that bad,” Harry yelped. “A reporter did bump me with his recording stylus, but it never bled like that.”
“I see. And the threat?” she asked, and he was even more irritated to see that she was amused.
“That wasn’t me. My mate shouted at the reporter to get out of our way,” he said, forcefully turning a page in the file.
George had laughed it off, and he supposed he’d be better off doing the same, but he couldn’t seem to shake it. He could handle them attacking his professional life, but he hated when they went after the personal side.
“Anyway, that isn’t what I’m asking about. There was a story this morning about an increasing number of people getting sick. I think our days of covert action are coming to an end. I’m going to have to give a statement,” Vivian said, looking as if she’d rather douse herself in Bubotuber pus.
“I sent a missing person inquiry to the police in Queensferry to try and track our mysterious Muggle victim. They sent back a rather substantial list. Ethan is in the conference room now going through it,” Harry said.
“He’s an eager one,” Vivian said, nodding. “He should find something.”
“Eager doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Harry muttered.
One of Vivian’s rare smiles graced him. “I like seeing all the new faces and the new names occupying the Auror department. For too long, nepotism and blood status ruled the Ministry. Auror Zeelus shows me that things are changing. He reminds me of a Krup, so ready to please yet his intelligence usually leads him to the correct outcome.”
Harry grinned. “A Krup, eh? I can see that, actually, and now I’ll never get that image out of my head.”
Vivian cocked her head to the side. “Sorry about that. I tend to enjoy animals more than people, so I often imagine counterparts.”
Harry’s mind drifted back to his wretched fifth year. “I once did that with someone I really hated. I understand you had a row with her at one point, too.”
“Oh? And who would that be?” she asked.
“Dolores Umbridge,” Harry said, grimacing.
Vivian did a better job of keeping her expression neutral. “Let me guess — you saw her as a toad?”
“Yes!” Harry said, recalling those toad-like eyes vividly. “You, too?”
“That one was too easy,” Vivian said. “I hear she’s still catching flies in Azkaban.”
“I hope she stays there. Okay, if Ethan is a Krup, what’s Owen, then?” Harry asked, more curious by the minute and not wanting to waste his time talking about Umbridge.
Vivian sobered, her lips puckering, “I’m not certain I should say.”
“It’ll go no further than us. I promise,” Harry said, correctly guessing that it would cause more problems for her interpersonally if people heard her comparing them to animals.
“You’re one of the few people whom I actually believe when you say that,” Vivian said. “All right. Auror Savage is a grumpy old Kneazle.”
Harry tried to cover his bark of laughter but he ended up gagging on it.
Vivian looked amused. “Yes, a Kneazle. Highly intelligent, but always thinks he knows better and wants everything his own way. Preens with a bit of attention, but, if you attempt to get him do something he doesn’t want to do, he spits at you.”
Harry chuckled and groaned at the same time. “Now that image is stuck in my head forever, too.”
“I’m glad I could be of assistance. Please let me know if either you or Ethan comes up with anything new.”
“Will do. And please do the same if Ailsa Bowman brews anything I should know about,” Harry said, meeting her eyes.
She nodded and walked away. Harry had barely plunged back into his file when two fellow Aurors, Violet Benson and Lisa Turpin, entered his cubicle. Both had been part of his training class, and he was instantly on guard by the predatory looks on their faces. They looked as if he was the only remaining pudding on the dinner table.
He raised his eyebrows as they each took a seat across from his desk.
“Harry, always so busy,” Violet said, flashing her very white teeth.
“Hullo, Harry,” Lisa, the more subtle of the two, said. She’d long ago taken the blue streak out of her hair, but he was still startled by its absence.
“What can I do for you?” Harry asked guardedly.
“Oh, nothing special. We just thought we’d fancy a chat,” Violet said, her smile growing even wider.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his instincts telling him they wanted information about the case that he knew he couldn’t give. Violet was a known gossip, and she always seemed to know everything there was to know about the goings on, not only in their department, but in the Ministry as a whole. She always knew who was dating, who was rowing, who was going to get a promotion. Her innate charm drew people to her, but it always made Harry wary, despite the fact she’d never been anything but pleasant to him. In fact, she’d even helped him out a time or two.
“We couldn’t help but notice Unspeakable Scott has been around quite a bit,” Lisa said, obviously going for a more direct approach. “What she’s like? Most people find her unapproachable.”
“She’s direct, but she’s not difficult,” Harry said blandly.
“It’s not only here. I’ve seen her in several departments, recently. It’s as if there is a big, inter-departmental case happening, but not everyone is being brought in,” Violet said, watching Harry closely.
“Is that what the rumor mill is saying?” he asked mildly.
“That’s what I’m saying. We can all tell something is happening, and you’re usually in the know,” Violet said.
“Funny, I always think the same thing about you,” Harry said.
“My instincts tell me something is happening. You usually know the details,” Violet said.
“Come on, Harry. It doesn’t take a genius to work out something is going on. Even the paper is filled with a mysterious illness killing both magical and Muggles. The Unspeakables are never up here this much, and they’re certainly not usually speaking. What gives?” Lisa asked.
Harry sighed. “Look, I’m not at liberty to say, but I’m certain everyone will be updated soon.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “Says the perfect little Ministry employee. You do recall you once led a Ministry rebellion back in school, right?”
Harry refused to be cowed, and he met her gaze squarely. “That was when I knew they were in the wrong. I don’t think so, this time.”
“Aha! So, there is something this time,” Violet said, triumphant.
Harry pressed his lips together, clam-like.
Lisa was the first to look away, disappointed, “Come on, Vi, we knew he wasn’t going to spill. You need to work your charm on Owen.”
“Who’s not spilling what they know?” Michael Corner asked, sticking his head into the cubicle. “Ah, Potter, of course.”
“Can I help you, Corner?” Harry asked, getting seriously annoyed now.
“Not everything is about you, Potter. I was actually looking for Benson,” Michael said coolly.
“So asinine of me to think someone coming into my own workspace would be looking for me,” Harry said.
“I heard her voice. Don’t get your wand in a knot.”
“I’m on my way back to my desk, anyway,” Violet said, sighing. “We’re just trying to work out what the big case is.”
“Ah, the Muggle one?” Michael asked, looking disgruntled.
“We assume it’s Muggle-related, but Harry is remaining tight-lipped,” Lisa said reproachfully.
“Of course, he is,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “We’re sent on a random raid into Knockturn Alley targeting sketchy potions brewed against Muggles during the war, and now a strange Muggle illness is sweeping across the country. Obviously, there’s a connection, and naturally Potter is in the midst of it but refusing to share details. Haven’t we all been here before?”
“If you have a problem with Potter keeping details quiet that I’ve personally asked him not to share, perhaps you’d like to file a complaint, Auror Corner?” Gawain Robards’ biting voice cut across the cubicle. He stood in the opening, arms crossed and frowning at the group huddled around Harry’s desk.
“No, sir,” Michael said, his eyes opening wide and darting to and fro between Violet and Lisa, who’d also hastily jumped to their feet.
“Good. If you lot have nothing to do, I’ll expect the reports from your cases on my desk posthaste. In the meantime, it is still my job to assign which Aurors work on which cases. If you have a problem with that, you’re working in the wrong department. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” all three muttered, hurrying away and leaving Harry with their irate superior.
“Potter, please join me in the conference room if you’ve finished socializing,” Robards said, turning on his heel before Harry could respond.
Swearing under his breath, Harry secured his files and walked to the conference room, silently counting to ten before entering. Ethan was still there, but Harry was surprised to find Owen had joined them.
“Has something happened?” he asked, instantly on guard.
“We think we’ve identified the Muggle victim found in Gethin’s lab,” Owen said without preamble.
“And?” Harry asked, guessing there was more to it.
“And, he was a vagrant tenant staying in a flat on our wizarding family’s property. They didn’t report him missing as tenants typically stay for lambing season and then move on,” Owen said.
“So, we have our point of contact between the Muggles and magical people outside of Gethin,” Robards said. “Judging by the scene I just came across in your cubicle, Potter, I believe it’s time we make a statement to the press,” Robards said, running his finger along his chin.
“I spoke with Unspeakable Scott earlier. She thought so, too,” Harry said.
“What scene? Is there something I ought to know?” Owen asked, looking between Harry and Robards.
“It appears a number of Aurors feel they should know the details of cases they aren’t assigned to,” Robards said shortly, not troubling to hide his displeasure. “The press release should alert everyone to the problem, but I see no need to cater to meddlesome fools.”
He stood, nodding curtly before leaving the conference room.
Owen barely waited for the latch to click shut on the door before he turned to Harry. “What the ruddy hell happened?” he asked, and, thanks to Vivian’s comments, Harry’s mind automatically conjured the image of a cat with its fur on end.
“Benson, Turpin and Corner were looking for details on our case,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t confirm or deny anything, and it was getting heated when Robards showed up.”
“Oh, yeah, the whole office is talking about it,” Ethan said.
“And that better not include you,” Owen said, glaring.
“It’s not,” Ethan yelped. “You said it was to be kept quiet, that doesn’t mean I didn’t listen to what they’re saying.”
“And what are they saying?” Harry asked.
“They pretty much have the illness right, though I haven’t heard Spattergroit mentioned specifically. They think we’re working on finding Dark wizards who are smuggling potions into the Muggle population. Oh, and they’re also disgruntled that you get all the good cases, but that’s just nonsense. Our lead wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we just sort of stumbled into it,” Ethan said, sounding indignant.
“That’s usually how it works,” Harry said, sighing.
“Don’t worry about it, lad. They all just want to be the ‘effin Chosen One,” Owen said, grinning hugely.
Harry gave him the two-finger salute.
“Well, obviously he’s going to be in the know, since he is the Chosen One and all that,” Ethan said incredulously.
“No. I think I’m usually in the know because stuff always happens to me,” Harry said, irritated with both of them.
“Or because you’re just bloody nosy,” Owen said.
“There is that,” Harry said, cocking his head to the side.
“So, is Scott doing the press release, then?” Owen asked, unable to keep the slight note of derision from his voice.
“Yeah. She also acknowledged they’re brewing potions in the DoM trying to replicate Gethin’s results,” Harry said.
“How’d you get her to admit that?” Owen asked, eyebrows raised.
Harry shrugged. “I told her I thought she was. She’s fairly upfront if you’re the same with her.”
Owen grumbled, looking mutinous and mumbling under his breath.
“Swearing at her obviously doesn’t work, either,” Harry added.
“Did you find any discrepancies in those ruddy reports you’re going through?” Owen demanded crossly.
“Not yet. Vivian also said to look for some sort of marking or phrase that would alert other potion-makers of something hidden in the file,” Harry said.
“What, like some sort of code?” Ethan asked.
Harry nodded. “Something fairly simple, but that only experienced eyes —those in the know — as you so eloquently put it, would recognize.”
“Zeelus, go help Potter with those files,” Owen said. “I’ll get these ones returned to the Queensferry police now that we’ve identified our mysterious Muggle.”
Harry sighed. “Come on, Ethan. Back to the grind.”
Ginny sank onto the bench in front of her locker, wearily casting cleaning charms on her practice kit. She’d been on the pitch for hours, and her body was protesting even moving her arm to cast the spells. Gwenog had put them all through their paces, nearly frantic to get things right before they went abroad before the season began.
Traditionally, Quidditch teams went abroad at this time of year to earn sponsor gold, but Ginny always hated it. She wasn’t a fan of being away, and none of the matches counted for anything. It was basically a long publicity spree.
“Hey, Ginny, look alive,” her teammate, Willow Gordon said, tossing her a glove. “You dropped this.”
Ginny caught it, but winced at the motion. “Thanks, Willow.”
Willow was a Beater, and she and Ginny had both been taken on at the same time, though the previous season had been the first time Willow had made the first team.
“D’you have any weekend plans?” Willow asked. “Weren’t you planning on a holiday before the season starts?”
Ginny scowled. “I don’t see that happening any time soon. Harry’s working on a big case, and my brother is getting married.”
“Don’t you have about eighty brothers?” Willow asked, laughing.
“Certainly feels that way sometimes. This wedding has consumed just about everything else, but I remember that happening when my oldest brother got married, too. It must just be weddings.”
“Who’s having a wedding?” Theresa Grant, the team’s Seeker asked, coming out of the showers with a towel wrapped around her head. “Ginny, did you get engaged?”
“No, I did not, and don’t start that rumor. It’s my brother,” Ginny said firmly. Theresa was definitely the gossip on the team, and she was always asking Ginny about stories she read in Witch Weekly.
“Oh,” Theresa said, sounding disappointed. “I thought maybe you and Harry had decided to make it official, finally.”
“It is official, and we don’t need to be married for that. We were made for each other.”
“Of course, you were,” Willow said, smirking. “So, what is it about your brother’s wedding that’s annoying you so much? Isn’t it supposed to be a joyous occasion?”
Willow was an only child, and always fascinated by the drama in the extended Weasley family.
“It is, and it will be,” Ginny said, sighing. “It’s just all the excessive planning and agonizing over details that I really couldn’t care less about.”
“Chin up. It’ll be over before you know it,” Willow said bracingly.
“How about you? Any weekend plans?” Ginny asked, dragging herself off the bench and stowing her kit in her bag.
“I’m visiting the folks,” Willow said, with a falsely cheery smile.
“You have fun with that,” Ginny replied. “How about you, Theresa?”
Theresa paused while dressing, momentarily looking lost. “I don’t… think so.”
“What the ruddy hell does that mean?” Willow asked, grinning.
Theresa shook her head rather forcefully. “I don’t have any plans. I need to meet some new blokes. We can’t all be like Ginny and have a steady already. When are you going to marry that boy?”
Ginny stared at her, irritated. Was she taking the mickey? “Theresa, I’m not going to keep telling you this, and I don’t want to see any rumors coming out of the locker room about it.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your knickers in such a twist. I was just asking,” Theresa said huffily.
“I’ve had enough of this impossibly long day,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. “I’ll see you all on Monday.”
They bid their farewells and Ginny Apparated to Grimmauld Place. The weather in Wales at their practice facility had been cloudy, but here in London, it was pouring. By the time Ginny had pushed open the front door, she was already drenched and had to use a spell to dry off. Theresa always managed to annoy her with her obsession with celebrity gossip. She regularly made a beeline for Harry at every team function, and Ginny was proud of herself that she hadn’t once hexed her. Yet.
Ginny had planned to head straight for the kitchen and find something to eat, but voices from the sitting room distracted her. She hadn’t expected anyone else to be home. She moved cautiously — despite knowing all the enchantments on the house wouldn’t allow strangers to enter — because some old habits were hard to break. Inside the room, she found Hermione sitting with Padma Patil, sharing tea and an odd assortment of snacks. Hermione had never taken to cooking, and her attempts usually proved… interesting.
Padma and her twin had returned to Hogwarts along with Hermione to finish their interrupted seventh year. The girls had grown close during that strange year, and Ginny always thought Hermione enjoyed Padma’s company far more than she ever had her sister’s.
“Ginny,” Hermione said, spotting her in the doorway. “Come and join us, how was practice?”
Ginny dropped her bag in the corner and slumped onto the sofa, grabbing a biscuit off the plate. “Long. How are you, Padma?”
“I’m good, really good. Shop is doing great, but I never get to leave. I stopped by hoping George would be home, but Hermione was nice enough to offer a cuppa and a catch up,” Padma said whilst Hermione poured Ginny a cup of tea.
The Patil twins had opened a clothing boutique in Diagon Alley after leaving Hogwarts, and George had given them a lot of helpful business advice on getting it started. From what she’d heard, the boutique had become a popular hot spot amongst young witches.
“Ooh, I’ve been meaning to come in. I need a dress to wear to Percy’s wedding,” Hermione said.
“I’d love to find you something,” Padma said eagerly. “We just received a shipment of some beautiful silk from Milan that would look spectacular with your coloring.”
Disgruntled by more wedding talk — and the fact Hermione could choose what she’d wear — Ginny bit into her biscuit. It tasted strange and she couldn’t even identify the type of biscuit it was. Glancing down, she was alarmed to see it was green inside.
“Hermione, what’s in this biscuit?” she asked warily.
Hermione smiled brightly, “Do you like it? It has a form of algae that my mum sent me. It’s supposed to be packed with nutrients.”
“How extraordinary,” Ginny said, carefully putting the biscuit down and taking a big gulp of tea. The bowl of crisps looked like the only safe option, so she moved it to within reaching distance. “Any new interesting blokes in your life, Padma?”
Padma shrugged. “Not really. I went out a few times with Stephen Cornfoot, but there really wasn’t a spark. Parvati always likes to paint the town more than I, but I wish I could find the right match to spend some time with.”
“We have a new Healer on the training staff, and he’s really good-looking. I don’t know if he’s available, but I could find out,” Ginny said, remembering how he’d really helped when she’d hurt her knee during practice.
“Oh, no,” Padma said, raising her hands as if to hold Ginny off. “I’m not interested in any of your matchmaking, Ginny Weasley.”
Hermione grinned. “It’s not like she’s bad at it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll find my own, thank you very much,” Padma said, grinning to soften the words.
“Suit yourself,” Ginny said, shrugging.
“I saw Ron the other day. He was helping out at George’s shop,” Padma said.
“Yeah, he’s been doing that a lot,” Hermione said, a slight crease forming on her forehead. “George could really use some help.”
“He could,” Padma agreed. “He’s always in a much better mood when Ron is there. More… care-free, like he used to be.”
Ginny swallowed hard and looked away feeling as if Fred were in the room with them. Sometimes it snuck up on her and felt as if she’d been punched in the gut.
“Ron looks really good, Hermione,” Padma went on, missing the tension in the air. “He’s really filled out since we were in school. You must be feeding him well.”
Hermione grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not me. Harry’s the one who does most of the cooking around here, although Ginny’s not bad, either,” she said, nodding towards Ginny.
“I can do it; I just don’t enjoy it. Harry seems to like it for some odd reason. He enjoys cooking it over eating it, which is just bizarre,” Ginny said. She’d never understand the way Harry could often simply forget to eat. Ginny didn’t think she’d ever forgotten to eat in her life.
“Hello, ladies,” George said, entering the sitting room and grabbing one of Hermione’s biscuits. “How spiffing to return after a long day and find my home filled with beauty.”
His face lost its charming smile as he bit into Hermione’s biscuit. “What is this?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Hermione’s algae biscuits,” Ginny said, trying and failing to hold back her laughter.
George took a napkin and spit it out, wiping his tongue in the process. When he caught Hermione’s hurt expression, he lied straight-faced, “I’m allergic to algae.”
“George, I actually stopped by to talk with you. D’you have a minute to answer a few questions about importing?” Padma asked.
“Sure, but only just. I’m meeting someone at the pub shortly, and this rain is sure to pack the place,” George said, taking the chair next to her.
As Padma and George began discussing their various businesses, Ginny leaned toward Hermione. “How come you’re home so early today? Is everything all right?”
Hermione nodded, “Oh, yes, it’s fine. Several members of our team are putting together a press statement, and since I wasn’t involved with that, I thought I’d take advantage to do some reading on the Cerebrumous Spattergroit contagion. Trouble is, there simply isn’t a lot written about it. I didn’t expect to see Padma.”
Ginny’s shoulders slumped, “Oh, so Harry and Ron shouldn’t be expected to be along earlier, too?”
“They might. They aren’t involved with the press aspect, either, and I know Harry wanted to be out of there before the press conference,” Hermione said, grimacing.
Ginny brightened. “Oh, I hope so, I feel like I barely get to see you lot these days.”
Hermione patted Ginny’s leg comfortingly. “I know, it’s been so hectic, and your own busy season is coming up soon.”
“Hermione!” Ginny said, eyes widening in shock. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually worked out the Quidditch schedule.”
Hermione grinned. “Still not claiming I care, but… I’d have to be a dolt, being unable to follow it, living with you lot.”
“And no one has ever been foolish enough to call you a dolt about anything,” Ginny said, shaking her head.
Hermione smiled, biting her lip, a troubled expression stealing over her face. “Do you think Padma’s right, in what she said about George being happier when Ron is at the shop?”
Ginny shrugged. “Probably, why?”
“It’s just that, I think Ron is happier when he’s there, too,” Hermione said, whispering and looking over her shoulder to be certain George and Padma were still engaged in conversation.
Ginny frowned. “How do you mean? Happier than when he’s at the Ministry? I think anyone would be happier in a joke shop than at the Ministry, Hermione.” She couldn’t even fathom how anyone could stand being stuck behind a desk all day. She knew the Aurors went out to solve cases, but the idea of most of the Ministry jobs — Hermione’s included — bored her to tears.
Hermione shook her head slowly, as if carefully gathering her words, “No, I mean… I don’t know. I’ve just noticed how he comes alive when he’s at the shop, almost like he comes into his own. He was really chuffed to become an Auror, don’t get me wrong, but he’s never felt the same satisfaction… the same sense of purpose that Harry does. I think he wants to help his brother, obviously, but he also tends to shine when he’s at the shop. He has a good head for business, marketing in particular. Have you noticed?”
“I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it. I didn’t know he was unhappy at the Ministry,” said Ginny, taking another sip of her tea.
“He’s not, that’s just the thing. This might all be in my head, and he’s accused me of underestimating him before, so I’ve actually kept my mouth shut,” Hermione said, staring pointedly at Ginny, who smirked.
“Good for you You’ve done a good job,” she said, knowing how difficult not saying anything could sometimes be for her friend.
“I know he wouldn’t think about leaving now… but I wonder if after the case and we’ve contained the spread of this disease… if it might be something he’s considering. Honestly, I think the biggest deterrent would be Harry.”
Ginny was startled. “Harry? Why? He’d never hold Ron back if it was something Ron truly wanted.”
Hermione impatiently blew a huff of air out of her nose. “I know that. Ron still has a thing about needing to watch Harry’s back. I know Harry can look after himself, but it’s been a lifelong job for us, and Ron’s never really gotten over Harry walking away to hand over his life during the Battle.”
“I don’t think any of us has ever got over that,” Ginny said darkly. Sometimes, she still awoke in terror after envisioning Hagrid carrying Harry’s limp body in his arms, Harry’s arm just dangling, motionless. Ginny had that moment so vividly imprinted upon her mind; she could even taste the bile that had arisen in her throat. Shuddering, she had to shake her head to clear it in order to focus on Hermione’s words.
“No, I don’t think he ever fully will. There’s also the matter of the Ministry Quidditch matches. He’d hate to lose that,” Hermione said, sounding both exasperated and bemused.
“He could probably get together with George and the other merchants and set up a Diagon Alley little league, if he wanted,” Ginny said, smiling faintly. She knew how much it annoyed both Ron and Harry when she referred to their team as a little league, but that only made her want to do it more
“I don’t think it would really hold him back, but I’m aware I usually underestimate anyone’s devotion to Quidditch,” Hermione said, smiling.
“You don’t say?” Ginny asked with mock incredulity.
“I don’t mean you. Obviously, it’s your career, so it should be a high priority, and Harry always tends to obsess, but Ron’s devotion to that game borders on fanatical.”
“You just don’t understand Quidditch, Hermione. It’s more than a sport… it just becomes part of you,” Ginny said, wishing she could put into words the feeling of camaraderie, the intense passion, that feeling if her team didn’t win that nothing would be right in the world. She knew Hermione wouldn’t get it. It was a feeling, not a logical thought, so there is no way Hermione would ever entertain its validity. That didn’t make it any less real or important.
Hermione was staring at Ginny as if she had three heads. “Well, yes, but the point is… I think Ron might be considering leaving the Ministry and going to work with George, but I’m not certain if he and George have discussed it. I’ve never been able to read George well.”
Ginny could see that the fact she’d never been able to work that out annoyed Hermione greatly.
“Well, I’m certain we’ll hear about it, if that’s the case. Neither of them could ever keep a secret for long. I’d suggest letting Ron bring it to you, though. I think if he takes it as anyone’s idea but his own, he’ll see it as lack of faith in his Auror abilities, and he’ll just dig his heels in.”
Hermione nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I usually am,” Ginny said, smiling brightly.
Hermione snorted. “I wish Ron had inherited some of that self-confidence.”
“He’s been loads better since the war, actually,” Ginny said, wondering how Hermione had tricked her into defending her brother. She usually tried to avoid that.
“I know he has,” Hermione said, sighing. “Typically, the only person who doubts Ron is Ron himself, particularly since the war.”
“I think he came out of the war better than all of us, to be honest. He seems to appreciate life more and just finds joy in the little things. Don’t ever repeat this or I’ll emphatically and categorically deny it, but I think we could all take a life lesson from Ron,” Ginny said, a bit grudgingly.
Hermione took her in hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Your secret is safe with me.”
They were interrupted when Ron and Harry entered the sitting room, both with wet hair and rowing good naturedly. Ginny suspected they might’ve stopped at the pub rather than coming home directly.
“I didn’t say any such thing,” Harry said, looking exasperated.
“What’s going on now?” Hermione asked, sounding very put upon.
Ron walked over and kissed her before taking the bowl of crisps from Ginny. “Apparently, Harry landed the whole Auror department in detention.”
Harry dropped onto the sofa next to Ginny, leaned over and kissed her a bit longer that was socially acceptable.
“Oi!” Ron said as they broke apart.
Ginny grinned against Harry’s lips. “Long day?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, sighing and swinging his legs around so his head rested in her lap. Ginny cast a spell to dry his hair as he got comfortable. He’d blatantly had a trying day if he didn’t care who was watching. Harry was usually much more reserved about such things — except when he’d had a few pints.
“What do you mean by ‘detention’?” Hermione asked, concerned.
George and Padma had stopped their conversation to focus upon the new arrivals, as well. They all exchanged greetings before Ron said, “Robards was on a rampage. He started handing out additional cases left, right and center.”
“Are you on another case, Harry?” Ginny asked, aghast. He barely came home now as it was.
“No, not me. Robards overheard a few people quizzing me on what was happening with my case and why Unspeakable Scott was around so much. They had the general gist of it, but wanted more details,” Harry said, running his hand along the back of his neck. Ginny recognized it as a sure sign he was uncomfortable about something.
“Harry was blamed for it though. I heard Michael Corner on a blistering rampage because he was handed a case that involved interviewing some old bird who suspected her neighbor of being a peeping Tom,” Ron said gleefully. “It really should’ve gone to Magical Law Enforcement, but I think that was Robards’ point.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Ron had never gotten over the fact Ginny had dated Michael when she was a third-year. A third-year, of all the ruddy idiotic things to be upset over.
“Robards decided there wasn’t enough work if we all had so much time to gossip,” Harry said sheepishly.
Ginny thought he looked rather cute when his cheeks turned all rosy the way they were. She ruffled his hair fondly, and he leaned into her hand.
“Well, you lot might have all day to discuss office gossip, but I have a date to get to, so I’ll be off,” George said, waving to the room at large.
“Are you going out with Angelina?” Ginny called after him loudly, but he ignored her, and a moment later, they heard the front door closing.
“I bet it is Angelina,” Hermione said, still staring at the empty door.
“Probably. I saw them both at lunch the other day at the Leaky Cauldron,” Padma said, her gaze following Hermione’s.
Hermione looked startled. “Did they look as if they were having a row, or were they happy?”
Ginny leaned over Harry, her hair falling into a curtain around them. “You look tired,” she whispered.
“Robards accused me of socializing, and I didn’t tell him where to stick it,” he mumbled.
“Did you shout?” she asked, grinning.
“No! I was a good boy and took my lumps,” he answered, grumbling.
“What a good Auror you’re becoming. Respecting authority and all… who could’ve seen that coming?”
“Shut it,” he said, using those incredible ab muscles of his to pull up and capture her mouth for a searing kiss.
They were jarred apart when Ron plopped down on the sofa by Harry’s ribs, jarring him so his head fell back onto Ginny’s lap with a squelching sound as their kiss was broken.
“So, what do you think? Are George and Angelina back together?” Ron asked, oblivious.
Harry looked up at her, exasperated. “I think I’m going to hit your brother, now.”
“Be my guest. Or I could hit him for you, either works,” Ginny replied indifferently, causing him to smile. She always tended to melt when he unleashed those lovely green eyes on her. They sparkled more than anyone’s eyes should, and it always made her lose her train of thought. Those eyes ought to be illegal.
“Why would you want to hit me?” Ron asked, looking at Harry, surprised and rather hurt.
“Maybe because they haven’t seen each other all day and wanted a moment to themselves, Ronald,” Hermione said, exasperated.
“They’re not just with themselves, though. We’re all here,” Ron said, looking bewildered.
“Oh, Ron, just because Harry loves Ginny doesn’t mean he loves you any less,” Padma said, giggling.
“Yeah, Ron — you should be happy Harry chose Ginny. He could’ve dated someone like… like Daphne Greengrass, and then you’d never get to see him. He’d probably be in a room with her sister and Draco Malfoy right now,” Hermione said, looking thoroughly amused by the disgusted expression on Ron’s face.
“Well, having to spend time with that git is reason enough right there not to date her,” Harry said, making a revolted face. “Do I even know Daphne Greengrass?”
“Slytherin in our year. She was one of Pansy Parkinson’s clique,” Hermione answered automatically.
“So basically, another cow,” Ginny said sourly.
“She didn’t play Quidditch, so you probably didn’t know her,” Padma said, seeming to enjoy the teasing.
“Not like the Slytherins ever let any witches play, though, so she might be good,” Ginny said.
Harry looked at her incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this. I don’t want to date anyone else but you.”
Ginny smiled, a warmth feeling her belly and radiating upwards, filling her. “And that’s why it doesn’t bother me to joke,” she said, leaning over and kissing him again.
“Yeah, and Harry would never want to be mates with Malfoy over me,” Ron said, still squeezed onto the sofa with them.
“Of course, he wouldn’t,” Hermione said, ruffling his hair.
“The part about Malfoy is true, but I could stand a little less of you, particularly when I’m trying to snog my girlfriend,” Harry said, nudging his hip over so Ron slipped off the sofa.
“Hey!” Ron said, catching himself before he fell. “Watch it. This isn’t the time for snogging. We have company.”
“I don’t mind snogging. I find them adorable,” Padma said.
“Well, I don’t,” Ron said, scowling as he pushed his way back onto the sofa.
“Oh, Ron, I’ll always still love you, too,” Harry said, pulling himself up and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto Ron’s cheek.
“Eww, Harry,” Ron shouted, jumping up and wiping at his face repeatedly while the others roared with laughter.
“See, Ron, you haven’t lost him to Ginny,” Hermione said, wiping her eyes.
Ron looked furious, glowering at all of them. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“You tell us, it’s your night to cook,” Ginny said, glowering right back.
They were all surprised to see his countenance brighten. “Oh, yeah. Mum sent leftovers,” he said happily, heading toward the kitchen.
“So Mum is really doing the cooking on your nights?” Ginny asked indignantly.
“Shh,” Harry said urgently. “Your mum’s cooking is much better than his, and I’m hungry, too.”
“That’s not the point,” Hermione said, also scowling.
Ginny still felt irritated. Her mum never did the cooking when it was her night, but she knew Harry had been off food for a lot of this case, so if he was hungry, she wasn’t going to make a fuss. She could still be angry with Ron, though. “He can be such a foul little git. If he’s not interrupting, he’s acting as if it’s something scandalous if Harry and I more than hold hands.”
“He’s protective,” Padma said. “It’s rather sweet.”
“Honestly. Ron has spent his entire life being the little brother. With you two, he gets to be the big brother for a change, and that suits his desire to protect you both. He teases you because that’s always how his older brothers treated him,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not his little brother — we’re the same age,” Harry said, indignant.
“Technically, you won’t be twenty-one for another week, but that doesn’t matter. Ron is protective of you because he thinks someone ought to be,” Hermione said.
“I can look after myself,” Harry said, rather cross.
“Barely,” Ginny couldn’t stop herself from muttering.
Harry goggled at her. “Ginny!”
“What? If I have to deal with it, it’s only fair that you should too,” she said, enjoying the gob-smacked expression on his face. She did so enjoy winding him up.
“How is that in any way fair?” he asked.
“Because the more he smothers you, the less he smothers me. We’re a team, remember?” she said, smiling impishly.
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Oh, they are so adorable,” Padma said to Hermione, her hands clasped to her chest.
“They are, and they both know Ron does it from a place of love for both of them,” Hermione said, smiling.
“Wish he loved me a little less,” Ginny grumbled, but she noticed that Harry didn’t say anything. He’d spent half of his life without anyone loving him. She supposed he found it nice that they were competing over loving him now.
Chapter 10: Twenty-One Candles
Author's Notes: Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, patience and care in always reading over these chapters and letting me know what could be improved. I really appreciate the help.
A few of you picked up on the clue in the last chapter about what this mysterious illness is doing. Hang on, because it’s about to ramp up 😉
Twenty-One Candles
Ginny woke up slowly, feeling so warm and comfortable that she considered dropping back off. Her drowsy brain registered that Harry was curled around her, his arm draped protectively over her, so she was snuggled in a cocoon of warmth and protectiveness that felt even better than the luxurious sheets. She’d noticed that whenever he fell asleep on his own, Harry always curled in on himself, but if she was with him, he still curled up, but he surrounded her completely whilst doing so. This had to be her favorite spot to be, which was saying something since, if asked, she’d claim she hated being overprotected. It was different with him, though.
It was always different with him.
Whenever she came upon him after he’d nodded off on the sofa, or if he was feeling unwell — something which he still never admitted — it would make her sad to think why he might sleep curled up that way, as if shielding himself. She wasn’t certain if it was a remnant of his lonely childhood, or a holdout from a lifetime of being hunted. Perhaps, it was a way he’d tried to protect himself during his teenage years when Tom would frequently invade his mind whilst he slept.
Whichever it was, his inclination was to protect himself, and he automatically protected her when she was with him. She knew he was aware that she could more than adequately defend herself, but even when his subconscious mind took over, it was his instinct to shield and protect her.
Even though it sometimes exasperated her, she loved him for it. She loved him for a lot of reasons, actually. Besides, she was always cold at night, and he was so warm. The only time he ever complained was when she rested her freezing cold feet against his shins, but even then, he didn’t push her away. He’d yelp a lot, but he always stayed.
And he always came back. Hell, he’d even once come back from the dead for her.
It was nice to have something so rock-steady and dependable to call completely her own. Being the youngest in a very large family, Ginny was used to being told what to do and what to think — things she’s usually promptly ignored. With Harry, he actually sought out her advice and opinion. He never saw her as less. In fact, he tended to see her as if the moon, sun and stars shone specifically for her.
A girl could get used to that.
She straightened out her legs and tried to gently stretch her back without waking Harry. He had enough trouble sleeping without her rousing him unnecessarily. They were due at The Burrow later this afternoon for his birthday dinner, but the morning was gloriously and exclusively their own. She could give him a bit of a lie-in before giving him a private work out.
She knew once they arrived at The Burrow, her mum would somehow find a moment to corner her and try to cajole her into agreeing how much better it would be if she moved home. She never seemed to understand that this — this once-decrepit old house — was what she now considered home. True, it had been thoroughly renovated and was quite trendy and posh, but that’s not what made it home. Harry being here made it home. She’d be at home wherever he was, and she knew it was the same for him.
Her mum wouldn’t accept that until there were some marriage vows between them, but even then — for she was certain it would happen eventually — she wasn’t positive her mum wouldn’t try to convince them to live with her. She liked having her kids around, and she considered both of them hers. Fortunately, that protective instinct had grown to include Teddy and Victoire. Ginny could only imagine — hope — as the ensuing years passed, there would be more and more grandchildren to occupy Molly’s time. Because Ginny wasn’t planning on ever returning to The Burrow to live again.
She’d let Harry walk away once because there was a bigger picture to consider, and they all had their roles to play. Now, she and Harry were finally in control of their own destinies, and they chose to face them head on and together.
Still, despite the expected row, it should be a fun gathering. She always enjoyed watching Harry’s embarrassment over all the gifts. Honestly, it was his birthday, so of course there would be gifts, yet he still somehow always seemed surprised they were there. Naturally, that meant everyone was always happy to give him even more.
Perhaps he was onto something there. Her own birthday came a mere fortnight after his after all...
Ginny carefully turned from her side to lie on her back so that her head rested against Harry’s gently moving chest. He was still deeply asleep. Her eyes traced the various scars that littered his chest, the most prominent being the lightning-bolt-shaped one over his heart that matched the one on his forehead.
The sight of that scar always brought her back to her miserable sixth year under the Carrows’ reign and the battle that followed. Unconsciously, her finger reached out to lightly trace his ridged skin around the scar, recalling how deeply it had originally bruised.
Her sixth year was when, she felt, she’d really grown up. She’d helped to restart Dumbledore’s Army and led a resistance against the Carrows’ cruelty. It was the first time in her life that she’d felt like the protector rather than the protected. Oddly enough, it was her mum who’d instilled that desire in her after Christmas during her fifth year. The Minister of Magic had unexpectedly arrived during Christmas dinner to attempt to bully Harry into siding with the Ministry. It had really rattled both her parents, and she remembered, as they were using the Floo Network to return to Hogwarts, her tearful mum pleading with both her and Ron to not only watch out for themselves, but to watch out for Harry, as well.
Now, her mum had always told Ron and the twins to do this, along with looking after her, but it had been the first time Ginny had been included in the protective role, and she found she quite liked it. Harry would’ve been indignant had he known, but her mum was more than shifty enough not to let him see her doing it. In fact, Ginny had learned there was very little that had happened during her childhood that her mum hadn’t been aware of — even the mischief the twins had been plotting.
Harry shifted ever so slightly under her touch on his scar, his arm moving up so he could lazily fondle her breast. She didn’t think he was fully awake yet. Even asleep he could never decide which he liked more, her hair or her tits. He liked to touch both of them — or maybe that counted as three things?
Ginny sighed in contentment, burrowing her face into the light tracing of fur on his chest. He was waking up, she could tell by his languid smile and the fact some parts of him were becoming alert quicker than others. His eyes fluttered open, their bright green color slightly dulled with sleep.
“Morning,” he said, sighing contentedly.
“Good morning, my Birthday Chosen Boy. Are you ready for your special day?” she asked, nuzzling her nose into his chest, which rumbled when he chuckled.
“Birthday Chosen Boy, is it? That’s a new one,” he said, squinting to see her reaction without his glasses.
“Happy Birthday,” she said fondly, reaching over to grab them off the bedside table and handing them to him. She thought she ought to sit up and give him a proper birthday kiss, but she was too comfortable to move just yet. She’d make up for it later.
“I’m twenty-one,” Harry said, sounding rather odd. Without taking her head off his chest, she glanced upwards to see a noticeably pensive expression cross his face.
She waited, lightly tracing her hand in circles on his chest, knowing he’d speak when he was ready. Sometimes, it took him awhile to gather his thoughts, but he’d usually share if you didn’t push him.
“My parents were twenty-one when they died,” he said eventually, his voice gruff. “Next year, I’ll be older than them.”
Ginny’s heart constricted, and she shut her eyes tightly for a moment. Harry had barely had the chance to live, she couldn’t imagine this being the end. Of course, his parents had already had him at this point, but still… She often felt churlish for the way she took her parents for granted. They were always solidly there, fixed and unchanging. She loved them, but she also found them exasperating, as with her mum and her unrelenting demands that Ginny should move home.
Harry had never had the chance to know his parents, so of course he’d also never had the chance to become exasperated by them. He’d told her of a Pensieve memory of Snape’s that had haunted him during his fifth year when she’d asked, years later, about what had really been bothering him in the library that day. That was long before they’d started dating, but she often looked back on it now with wonder, realizing that it was the first time he’d really opened up to her. He hadn’t told her he was fine. She wasn’t certain there’d ever been a time with anyone else that he’d done that.
“Well,” she said, dragging her thoughts back to the present, “their lives were certainly shorter than they should’ve been, but I’ll always be grateful that they brought you into the world for me.”
She watched his slow grin form and knew she’d been successful at pulling him out of his morose thoughts.
“You think they had me just for you, then?” he asked.
She pursed her lips. “Well, what else would your purpose be? It’s not like you saved the world or anything. Don’t be big-headed, Harry. It’s unbecoming,” she said primly.
“Sorry about that,” he said, grinning widely now.
“Don’t worry. You’re still my Birthday Chosen Boy.”
“Urgh, enough with the ruddy nicknames, already. You know I hate those… unless… did you add any poetry? It is my birthday, after all,” he said, trying and failing to look innocent.
“Poetry?” she asked blankly.
Harry’s eyes were sparkling merrily, and he looked positively mischievous now. “Yeah. If you can find a way to rhyme fresh-pickled toad, certainly you could come up with one for birthday chosen boy,” he said, eyebrows raised in challenge.
Ginny gasped, astonished he’d brought that up. He usually only teased her about her childhood crush when he was randy — and sure of his chances. She narrowed her eyes threateningly.
“I thought we’d established a deal that we never talk about that,” she said sternly.
He was far too delighted for her liking. “Yeah, but we also have another deal, the one where you don’t hex me on my birthday,” he said, suddenly sitting up and tickling her ribs without mercy.
“Oh, he thinks he’s so coy, that vain chosen boy,” she gasped out through giggles.
“Vain?” he asked, pulling back to stare incredulously, tickling ceased. “I’m not vain.”
“Well, you were acting a bit of a peacock just a moment ago about saving the world and all. As if that doesn’t happen with someone every day,” she said flippantly, enjoying the way his eyes goggled.
“I love how you can put it all in perspective,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Ginny shrugged, grinning impishly. “It’s one of my many talents.”
“Of which poetry definitely isn’t one,” he said, poking her in the side for good measure.
“Hey! It wasn’t bad for eleven,” she said, pouting out her lower lip.
“Fair enough,” he said. “You were a good poet at eleven, and I was the youngest Seeker in a century.”
Ginny let out a bark of laugher, poking him back, rather harder than necessary. “You’re such a prat,” she said, finally pulling herself into a seated position next to him.
He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he said, smiling with a goofy, quite soppy expression on his face.
“Well then, you’re very lucky that I love you, too. Who else could stand that big head of yours?” she asked, pulling a face.
“How can I ever thank you for putting up with me?” he asked with mock sincerity.
“You can start by promising to never bring up my poetry-writing days as long as you live — even if you come back from the dead again, you still can’t bring it up,” she said promptly.
Harry laughed outright. “How about, if you’re not allowed to hex me on my birthday, that I’m not allowed to bring up your poetry-writing on yours?”
She pretended to ponder it for a moment, tapping her finger against her lips, then said, “I think I like it better if you promise not to while you’re alive.”
“Are you going to promise never to hex me while you’re alive?” he asked.
“Well, unless you do something daft,” she said, shrugging.
“So, that’s a no then,” he said, leaning his head back against the headboard.
“Because you know you’ll do something daft. You can’t help yourself,” she said.
“And yet here you are, in bed with me,” he said, sounding smug.
“I never claimed I wasn’t daft, either.”
Chuckling, Harry leaned over to kiss her, and she remembered she still owed him a birthday kiss. She opened her mouth, inviting him, and felt his fingers tangle in her hair. This was exactly how she enjoyed spending her morning, and wished they could all be like this. When they broke apart, she rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his chest, hugging him close.
“It was ten years ago today that Hagrid showed up in that little ocean shanty and told me I was a wizard. My whole world changed that day,” he said, curling a strand of her hair between his fingers. His other arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and as she snuggled next to him, he once again began fondling her breast. Boobs and hair, he was nothing if not predictable.
“No, it changed when you arrived in King’s Cross on September first because that’s when you met me,” she said.
“Oh, right. There I go, being daft again,” he said, his eyes dilating with desire as he looked at her.
She laughed, and he leaned down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, turning his body towards her. She pulled the glasses off his face and placed them absently on the bedside table again, feeling slightly breathless as one of his hands skimmed across her hip.
“I think I remembered something else I like to do on my birthday, Whisky,” he said, gasping slightly as her hands moved to his bum, pulling him tighter.
“Well, we best make it a happy one,” she murmured, and they spent the rest of the morning doing just that.
The late afternoon sun was warm and pleasant over the back garden of The Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley had prepared an extraordinary birthday feast. The entire Weasley clan plus all the extras who’d been pulled in over the years were gathered around, though the meal itself hadn’t yet been served.
Ginny stood with Fleur, watching Teddy and Victoire dig in the sand near the water hole. Harry had disappeared into the shed with her dad, as was their custom, and Bill was chatting animatedly with Owen and Hagrid. Ginny couldn’t help but wonder what that conversation was all about. Everyone but Charlie and Percy were there. Truth be told, Ginny was quite relieved to have a reprieve from all the wedding talk. This was Harry’s day. She was currently doing her best to avoid being alone with her mum so Molly couldn’t lecture her about moving back.
Ginny and Fleur had come a long way since their rough beginning, and she’d often found an unexpected ally against her brothers’ interference from her sister-in-law.
“When are you going on your ‘oliday?” Fleur asked, bending down to pull Victoire’s sand-covered hand away from the girl’s mouth. “You should not forgo eet because eet didn’t work the first time.”
“I know. It’s not cancelled — just postponed for the moment,” Ginny said, thinking about how soon her job would have her travelling. Perhaps they could go on holiday over Christmas. She could just imagine Molly’s reaction if Ginny dropped that bit of news on her. Maybe she could try it to derail her later when she started in on Ginny’s living arrangements.
“I think eet is important for you to go, no? I think ‘arry would like to get you away for himself for a while,” Fleur said, her stunning blue eyes watching Ginny very carefully.
Ginny suspected Fleur might have the same suspicions she herself did on why Harry wanted to go on holiday. She’d discovered there really wasn’t a lot of subtlety to Fleur, but also, there wasn’t much that she missed. As soon as Fleur had learned Harry and Ginny had been involved even before the war, she became an instant supporter. It seemed that Fleur thought any and all instances of romance needed her delicate touch. In fact, Ginny sometimes thought it was the romance Fleur was more invested in rather than the participants, but she tried to curb that unflattering thought.
“I have a birthday gift for you,” Fleur said, her voice low. “Just don’t go on ‘oliday before I give eet to you. And… eet would be best if you didn’t mention eet to Bill, either.”
Ginny looked at Fleur, both startled and intrigued. “It’s Harry’s birthday,” she said stupidly. Sometimes Fleur made even her lose her head.
Teddy’s constant stream of chatter about the sand-castle was punctuated by the occasional screech from Victoire, who was boisterously waving her chubby little arms in the air and making sand fly everywhere.
“I know, and I think he will enjoy this very much,” Fleur said, smiling knowingly. She deftly stepped away from the flying sand, but Ginny felt some of it land in her own hair.
They were interrupted by a shriek from Victoire. Both women turned just as the baby took a handful of sand and flung it at Teddy, who looked startled as sand fell from his turquoise-colored hair. Fleur walked over to her daughter, brushing the sand out of her hand and reminding her not to throw things. Ginny swiped the bits of sand off Teddy, who didn’t seem perturbed by it. He happily went back to digging, telling an uncomprehending Victoire what they needed to do next.
By the time they’d settled the toddlers back to their task, the moment had passed. Ginny wanted to ask Fleur more about her gift but thought it would be rather tactless. With anyone else, she wouldn’t care about being tactless, but it always felt as if it somehow gave Fleur the upper hand. Ginny tried to avoid that.
Luckily for her, it was Fleur who returned to their conversation. “Would you like to know what eet is or be surprised?” she asked, her face serene as if it didn’t matter to her either way.
“Tell me,” Ginny said, never one to be patient when it came to presents.
“Eet is a set of robes,” Fleur said, her dazzling smile lighting her entire face, making her look even more stunning than she usually did.
“Robes?” Ginny asked blankly. “You gave me a beautiful set of dress robes last Christmas.” The robes were a soft, pale yellow that she was certain appeased Bill’s delusion that she was just a baby. He’d never seen them on her, however, so he didn’t know how they cinched in tightly at the waist, and the slit at the side was cut daringly high. When Ginny wore them to a Quidditch function, she wished she could’ve seen her brother’s reaction to the pictures that were splashed across the gossip rags. There was one that appeared to show Harry sneaking a peek down the remarkable cleavage the robes displayed. Ginny was certain Bill hadn’t known about that.
“These are not dress robes. Zey are for sleeping… or at least, for going to bed,” Fleur said, her eyes glinting.
Ginny’s mouth formed into a slight ‘oh,’ her thoughts shifting into high gear on what the robes might look like. She suddenly wanted to re-schedule her failed holiday very much.
“Er… how did you get those past Bill?” she asked, her voice sounding a bit strangled to her own ears.
“I have my ways. Your brothers are ridiculous in their insistence you don’t have a sex life. Zey would be more than ‘appy if I bought these robes for their girlfriends. Bill certainly likes when I wear such things. Eet is more than hypocritical that zey think you wouldn’t enjoy them, no?”
“Hypocritical doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Ginny said, always quick to become incensed whenever this topic arose. Although, she could’ve done without the comment that Bill enjoyed Fleur to wear things like that. She really didn’t want to know anything about her brothers’ love lives.
“Zey are green, more of a jade green, but I think they will remind you of ‘arry’s eyes when he sees you wearing them,” Fleur said.
Ginny couldn’t help but wonder what Harry’s reaction would be if she strolled out of the loo wearing something sexy. His eyes always did tend to grow darker when he was aroused. If she knew Fleur, the robes would definitely be sexy. Ginny usually just wore one of Harry’s old T-shirts to bed.
“George does not look ‘appy,” Fleur said, breaking into Ginny’s fantasy. Her eyes were fixed on the gate that led to the Apparition point.
Ginny turned to see a scowling George standing with Ron and Hermione. They looked as if they were having a row. She automatically took a step towards them before remembering she’d told Andromeda she’d mind Teddy while Andromeda helped Molly with dinner.
“Go on,” Fleur said. “I can watch both. Zey are happier together, anyway.”
Ginny nodded, reaching out to squeeze Fleur’s arm before hurrying across the garden to where all her housemates save Harry stood tensely.
“What good will that do if I’ve already cocked it up?” George demanded harshly. His face and one remaining ear were very red, and the scowl lines around his mouth were so out of place it made him nearly unrecognizable.
“It’ll keep you from cocking up again,” Ron snapped, running his hand through his hair in agitation.
“What’s up?” Ginny asked, moving next to Hermione who was pinching her forehead as if trying to think.
“Go on, tell her. Not like everyone won’t hear about it soon enough,” George said, throwing his hands in the hair. He turned away from them, placing his hands on the fence and leaning over, breathing heavily.
“George… well, he…” Ron said, staring helplessly at Hermione.
“There was a mistake on a Fainting Fancy. A boy in the shop went into convulsions and had to be taken to St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said, biting her lip.
“Is he all right?’ Ginny asked, hearing the shrillness in her own voice.
“Yeah, fortunately he’s going to be fine,” Ron said, his hair impossibly mussed up from tugging on it. “He’s already been released from St. Mungo’s without complications.”
“I told him he’s earned a lifetime supply,” George said humorlessly.
“How many boxes were sold?” Ginny asked, her heart dropping.
“None, thank Merlin,” George said, still gripping the fence and staring into the distance. “I mixed up the ingredients on one of the potions. It had been really busy, and I worked late in the storeroom after hours. I reckon I wasn’t paying enough attention. Lucky for me, the only ones from that batch went into the sample jar at the shop. We confiscated and disposed of the rest.”
Ginny released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Well, that’s good then. No one else can be hurt, and calamity averted.”
“Yeah, until the boy’s parents take me to court,” George said in a low voice.
“The more important thing is ensuring it can’t happen again. You need some help, and some new safeguards on testing the products,” Hermione said, business-like.
“I do test all the new products. I’ve been making Fainting Fancies since I was in school. I’ve never messed them up before,” George said defensively.
“You could hire some potion makers and testers, since you’re making so much more stuff. You can’t do this all yourself, mate,” Ron said. It was the same spiel he’d been saying for months.
“Shag off, Ron,” George said irritably.
“Save a sample of the faulty one, and keep your notes in case you do need to hire a Barrister,” Hermione said.
“You could ask Audrey. She could at least tell you how to protect yourself,” Ginny said, her mind racing. George couldn’t lose his shop; he’d never survive it. None of them could. It was the last living bit of Fred they still had.
“I suppose,” George said wearily, and Ginny presumed he was thinking the same thing.
“Ron’s right, though, George. You can’t keep on this way,” Hermione said.
“I know,” George said, hanging his head miserably. “I have to make a change.”
Ginny hated seeing her larger-than-life brother so defeated. Helplessly, she met Ron’s and Hermione’s gaze, knowing they were all out of their depth and hating it.
“Do me a favor and don’t mention this to Harry today. Let him have one day without dwelling on anyone else’s problems,” George said gruffly, still leaning on the fence and facing away from all of them.
Ginny loved that George and Harry had grown so close, but she still couldn’t fathom the complexities of it. Both had been ravaged by death and found odd support in that comradery. She knew Harry had lent her brothers the start-up gold for their business, and George would forever hold Harry in high esteem for that. George, in turn, acted as the older brother Harry never had, giving him advice on things he was too uncomfortable to ask, and Ron was too obtuse to notice. Still, even though George was older, he never wanted to disappoint Harry in any way.
“He’d probably actually enjoy something to take the attention off him. Telling him might count as a gift, to him anyway,” Ron said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Yeah, but I quite enjoy his squirming discomfort,” George said, sounding more like himself at last. “Thank Merlin I didn’t give that child any permanent injury.”
“We can all be thankful for that,” Ginny said, reaching around George’s shoulders. He turned around then, slipping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.
“Thanks, Ginny. I’ll back you up when you have your row with Mum,” he said.
“I hope you’d back me anyway since I’m right and she’s wrong,” Ginny said, firing up at once. “She doesn’t give either of you this much trouble for not living at home.”
“She still gives me plenty of trouble, but I just hang my head and look abashed. You always rage like a rampaging hippogriff. You’d do better acting like the delicate little flower she wants you to be. ‘Course, I don’t think you could pull that off,” Ron said, chuckling.
Narrowing her eyes, Ginny quickly removed her wand, giving it a forceful flick upward. Ron’s tongue became stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he glared at her, infuriated, while Hermione laughed.
“You earned that one,” Hermione said. “Speaking of your mum, though, should we go in and help with dinner?”
“Andromeda is in there with her, so more than likely they’re gossiping over tea,” Ginny said, sighing. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to get it over with.”
“I’ll go with you. Maybe I can snag a biscuit, or there’ll still be a bowl of icing left from the cake,” George said, his countenance brightening.
“What are you? Five?” Ginny asked incredulously.
“Nothing wrong with nicking a treat when you can, lass,” George said, linking his arm with her as they strolled across the garden toward the kitchen door.
Once inside, they were enveloped by the smells of a baking roast beef in the oven and various sauces and side dishes simmering on the stove. A beautifully decorated cake sat on the counter next to a delicious-looking treacle tart. As Ginny had predicted, Molly and Andromeda sat at the kitchen table, heads bent over tea. George found a bowl of icing and spoon in the sink that hadn’t yet been washed, and he scooped it right out, sitting at the table with the witches.
Andromeda looked up from her conversation, her face whitening a smidge when she saw Ginny. “Is Teddy all right?” she asked, half-rising.
“He’s fine,” Ginny said, waving her hands downward in a placating gesture. “He’s showing Victoire how to make a sand-castle. Fleur is standing guard.”
Ginny should’ve realized Andromeda would panic since she’d been the one to last have Teddy. He was a very social child, but after losing her entire family to the war, Andromeda still became uneasy if she didn’t know exactly where he was.
“Yes, well, it was always easier with more than one. They entertained each other, see,” Molly said. “I expect it’s about time she and Bill are thinking about a sibling.”
“They will if they want one,” Ginny said, imagining how Fleur would react to that statement. Much like Ginny, Fleur was usually annoyed when Molly became overbearing.
“I was always happy with just the one, although Nymphadora frequently requested a little brother to boss around,” Andromeda said, smiling sadly.
Molly placed her hand on Andromeda’s hand, patting it lightly. It inexplicably brought tears to Ginny’s eyes, and she blinked them away fiercely lest someone should see. Molly was the last of the Prewetts, and she’d become sort of isolated at The Burrow raising such a large family. Andromeda had come into Molly’s life just as Ginny was beginning to spread her wings, and it had done both women good. They’d each lost a child and could relate to one another on such a deep level.
Andromeda had first reached out to her one remaining sister after the war, but the relationship appeared to have stuttered and died. Harry, of course, never asked about it as he tended to avoid emotional talks at all cost. Ginny had wanted to know, however. She’d always been a bit of a social butterfly and talked to everyone, so it didn’t faze her a bit to sit down with Andromeda one day and ask for all the sordid details. Andromeda, it seemed, had been more than ready to chat. Apparently, as the shock of losing her family began to settle in, her anger at the way her sister had treated Andromeda’s husband and daughter began to rise. The fact Narcissa still kept her Pureblood prejudice even after the war was the final straw, so Andromeda decided she’d been right all along to shun her sister.
From what Ginny had heard, the Malfoys were being shunned by both sides after the war, and she felt that was a just punishment in itself.
Molly and Andromeda’s bond strengthened after that. Ginny liked having the other woman there as Andromeda was never afraid to speak her mind, and Molly respected her opinion. Both had been raised under stricter, old-fashioned ways, though Ginny thought Andromeda was more accepting of the modern changes in the world over her mum. Still, Molly laughed much more frequently when Andromeda was around.
“George, you’re going to spoil your dinner. It’s almost ready,” Molly said, frowning at George who was scraping the sides of the icing bowl with a spoon to get every last drop.
“Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll still eat dinner, no problem,” he said, a smudge of icing on is upper lip.
Her brothers were all bottomless pits. “You remind me of a troll when you eat,” Ginny said, scrunching her face at the near ecstasy on George’s face over icing.
“Ginevra,” Molly said, eyes narrowed.
“Mum,” Ginny said, matching the tone.
Molly eyed her beadily for a moment before turning to Andromeda. “Andy, Dora lived with you right up until she was married, didn’t she?” Molly asked in a would-be casual tone.
Ginny knew exactly what she was doing and reckoned the time had come for their regular argument. It looked as if her mum was trying to rope Andromeda onto her side. Perhaps she thought with an ally she could convince Ginny to change her mind.
Andromeda smiled, shaking her head, “She didn’t, actually. She moved in with a fellow Auror. Nice bloke whom she insisted was just a friend.”
Ginny smiled triumphantly as Molly’s face fell. Before she had any time to gloat, however, Andromeda continued.
“She didn’t move home until she was expecting Teddy, but it was nice to share her pregnancy under the same roof.”
Ginny could’ve banged her head on the table after that, but from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Andromeda give George a small wink. It might have been a trick of the light, or Ginny’s own horror that her mum now had that idea in her head, but perhaps Andromeda had more of Sirius in her than Ginny had previously suspected.
“Remus must’ve been thrilled to have the company,” George said with a perfectly straight face.
Ginny glared at him since he’d supposedly come inside to be her ally. She’d be certain he paid for this betrayal later.
Molly was not to be deterred from what she wanted to discuss. “Still, I do really think you ought to consider moving home, dear. Both of you have high profiles, and it’s inappropriate to be living together before you’re married.”
“My brothers are also living there,” Ginny said, trying to tamp down on her indignation.
Molly acted as if she didn’t even hear her. “It’s not even like you have your own room. What will people think?”
“What people? What difference does a room make? The only other people in the house are Ron, Hermione, George and occasionally Angelina. They all know where I sleep. Nobody cares, Mum,” Ginny said, irritated, particularly since Molly didn’t have anything to say about where Hermione and Angelina slept.
Molly’s eyes flashed as she narrowed them. “I care, young lady, and you ought to as well. You should want to save something special for your wedding night.”
“My wedding night — whenever that may be — will be plenty special. Can’t we just have one family gathering without a row? I might as well start skipping all of them if this is the way it’s always going to be,” Ginny said, hoping to steer clear of the topic of weddings altogether. She suspected after Percy’s wedding, her mum might actually stop with the pressure to move home and replace it with pressure to get married.
“Yeah, don’t worry, Mum. Ginny’s fans don’t care where else she scores as long as she keeps scoring on the pitch.,” George said, grinning.
Andromeda coughed and immediately covered her face with her tea-cup.
“George!” Molly shouted.
“George!” Ginny moaned.
George looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He stood and put the now empty icing bowl back in the sink. “When’s dinner? I’m starving.”
When they all finally gathered around the table for dinner, all the mini-dramas of the day were forgotten as the family celebrated one of their own. Harry and Arthur had emerged from the shed along with Bill, Ron and Owen who had all joined them at some point. All of them were a bit glassy-eyed, and Ginny couldn’t help but wonder how many times Harry had told each and every one of them that he loved them.
She suspected his inebriated proclamations weren’t entirely just the alcohol talking. It loosened his inhibitions and reluctance to share too many of his emotions, but the emotions were already there, boiling beneath the surface. One look into his remarkably vivid eyes could reveal that. Those eyes held such intense emotion, Ginny often found herself lost in them.
After their appetites had been sated, the cake consumed and presents opened, they all sat on blankets in the sprawling grass for a fireworks display, courtesy of George. It had become a bit of a summer tradition, and they’d do the same thing a few weeks later for Ginny’s birthday, then again for Percy. Ginny thought that eventually, they might combine hers and Harry’s for one big celebration.
Victoire and Teddy both had long since fallen asleep, but the rest of them watched the bright colors intently. Ginny had her head on Harry’s shoulder, his arm around her waist as she leaned on him, enjoying the warmth of him against the night’s chill. She could see the reflection of the bright overhead colors reflected in his glasses.
“So, are you going to tell me what happened with George today?” he asked softly, despite the fact no one was paying them any mind.
She should’ve known he’d see the tension. There was very little he missed, even if he had been drinking earlier. She reckoned it was his Auror training. Looking up at him, she realized his eyes weren’t glassy at all, and his cheeks had lost that tell-tale rosy hue. His focus was solely on her, and even after several years, it still gave her that swooping feeling in her belly, as if she’d just lurched her broom into a sudden and unexpected dive.
She’d always loved the thrill of that feeling.
“It’s a bit of a long story, but I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” Ginny said, remembering her promise to George. Although, seeing that he reneged on his promise to side with her against their mother, she really didn’t owe him a thing.
Harry raised his eyebrows in question.
“Seriously, it’s something to do with the shop is all,” she said, nudging him. “What else did you pick up on today?”
She was always amazed to the extent he picked up on things even whilst appearing not to notice.
“I think your mum and Andromeda had fun; and Bill and Fleur are having a row,” Harry said.
“Are they?” Ginny asked, looking over to where Bill stood with George, arms crossed and watching him Charm the fireworks. Fleur was nowhere in sight.
“She took Victoire home about an hour ago,” Harry said. “Bill stayed behind.”
“Oh,” Ginny said. She’d missed that entirely. “Mum said she thought it was time they started thinking about another baby. It probably hacked her off.”
Harry shifted, not quite looking at her. It was funny the things that embarrassed him. She supposed the way her family was all into each other’s private business could be rather disconcerting. He was still such a private person.
“Urg. I have practice tomorrow. Gwenog is going to be brutal since our last one went so poorly,” Ginny said, knowing she should go home and get a good night’s rest, but not wanting to leave, either. Her last practice had been an unmitigated disaster, and she didn’t even want to think about what was in store for her in order to make up for it.
“Not flying up to snuff, eh,” Harry asked, knocking his foot into hers.
“It wasn’t me,” she said indignantly, twisting her body to face him. “My flying was impeccable as always. It was Theresa’s fault. She couldn’t seem to process the new formation Gwenog was trying to show her.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What formation? She’s the Seeker.”
“The Seeker is still part of the team and needs to know what the different formations mean,” she said primly.
Harry let out a very unflattering snort of laughter. “What, are you angling to become captain or something?” he asked, not even bothering to conceal his amusement.
“Don’t think I still won’t hex your bits if you annoy me too much,” she said, frowning.
“You won’t,” he said, sounding smug.
“Oh, really? Be careful what you wish for,” she said, resting her head back on his shoulder. He really could be a prat when he wanted.
“Nope. Still my birthday, you can’t hex me on my birthday, Whisky. I thought we’d already established that.”
“Keep calling me that and I might bend the rules.”
“Ha! Who are you kidding? You like it,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
“I do not. I’ve never liked those cute, mushy nicknames people call one another. It’s revolting,” she said, pulling a face.
“‘Whisky’ isn’t cute or mushy, which is why you like it,” he said smugly.
“And why you’re okay saying it, I’d wager. You could never bring yourself to call me ‘baby’ or ‘snookums’,” she said.
“‘Snookums’?” he asked, sounding revolted.
“See! You could barely get that out of your mouth, and don’t think I didn’t notice the drop in your voice when you did. What would you do if I yelled out right now not to call me ‘Snookums’?” she asked, delighted.
Though he tried, Harry couldn’t stop himself looking around wildly, which only made her laugh more.
“I think I’d rather you hexed my bits,” he muttered.
“That can still be arranged.”
Chapter 11: Quarantine
Author's Notes: Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time and attention, and especially their opinions on what’s working and what isn’t. Also, a hue shout-out and thanks to Deadwoodpecker for her support and reassurance on this chapter. This one is the turning point, and I’d needed an objective look over that she supplied for me.
Quarantine
Harry could remember the day everything in his entire world changed with stark clarity. It had started out as an average work-day, full of paperwork and meandering trails that only led to more trails rather than a significant conclusion. He’d been unprepared for the way everything sort of shifted on its axis…
He'd been sitting with Ethan in one of the conference rooms, yet again reading over files from St. Mungo’s about potions made during the war, when he noticed a number of higher-ups purposefully striding toward Gawain Robards’ office, the door closing with a resounding click behind them.
The back of his neck prickling, Harry left Ethan at the table and casually yet slowly strolled past the closed door. Harry could hear a very faint hum, but the silence from inside the office was so absolute, he was certain it had been charmed. Robards’ secretary frowned at him when he paused a moment too long. He tried to give her a friendly smile, but he must’ve failed miserably because her frown turned into a scowl. She obviously knew what he was up to.
Irritated, Harry returned to the conference room, angling his chair so he could keep an eye on the office door.
“What’s up with you?” Ethan asked, looking up from his files.
“Have you seen Owen?” Harry asked.
“Not recently, why?”
“There’s a meeting in Robards’ office. I’m wondering if he’s in there,” Harry said, running through the day in his head and wondering if Owen had mentioned anything.
“You think it’s something about the case?” Ethan asked, leaning over the table so he could peer at the closed office door.
“Vivian Scott is in there, but I also saw Ludo Bagman, so I’m not sure,” Harry said. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if we hear anything.”
“Bagman? Can’t be serious then, can it? He’s a bit of a joke, isn’t he?” Ethan said, turning back to his file.
After Bagman’s gambling debts and habits had been exposed after the Triwizard Tournament, his credibility had suffered greatly. By the time the war began, everyone’s focus had turned to far more serious crimes, and Ludo Bagman had sort of fallen through the cracks. His time on the run from the goblins had left him with a wasted appearance, and Harry wasn’t certain what arrangements had been made to settle his gambling debts. He’d gone back to work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, though he was no longer its Head.
“Yeah, bit of a joke,” Harry muttered absently. Bagman didn’t have anything to do with their case as far as he knew. He wondered if Vivian was working on something else. It was so rare that Unspeakables worked with the rest of the Ministry, it seemed highly unlikely there would be simultaneous cases involving the same Unspeakable, however.
He didn’t have long to ponder it before Owen joined them in the conference room. “What do you know?” he asked.
“Bunch of old toffs in Robards’ office. Did you hear anything?” Harry asked before Owen even had the chance to sit down.
He shook his head. “I’ve been out checking on the safe houses. Your mate, Longbottom, said to say hello. He’s not showing any signs of the illness, so I don’t think they’ll hold him too much longer.”
“What’s going on in the safe houses?” Harry asked.
“They’re ruddy all being used. We’re going to have to come up with another option to isolate any more potential victims,” Owen said, frowning so the deep scar on his chin whitened.
“What d’you mean?” Ethan asked, looking up.
“We’ve been isolating anyone whose come in contact with the bloody disease to see if they’ll show symptoms, like Longbottom. Now that it’s spread into London, we’re coming up with more and more people actually sick. We can’t keep those who have it in the same place as those merely exposed. That’s way too risky. If any more of the magical community is subjected to this thing, and it’s nearly a gone conclusion that we will, we need to keep them separated, but use the safe houses for those who’ve actually contracted the disease,” Owen said, growing more and more agitated as he spoke.
“So, they’re not putting them in St. Mungo’s?” Harry asked, startled. St. Mungo’s was the only actual hospital he’d ever heard of in the magical world.
Owen shook his head. “Not yet. Too much contact to those already unwell there.”
“I wonder if that’s what the meeting with Robards is all about,” Harry said, pondering.
“That doesn’t explain Bagmen, though. Unless… d’you think they want to isolate people in Quidditch stadiums?” Ethan asked, looking startled but rather excited.
Harry shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. You don’t want to put all potential victims together. That would just spread it amongst all of them.” Although, it wouldn’t be the first time the Ministry had come up with some hare-brained scheme like that. They spent a year pretending Voldemort wasn’t back despite the mounting evidence right under their noses.
“I have to report to Robards on the safe houses. I’ll see what I can find out,” Owen said, scratching his chin.
“You said Neville is all right?” Harry asked.
Owen shrugged. “Yeah, bored out of his ruddy hat, though. The Unspeakable on duty said he needs a few more days observation. I don’t know what the bloody hell she’s observing. Looks like all Longbottom is doing is pacing and staring. What a boring waste of a career, spending your whole day taking notes about someone else doing absolutely nothing.”
“Feels like that could be us with all the progress we’ve made with these files,” Harry said, glaring at the stack of files on the table.
“Still found nothing, then?” Owen asked.
“I hate potions,” Harry grumbled.
“So you’ve said… repeatedly,” Owen replied with a smirk.
Harry gave him a two-finger salute.
“Did you try listening at the door?” Owen asked, obviously as curious about what was happening in Robards’ office as Harry was.
“Of course, I did. I couldn’t hear a thing except the dim hum of a Silencing Charm,” he said, peevishly.
Owen frowned, causing his forehead to crease. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, that muffled sound the protective enhancements make if you get close enough,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with the way Owen was staring at him. Ethan’s head had also shot up.
“You can hear the Charms?” Owen asked, eyes wide.
“Er… can’t you?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. Why did this always happen to him?
“No,” Owen said, shaking his head. “Have you always been able to do that?”
Harry shrugged noncommittedly. “I dunno.”
“Wicked,” Ethan said breathlessly and staring at Harry with more reverence than Harry was comfortable seeing. “That’s amazing.”
Harry’s face felt extremely hot, and he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“You felt them that day we went to the St. Mungo’s potion laboratory, too, didn’t you? You stopped Ethan from entering. I’d wondered about it. I knew because I had the instructions in front of me, but I didn’t remember mentioning it to you,” Owen said, watching Harry closely.
Harry felt as if Owen was suspicious of this latest discovery, but it wasn’t as if he’d been trying to hide it or anything. He hadn’t even realized it was yet another unusual talent he’d been unaware he had.
Before he could answer, Gawain Robards’ voice echoed down the hallway, “Savage, Potter — my office, now.”
Harry quickly stood, ignoring the look shared between Owen and Ethan as he moved resolutely towards Robards’ office. He knew without looking that Owen had followed him out.
Vivian was the only person still in Robards’ office when they arrived. She stood by the fireplace, staring into it with one hand on her chin and not acknowledging either of them. Robards told them to shut the door as they took seats across from his desk. His expression was grave as he silently surveyed his two Aurors. His eyes lingered a moment on Harry, and something about his gaze sent a thrill of foreboding down Harry’s spine.
“Did you finish your sweep of the safe houses, Auror Savage?” Robards asked brusquely.
“Yes, sir. They’re still completely full, and none of the subjects are quite ready to be released, although it looks like Longbottom will be declared healthy within the next few days,” Owen answered.
“Right. We’ve decided to switch the safe houses into treatment locations and have those potentially exposed moved into self-quarantine in their homes,” Robards said, his voice clipped and terse.
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “And how will that be enforced?” he asked.
“Undetermined,” Robards said.
Vivian finally turned away from the fireplace and looked toward them. “We’re hoping people will cooperate for the benefit of all. The numbers of exposures have grown exponentially, and we need to do everything we’re capable of in order to control the spread,” she said softly. “If we don’t get that cooperation, obviously stricter enforcement will be necessitated.”
“What about family members who live with the likely victims?” Harry asked. “What happens to them?”
“They will also have to quarantine. Living in the same space obviously imperils them, as well,” Robards replied.
“You need to be aware that we’ve had a potential massive exposure, and our first high-profile case. The ramifications of which could be catastrophic,” Vivian said, speaking slowly and succinctly.
Something about her voice was off, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“Why? Who is it?” asked Owen, looking startled.
“It’s a Quidditch player,” Robards said.
“From which—” Harry interrupted, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and his throat tightened.
Robards didn’t let him finish, cutting him off. “Apparently, this player was having some memory trouble last week, but it wasn’t flagged as anything unusual. Today, her disorientation required one of the team’s medi-witches to see her, and we were contacted. Her confusion is extreme, so it’s difficult to get straight answers. We have her isolated now, but the potential spread to others is exponential.”
“Who is this player?” Owen asked.
“What team is she from?” Harry gasped desperately. Robards had said a medi-witch was seeing her. He felt as if the room was closing in on him and something alive was clawing inside his belly. He somehow knew what Robards was going to say before he said, and yet still dreaded hearing the answer.
“She plays for the Holyhead Harpies, whose practice facility is located in Wales, not far from our initial outbreak,” Robards said, meeting Harry’s eyes.
Harry’s brain went into a deadened sort of shock, and he couldn’t get his numb lips to form the question. Which player? He sat there, stunned, feeling his heart hammer in his chest to the point it was painful.
It couldn’t be Ginny. She’d been fine… hadn’t she? He’d been bollocks at Occlumency and never learned Legilimency, but he desperately tried now to look into Robards’ mind to see whom he was talking about. Surely Robards would’ve said outright if it was Ginny.
Owen cast an uneasy glance at Harry. “So… what happens next?” he asked.
“The entire team, coaches, trainers — anyone who comes into direct contact with the players — is to be confined to their homes. They’re all currently undergoing examinations to be certain no one else tests positive. Of utmost concern is the fact they played in an exhibition match not too long ago that was well attended, and members of every team were there. All teams have cancelled their upcoming trips abroad, something that’s never happened before. The Quidditch League is unhappy, but it’s necessary to contain the potential spread,” Robards said. “The risk of exposure at that exhibition match was massive.”
“How long are they to be confined?” Owen asked.
“At least two weeks, and we’ll be testing them regularly. The memory issues aren’t all that difficult to spot if you’re aware to look for it. Also, although the pustules associated with traditional Spattergroit aren’t there in massive numbers, there have been some minor traces. A stray mark here and there on the body, but this strain of the disease is more pronounced on the inside,” Vivian said, her eyes lingering on Harry for a moment, but he was still unable to form any words.
‘Just tell me Ginny’s okay,’ he thought desperately. Surely they would’ve said by now…
From the repeated glances they were shooting at him, Harry surmised they were both aware of his connection to the team through his relationship with Ginny. It had certainly been in the papers enough, and not a lot slipped passed either of them, but he didn’t know if that made him presumptuous. He was having trouble thinking straight.
“What does that mean? Exactly?” Owen asked, frowning.
“It means the pustules are developing on the inside, around the brain,” Robards replied.
“This is most likely a result of the experiments that Gethin was doing in attempt to eliminate the scarring. Instead, the disease evolved, and it’s moved inward. That’s what’s causing the hallucinations, memory lapses and confusion we’re seeing now,” Vivian added.
Owen looked startled. “Are those who recover completely back to full health?”
Vivian paused a moment before answering, pressing her lips together. “Mostly.”
Harry’s voice finally returned in a roaring gush of thunderous sound echoing in his brain. “What the hell does that mean?” he shouted, panting as if winded. He felt as if he’d run a mile when all he’d done was sat immobile in this ruddy chair.
Owen placed a restraining hand on Harry’s arm, but he didn’t care.
“There have been some memory lapses, but we’re not certain that won’t fade with time. It might simply be a matter of their confusion upon awakening after recovery. We’re still at the early stages of discovery with this disease,” Vivian said calmly, using that composed, professor-like voice Harry had come to recognize.
He found he detested that voice at the moment. “This isn’t just some fascinating new discovery. These are people we’re talking about,” he snapped, clenching his jaw so tightly it ached.
“Harry, I realize you’re upset, but the more we know, the more we can help,” Vivian said, her voice softer, yet he found it patronizing. He wanted to throttle her to get that calm, clinical expression to leave her face.
“You’re also going to have to be confined, along with Auror Weasley, Potter. We can keep in touch through the Floo network, but nothing unnecessary goes into or out of your home. We’ll have food delivered in bulk,” Robards said briskly.
So, both of them were aware of his relationship with Ginny. Certainly, they would’ve told him by now if it were her. From the way they were talking, he didn’t think so, but his hands were sweating, and the need to get out of here and see her was becoming unbearable. He needed to check on her, just to be sure.
“What if any of the other players are positive? What happens to them?” Owen asked, his hand still holding Harry’s arm.
“As of yet it’s only the one player who is confirmed affected. Theresa Grant will be isolated immediately. If any of the others test positive, we’ll isolate them, too. We’re working on setting up a hospital of sorts just for those afflicted,” Vivian said.
So, it was the team’s Seeker, not Ginny. The tightness in Harry’s chest loosened slightly, but then another thought occurred to him. Should he even be in this room with all of them?
“I went to that Quidditch match,” he said.
“We’re aware of that. Harry. Right now, Theresa Grant is level one, that means she’s confirmed positive. Ginny and the rest of her teammates are considered level two exposure — those people in direct contact with the afflicted. You and your other housemates are level three. You haven’t come into direct contact with anyone with the disease, so we’re just taking precautions. We’re going to monitor and test level twos and confine level threes,” Vivian said.
“What about Owen? We’ve worked together this whole time,” Harry said, meeting Owen’s gaze. He couldn’t tell what the older Auror was thinking.
“He would be considered a level four, which means we’re aware of the potential, but nothing is to be done at the moment. No one has become sick without direct contact, and we can’t put everyone in isolation. Hell, that would include our entire team, at this point,” Robards said, and Harry thought he sounded annoyed.
“One step at a time. We’ll care for Grant, and observe the others. Should any other member of the team become ill, that person’s family will shift to level two, and so on,” Vivian explained.
“So, Harry’s off the case, then?” Owen asked, looking grim.
“He and Weasley are both on consulting basis only. Floo calls are fine, but he’s not to come into the Ministry, and you are not to go to their residence. Do I make myself clear?” Robards asked sternly.
Harry’d had enough. He pushed back his chair to stand. He needed to check on Ginny before he could even begin to think clearly.
“Sit down, Potter,” Robards barked.
“You just said I’m not to be at the Ministry. I have something to do before I clear out my desk, sir,” Harry said, feeling resentful.
“I’ve arranged a Portkey to take you home. Weasley and Granger are being given the same information simultaneously. I have a few more things to discuss, then you’ll leave directly from this office.”
Harry found he really didn’t care much at the moment. He wanted to see Ginny. He slumped back into the chair, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Harry, you can still help, even in quarantine. Pay attention to any new marks on your body. Anything unexplained that appears to grow rather than fade. Be aware of minor forgetfulness, losing words or track of the conversation. Keep an eye on your housemates, too,” Vivian said.
“Other than the marks, those all sound like things that happen when you’re tired or stressed. Excuse me for pointing it out, but being in quarantine is both exhausting and stressful,” Harry snapped.
“You’re right about that, but if it happens repeatedly and in increasing degrees of severity, that should be brought to our attention,” Vivian replied.
“How is Ginny to be monitored if no one is allowed in or out?” Harry asked.
“Every player will be checked routinely. An Unspeakable will visit utilizing protective measures. I’ll be overseeing Ginny personally,” Vivian said.
Harry nodded, heart clenching again with the possibility that Ginny could be in danger and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. This feeling of helplessness might be just what finally did him in.
Ginny’s head was spinning, and not because she’d just stepped out of the Floo into the impeccably clean kitchen at Grimmauld Place. She was dressed in a pair of dark Muggle jeans with a fancy swirl on each of the back pockets and her team practice jersey. She’d been interrupted in the midst of changing and was dragged into a meeting room before being allowed to complete the process.
The team’s medical staff informed her and her fellow players that their Seeker, Theresa, had caught the Spattergroit strain that had been sweeping across Britain. The same strain that both Harry and Ron had been working to contain. Several Unspeakables had arrived in the facility using Bubble-Head Charms, and they’d examined all the rest of them, informing them that they were all being placed in quarantine.
Ginny remembered breaking into the safe house where Harry was being held earlier that summer, and she dreaded being stuck in the same place. As it turned out, she instead was going to be held at home, along with her brothers, Harry and Hermione. The Unspeakable she’d questioned wouldn’t give her any kind of time frame on how long they’d be kept inside, and she feared it was far more likely she’d murder one of her brothers before the disease had the chance.
She loved them, but they drove her barmy.
She supposed someone at the Ministry was informing Harry, Ron and Hermione of the situation, but she wondered about George. How was he going to keep his business going if he couldn’t get there? She remembered he and Fred had used owl-order to keep it afloat when they’d gone into hiding during the war, but that was when the entire population was lying low from Voldemort’s terror. This time, the public would still be going to the shop even though he couldn’t be there.
She didn’t see George agreeing to that readily.
Ginny felt uneasy about being confined with them, but she also didn’t want to be alone. She was the only one who’d had direct contact with Theresa. If any of the others caught this thing, it would be because of her. The Unspeakable assured her that the fact no one else on the team showed any symptoms was a good sign, but she couldn’t escape the nagging worry.
Last week, Theresa had a hard time adapting to some of the new maneuvers the Harpies were working on. Ginny had been annoyed with her for making practice run so long without any progress. Now it turned out she hadn’t just been inattentive. The fact was, she couldn’t process what she was being asked to do.
Theresa had always been an excellent flier, but she often took longer than any of the others to catch on to anything non-Quidditch related. She was competitive, but she wasn’t the brightest constellation in the sky. As such, her confusion didn’t raise alarm bells with anyone. It wasn’t until that morning that she apparently didn’t even recognize Gwenog when the team captain arrived.
They were all feeling rather guilty about that.
Ginny hadn’t even seen Theresa. She’d been taken to the infirmary before Ginny had arrived at practice. Gwenog and Willow had told the others what had happened, and the team had been pondering if Theresa had gone on a weekend bender until the medical team had converged upon the changing room.
They’d set them all straight.
Well, they’d informed them of what had happened to Theresa, anyway. They hadn’t been at all forthright about what would happen to the rest of them next. They’d expertly avoided Ginny’s stream of questions, which only managed to infuriate her.
She was hoping Harry, Ron and Hermione could tell her more.
She could hear voices upstairs, it sounded as if they were coming from the sitting room. She grabbed a Butterbeer from the ice box and pulled the top off, taking a long drink. She breathed deeply, trying to center herself before she followed the voices up the stairs.
She unobtrusively peered into the sitting room. Hermione sat cross-legged on one of the studded armchairs, a giant medical tome resting open in her lap. Ron and Harry sat on the sofa opposite her, both of them resting their feet on the coffee table. George paced by the large front window with his arms folded across his chest. Ginny could nearly see the steam rising from his ear.
Her heart inexplicably filled with affection for all of them.
“Who the ruddy hell do they think they are? They don’t have the authority to destroy my business,” George said, “especially after all the secrecy products we made for them during the war!”
“They’re not trying to destroy your business, George. They’re trying to keep everyone safe,” Harry said, sighing heavily.
He sounded as if he was trying to explain something to an over-tired toddler for the fiftieth time. He should know by now from experience that was never going to work. The secret was derailment.
“Oh, please, you can still work from home, George. How the bloody hell am I supposed to play Quidditch inside here? Do they honestly think people are going to cooperate for long if they’re told there’ll be no matches?” she asked, striding into the room.
“Ginny!” Harry yelped, jumping to his feet and tramping across the room in two steps to meet her. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, it won’t last all the way to Quidditch season,” Ron said, remaining propped on the sofa.
Harry took her by the arms, his eyes skimming rapidly over her as if searching for signs of sickening. His brow was creased and he held her arms just a little too tightly, alerting her that he’d been worrying.
“I’m all right,” she said softly, placing her hand on the side of his face. He leaned into her touch, releasing his tension.
“What happened to the team this morning?” Hermione asked.
“What did they do to you?” Ron asked simultaneously.
“Give her a minute,” Harry said firmly, leading her to the sofa and guiding her to sit. “D’you need anything?”
Ginny took another sip of the Butterbeer still clutched in her hand. “I never even saw Theresa, although I was told she was behaving quite loopy. Those Unspeakables arrived and told us all that we’d have to be quarantined until further notice. Did they give you lot any idea how long that might be?”
“Neville’s been confined for nearly two weeks, and they said he was close to being released,” Ron said.
“I’ve never even met Theresa Grant. I can’t stay away from the shop for two whole weeks,” George said, running a hand through his hair in agitation.
“Sorry,” Ginny said, shrugging, her insides twisting uncomfortably.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry said firmly, glaring at George as he wrapped his arm around her. “There was no way to know beforehand. That’s how this illness has been spreading, and why we’re being confined now — to stop it from spreading to anyone else.”
“They cancelled our whole pre-season travel schedule. I was supposed to be in sunny Brazil next week,” Ginny said, uncertain if she despaired more over losing the chance to play, or the hope Harry might’ve been able to meet her for a visit.
“The foreign dignitaries don’t want it spreading outside Britain, but I think they’re already too late. It’s done so in the Muggle population, despite their efforts to limit travel,” Hermione said.
“How did they decide you hadn’t been affected?” Harry asked, running his hand through her hair. He hadn’t let go of her since she’d arrived, and she realized the emotion she saw lurking behind his eyes was fear. She supposed he’d never faced a threat where the only way to fight it was by doing nothing.
Harry was way too impulsive to sit and do nothing for long.
The fact he was scared only made her insides twist again.
“I’m all right, love. They asked a series of questions and examined me for any marks. I was completely cleared. They said they’d send someone every few days to check again,” she said, trying to reassure them both.
“I wish it was me instead,” he blurted, concern shining in his eyes.
It was this same awkward sincerity he was prone to display that had amused her at first but eventually endeared him to her completely. They weren’t just words to him. He struggled so hard to come up with the words, that when he managed to burst out something like that, it was because he truly meant it, not because he was trying to impress her. She knew he’d willingly give his life for her. He already had — and she never wanted to go through that pain again.
“Well, I don’t,” she said firmly. “We’re all going to be stuck here for a while, so we might as well make the best of it. So, Hermione’s going to read, Ron’s going to eat, George is going to fill owl-orders, I’m going to run up and down the stairs to try and stay in match shape, and Harry’s going to brood. Does that about cover it?”
“I’m not going to brood,” Harry said, affronted, as the others all chuckled.
“I do have several of these medical books I’ve wanted to look through,” Hermione said, indicating the book open on her lap.
“Of course, you do,” Ron deadpanned. He winked at her across the coffee table, and her cheeks pinkened.
“How is it that I ended up stuck all on my own with two nauseatingly lovesick couples?” George asked, looking revolted.
“That’s your own fault for not patching things up with Angelina. Although, I suppose that’s actually a good thing, for her sake, anyway,” Ginny said tartly.
“Yeah, remind me of that when I’m stuck wanking while you lot are off shagging,” George mumbled, causing Hermione’s mouth to drop open, appalled.
“Eww, George. That’s not an image I needed,” Ginny said, feeling nauseated. She was happy Angelina wasn’t stuck here with the rest of them, but she wondered how many others she might’ve inadvertently exposed. She’d been all through Diagon Alley recently.
“Hey, yeah, we could pretend we’re on holiday,” Ron said, sitting up straighter and his countenance brightening.
Ginny shrugged, looking over at Harry, who still looked rather pensive. “This might be our chance to make up for our missing trip,” she said.
“Hey! I wasn’t talking about you,” Ron said, spluttering.
Ginny had no patience for Ron’s antics. The day had been stressful enough already. “Stuff it, Ron. I won’t have the tolerance to put up with your nonsense if we’re here long-term, and you don’t want bat bogeys fluttering around your face for weeks.”
“I suppose you could take the time to finally learn how to cook,” Harry said offhandedly.
Ron’s eyes bulged. “That’s right! What are we going to do about food? D’you think Mum’ll send us dinners?”
“We ought to be sending meals to your parents since we’ll all be stuck here and not working,” Hermione said, casting a disapproving scowl at Ron.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that will work. Nothing is supposed to go out of here once it comes inside. Robards’ said they’d send food in, but I think we’ll have to prepare it ourselves. At least it’ll be something to do.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m still going to try and work — and you can all help me fill the owl orders,” George said. He’d had time to calm down and consider his options. Ginny was glad to see he was beginning to decide what had to be done and how.
“How if nothing is supposed to go out?” Ron asked.
“You can work on the manufacturing end, then the products will need to be held in a sterile setting for a bit, or decontaminated before sending them out. I’m certain Vivian will find a way if we ask her,” Harry said.
“We can all help. We can make one of the empty rooms into a workshop. Make a list of supplies and potion ingredients you’ll need from the shop, and we can help you with the manufacturing here,” Ginny said.
“Yeah, and Verity can still handle things on-site. We’re allowed to use the Floo network for calls, just not transport,” Hermione said.
“But that still doesn’t solve the problem of what we’re going to eat,” Ron said, rubbing his stomach.
“Look, why don’t I start working on something for dinner. We have no idea what kind of supplies they’re going to deliver or when, but I know I have enough here to pull something together,” Harry said, getting to his feet and looking at Ginny. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine… but I am hungry,” Ginny said, grimacing. She hated putting him to work when he’d obviously spent his day stressing about her, but she was a Weasley, after all. Besides, Harry would be better off having something to do.
“I’m going to take a look and see what room would work best for a workshop,” George said, following Harry out the door. “You don’t mind, d’you, mate?”
“No, use what you like,” Harry said absently.
Ginny watched them go, frowning at the now open doorway.
“He’s been really worried about you,” Hermione said tentatively.
“Crikey, he’s getting worse than Mum,” Ron said.
“Perhaps because he’s too used to losing people,” Ginny snapped.
To his credit, Ron looked abashed.
“How did the rest of the team take it?” Hermione asked, shooting Ron a quelling glance.
Ginny shrugged. “It was harder for them since they were virtually blindsided. I know it’s been in the news, but honestly, most of them don’t look at more than the sports pages. I, at least, had you lot keeping me in the loop.”
“You didn’t tell them that, did you?” Ron asked warily.
“Of course not. I’m not an idiot,” Ginny snapped.
“Debatable,” Ron said, shrugging.
She scowled at him. “Both Gwenog and Galinda were really alarmed by the whole thing, but in Gwenog’s case, I think that was more down to the fact they were cancelling our tour. That pre-season tour is what brings in most of the funds for the next season, mind.”
“I think a lot of things are going to be cancelled. Amos Diggory told me they discussed that at a meeting this morning,” Hermione said. “He called me into his office afterwards, handed me a Portkey and told me I was being quarantined.”
“What? You didn’t all find out together?” Ginny asked, startled.
“Nope. Dad came to see me, and he broke the news. I think Unspeakable Scott told Harry. They gave us all Portkeys and shuffled us off fast,” Ron said.
“I don’t think they wanted us strolling all over the Ministry,” Hermione said.
“Hey! If we’re going to be quarantined for at least two weeks, d’you think that means we can skive off Percy’s wedding?” Ron asked, looking both startled and hopeful.
The wedding!
“Oh, shite, I hadn’t thought about that. I’m supposed to be a bridesmaid,” Ginny said. Although she’d been exasperated by the whole thing, she didn’t want to spoil it for them. What would happen if half of Percy’s family couldn’t attend?
“There’s nothing you can do about that, though,” Hermione said.
“Mum’s going to kill me,” Ginny moaned, dropping her face into her hands.
“I’m surprised we haven’t heard anything from her yet. D’you think she knows?” Ron asked.
“I’m sure Dad’ll tell her when he gets home if he was the one who told you,” Ginny said uneasily.
“He’s probably not home yet. When she finds out we’ve been here all this time and didn’t bother letting her know, she’ll most likely send you a Howler,” Hermione said, failing dismally in hiding her amusement.
“What d’you think is so funny? She knows you’re the responsible one. You’ll probably get the Howler,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
Hermione sobered — or at least managed to school her expression.
“What are we going to do cooped up in here so long?” Ron groaned. “Both you and Harry will be miserable gits if you can’t get out and fly.”
“Look at it as an opportunity to do something new, something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t had the time,” Hermione said.
“I’ve always wanted more time to sleep,” Ron said. “I can have a kip in the afternoon and stay in my pajamas all day.”
“And how is that different from any other Sunday?” Hermione said snarkily.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the piano. It’s silly to have that piano in the entryway when none of us knows how to play it,” Ginny said.
Harry’s decorator — whom he’d once dubbed his demon decorator — had told him having the piano in her grand entryway could simply be a showpiece for an elegant setting when he needed to entertain guests, but Ginny had always found that to be such a waste. She supposed it was her frugal upbringing kicking in, but it bothered her nonetheless.
“How are you going to do that? Who’s going to teach you?” Ron asked.
“There are music books you can order from Flourish and Blotts, and I bet we could find an instructor that would be willing to use the Floo for lessons,” Hermione said, sounding excited. “Ooh, I think I’ll do it with you. This should be fun.”
Ginny smiled faintly, not at all certain she wanted to be shown up by Hermione, or lectured on how much time to spend practicing. Ah, well, that cat was amongst the pixies now, she supposed.
“It’s not like Harry, Hermione and I haven’t been cooped up together for long periods before,” Ron said, not paying any attention to the girls. “At least this time there’ll be no tent or bloody Horcruxes to contend with.”
“That’s true,” Hermione conceded. “It should be less stressful without the weight of the world hanging in the balance.”
“Unless one of us becomes ill,” Ginny said, voicing her fear.
“Such a bright little ray of sunshine, you are,” Ron said irritably. “It’ll be loads of fun trapped here with you.”
“She’s right, Ron. It’s a real possibility,” Hermione said, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“What if it’s him?” Ginny asked, tilting her head toward the open doorway. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how things always seem to happen to him. And if does, it’ll be my fault.”
“It won’t be your fault. It’s a disease Ginny, it doesn’t pick and choose who to attack like a Death Eater. We just have to follow the precautions and hope for the best. If it’s going to happen, it could be any of us,” Hermione said.
“Or all of us,” Ron said, paling slightly.
Ginny shut her eyes. “Mum and Dad would never survive that.”
“Well, let’s hope they won’t have to. Dwelling on it is only going to make us all panicky,” Hermione said.
“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, standing up suddenly and reaching out his hand.
“Where?” she asked, confused.
“Let’s have our first kip of the quarantine before dinner,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“A kip? Is that what you’re calling it?” Ginny muttered. Hermione looked over at Ginny, embarrassed, but Ginny waved them off. “Oh, go on with it, then. It’ll cheer you up. I’m going to go check on how Harry’s doing finding something to make for dinner.”
She quickly left the two of them in the sitting room and took the stairs into the kitchen two at a time. Harry stood at the stove with his back to her, stirring a large pot. The familiar smell of her mum’s soup wafted toward her, filling her senses and striking a chord of nostalgia down to her very soul. She took a deep breath.
“I smell chicken soup,” she said fondly.
Harry turned around, grinning. He was wearing an apron over his Auror robes. “It’s your mum’s recipe. She always used to make it for me when I was ill, remember?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “She used to make it for all of us. But I’m not ill, Harry,” she said, knowing this was what was plaguing him.
“I hope not,” he said, turning back towards the stove.
“I’m not, and I understand that you’re worried. I’m worried, too. I don’t want to get any of the rest of you, sick, either.”
“Don’t think about that,” Harry said quickly.
“Then you need to stop worrying about it, too. We’ll face whatever comes, together, okay?” she asked.
Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, then he turned back to face her, grinning. “Technically, I wasn’t sick when she made it for me, either. I was poisoned, she just didn’t know it at the time.”
Ginny stared at him blankly for a moment, nonplussed. “You’re such prat,” she finally said before helping him to prepare their first quarantined meal.
Chapter 12: Irritability
Author's Notes: Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time and attention and always catching my comma errors.
Please take a moment to hit reply and share your thoughts. It helps to know what you’re thinking of the story.
Irritability
Ginny stared at her reflection, eyes skimming over her exposed flesh for any sign of a blemish. She saw lots of freckles, but no hint of a pustule, or even so much as a red mark. Vivian was due today for her scan, but Ginny wanted to be the one to find something if it was there. She’d been in quarantine for over a week, but these inspections still rattled her. It was always the same. Vivian would arrive all decked out in her Bubble-Head Charm and protective clothing, and greet them with minimal pleasantries. Vivian had been the only visitor they’d had at Grimmauld Place, and she always came dressed as if she was entering a contaminated plague zone. In a sense, Ginny supposed she was.
She’d proceed to look Ginny over for any sign of a pustule, then ask her a series of questions to test her memory and mental clarity. Finally, she’d have her perform some basic spells.
Once that was done, she’d cast some sort of medical diagnostic spell that Ginny could neither read nor understand. She wasn’t certain if Vivian could, either, as she always put away her wand once it was done and let her know the results on the following visit. Ginny imagined there were some Healers looking at the scans. Vivian never said much once it was finished.
Physically cleared: check. Mentally cleared: check. Magically cleared: check. Vivian would leave with a nod that left Ginny feeling so relieved that she’d want to collapse in a puddle. By the following day, however, the anxiety of the next visit would begin anew. It was an endless cycle of dread, fear, and relief from which she couldn’t break free.
She tried to hide her worry from the others since their concern only made it worse, but the longer this confinement took, the harder it became. If she was a rational person, wouldn’t she think a longer stretch of normal was a good thing? Why did she feel as if the walls were closing in on her?
Not to mention that she couldn’t shake the nagging worry that they weren’t telling her everything.
Vivian claimed she didn’t have any information about the rest of her team, but she’d promised to check. Ginny didn’t believe that Vivian didn’t know exactly what was going on with everyone involved, so that meant she simply wasn’t telling.
The only reason for not telling was that the news wasn’t good.
Hermione assured her that there were restrictions on what medical information could be shared. Ginny didn’t want her own medical history discussed with anyone else, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t want her teammates informed if she, too, had fallen ill with this Spattergroit enigma. They should have the right to know as it would definitely increase the odds that they were going to get it, too. Which is why, she was certain, Vivian wasn’t telling her.
She’d tried to contact Willow through the Floo, but the call hadn’t gone through. She’d wondered if the Ministry was controlling who could contact them, but again Hermione had interrupted her diatribe with reason. Of course, the Ministry was monitoring the Floo else there would be reporters looking for statements nonstop. Would she really want fans of both her and Harry able to contact them at whim, even if it was just to wish them well?
Ginny had countered that it didn’t mean they had the right to monitor outgoing calls, but Hermione said it was more likely that similar restrictions had been placed on Willow’s Floo along with the rest of the team. Ginny hated when Hermione was right.
The story of a Holyhead Harpies’ player being diagnosed had caused a media circus, never mind the fact that one of the team’s members was being quarantined with the Dark Lord Vanquisher. Fortunately, the enchantments on the house kept out any unwanted visitors, and they were all rather insulated from the hysteria blooming in the outside world.
They did get the paper as Hermione insisted it was better to be informed of what people were saying. The illness had spread like Fiendfyre, and it was suspected that the rapid increase was down to the Quidditch exhibition match. A player from the Magpies had also fallen ill, and the Ministry was discouraging any and all gatherings outside of those with people whom you lived.
The public was panicking, and the Ministry was losing control of it. In the Muggle world, they’d shut down travel and basically told everyone to stay at home unless they were considered essential workers. The poor Muggles had the added hysteria that this illness wasn’t like anything they’d ever seen. They were calling it rapid spread dementia, or RSD, and they had no idea how to stop it, so they were trying to contain it.
It would be up to the magical world to find a way to stop it, then leak a cure into the Muggle world in a way they could understand.
The entire world had gone mad.
This was evident in the frequent and growing-more-hysterical Floo calls from her mother. As expected, Molly had been beside herself when she’d learned that three of her own children plus her two bonus ones were all basically confined to house arrest. She’d wanted to come over immediately to check on them, and not even Arthur’s pleas to see reason were going to stop her.
Arthur had finally pulled out his winning Snitch and had Kingsley forbid her from going. Apparently, the Minister for Magic was the only one with enough sway to convince her that her children were safe. If she went in, she wouldn’t be allowed out again. He’d promised to let her know if anything changed, but for now, she could speak to them and send them food, but under no circumstances was she to enter Grimmauld Place.
Ginny was thankful for small favors. It was only the thought of leaving Arthur and her other children — Victoire, mostly — on the outside that had done it. Molly would’ve preferred them all together, but at least they were all in one place. Ginny couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be holed up with her mum without any chance of escape for the entire time.
It was bad enough as it was.
The first few days had been all right. They’d made elaborate meals and played games and imagined what everyone else was doing. Hermione had read a lot of books, and George began work in his temporary workroom. She and Harry had frequently snuck away for sex.
A lot of sex.
Still, the days had all begun to blend together. In fact, she wasn’t even certain if it was Tuesday or Wednesday… but what did it really matter? Someone from the Ministry had done their grocery shopping for them, and they’d definitely found they’d been going through a lot more beer, wine and Firewhisky than normal.
There really wasn’t much else to do.
The worst had been being stuck here for her birthday. The others had all tried to make the best of it. Hermione was the only one who’d already bought her a present, so she presented the pretty new top with a lot of fanfare. George had given her some Weasley Wizarding Wheezes he’d had lying around; Harry had made her a delicious cake, even if it was slightly lopsided; and Ron gave her one of his very own Chudley Cannons match hats. It was all rather touching, but still not the same. Each member of her family who wasn’t stuck here with her had Floo-called, but she’d missed the annual gathering at The Burrow.
Sighing, Ginny dressed in track pants and a T-shirt — really not all that different from what she slept in, but at least it was clean — and went downstairs. Harry, Ron and Hermione were gathered around the kitchen counter, listlessly finishing their breakfast.
“Where have you been?” Ron asked, sounding belligerent. The restlessness and boredom were making them all irritable, but Ron in particular.
“Having a shower,” Ginny said. “You ought to try it some time.”
Although she’d never admit it to Ron, she was only washing her hair on the days she knew Vivian was coming.
“What time is Vivian going to be here?” Harry asked, sliding a plate of toast and eggs in front of her.
“Thanks,” she said, scooping up a forkful. “She usually comes around ten.”
Harry nodded, although she knew he was already perfectly aware of Vivian’s schedule. He wasn’t coping very well with not having a definable enemy in front of him to face. Harry had always been a more ‘tackle the issue head-on’ type of bloke. He hated all this waiting, and his anxiety over his inability to protect her was only making him cross.
“Where’s George? Is he taking bets on how many questions she evades this time?” Ginny asked.
“He’s in his workroom. I told him I’d be in to help once Vivian arrived. I have a few questions for her,” Hermione said.
“Good luck with that,” Ron mumbled quietly.
Hermione heard him nonetheless, and she narrowed her eyes. “And exactly what do you have planned to do today, Ron?”
“Same thing as yesterday, I expect,” Ron replied, grabbing an uneaten slice of toast off Harry’s plate.
“So, basically nothing,” Hermione said waspishly.
“For your information, George and I came up with several new ideas for some products last night after you buried your nose in a book,” Ron said, straightening imperiously.
“Well, then, you can work on plans for manufacturing them today, can’t you? We need to keep our brains occupied, or they’ll become sluggish,” she said.
Ginny glanced over at Harry, who had already tuned out their bickering friends.
“How about you?” he asked, smiling. “More piano lessons after Vivian comes to call?”
Ginny’s attempt to learn to play the piano hadn’t gone at all how she expected. It was rapidly becoming a chore rather than a pleasure, and the sparkle that materialized in Harry’s eyes whenever he teased her about it only made her more determined to stick it out.
Hermione’s enthusiasm wasn’t helping, either, and she wished she’d never mentioned the idea to any of them.
“Ooh, yes — we do need to work on the next lesson,” Hermione said, overhearing them. “How are you doing on the last one? Have you been practicing? I didn’t hear you yesterday.”
“Hermione, as I’ve told you, I’m going to set my own practice schedule, thanks,” Ginny said firmly. Sometimes, Hermione’s enthusiasm for learning only succeeded in putting Ginny off, rather than encouraging her.
“I know,” Hermione said, looking a little hurt. “It’s just that the more we practice, the more intuitive it will become.”
Harry stood and began clearing some of the breakfast dishes away, trying to cover his grin. Ginny narrowed her eyes. Two could play at that game.
“You’re right, Hermione. I need to practice more. How about you, Harry? How is the yoga coming along?”
After Ginny’s teasing over Harry’s brooding when quarantine first began, Hermione had purchased several books on the benefits of meditation during yoga. She’d been trying to convince Harry ever since that he could redirect his brooding phases toward a healthier outlet. Harry was having none of it.
He spun toward her, eyes widening. He wasn’t fooling her — he was well aware she’d just thrown him under the Knight Bus.
“Ooh, yes, Harry. Are you finding it helpful?” Hermione asked eagerly.
“It’s coming along great,” he said, staring directly at Ginny rather than Hermione. “In fact, I think I feel more energized every time after I try.”
Ginny knew that was an outright lie. He hadn’t tried it at all, but he’d obviously looked at one of the books Hermione had given him for she seemed delighted.
“That’s wonderful. Research has indicated it can have that effect, not only relaxing and rejuvenating your mind, but your whole body, as well,” she said, beaming.
Harry quirked his eyebrow at Ginny. She’d clearly not given him enough credit for his years of experience in sidestepping Hermione.
“It still looks like brooding to me, only now he does it whilst contorting his body into the most interesting positions,” Ginny said, smirking.
“Ginny! I’m eating, here,” Ron shouted, eyes wide.
“When aren’t you eating, Ron? Have you mastered the waistband alteration charm, yet?” Ginny asked with mock-sincerity.
Ron scowled, scooping up another forkful of eggs.
“I’ve often thought about trying it myself, only I was worried about the various positions. I don’t have a lot of physical strength,” Hermione said, squirming. They all knew that Hermione hated to admit there was anything she couldn’t do.
“Maybe you and Harry could do it together. You know, so he could show you,” Ginny suggested, hiding her grin behind her cup of tea.
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, that might work. How often are you doing it, Harry?” Hermione asked, oblivious to the silent sparring match being waged by her two friends.
“Actually, yoga is something best done alone. I don’t think I could tune everything else out with someone else in the room,” Harry lied smoothly.
“Is there a waistband alteration charm?” Ron asked suddenly, causing them all to burst into laughter.
“So, things getting a bit tight, there, Ron?” Harry asked, grinning. “The only foolproof charm I know is a few less meals.”
Ron responded with a two-fingered salute. “Not my fault your barmy relatives didn’t allow you to appreciate a good meal.”
“Ron!” Hermione said, scandalized.
“Ended up being good training so I could skip a meal or two without going batshit mental,” Harry said, shrugging.
Ginny shook her head. She sometimes envied how the two could give each other grief over horrible events and still find amusement in them.
“That’s enough,” Hermione said, scowling. It always made her very uncomfortable when the boys went at each other this way. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand that Harry’s caustic humor was how he dealt with some of the more unsavory aspects of his past.
Both Ron and Harry adopted contrite expressions. They also both gave each other the finger once she’d turned her back.
Boys!
They all finished up their breakfast and walked up to the sitting room to await Vivian’s visit. Hermione had pulled out several large medical tomes and stacked them on a side table along with her quill and some parchment. Ginny amusedly thought she was readying for her own Hermione-esque battle.
Ginny took a deep breath. She wasn’t as much of a preparer as Hermione was, but she felt just as determined to get some answers. She suddenly wished Vivian would hurry up and arrive to get this over with.
Typically, the Unspeakable arrived promptly at ten on the dot wearing all her protective gear. Ginny suspected she’d never been tardy for anything in her life.
She’d traded her purple Ministry robes for an impeccably-tailored, forest-green business suit that would’ve blended in perfectly with any of the Muggles outside along the pavement. Her hair was pulled back in its traditional bun, but stray wisps had pulled free, haphazardly framing her face beneath the Bubble-Head Charm.
That was remarkably unlike her. Perhaps it was just from the heat outside, but Ginny felt an ominous pit form in her belly.
“What’s happened?” Harry asked baldly. Obviously, he’d sensed it, too.
Ron and Hermione looked at him quizzically, but Vivian pursed her lips, and met his piercing stare unflinchingly She stretched her hand toward the sofa. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
Ginny felt a flash of annoyance over being asked to sit in her own home, but she held her tongue and sat next to Harry. Her hand immediately sought out his, and he took it without hesitation. He squeezed it reassuringly, but his was body was taut and rigid, and she could feel the concern emanating off him. He was coiled as if a snake about to strike.
“There have been several… developments,” Vivian said slowly, her eyes skimming over all of them. Something indefinable flickered in her expression.
“What sort of developments?” Hermione asked, picking up her quill.
“Did you find something on Ginny’s last diagnostic scans?” Harry asked, unable to contain himself.
He’d been very familiar with the scan when Ginny had told him about it as he’d been hospitalized so often in the past. He’d told her it was usually the first thing Madam Pomfrey did when she saw him, whether he was injured or not.
“No,” Vivian said. “The scans were fine.”
Ginny released a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding, her body slumping slightly into Harry, who tightened his grip on her hand.
“What then?” Ginny asked.
“There’s been another Harpies’ player diagnosed with the illness,” Vivian said. “There are also two members of the coaching staff and a medical trainer who are displaying symptoms.”
Ginny shut her eyes, heart pounding so heavily in her chest that she could feel it all the way into her throat. She barely listened as Vivian listed the names of all the people she knew, her voice slightly distorted through the Bubble-Head Charm. Was it only a matter of time, or had she somehow escaped it as she had Bellatrix’s Killing Curse on that fateful night so long ago?
The pressure of Harry’s hand on her own was the only thing keeping her present in the moment. Although his attention was focused on Vivian’s words, she knew he was thoroughly aware of her turmoil. He was paying close attention so he could inform her of anything she missed whilst she processed this new information. Hermione was firing off a list of questions that Ginny couldn’t even begin to focus on.
Five people she worked with were now ill, and she’d been in close proximity with all of them. Ginny wasn’t as good a chess player as Ron, but she knew those odds weren’t in her favor.
“How’s Theresa?” she asked suddenly, pulling herself out of her own head. “Has she shown any signs of improvement, or has she continued to deteriorate?”
“Unfortunately, she’s very unwell. Her mind is gone. She doesn’t recognize anyone, and we’re unable to reach her to even ask simple questions. It’s as if she’s lost the ability to understand speech. She’s also having difficulty breathing, so we’re using several enchantments to assist her,” Vivian said gravely.
Hermione made a soft, whimpering sound. Or maybe she’d done it herself, she couldn’t be certain.
“Breathing?” Harry asked sharply. “I didn’t know this illness is also affecting the lungs.”
Vivian pressed her lips together, her eyes shadowed. “It’s not, per say. Her lungs are fine, but her brain has simply forgotten how to breathe, so we must do it for her. If it continues, eventually her brain will forget to tell her heart to beat, and there’s nothing we’ll be able to do about that.”
Her words hung in the air ominously. The rest of them glanced at one another warily from across the room.
“But…” Hermione began, her words trailing as if she didn’t know where to begin.
Vivian sighed. “I’m not telling you this to alarm you—”
Ron interrupted her with a bark of strained laughter.
“I’m not telling you this to alarm you, but you need to be prepared. The prognosis for Theresa isn’t good,” Vivian said firmly. “She most likely won’t survive it.”
Her clinical detachment was infuriating. Vivian knew nothing about Theresa — her sense of humor, or her biting, pre-match trash talk. She was just an interesting case study to Vivian and the rest of the Ministry, and it was so unfair. There wasn’t anyone in this room who didn’t understand the randomness of life and how instantly it could be snuffed out forever. This, though… this waiting and slowly watching it happen was unnerving.
“And what are we doing about it?” Hermione demanded, eyes bright and voice filled with un-restrained anger. Ginny felt a kindred link with Hermione, knowing her friend felt the same powerless rage that Ginny felt.
“Ms. Granger, do you honestly believe everyone at the Ministry and at St. Mungo’s isn’t doing everything in their power to combat this illness?” Vivian asked quietly.
Ginny felt her face burn with chagrin. Of course, she knew Vivian wasn’t the one at fault, she was just the messenger. They needed an outlet for their anger, and Vivian was there. From Hermione’s contrite expression, Ginny knew she felt it, too.
Harry stood stoically beside her, watching the exchange between the witches. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“No, I didn’t mean — of course, I know that,” Hermione said, abashed.
“I understand that you’re concerned. Of course, you are. We all are, and I’m aware that being confined doesn’t help the situation. We’ve seen firsthand how much being cooped-up stresses the mind and even causes physical symptoms in the body. However, our best hope of fighting this is to confine it in order for it be eradicated,” Vivian said. “You’re all playing your part by staying put.”
Ginny realized that the emotion she’d noticed flickering in Vivian’s eyes was sympathy. She wasn’t immune to what they were all feeling, she just couldn’t allow it to interfere with her work. Despite her annoyance, Ginny knew Vivian had been the one on top of this all along, and she was their best hope of coming out of it on the other side.
“What about those already infected? Have you found anything that can help them?” Harry asked.
“Very little, unfortunately. There are some who get very unwell, but then come out of it on the other side with little to no complications whilst others, like Ms. Grant, continue their downward spiral despite all our efforts to slow it. We’ve yet to determine any mitigating factor to separate the two outcomes,” Vivian replied. “For now, we’re merely doing our best to keep everyone comfortable.”
“D’you have any good news to share?” Ron asked glumly. “Anything at all?”
The ghost of a smile travelled across Vivian’s face so quickly, Ginny couldn’t be certain she hadn’t imagined it. “Auror Savage found a link in some of the notes from St. Mungo’s in regard to the Death Eater experiments. He’s uncovered notations linking Mandragora roots.”
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes widening, but Vivian held up her hand to temper her excitement.
“As of yet, Unspeakable Bowman has had no significant progress using them in any of her potion samples,” she said.
“So, that’s still nothing, then,” Ron said, his shoulders slumping.
“What about the Magpies? Wasn’t one of their players infected?” Harry asked, a furrow in his brow.
Vivian nodded. “Unfortunately, they’re having about the same level of infection as the Harpies.”
“What does that mean in English, if you please?” Ron asked irritably.
“Six Magpies’ players have either been confirmed or are suspected,” Vivian said, but appeared to stop herself from going any further. Ginny suspected she was holding something back.
Harry apparently thought so, too. “What else?” he demanded.
Vivian’s thin lips formed a grim line. “There have now been confirmed cases of employees at the Quidditch stadium, as well as the referee responsible for the Exhibition match.”
Damn.
/* /* /* /*
Harry lay flat on his back on the sofa in the sitting room, repeatedly tossing one of Ginny’s Quaffles in the air and catching it as it came down. It had been two days since Vivian had shared her news, and this was the first time she’d been back. She and Ginny were upstairs doing one of Ginny’s regular checks.
Harry always found waiting intolerable while they conducted their tests.
Ginny had been ill-tempered all morning, but she usually worked herself into a state whenever Vivian was due to call. Harry couldn’t blame her for that. His anxiety tended to ratchet up a notch on those days, as well.
They’d filled George in on everything Vivian had shared, but it had been a tense household ever since. They’d closely followed all the updates in the papers, which grew more somber every day. The public had got wind of more Quidditch players becoming ill, and panic had spread. Hundreds of those who’d been spectators at the exhibition match were flooding St. Mungo’s looking for help and reassurance where there was none to give.
All Ministry-approved methods of travel and been prohibited, but there were still reports of wizards attempting to cross borders in other ways. A cargo ferry crossing the channel into France had been halted and searched, revealing a wizarding family huddled inside.
Harry kept thinking about the little family they’d run into on the lift the day of the match, the one where the little girl had recognized Harry as Ginny’s boyfriend. He wondered how they were faring and if they’d tried to flee, or perhaps been crammed into the waiting area at St. Mungo’s.
Another news article had speculated that Harry had been exposed and was currently lying comatose in a private room at the hospital. Another one theorized that he’d already died, and the Ministry was covering it up. No one had seen him since he’d entered quarantine, and it was as if the papers had realized they had free reign to make up anything they wanted.
Not that it was really any different to what they’d always done. Harry couldn’t be bothered with them, but it was driving Ginny spare.
Honestly, the Muggles seemed to have done a better job at containing the sickness than the Ministry. So far, the cases were confined to Ireland and the United Kingdom with one isolated breakout in Scandinavia. That one had been caught and isolated quickly, so no further spread had been detected. Harry wondered if — since Spattergroit had been a magical disease to begin with — if it spread more easily amongst the wizarding population than it did the Muggles.
He'd asked Vivian about it, and she appeared very intrigued by the idea, but she said she’d have to investigate further. Harry wanted to be certain that the Muggles weren’t being overlooked in all of it, so he’d also made Mr. Weasley aware of his theory. He knew Arthur wouldn’t allow it to drop and would be more than pleased to advocate for the Muggles.
Harry turned his head as Ron slouched into the room, dropping heavily onto one of the armchairs opposite the sofa. He looked grumpy and petulant as he always seemed to be lately. Whenever Ron was in this mood, Harry was uncomfortably reminded of their time hiding in the tent on the Horcrux hunt. To be fair, he had to concede that it wasn’t nearly as bad. Food was plentiful, for one thing, and to give Ron credit, he seemed to realize it himself more often than not and would force himself to chipper up.
“What’s up with you?” Harry asked, tossing him the Quaffle.
Ron caught it, but didn’t toss it back, instead letting it drop listlessly to his side. “I’m sick of being cooped-up,” he said, letting his head fall back against the chair dramatically. “I wish we could go out for some ice cream.”
“There’s ice cream in the cold cabinet, I think,” Harry said, already knowing Ron wouldn’t be satisfied with that.
“That’s not the point. I want to go out for it. I want to sit in the sunshine and let it dribble down my arm. I’m sick of being stuck inside,” Ron said testily.
Harry sighed. They’d had this conversation a hundred times already. “It’s not that bad,” he said wearily.
Ron scowled. “Don’t tell me it’s not bad. There’s bloody nothing to do. I’m even tired of sex. I mean, how many times can you have sex in a day?”
Before Harry could even begin to work out an answer, Ron jumped to his feet and stood over him menacingly, his wand pointed directly at Harry’s nose. “Don’t you dare answer that,” he snarled.
Harry smirked, pushing the wand away. “Hey, at least I’m not the one who’s shite at Silencing Charms.”
Ron cocked his head to the side. “What d’you mean?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Ron. We can all tell whether you or Hermione does the Charm. Do us all a favor and let her handle it from now on.”
“Handle what?” Hermione asked, entering the room and staring perplexedly at Ron standing over Harry, glowering.
“Silencing Charms,” both Harry and Ron said together.
Hermione’s face colored brightly as she gaped at them.
“Apparently, Harry thinks the burden should be all on you, Hermione. I don’t think that sounds very fair, do you?” Ron asked, looking at Harry triumphantly. “Partners should take mutual responsibility for these things.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Does he? At least we have the courtesy of keeping it to our bedroom. Tell you what, Harry, I’ll handle the Silencing Charms if you Scourgify the loft,” she said waspishly.
Harry felt his face flaming as brilliantly as Ron’s hair and wondered how long a lecture Hermione would give him if he hexed Ron’s mouth shut.
“Er…” he said, flummoxed.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re all flushed, so either you ate too much Fever Fudge, or you walked in on Ron and Hermione doing something improper again,” George asked, entering the sitting room and stopping short to gape at Harry.
“Improper,” Ron repeated, scoffing.
“Yes, as a fine, proper English wizard, I’m an expert on impropriety, and you, my lad, are the epitome of it,” George said, wiping imaginary dust from his sleeve.
“If you’re an expert, it’s only so you can make some gold off impropriety,” Harry said.
“Exactly!” Ron said.
Harry and Ron shared a grin while Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I’ve made a fortune on impropriety, but it’s dwindling because I can’t get reliable help in quarantine,” George said pointedly. “Ron, weren’t you supposed to be helping me this morning?”
“Oh… right,” Ron said.
“Now he remembers,” George said, rolling his eyes.
“Come on, Harry. If you come, too, we can finish the orders in no time,” Ron said, jerking his head toward the door.
“I’ll be there in a bit. I want to see Ginny when she’s finished with Vivian,” Harry said, glancing at his watch, the same watch that had once belonged to one of Ginny’s uncles who’d died in the first wizarding war.
Molly had told him he should get a new one now that he was working at the Ministry, but to Harry, it was one of his most treasured possessions. He valued it as much as he did his Invisibility Cloak or the Marauder’s Map.
“I’ll go with you,” Hermione said. “Harry, let me know if you learn anything more about Ginny’s teammates.”
Harry nodded absently as they left. He retrieved the Quaffle and tossed it the air a few more times, but his restlessness became too much to bear. He pulled himself off the sofa and started to climb the stairs, listening for the sound of his and Ginny’s bedroom door opening. They must be nearly finished with the examination by now.
He passed the landing where their bedroom room was located, but the door was still tightly closed. He continued to climb, finally stopping when he reached the landing holding the two doors that had once belonged to Sirius and Regulus Black. Harry pushed open the door to Sirius’ old room, which Harry had converted into a nursery for Teddy. The mural Dean Thomas had painted on the walls was strikingly vivid. Seeing the stag, wolf and dog roaming through the forest trees always brought Harry a sense of peace and belonging. He’d hoped to instill those same feelings in his godson as he grew older. He wanted Teddy to always feel some connection to the parents he had lost.
Harry could use a bit of peace now. His insides felt as if they were caught in a vice grip, and they had since Vivian had left from her previous visit two days ago. Five members of the Harpies’ staff were infected, including two players. Ginny appeared perfectly healthy, but he hated these times when Vivian came to check on her. It brought it all crashing back down, and he felt as if he were waiting for the hammer to fall. And there was absolutely nothing Harry could do about it.
He hated feeling so absolutely powerless.
He crossed the room to the small bed tucked into the corner. They’d transfigured it from Teddy’s cot the previous year, and it was covered with a turquoise blanket that Mrs. Weasley had made. Harry missed Teddy very much. He spoke to him by Floo each day, but it wasn’t the same, and Teddy’s pleas for Harry to come over felt like shards of glass being knocked into Harry’s heart. The young boy couldn’t understand why he could no longer spend time with his godfather.
Hell, Harry could barely understand it himself except that he knew he’d never do anything to put Teddy’s life in danger.
Never intentionally, anyway.
After all, he had invited Teddy to that now-infamous Quidditch exhibition match. That was where an abundance of cases had originated and spread all across the United Kingdom. Andromeda promised they were both fine, and she was keeping an eye out for any irregularities. She had Kreacher for help, but it wasn’t the same.
Even Kreacher was complaining about being unable to visit his Master’s home. He insisted that elves didn’t contract the same ailments as wizards did, but that had been true for Muggles up until now, as well, so Harry wasn’t taking any chances.
The door opened wider and Ginny entered the room, looking startled. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, peering into the corners of the room suspiciously.
Harry was taken aback by her sharp tone. “Er… nothing. I was waiting for you to finish up. How did it go?” he asked.
Ginny shrugged, looking sullen.
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. “What happened?” he asked warily.
“Nothing. She just asks me the same stupid questions and refuses to answer any of mine,” Ginny said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Has Vivian left already?” he asked. Usually the Unspeakable stayed for a few minutes after each check to inform Harry of what was happening at the Ministry.
“Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but Vivian had to leave in a hurry. You’ll just have to settle for me,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Harry blinked, taken aback by her tone. “Ginny? That’s uncalled for, don’t you think?”
That familiar red coloring was spreading across Ginny’s cheeks and chest. A sure sign of her temper, but Harry was clueless over what had set her off.
“No, I don’t, obviously or else I would’ve said it,” she snapped.
Harry took a breath, trying to keep his own temper in check. His quick fuse was battling with his own concern. Why wouldn’t she just tell him what was troubling her? “What happened? Did something go wrong during your exam?”
“Oh, right — it must be something I’ve done, huh?” Ginny asked, unleashing her temper. “Couldn’t be that lovely Vivian rushed through the check because she had someplace better to be rather then listening to me ramble-on about what day I thought it was, or who’s the current Minister for Magic. She asks the most stupid questions. As if Kingsley hasn’t been over for dinner loads of times since I was fourteen.”
“Did she? Is that truly why you’re so upset?” he asked.
“Who said I’m upset?” she sneered.
“Ginny. What the hell? Clearly, you’re upset about something, and taking it out on me isn’t going to change anything if I don’t know what’s troubling you,” he said. Was she really just spoiling for a fight?
Ginny didn’t appear to be listening, or at least she didn’t care what he’d said. “All I asked her was how Theresa was doing. She’s only my teammate — someone I’m with every day. You’d think I have the right to know, but noooo. Precious, perfect Vi-vi-an says she doesn’t know. What a load of dragon dung. Does she think we’re all stupid?” she ranted, drawing out each syllable of Vivian’s name.
Harry knew that Vivian rubbed people the wrong way, and that Ginny had quite a temper, but he honestly hadn’t expected them to clash like this.
“Isn’t one of the other Unspeakables monitoring Theresa’s case?” he asked.
Ginny’s eyes flew open wide for a moment before narrowing dangerously. “Oh! Big surprise there. I might have known you’d take her side,” she hissed in a soft, dangerous voice.
Harry’d had enough. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. I don’t even know what happened, or why you’re so bloody hacked off with me,” he shouted.
“I’m not hacked off with you. Oh, I dunno, maybe I am, but I’m hacked off with everyone right now,” Ginny said, beginning to pace.
“Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks,” Harry said.
Ginny threw a scathing look over her shoulder. “Don’t be such a tosser, Harry. You knew I had a temper. I’m just in a bad mood today, all right? You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be a moody git on occasion, you know.”
“Yeah? Well, when I do get that way, you’re usually the one who calls me out, so I thought I ought to return the favor,” he snapped.
“Poor Harry, always the hero,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Ginny!” he said, absurdly stung by these words. He forced himself to get a grip on his own temper. Taking a deep breath, he said calmly, “Please tell me what happened during your exam that you’re unhappy about.”
“For the last time, it was nothing different. Vivian didn’t answer my questions, but she expected me to answer all of hers, and I’m ruddy tired of it,” Ginny said, exasperated.
He noticed that she didn’t quite meet his eyes when she said it, however, and it sent that tingle of trepidation down his spine again.
“Were you able to answer her questions?” he asked warily.
“What? Of course, I was. They’re not difficult, and I’m not an idiot, no matter who might think so,” she said.
Harry couldn’t let that one go. “I’ve never thought you were an idiot.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she said, her eyes glistening.
He took a step towards her, alarmed, but she moved out of his reach. “Ginny—”
“Never mind,” she interrupted. “Look, I know it’s not your fault, okay. I’m just feeling cross. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
Harry nodded, not quite able to let his concern fade that quickly. He’d never been able to hide his emotions from her, and he was aware she could read it all over his face.
She scowled. “I’m going to go have a kip. Maybe I’ll wake up in a better frame of mind.”
He nodded. “I told George I’d give him a hand,” he said, searching lamely for a new topic.
“All right. You go do that, and I’ll see you later,” she said, leaving the room without a backwards glance.
It was a tetchy sort of day after that. Harry helped the others in George’s temporary workroom, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He always hated when he and Ginny rowed, but he was well aware that it was him who was the more likely to sulk over things. Ginny would lash out like an angry chimera, but her anger could dissipate just as quickly.
Ron blew it off as a fit of temper, and Hermione told him he’d been rather tactless in trying to defend Vivian when Ginny was obviously upset with her. Of course, Hermione couldn’t quite contain her glee that Ginny and Vivian were rowing, either. Harry knew Vivian liked to keep her thoughts to herself, but he didn’t think she would’ve just left had it been anything serious, so he was left stymied.
Even George’s humor was dulled as he kept trying to get all of them to quit their moaning and get back to work. Harry was so preoccupied, he kept having to refill his orders after he’d done them incorrectly.
Harry really wished he could just grab his broom and go for a fly. Quarantine sucked.
Chapter 13: Separation
Author's Notes: Well, there you go. A few of you had some suspicions that there was something wrong with Ginny last chapter. Please take a moment to hit reply and share your thoughts. It helps to know what you’re thinking of the story.
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, comments and suggestions. They truly make this a better story.
Separation
Ginny awoke with a start, reaching around the familiar bed and taking note of the room around her. As her mind fully awoke, a sense of dread and unease that she couldn’t place stole over her. She’d been dreaming, but trying to grasp the images from her dream was like attempting to hold onto water. Her mind felt jumbled and confused, but rationally, she was aware that her heart wasn’t pounding into her throat as it usually did when she’d suffered a nightmare. So, she supposed it couldn’t have been anything too terrible.
She reached over to Harry’s side of the bed, seeking his warmth and comfort, only to find it empty and the sheets gone cold.
Damn.
Memories of their row the previous day flooded back to her. She’d been out of line, and she’d taken her temper out on him. She’d even feigned sleep once he finally came to bed the night before to avoid facing him and having to apologize. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She was so sick of being stuck in this house. It was driving her spare.
None of the rest of them had to put up with being checked over by Vivian Scott every few days. She’d bet any of the others could get a question wrong here or there after a while. The check-ups were so tedious and repetitive. She’d just answered the question automatically without really listening.
That was all it was.
Really.
No matter how much she tried to assure herself that it was nothing to be concerned about, she couldn’t shake the feeling of disquiet. She’d answered one of Vivian’s endless questions wrong, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know the answer. She simply hadn’t been paying attention.
Her mind kept replaying it no matter how many times she told herself there was no reason to worry…
If it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’d been with you for two hours, what time did I arrive?” Vivian asked.
“Ten. You always visit at ten. Someone could set a clock by you,” Ginny snapped irritably.
Yes, she’d answered incorrectly, but it didn’t mean anything, and the concerned looks Vivian kept giving her only increased Ginny’s ill-temper. So, she’d used her righteous indignation like a shield. It had always worked in the past.
Ginny released a huff of air and pulled up into a seated position, resting her back against the headboard. What would happen if it was more than just a minor slip, though? She hadn’t forgotten anything else, and though she was frustrated being cooped up, she hadn’t been unreasonable about it. Bloody hell, they were all frustrated.
In her mind, she went over the names of all her teammates, of the coaches and support staff she worked with daily. She reviewed the names of her family and her friends, and the people she’d known at Hogwarts. She didn’t stumble on any of their names, and her mind easily brought up images of shared experiences with each of them. Certainly, there was nothing wrong with her memory, right?
She wished she could hex that nagging little voice right out of her own head, but she couldn’t shake her unease. What if she was getting sick? Would the Unspeakables sweep in and pull her out of the house? Where would she go? And… what would happen to the others? Could she have passed something on to them? Were they all to be placed in separate rooms at St. Mungo’s until they forgot each other completely?
Ginny couldn’t imagine anything worse. She didn’t want to forget Harry or her family. And she didn’t want any of them to forget her, either.
The sound of her stomach rumbling dragged her out of her troubling thoughts. Had she eaten dinner the previous evening? She couldn’t remember. She’d been busy brooding and then fallen asleep. She didn’t know why she was so tired. It’s not like she’d been doing anything.
She was about to drag herself out of bed in search of food when the door opened, and Harry peered inside. He was carrying a breakfast tray, which only made Ginny feel worse about lashing out at him.
“You can come in. I promise I won’t bite,” she said despondently.
“I don’t mind the biting so much. It’s the hexing I could do without,” he said cheerfully, kicking the door closed behind him. He placed the tray laden with porridge and toast in front of her. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m starving. Thanks,” she said, grabbing the spoon and immediately taking some of the porridge.
He stood, watching her. His hair was rumpled worse than usual, and his eyes held a wary, guarded quality that she couldn’t stand. It was like a punch to the gut knowing she’d been the one to place it there.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” she said. “I know none of this is your fault.”
“Did everything go all right with Vi… with your check-up?” he asked, and she knew by the circles under his eyes that he’d been worrying about it since yesterday. She hated that he tried to avoid saying Vivian’s name, but couldn’t really blame him.
“It went fine,” she said half-heartedly, deciding he didn’t need anything else to worry about. She was doing enough worrying for both of them. “She just got on my nerves, and it was sort of the last straw.”
Harry nodded, still looking pensive. He appeared to be choosing his words very carefully, and Ginny felt a flicker of irritation. She wasn’t a raving lunatic and was beginning to resent being treated like one.
“Was there a reason your session ended so abruptly?” he finally asked.
“What you really want to know is why Vivian left without speaking to you, right? Spit it out, Harry,” she said waspishly.
“Look, I’m not going to do this again. I’m concerned, all right?” he snapped, and she was actually glad he was fighting back rather than tip-toeing around her. This alone soothed her righteous indignation.
“Vivian didn’t tell me why she was in such a hurry, but I’m certain she’ll be back tomorrow for my next check. You can ask her then, if you like, although she didn’t say what time she’d be here,” Ginny said, attempting to sound cordial. She thought she pulled it off well.
Harry looked at her oddly. “She usually comes around ten.”
“Well, you can catch her then,” she said, irritated that he knew Vivian’s schedule.
“All right,” he said slowly.
“Brilliant,” she said, laying her spoon down after only a few scoops and casting around for something else to say. “Did you finish up George’s orders yesterday?”
“Yeah, we did. He seemed happy with the progress, anyway,” Harry said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and still watching her closely.
Ginny frowned. This tension between them was unusual, and she didn’t like it. “So, what’s the plan for today, then?”
Harry shrugged. “I spoke with Owen last night. We’re looking over some books on various diseases.”
Ginny scrunched her nose. “Sounds fascinating.”
“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, his tension easing as he turned to rest his back against the headboard. He stretched out his legs so he was sitting alongside her, careful not to disturb her breakfast tray. “I learned that once you have Spattergroit, you’ll never have to worry about catching it again. That would explain why Gwilym Gethin was able to work with it so freely.”
“What are you looking for, exactly?” she asked. “Or does Owen find medical books as thrilling as Hermione does?”
Harry shifted and something flickered across his face that she couldn’t name. She squinted, watching him surreptitiously from behind her hair.
“His idea was to look at past ailments and see if we could find some commonality about how they were stopped,” Harry said.
“And did you?” she asked, sensing there was more.
Harry paused only briefly before saying, “No, but…”
“But what?” she prompted when he trailed off.
He cleared his throat. “I did find something interesting. The last big contagion was a Dragon Pox one that wiped out a huge portion of the wizarding community.”
Something tickled at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t recall all the details. “I remember hearing about that. I think my dad had an uncle or something who died from it. It was before we were born.”
“My grandparents were on the list of names of those who died. My dad would’ve been in his seventh year at Hogwarts when it happened,” Harry said, and Ginny knew that although he tried to make it sound as if it was an offhand comment, it was very important to him.
She was aware that Harry knew very little of his history or family story, and each little piece of the puzzle that he did discover was like a gem to be studied and examined closely. It was anything but offhand.
“Did it say anything else?” she asked, straining to keep her voice level and let him set the tone.
He shook his head. “No. Just their names and the dates of birth and death. Their names were Fleamont and Euphemia.”
Ginny knew this was important to him, and she was trying to be supportive, but she felt the corner of her lip twitch. She struggled to maintain her composure.
Harry cracked first and a grin spread across this face. “I know. Interesting names.”
Ginny lost the battle and let her giggles free. “And I thought Ginevra was bad. What kind of nickname do you use for Euphemia?”
“I’m just happy my parents didn’t decide to name me Fleamont,” he said, eyes wide.
“Do you think your dad’s middle name was Fleamont?” she asked.
Harry looked startled. “Dunno. It wasn’t on his grave that time I saw it. I bet Sirius took the piss when he found out though,” he said, grinning again.
“I’m sure your dad would’ve hidden it from him,” Ginny said.
“Couldn’t have done. Sirius lived with them for a while. He would’ve had to know my grandfather’s name,” he said, grinning broadly now.
“Although, Sirius’ mother’s name was Walburga. I suppose he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on,” she said, shrugging.
“He would’ve taken the piss anyway,” Harry said, and his eyes were glazed, as if looking back somewhere that she couldn’t see.
Ginny’s stomach took this moment to growl loudly.
Harry snorted. “Finish your breakfast.”
Ginny stared at the tray, uncertainly. Her mind seemed to go blank for a moment before she noticed the toast, and picked up a slice.
Harry watched her and that wariness was back in his gaze. He leaned over and scooped some of the oatmeal onto the spoon, handing it to her.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not ill. I can feed myself.”
“I know,” he said softly, leaning back and putting his arm around her.
Ginny quietly finished her breakfast. Harry’s arm was warm and comforting around her shoulders, but her mind was in turmoil. She didn’t understand why she felt so unsettled, but much like her dream from earlier, every time she tried to examine her feelings more closely, they seemed to just slip away. It was maddening.
Once she’d had her fill, she placed the tray on her bedside table and turned her head toward Harry, who was watching her. His eyes dipped toward her lips once she faced him. He pulled his glasses off and dropped them haphazardly on his own bedside table.
“I should probably go brush my teeth,” she said self-consciously.
“I like porridge,” he breathed, leaning down and capturing her lips in a tender kiss.
Ginny returned it with passion, her heart overflowing with emotion for this man who always stood by her. She allowed her mind to release its worry and return his embrace, focusing her attention on only him and the wonderful sensations coursing through her body. Every sigh, every caress was testament to how much she adored having this person in her life. As their passion swelled, Harry seemed to want to take it slow and gentle, but that’s not what Ginny wanted. It wasn’t what she needed right now. She took the lead, unapologetic and demanding. This was real. She could focus on this because it meant something. He met her eagerness step-for-step, his gasps of pleasure only pushing her further. Her throat ached with the strain of holding back her words, so she compensated by pushing her body. Silently, Harry thrust with desperation, although he touched her with such overwhelming tenderness. They both gave themselves to one another, each expressing words that neither one of them could say.
Harry awoke later that afternoon to a sharp pounding on the bedroom door. Feeling disoriented and lethargic, he searched blindly on the bedside table for his glasses.
“Harry, open the ruddy door and come to the sitting room. Vivian Scott is here, and she wants to see you,” Ron bellowed.
Harry sat up, looking around blearily. He finally located his glasses and slammed them on his face. He was alone in the bed. He must’ve slept heavier than he’d planned. Why was Vivian here again?
A leaden weight formed in the pit of his stomach. That couldn’t be good.
“I’m coming. I’ll be there in a minute,” he called, taking note that Ginny’s breakfast tray was gone. She obviously hadn’t awakened him once she got up — or perhaps she never slept?
No, he definitely remembered both of them drifting off, still wrapped around one another after making up from their row.
Harry pulled himself out of bed and quickly re-dressed, shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the sluggishness he felt. He hurried downstairs in his bare feet to find Ron, George and Hermione in the sitting room with Vivian, who was pacing and kept glancing at her watch. Ginny wasn’t there.
“What’s happened?” he asked immediately. “Where’s Ginny?”
“She’s in the shower. She said she’ll be right down,” Hermione said, looking disgruntled. “Vivian won’t tell us what this is about until we’re all here.”
Vivian gave Harry a brief smile through her Bubble-Head Charm. Harry thought that it appeared more like a grimace, and the vice-like grip that had held his insides since yesterday seemed to tighten further.
“It’ll be easier if I only have to explain it once,” she said. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time.”
“A lot of time for what?” Ron asked, sounding rather belligerent.
“That’s what we’re going to discuss,” Vivian said. “We’re just waiting on Ginny.”
“I’m here,” Ginny said softly. She was standing in the doorway wearing a dressing gown, her hair slightly damp. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her own waist, as if protecting herself. Harry’s mind incomprehensibly flashed back to an image of Ginny as a first-year, struggling to tell him and Ron about her secret diary but unable to get the words out. She stared directly at Vivian, ignoring everyone else in the room.
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end.
“You know something,” Ginny said in a deadened voice. It was a statement, not a question.
They were all startled by a pounding knock on the front door. Harry frowned. No one had been to call except Vivian since they’d been quarantined, and he couldn’t imagine who would be there now. Hermione stood uncertainly, her expression as puzzled as Harry felt.
“Leave it,” Vivian said sharply. “I’ll let them inside in a moment.”
“Let who inside? What’s going on?” Harry demanded.
Vivian met Ginny’s gaze unflinchingly. “Your diagnostic scan from yesterday was examined by one of the Healers. It’s positive for Spattergroit Muggleton. I’m sorry, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny shut her eyes, swaying slightly.
Harry’s heart screamed negatively even though his mind had been expecting it. He leapt to his feet, crossing the room towards her when Ginny stepped back, shaking herself out of her trance.
“No, don’t come too close,” she hissed, holding up her hand as if to ward him off. “Is that who’s at the door, then? Where are they taking me?”
“What d’you mean taking you?” Ron demanded. “No one’s taking you anywhere.”
The cacophony of voices filled Harry’s brain, confusing him and making it impossible to think. Ron, Hermione and George fired rapid questions at Vivian, all talking over one another and trying to absorb it, but both Harry and Ginny remained silent, their eyes locked on one another.
They’d known. Of course, they’d known.
Once Vivian had managed to quiet the others, she waved her wand, unlatching the front door. They heard pounding footsteps in the hallway before several Ministry employees entered the room, all wearing protective clothing and Bubble-Head Charms.
“We aren’t taking you anywhere, Miss Weasley. You’ll be confined here in a solitary room since there is plenty of space here to allow it. Is there an empty one we can use for an infirmary?” Vivian asked.
“Why can’t she stay in our room?” Harry asked, his eyes never leaving Ginny’s wide, brown ones. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
Vivian shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we need to confine her. The Healers are going to examine her fully, and we’ll monitor her status daily. The rest of you need to stay out of that room unless absolutely necessary, and you must wear protective Charms at all times if you must enter. The rest of you have all been moved up to Level Two contamination. Now, is there a room we can use?”
Harry nodded, feeling as if he’d been hit with a Bludger. “There’s a small room on the same landing as the master bedroom. I think it might’ve once been a nursery, but we used it as an infirmary during the war,” he said stupidly, remembering various Order members occasionally needing to be patched up.
She waved her hand at two of the Unspeakables who’d arrived with the Healers, and they silently yet purposefully mounted the stairs.
“My colleagues are going to prepare the room and attempt to decontaminate the master bedroom. Fortunately, we caught this very early, so I’m cautiously optimistic about being able to stay on top of it. No one else has contracted the disease from someone before that person began showing symptoms. We caught Ginny because of one of the diagnostic scans we’ve been taking, so we’re hopeful that it hasn’t been passed to any of the rest of you,” Vivian said in her brisk, lecturer tone.
Harry was bothered by that statement, however. It wasn’t exactly true. Ginny’s irritability and the fact she’d answered one of Vivian’s questions incorrectly the previous day went unmentioned. The memory of their row rose like poison in Harry’s mind. She’d been out of sorts, then, too. Fortunately, she hadn’t worked with George, Ron or Hermione whilst they’d been in the workroom yesterday, so perhaps that offered them some added protection.
Staring into Ginny’s frightened eyes across the room, Harry knew she was thinking about what he’d discounted. She might’ve avoided the others, but the two of them had been as close as two people could possibly get just that morning.
“I expect you’ll be doing scans on everyone else now, as well?” Ginny asked, her voice trembling only slightly.
Vivian nodded. “Yes, once we have you secluded and settled, the Healers are going to spend some time with each of the others in order to establish a personal baseline for everyone. I’ll continue to visit every couple of days to administer the same sort of cognitive and magical assessments I’ve been doing with Ginny. How are you feeling today?” she asked Ginny.
Ginny shrugged noncommittally “I’m concerned, obviously, but I feel all right. I don’t want to have given this to anyone else.”
“Don’t think about that now,” Harry said sharply. “You’re the one we need to worry about.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, please — don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking of everyone else here but yourself since Vivian started speaking.”
“I’m not the one who’s sick,” Harry said.
“Yet,” Ginny replied, and her eyes filled with tears before she furiously blinked them away.
Harry moved to go to her again, but she took another step backwards, and he froze in his tracks, feeling powerless. He heard Hermione sniffle from somewhere behind him.
“Let’s all relax and take this one step at a time. You’ve all been confined here for a significant period of time, so this can’t spread any further as long as we keep it that way. You’re all being monitored, and we have more data on how to treat it every day. Harry’s right, we’re going to take precautions for those exposed, but our focus needs to be on the ones already contaminated. Unfortunately, Ginny, that means you,” Vivian said.
“Why don’t we head upstairs so we can get our examination started, and get you settled?” one of the Healers said to Ginny, who nodded.
She looked around the room at all the others. “Please keep yourselves safe. I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault,” Harry said, feeling his entire world spinning rapidly out of his control.
She smiled, but he knew she didn’t believe him. Watching her follow the Healers upstairs felt as if he was watching her being led to the gallows.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“How long before someone starts showing symptoms?” Hermione asked.
“I don’t have absolute facts on that, as it’s such a small sample size we’ve been able to follow. My best estimate is within a week,” Vivian said. “I’m going to go upstairs to be certain everything is done according to my specifications, and Ginny is comfortable. I’m going to ask you all to wait in here until I return so we can begin with your examinations.”
“All right,” Hermione said at once, nodding and sitting up straighter. She was always happiest with clear instructions, and that had never changed.
“But… this can’t be happening. She’s been fine. She’s not ill,” Ron said loudly, looking rather baffled. “How do you know it isn’t your scan that’s messed up?”
“I wish that were the case, Mr. Weasley. We ran it twice to be certain. Try to not get ahead of yourselves. Just sit down, and I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” Vivian said, brushing past Harry, who was still standing in front of the doorway, on her way out.
“How about I make us all some tea?” Hermione asked. She put a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, Harry. Just sit down.”
Harry allowed her to lead him over the sofa. He felt numb, dazed, and he didn’t much care where he was at the moment. George sat across from him on one of the studded armchairs, looking just as bewildered as Harry felt.
Hermione hurried out of the room, presumably to go to the kitchen and get the teapot. Harry and George remained quiet, each lost in his own thoughts, but Ron couldn’t handle the silence. He stood and began pacing like a caged animal.
“She has to be all right. I mean, Vivian and the rest of team have been really careful this whole time. They’re just being cautious, right?” he asked.
“You said you and Ginny were having a row yesterday, yeah?” George asked, and Harry thought there was something accusatory in his tone.
He squirmed. “Yeah.”
“What about?” Ron asked.
“She was tetchy all day,” Harry said in a low voice, his stomach churning.
“Just normal Ginny-being-cross, or did you do something?” Ron asked, his ears reddening.
“Ron, that’s enough,” Hermione said, re-entering the room with a tray full of tea-making supplies. She placed it on the coffee table and proceeded to pour four cups from the steaming pot. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s spreading everywhere.”
“Yeah, but I want to know if we could’ve done something sooner. This is Ginny,” Ron said, still sounding irate.
“I’m well aware who it is, and I know we’re all concerned. Bickering amongst ourselves isn’t going to help her,” Hermione said reasonably, handing out the tea cups.
“Someone is going to have to tell Mum and Dad,” George said.
Harry’s insides clenched tightly, imagining the panic and chaos at The Burrow once that call was made. The Weasleys had already lost one child. This would send them over the edge.
“Let’s wait until after all the examinations are completed. That way, we’ll know if there’s anything more to tell,” Hermione said reasonably.
George sank even lower on his chair, his head falling back to rest upon it. “I was going to give her a hard time about not helping with the orders yesterday. I didn’t know she was ill.”
“That’s just it — she said she’d doesn’t feel unwell,” Hermione said.
Harry’s thoughts were in turmoil. Ginny did say she felt all right, but she also knew something was wrong. They’d both feared it. He needed to talk to her, tell her outright not to hide her worries and fears from him. He wanted to be there for her, to see her through this, in any way he could. His mind kept straining to remember all the details he’d read in the various medical books and in all the papers he’d obtained from St. Mungo’s. Memory loss was at the top of the list of symptoms, but he hadn’t noticed that with her. She’d definitely had some mood swings and agitation, though, which were also on the list. What else?
Reduced ability to organize, plan or solve problems, the words swam off the page in his mind’s eye. The question Ginny had missed with Vivian could be a sign of that… or it could simply be, as she said, that she wasn’t paying attention because she was irritated. But irritation was another potential symptom. This was impossible. There definitely hadn’t been any hallucinations — at least none she’d shared with him — and he felt certain he would’ve noticed that. There had definitely been some apathy, however. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed after seeing Vivian yesterday. But couldn’t that also be because she was upset with both the Unspeakable and also over her row with Harry?
Some of his inner turmoil must’ve shown on his face, because Hermione was watching him beadily. “Harry, you’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking? You know you’ll have to stay away from Ginny even though she’s here in the same house, right?” she asked.
Harry didn’t answer and avoided her gaze, his insides twisting. How could she expect that of him?
“Harry,” she repeated more shrilly.
He looked up through his fringe. “I’m not going to leave her to go through this alone, Hermione.”
“It’s not leaving her alone. We’re all here for her, but there has to be distancing in order to stop the spread,” Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest and speaking to him as if he were a child.
Harry discounted her. “I can wear a Bubble-Head Charm when I go in to see her. If it works for the Healers, it’ll work for me.”
“I can’t believe this. She hasn’t been in isolation for five minutes and you’re already being reckless,” she said, fuming.
“No, I’m not,” he replied calmly. How could he make her understand? “The last time we all left her alone, she had to fight Voldemort by herself. I’m not going to let her do that again.”
Ron and George both looked up, startled, and he knew they’d been thinking the same thing. Neither would meet his eyes, both looking away guiltily. He hadn’t meant to make them feel bad. This was all spiraling out of his control so quickly.
“Look, I’m not blaming anyone, all right? It’s not your fault, it’s not any of our faults. Isn’t that what you keep telling me? We were kids, and we didn’t know anything, even if we thought we did. This time we know she’s in trouble,” Harry said, desperately searching for the right words. He was bollixing this up royally.
“Ginny won’t want you to risk your own health, Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “How do you think she’ll feel if she ends up giving this to you? You know that’s what she’s worried about.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harry said.
“You can’t say that. There’s no way to know that,” Hermione said angrily.
Harry rolled his eyes, pulling up off the sofa and beginning to pace, wishing he could crawl out of his own skin. “I survive everything, Hermione. I’m the bloody Boy Who Lives while everyone dies around me,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Oh, Harry, no,” Hermione said, reaching out to him but he shook her off.
“You’ve got a false sense of security there, mate, and you know it,” Ron said, his voice rather subdued. “You’re far from invincible.”
“Ron’s right, Harry. You could get this as easily as any of us, and Ginny would be devastated. If you’re not concerned about yourself, think of her,” George said.
Harry felt besieged, ganged-up upon. He needed to get away from all of them and think, but he didn’t want to miss an update from Vivian whilst she was still there. Ron took Harry’s arm and steered him back toward the sofa, sitting beside him. Hermione sat on his other side, placing his teacup in his hand and raising it toward his lips.
He took a scalding sip before pulling his face away. Absently, he rubbed his hand along his scar, attempting to smooth it out. He couldn’t think with all of them on top of him.
Ron reached over and pushed the teacup in Hermione’s hand back toward the coffee table. “He can manage to drink his tea on his own, love,” he said, shifting his own position to give Harry a bit more space.
Hermione huffed, but she didn’t say anything in protest. Harry shot Ron a grateful glance.
“It’s not the same as when she was a first-year,” George said suddenly. “We all know, and we can make certain she knows we’re all pulling for her, even if there isn’t a damn thing we can do for her. Again.”
“She does know that, George,” Hermione said earnestly.
“I should’ve noticed something back then. Fred and I… we talked about it. We knew we let her down, so we tried to include her more after that,” George said. He still found it difficult to talk about his missing twin, and his voice quavered. “We should’ve noticed then. We were older than all of you.”
“You were still only a fourth-year, George,” Hermione said placatingly. “I’m supposed to be the brightest witch of our age, and I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, but you and Ginny weren’t really friends yet at that point, were you?” Ron asked.
“So what if we were only fourth-years? Didn’t Harry compete in the Triwizard Tournament as a fourth-year?” George asked bitterly.
Before Harry could even open his mouth to protest, all three of the others shouted him down.
“We know — you had help!”
This did nothing to make them all feel better, but it did break the tension, and they all grinned, even Harry. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, each lost in their own thoughts.
“What do you think they’re doing to her up there?” Ron asked. He was always the first to break a silence.
“Dunno. More diagnostic scans, maybe?” George said.
“What good will that do if they already know she has it?” Ron asked.
“It’s a way to monitor her progress and document if anything has changed. There’s a lot more to diagnostic scans than you’d ever know. It takes a lot of study to be able to read them,” Hermione said.
“There are also physical, mental and magical tests they do every time. We’ll all have to do those now, too,” Harry said, remembering everything Ginny had told him about her sessions with Vivian.
“What d’you mean? What do they do to you?” Ron asked apprehensively.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing that will hurt, Ron. They’ll just check you for any spots, have you perform some simple spells, and check your mental acuity,” Hermione said.
“What does that mean though?” Ron persisted.
“Just some basic questions about the date, or who is Minister for Magic and such,” Hermione said.
“What’s the matter, Ron? Afraid they’ll discover you really are mental?” George asked, sniggering.
“Shag off. I just want to know what to expect, all right?” Ron asked defensively.
“Hermione’s right. They’ll also ask some simple math and problem-solving questions,” Harry said.
“Why? Why do they have to do this?” Ron asked.
“It’s the easiest way to check and see if anything in your mind is slipping. They’re not out to get you, Ron, and they won’t count it against you if you’re nervous,” Hermione said reassuringly.
“Ginny didn’t seem ill, though. What’s she going to do after they run all these checks? Does she have to get in bed and wait to feel sick? She’s going to be bored out of her skull,” George asked.
“The early stage includes fatigue,” Hermione said. “She might be happy to be able to rest without all of us questioning her.”
Ginny had definitely been tired yesterday, but Harry hadn’t noticed anything more than restlessness before that, and they all were experiencing it. Ginny was used to an active life. She’d already begun training for the upcoming season, and Quidditch had a long-playing season. No, he hadn’t noticed fatigue. Was that a good sign?
He didn’t know. It was just one more thing he was going to have to check. He wondered how long they were to be trapped down here… and how long the Healers would be in with Ginny.
It was very late at night when Harry was finally able to sneak into Ginny’s room. The examinations that had been conducted on all of them were lengthy, and a medi-witch had stayed with Ginny well into the evening. Hermione had watched Harry very suspiciously when he’d claimed he was tired and going up to bed. A quick magical detection charm on his bedroom door revealed she’d set some sort of alarm on it to alert her if it opened. Rolling his eyes, Harry wordlessly disarmed the spell.
She sometimes forgot he was an Auror.
Ginny’s door was across from his on the landing. He cocked his head, listening for a moment at the door, but all was silent except for the hum of a charm. He supposed there was some sort of protection on the room to prevent any contamination from getting out. He quickly cast a Bubble-Head Charm and pulled on a pair of gloves. He knew Ginny would insist he take precautions, or she was liable to send him marching right back out and barring the door against him.
The door creaked slightly when he opened it, but he thought perhaps it just sounded louder in the stillness of the house. So much for stealthy. Ginny looked as if she was sleeping, a sliver of moonlight shining through the window cast a shaft of light across the bad, but her face was still in shadow.
“Is that you, Harry?” she asked, sounding both pleased and exasperated.
“D’you have other lovers making midnight calls?” he asked, moving over to the bed and sitting on the edge beside her.
“Oh, yes — two of them just left, actually, so you timed your turn well,” she quipped.
“Ah, and here I was thinking I was special and that you’d be so pleased to see me,” he said, grinning.
“There you go, letting that big head of yours loose,” she said, rolling her eyes, yet also reaching out and taking his hand in her own. “You really shouldn’t be in here, you know.”
He squeezed her hand, wishing he could feel the softness of her skin instead of the material of the glove separating them. She looked healthy enough, just tired. “Eh, it’s going to take much more than a virus to keep me away from you.”
Ginny grimaced. “It’s not like I ever expected that you’d follow the rules, anyway.”
“I took precautions, but I’m not leaving you in here alone. How are you?” he asked.
Ginny bit her lip. “I’m all right. I don’t feel particularly unwell, just tired.”
She must’ve read something in Harry’s expression, even though the moonlight was the only thing lighting in the room. Perhaps, their vision had simply adjusted to the dark. “I’m also aware fatigue is part of it. The Healers told me.”
Harry sensed there was more she wanted to say. “But…” he prompted.
She shrugged. “I know there’s something wrong with me, and I think you’ve noticed it to. It’s not so much forgetting anything… and I know I’ve always had a temper… but I have this rage that seems to come out of nowhere, then it leaves just as quickly, and I’m baffled by it.”
Harry swallowed thickly. “Yesterday… or maybe it was earlier today, I dunno, at breakfast, you were obviously hungry, but it was as if you couldn’t work out to put the spoon in your mouth,” he said, his insides clenching as he recalled it.
Ginny stared at him blankly, then her forehead scrunched up as if she was trying to remember. “I- I don’t…” she stammered, looking distressed.
“Shh, it’s all right,” he said quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it matters, Harry. I don’t want to forget you,” she said, and this time, he had no trouble seeing the way her eyes glistened with tears.
“Don’t think about that now. I’ll be here, and I won’t forget you. I can hang on for both of us until you come to back to me,” he said earnestly.
“What if I can’t come back?” she whispered.
Harry’s heart clenched again, but he forced the words out. “You will. I’ve never met anyone more determined than my Whisky.”
A shadow of a smile crossed her face as she reprimanded him, “Don’t call me that.”
“You’re not fooling me — you like it,” he said, immensely pleased that he’d managed to cheer her up.
“If the fact that you call me Whisky is the only thing I end up remembering, I’m going to kill you, Harry Potter,” she said with a straight face.
Harry snorted. “That’s a deal, then. I love you, and I always will.”
“I love you, too, more than anything. No matter what I might do or say, remember that. Remember this is me, here and now, telling you I love you with everything that’s me,” she said imploringly.
He wanted to kiss her, but the Bubble-Head Charm made it impossible. He squeezed her hand and lifted it, resting it against the Charm near the side of his face. “We’ll get through this together.”
“Together — until the very end,” she whispered.
Chapter 14: Alarm
Author's Notes: Well, there you go. Please take a moment to hit reply and share your thoughts. It helps to know what you’re thinking of the story. I’ll admit to being a bit stunned at how timely this part of the story turned out when considering all that’s going on in the NFL!
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, comments and suggestions. They truly make this a better story.
Alarm
Harry stood in the center of his bedroom wearing nothing but his pants and his litany of scars. He stared straight ahead, pretending he wasn’t there. This was so incredibly awkward. Vivian Scott, dressed in full protective gear, was looking over his skin for any sign of a pustule. This was the part of the exam he always detested. Vivian did her best to remain detached and professional, but Harry couldn’t ignore the fact that she was one of his co-workers, seeing him in nothing but his pants.
No wonder they were called Unspeakables. He'd never be able to look her in the eye at work again.
Ron had expressed the same discomfort when it was his turn, but he hated the entire assessment. Harry knew the importance of the exams, but he hated them whilst they were happening. Vivian had offered to do all three of the blokes at Grimmauld Place together if that made them more comfortable, but Harry thought that would be worse. The opportunity for George to wreak havoc and humiliation would be too much for the mischievous man to avoid. Harry feared his naked chest with all its scars would somehow end up on the packaging of some new product.
Does your chest look like this? Try our new Chivy Chest Enhancer — and Harry would be the ‘before’ picture.
“All right. You can get dressed, and we’ll check mental acuity next,” Vivian said at last, writing something on her chart.
“Did you find anything?” Harry asked, slamming his T-shirt over his head and hastily pulling on a pair of track pants.
“No changes,” Vivian replied.
“Good. Now, let’s see, first you want to know the date,” he said, starting the next check for her by telling her the date.
Vivian’s lips curved slightly in what he supposed could count as a smile, but she moved along. “And who is the Minister for Magic?”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt, who succeeded Pius Thicknesse, who was under the control of the Death Eaters, so I really don’t think he ought to count. Rufus Scrimgeour was the last real Minister before Kingsley,” Harry said. He knew he was rambling, but felt desperate to dispel the awkwardness from the physical check.
Vivian nodded. “I hadn’t realized you were such an over-achiever, Potter. Robards should be made aware you’re angling for his job,” she said, this time giving him a genuine smile.
Harry chuckled. “That was always more Hermione’s role.”
“Was it? Shocking,” Vivian deadpanned. “I’m going to tell you three random things that I want you to try and remember, all right? Cauldron, sprouts, ball. Can you do that?”
“Cauldron, sprouts, ball,” he repeated dutifully.
“Very good. Now, keep those in mind. Can you count backwards from one hundred in threes?” she asked, and Harry began counting.
It had been several long days since Ginny had been confined. Vivian came to the house every other day to check on the others, but a medi-witch came daily for Ginny. She hadn’t really deteriorated, but both her fatigue and short-term memory difficulties had become obvious. Harry continued visiting her in the mornings before anyone arrived, and again in the evenings after the medi-witch had left, but he was growing more and more distressed by her slipping mental acuity. She’d begun demanding to know where he’d been, even though his routine hadn’t changed, and he saw her at least twice a day.
George had put an Extendable Ear beneath Ginny’s door, and they’d all been using it regularly to communicate with her, even when the medi-witch was there. At first, the stern witch who’d been on duty hadn’t been impressed, but after seeing Ginny’s enthusiasm over speaking with the others, she’d begun encouraging its use. She told them all to remind Ginny of past shared experiences and keep her memory as sharp as possible. Ron and George both felt better that there was something they could do to help their sister.
Harry hadn’t told them of his excursions into Ginny’s room, but he thought Hermione, at least, suspected it. He was having difficulty concealing his paralyzing concern. He'd gone off food again. His stomach was in such upset, it had lost all appeal. Of course, that had only made Ron, Hermione and George more mindful of his behavior. Thus, they’d all been shadowing him like mother hens during the daylight hours. They were driving him mad.
Harry continued counting, “88…85…”
“That’s good,” Vivian interrupted. “Now, I want you to hold both arms out in front of you and shut your eyes. Leave them there until I tell you to stop.”
Harry did as instructed, concentrating on keeping both arms balanced as he knew she was watching to see if either arm dropped.
“All right. What were the three words I told you to remember?” she asked.
“Cauldron, sprouts, ball,” he said mechanically.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions about your childhood,” she said, writing a few more notes on her parchment.
Harry didn’t care for this part of the exam, either. He knew she was checking his long-term memory, but his childhood was a topic he tried to avoid at all costs. There were several times he’d had to make something up, but then had to carefully try to commit what he told her to memory in case he answered differently on a later exam, and she’d think his mind was slipping.
“What was your favorite game as a child?” she asked.
“Tag,” he said, not about to get into the real ‘rules’ of Harry-hunting. That one was easy. It wasn’t as if he’d ever played many other games, anyway.
“And where did you grow up?”
“Little Whinging, Surrey,” Harry said. He knew all the Weasleys had to list the names of all their siblings, but Vivian had been tactfully sensitive to Harry’s lack of a real family and accommodated the questions to fit him.
“Very good. Now, can you levitate that pillow for me, please?” she asked, pointing to a green pillow with the Harpies’ logo embroidered onto the front. Mrs. Weasley had made it for Ginny after she’d made the first team. He remembered how excited Ginny had been that her mum had used thread that perfectly matched her team colors.
Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket, gave it a quick swish and flick, and said listlessly, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
The small pillow that had so pleased Ginny rose in the air and hovered above the bed for a few moments. The bed was unmade since Harry never bothered; Ginny wasn’t sleeping there. Disheartened by that thought, Harry let the pillow fall back onto the bed.
“One more,” Vivian said briskly. “Can you light the end of your wand for me, please.”
“Lumos,” Harry said, and the wand tip lit.
Vivian nodded. “Very good. All right, that wasn’t too bad, was it? I just have to check in with Ms. Granger, and barring anything significant with her, I’ll see you all on Thursday.”
“Nox. Ron and George were okay, then?” Harry asked.
Vivian frowned. “You know I can’t tell you that. Go ask them,” she scolded.
She was always very tight-lipped when it came to their personal evaluations. It was laughable, really, because as soon as she left, they all would gather in the kitchen to compare stories. George’s embellishments were growing more and more outlandish every day.
“All right then, have any more of Ginny’s teammates tested positive — and you don’t have to give me their names, just the stats?” Harry asked. He’d already worked out how to get around her tight-lipped policies.
“Actually, I’m cautiously optimistic on that front. There have been no new cases from the initial level two group in the past two days. It doesn’t mean it won’t happen, but it’s a good sign.”
“So, the ones from the team who haven’t caught it aren’t going to?” he asked.
Vivian tilted her head, but didn’t quite nod. “We’re hopeful that’s the case. We’re keeping everyone confined, but the focus is shifting to the new level twos — your group — the ones that have been living with those who contracted it.”
“What about the first Harpies’ player who became ill? How is she doing?” he asked, holding his breath slightly and hoping to hear about an amazing recovery.
Vivian didn’t comply, however. “I’m afraid that news isn’t good. She’s lapsed into a coma,” she said.
Dread filled Harry’s soul, and he clenched his fists, trying to master himself. Ginny was only a short time behind her in symptoms.
“Harry, it doesn’t mean the same will happen to Ginny. The range of symptoms has been significant amongst the cases,” Vivian said softly, warmth creeping into her tone. “Some are only experiencing minor memory loss, or gaps in their cognitive function.”
Harry cleared his throat “Has there been any progress on a cure?”
“We’re still testing, but nothing conclusive.”
“What about the Muggles, and the rest of the Wizarding world outside of Quidditch? What’s happening there?” he asked, feeling so cut off from the rest of society, trapped within these walls.
“It’s spread further in the Muggle world, but heavier in the wizarding one. That exhibition match spread it exponentially here. The Muggles have limited their travel, but it has appeared on the continent whilst it’s only in the United Kingdom on the magical side. All large gatherings have been cancelled in both populations. The Muggles are holding off the start of their school year until October,” Vivian said.
“And Hogwarts?” he asked.
“The Board of Governors is meeting this morning to discuss doing the same. It doesn’t make sense to put all those children together like that. The train journey alone would be a virtual breeding ground.”
Harry knew it made sense, but he had difficulty wrapping his head around the idea of a September first that didn’t involve the train taking students on a journey to begin a new year at Hogwarts. How would those poor first-years feel about the start of term being delayed?
“What about those who didn’t attend the Quidditch Exhibition?” he asked.
“There’s still been a spread, but nothing in such numbers. It’s actually a huge factor encouraging everyone to avoid large gatherings. If people will just stay home for a few weeks, it will virtually eliminate the spread,” she said, and her voice was back to that cool, clinical tone.
“But what about those who can’t? People still need to eat, and they can get sick with other things,” he said.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s not possible to completely isolate ourselves. That’s why we’re hoping we can find a cure. It’s simply not as instantaneous as we’d like it to be. Trial and error is the only way, and hopefully we’ll come across the solution sooner rather than later. For now, I need to see Ms. Granger,” she said briskly, gathering her notes.
Harry shrugged, knowing she’d answered all she would for today. “All right. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
She nodded. “Try and stay positive, Harry.”
He smiled woodenly but didn’t answer before he trudged down the stairs to the kitchen where Ron and George were already discussing their own exams.
“I think she chose to do mine first today because she just couldn’t wait to get a look at me in my birthday suit,” George said, grinning widely.
Harry’s eyebrows rose. He wouldn’t put it past the incorrigible George to strip entirely for his exam. “How did Vivian react to that?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
Ron slid him a Butterbeer along the island countertop, and Harry caught it without taking his eyes off George.
“What do you mean?” George asked, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.
“He wants to know if you were really waiting for her starkers,” Ron said, grinning. “She didn’t run screaming from the house, so my bet’s on no.”
Harry snorted. “I think it would take a lot more than that to frighten Vivian.”
“Harry,” George said, affronted, “are you suggesting seeing all of me isn’t enough to send any witch into an ecstatic swoon?”
“Ecstasy would require something impressive to see, mate,” Harry replied easily.
George’s response was lost when the fire in the large kitchen fireplace flared green, indicating an incoming Floo call.
“That’ll be Mum,” Ron said, walking over to it. The Weasley family matriarch had been making daily calls to check on all of them, and George had rigged one of the Extendable Ears with an extra-long cord reaching up to Ginny’s room along with a second one going in reverse, so that they could at least hear one another. The strain of being unable to properly see and care for her ailing daughter was showing in the brittle tone of Molly’s voice.
“Hello, Mum. I’m here with George and Harry. Vivian is still up with Hermione,” Ron said as Mrs. Weasley’s strained face formed in the flames.
“How are you all, dears?” she asked.
“We all passed our latest checks, Mum. Nothing to worry about us,” George said, knowing exactly what his mother needed to hear. “The medi-witch is up with Ginny, but no change since yesterday.”
“Oh, well, that’s good, I suppose. I wish I could just come over a few minutes to see for myself,” Mrs. Weasley said, and although Harry couldn’t see it, he knew she was wringing her hands. He sympathized with her. He was in the same house, and he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking in to check on Ginny. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to no way to see her at all.
“Don’t worry, Mum. We’re all looking after her,” Ron said. “Did you make anything for us today?”
Harry knew that although Ron did enjoy the baked goods Mrs. Weasley always sent over, it was also his way of distracting her. They’d all gone round and round on this topic with her several times already.
“Of course, I did. I want to make certain you’re all eating enough. Harry, did you have breakfast, dear?” she asked, tossing a basket of what smelled like freshly-baked scones through the flames.
They weren’t allowed to use any kind of tool that would go back into The Burrow after dropping off their supplies, so Ron and Mrs. Weasley had developed a game of catch. Ron had once had to eat the biscuits off the floor when he’d missed, sending George and Harry into howls of laughter over his sub-par Keeper skills.
“I’ve had breakfast, thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, glaring at George. Obviously, someone had ratted him out for not eating.
George smiled innocently, grabbing a scone from the basket and tossing another to Harry. “Here you go, Harry. See, I’m making sure he eats, Mum.”
Harry smiled through gritted teeth, ripping off a bite. It tasted like dust, but he forced himself to swallow.
“Well, I have some news for you all,” Mrs. Weasley said, sighing deeply.
Harry braced himself for more bad news, actually gripping the edge of the island until his fingers grew white. The Weasleys had all been to the match. Had Arthur become ill? Harry felt nauseous at the thought.
“What’s that?” Ron asked apprehensively.
“Percy and Audrey have had to cancel their wedding plans. The function hall couldn’t accommodate a crowd, and it’s just too unsafe. Besides, with a bridesmaid and a groomsman unable to attend, it just seemed prudent to postpone,” Mrs. Weasley said, pursing her lips. “Of course, had it been here at The Burrow, we could’ve made do.”
“Ginny and I still wouldn’t have been able to come, Mum,” George pointed out. “How’s Percy taking it? He doesn’t like it when his plans go astray.”
If possible, Mrs. Weasley’s lips pulled together even tighter. “He and Audrey have decided to marry anyway, just the two of them, without any family there at all. They said they’re going to have a party for everyone when this is all over, and Ginny is recovered,” she said. Her expression told them all they needed to know about how she felt about this idea.
“Good for them,” Ron said. It was quite brave of him, giving Mrs. Weasley’s expression, Harry thought.
“Yes, well, they say it’s because they’d already had the date planned, and there’s no telling how long this will go on,” Mrs. Weasley said.
“As I said, Percy doesn’t like when his plans go astray. He probably planned the date of his nuptials to coincide with the anniversary of his cauldron-bottom legislation or something as equally mundane,” George said.
Before Mrs. Weasley could scold him, however, Hermione entered the kitchen, looking frazzled.
“Hermione!” Ron said, jumping up and ushering her to a stool. “What happened? Did your exam go all right?”
“What? Oh, yes, it was fine. Nothing new. I was trying to get Vivian to give me an update on the Mandragora testing, but she was being purposefully vague,” Hermione said, frowning.
“The what?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
Hermione looked startled, having not realized the Floo was in use. George covered for her.
“I have the Extendable Ear here, Mum. D’you want to let Ginny know about the wedding plans?”
Hermione looked puzzled, but Ron muttered, “Just wait a minute.”
“Ginny, can you hear us?” George asked, speaking into the Extendable Ear he’d placed on the countertop.
“Just speak, and they can hear you, too,” the medi-witch’s voice said. She’d had to explain to Ginny how the device worked the previous day, as well.
Those in the kitchen exchanged worried glances.
“I can hear you,” Ginny said, sounding rather frail.
Harry’s heart clenched and it took all his restraint not to run up the stairs immediately. He grasped the countertop again to stop him from doing it.
“Ginny! Oh, Ginny, is that you? I’ve been so worried,” Mrs. Weasley said loudly, unable to contain herself any longer. The one difficulty with speaking through the Floo this way was that sometimes Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had trouble hearing one another.
“Why are you worried, Mum?” Ginny asked, sounding far more like herself.
“I just wish I could see your beautiful face, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice growing rather teary. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored,” Ginny answered honestly.
They all sniggered, and George raised his Butterbeer in mock salute.
“Well, I suppose I could send you some wool and a pair of knitting needles, if you’d like,” Mrs. Weasley offered. “Something to keep you busy.”
Harry’s face felt odd because it had been so long since he’d truly smiled. He couldn’t stop it now, though — Ginny hated knitting.
“No, that’s all right, Mum. Thanks, anyway,” she said.
“Well, I do have some news. I know you’ll be disappointed, but the wedding has been cancelled. It’s just impossible to get that many people together right now, and of course, it wouldn’t be right without all of you there,” Mrs. Weasley said.
“Fleur must’ve taken that well,” Ginny said wryly.
The kitchen went quiet, all of them exchanging uneasy glances.
“Fleur, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked nervously.
“Well, she’s talked of nothing but this damn wedding for ages now. She must’ve had a right little tantrum seeing all her carefully made plans going up in smoke. Are she and Bill going to postpone, or just call the whole thing off?” Ginny asked.
Harry’s heart sank. She was losing time, confused about where and when she was. She was slipping away from him, and all he could do was sit here and watch it happen. Hermione’s nails dug into Harry’s shoulder. He hadn’t even been aware of her moving to stand behind him.
He wanted to say something to her, to reassure her, but his tongue felt stuck and too big for his mouth. He could see Mrs. Weasley covering her own mouth with her hand in the flames, her expression bleak.
It was Ron who gathered his wits first, as he blurted, “Bill and Fleur are already married. It’s Percy and Audrey who are cancelling.”
“Oh. Right,” Ginny said vaguely.
“The Death Eaters crashed that one, now a plague is ruining this one. The Weasleys don’t really have a good track record with big, fancy weddings. You had the right idea with eloping, didn’t you, Mum?” George asked, covering the awkward tension.
‘That’s not funny, George,” Mrs. Weasley snapped.
“You all right, Ginny?” Harry asked, unable to stop the words.
“Harry! Oh, I’m fine. How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time,” Ginny said.
“I know. I hope to see you soon,” Harry said, clenching his eyes shut. He’d visited her just a few hours ago. She was getting worse.
Harry was alone in the sitting room, his head resting on the back of the sofa, and feeling utterly miserable. The medi-witch was still upstairs, and he couldn’t get Ginny’s wedding slip-up out of his mind.
He was losing her, and he was incapable of stopping it.
He hated feeling so ruddy powerless. He compared it to the way he’d felt after Dumbledore had told him that his fate was to either kill or be killed. It was all so hopeless, and he simply didn’t know what to do with himself.
He groaned, rubbing his hands on his forehead over his scar.
“Cheer up, mate,” Ron said, entering the room and pouring two glasses of Firewhisky from the decanter on a side table. “We’re going to need this. Hermione’s making dinner.”
Harry didn’t respond, but he took the glass when Ron offered it.
“George volunteered to help her, so I thought I’d get out of the way. Game of chess?” he asked, already removing the board from beneath the coffee table.
“All right,” Harry said, sitting up straighter and moving his pieces to the board. He didn’t really feel up to it, but it would give him something else to focus upon, and let him avoid talking, which the others all seemed to want to do. He had a good idea that they’d sent Ron up here to keep him company, no matter what Ron said.
The fact that his mind wasn’t really into the game, however, became painfully obvious in about three moves when Ron took his king.
“Checkmate,” Ron said gloomily. “Come off it, Harry. You weren’t even trying that time. At least put some effort in before you lose.”
Harry sighed and began setting up the pieces again. He took a sip of the Firewhisky just to keep his hands moving, avoiding looking at Ron. The clock on the mantlepiece ticked abnormally loudly in the quiet room.
“You’re not going to be any good to her if you let yourself get sick, mate,” Ron said, his voice very low, and his eyes on his own glass.
“I don’t think letting it happen has anything to do with it,” Harry said, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“I don’t mean Spattergroit. You need to take care of yourself. She needs you,” Ron said, his ears very red.
He and Ron didn’t usually talk about emotional stuff without Hermione’s prodding, and Harry was so surprised, he looked up and met Ron’s earnest blue eyes.
He swallowed. “I hate waiting and not being able to do anything,” he said in a very low voice, leaning over and putting his elbows on his knees, unable to hold Ron’s gaze.
Ron leaned down as well, so they remained on eye level, and Harry looked at him through his fringe.
“This is what Ginny feels every time it’s you in a hospital bed, mate. It’s what we all feel. The uncertainly is what gets you. You’re just on the other side of it this time.”
If Ron thought he was helping, he was sorely mistaken. His words only made Harry feel worse. He grabbed at his hair, pulling it in bunches.
“I don’t know what to do with myself,” he moaned, turmoil tearing at his insides like tiny shards of glass. “I can’t even think straight.”
“I know, mate, believe me, I know. When we were in Malfoy Manor, and that Lestrange bint was torturing Hermione, I was out of mind, remember? I couldn’t think of what to do but climb the walls to get to her,” Ron said gruffly, his ears growing red.
Harry’s eyes widened. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Ron talk about that dreadful time they’d spent listening to Hermione’s pained screams. All three of them tended to avoid discussing any of it if they could help it.
“You were the one who kept your head then, because I couldn’t, remember? It’s the reverse now, so let me help you get through it,” Ron said.
Harry shut his eyes tightly. “It’s not the same. There was something to do then, someone to fight. I don’t know how to fight this, and it’s driving me mad.”
“Of course, you don’t know how to fight it; none of us do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for her, and be there once she starts to recover,” Ron said. “She’s going to need you, so you have to hold it together now.”
The vice-like grip on his insides tightened, and he felt as if part of his guts were leaking out. “What if she doesn’t?” he whispered the thought that been gnawing at him for days “What if she…” he trailed off, unable to say it, but Ron knew where his mind had gone.
“She’s not going to die, and you bloody well know it. She’d kick your arse for thinking it. She’s a fighter, our Ginny,” he said vehemently.
Harry couldn’t just accept that though, accept that it wouldn’t happen just because he couldn’t bear it. When had that ever worked for him before? “But, what if—”
“Knock it off,” Ron interrupted forcefully. “You might be able to out-duel me, but I can still kick your scrawny arse in a good old fist fight, Potter.”
“Go ahead,” Harry said listlessly, beyond caring.
Ron sighed. “Harry, this is what I’m talking about. You need to snap out of it. Brooding isn’t going to help her.”
“What is it you want me to do, then?” he snarled. “Pretend it isn’t happening? Go on as if my whole… as if… as if…”
But he couldn’t go on. The words were stuck in his throat and his eyes were burning. He pushed off the sofa and helplessly turned away from Ron, refusing to look at him. It was all falling apart.
In was achingly quiet for a few moments, and he thought Ron might’ve left, either in disgust with Harry’s attitude or discomfort at his display of emotion. He breathed deeply, trying to master himself, when he felt Ron’s timid hand on back.
“It’s all right to be afraid for her, mate. I know what she means to you. I know the difference she’s made. You need to hold onto the good thoughts, and not let the bad ones rip you apart,” Ron said thickly.
Harry pulled away and began pacing. A rage from somewhere deep inside him, a rage that been building for years, reared up and exploded out of him. “I’m so sick of this!” he shouted.
Ron didn’t even flinch. “Sick of what?” he asked quietly.
“I’m goddamn sick of fate, or chance, or whatever it is that keeps messing with Ginny’s life. She just happens to be the one Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort targeted. She has to be one of the people on the wrong end in catching this thing. She has to be the one to end up with me, and all the shite that goes along with it. She deserves more,” he said, his voice cracking.
He left the words unspoken that it was his life, too. Enough was enough. He’d had enough, but Ron seemed to know what he was thinking, anyway.
“You both do,” he said quietly.
“What’s all the shouting?” Hermione asked, rushing into the room still wearing an apron. She looked alarmed, and her gaze went back and forth between them.
“Nothing. I just beat Harry at chess again,” Ron lied smoothly. “Is dinner ready?”
“Oh, yes, it is. It’s just spaghetti, but George made meatballs. Why don’t you wash up and come down to the kitchen?” Hermione said, still watching them warily.
Once she left, Harry downed the rest of his Firewhisky. It burned going down, but did little to warm his frozen insides. “Thanks, mate,” he said gratefully. He didn’t mean for just sidestepping Hermione, but he didn’t have the words to express how much Ron’s friendship meant to him.
Apparently, Ron didn’t need to hear it. “Don’t worry about it — but I get any extra meatballs,” he said, clapping him on the back.
Once they’d reached the kitchen, they used the large sink to wash up. George stood in front of the oven wearing an apron that matched Hermione’s, and an enormous chef hat that kept slipping over his left eye since he didn’t have an ear on that side to hold it up.
Hermione placed dinner on the table, and the rising steam from the pasta fogged Harry’s glasses.
They all set about serving themselves, each apparently lost in their own thoughts. Hermione did her best to make conversation with little luck. Finally, she asked, “How is Angelina doing, George?”
George shrugged half-heartedly. “She’s all right. We haven’t spoken yet today, but she usually checks in during the evening after you lot have all gone to bed.”
“Sounds kinky,” Ron said, smirking.
George grinned, looking pleased, but before he could respond Hermione snapped, “Grow up, Ron. I’m sure she’s worried sick about you, George. What does she say is the mood amongst people on the outside?”
Harry couldn’t help but think it sounded as if they were all in prison.
“She says half the people are scared out of their minds, and the other half think it’s all a hoax to divert our attention because You-Know-Who is back,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Barking mad.”
Harry grimaced, ashamed of the small part inside him that wished the latter was true. At least that was someone he could fight. “Do the papers know about Ginny?” he asked instead.
George shook his head. “They know there are four Harpies’ players and three Magpies who have it, but not which ones. There are also a handful of players from other teams who also attended the match. Ginny’s name has come up, but no one knows for certain that she is, indeed, unwell. Most of the false news is still about you, mate, and whether you’re still alive.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “If I were truly dead even half of the amount of times they’ve reported I was—”
“You have been dead more times than is normal, mate,” George interrupted.
Ron snorted. “Yeah, you’d think they’d get tired of that story. Write something new. Be original and all that. Maybe have him grow a second head without a scar.”
Harry gave them both a two-fingered salute.
“Oh, I could make a mint with a Harry doll with stick-on scars. Place ‘em anywhere, folks,” George said, laughing.
“That’s awful,” Hermione said, shaking her head but grinning.
“You know what’s weird though,” Ron said uneasily, looking around at them all. His tone put Harry on guard.
“What’s that?” Hermione asked.
“It’s a little under half of Ginny’s team who has it. That includes all the coaches and managers and other personnel, not just players who everyone is talking about. They were all at the match, so they were all exposed, and nearly half caught it.”
“Yeah, so?” George said, but Hermione grasped Ron’s arm, shutting her eyes tightly.
“So… if those are the odds… it should mean at least one more of us is likely to become ill before this over,” Ron said, his freckles standing out starkly on his very pale face.
Harry gasped. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin because Ginny was ill. He wasn’t certain he could handle another of the most important people in his life also at risk. He’d rather it be him than any of them. When had fate ever cooperated with him, though?
“That’s not necessarily true, Ron,” Hermione said, and they all turned troubled eyes toward her. “There are loads of factors that go into it — the length of exposure, the amount of contact, variability. Not all the teams have the same number of confirmed, either. There are fewer Magpie players, but more of their coaches have it than the Harpies.”
“So, our house could be spared while another one has more than half become ill, you mean?” George asked.
“Exactly,” Hermione said.
“Or… it could mean that another home doesn’t have any, and more than two of us become ill,’ Ron said.
There were a lot more leftovers than usual after the meal that evening.
It took the medi-witch ages to leave that night, so Harry had to wait until it was already very dark outside his bedroom window to slip into Ginny’s room. The others had all turned in early. After Ginny’s confusion earlier that day, and the medi-witch reporting that she’d had a rough day of it, Harry was more than anxious to see her. He held his breath slightly inside his protective charm as he tip-toed across the room to her bed. She was curled on her side, and her eyes were closed.
His heart sank. He really needed to talk to her, but he didn’t want to wake her. He supposed it would keep until morning; she looked peaceful. He gingerly sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb her. Her hair fell over her face, partially hiding her from his view, and his fingers itched to pull it back, but he remained still.
He wasn’t certain how long he sat there, contemplating all that had happened that day, but it hadn’t felt all that long before she twitched, moaning slightly in her sleep.
“No,” she whispered, pulling the blanket closer.
He wondered what she was dreaming about. His most recent nightmares all revolved around Vivian telling them Ginny’s diagnostic scan was positive. He wondered if she was dreaming about the same thing.
“No, I won’t do it,” she said, jerking her head and pushing the covers further away this time.
Harry didn’t like seeing her distressed. He rested his hand on her shoulder, shaking it gently. “It’s all right, Ginny. It’s just a dream,” he said. “You’re all right.”
In one swift move, Ginny sat bolt upright as if on a spring, staring at him wildly. He tried to smile, but she cowered away from him, pulling back and shoving his hand away from her.
“Get away from me,” she hissed angrily.
“Ginny?” he asked, confused. The fierceness in her eyes threw him off-kilter. “You were having a nightmare. It’s all right now.”
“You’re the nightmare, and you’ll never control me again. I beat you, Tom Riddle,” she snarled, looking at him with such hatred and revulsion that he stood up and backed away from her, knocking into the bedside table and making the various potion phials and medical supplies that littered the top rattle noisily.
“Ginny, it me. It’s Harry,” he said, attempting to keep his voice calm.
“I know who you are. I know what you are. Get out,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice rising in pitch. Her sleep-tousled hair stood on end like an angry cat, and Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started using wandless magic.
He didn’t know what he should do. His presence was obviously upsetting her, but he didn’t want to leave her alone in the throes of this horrible hallucination. “Ginny,” he pleaded, one final attempt to rouse her from her torment. He stretched his hand toward her placatingly.
“Get out!” she screeched, her eyes wild and unfocused. She picked up one of the empty phials and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall above his head. “Get away from me! Get oouuuuut!”
Harry flung open the door, and her voice echoed down the silent and empty stairway. Dodging yet another potion phial, he stumbled onto the landing, heart in his throat and fear clutching at his insides like the Inferi had on a black lake many moons ago.
Chapter 15: And Another
Author's Notes: Thanks very much for the Trinket Award Nominations over at SIYE! Very much appreciated whoever did that!
Well, there you go. Please take a moment to hit reply and share your thoughts. It helps to know what you’re thinking of the story.
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, comments and suggestions. They truly make this a better story.
And Another
Note: One of my betas suggested a tissue warning, so be warned 😉
Harry flung open the door, and Ginny’s voice echoed down the silent and empty stairway. Dodging yet another potion phial, he stumbled onto the landing, heart in his throat and fear clutching at his insides like the Inferi had on a black lake many moons ago.
He shut Ginny’s door and heard yet another phial smash against it. The sound of the Charms keeping her bedroom sterile were humming in his ears beneath Ginny’s rants. She was swearing like a troll on the other side of the door. His legs gave out and he slid down the wall onto the floor, staring in horror at her closed door. His mind refused to process it all, and he only dimly heard other doors opening and stampeding footsteps on the stairs.
Ron reached him first, followed closely by a wild-haired Hermione, both of them looking disheveled in their dressing gowns.
“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Ron demanded, his head swiveling between Harry on the floor, and Ginny’s closed door. She’d finally stopped shouting.
Hermione knelt down and removed Harry’s Bubble-Head Charm. “What happened, Harry? Were you in there?” she asked. “What was all that noise?”
George came thundering down the stairs, his bedroom being furthest from the others. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’re trying to work out,” Ron said, “but Harry’s not cooperating. It looks to me like he went inside her room and upset her.”
The sound of Ginny crying behind the door only increased the anxiety on the landing. “I’m going to Floo the Healer,” Hermione said, standing up and running back down the stairs.
“What happened, Harry? What did you say to our sister?” George asked, scowling. “Why is she crying?”
“Easy, George,” Ron said, looking uncomfortable.
“She’s crying, and she doesn’t do that very easily,” George said through gritted teeth.
Harry opened his mouth, but he couldn’t get the words to form. How was he supposed to say that the person he loved most in the world mistook him for the evil madman who’d abused her? Harry had often recognized a similarity between himself and Riddle, and he’d been plagued with doubts and fears about the Horcrux — the bit of soul — that he’d harbored inside his own head for years. Ginny had been the one to help him see they were still separate, that he wasn’t some sort of tainted freak because of it. Had she meant it? Was it all a ruse, and now her true fears were leaking out?
Why now? Was it the illness giving her hallucinations, or was the hallucination seeing through something hidden inside her mind? Harry’s chest constricted, finding it difficult to draw breath. Ron and George somehow appeared menacing, hulking over him, their faces rigid and angry. He couldn’t breathe.
“I know who you are. I know what you are.”
Her angry words rang in his ears, and bile rose in his throat. She’d looked so terrified yet still enraged, and he couldn’t help her. There was no way to help her because it was him whom she feared, and it was this illness eating at her insides and bringing up all her past trauma.
He didn’t know how to help her, and his limited knowledge of Healing spells seemed woefully inadequate. He was useless to her. He’d told her that he’d remember for both of them, but if she was too afraid of him to even see him, how was he going to do that for her?
Before he was aware of what was happening, or how she’d come to be there, one of the Healers who worked with Vivian stood in front of his face. She forced his head back and poured a foul-tasting potion down his throat. As steam issued from his ears, his head began to clear slightly, and his panic abated. He was seated on the edge of his own bed, Hermione sitting next to him, and the two Weasley brothers hovered behind the Healer, looking mutinous. He had no recollection at all of how he’d ended up there.
“Wha…” he mumbled, tripping over his own tongue. The Healer’s eyes were bulging beneath her Bubble-Head Charm.
“What happened to Ginny?” George demanded.
“What were you doing in her room?” Ron asked at the same time.
Harry blinked dazedly, and the Healer spun to face Ron and George, arms akimbo and a thunderous expression on her face. “I warned the both of you to hold your tongues until I get him sorted. If you can’t follow simple instructions, I want you both to leave. Now!”
Hermione began rubbing Harry’s back, looking exasperated. He didn’t pull away but leaned into her slightly, trying to organize his thoughts.
“We’re not going anywhere until we find out what happened tonight,” Ron retorted angrily.
“That’s something we’d all like to know, but your repeated outbursts only set us back. Control yourselves, or get the hell out so I can concentrate,” the Healer snapped, looking fierce. She was a matronly woman with short grey hair and a pear-shaped body. She didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by Ron’s and George’s threatening stances.
Ron looked as if was about to argue again when Hermione barked, “Oh, shut it, Ron, and listen for a bit.”
Ron looked affronted, but he scowled and folded his arms across his chest. George remained frowning, but he held his tongue, as well.
The potion Harry had been given had cleared the fog in his head, and he could breathe easier. He knew the anger in his friends’ faces wasn’t really directed at him, but came from the concern they all felt for Ginny. It didn’t make it any easier, however.
“Shouldn’t you be with Ginny?” he asked, wondering why she was wasting time on him. He pulled away from Hermione, glancing nervously at the door.
“My colleague is tending to her as we speak, Mr. Potter. Now, do you mind telling us what happened here this evening?”
“I—” Harry had to clear his throat. “I went in to see Ginny, but she was asleep,” he said, conjuring the scene in his mind’s eye.
“Despite the fact she’s under quarantine?” the Healer asked, unimpressed.
“Oh, we’re all under quarantine, and he’s been doing that since it began,” Hermione said. “What was different tonight?”
Harry looked at her, raising his eyebrows. He’d known she suspected, but she’d never confirmed it.
“I know you, Harry, and I knew you wouldn’t be able to follow those rules. I also know,” she said, turning her head to glare at both the Weasley brothers, “that Ginny wouldn’t have followed them, either. She’s kept it secret as much as he has.”
Ron and George’s eyes goggled at her, but they didn’t argue. Harry wasn’t certain if that was because they were mounting their arguments to Hermione, or because the Healer had threatened to throw them out if they spoke. It was the Healer he needed to make understand now.
“Look, I took all the same precautions you lot take when you go in with her,” he said, ignoring the others and speaking directly to her. “My scans have all come back negative.”
“I’m aware of that,” the Healer said grudgingly. “What happened when she awoke, because she obviously did?”
Harry nodded. “She was having a nightmare. I tried to soothe her back to sleep, but when that didn’t work, I tried to wake her,” he said, his throat going dry.
“Yes, we’ve had multiple complaints of disturbing dreams and night terrors being part of this, but that hasn’t been widely reported as of yet,” the Healer said, nodding.
“Well, it would’ve been nice to have some warning,” Harry snapped.
“Since you weren’t supposed to be in there in the first place, there really wasn’t any reason to tell, was there?” the Healer snapped back.
Harry glowered, but he couldn’t hold back the way his body shuddered, recalling Ginny’s reaction to him.
“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked gently.
“She was dreaming about Riddle. About Voldemort. When she realized I was in the room with her, she thought I was him, and she started screaming,” he said, wincing. “I couldn’t reach her, so I left. I left her there.”
His voice cracked, and he couldn’t go on.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, once again putting her hand on his back, but this time he pulled away, standing up and beginning to pace.
“She thought you were him?” Ron asked, looking revolted.
“You’re all aware that hallucinations are part of this wretched illness. While I’m sure that was alarming, know that it’s the illness talking, Mr. Potter,” the Healer said, but Harry couldn’t look at her. “I’m going to let my colleague know, and check on Miss Weasley. I’m leaving another phial of Pepper-up Potion there if the shock returns, and a phial of Dreamless Sleep if necessary.”
She directed the last bit to Hermione before leaving them in Harry’s room while she crossed the landing and entered Ginny’s.
The room remained silent, all of them looking at each other warily. Harry continued pacing.
“Sit down, Harry. You’re still awfully pale,” Hermione said at last, patting the spot next to her.
“I’m fine,” he said automatically.
“Of course, you are. Sit down, anyway,” Ron said, his ears very red.
Harry didn’t want to sit down, though. He felt agitated and besieged. He wanted to know what was happening to Ginny. What were they doing to calm her down? He needed to know how to handle it better if it happened again. Merlin, he hoped it never happened again. His mind was plagued with the image of the way she’d looked at him. He never wanted her to look at him like that again… as if he were corrupted… contaminated.
As if Voldemort was still living inside him as some foul parasitic growth, tainting everything in his life that was good.
“What d’you think they’re doing to her?” George asked, voicing Harry’s thoughts.
“They’ve probably given her a Calming Draught, and it’s put her to sleep. I can’t hear her anymore,” Hermione answered automatically. The need to answer a question was too ingrained in her to resist.
“Will she remember it tomorrow?” Harry asked. He knew the answer. He’d read as much about it as Hermione had, and all the literature said she’d most likely awaken with no memory that it had ever happened, but he was powerless to stop the childish need for reassurance.
“Most likely not, but that doesn’t mean she won’t have the same hallucination again,” Hermione said, apparently unable to stop herself.
“She really thought you were Voldemort?” George asked, looking unsettled. “I hate that this bloody thing has brought her back there. She’s worked so hard to not let it define her.”
“It doesn’t,” Harry said fiercely. “Obviously, it was her most traumatic time, so the disease that’s preying upon her mind is using it against her.”
“That must’ve been so scary, Harry. You know she doesn’t see you as anything like him,” Hermione said, biting her lip.
“‘Course not, but even Harry has noticed comparisons between him and Riddle when they were at Hogwarts,” Ron said, shrugging.
“I’m not a freak,” Harry snapped loudly.
“I know that,” Ron said, looking startled. He and Hermione shared an uneasy glance. “I never said you were, mate. I just meant that if she’d been dreaming, she’d probably been confused.”
Harry wondered if Ron was aware of that particular nickname in his varied collection. He was suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment at his outburst. He looked away from them, rubbing his forehead and aware they were all silently communicating behind his back.
“Let’s go make some hot chocolate. It always helps, and none of us are falling back to sleep any time soon, eh?” Ron suggested, leading the way.
Harry followed, simply for something to do, but what he really wanted was for the other Healer to come out of Ginny’s room and tell them all how she was doing. He reckoned Vivian would arrive in the morning to express her displeasure with his rule-breaking. He really didn’t care. Even if she didn’t remember when he visited, she always appeared happy that he did. Well, tonight being the exception, obviously.
He needed to be able to do something… anything for her.
Ron prepared the hot chocolate while Hermione pulled out several mugs. Harry and George sat at the island. George looked as lost in his own thoughts as Harry felt in his own. A crash caused them both to startle and whip around, Harry with his wand drawn.
Ron had dropped one of the mugs Hermione had handed him, and it had shattered on the floor. “Oops,” he said, his ears red. “It slipped.”
Hermione waved her wand, and the mug repaired itself. As Ron filled the mugs, he somehow managed to drop another one, this time spilling its contents all over the counter.
“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione said, pushing him toward the island and out of her way. “Let me do it.”
She placed all four mugs on a tray and Levitated it over to the them. She poured a bit of chocolate from each of the filled mugs into the empty one, then used her wand to fill them all up to the top.
“There, nothing to fuss about,” she said, handing out the mugs.
Harry sipped his gratefully, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. He remembered how Remus had always recommended chocolate after any sort of an upset He hadn’t quite realized it at the time, and just thought it was the remedy for Dementors. He supposed there was a lot about his dad’s mates that he hadn’t properly appreciated. And now it was too late.
“How long do you think they’ll be up there?” he asked.
“It can’t be much longer,” George said. “Her room had long gone quiet even before we came down.”
“I’m certain they’re just being thorough,” Hermione said. “She was very upset, so it might take longer for the draught to put her to sleep.”
Harry really couldn’t blame her. He’d already given up the idea of sleep this night. He didn’t want to see what he knew he would as soon as he shut his eyes.
Ron took this moment to drop his spoon, and it clattered loudly on the countertop. The sound seemed to echo around the silent kitchen.
“What’s gotten into you, tonight? You’re as clumsy as a Blast-Ended Skrewt let loose in a tea shop,” George said, exasperated.
Harry’s breath caught, and he met Hermione’s wide eyes across the island, knowing they shared the same thought.
Difficulty with coordination and motor functions.
It was on the list of symptoms they were supposed to be watching for. Was this just Ron’s nerves at being startled out of bed so alarmingly, or was there something else? Had he been so focused on the fact Ginny was unwell, that he’d missed the signs in Ron, who was supposed to be his best mate?
“You all right, Ron?” he asked, hearing the shakiness in his own voice but hoping the others wouldn’t notice.
Hermione sat frozen on her stool, her cocoa mug still hovering in front of her lips. Her hand was also shaking.
“Fine,” Ron said, grumbling. “It’s not pleasant to be woken from a very satisfying dream involving Cannons tickets in the top box at the Quidditch final.”
“Well, yeah, because the only way that’s going to happen is in a dream, and now you’ve missed that, too,” George said, grinning. “I could work on a patented Daydream Charm, but I’d lose gold as you’re the only one who’d ever buy the Chudley Cannons version.”
“Shag off,” Ron said. “You’ll see. This is going to be their year.”
“Ron, I think you’ve told me that every year since I joined the wizarding world,” Harry said, smiling slightly despite his worry.
“And it hasn’t yet happened in Ron’s lifetime; I wouldn’t hold your breath,” George said, grinning.
“Ron, do you remember when you took me to that Cannons match? You bought me something, what was it?” Hermione asked, finally placing her mug back on the counter.
Ron looked at her blankly. “Er… a hat, wasn’t it? Because it was so sunny that day, and I liked seeing you wearing their logo.”
Hermione smiled tremulously. “Yes, that’s right. And what else have you given me of theirs?”
“That’s a silly question, Hermione. Ron usually gives us all Cannons paraphernalia. I bet we could all be fully outfitted in it by now,” George said.
Harry knew what Hermione was doing and thought she was doing a rather poor job at subtlety, but neither Ron nor George appeared to notice. He felt rather odd. He’d been agonizing for days over Ginny, to the point he’d felt stuck and unable to act, but now… watching Hermione fret, and realizing that she could possibly be entering the same stage he was in a few days ago, all he wanted to do was help her. The worry for Ginny was still there, but he realized he couldn’t fall apart.
He could still help the others.
While Ron and George continued to argue about the Cannons, Harry quietly nudged her hot chocolate back into her hands. “It bears watching, but don’t panic yet. It is the middle of the night,” he murmured.
Hermione met his eyes, hers wide and alarmed. She nodded faintly, and lifted the mug to her lips. She smiled tremulously and took a sip.
They were interrupted by the sharp clicking of heels descending the steps into the kitchen. Harry turned, expecting to see the Healers, but was surprised to find Vivian, wearing her protective charms, and her mouth set in a grim line.
Uh-oh. She was more hacked off than he’d expected. He quickly raised his own mug of cocoa, allowing one of the others to speak first.
“Vivian, how is she?” George asked. “Have you seen her? What did the Healers say?”
“Does this mean she’s worse? What happens after the hallucination stage?” Ron asked.
Vivian took a deep breath, pursing her lips. “I’ve just left her. She’s sleeping comfortably, and the Healers have left for the night.”
“They left her?” Harry asked, standing.
“Sit down, Mr. Potter. It’s nigh on two in the morning, and I thought they should get some rest. No one else is to enter that room this evening. As I said, Miss Weasley is resting comfortably, and the potions won’t allow her to awaken, so there is no need to disturb her. Not that you’ve been following my instructions, anyway.”
Harry sat, feeling somewhat abashed, but not much. He’d do it the same way again. Vivian seemed to notice because she studied him intently, apparently unimpressed. “While I neither approve nor recommend it, I am pleased to see you’ve been taking precautions. Was this the first time she’s experienced a hallucination in your company?”
“Yes!” Harry said, appalled. “I would’ve mentioned it if anything like that happened before.”
“I’d hope so,” Vivian replied coolly.
“Look, it’s not as if I was sneaking in for a shag or anything. I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone,” he said, feeling his face grow warm.
“And you couldn’t have simply used those ears that are lying all around?” she asked, raising one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “I’ve heard very positive feedback about them.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Harry said defiantly.
“Look, has he done something worse to Ginny by being in there?” Ron demanded, frowning at Harry.
Vivian’s eyebrows raised. “To Miss Weasley? No, of course not, but he’s put himself in considerable danger.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Have you met Harry? That comes about as naturally as taking a piss in the morning.”
“Ron!” Hermione scolded whilst George snorted.
“Look, I know it’s late, but I do have some rather sobering news to share,” Vivian said, shutting them all up.
“What is it?” Hermione asked.
“While there have been no new positives from the initial level two group, there have now been four cases amongst the level threes,” she replied somberly.
“What the ruddy hell does that mean?” Ron bellowed.
“It means,” Hermione said, her eyes watery, “that it’s spread to those of us living in confinement with the Harpies.”
“Do you have the diagnostic scans that were done on us yesterday back yet?” Harry asked, staring at Vivian intently.
She frowned, tilting her head. Harry nodded subtlety towards Ron. Vivian’s lips pursed again, her gaze shifting in Ron’s direction. “No, not yet, but I expect them to be done by morning.”
“Have your potioneers had any luck with the Mandragora?” Hermione asked suddenly. Harry had a vague recollection of Vivian mentioning this in the past, but he couldn’t recall exactly.
“Minimal, but I still think it’s promising. I’m hoping to adapt it into something that can immunize those already exposed. We’re also trying to work out a way of producing it en masse for the Muggles if it proves effective. We need to do this without revealing the magical element, so it’s complicated,” Vivian said.
“Wait… so it could help Ginny?” Harry asked, his heartbeat increasing.
Vivian shook her head, however. “Not currently, but perhaps with an adaptation to the draught.”
“Draught? What draught? What’s a Mandragora? I know I’ve heard that before,” Harry said, growing impatient with their half answers. Could this help or not?
Hermione let out an exasperated puff of air. “Harry! Mandragora… as in Mandrakes, remember?”
Harry stared blankly for a moment. “From second year?” he asked, trying to bully his brain into following them. “When you were Petrified? But… no one is Petrified.”
“Honestly! Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state. It’s not just for those who’ve been Petrified, it’s for those who’ve been altered,” Hermione said, impatient that he didn’t memorize textbooks the way she did.
“Miss Granger is correct,” Vivian said. “Although this wasn’t inflicted with a curse, there does appear to be an element of Dark magic in the potion. We’re working diligently to find the proper poisons used in the hope we can manipulate a Mandrake draught to restore victims, thus curing them.”
“I have a decent greenhouse where I grow potion ingredients. Let me know if I can supply you with more Mandrake roots, or anything else you might need,” George said.
“Thank you, but St. Mungo’s and the Ministry have that covered. What I would like to talk to you about is ordering a supply of those Ears you’ve been using. I think it could help a lot of the families who have loved ones in quarantine. The Ministry is willing to cover the expense.”
George looked startled. “Great. Yeah, I can do that… er, we can do that, right?” he asked, looking around the table.
“Yeah, we’ll help,” Ron said, slapping George on the back.
“Very good. I’ll have a contract drawn up. Now, I’m going to try and get a few hours’ sleep before I need to be back at the Ministry. I suggest you all do the same. Mr. Potter, you are to sleep in your own room. Do I make myself clear? The potions given to Miss Weasley will keep her asleep, and she needs the rest. Don’t interfere with that.”
“Fine,” Harry muttered sullenly. He’d been sleeping in his own room the entire time, anyway, but he wouldn’t do anything to risk her health.
“I’ll let you all know as soon as the results from yesterday’s diagnostic scans are available,” she said, before nodding and sweeping from the room.
The others all followed her out, heading back to their own bedrooms, but Harry knew the pit in his stomach would keep him awake until dawn.
Harry had to give Andromeda credit, she made an imposing figure, even just as a head in the flames of his kitchen fire. He was kneeling on the floor in front of it, a cup of coffee in his hands, and his eyes itchy from lack of sleep. He’d stayed at the kitchen island all night, and even now, with lunchtime approaching, the rest of the house remained silent. The others were having a lie-in, and the only visitor had been the morning medi-witch, who was upstairs with Ginny.
Harry felt like a coward, because he hadn’t sneaked into Ginny’s room that morning. He’d told himself that he didn’t want to wake her. She’d had a rough night, as well, and he wasn’t certain how long it would take for the potions they’d given her to wear off, but that was only an excuse. He was afraid to find out if she’d still look at him as if he was Tom Riddle.
He was in no hurry to see that again.
“I know who you are. I know what you are.”
On top of that was his growing concern for Ron. He’d expected Vivian to arrive at her usual time, but ten o’clock came and went with no word. He hoped that was a good sign, but it could also be that Vivian was having a lie-in. Even the irascible Untouchable had to sleep sometime.
Perhaps he was overreacting. Ron being a bit clumsy could easily be explained away by the fact it had been two in the morning, and he’d been startled out of a sound sleep. Still, the gnawing worry wouldn’t allow Harry’s mind to rest. Was this damned illness going take all the Weasleys one by one? Could George be next? How could he ever face Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and tell them all three of their children were ill, and he, Harry, was yet again standing unscathed?
“Harry, I’m concerned that you’re not sleeping. You don’t look well,” Andromeda said for the third time.
“I’m fine, ‘Dromeda, just tired,” he replied. It had taken him a long time to become comfortable enough with the woman to use her first name, never mind such a familiar nickname, but after teaming up to raise Teddy and all that entailed, it had been impossible not to bond.
They’d both loved and lost some of the same people.
“You’re not fine, don’t be ridiculous,” Andromeda scoffed. “And you look a right mess, if I’m being perfectly blunt.”
Harry grinned half-heartedly. “So glad I have you to keep me in line,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, since Ginny is under the weather, I thought someone ought to until she’s able to resume her role of bullying you into self-care,” Andromeda said firmly. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Yeah,” Harry lied. “I’m about to start making lunch for everyone.”
“Good. Be certain you eat some of it.”
“Have you and Molly Weasley been sharing notes?” Harry asked, exasperated. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot alike.”
“You could do worse for maternal figures trying to ensure your health and well-being, young man,” Andromeda said sternly, and Harry’s heart lightened just a bit hearing the warmth beneath the words.
“I do know that. Listen, if the news comes back about Ron… if it isn’t good… well, can you look after the Weasleys? I know they’ll be devastated,” Harry asked, his throat aching.
“Of course, I will, dear. You needn’t even ask. I love them, too,” Andromeda said kindly before the briskness returned. “Now, you’re all young and strong, so I’ve no doubt you’ll all pull through. The Dragonpox epidemic took mostly older folks… it seems to be the way of these things. Keep your chins up, and look after one another.”
“We’re trying,” Harry said.
“I know that. I’m always here if you need to talk to someone outside the walls of that house, Harry. Remember that,” she said, smiling. “Now, your godson has been quiet much too long, so I need to go and check he hasn’t tied Kreacher up in the bed linens again.”
Harry grinned. “Give him a hug from me,” he said, missing Teddy fiercely. “Tell him I can hardly wait to play trains with him again soon.”
“Oh, must I tell him that?” Andromeda asked, groaning. “He’ll be after me night and day wanting to know when.”
“Can’t say as I blame him on that. I’d like to know when, too,” Harry said, shoulders slumping.
After Andromeda bid him farewell and the Floo connection faded, Harry decided he really should make some brunch. The others would probably be hungry once they finally came down. Although he tended to lose his appetite under duress, he’d yet to find the condition that impeded the Weasleys’ appetites.
It wasn’t long after he’d started his fry-up that George showed his face in the kitchen. Stubbled-chinned and bleary-eyed, he was cheerful, nonetheless. “Morning, Harry,” he said, pulling a cup of coffee nearer.
“Afternoon, George,” Harry replied, smirking as he placed a plate in front of him. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Off and on. I didn’t really doze off until sometime early this morning,” George replied, stretching. He took a closer look at Harry. “You look like hell. Didn’t you sleep at all?”
Harry shook his head, “You know, it’s a wonder I don’t have a complex with the number of people who keep telling me how dreadful I look. It’s like growing up with the Dursleys.”
George put his fork back on the countertop. “You know, I’ve spent the better part of my life devoted to humor — both the good sort and the inappropriate — so I can tell you with authority that that’s not funny, mate.”
Harry grinned. “My bad. Being cooped up in here must be getting to me,” he said, picking up a piece of toast and munching on it.
“Ron or Hermione up yet?” George asked, resuming his brunch.
“I haven’t seen them, so if they are, I don’t want to know what they’re doing,” Harry replied, grimacing.
“How about Ginny?” George asked, watching Harry closely.
Harry put his piece of toast back on his plate, refusing to meet George’s eyes. He knew he was being cowardly, but he didn’t want George to call him out on it. “Haven’t seen her. The medi-witch is up there now,” he said in a low voice.
George nodded, and Harry could feel his eyes on him, but he still didn’t look up. “You need to keep a watch on her,” he finally said, resuming eating.
Harry couldn’t stop himself from looking up at that. “What?”
“You’re the only one she’ll let take care of her. She’s too busy proving to the rest of us that she doesn’t need us looking after her. No idea how our delicate little flower grew up to be so stubborn,” George said, scratching his chin.
Harry snorted. “She’d have bogeys coming out of all your orifices right about now if she heard you calling her a ‘delicate flower,’ you know.”
“I know. That’s why I say it when she isn’t here,” George replied smugly. “Listen… I didn’t like hearing her crying last night, but… well, sometimes even mild-mannered me lets the Weasley temper get the better of him.”
“Mild-mannered, eh? Must’ve missed that day,” Harry said, his shoulders relaxing.
The two resumed their meal, but it was mere moments before Vivian joined them in the kitchen, looking more refreshed than either of them. “Good morning.”
The small bit of food Harry had managed turned to ash in his stomach, and he watched the witch warily. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Where are Ronald and Hermione?” she countered.
“They aren’t up yet,” Harry replied. “You can tell us what you’ve learned, and I’ll relay the message.”
“No, I think this will be better done with everyone. Why don’t we adjourn to the sitting room? Send them a Patronus to join us, please,” she said, turning on her heel and marching back out without waiting for a response.
“Bossy one, isn’t she?” George asked, wolfing down the last few bites on his plate.
Harry sent a Patronus and quickly cast warming and preservation charms on the food before following George upstairs. He arrived in the sitting room just as a rumpled Ron and Hermione came down the stairs. Ron looked tired and surly, but he rarely did well without enough sleep.
“Sorry to wake you two on this fine, sunny afternoon,” George said, grinning. “Or… did we interrupt something other than sleep, you sly dogs, you?”
Ron rolled his eyes, but Hermione didn’t even respond, her eyes fixed only on Vivian. “Has something new happened?” she asked.
Vivian held a Ministry folder, and she placed it on her lap, folding her hands over it. “I have a question, actually. Mr. Weasley… Ronald,” she said, when both Weasley brothers looked up. “Your Ministry file indicates you’ve already had Spattergroit. Is this correct?”
“What?” Ron asked, looking startled and rather annoyed. “No, I’ve never had Spattergroit. What are you on about?”
“It was during the war,” Hermione said, her voice shrill, and Ron goggled at her. “We had to hide the fact that Ron was on the run with us to protect his family. So, we faked a case of Spattergroit to keep him out of school, but the Death Eaters — and the Ministry, at the time — didn’t realize he was missing.”
“Oh, yeah… right,” Ron said, ruffling his already mussed-up hair. “That’s right. The ghoul impersonated me.”
Harry found the fact that Vivian didn’t even question that absurd statement was ominous. His gut twisted.
“I see,” the Unspeakable said, marking something in her file. She pressed her lips together. “Well, that changes things, I’m afraid.”
“What are you talking about?” George asked warily, obviously cottoning on to what Harry and Hermione had already feared.
“Ronald, your diagnostic scan came back with a slightly elevated risk of infection. I’d hoped it was merely showing antibodies from your previous exposure, but since that’s not the case, I’m afraid it’s signaling the beginning. I’m going to have the medi-witch arrange another bed in with Miss Weasley, and a Healer will be by this afternoon to check you over. I’m sorry,” Vivian said to the stunned gathering.
Hermione gasped and hid her face in her hands.
“Wait… what? What are you saying?” Ron asked, his ears growing alarmingly red as the volume of his voice increased. He jumped to his feet, looking ready to bolt.
Harry surreptitiously moved over to the open doorway, blocking his escape should he try to run for it. George looked too stunned to move.
“I’m saying that you’ve been infected, Ronald. We need to isolate you from the others, so if you’d come upstairs with me,” Vivian said, businesslike. She stood up and extended her arm toward the door.
“Your scan is wrong,” Ron said stubbornly. “I feel fine, and I haven’t had breakfast.”
Despite the severity of the situation, Harry almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Leave it to Ron to be worrying about food at a time like this. “I’ll bring a tray up to you, mate,” he said, his voice strained.
Ron’s head swiveled toward him, looking desperate. “Harry! Don’t tell me you believe this dung. I feel fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’d know it if there was.”
“That’s not necessarily the case, though, Ron,” Harry said, wincing.
“Ron… you have showed some of the signs,” Hermione said, her eyes leaking. “You’ve been having mood swings, and your motor coordination has been off.”
“What are you talking about?” Ron asked, horrorstruck.
Hermione withered under his angry and bewildered gaze, and Harry didn’t want her to have to be the one to break this news.
“Ron, she’s right. We both noticed it yesterday,” he said, quietly.
Ron looked at him as if he’d committed base treachery. “Oh? You noticed it, eh, Potter? And you didn’t think to mention it at the time. Just gathering your little facts and keeping things close and hidden until you worked out the big picture? I suppose Dumbledore taught you well,” he snarled.
Harry had to work hard to suppress his flinch.
“Ron! That’s not fair! We love you, and we’re concerned about you, is all,” Hermione cried.
Ron turned on her. “Concerned, are you? Or are you just concerned I’ll pass it onto you?” he snarled.
“Ron, if you were right in the head, you’d be the one concerned about that,” George said, looking miserable.
“Oh, so you’re calling me mental now?” Ron asked, his whole face bright red.
“Ronald, that’s quite enough. We need to get you upstairs. I daresay your sister will be happy for the company,” Vivian said reprovingly. She reached out and grasped Ron’s arm by his elbow. Harry thought she was very brave in doing so considering how angry Ron looked.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Ron snarled, pulling his arm away and storming toward the door.
Harry folded his arms, blocking the exit, his wand held loosely in his hand. He didn’t want to use it if he didn’t have to. He knew the illness was messing with Ron’s mind, but he wasn’t certain they could break through to the real Ron underneath.
“Get out of my way,” Ron said in a low, deadly voice.
Harry shook his head. “No. Come on, Ron, I know you don’t really want to hurt any of us.”
“Get out of my way, or I’ll make you,” he said, glaring.
Some of Ron’s teenage gangly frame had filled out into muscle, and Harry was struck by what an imposing figure his best mate now made when enraged.
“Ron, please. Please don’t do this. I love you, and I’ll figure something out,” Hermione pleaded, tears running down her cheeks in rivulets. She looked thoroughly miserable.
In the instant Harry’s attention was diverted, Ron attacked, shoving Harry hard and knocking him backwards several feet. He impacted with the floor jarringly, landing sprawled outside the sitting room, and his head thudded painfully into the bottom of the stairway’s banister.
“Stupefy!” Vivian shouted.
Ron’s angry shout of rage was cut off as he slumped unconscious to the floor as if he were boneless.
“Ron!” Hermione said, hurrying towards him. “Why did you Stun him? Petrifying him would’ve done it, and he wouldn’t have any side effects?”
“While that is true, he also wouldn’t have any reason to calm down, and would’ve been doubly enraged once I had him up in the infirmary. I’d prefer if there won’t be any need to use restraints once he’s up there. He might have a headache, but the medi-witch can tend to him, and hopefully he’ll be more open to listening once we revive him,” Vivian said briskly, levitating Ron and urging his prone body forward with her wand.
Harry dazedly pulled himself to a seated position, wincing as he felt the lump forming on the back of his head. He sat, rubbing the spot, and watching Hermione attempt to follow Vivian up the stairs.
Vivian didn’t turn, but she seemed to know what Hermione was doing. “It’s best if you allow us to get him settled, Miss Granger. You can speak with him on those wonderful Ears once I’m finished.”
Hermione stopped, frozen on the stairs, watching their ascending figures. She seemed to startle from her trance, and she knelt beside Harry, examining the lump on his head.
“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. He didn’t mean that, you know he didn’t,” she said tearfully, helping him to his feet.
“I know, but overreacting does come naturally,” he said shortly. He was aware Ron was ill, but his head was throbbing painfully.
Hermione led him back into the sitting room where he sank gratefully onto the sofa, resting his aching head. George hadn’t moved. He still sat in one of the wing-backed chairs, looking frozen.
“All right, George?” Harry asked, causing Hermione to turn around and look at the other Weasley brother, as well.
George shrugged. “Two Weasleys down,” he said, gruffly. “Did the reports say anything about this illness being deadlier to gingers?”
“No one’s going to die,” Hermione shrieked.
Harry could feel her trembling beside him, and he automatically wrapped his arm round her shoulder. She leaned into him, sniffling.
George still hadn’t moved. His unnatural calm concerned Harry more than Hermione’s tearful hysterics, which was saying something since Harry had never become comfortable around crying females.
“He’s going to be all right, George. They both are,” Harry said firmly, needing to believe it.
“I can’t lose another sibling,” George whispered. “I never thought about losing Fred, but now… now it’s all I can think about with Ron and Ginny. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe anyone who works with me in the shop—”
“That’s not true — and it’s an ugly road to travel, mate. Trust me. If anything, it’s far more likely that being around me will get you killed, but we can’t think about it that way. Ginny and Ron need us, so we have to do what’s best for them. I told Ron I’d make him a breakfast tray, and that’s what I’m going to do. Food always makes Ron feel better.”
Hermione chuckled weakly. “That is true.”
“You need to eat something, too, Hermione. I’ll bring a few things up here.”
“I don’t think I could eat,” Hermione said. Like him, she went off food when she was upset — a far more sensible response, Harry thought.
“Eat anyway. Isn’t that what you lot keep telling me?” he asked ruefully.
George didn’t accept, but he didn’t refuse, either. Harry hurried down into the kitchen and prepared two trays with the food he’d left warming. He sent one into the sitting room, and carried the other up to the room Vivian was now calling the Infirmary. The door was closed, and he couldn’t hear anything. He set the tray down outside it and returned to the others.
Despite her protest, Hermione picked at the tray, sampling various items, and even George — who had eaten a full plate earlier — was munching on some cheese. The sofa was mercifully empty, so Harry stretched out on it, resting his head on the arm. Before he’d even been there a moment, Crookshanks jumped up and plopped down on Harry’s stomach. Harry absently scratched his ears, and the cat began to purr.
“Did you see anyone upstairs?” Hermione asked immediately.
“No. The door was shut and sealed. I’m certain Vivian will talk to us when she’s finished,” Harry said.
“And don’t forget, she said a Healer would be stopping by,” George said.
Harry allowed his heavy eyelids to close. The murmur of conversation between George and Hermione, and the gentle scraping of silverware on the plates along with the soothing sound of Crookshanks purring lulled his worried mind, and unable to stay awake any longer, he gradually drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 16: Mortality
Author's Notes: Well, there you go, an illness of the brain will affect different people in different ways. Please take a moment to hit reply and share your thoughts.
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their time, patience and being my sounding board for various thoughts and ideas.
Yesterday, I completed the big Scooby-Doo reveal chapter, and it felt SO good!! It’s off to beta now, but I still have a few fluffy chapters to write. I figure I owe all the h/g shippers some happiness after all the angst and drama (still to come!). I’m going to have surgery done on my thumb on Monday, so I’ll be wearing a splint for a while. I’m a good 10 chapters ahead of you, so I hope not to have any delay in the posting schedule.
Mortality
Harry cast his Bubble-Head Charm and ensured his gloves were securely in place. He stood outside the door hiding Ginny and Ron, listening to the hum of the protective charms and working up the courage to go inside.
He was afraid of what he’d find, and the reception he’d receive. Neither of them had been all that happy with him the last time he’d seen them.
Vivian and a series of Healers had spent the majority of the previous afternoon with their infected duo. She’d reassured Hermione, George and Harry that Ron had, in fact, calmed down, and she hadn’t had to use any restraints. Hermione had burst into tears, and once she’d finally calmed down, had manically scanned through medical books and continuously replenished anything he or George attempted to eat.
Harry supposed it was her way of coping. George had buried himself in work, getting busy on making more Extendable Ears for the other families who had ill loved ones. Harry had tried to help him, but wasn’t certain if the things George had him doing were really necessary. He suspected George simply enjoyed bossing him around.
Harry took a deep breath and called on his Gryffindor courage. He slowly pushed open the door and peered inside. Ron’s snores greeted him immediately. He was spread-eagle on his bed with his mouth open. He looked entirely too large for the single hospital-style bed. Ginny was awake and staring out the window at the gently falling rain. Soft rivulets streaked the glass, and the fog obscured most of the street below.
He inched across the room and tentatively sat on the edge of her bed, feeling like the uncertain teenager he’d once been. Ginny slowly turned her head, blinking at him owlishly. She didn’t say anything, just gazed at him expectantly.
“Er… I always had trouble sleeping through that racket he makes, too,” he said, nodding his head to indicate the snoring Ron.
Ginny looked over at her brother, her eyes widening as if just realizing he was there. She turned back to Harry, looking at his face intently. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickled, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she hadn’t recognized him when he’d first spoken.
“Harry! Oh, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you in such a long time. How are you?” she asked, smiling brightly.
Harry’s insides ached. He couldn’t even take pleasure in the fact she didn’t see him as Riddle since she apparently didn’t recall ever having done so. He wasn’t certain which was worse.
“Hey, Whisky,” he said shakily. “I miss you, too.”
Ginny frowned. “I told you not to call me that,” she said, and the fact she remembered and sounded so much like herself lifted his spirits a bit.
“But I like when your eyes sparkle that way,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his gloved one. “Have you and Ron been getting on?”
“Merlin, he was behaving like a git,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s much better company when he’s asleep.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll be happy to tell him you said so.”
“Oh, I’ll tell him myself when he wakes up and starts grumbling. What did he do to land himself in hospital, anyway?” she asked.
Harry, who’d begun to relax, felt his insides twist as the apprehension and tension flooded back into his veins.
“Why are you here, Ginny?” he asked cautiously.
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been thinking about that. I assume I fell off my broom and hit my head, because everything is sort of fuzzy. Did I get the goal, at least?”
Harry swallowed heavily. “Er… it wasn’t Quidditch, Ginny, and this isn’t a hospital,” Harry said, concerned what her reaction would be.
Was he even supposed to correct her and tell her the truth? He’d promised her once that he’d never keep things from her again. It had been a different situation and circumstances entirely, but a promise was a promise.
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking around. To be fair, the room really did look like a hospital.
“We’re at Grimmauld Place, and both you and Ron have been exposed to this new Spattergroit strain,” he said calmly.
“Spattergroit? These are freckles, not spots, Harry,” she said, exasperated.
“I know that. This new strain is effecting people’s memory more than anything else,” he said, his throat tight.
Ginny frowned, tilting her head to the side. She was silent for an extended period, lost in thought. Harry was about to call her name, when she said, “I had it first, and now Ron does, too?”
Harry had to swallow around the blooming lump in his throat. “That’s right.”
“So… I gave it to him, then?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“No! We don’t know that. We all went to that same match, we could’ve all contracted it at the same time,” he said, squeezing her hand.
He didn’t want her to have to feel guilty on top of everything else. He was well aware of the way the guilt could prey on your mind and weaken your body. Ginny didn’t need that right now. She had to focus entirely on herself and her own well-being.
She looked over at Ron’s sleeping figure. He continued to snore away, blissfully unaware. “How are George and Hermione?” she asked, blinking hard.
“They’re all right. Worried, obviously, but I’m sure they’ll be up to say hello once they awaken,” he said, pointing to the Extendable Ear resting just inside the door.
Ginny nodded. “And you?” she asked, a single tear drop sliding slowly down her cheek.
Harry reached out and wiped it away. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I’d trade places if I could, Ginny.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” she said fiercely. “I’ve had enough health scares for you to last a lifetime.”
Harry shrugged. “At least you know how stubborn I am about pulling through. I’ll always come back to you when it’s an option.”
“Yes, but you’ve become far too glib about thinking you’ll always have the option. Don’t argue with me about this. You know I’m always right, and I’m even more stubborn than you are,” Ginny said, shaking off her melancholy to scold him. Her fierce expression and the tone of her voice reminded him inescapably of Mrs. Weasley.
“Yes, my love,” he said dutifully, his lips twitching.
Her lips twitched in return, and he had a brief glimpse of his Ginny — the one who laughed easily and enjoyed teasing him overly much. The one who was always there and could make him feel better about almost anything. The one he loved above all else. The one he felt belonged in someone else’s life, but was always so grateful she chose his. He couldn’t lose her now, not after they’d come so far to find each other.
“Gwenog is probably going to toss me off the first team,” she said gloomily. “Her patience for sick leave will only go so far.”
“Er, Ginny, there is no Quidditch at the moment,” Harry said warily, not wanting to have to tell her that half the team was ill.
“What are you on about? There’s always Quidditch,” she said, appalled. “Gwenog will most likely give that suck-up Ruth Getter my spot.”
“No, I mean — the Quidditch season is on hold. Everything is in lock-down trying to get a handle on this sickness. No one will steal your spot. Even Gwenog Jones is in lockdown,” Harry assured her.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’d like to see that. If they have managed to keep her out of the practice facility, she’ll only be drawing up ridiculously complicated schemes and fretting about how behind we are. It’ll be a nightmare.”
Harry enjoyed hearing her talk Quidditch. It seemed so normal when nothing actually was.
“Once this is over, you’ll still outfly everyone and put them all to shame,” he said, reaching out to place a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Yes, well, you’ve never been all that objective when it comes to our flying abilities, and the rest of the team knows it,” she said, grinning. “Gwenog thinks you’re a lovesick ponce.”
“Does she, now? Obviously, she’s not aware I was the youngest Seeker in a century,” he said, grinning.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I like lovesick ponces with big heads.”
“Very lucky,” he whispered, squeezing her hand again.
“Ron? Ginny? Are either of you awake?” Hermione’s voice came from outside the closed door.
Harry and Ginny both stared at each other, wide-eyed. “Are you supposed to be in here?” Ginny half-mouthed, half-whispered.
Harry shook his head. Hermione had been nagging him about being irresponsible in sneaking in, but he hadn’t promised her he wouldn’t do it again. He wondered if his blas attitude might rub off on her now that Ron was locked inside, as well. Of course, at the moment Ron was doing nothing but snoring. Certainly, she could hear it from outside the door.
“Ginny?” Hermione said again, slightly louder.
“I have to answer her,” Ginny said, in that same quiet whisper.
Harry shook his head violently. Perhaps if she didn’t answer, Hermione would just assume they were both asleep. If she kept talking, Ron might recognize her voice and awaken, and he’d never be able to keep his mouth shut about Harry’s presence.
“I’m awake, Hermione,” Ginny said, in a remarkably good imitation of someone just waking up. He wondered if she’d used that voice on him in the past, and he’d been unaware. She could have a career onstage if she wanted.
“Oh, Ginny! How are you? I’ve been so worried. Harry’s a wreck,” Hermione said more loudly than before.
Ron shifted in his sleep.
Harry frowned, nettled. He wasn’t a wreck. He was worried, naturally, but he wasn’t any more upset than she or George was.
Apparently, Ginny knew what he was thinking, because her eyes sparkled merrily. “Please look after him for me, Hermione,” she said, smiling wickedly. “Coddle him a bit if you think he needs it.”
Harry couldn’t even be exasperated because it was such a Ginny thing to do. Although he’d never admit it, he hoped it was his presence in the room with her that was bringing more of her back to herself.
“Of course, I will, just like I know you’ll look after Ron. He was so angry when they told him yesterday. How is he?” Hermione asked.
“Snoring,” Ginny said, casting a baleful glance at her brother.
“Oh. Well, that’s not new,” Hermione said, sounding relieved.
“Hermione?” Ron asked, stirring at last. He sat up blinking, staring dazedly around the room and at Harry perched on the edge of Ginny’s bed wearing a Bubble-Head Charm. “Hey, Harry. Where’s Hermione?” he asked.
“Harry? Are you in there?” Hermione asked angrily.
The game was up. “I’m here, Hermione,” he said at last, feeling like an errant schoolboy.
“Have you had any breakfast?” Ron asked Ginny, pulling up his covers so they came completely untucked from the bottom of the bed. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Harry, could I talk to you out here for a moment, please?” Hermione asked, her voice strained.
“Oooh, you’re in trou-ble,” Ginny giggled.
“I’m always in trouble,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Your medi-witch should be here momentarily, and I’m certain she’ll bring up your breakfast, Ron. I’ll see you tonight.” He blew a kiss to Ginny, and raised his hand in farewell to Ron before opening the door to face an irate Hermione.
“Good morning, Hermione,” he said pleasantly, shutting the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Ginny peering around to catch sight of Hermione dressing him down, and he stuck his tongue out at her before the door latched. He tapped his wand against his head, eliminating the Bubble-Head Charm, and pulled off his gloves while Hermione glared.
“I can’t believe you,” she hissed. “After everything that happened the other night, you went back in there again.”
“Yes, I did, and I plan on seeing them again tonight,” he said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.
Hermione actually stomped her foot in frustration. “Harry, you’re impossible. We were told that we’re supposed to stay out of that room. They’re trying to keep this from spreading any further, and you’re purposefully ignoring their rules.”
“That’s right,” Harry said.
Hermione’s eyes goggled, and he knew his casual indifference was confusing her. He usually just lost his temper when she tried to lecture him.
“So, you can’t go in there again. That was the last time,” she insisted.
“No, I just told you I plan on returning after the medi-witch leaves for the night,” he said.
“But there’s nothing more you can do. Risking your own health isn’t going to help them. It’ll only make it worse if they end up infecting you,” she said, half-scolding half-pleading.
Harry shook his head. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Well, you should be,” Hermione snapped. “Think about how you would feel if Ginny was sick, or hurt because of a case you were working on. I know you, and the guilt would eat you alive. This time, the danger came from a Quidditch match, not from one of your investigations. She’s already feeling guilty, and if you get sick, it’ll only make it worse.”
“Hermione, when I first went in there this morning, Ginny thought she was in hospital from a flying accident. She didn’t even remember there was a contagion,” Harry said quietly.
“What?” Hermione asked, blinking.
Harry swallowed. “She asked me why Ron was in hospital, too.”
Hermione’s eyes filled, and she raised her hand to her throat. It didn’t take a genius to realize she was getting worse. “Oh… oh, no.”
Harry plowed on, relentless. Hermione needed to understand. “After explaining it all to her, and talking with her a bit, she seemed much more alert and back to herself. If I can help her remember, I’m going to. Even if I can just make her feel better and more herself for a little while, I’m going to do that.”
“How was Ron?” Hermione asked, chewing her lip and looking torn.
“Hungry,” Harry said, shrugging. It was so typically Ron, and he didn’t know why it stung.
One of the fat teardrops that had been hovering around Hermione’s eyes finally fell and dribbled down her check. “Harry, I- I- I want to help him, too. I want Ron to know I’m there for him, too.”
Harry reckoned this was really what Hermione was angry about. Her nature was to be a rule-follower, but Ron and his influence had long ago corrupted her. He also knew she’d do whatever it took to help them. She always had. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you, too,” he said.
Hermione’s eyes strayed to the closed door. “Do you think I should?”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t answer that for you. It needs to be your decision. Do you think it’ll help Ron?”
Her face softened into a tender expression that made Harry slightly uncomfortable. “He’s always happy to see me.”
“There’s your answer then,” he said softly.
Hermione suddenly reached out and hugged him fiercely, nearly knocking him over and causing him to stumble away from the wall. “I love you, Harry,” she said.
“Love you, too,” he muttered, disentangling himself from her embrace. “But you better hurry up if you’re going in. The medi-witch will be here momentarily, and she’ll certainly throw you out, too, you rule-breaking rebel.”
“Shut it,” Hermione said, grinning and casting her own Bubble-Head charm. She pulled out a pair of dragon-hide gloves that she just happened to have in her pocket and put them on.
Later that afternoon, Harry joined George in the room he’d converted into a workshop in order to help him with some of his orders. Hermione sat at a desk in one corner, her wand moving like a maestro conducting a symphony as she wordlessly cast charms over sets of Extendable Ears. George sat on the other side of the room, testing the completed sets.
Several bottles of Butterbeer sat on a table near the door. Harry grabbed one as he moved inside.
“Oi, I left those there for the help,” George said without looking up.
Harry ignored him as he popped the lid. “So, what do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Hermione and I are working on filling the large Ministry order, but I’m getting back-logged on various owl-orders. Take a bunch, and once they’re filled, store them in the room across the landing,” George said, nodding at a stack of orders next to the Butterbeers.
“If you keep this up, you’ll turn this entire house into your workshop,” Harry said, amused that George kept expanding into empty rooms.
“The real hitch is storing them outside the contamination zone before they can be sent out. My products are quarantined just like us,” George grumbled. “Of course, quarantine is most likely the reason the Daydream Charms are selling so well…”
“What did Ron have to say? Was he in a better mood than yesterday?” Harry asked, ignoring George and looking over toward Hermione.
She never stopped casting her spells, but a broad grin crossed her face. “He was quite cheerful, actually. He still insists there’s nothing wrong with him. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the diagnostic scan, I would’ve been hard-pressed to argue since he seemed so unruffled this morning.”
“Ron is never unruffled, Hermione. You’d think you’d have caught onto that by now,” George said, chuckling.
Harry shook his head. “You’d have just found something else to argue about. I’ve never met two people who enjoy arguing more than you two.”
“We all have our methods of foreplay,” Hermione said lightly, stunning both Harry and George, who gaped at her. George actually dropped the Extendable Ears he was holding.
“You did not just say that out loud,” Harry said, flabbergasted. This quarantine was messing with all of them. He really wished Ron was here to have seen it. Harry could just picture the look on his face.
George, however, recovered more quickly than Harry. “Hermione, you sly dog, you,” he said, grinning and raising his hand for a high-five.
Hermione’s face was burning red, but she looked pleased as she continued casting her spells.
“Since both of you are ignoring the rules, do you think I should go up and visit with my kin, too? I’m not accustomed to being the responsible one, and I don’t like it at all,” George mused.
“No!” both Harry and Hermione chorused at once. George looked up at them, startled.
“George, you need to be the one to keep your parents informed of what’s happening in here. They’ll feel better seeing you every day,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, I don’t think they could handle you going into the Infirmary, too, mate,” Harry told him honestly.
The Weasleys’ reaction to Ron testing positive had gone as expected. Mrs. Weasley had burst into tears and wanted to come through the Floo immediately. A stunned Mr. Weasley didn’t even really try to hold her back. It wasn’t until Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived at The Burrow — he’d been alerted to Ron’s status — and threatened to close the Floo connection between the two houses entirely that she stopped, collapsing in a puddle on the floor of the kitchen. Arthur had made George promise to contact them every day with an update. The anxiety on Mrs. Weasley’s face every time they spoke was hard to bear.
Harry hadn’t dared tell them about Ginny’s deterioration, but he knew he’d have to say something soon.
“I suppose,” George said, unconvinced. “Don’t ever tell Percy I was the only rule-follower, though.”
“We promise your secret is safe with us,” Hermione said, her lips twitching.
The three continued working, an uneasy silence filling the room as they completed their orders.
“Oh, Andromeda called this morning,” George said at last.
Harry spun around, his heart pounding. Not Teddy. “Is everyone all right?” he choked.
“Yeah, they’re fine. She just said to tell you Teddy wanted to send you this,” he said, tossing Harry something small.
He caught it automatically, opening his hand to reveal a miniature wooden train. It was blue with little Snitches painted on the roof. Harry rolled the tiny toy wheels along his hand slowly. His throat was very painful. He suddenly felt a desperate need to see his godson. Would Teddy even remember him by the time this was all over? Did he feel abandoned? Harry remembered how being abandoned felt, and he’d never wanted his godson to feel that kind of pain. It had never occurred to him that he, Harry, would be the one Teddy felt abandoned by.
Some of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face because George said, uncharacteristically gentle, “He misses you, too, mate.”
“Is that a train?” Hermione asked. “He does love to play with those, and you’ll get to play with him again very soon.”
“If he’ll still want to after I’ve been gone so long,” Harry said, keeping his eyes lowered and voicing the worry that had been nagging at him.
“Well, he might be put out at first, but he’ll come around. Crookshanks was furious with me after we came back from the Horcrux hunt, remember?” Hermione said.
“He’s not a cat, Hermione,” Harry said, disgruntled.
“Of course, he’s not, but it’s the same principal. He’s young enough that he won’t even remember all of this once it’s over.”
If Hermione was trying to make him feel better, it wasn’t working. Her words only succeeded in making him feel worse. What if it ‘being over’ meant they’d all succumbed to it? Would Teddy ever remember him, or would he be just a vague, distant idea that other people told him about — like his parents? Or Harry’s parents had been to him.
Harry had to swallow hard, his vision blurring.
“Did Andromeda say anything else? Has there been anything more in the paper?” Hermione asked George, her eyes still on Harry. Hermione was convinced Vivian was censoring the news she allowed inside Grimmauld Place. Harry hadn’t seen any evidence of that, however. Hermione’s first instinct was always to distrust Vivian.
He continued working on the owl-orders, but his heart wasn’t really in it. His mind was over a hundred miles away on a little boy with turquoise hair playing with his trains and soldiers all alone and wondering where his godfather was, and why he wasn’t there playing with him.
It was several nights later when Harry was waiting for the medi-witch to leave so he could say goodnight to Ginny and Ron. He skipped down the stairs toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a snack, when he heard voices coming from inside. He paused on the stairs before pushing open the door open. He could recognize Vivian speaking with Hermione. He hadn’t realized she was there. He wasn’t alarmed by it, however, as he reckoned she would’ve called both him and George to a meeting if anything more had happened.
“I can appreciate your frustration, Miss Granger, but we’re doing all we can. Testing takes an inordinate amount of time because the consequences could be catastrophic if we get it wrong,” Vivian said.
“They’re catastrophic now,” Hermione said waspishly.
“Yes, they are, particularly for those who are suffering, but would it change that if Ron or Ginny were given a supposed cure, only to have it kill them after restoring their memory? Or if it had unintended consequences that could affect their health or magic long-term? We need to be certain. You’re a clever witch, I know you can understand this,” Vivian said.
Hermione didn’t respond, and Harry leaned closer to the door, straining to hear her response. He knew Hermione understood this intellectually. It was just harder to accept rationally when someone you loved was lying in a bed deteriorating each successive day.
“How was Ronald this morning?” Vivian asked. “I know you’ve been going in there. The Healers have informed me that neither you nor Mr. Potter places a lot of stock in the rules I’ve put in place.”
“His long-term memory seems all right, but he sometimes repeats himself. His short-term memory is more affected, and his motor functions have continued to decrease. He needs the pillow to keep his head straight when he’s sitting, and his temper is even more volatile than it usually is,” Hermione said quietly.
Harry knew that hardest part of all of this for Ron was that he was aware of what was happening to him. He needed help getting into a sitting position, yet he resented anyone trying to give him that aid. While Ginny’s mind was far more unstable than Ron’s, she, at least, didn’t really seem aware of what was happening to her.
“The difference is not uncommon. The disease is attacking the brain, and since different parts of the brain affect different areas of the body and mind, it explains the wide variety of symptoms amongst the infected,” Vivian said.
“I’m worried about Ginny. It took her a really long time to get my name this morning. I could tell she knew who I was, but she couldn’t get the name,” Hermione said, and by the tone of her voice, Harry knew she was crying.
He clamped his eyes shut. He’d seen the deterioration in Ginny, too. Every day, it was harder to bring her back, and even when she did gain some recognition, her eyes would frequently go vacant, as if she was somewhere else, or seeing something that wasn’t there. Sometimes, Harry had to restrain himself from physically shaking her. He hated seeing her slip away from him like this.
“Yes, the Healers have documented the same thing. While I refuse to tell Mr. Potter that his flagrant disobedience is acceptable, Miss Weasley does seem to respond to him best. He’s able to bring her back quicker than anyone else, and he seems to be handling the strain all right,” Vivian said grudgingly.
“Don’t mistake stoic for unfeeling,” Hermione snapped. “He feels more deeply than you’ll ever know, he just internalizes it.”
“Believe it or not, I am aware of that, Miss Granger. I am not working against you, you know,” Vivian said, and Harry wondered if she’d finally had enough of Hermione’s endless suspicion.
He thought it was time to make them aware of his presence. He pushed the kitchen door open to find the two of them seated at the kitchen island, sharing a pot of tea.
“Hello, Vivian,” he said without preamble. “What brings you here so late?” He didn’t feel the need to feign surprise that she was there. He’d learned long ago growing up with the Dursleys that listening at doors to conversations before entering a room was a clever way not to get clouted on the head unexpectedly. At times, it was the only way he’d ever received any useful information.
“I was just explaining to Miss Granger that we’re in a testing phase on our modified Mandrake draught. I wanted to check in with the medi-witch here to see if there had been any new developments, but both Weasleys appear to be resting comfortably,” Vivian replied.
Harry sat with them and poured himself a cup of tea. He glanced over at Hermione, who indeed did have red-rimmed eyes. “Where’s George?” he asked.
“He said he was going to use the fireplace in the sitting room to call Angelina, and he didn’t want to be disturbed,” she said, sounding as if she had a bad head cold. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like good blackmail material.”
“I doubt it. I think the only one who’d be embarrassed if you walked in on something would be you, quite honestly — and that includes Angelina.”
“Has George’s girlfriend been using the Floo?” Vivian asked, alarmed.
Harry waved her off. “Just for calls, she hasn’t come through. She and George can be rather… creative,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Despite that laissez-faire attitude George likes to present, he’d never do anything to put Angelina in harm’s way,” Hermione said. “Besides, aren’t you monitoring the Floo to ensure no one comes through?”
“Contrary to what you may believe, we thought that with three Ministry employees living here — all of whom are on the contagion task force — that you should be trusted,” Vivian said, smiling sardonically.
“So… are there other homes with Floo restrictions, then?” Hermione asked quickly.
“Unfortunately, there were a few who refused to follow the travel restrictions. They only ended up putting other people at risk, so their Floo connections were placed under call-only limitations,” Vivian answered.
“Didn’t follow… meaning people left using their Floo or had others visit them during their quarantine?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help his thoughts straying to which of Ginny’s teammates might have cracked.
“Both,” Vivian said. “Some of them are still refusing to believe there is an epidemic and are threatening lawsuits once they gain their freedom.”
“But… we’ve had a contagion in the not too-distant past, so certainly they know it’s possible,” Hermione said, her brow furrowed.
“Dragon Pox seems long ago to many, and people forget. There have been a few wars in between, and the illness took mostly the elderly. Younger people now don’t remember the fear that pox generated,” Vivian said, sighing.
“D’you think that will happen this time? Once this is all over, I mean?” Harry asked curiously.
Vivian’s eyes shifted, and she took a long sip of her tea. “I don’t know. I suppose it depends on the significance and who remembers certain losses,” she said, pursing her lips.
Harry had seen her do this before when she was stalling for time.
“What does that mean? Is there something significant about this we don’t know?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, I daresay the entire thing is significant. We’ve never had an illness like this affecting both Muggle and magical populations, and the fact its origins were manipulated by Death Eaters is fairly noteworthy in itself,” Vivian said, frowning.
Harry relaxed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he said.
“We’ve kept all the notes retrieved from St. Mungo’s. Once we’ve managed to contain this, we want to ensure there isn’t anything else out there that was unleashed, but we simply aren’t aware of it yet,” Vivian said, her expression solemn.
“You said ‘certain losses’,” Hermione said suddenly, pinning Vivian with her stare. “Has there been a loss recently that we should know about?”
Vivian wet her lips. “You know I’m not supposed to share anyone’s medical information, but I do feel it’s relevant to all of you,” she said slowly.
“What’s relevant?” Harry asked, his breath catching.
“Whose medical information?” Hermione asked at the same time.
Vivian took a deep breath. “Theresa Grant passed away in the early hours this morning,” she said grimly.
Chapter 17: Obliviate
Author's Notes: Dun, dun dun. So, what do you think is going on? Had my surgery – thanks for the well wishes. It’s hunting and pecking a bit for me, though. Please hit that review button and share our thoughts!
As always, thanks to my betas, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for all their corrections, suggestions and improvements. – not to mention listening as I talk things out.
Obliviate
(Note: My sweet, soft-hearted beta, Arnel, told me if I didn’t give a tissue warning, she’d break into my account and do it herself. Here’s the warning so we won’t let Arnel become a hacker!)
Harry woke up earlier than usual the next day, and after numerous attempts to fall back to sleep, finally gave it up as a bad job. He never slept well without Ginny there to snuggle. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, but at least he could use the extra time to get a longer visit with Ron and Ginny. Once the medi-witch arrived for her shift, she always banished him from the room. Forgoing a shower, he pulled a dressing gown over his pajamas, and put his protective charms in place.
The previous evening, both Ron and Ginny had had a difficult time of it, experiencing increasing struggles with their various memory and motor function issues. Neither had been up for a visit. Ginny had actually fallen asleep while Harry was sitting there, something she’d never done before. Ron was irritable and gloomy, and nothing Harry said seemed to cheer him. He was hoping this morning’s visit would be better. Theresa Grant’s death had left a tense pall over the entire house, and there didn’t appear to be anything they could do to shake it.
He expected Hermione would be up to visit, as well, but since there was no sign of her yet, he supposed he should just go in. He could admit — if only to himself — that he was nervous about what he’d find. Neither had seemed to care when he’d finally left them to sleep, and he couldn’t help but feel he was losing a little more of both of them with each passing day.
And it hurt.
With a heavy heart, he pushed open the Infirmary door. The room was dark and quiet, but a thin band of morning light was streaming in through the curtain and illuminating a sliver of Ginny’s bed. She was still asleep, her hair sprawled across her pillow like a crown. The steady, rhythmic rising of her chest let him know she was still deeply asleep.
He tore his eyes away to glance over at Ron, and he was startled to see bright blue eyes glowering back at him.
“‘Bout time,” Ron snarled.
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t expect you’d be awake. It’s early for you.” He scanned the room — several of Ron’s support pillows were scattered on the floor, and Ron’s neck was twisted at an awkward angle.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Ron mumbled.
“D’you want to sit up?” Harry asked. He’d already had his head bitten off several times for attempting to assist Ron before he’d admitted that he needed help. Harry felt bad for making him ask — something he, Harry, always avoided doing, if possible — but Ron seemed to take the unsolicited aid as an insult.
Ron’s ears turned red, and he swore beneath his breath. “Yeah, all right. I’m almost there, just need some straightening out,” he said, not meeting Harry’s eyes.
Harry lifted the pillows off the floor and adjusted them at the head of the bed. He placed his hands beneath Ron’s shoulders and hoisted him upwards, resting his back against the pillows. Ron’s head lolled forward. Harry swallowed heavily and adjusted his head, adding a smaller pillow for support once he was in a seated position.
“There. You nearly had it,” Harry lied, clearing his throat.
“Right,” Ron said, his body relaxing against the pillows.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Harry asked, searching for a subject to break the awkward tension.
“What?” Ron asked blankly
“You said you couldn’t sleep. Anything wrong?” Harry asked.
“That’s a stupid question, innit? Everything’s wrong. I can’t even piss by myself. Isn’t that enough for you, or is only a Dark Lord breaking into your head worthy enough to cause sleeplessness?” Ron asked, sneering.
Harry took a deep breath. He knew Ron was frustrated with being sick, and he knew the illness had been causing these outbursts, seeming to prey on the worst parts of Ron’s personality — but it was still hard not to snap back at times.
“D’you need the toilet?” he asked calmly. He knew the medi-witch took care of all their personal hygiene needs, but he’d been in hospital often enough to know how uncomfortable waiting could be.
“No, I don’t need the toilet,” Ron said as if the question was ridiculous. “You’re not helping me with that, anyway. Did you bring any food?”
“I haven’t made breakfast yet. I came in here before going downstairs,” he replied.
Ron rolled his eyes, looking disgruntled. Harry’s patience was thinning.
“I can go get it started now, if you like,” Harry said, feeling slightly guilty for thinking he’d prefer getting out of this room.
Ron’s eyes opened wide, and he reached out. “No! Don’t leave. You just got here,” he whinged. “Why d’you have to leave already? I’m bored.”
“I can stay,” Harry said, gingerly sitting on the edge of Ron’s bed near his feet. Ron took up a lot more of the bed than Ginny did. Harry’s eyes drifted toward her sleeping form. She hadn’t moved, despite Ron speaking using his full voice. He wished she would.
“Want to play chess?” Harry asked, sighing.
“All right,” Ron said, grinning. He tried to grab the board from his bed-side table, but he dropped it, and it banged loudly against the floor. Ginny sighed, but slept on.
“I can get it,” Harry said quickly, before Ron spiraled into more despair over his clumsiness. He picked up the board and cast a quick Levitation Charm so it would hover between them. As he began sorting his pieces, he tentatively asked, “So… are you going to tell me why you couldn’t sleep?”
Ron looked up from the board blankly. “Huh?”
“Why couldn’t you sleep last night?” he repeated.
“What are you on about? I slept like a Kneazle. You’re white, so you go first,” Ron said, studying his chess pieces. “Did you bring anything to eat?”
Harry smiled tightly. “Yeah, I made a feast. You just finished it.”
“Oh,” Ron said, frowning. “All right, then, let’s play.”
Conversations with Ron all seemed to go this way recently. His short-term memory trouble caused him to have the same conversation repeatedly without ever being aware of it. At first, Harry tried to answer patiently, but sometimes, when the repetitiveness became ridiculous, he came up with more and more outlandish answers. Hermione had more trouble with the repetitiveness. She grew exasperated with Ron’s forgetfulness, and even more appalled by Harry’s ludicrous answers.
Ron just seemed to roll with it all, and sometimes, Harry suspected Ron was purposefully trying to wind Hermione up. That was such a typically normal response from Ron, that Harry wasn’t sure it was just wishful thinking on his part.
He moved one of his pawns, and Ron shook his head. “You’d think perhaps this would be your chance to beat me since my head’s all messed up and all,” he said lightly.
“Your head is always messed up,” Harry replied.
Ron grinned, puffing out his chest. “And I always beat you.”
After a few more moves, Ron’s prediction came true, and he easily took Harry’s king. He automatically set up the board for a rematch. Harry’s eyes kept being drawn toward Ginny as they played. She’d turned her face toward them, although she continued to sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, and stray wisps of her hair fluttered as she breathed.
“Y’know, it’s sort of creepy the way you’re just watching my sister sleep, mate,” Ron said, at last.
Harry startled. “I’m just checking on her,” he said defensively.
“Just wake her up, if I’m boring you,” he said, turning toward her bed. “Oi—”
“No! Don’t wake her. She looks peaceful,” Harry said, irritated. Part of him thought the sleep was best for her, but the other part agreed with Ron and wanted her to wake up. Before Ron could argue, the door opened, and Hermione stuck her head inside.
“Oh! You’re awake,” she said, looking surprised. Her hair was piled atop her head with stray curls hanging down wildly, and she also still wore her dressing gown. She inched inside the room, giving Ron a squeeze before gently perching on the very edge of Ginny’s bed since Harry and Ron were still playing chess on his. She waved her wand over Ginny, and at Harry’s curious expression, she said, “Just so we don’t wake her.”
“Harry wants her to wake up. He apparently wants us all awake — he woke me up at this ungodly hour, too,” Ron grumbled, shooting Harry a nasty glare.
“I did not!” Harry yelped, turning toward Hermione with wide eyes. “He was already awake when I came in. He said he didn’t sleep well, so the medi-witch should probably know about that.”
“Will you keep it down? I’m trying to concentrate,” Ron snapped, staring at the chessboard.
“Vivian should be here for our scans this morning. I hope she’ll have some good news about an antidote. I think they’re very close. The last time we spoke, she was talking about modifying it so it could help the Muggles. You know what that means?” she asked.
Harry nodded. “That it’s already working on wizards? Why haven’t they given it to Ginny and Ron, then?”
Hermione shrugged. “Apparently, they’re working out the side effects. You know as well as I do that potions have to be exact to get the desired results.”
Harry turned back to the game, pondering. What if Ginny ran out of time before the testing was complete? She was definitely experiencing more severe symptoms. If this was her only hope, wouldn’t it be better to at least try, and worry about the consequences later? Theresa Grant was already dead, and in all likelihood, she was the one who’d infected Ginny. His stomach twisted, fear clawing at his insides like a battalion of insects trying to escape. The fact that Ginny was sleeping an awful lot preyed upon his mind, and it was all he could do to stop himself leaping across the room to shake her awake, to hold her close to him and never let her go.
As he raised his hand to move his chess piece, he stopped, his hand hovering above the board. Ron hadn’t made his move yet. He was frowning, studying the board. Ron was usually more decisive in his wins against Harry.
“Have you seen George yet this morning?’ Hermione asked.
“Nah, I came right in here before going downstairs. He’s probably in his shop. He’s almost finished with the Ministry order,” Harry said absently.
“I think he’s hoping to have some Extendable Ears ready to give to Vivian today,” she said.
Ron finally moved one of his chess pieces, but as he leaned back, his head slid off the pillow Harry had placed to keep him upright. It hung awkwardly before Hermione jumped up and readjusted it, causing Ron to scowl.
“I’m all right. Just stretching,” he said irritably, jerking out of her reach.
“And I’m just redecorating,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes before she crossed back to Ginny’s bed and sat down. She crossed her legs very tightly, one foot swinging at a very clipped pace.
Harry ducked his head to cover his grin and moved his rook. There was something about his best mates bickering, even in these stressful and worrying times, that felt so normal. There was something comforting about it amidst all the uncertainty.
“I asked Vivian to bring me a few more medical books. I hope she remembers,” Hermione said, her irritation waning as quickly as it had flared.
“I can’t believe there’s anything relevant that you haven’t read yet,” Harry said. He suspected that she’d read all the large medical tomes she’d bought at the beginning of their quarantine so that she could keep questioning Vivian.
“I can’t believe there’s a book left in the whole world that you haven’t read,” Ron said, smirking as he made his move.
Harry grinned, looking at the board. He felt the smile slowly melt from his face. Confused, he looked at Ron, whose attention was completely on Hermione and her tense foot-swinging. His stomach twisted again, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut as he haltingly moved his piece.
“Checkmate,” he said, his voice strained. He’d never been less happy about winning a match in his life.
Stricken brown and green eyes met across the room as Hermione looked up, her swinging foot stilling.
“You beat me,” Ron said blankly.
Harry swallowed. “Looks like it,” he rasped.
Ron shrugged. “Even a broken clock is right once in a while.”
“Twice a day,” Hermione said automatically, looking as stunned as Harry felt. Her eyes filled as she walked over to hug Ron, who smirked at Harry over her shoulder.
The chess pieces rattled, and Harry used his wand to move the chessboard aside to make room for her.
“Hey, are we done playing?” Ron asked, eyes wide as he pulled some of Hermione’s hair from his mouth.
“Did you want a rematch?” Harry asked uncertainly.
“That’s all right. I understand you get tired of losing,” Ron said, his grin returning. “Must get boring for you.”
Harry paused for a moment, and he thought he might’ve heard Hermione trying to stifle a sob. “Yeah, I do, mate,” he said, his throat aching.
He moved to sit on the edge of Ginny’s bed, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Ginny stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling gently at her sleepy eyes.
Ginny frowned, blinking before her eyes roamed over his face. She smiled sweetly, but her eyes held a lost, vacant expression.
Harry rubbed the stubble on his jaw, unnerved by the emptiness in her gaze. There was none of Ginny’s usual fire or mischievousness, she just looked… lost.
“Ginny… d’you feel all right?” he asked warily, his heartbeat thrumming in his throat.
She didn’t answer, but continued to smile pleasantly as she pulled herself to a seated position, looking around the room.
“Good morning, Ginny,” Hermione said, alerted by Harry’s tone that something wasn’t right.
Ginny jerked as if startled by Hermione’s presence, even though she’d been looking right at her before she spoke.
“Oi! What’s wrong with you? You look like you came out on the wrong end of a Confundus Charm,” Ron said.
Ginny blinked. “I was visiting with my brother,” she said dreamily.
“I am you brother,” Ron said, baffled. “We haven’t been visiting. You’ve been asleep.”
“Ron—” Harry said, not wanting him to upset her. She was altered, and he desperately wanted to get her back without alarming her. Hermione placed her hand on Ron’s shoulder, distracting him.
“Where’s Fred?” Ginny asked.
All the air left Harry’s lungs. Had she seen Fred? The one time he’d conversed with someone he knew to be dead was when he was hovering precariously on the line between the living and the dead. Had Ginny been there? Had Fred really come to greet her, or was this simply more of the confusion in her mind?
“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione said softly.
“What d’you mean where’s Fred? He’s dead,” Ron said bluntly.
Harry cringed, expecting tears from Ginny, but her eyes remained vacant. “Yes. I have a new green top,” she said, smiling as she ran her hand along the T-shirt she’d slept in. It was purple.
“You look beautiful,” Harry said, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.
“I was visiting with my brother,” she repeated. “Fred always visits.”
“Ginny!” Harry said, feeling an urgent need to connect with her and drag her out of this haze. His mind was playing tricks on him, and he kept envisioning her at King’s Cross Station with Fred holding out his hand to assist her onboard a train. A train going nowhere — and one he couldn’t follow.
Hermione rose and moved toward them, placing her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Ginny, do you know where you are?” she asked.
Ginny nodded vigorously. “At The Burrow.”
Hermione’s eyes sparkled. “That’s right. And do you know who we all are?” she asked, indicating the rest of them.
Ginny looked around, smiling brightest at Ron’s confused face. She nodded happily.
Harry felt like the pressure from Hermione’s hand was the only thing tethering him to the earth. He felt as if he could fly apart if she let go.
“Who are we, Ginny?” Hermione asked.
Ginny tilted her head, the same sweet, yet vacant, smile plastered on her pale face. “I have a new green top.”
“Ginny, you’re wearing your pajamas. When’s breakfast? I’m starving,” Ron said loudly, looking around as if there might be food hidden in the room somewhere.
Harry felt numb. He knew he should probably go and make something. Ron had asked several times already, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to move. He was frozen, staring at Ginny’s body but unable to see her there. He needed to call the Healers. There had to be something else he could do. Something to erase that vacant expression from her face.
“D’you like Quidditch, Ginny?” he asked desperately, knowing talking about the sport always brought such animation to her eyes. His body felt tense, wound like a coil, waiting to see if his question would spark anything.
She nodded eagerly, but her expression didn’t change.
“Which position do you like?” he asked. Hermione’s nails dug into his shoulder, and although he was certain it would leave marks, he barely felt it.
“I need to tell Fred he lost his slippers,” she said.
Harry hung his head, feeling as if the walls of his carefully constructed house of cards were falling in after an explosion. She didn’t know them. She didn’t know any of them.
She didn’t know him.
He’d promised her that if this happened, that he’d remember for both of them, but he didn’t know if he could do that. How was he supposed to do that when she was looking right at him, yet she had no idea who he was — or what they’d been to each other. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out and was lying beating feebly on the floor.
He stood up quickly, backing away.
“Harry—” Hermione began, but she seemed lost for words.
“Are you going to make breakfast now?” Ron asked, grinning.
Harry bolted from the room.
Harry lay on his bed, still dressed in the track suit he’d worn for Vivian’s check that morning and staring listlessly at the ceiling. The sun was now low in the sky outside, filling the room with shadows. He could see dust motes rising above a few spots where the sun still hit. He’d answered Vivian’s questions, and since she’d seen Hermione before she spoke with him, she was already aware of Ginny’s altered status. Infuriatingly, she’d said it was part of the disease’s progress.
Harry had flung himself onto the bed in a fit of pique once she left, and he hadn’t moved since. Both Hermione and George had been up and tried to coax him to come down and eat to no avail. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t tired, although he thought he might’ve dozed off and on. He simply had no energy or desire to move. He didn’t know what he could do, anyway, even if he managed to pull himself off this bed.
The last time he could remember experiencing apathy this intense was that time after the Dementor attack before his fifth year. He’d expected an immediate response, but was left to stew in his own lethargy for days on end before the Order finally arrived. This time, there was no hopeful ending in sight. Instead, Harry was aching with dread over the thought of what might come next.
He couldn’t seem to find any trace of the silver lining Ginny liked to talk about.
Focusing on his ceiling, he noticed a cobweb forming in one corner of the room. Kreacher would be horrified, but even the elf was barred entry during the quarantine. They were all stuck in place while this invisible enemy struck with impunity and without any trace of mercy.
She didn’t remember him. Everything they’d built, everything they’d shared was just… gone. She’d looked right through him as if he were a stranger. The hollowness of his belly felt distant, as if it were someone else who was hungry. His limbs were heavy, and even the thought of raising his wand to cast some light seemed to require far too much effort.
Ron was deteriorating, too. His bouts of short temper were growing more and more frequent, and he was barely able to hold his head up on his own. How was it fair that he, Harry, was still fine and functioning, but two of the people he cared most about in the world were fading before his eyes? Didn’t everyone always say that everything seemed to happen to him? So why wasn’t it? Why did it have to be Ron and Ginny? They didn’t deserve this.
There was a knock on his bedroom door, but he ignored it. It could only be George or Hermione, and they’d eventually give up and go away. Maybe they’d think he was sleeping.
“Harry, open the door,” Hermione said, and she sounded rather exasperated. It figured that she’d be more insistent than George. She could be a downright pest if she wanted to be.
He ignored her.
“All right, Harry. If you’re starkers, you’d best cover up, because I’m coming in anyway,” she said, pushing the door open and marching inside.
He should’ve locked the door, but it had seemed to involve too much effort. Hermione moved to the side of his bed and peered down at him. She had a thick, pink headband holding back her bushy hair, but she was very pale, and her face held a pinched quality.
“Harry, you can’t stay up here. Why don’t you come down and have some dinner with George and me?” she asked, her voice a mixture of sympathy and pity that he didn’t want to hear.
“I’ll be down later,” he said listlessly.
“Oh, you will not. You’re not fooling us, Harry. It’s all right to be upset. We’re all upset, but it’s easier to handle it together,” she said, pushing back her hair that was already held back by the headband.
“I’m not hungry, Hermione,” he said.
“Well, budge over then,” she said, undeterred.
“What?” he asked. She’d surprised him enough to make him turn his head to really look at her. She looked as miserable as he felt.
“Budge over,” she said, hoisting herself up onto the large bed and resting her back against the headboard next to him. Like him, she wore a track suit, but she’d added a pair of pink, fluffy slippers that matched her headband.
“I don’t feel like talking, Hermione,” he said, resigned that she wouldn’t listen but feeling he ought to at least state the fact.
“I know, but I do. I hate seeing Ron this way, and I know he gets so irritated when I try to help… but I just can’t not help him. It’s impossible,” she said, her voice a bit shaky.
Harry sighed, reaching out to take her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “I know. He knows it, too. Usually he likes it when you do things for him,” he said.
Hermione snorted. “That’s true. I hate this. I’m supposed to be the cleverest witch of our age, and I don’t know how to help him.”
Harry nodded. “You are clever, Hermione. No one has been able to work this out yet,” he said, squeezing her hand.
Hermione sniffled again. “But we’re running out of time.”
Harry clenched his eyes shut. “I know. She doesn’t know me. She had no idea who was sitting beside her this morning. I could’ve just been any of the medi-witches.”
“Ron can’t remember anything I say. I even told him I thought the Chudley Cannons would win the league this year, and he forgot I said it a few minutes later,” Hermione said, sniffling.
Harry tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah, but that’s the kind of thing he’ll never let you forget. You mark my words.”
“I hope so,” Hermione whispered.
Harry took a deep, shaky breath. “I do, too.”
“I told Vivian and the medi-witch everything that happened this morning, and she promised me she’d let the Healers know. If there’s anything that can be done to slow the process down, they’re going to do it until this draught is ready,” Hermione said.
“But it still might not be ready in time,” Harry said, voicing his biggest fear. What if they had found the solution… only it came a few hours or days too late for Ginny or Ron?
“We have to believe it will,” Hermione said firmly. “How did your scan go? Mine went perfectly, and George said he didn’t miss any questions.”
“Fine,” Harry said, shrugging.
“Could you say something else? To you, ‘fine’ means the same whether it’s good or bad. Did you miss any of the questions?” Hermione asked, exasperated.
Harry lifted one corner of his mouth. It was the closest he could manage to a grin. “I didn’t miss any questions,” he said.
“Well, that’s good then. George let his parents know that Ron and Ginny were slipping. I’m worried he’s pushing himself too hard to get this order done,” Hermione said.
“It’s easier for him to keep busy,” Harry said.
“I know, but I’m still worried. I’m worried about you, too. This isn’t like you, Harry,” she said.
“What is it you want me to do, Hermione? How can anything I do change things? How is my coming down to eat in the kitchen possibly going to help Ginny or Ron?” he asked, feeling nettled, yet unable to manage any heat behind his words.
“I don’t know!” Hermione said, her eyes filling. “I don’t know how to help, either, Harry, but moping and brooding isn’t the answer.”
“Well if you don’t know the answer, then why can’t I brood? It’s what I do,” Harry said. “We’re all coping the best way we know how.”
“Well, it’s best to cope while eating,” George said, entering the room with a large, heavily-laden tray. “I got tired of waiting, so I thought we were eating up here.”
“Good idea, George,” Hermione said, jumping up and running out the door.
George frowned. “I don’t usually make the birds flee a room when I enter it,” he said, craning his neck to see where she went.
She returned a moment later with a clean sheet in her hands. She spread it out over the top of the bed, leaving Harry beneath it since he still had yet to move.
“That way, we won’t leave any crumbs,” she said.
“I always said you were brilliant, Hermione,” George said, sitting down beside Harry and placing the tray on his lap.
Hermione resumed her spot on Harry’s other side.
“Mum sent dinner,” George said, indicating the tray laden with a large amount of sausage rolls, roasted potatoes and asparagus with cheese sauce. There were also several bottles of Butterbeer.
“She did?” Hermione asked, surprised. “It’s good that she’s cooking. She seemed quite down earlier today.”
George nodded, biting into a sausage roll. “I know, but I told her Harry was having a hard day, and it seemed to cheer her up. She said she’d be sending food over, and this is what she tossed through the Floo,” he said.
This was the first thing to break through the haze Harry had felt all day. He turned towards George, shocked and more than a little hurt.
“My having a bad day cheered her up?” he asked. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley had finally had enough of him and finally resented his survival while her own children perished.
“It’s not what you think, Harry. Mrs. Weasley feels better when she thinks there’s someone else to worry about. Taking care of you is what makes her feel better,” Hermione said gently.
“You can’t seriously be concerned about that, mate. I think Mum likes you more than some of her own kids, quite honestly. Not me, of course. I’m still her favorite,” George said, biting into another large sausage roll. He shoved one into Harry’s hand. “Here, eat this. You have to try one, at least, or else I’m making you tell her you didn’t eat what she spent all day preparing.”
Harry was aware he was being manipulated, but he allowed it. He took a bite of the sausage roll, and his mouth instantly watered whilst his stomach growled its appreciation.
Perhaps he was a bit hungry after all.
Hermione took the empty plates off George’s tray and scooped some of the potatoes and asparagus onto each. Harry accepted his plate, balancing it on his legs as he pulled himself into a seated position between George and Hermione.
“Did your mum say anything else, George? How is everyone coping?” Hermione asked, blowing steam from her roasted potatoes.
George shrugged, swallowing a massive mouthful. “She said Dad’s still going into work every few days to consult with the Muggle Minister. The team has been trying to do as much as they can by Floo calls rather than in person. She said she keeps hearing bangs and small explosions coming from his shed, but she doesn’t think she really wants to know what he’s doing out there.”
Harry felt a flicker of amusement. He could picture Mr. Weasley using all the additional time at home to tinker with a variety of Muggle objects. He wondered what he’d find if he ever had the chance to go back into the shed in The Burrow’s back garden. He found he really missed his chats with Mr. Weasley.
“What about Percy’s wedding?” Hermione asked.
“Apparently, my brother is a married man. He and Audrey made it official. It was just the two of them and an officiant at the Ministry. No fuss, no hoopla, none of the traditions they’d been so adamant about using. Mum says Mrs. Abbott threw a right little tantrum, but there was nothing else that could be done. They’re still planning on holding a party after… at some later date,” George said, his words trailing.
The unspoken threat of all the Weasleys never being able to be together again hung in the air. Harry put his sausage roll back on the plate, his stomach turning with what he’d already eaten.
“But, at least they’re together,” Hermione said a bit tearfully. “Did Audrey move into Percy’s flat, or did he move into hers?”
George swallowed, clearing his throat, “I don’t know, actually. I never thought to ask, but Mum did say they’re together now. She said Charlie called yesterday.”
“Ooh, how are things in Romania?” Hermione asked, her eyes brightening.
George shrugged. “Apparently, they never had all that many cases, but they’re slowly starting to reopen things. He never stopped working, but… the dragons still need to be looked after, and they all have to be spaced well apart to control them, anyway.”
“That makes sense, I supposed. It’s good to hear things are starting to reopen. I’m certain your dad will keep watch to know if it flares back again,” Hermione said.
Harry picked up his sausage roll again and took another bite.
“Knowing Charlie, he only cares when the pubs open again,” George said ruefully. “Merlin, I wish I could go to the pub.” He clinked his bottle against Harry and Hermione’s.
“What about Bill and Fleur?” Hermione asked.
George shrugged. “He’s still been working a lot. You know the goblins; they’re not going to let a little thing like that interfere with their treasure. Of course, there hasn’t been a single case of a goblin catching it,” he said.
Since the end of the war and the imprisonment of many of the former Death Eaters, all Voldemort’s supporters’ homes and vaults had been seized. The contents of the vaults had been used to pay legal fees, and re-distributed to those who they’d hurt, but the secret gold and treasures hidden in their many homes had proven more problematic. Much of it was hidden under various charms and enchantments, and Bill used his skills as a curse-breaker to seize the treasure once he’d managed to break them.
“He says the hardest part of it all is explaining to Victoire why she can’t play with Teddy. The two of them are right put out with being kept apart,” George said.
“I can’t imagine being stuck inside all this time with a toddler,” Hermione said, looking horrified by the thought.
Harry’s thoughts strayed to Teddy and how much the little boy’s world had changed. He was not only cut off from his godfather, but from his best friend and all the other people in his life that he’d come to know and depend upon. All the promises Harry had vowed to keep about ensuring the boy never felt alone, and that he’d keep a connection to the parents he’d lost seemed hollow now. The little wooden train Teddy had sent him through the Floo sat on Harry’s bedside table, but it brought him no joy now.
The entire post-war life he’d been building was crumbling around him, and he was powerless to hold it together. He hated it. He felt even more powerless and out of his element than he’d had when he first learned the prophesy and what his life would entail. There was, at least, a point to it all then — kill Voldemort or die trying. This… this was just sitting back and letting his world be destroyed piece by piece.
He chewed mechanically on some potatoes, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything he could do to help. Ginny had been telling him for years that it wasn’t all up to him to save the day anymore, but he found he wished it was.
“I bet the lack of opportunity to have Mum watch Victoire for them is seriously impeding their sibling-making abilities,” George said, sniggering. “I bet Bill is as grumpy as some of the goblins he works with.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know, George, your parents managed to have seven of you. I’m certain there are opportunities with only one toddler running around.”
Harry suddenly released a bark of laughter at the revolted expression on George’s face. Although, truth be told, he really didn’t want to think about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that way, either.
Both George and Hermione turned toward him, apparently shocked by his response after his sullen mood all day. Hermione looked rather pleased with herself and adopted that smug expression that never failed to irritate him.
A grin crossed George’s face. Raising his wand, he said, “Accio, pudding.”
Harry watched as one of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent treacle tarts came soaring into the room, hovering in front of George until he snatched it out of the air. He scooped a heap of it onto Harry’s plate. It was Harry’s favorite, and he thought Mrs. Weasley made it better than even the house-elves at Hogwarts had done.
“None for you,” George said to Hermione, scooping out his own and beginning to eat. “No treacle tart for anyone who jokes about my parents’ love life. That’s off-limits to all in my company.”
Hermione stuck out her lower lip, pouting for a moment before picking up her spoon and taking some right from Harry’s plate.
“Hey! That’s mine,” Harry said, blocking her spoon with his own when she went for a second scoop.
They battled with their spoons like swords until George heaped another massive scoop onto Harry’s plate. “Mum’ll skin me alive she hears Harry didn’t get enough. She makes this just for you, you know.”
“I like her Black Forest Cake the best,” Hermione said, taking another spoonful from Harry’s plate.
“Mum does make the best puddings, but she used to make these jam roly polys when we were little. She hasn’t done them in ages, but they were the best,” George said, closing his eyes in apparent relish of his nostalgia.
Before anyone could respond, there was a commotion outside on the landing. Several sets of footsteps came charging up the stairs and into the room they were using as an infirmary.
Harry, Hermione and George all looked at one another blankly before shoving their plates to the side and hurrying out of the room. The landing was empty, and the door to the infirmary was tightly shut. Harry tried the knob, but it refused to turn. He banged on the door.
“Hello? Who’s here, and why is this door locked?” he asked.
There was no reply. Both George and Hermione began knocking and firing off questions as well. Throughout the clamor, Harry’s heart was thudding painfully. There were only a handful of people who had access to Grimmauld Place under normal circumstances. During the quarantine, it was only Vivian, several Healers and the medi-witches who came daily. It wasn’t yet time for the medi-witch to go off duty, so that meant several of the others had arrived in a hurry. There had been more than one set of footsteps they’d heard on the landing. Either the Healers had discovered something new and were trying it out on Ron and Ginny… or the medi-witch had called for aid.
Judging by the state he’d left both Ron and Ginny in that morning, Harry’s gut was telling him it was the latter, but his desperate hope was wishing for the former.
“Vivian,” he bellowed. “What’s going on?”
Chapter 18: The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Author's Notes: Okay, so a bit of hope with a lot of worry. That’s generally how an illness works, right? Please don’t forget to hit review and share your thoughts. I love to hear what you’re all thinking. I answer the reviews that allow me to do so.
Much thanks and appreciation to my beta team – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their endless patience and support. The input from each of them has truly made this a better story.
The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Harry, George and Hermione all stood on the landing, shouting over one another, and pounding on the closed door of the room they were using as an infirmary.
“Oh, why won’t they at least answer us?” Hermione asked, fuming with frustration. “What do you suppose is happening?”
“Maybe they put up a Silencing Charm so we can’t hear them, but it means they don’t hear us, either?” George said. “The strings from the Extendable Ears are missing.”
Harry looked down, startled. George was right. Usually the Ears remained on the landing so they could converse with Ginny and Ron at any time.
“Stand back,” he said, pulling out his wand and squaring his shoulders.
“Harry, you can’t!” Hermione said, knocking his arm down. “Even if you break their charms, you’ll ruin all their personal protective charms, as well. That puts them all at risk.”
Harry pressed his lips together, not caring particularly much about the Healers’ personal protection at the moment.
“Don’t be rash. You might not care now, but you’d definitely feel guilty later,” Hermione said, apparently aware of what he was thinking. Bloody hell, had she gone and learned Legilimency?
“She’s right, mate,” George said. “Tell me the spell to use, and I’ll do it. I have much less of a guilt-complex than you.”
“No,” Hermione said firmly, glaring at George. “We’re just going to have to wait a few minutes. They can’t stay in there forever.”
“How about a spell that makes them all need to pee?” George asked.
“Since we don’t know what’s going on, we don’t want to interrupt them from tending to Ron and Ginny. We don’t know that there isn’t something really wrong,” Hermione said, her voice breaking. She hid her face in her hands and sniffled.
“Nice one, George,” Harry said.
George wrapped his arm around Hermione and patted her shoulder a bit. “Aww, come off it, Hermione. I was only joking. The more stressed I get, the more inappropriate my humor becomes. Forgive me?”
Hermione leaned her head into him and took her hands away from her face. “What do you think is happening?” she asked quietly.
Harry shook his head, staring back at the solidly closed door. “I wish I knew. Maybe they’ve had success with that draught they’ve been working on, and they’re administering it now,” he said, his mind conjuring the image of the door flinging open and Ginny striding out with that blazing look in her eyes.
“Or it could be that the medi-witch called for assistance because something is wrong,” George said dully, and the image in Harry’s mind imploded.
Hermione sniffled again. “Oh, I wish they’d just tell us something.”
Sighing, Harry conjured three puffy chairs, the kind Professor Dumbledore always used to create, although Harry’s versions were black rather than purple. The three of them all sat down, Hermione in the middle holding each of their hands, as if sitting in the waiting area of St. Mungo’s rather than on the small, and now very cramped, landing. Harry scrunched up his face in concentration, attempting to push positive thoughts through the door to his friends — his family — on the other side.
He wasn’t certain how long they sat there, it seemed like days, but eventually, the door cracked open and Vivian stepped out, looking rather worn. Her eyes widened in surprise at finding them all on the landing, but she cancelled her Bubble-Head Charm as the three scrambled to their feet.
“What happened? What’s going on?”
“Are Ron and Ginny all right?”
“What the bloody hell is going on in there?”
Harry, Hermione and George all shouted at once, the urgency in their voices causing Vivian to wave her hands in a ‘settle down’ motion.
“I’m not going to shout over you, so let me know when you’re ready to hear what I have to say,” she said, beadily eyeing them all.
Harry usually got on well with Vivian, but at that particular moment, he could barely suppress his desire to throttle her.
“We want to know what’s going on,” Hermione said, her voice strained. “We’ve all been going spare waiting to hear something.”
“Understandable,” Vivian said, nodding. “The medi-witch on duty contacted the Healers that there’d been a change in Miss Weasley’s condition. I happened to be with them, so we all came at once.”
Harry’s breath caught, and there was a ringing in his ears. Hermione blindly grasped for his hand, squeezing it tightly once they connected.
“A change — you mean that she’s altered? We told you that this morning,” Hermione said, her voice shrill.
Vivian shook her head, and her eyes shifted briefly to Harry. The sadness in them made his knees feel weak. “No. She remained altered all day, until this evening. When the medi-witch tried to rouse her from her slumber for her evening meds, she couldn’t. I’m afraid Miss Weasley has slipped into a coma. I’m sorry.”
George slumped back into his chair. “What does that mean? How long does she have?” he asked.
“She’s not going to die,” Harry said, and his shaky voice echoed loudly on the open landing.
“We’re going to try our best to see that she doesn’t,” Vivian replied. “Our mandrake draught is nearly complete, and Miss Weasley will be the first we try it on. We’re experimenting with a few minor tweaks to ensure she’s restored to a state of full health rather than just at a point where the illness hadn’t progressed too far.”
“So, if she’s the first… there could be complications?” Hermione asked.
“Yes. That is a risk, but we feel it’s one worth taking. The coma state has only lasted a few days, so our time is limited if we’re going to use it,” Vivian said bluntly.
“And what if it isn’t right, and she’s only reverted to an early stage of the illness?” Harry asked, his voice raspy and sounding quite unlike his own.
“Unfortunately, we’d have to wait until it’s completely out of her system before we could try again,” Vivian said.
“So, if we wait too long, she might be too far gone to try it again if there’s a need?” Hermione persisted.
“Precisely,” Vivian answered.
“And she’s the first you’re going to attempt it on?” Hermione asked, glancing warily at both Harry and George. George stared ahead blankly without giving any indication if he was listening, and Harry felt incapable of speech or coherent thought. Ginny was dying. She was slipping away, and he had to depend on Vivian and a bunch of strangers to save her rather than doing anything himself.
He might’ve been able to save her from the memory of Tom Riddle when he was twelve, but he was useless to her now.
“We’re going to try it on both Miss Weasley and one of the coaches from the Magpie team. Both have entered the latter stages of the illness,” Vivian said.
“What about the Muggles?” Hermione asked tearfully.
“We’re hoping that once it works on these first two subjects, we can infiltrate it into their research. Muggle scientists have been diligently searching for their own cure without the knowledge of its magical element. They’ve narrowed it down to a particularly virulent strain of encephalitis, which is an inflammation of the brain tissue. It’s frequently caused by a viral infection carried by insects, but in rare cases can be caused by bacteria or even fungi. This makes it easier for us to slip the antidote into their research.
“We’ve unfortunately had to modify the memories of a few scientists who discovered some abnormalities, but we feel if we can lead them onto the correct remedy whilst letting them believe they’ve solved it, it will ensure the Statute of Secrecy remains intact,” Vivian explained.
“So we can cover up our own mistake, you mean?” Hermione asked, scowling.
“No, so once we get the proper remedy to them, their own scientists get a good look to ensure there isn’t anything hazardous to Muggles that we’re unaware of. The Muggles are far cleverer than most magical folk give them credit for, and they could just as easily spot something harmful to a Muggle, as we could detect something that wouldn’t work for a witch or wizard,” Vivian said pointedly.
Hermione harrumphed and folded her arms.
“What’s happening to Ginny now?” George asked, shaking his head as if he’d been Stunned.
“The Healers are still with her, and another medi-witch will be taking a shift overnight to monitor her. We’re hoping to have this draught ready within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, and one of the Healers will return to administer it,” Vivian said.
“What can we do in the meantime?” George asked.
“Use those marvelous Ears and keep talking to her. She won’t be able to answer you, but we have reason to believe comatose patients can still hear you,” Vivian said gently. “It can’t hurt, at any rate.”
George remained seated, looking dazed but nodding his acceptance.
“How’s Ron?” Hermione asked. “How has he reacted to all the Healers being in there, and Ginny slipping into a coma?”
Vivian grimaced. “Confused. He gets very protective of his sister, but then we calm him down, and after a few minutes, the cycle starts all over again,” she said. “We’ve found the best way of coping with it is by distracting him. It’s a method we’ve learned through experience with some of the other victims.”
“Ron’s very nature is to be protective, so distracting him from being that way is only temporary,” Hermione said.
“Yes, we’ve seen it. Still, his symptoms are less severe than his sister’s and some of the other cases, so we’re hopeful it’ll stay that way,” Vivian said.
“But he’ll still get this draught, too, right?” George asked.
Vivian pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, to be honest, if he was a singular quarantined case, we’d hold out until we see the results, but since he is confined with Miss Weasley, we’re planning on administering it to both simultaneously and monitoring their progress.”
“Does that mean it would be better for Ron to wait?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening.
Vivian shook her head. “No. While Spattergroit can only infect an individual once, currently, we’re not certain the same is true for this strain. It’s better to do both at the same time and eliminate the possibility of cross contamination.”
Harry had been listening intently to all Vivian said, but something was tickling at the back of his brain.
“How have you learned so much about this illness while we’ve all been quarantined?” he asked, his eyes boring into her.
She shifted only slightly, but he noticed. She licked her lips, shrugging. “I’m not certain what you mean. We’ve been studying it since its appearance, as you’re well aware.”
“Yes, but as far as I know, we didn’t find anything significant in the notes from St. Mungo’s. I’ve been in contact with Owen, and he hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Harry said. He’d never been certain Vivian was telling him the whole truth, but he knew Owen would always have his back and share what he knew. So that meant Owen wasn’t the one who’d made any sort of connection.
“Right, but I told you that we’ve been continuing to test various potions in the Department of Mysteries and learning from them,” Vivian said. “Our purpose is to study and better understand how things work. I’m aware all of you, with the exception of Mr. Weasley here, are well acquainted with the brain room inside our department.”
“That’s not my fault. I’d have been with them if I knew they were going,” George said at once.
Harry’s eyes narrowed, his mind flashing to a dark room with a swirling brain inside a tank, its tendrils slithering like snakes as it wrapped itself around Ron’s arms. The Death Eaters had all been aware of that room, as well.
“You said the Unspeakables were aware the Death Eaters had been testing, and you were monitoring various anomalies in the Muggle world. What you didn’t say is where you received this information,” he said, the pieces fitting together like a puzzle inside his own brain.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” she said, her lips thinning.
Harry wasn’t about to let her off with that. “No, you’ve been researching what the Death Eaters did, which means you’ve made other discoveries which didn’t make as big an impact. You were onto them already when I was assigned the case of tracking down this missing wizard. You were already ready to detain us.”
Why hadn’t he seen it before?
“You’ve been using the information you’ve gained from these Muggle experiments?” Hermione gasped.
“Are you saying you don’t want us to use any of our other findings to assist in obtaining a cure for the inflicted?” Vivian asked harshly.
“You know damn well that’s not what I’m saying. I also distinctly remember the Minister telling all the departments we had to share information, that we were all working together as one Ministry. So, are you going to share what you know, or do I have to inform the Minister that — surprise, surprise — the Department of Mysteries is once again keeping secrets?” Harry snarled.
Vivian put her hands on her hips. “You do what you feel you must, but I assure you, the Minister is well aware of what my department has been researching.”
Harry didn’t know if she was bluffing, but he intended to find out. As long as she was sharing some information now, he intended to find out everything he could.
“What caused you to initially suspect the Death Eaters had been conducting these experiments?” he asked.
“Some of the statements of various captured individuals led us to believe there was a covert effort to coerce the potion makers at St. Mungo’s,” Vivian replied.
Harry furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Statements? I don’t recall reading anything about this.”
Vivian nodded. “Naturally, some of the statements have had to be redacted to ensure no one else decides to further these experiments.”
“No one else but your department, you mean?” Hermione asked waspishly, scowling at Vivian, who appeared unperturbed by Hermione’s disdain.
“Miss Granger, as you well know, science is ever-evolving. Just because this information came from nefarious means doesn’t negate the scientific fact of the knowledge. We don’t want the methods known in order to discourage others from following in their footsteps, but in examining facts that already exist, we’ve discovered something that can help. I won’t apologize for using it to save lives.”
At the moment, Harry was more concerned about where the information had come from, and he voiced his thoughts, hoping he’d see some flicker of recognition on Vivian’s face. “It would have had to have been someone fairly high up in the organization who knew about the testing. Voldemort wasn’t known for sharing his schemes, or putting all his potions in one cauldron,” he said, still pondering. Or all his Horcruxes in one hiding place.
Vivian nodded. “Some of those entrenched in Voldemort’s inner circle attempted to bargain for their freedom with various facts of which they were aware. We compiled reports of everything we learned, and we’ve been seeking evidence of anything that actually did make it into the Muggle world. This was the first instance of something of this magnitude.”
“So, is there a prisoner in Azkaban who could know more?” Hermione asked swiftly.
Harry shook his head. “No… that’s not the right question, Hermione… Is there someone who evaded capture that’s still on the outside who facilitated this whole mess?” he asked.
Vivian raised her eyebrows but remained mute.
Hermione looked startled. “But… I thought Gwilym Gethin was seeking a cure for Spattergroit scarring, and that’s how all this came about,” she said.
“Right… but who recruited Gethin?” Harry asked. “And who knew he was continuing his experiments after the war?”
Hermione spun back toward Vivian. “Why is the Department of Mysteries investigating this and not the Aurors?”
“Because before this occurred, it was merely research — watching and waiting and gathering information. Now, we believe an actual crime has occurred, so there will need to be an inquiry. I expect Department Head Robards will coordinate a team, if he hasn’t done so already,” Vivian said.
“And how is that going to be done if everyone is working remotely?” Harry asked.
“Well, if our assumptions are correct and this antidote works, hopefully we can start easing the restrictions soon,” Vivian said.
“But… this is a cure for those infected, not a vaccine to stop anyone else from getting it, right?” Harry asked.
“That is correct, but if it works as an antidote, we have a way to treat it should anyone else become infected,” Vivian said.
“Magical medicine is quite different from its Muggle counterpart, Harry. There are ways to treat illnesses. Magic makes healing the body easier and much less intrusive,” Hermione explained.
“What about the Muggles, then? They’ll want a vaccine,” Harry asked.
“Yes, but usually the way they accomplish this is through using a small bit of the infected blood. We’re currently running tests to see if it’ll work for them,” Vivian said.
“How long after you give it to them until we know if Ron and Ginny are going to improve?” George asked impatiently. Harry could understand his desire to keep the focus on his siblings, but Harry knew it would be his job to catch whoever had plotted this. Finally, there would be something he could do, and he was itching for some retribution.
“Since it hasn’t yet been tested on human subjects, there’s still a small but significant bit of uncertainty. What our research has shown is that it should basically work in reverse, meaning Ronald, who is less affected, should show signs of improvement first,” Vivian said, seeming to choose her words very carefully.
“And Ginny?” Harry asked swiftly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“Hopefully, soon after. There is the risk that if she’s gone too far before the draught is administered, it will be too late to remedy,” Vivian said, sobering them all.
“So, why not just give it to her now, then?” George asked, paling.
“Believe me, we’re weighing the risks to the benefits constantly. As I said, another medi-witch has been called, and will remain with them overnight. Hopefully at some point tomorrow, we’ll have something to try. In the meantime, I’d suggest you all get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy and likely stressful day,” Vivian said, nodding at each of them before marching down the stairs, her head high and back ramrod straight.
Harry didn’t think it likely that any of them would be able to sleep tonight.
The next day passed interminably slowly. They’d expected to hear from Vivian or the Healers during the morning hours, but they came and went and dragged into the afternoon with still no word. As he’d expected, Harry had slept poorly, tossing and turning the entire night, and as a result, his head felt as if someone was hammering against his skull by late afternoon. He’d been growing more and more short-tempered as the day wore on, eventually resting in the sitting room with the blood thumping inside his temple. It was all he could do not to snap and rage at the lot of them.
Around mid-afternoon, a third medi-witch had arrived to replace the previous one on duty. Since one had been present since Vivian’s departure the night before, neither Harry nor Hermione had been able to go inside to see with their own eyes how Ron and Ginny were faring. After the third medi-witch had been inside the room for several hours without a word from the Ministry, Harry decided he was going in, anyway. Hermione said she was joining him — the medi-witch wouldn’t be able to throw them both out.
“I’m coming, too,” George said decisively. He was pale and clammy, but his shoulders were squared as if ready to do battle.
“George—” Hermione began, but he cut her off.
“Don’t start, Hermione. If I get it, then they can try this draught on me, too. If it doesn’t work, I’m at least going to see my sister one last time. I didn’t get to do that with Fr— I didn’t get to do that before, and I’m not going to let it happen again,” he choked, swallowing heavily.
Harry clenched his jaw, feeling a physical ache down to his very soul. How much loss were they all supposed to take?
Tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes, but she reached out to grab his arm to try and stop him from leaving the sitting room where they’d all gathered. “Oh, but—”
“Leave it, Hermione,” Harry said firmly, turning his attention toward George. “You need to concentrate really hard when you cast the Bubble-Head Charm, and use a new pair of dragon-hide gloves. Nothing that you’ve used in the shop that could have any kind of damage is good enough.”
“I have a new pair. I’ll get them and meet you outside the Infirmary,” George said, nodding fervently before sprinting from the room.
“Harry, this isn’t a good idea,” Hermione pleaded, her eyes fixed on the now empty doorway. “His parents can’t take any more.”
Harry sighed. There weren’t easy answers anywhere, so he had to rely on what he felt was right.
“I’m aware of that, Hermione, but I think his need for closure trumps their need for his safety, right now,” he said, clenching his lips together tightly and thinking of Sirius. The lack of closure after Sirius’ death had haunted him. He doubted that being able to say goodbye and have some sort of preparation could have eased the agony, but the torment of always wondering could, at least, be relieved. He could understand George’s need to say goodbye, even if it ripped his own heart in two to consider there might be a need for it.
“There’s no guarantee this draught will work,” Hermione whispered, her lower lip trembling.
Harry had to try twice to get the words out, “And that’s why he needs to be able to say goodbye, in case it all goes to hell.”
Hermione grasped his arm, her fingernails digging into the skin on the joint of his elbow. “It won’t, Harry. You’re not going to lose her,” she said fiercely.
“You just said there was no guarantee,” he reminded her, his voice hoarse.
Hermione shook her head, making her curls bounce fervently. “I know, but I mean that for George.”
Harry tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “Thanks for trying, Hermione, but I have no illusions about how this might end.” It was the story of his life, really. The people he cared about always disappeared in the end, leaving him alone and a little less whole.
Hermione clenched his arm tighter, and he was fairly certain she was drawing blood. “Don’t fall into that pit, Harry, not when we’re this close to our goal.”
His throat ached, and he could no longer manage the words to argue with her. He was going up to see Ginny. He hadn’t seen her since she’d lapsed into the coma, although he’d talked to her on the Extendable Ears many times. He needed to see her, to let her know he was with her, and that medi-witch wasn’t going to stop him even if he had to hex her to do it.
He and Hermione met George on the landing, all of them checking and double-checking their protections. When they pushed the door open, Harry went in first.
The medi-witch had been adjusting the pillows supporting Ron’s head, and she spun around, alarmed, as they all bustled into the room. She was younger than the other medi-witches, with dark skin and plaited hair that reminded Harry of Angelina Johnson. Her eyes became huge beneath her Bubble-Head Charm, and she raised her hands, as if trying to ward them off.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she said, sounding nervous. It perplexed Harry slightly, as all the other medi-witches had been very stern and bossy, some even rather over-bearing.
“We’re aware of that, but we needed the chance to speak with them in case… if… well, just in case,” Harry said, his voice cracking yet again.
His eyes were drawn toward the other bed were Ginny lay still and unmoving, pale as a corpse. She was unnaturally silent, but somehow, he didn’t think she looked peaceful. Her hair was limp and lifeless, woven into a plait that lay neatly on the side of her pillow. It was usually flung wildly around her, vibrant and tousled, the way he preferred.
“Hermione!” Ron said, grinning. “What’s going on? Where have you been?”
“Really, you’re not supposed to be in here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the medi-witch said, exasperated.
George maneuvered his way around her and over to the other side of Ginny’s bed. He simply stared at her, unmoving, unspeaking, and Harry suspected he wasn’t even aware of the others in the room.
He couldn’t help but wonder which sibling George was seeing just then.
Hermione perched on the edge of Ron’s bed, taking his hand in her own. “How have you been? They haven’t allowed us to come inside.”
“You aren’t allowed inside. This is completely against the rules, and I’m going to have to report you,” the medi-witch said, glaring at Hermione. She seemed to have found her confidence.
“That’s fine. We’re all aware of your rules, but we’ve been coming in during the evenings, Miss—” Hermione said, letting her words hang.
“Barton,” the medi-witch snapped. “I need you all to leave.”
“Have you heard what time the Healers are coming to administer the draught?” Harry asked, cutting across her.
Miss Barton’s eyes went wide, and she seemed to shrink before him, “I- ah- no, no. I haven’t h- heard when,” she said, stuttering, her eyes glued to his scar.
“What draught?” Ron asked loudly. “I thought you all came to visit me. Did you bring anything to eat? What difference does it make when more Healers arrive? I’m here now.”
“Of course, we’re here to see you, Ron — and Ginny, too. How has she been?” Hermione asked, smiling and brushing a strand of Ron’s hair. He leaned into her touch and grinned happily having her attention back.
“She’s been sleeping for a long time. It’s boring here,” he whinged. “When can I go home?”
“Soon,” Hermione said, sniffling. “I hope very soon.”
Harry moved away from Ginny’s bed to give George a modicum of privacy with his sister. “Do you at least know if it will still take place at some point today?” he asked Miss Barton.
Her eyes bugged out, and she backed up a step so she was nearly against the wall, shaking her head vigorously. “Yes, today, b- but I don’t know when, M- Mr. P- Potter,” she stammered.
Harry gritted his teeth, his head pounding. The last thing he wanted to deal with today was someone overly fixated on his ‘celebrity’ status. How could that matter with everything else that was going on? Swearing to himself, he stuck out his hand to get it over with. “Harry Potter, Miss Barton, nice to meet you. Now, can we focus on your patients?” he asked, unable to completely hide the bite in his words.
Miss Barton shook his hand, thunderstruck. After an uncomfortable moment, he finally had to pull his hand away as she apparently didn’t intend to let go.
“Harry! Want to play chess?” Ron asked brightly, as if just realizing Harry was there.
Harry ran his hand through his hair. His head throbbed so badly that he thought a game of chess might do him in, but how could he refuse Ron’s eagerness?
“I’ll play,” Hermione said, standing up to get the chessboard off Ron’s bedside table.
Harry smiled gratefully and tried to thank her with his eyes.
“You all right, mate? You don’t look so good,” Ron asked suddenly, peering at Harry intently.
Harry thought it was a bit rich that Ron, sitting in a hospital bed with access only to cleaning spells for days, thought that Harry didn’t look well. The world had gone mad.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.
“Of course, you are,” Hermione muttered under her breath and Ron sniggered.
She began to arrange the chess pieces despite the fact Ron kept knocking them over. Harry snuck a glance over toward the other side of the room. George held Ginny’s hand, speaking quietly to her. Harry stood between the two beds, feeling lost and hopelessly torn. Miss Barton looked at them all, annoyed.
“I’m going down to use the Floo and report this,” she said, marching from the room with her head held high.
“Ask them when they’ll be here with that draught,” Harry called after her.
She ignored him.
He moved to stand over Hermione’s shoulder, watching as the match progressed. Ron’s moves were sporadic, occasionally displaying a flash of his old brilliance, yet mostly just random moves across the board. When Hermione actually had to point out a move to him, Harry couldn’t watch anymore. He fixed his eyes on the window, watching as clouds rolled in and began to overtake the sun. He wasn’t certain of the date, but suspected it must be close to the first of September. He knew Hogwarts wasn’t opening on schedule this year. Already, the days were growing shorter.
George stood abruptly, dropping Ginny’s hand, which landed back on the bed with a thump. He tried to hide his face, but Harry could see the tear tracks staining it, and he tried to look away tactfully.
“I’m going,” George choked, hurrying toward the door.
“Hey! You didn’t visit with me yet. I’m your brother, too,” Ron said indignantly, but George didn’t falter and pulled the door open, hurrying from the room.
“Should we go after him?” Hermione asked, her eyes fixed on the door where he’d departed.
“Give him a minute,” Harry said, his voice still held that awful, raspy quality. He moved toward Ginny’s bed, pausing a moment to stare down at her. She hadn’t moved, and her stillness unnerved him. He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, staring intently to see if he could detect the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
It was there, but shallow.
He reached over and took her pale hand in his, craving with all his might that she’d squeeze his fingers back.
She didn’t.
He took a deep breath, wishing fervently that Hermione and Ron weren’t in the room with them. He could hear the murmur of their voices, but he tried to block out the words. Keeping her hand in his, he used his other to lift the end of her plait, tugging it gently.
“Hey, Whisky,” he whispered, recalling how she joked about not letting the nickname be the only thing she remembered. He’d give everything he owned if she’d joke with him now. Her eyelids weren’t even moving to signal she was dreaming.
“I need you to hang on for a bit longer, okay? I know you’ve been fighting, but just a little longer. You’ve always been a fighter, and they’re coming with something that should help.”
The back of Harry’s neck felt very warm, and he hunched over, trying to keep his words from carrying across the room.
“Promise me you won’t leave me, Ginny. You’re supposed to be the one who breaks all the rules and outlives me, remember? You said witches generally outlive wizards, and I’m counting on that. I love you, Ginny, and I need you to stay with me,” he said before his throat closed. Blinking furiously, he tried to get his eyes to cooperate. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t say goodbye to her because she wasn’t going to die. It couldn’t end this way.
Except it could. He knew that it could, so why did his heart want to deny the possibility? Had experience taught him nothing?
The door banged open, and he scrambled to his feet, surreptitiously blinking his eyes in an attempt to clear them.
“They said you’re definitely not supposed to be in here,” Miss Barton said triumphantly. “They’ll be here momentarily to administer the draught, so you’d best scarper.”
“I’m staying while it’s done,” Harry said, clearing his throat.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Potter,” Miss Barton said, a little less fiercely. “They’re bringing their supplies, and you’ll need to let them work.”
“Who’s coming? Are we having a party?” Ron asked, brightening. “Can I get some Firewhisky?”
“The Healers are coming, Ron,” Hermione said.
“We’ll see once they arrive,” Harry said, stuffing his hands inside his pockets and refusing to meet the medi-witch’s eyes. He edged his way back over to Ginny, but didn’t sit down again.
Her hand lay limply on the sheet in the exact same spot as when he’d let go. Something about her unmoving hand caused his eyes to fill once again, and the desire to flee fought valiantly against his need to stay and find out what had taken so long. Vivian had said that if it was going to work, Ron would recover first, but she hadn’t given any sort of timeline on when she expected that to happen. Would they all know by tonight? Tomorrow? Did it take several days?
Did Ginny have several more days?
He blinked fiercely, trying to clear his eyes along with his head. He was startled when he felt Hermione’s hand reach for his own. He looked up to find her watching him with a pitying expression that he couldn’t stand to see.
He purposefully looked away from her.
“Did they tell you how long they expect it to take?” Hermione asked, voicing his thoughts.
Harry knew that she was as anxious as he was for it to work, and he returned the pressure on her hand.
“I’m not certain. It hasn’t been tried before now,” Miss Barton said.
It took only a few minutes before they could hear voices coming up the stairs. Harry glanced out the window. Night had fallen, and a light rain spattered against the glass.
The door once again opened, and this time, Vivian led two Healers and one of the regular medi-witches inside, making the room impossibly cramped.
“All right, you two. I still need to bring a cauldron in here, so you’ll need to say your goodbyes and let us get to work,” Vivian said decisively.
Harry could see the appalled expression on one of the Healers at finding Hermione and him in the room.
“What’s going on?” Ron asked loudly.
“What took so long? I thought you were going to be here this morning?” Harry asked, focusing on Vivian.
“Testing took longer than we’d expected, and we had to document everything so we can duplicate our results,” Vivian replied.
“I took a version of a mandrake draught when I was Petrified back at Hogwarts. It took about twelve hours for it to take effect. Is that what you expect this time?” Hermione asked.
“Actually, we think it’ll be a bit longer, but we can’t be certain until it’s administered,” Vivian said.
“Unspeakable Scott, we really do need to get the cauldron lit before we can do anything,” one of the Healers said, a pompous little man with a permanent scowl. He eyed Harry and Hermione beadily as if he’d like nothing more than to berate them for not adhering to his rules.
Vivian nodded. “Of course. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, if you could just step outside, I promise to speak to you once it’s been done, and let you know of anything we observe.”
Hermione let go of Harry’s hand and squeezed her way around the Healers over to Ron, hugging him briefly. “I’ll see you soon, Ron,” she said tearfully.
Harry’s breath caught. This was both of them. He clung to the idea that if it didn’t work, there would still be time for Ron, but about Ginny? He dragged his gaze up her motionless form. She hadn’t moved — and he still couldn’t say goodbye. He’d wondered earlier if it would’ve been easier if he could’ve said goodbye to Sirius.
It wouldn’t.
It didn’t matter. He was no more prepared now than he’d been then. He couldn’t say goodbye. He reached out and gently lay his hand on top of hers, feeling as if the rain outside indicated she was taking all the sunlight there could ever be with her.
“I’ll be waiting,” he choked.
Hermione wrapped her arms around him and pulled him outside the room. Not knowing what else to do, he allowed it, leaning in to hug her back as they stood motionless on the landing, staring at the solidly-closed door.
Chapter 19: Hope
Author's Notes: And there we go! Sorry, not sorry for stressing you all out, but thanks so much for the comments and concerns. As a writer, they’re thrilling to read. At this point in the story, I was damn sick and tired of our confinement, so it was time to move on, but the story isn’t over yet…
As always, thanks so much to my over-the-top excellent beta team. They all serve different roles, but all of them are most definitely essential – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue!
Hope
Harry awoke the next morning feeling wretched. He’d kicked all the covers off at some point during the night, but he still felt absurdly warm and uncomfortable. His throat ached, his chest hurt, and his head was pounding. He rose from the bed, his legs feeling shaky beneath him, and stumbled into the bathroom.
“You’re either severely pissed, or you’ve got the flu, scruffy,” the mirror said as he pulled open the cupboard.
He ignored it as he found a bottle of Pepper-Up potion on the shelf. He uncorked it and downed it in one gulp, watching in the offending mirror as steam blew out his ears. His stubbled-chin and bleary eyes stared back at him. The mirror wasn’t exaggerating — he really did look scruffy.
As the potion began to clear some of the fog in his brain, he lurched back out onto the landing. The infirmary door was still closed, and he couldn’t detect any sounds from within. He re-entered his own bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The clock on his bedside table read half six, and he felt it was too early to demand answers. He supposed it would be all right if he just shut his eyes for a little while longer.
It seemed just a moment later when he heard Hermione’s voice from outside his door. “Harry, are you up yet? Come on. Vivian is here, and she wants to see us all in the kitchen. I have coffee ready.”
Harry blinked several times in an attempt to clear his head, which was still pounding and felt as if it were full of dust. Thinking the Pepper-Up Potion must’ve been too old to be fully effective, he glanced at his clock.
It read just after ten o’clock.
Harry’s heart began to race, and he jumped out of bed, reaching for his dressing gown. The room began to spin, and he stumbled, having to grab onto his wardrobe to stay upright. How could he have possibly slept so late? If Vivian was here, there had to be news, and he’d been asleep, blissfully unaware. What if something had happened, and he didn’t know? How long had Hermione been banging on his door?
His anxiety increasing as each additional thought raced through his mind, Harry had to stop on the landing, clutching the wall for support as another wave of dizziness overcame him. Gripping the banister securely, he made his way downstairs and found the others all gathered around the island countertop, awaiting him.
“It’s about time,” George snapped as soon as Harry entered.
“I don’t know how you could’ve chosen today of all days for a lie-in, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding exasperated.
Vivian perused him critically from beneath her Bubble-Head Charm. “Do you feel all right, Mr. Potter?” she asked, pursing her lips.
Hermione’s head spun around, surveying him with narrowed eyes.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, sinking onto one of the stools and reaching automatically for the coffee. Once he smelled it, however, he put it down, turning his head away.
“You look awful,” Hermione said, putting the back of her hand against his forehead.
He pulled away irritably. “Gerroff.”
“Harry! You’re burning up. I told you that you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t start taking care of yourself,” Hermione said, scowling.
“Never mind that. What’s happened with Ginny and Ron?” Harry demanded, his eyes glued on Vivian.
“Mr. Potter, if you’re unwell, I need to have one of the Healers come and take a look at you. Under no circumstances are you to enter the sick room until you’ve been cleared,” Vivian said, pulling out her wand and moving to stand in front of Harry. She waved her wand over him thoroughly in what Harry now recognized as a full-body scan.
“You think I have it, now?” he asked. “I don’t remember a fever and body aches being associated with Spattergroit.”
Vivian shook her head. “It isn’t, but I still want the Healers to look at your scan. Both Weasleys have been compromised already, so I don’t want to risk any sort of additional infection. You can use the Ears, but you must stay out of that room. Do I make myself clear?” she asked.
“Yes,” Harry said sullenly. He’d never put either Ginny or Ron at risk, but if he wasn’t allowed to see them… that must mean they were getting better, or he couldn’t make them any worse, right? “Is the draught working?”
Vivian stowed her wand and returned to her stool.
George tried to push Harry’s coffee cup back to him, but Harry just shook his head. Aside from the fact it held no appeal, he was too worked up to handle breakfast even if he could eat.
“We believe Mr. Weasley is showing signs of improvement. He’s still very disorientated, but that’s understandable. He appears able to comprehend more of what the Healers are saying to him, and his ability to perform some of the motor skill tasks has improved,” Vivian said.
Hermione visibly slumped in relief, shutting her eyes for a moment as she absorbed the words.
“What about Ginny?” George asked.
“She’s still unconscious, but there hasn’t been further deterioration, which is a good sign. We told you it would take longer for her since her case is further advanced,” Vivian said.
Harry felt elated for Ron, but the dread surrounding Ginny still remained. He wished he could think clearly, but his head felt stuffed with cotton wool.
“Shouldn’t her scans show some improvement?” he asked, slightly desperate.
Hermione’s eyes opened wide. “How long before he awoke did Ron’s scans begin to show improvement?” she asked, and Harry felt gratitude that she was thinking for him.
“Several hours, but the point is, Miss. Weasley’s scans had been showing steady deterioration, and they’ve levelled off. We’re considering that a positive,” Vivian replied.
“Can I go up and see him?” Hermione asked.
Vivian huffed, her eyes narrowing. “Technically, none of you are supposed to have gone in there, but I’m well aware of how you all enjoy flouting the rules. I’m going to insist that no one goes in until a Healer can look you all over to be certain neither of you,” she nodded toward George and Hermione, “are coming down with whatever Mr. Potter has. You,” she pointed at Harry, “are to stay out until you’re medically cleared.”
Harry scowled, but he knew she was right. His body had to wait until this moment, until he was on the precipice of seeing his friends healthy, to fail him? Fate really hated him.
Hermione poured a glass of pumpkin juice and pushed it toward him. “You need liquids, Harry. I’ll check on both of them once I can, and let you know everything that’s happening,” she said, reassuringly.
Harry nodded miserably, forcing himself to take a sip of the juice. It did feel pleasurably cool on his burning throat.
“Go back to bed, Mr. Potter. I’ll send a Healer in to check on you shortly,” Vivian said. She stood from the counter and mounted the stairs leading out of the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, Harry. Once the Healer gives you a few potions, you’ll feel good as new, and I have the most perfectly-sunny disposition to make an excellent nursemaid,” George said, grinning widely.
Harry glared at him over the rim of his glass, putting it down after managing another sip. He slumped against the counter, placing his elbow down in order to prop up his aching head.
“Since all we’re doing is waiting, there’s no reason you can’t do that while resting,” Hermione said, cajolingly, casting a Cooling Charm on his pumpkin juice. “Help him upstairs, George, and I’ll bring the juice.”
“I can walk,” Harry said, trying to push George’s helping hand away.
George ignored him, slinging Harry’s arm over his shoulders and wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him to his feet.
“Come on, mate. Just think of how delighted Ron is going to be when I tell him I tucked you into bed with a kiss on your burning forehead,” George said, cackling.
“If you kiss me, I’m hexing you,” Harry said grumpily, feeling irritated and refusing to admit that he was leaning on George more heavily with each set of stairs they climbed.
When they finally reached Harry’s bedroom, he was panting slightly. George lowered him onto his unmade bed, and Hermione removed his glasses.
“I’ll send the Healer in. I’m going to leave the juice here, and I’ve cast an automatic refilling charm. Try and remember to keep taking it, all right?” Hermione asked.
George pulled the covers over him, and before Harry even had time to think of reacting, he planted a sloppy, wet kiss on his forehead.
“No paybacks,” George said, laughing as he ducked out of the room.
“Git,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes.
He heard Hermione walking toward the door.
“Hermione,” he whispered, and the movement stopped. “When you check on Ron… tell Ginny I’ll be there as soon as I can. No matter what.”
He heard her snuffle before his bedroom door clicked shut.
Harry had dozed off again, and didn’t awaken until some time during the afternoon. The Healer had stopped by and left him a fresh batch of Pepper-Up Potion along with a fever-reducer. It was the fever-reducer that caused him to fall asleep. She told him that he couldn’t go anywhere near Ron or Ginny until he’d been fever-free for twenty-four hours, but in the meantime, he was supposed to get plenty of rest and fluids.
Rest and fluids — what an absolutely ridiculous predicament to find himself in. There were people dying of this contagion — people he loved were dying from it — and he was told he needed rest and fluids. Pathetic.
He sat up, reaching blindly for his glasses, and swung his legs out of the bed. He did feel marginally better. He took the glass of pumpkin juice Hermione had left on his bedside table and managed to finish it before the glass automatically refilled itself. He needed to find Hermione and George to see if there had been any more news. He was certain one of them would’ve come to tell him if things had gone horribly wrong, so he felt bolstered by the fact they’d let him sleep.
He could hear the murmur of voices as soon as he opened his door, but they weren’t coming from the infirmary. Following the sound down a flight of stairs, he found George and Hermione in the sitting room, and both looked more relaxed than he’d seen them in days.
“What’s happened?” he croaked, his voice rough from lack of use.
“Harry! There you are! How are you?” Hermione asked, jumping up and leading him to a chair. He pulled away as she tried to place her hand on his forehead.
“Fine. What’s happening with Ginny and Ron?” he asked, determined not to let her sidetrack him.
“Both Hermione and I were fever-free since we’ve been taking better care of our own health,” George said primly, his eyes alight with mischief. “So, we were allowed to go in and visit with the afflicted.”
“How are they?” he asked, ignoring George’s taunt.
“Ron was so much better. He didn’t ask the same question once,” Hermione said, tears sparkling in her eyes.
“He did wonder where you were, though,” George said. “He likes it when people hover around his sick bed.”
“And Ginny?” Harry asked, desperate, and yet still afraid to hope.
“She hasn’t awakened, but the Healers have all said her scans are improving. They’re hopeful she’ll come ‘round at some point tonight,” Hermione said, beaming.
Harry refused to allow that tiny spark of hope to kindle. He had to be certain before he’d let his guard down, but he couldn’t deny that it all seemed positive. Hope was a dangerous thing and could crush you when you least expect it, so he was determined to keep his guard up.
“So, why aren’t you in with Ron now?” he asked.
“The Healers kicked me out. They said Ron needed his rest,” Hermione said, frowning. “I’m planning to go back up in a bit.”
“How about you? How are you feeling, mate? You look less like an Inferi than you did this morning,” George said.
Harry gave him a two-fingered salute that made Hermione scowl. He noticed there was a tea set on the coffee table, and he poured himself a cup. He saw Hermione nod her approval, but he ignored her.
“Had Ginny moved at all?” he asked, in a would-be casual tone. He wasn’t certain that he pulled it off, however. The image of her pale, still form haunted his thoughts and was plastered on the inside of his eyelids. Ginny was never so motionless. Never.
“Well, no, but she is still unconscious. The Healers definitely said they could see improvement,” Hermione said.
“Even though we couldn’t,” George said, and Harry met is eyes across the room. George, at least, understood the unnaturalness of seeing Ginny this way. He suspected it haunted the Twin Who Lived as much as it did Harry. Fred had been that still afterwards, too.
“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda all called to check on our patients — all three of you,” Hermione said, smirking. “They’ll be delighted to hear you’re up and about.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you’re both getting so much amusement out of this,” he said.
“Hey, we’ve been stuck here for weeks — we take pleasure in the little things,” George said, batting his eyes.
“I’ll try and remember to throw a cough your way now and again if it amuses you that much,” he said.
“Oh, Harry, we can’t help if you chose not to take care of yourself. If you’ll notice, both George and I are perfectly fine,” Hermione said, nodding at George.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a juvenile side to Hermione. Perhaps quarantine was good for her.
“In fact, I promised Mum and Dad I’d alert them when you were on your feet again,” George said, grinning, and before Harry could stop him, he tossed some Floo powder into the grate and stuck his head inside. All Harry could see was his arse sticking out, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from kicking it.
Hermione linked her arm through his to stop him from bolting from the room. “They’re worried, Harry. The least you can do is reassure them you’re all right.”
He really hated when she was right.
George pulled his head out of the fire-place, and Mrs. Weasley’s head replaced him, peering into the sitting room. A wide smile spread across her face when she spotted him. “Oh, Harry, dear, thank goodness you’re all right. I was so worried. How are you feeling?” she asked fretfully.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley. Sorry to worry you,” he said, lowering his eyes. He’d never become used to her over-the-top reactions to his various ailments.
“Well, I’ve made you some chicken soup and toast to get your strength back. Are you ready, George?” she asked.
“Ready, Mum,” George said gleefully, squatting down in an over-dramatic catcher’s stance, grabbing the large sealed container as Mrs. Weasley tossed it through. “Is there enough for him to share?”
“Of course, there is, dear. And I have more here if you need it,” she said, beaming.
“Thanks very much, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. Her chicken soup really was very good.
“Any time, dear. Now, has there been any change with Ron and Ginny since we spoke?” she asked, her eyes turning toward George.
“It’s only been an hour, Mum. They’re both still asleep. One of the Healers said she’d let us know once either of them wakes up,” George said.
Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed, and Harry commiserated with her. It may have only been an hour since she’d last checked, but this whole situation had felt endless.
“Arthur wants to see you, too, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You have some soup and then go back up to bed. Get all your strength back, dear.”
Harry felt his cheeks burn, but he nodded as she pulled her head out, and a moment later, Mr. Weasley’s head appeared in the grate.
“Harry! It’s good to see you up and about, lad,” Mr. Weasley said, smiling as widely as Mrs. Weasley had done. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Mr. Weasley. “One of the Healers gave me some potions.”
“Excellent. Owen will be glad to hear it. The chap seemed rather alarmed when I told him you were feeling a spot under the weather. Of course, given the present circumstances, that’s to be expected,” Mr. Weasley said.
“You spoke with Owen?” Harry asked.
“Yes, just reviewing some of the Muggle safeguards. We’re waiting to see if this works before we infiltrate it into Muggle medicine. Both Ron and the Magpies’ coach seem well on the mend, so we’re very hopeful that we’ve managed to contain it,” Mr. Weasley said. “Here in the magical community, we had one big event where everything spread from there, but once we narrowed it down, we were able to contain it. The Muggles have it more widespread in smaller outbreaks, but they do seem to have a handle on it now. Thankfully, it never spread across the pond, so we haven’t had to deal with MACUSA. That’s always a nightmare in itself.”
“Do you know if the Minister has organized an investigation into which possible Death Eaters might’ve been involved in spreading this? Did Owen say if he was part of that team?” Harry asked.
Mr. Weasley nodded. “Yes, I’m aware a team has been formed, but I’m not officially privy to who’s involved.”
“And unofficially?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.
Mr. Weasley grinned. “I’m certain Owen will be filling you in on some details.”
Harry returned the grin, already eager to get to work. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley.”
“You be sure to take care of your own health first, or Molly’ll have my hide. I’m certain my daughter will want some of your time and attention, as well,” Mr. Weasley said, his eyes sparkling.
“And she’ll have it, sir,” Harry said solemnly. He intended to ensure Ginny knew just how much she meant to him. There were things that been pushed aside for far too long, and he intended to make them right as soon as those warm brown eyes opened.
A loud, rumbling sound was the first thing Ginny became cognizant of, quickly followed by a pounding in her head that radiated from behind her eyes to her temple. She tried to lift her hand to rub away the pain, but her arm felt extremely heavy, and moving it was a chore. She cracked her eyes open but had to shut them quickly as the light further antagonized her throbbing head. She licked her dry lips and tried once again to open her eyes. The room wasn’t unbearably bright, and after a moment, she was able to keep her eyes open without wincing. The long, blue velvet curtains were drawn, and she recognized them as belonging in Grimmauld Place. She was home, but not in her own bed.
She blinked a few times, trying to remember what had happened, but it made her head throb worse, so she abandoned the effort. The loud, rumbling sound was coming from the other bed in the room, and she recognized Ron, who was snoring with his mouth open.
She grunted as she tried to sit up, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. She was as weak as a newborn calf. A shadow fell across her face and startled, she looked up into the face of a medi-witch whom she didn’t know. She couldn’t recall ever seeing the witch before, but how did she get into Grimmauld Place?
“Wh—” she tried, but had to stop as her dry throat couldn’t force out the words. The medi-witch aided her in lifting her head, and pressed a cool glass of water to her parched lips.
Ginny sipped it gratefully. The cool water slid down her throat, relieving the dryness and somehow helping her to organize her thoughts.
“Better?” the medi-witch asked, smiling warmly, helping to prop some pillow behind her so she could semi-sit upright. “It’s nice to have you back, Ginevra. How do you feel?”
Ginny frowned. Back? Where had she been?
“What happened?” she said, taking another sip of the water.
“You’ve been quite unwell, but I’m pleased to see you’re awake. Can you tell me where you are, Ginevra?” the medi-witch asked, watching her intently.
“Who said you could call me Ginevra?” Ginny asked instead.
The medi-witch frowned. “Isn’t that your name?” she asked slowly.
“Only my Auntie Muriel calls me that, and she’s horrid. What happened?” she asked again.
“Would you prefer Miss Weasley, then?” the medi-witch asked blandly, smiling as she refilled Ginny’s water glass.
“It’s Ginny. Just Ginny. Now, are you going to answer my question? What’s happened? What’s wrong with Ron?” she asked.
The infuriating medi-witch’s smile widened. “Both you and your brother have been quite ill, but I believe you’re both on the mend. I’m going to use my wand to run a diagnostic scan, and then I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up for that?”
“All right,” Ginny said, trying to piece things together in her mind, but it felt foggy and abstract. Every time she tried to grasp onto a thought, it dissipated like mist.
“I imagine you have quite a headache, is that so?” the medi-witch asked, waving her wand over Ginny’s entire body in very slow motion.
“I do,” Ginny said. “How did you know?”
“Your brother complained of the same thing yesterday, and all of those in the recovery phase have reported it. It should gradually pass, but I don’t want to give you anything. It’s better for your memory if you’re allowed recall on your own time,” the medi-witch said, putting her wand back in her pocket. “Now, can you tell me who’s the Minister for Magic?”
“What? Kingsley Shacklebolt, why?” Ginny asked.
“And do you know what month it is?” the medi-witch asked, ignoring Ginny’s question.
Ginny frowned, not completely certain. “Uhm… August,” she said.
“Close enough. It’s September now. What is the last thing you remember before waking up today?”
Ginny paused, trying to organize her thoughts. She didn’t know why she was here, or how she’d become ill. Her head began to pound again with the effort.
“It’s all right,” the medi-witch said, interrupting her. “I’d prefer to see what you do recall on your own, so let’s not force it. You recognized your brother, Ron, can you tell me the names of your other siblings?”
“Bill, Charlie, Percy, George and— and Fred,” Ginny said easily. “Fred died during the war.”
“Very good. How old are you?”
“Twenty… my birthday. I didn’t get to go to The Burrow for my birthday,” Ginny said, the words coming from somewhere deep within her, but she knew it was true. What had she done for her birthday?
“Do you remember why?” the medi-witch asked.
“Spattergroit. There’s been a new outbreak, and we were quarantined. Where are Harry, George and Hermione?” Ginny asked, alarm rising in her throat. Why was Ron the only one here with her?
“The others are all here and healthy. They’ll be quite relieved to hear you’re awake. I’m going to tell you three things, and I want you to keep them in mind as we speak, all right?”
Ginny nodded.
“Broomstick, crisps, sea. Can you repeat that?”
“Broomstick, crisps, sea. Is the quarantine over?” Ginny asked.
The medi-witch shook her head. “Unfortunately, not, but we’re much closer. Your own alertness and ability to answer my questions is a very positive sign.”
“What about my team? This all started to spread from one of our matches. Did everyone become ill?” Ginny asked.
“Not everyone, no, but they’ll certainly be happy to hear you’re on the mend. Now, can you tell me the three words I asked you to remember?” the medi-witch said briskly.
“Broomstick, crisps, sea. You’re certain everyone here is all right? Why is Ron still asleep? I thought you said he was better,” Ginny asked, peering over at her still-snoring brother. “Oi! Ron! Wake up!”
Ron startled, jerking into alertness. “Wha—” he mumbled, looking around blearily.
“Miss Weasley! He needs his rest,” the medi-witch said, appalled.
“Ginny! You’re awake,” Ron said, staring at her, wide-eyed.
“I’m glad to see your amazing observational skills haven’t been affected by your infirmity, Ron,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“And I’m glad to see it hasn’t impaired your cheek, either,” Ron replied, grinning. “How are you? You gave us all a fright.”
The medi-witch walked over to Ron’s bed and did the same long sweep with her wand that she’d done on Ginny after she’d awoken.
“You’re doing a diagnostic scan,” Ginny said, the memory coming back to her in a rush. “What did it tell you — about both of us?”
“I just do the scans, love. One of the Healers will have to read them. In fact… I’m going to run downstairs and use the Floo now to send these off for interpretation. Unspeakable Scott wanted to be made aware of any changes. I’ll be back in a jiffy. You’re both to stay in those beds. Do I make myself clear?” the medi-witch asked sternly, pinning both of them with her stare.
“Yes, Miss,” they both muttered automatically.
As soon as the door shut, however, Ron swung his long legs out of his bed and moved swiftly towards hers, perching beside her and looking her over thoroughly.
“I couldn’t have done that a few days ago if I’d wanted to,” he said, grinning widely and swinging his legs. “Harry is going to be so happy to see you. He’s been frantic.”
“Have you seen him? When? You became ill after me, right?” Ginny said as pieces of her memory slid into place.
“They’ve all been sneaking in here, but the medi-witches keep throwing them out since they stay here all the time now,” Ron said.
“They must’ve been happy when you woke up, then,” Ginny said.
“Well, I was never unconscious like you, actually. I lost all my coordination, and I couldn’t remember what anyone said. Hermione said it was like having a conversation with a parrot,” Ron said, smiling. “George keeps checking on you. I think you gave him quite a scare. D’you remember seeing Fred?”
“What?” Ginny asked, startled.
“You told us you’d been talking to Fred one day. I don’t remember it, but that’s what George said.”
“No… I don’t remember that. I must’ve given him quite a start,” she said, concerned. She knew Harry had told her about speaking to his lost loved ones after he’d died in the forest, but she had no memory of anything like that. “That must’ve been really hard for George to hear.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure he and Hermione will be back shortly, especially if they noticed the medi-witch left us.”
“And Harry?” Ginny asked.
Ron grimaced. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Why not?” Ginny asked warily, trying to read Ron’s expression.
“I’m certain he’ll be in tomorrow, but… apparently he made himself sick,” Ron said, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
“He caught it, too? Why isn’t he in here with us?” Ginny asked, alarmed.
Ron shook his head. “No. He doesn’t have this Spattergroit thing. Hermione said he wore himself out worrying and not taking care of himself, so they won’t let him in until he’s fever-free for twenty-four hours. I can’t imagine how they’re going to keep him out once he knows you’re awake, though. I told him he’d make himself sick, but does he ever listen to me?”
“Was he really that worried?” she asked, smiling fondly.
Ron rolled his eyes again. “He let Hermione hug him, Ginny. To be honest, he does tend to worry, but I’ve never really seen him express it like this before. He usually pushes it down and pretends we don’t notice. You’re the one who holds him together, you know,” he said, ducking his head.
“I wish I could see him,” Ginny said, feeling an ache inside that had nothing to do with Spattergroit, or her days in confinement.
“What do you remember from being in here?” Ron asked.
Ginny shrugged. “I’m not certain. I know I’ve been here awhile, and I remember the scans, but everything is so foggy. Vague scraps of conversation, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, that’s how I felt at first, too, but it all kept popping back into place unexpectedly, especially after sleep,” Ron said. “Maybe that’ll happen to you, too.”
“How long have you been remembering? When did you start getting better? Did they give us something to cure us?” she asked.
“Dunno. I know they’ve been working on a draught for a while now, so I suppose it was that,” Ron said, scratching his ear.
“Didn’t you ask?” Ginny asked, exasperated.
Ron shrugged. “Nope. Does it matter? There were other things I wanted to talk about — mostly like when you would wake up.”
“It seems like how we were recovering should be pretty high on the list, though. D’you know anything about my team?” she asked suddenly, as something cleared in her brain. “Theresa was the first one sick of all of us.”
Ron scrunched up his forehead, as if trying to remember. “One of the other Chasers was sick, along with a couple coaches, I think.”
“Who?” Ginny asked. “That medi-witch said it was September, so the season must’ve started, right?”
“I don’t think so. I think everything’s been cancelled until they get a handle on this thing. Percy even had to cancel his big wedding.”
“He did?” Ginny asked, eyes widening. “I guess I got out of wearing those pink dress robes in a big way. Was it cancelled or postponed?”
“He’s married, but no one could attend. I think Mum’s been talking about a big do at a later date, but who knows once Mrs. Abbott gets involved,” Ron said, snickering.
Ginny frowned “She’s a wretched woman.”
“Yeah, but every family has one,” Ron said sagely.
“How are Mum and Dad coping? I’m shocked Mum hasn’t forced her way inside to tend to all of us,” Ginny asked.
“Oh, she’s tried. I think they might’ve had to disconnect us from anything but Floo calls, actually,” Ron said.
Ginny winced. “She must’ve been livid. Poor Dad.”
“Poor Kingsley, you mean. I think Dad shoved him under the Knight Bus, and made him be the Dark wizard,” Ron said, laughing.
Ginny grinned, imagining her mother going head-to-head with the Minister over him keeping her away from her children. “Is he still alive?” she asked.
“Think so. I haven’t heard that Mum’s been accused of assassinating the Minster or anything, but… I’ve been out of it, too, so anything’s possible.”
At that moment, the door opened quietly, and Hermione stuck her head inside. Her eyes beneath her Bubble-Head Charm flew open wide at finding Ron sitting on Ginny’s bed, chatting with her.
“Ginny! Oh, thank God! We’ve been so worried,” she said, bustling in and hugging both of them. “And Ron! Are you supposed to be out of bed?”
“Relax, Hermione, the medi-witch is downstairs using the Floo, so I came to check on Ginny. Are you going to turn me in?” Ron asked, grinning.
“Oh! Of course, not. I just want you both to be all right,” she said, sitting on the other side of Ginny’s bed, across from Ron. She held each of their hands in her own. “How do you feel? How long have you been awake?”
Ginny shrugged. “I’m not certain, but not too long. The medi-witch did some tests, then I woke up Ron to get some answers. How’s Harry?”
“He fell asleep on the sofa. George is keeping an eye on him while I sneaked up here to see what’s going on. We saw the medi-witch going down into the kitchen. There’ll be no stopping him if he finds out you’re awake,” Hermione said. “What do you remember?”
“Not a lot, actually, but bits are coming back to me. I remember knowing something was wrong with me, but very little after being locked in here,” Ginny said, vague images assailing her. “Do you know how Theresa and the rest of my team are?”
A shadow crossed Hermione’s face, and a sense of dread dropped into the pit of Ginny’s stomach.
“Umm, well… They won’t give us medical information on anyone else, so you’ll really have to wait until the Healers—”
“Just tell me what you do know, Hermione. I can see there’s something wrong. Did the whole team come down with it?” Ginny interrupted.
“Uhm… no, not all of them,” Hermione said, biting her lip.
Ginny could tell Hermione was wary of how much to tell her, but she wasn’t about to make it easy on her. She stared at her, waiting patiently.
“I do know that Theresa Grant didn’t make it,” Hermione said at last.
Ginny’s mouth formed a perfect “O” but no words escaped. She felt rather numb. Since waking up and feeling better, she’d allowed herself to downplay how serious this contagion had been, that real lives were being affected.
“Did I miss the funeral?” she asked at last, her voice strained.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t heard anything, but… I’m not sure there was one. They aren’t allowing anyone to gather in big crowds right now. Maybe something small with just with her family.”
Ginny thought about Theresa and how she always loved being the center of attention and the star of the show. It seemed very unfair that she would die with so little celebration of her life.
She swallowed, forcing herself to move on with her questions while she finally had someone whom she could bully answers from. “Ron said Percy’s wedding was cancelled. What about Bill or Charlie. Any news?”
“Nothing in particular. Everyone is tired of being cooped up, but hopefully this is a sign we’re nearing the end. I know the Unspeakables are working on something to infiltrate the Muggle world that can stop it there, too,” Hermione said.
“Do you know how long we have to stay in here if we’re feeling better? Will that scan show if we’re still contagious?” Ginny asked.
Hermione shrugged. “I asked Vivian that when Ron awoke, but she hasn’t given me a straight answer.”
Ginny grinned. “You and Vivian still aren’t getting on, eh? That’s funny since you’re so alike.”
“We aren’t alike,” Hermione said indignantly.
“Oh, you so are,” Ron said, nudging Hermione’s shoulder. “That’s what makes the fact you don’t like her so amusing.”
Hermione scowled, folding her arms across her chest. Ginny wanted to avoid a row between them, or she’d never get any more answers. “Ron said he didn’t have the same symptoms as I did. Do you know if that’s true for the others who’ve been infected?” she asked quickly.
Fortunately, reciting facts was something so ingrained inside Hermione, she couldn’t resist the pull. “Yes. It’s believed that since the brain covers so many functions, and this strain affected the brain, the variety of symptoms was vast. For instance, the test where you have to stand on one foot and bring your hand to your nose — Ron couldn’t do it at all. Couldn’t even do the hand motions on two feet. You didn’t have any trouble with the motor skills, but your memories kept slipping further and further back. Near the end, it was impossible to even have any kind of conversation with you. It was awful,” Hermione said, sniffling.
Ginny frowned, trying to process Hermione’s words and put them into some sort of context to how she’d felt. “I- I don’t really have clear memories, but I do recall this rage that I couldn’t control. It kept rearing up inside me, and I’d want to lash out at everyone one and everything.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, the medi-witches did say you were rather hostile on some days.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t really know that’s part of your normal personality,” Ron said, nudging her hip.
Ginny scowled. “You know, I haven’t forgotten how to cast a Bat-Bogey Hex, so I’d watch my tone if I were you.”
Ron grinned. “Ahh, it’s so good to have you back. I was afraid you’d wake up and be a different person — actually nice, or like a docile, sweet violet.”
“Fat chance of that,” Ginny said.
Hermione beamed. “Oh, it is good to have you back. I should go and let George come up here. He’ll want to see for himself, too. I do hope Harry’s still asleep.”
Ginny’s own eyes felt scratchy, and she knew her body had slumped down onto her pillows. She didn’t have the strength to pull back up just then.
“D’you think you could hold off for a bit so I could have a kip first?” she asked, slurring her words embarrassingly.
“Of course,” Hermione said gently, shooing Ron back towards his own bed and adjusting Ginny’s blankets unnecessarily. “You get some rest, and maybe you’ll have more of your memories restored when you wake up. It happened for Ron that way.”
Ginny snuggled down, feeling the gentle tide of sleep washing over her as Ron and Hermione’s quiet voices from Ron’s bed lulled her into sleep.
Chapter 20: Reunited
Author's Notes: And there we go, they’re engaged! Ginny is sister to the twins, and honestly, I think most like them. I thought of George joking with Fred about feeling “holy” when he awoke after having his ear blasted off, and I wanted Ginny to have the same instinct with Harry. The story transitions into an investigation now. I was tired of the contagion – aren’t we all? – and I wanted to get back to what I enjoy writing most. Please take a moment to hit the review button and share your thoughts!
Thanks to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel, and Sue for all their help, advice, encouragement and words of wisdom when I was ready to move on.
Reunited
Harry stood in the grand entryway at Grimmauld Place, staring at the high marble columns and crystal chandelier. A grand piano stood solitary in one corner, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face as he thought of Ginny’s determination to learn to play it before she became ill. The entryway was Harry’s least favorite room. His demon-decorator insisted he needed a spot to entertain guests that would compliment his status in the wizarding world, whatever that meant. He preferred the comfortable, lived-in feel of the rest of the house.
He couldn’t help but notice that the floor wasn’t gleaming nearly as much as it usually did, and there were traces of dust on the bottoms of the stately columns. Even the house missed Kreacher’s fond attention.
Harry crossed the room again, peering up the long, grand stairway, which remained silent and empty. The stairway was much wider here at the bottom, and thinned as it rose toward the other floors. Vivian and a team of Healers were upstairs with Ginny and Ron, and they’d barred entry to the others in the house. Harry had been free of his fever for over twenty-four hours now, and he was feeling really put-out that they’d all picked this time for their examination.
Hermione and George had both seen Ron and Ginny, but Harry had been banished from the infirmary for the entire duration of their recovery. He felt as if he could claw his own skin off because he was so eager to get up there. If they took much longer, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself pounding on the door and telling them to clear off.
Most days during the quarantine, he hadn’t bothered to dress in more than track pants and various T-shirts. Today, however, Harry had pulled on his favorite pair of jeans and a checkered turquoise button-down that Ginny had given him last Christmas. For some reason, he felt as nervous as a teenager on his first date. He’d even tried — unsuccessfully, his snarky mirror had told him — to get his hair to lie flat.
Hermione had said Ron’s memory still had blank spots, but he was better every time she saw him. He’d even walked around the room without any trace of difficulty. She’d said Ginny had only been awake briefly when she was inside the room, and she’d seem disoriented and confused still, although more present and aware of what was going on. Harry felt desperate to see for himself. He couldn’t stand the idea that any part of Ginny’s personality, or memories of the past they’d shared together, might be gone. He felt an overwhelming need to see recognition in her eyes. He couldn’t escape the nagging fear — a fear he hadn’t admitted to anyone — that she’d somehow awaken stuck in the past and forever see him as the young Tom Riddle from the diary.
He couldn’t do that to her, but the thought of avoiding her caused a physical pain in his gut. Merlin, he hoped she was all right.
Harry circled the entryway several more times before he heard voices and thundering footsteps clomping down the stairs. He turned and felt his own jaw drop at the sight that greeted him. This was not what he’d expected to see.
George and Ron — Ron! — stopped at the end of the stairs, arm-in-arm and smiling brilliantly, waiting for Harry to speak. There was something oddly familiar about the pair of them that he couldn’t place. Ron, tall and lanky — he’d lost some weight during his convalescence — with bright red hair and his face covered in freckles; and George, shorter, stockier, but just as freckly. Both of their eyes — Ron’s a brilliant blue and George’s a much darker brown — were lit with the same jubilance and mischievous energy.
They looked quite different, yet Harry’s mind had finally made the connection. He was reminded of Fred seeing them both there together.
Dropping all pretense of dignity, Harry moved forward and flung his arms around Ron’s chest, clapping him on the back, his own grin spreading to match theirs.
“Ron! What the— How are you? They let you out? Are you supposed to be out?” Harry asked, feeling more than ineloquent as his tongue tripped over his words.
“Cleared,” Ron said, beaming. “They did another scan this morning, and it showed no trace of the illness. I also have the antibodies that should prevent me from ever having it again.”
“That’s brilliant,” Harry said, unable to stop himself from scanning Ron’s body completely to be certain there were no ill effects.
“They said he had to take it easy for a few days, but filling owl orders is easy, so I’m putting him back to work straightaway,” George said, still grinning broadly.
“We’re on our way to use the Floo in the kitchen so I can speak with Mum and Dad first. I’m hoping she’s so happy to see me that she’ll bake all my favorite things,” Ron said, completely unabashed.
“Do you feel back to normal?” Harry asked.
Ron shrugged. “A bit out of shape, but the Healers said it’s from lying around so long. It’ll come back once I start eating regular and moving around, so I’m going to get started on the eating part first.”
Harry grinned. “So, it’s completely changed your personality, I see.”
Ron returned the grin. “I’m a new man, Harry,” he said. “They’re up there doing the same scans on Ginny now, but they said she’s further behind me, so don’t expect to see her released yet.”
Harry glanced up the stairs longingly. More waiting. “You spoke with her yesterday, though, right? How did she seem?” he asked.
“All right for just waking up from a coma,” Ron said. “How about you? I heard you weren’t well, either.”
“I’m fine,” Harry said, shrugging.
“His ailment left him quickly and succinctly under my expert care. I think, perhaps, I missed my calling. I make an excellent nursemaid,” George said, fluttering his lashes.
“You make an excellent pain in the arse,” Harry muttered.
“What’s that you say? You have a pain in your arse? Bend over, and let me see if I can heal that for you,” George said, reaching for him.
Harry pushed is arm away. “Knock it off,” he said whilst Ron roared in delight. Ron’s good mood was infectious, and Harry couldn’t help feeling energized by it.
“I’m going to call my folks, then I’m going to help George, and I want spend some time with Hermione. Do you want a game of chess tonight?” Ron asked, hopefully.
“Absolutely. Your ego must still be bruised from the thrashing I gave you the last time,” Harry said, grinned.
Ron looked puzzled. “What thrashing? What are you on about? You never beat me.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t certain if Ron really didn’t remember, or he was faking it, but it was too good an opportunity to take the mickey to let it go, regardless.
“Oh, I most certainly did. You can ask Hermione. Beat you, and good,” Harry said smugly.
Ron looked at Harry warily, squinting his eye as if sizing him up while judging if he was lying or not.
“What’s this? Ron’s chess abilities have suffered? Or is it just that Harry’s skills have improved exponentially?” George asked, rocking on his toes.
“All right,” Ron said, glaring. “The mail order is going to have to wait. Meet me in the sitting room in ten minutes,” Ron demanded.
Harry raised his hands in the air. “Uh, uh. Sorry, mate. I’m thrilled to see you’re feeling better, but I’m going up to see Ginny the moment those Healers come down. You’re going to have to wait,” he said, grinning.
Ron looked put out, but he must’ve known this was a battle he wouldn’t win. “All right, but you’re not getting out of it tonight. The Healers said Ginny would still sleep a lot,” Ron said, glowering as if daring Harry to argue.
“You’re on,” Harry said, grinning. “Now go talk with your parents. I think Hermione is still down in the kitchen.
Ron’s countenance brightened immediately. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” he asked, turning and hurrying toward the stairs leading down into the kitchen. George followed him, still grinning manically.
Harry shook his head, his own grin remaining. It was good to have Ron back. It wasn’t until seeing him now that Harry realized how much he’d missed him. If Ron was doing this well, he was even more eager to get upstairs to see Ginny. He wished they’d hurry up. He knew she wouldn’t be feeling as good as Ron appeared to be, but there was no stopping the hope blossoming in his chest and filling his whole being.
Harry continued circling the entrance hall, sliding as far as he could on his sock-clad feet in boredom until he again heard voices on the stairway. He looked up to see Vivian Scott leading two Healers and the medi-witch who’d only arrived that morning down the stairs. They were all still wearing their Bubble-Head Charms, however, dampening his spirits slightly.
“Mr. Potter,” Vivian said, nodding as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Fine and fever-free,” Harry said. “How’s Ginny?”
“Miss Weasley is definitely on the mend. All her scans show improvement, although she’s still feeling weaker than she’d like. Mr. Weasley has been given the all clear and released,” Vivian said.
“Yeah, I saw him,” Harry said, unable to control his grin. “Is Ginny still considered contagious?”
Vivian paused, and both Healers pursed their lips. They’d never approved of his blatant disregard of their quarantine policy. “We don’t believe so, but feel it’s best to leave the precautions in place until we’re certain,” Vivian said.
“But you feel the Mandrake Draught was successful?” Harry pressed.
Vivian nodded. “We do. In fact, the first doses were given to those most critical along with Mr. Weasley, as you know. His remarkable progress has aided us in making the decision to give the Draught to all whose scans have shown positive. We’re on our way to see a few other cases, now.”
“And do you feel Ginny will make as complete a recovery as Ron has?” Harry asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Well, that remains to be seen, but we’ll monitor her progress. We no longer feel it’s necessary to have a round-the-clock medical person with her, but various Healers and medi-witches will be stopping by over the next few days to complete more scans,” Vivian said.
“And the Muggles?” Harry asked.
“The adaptation we’ve made to the Draught is being administered to their most critical cases as we speak. We’re still infiltrating their medical system, so it appears they’ve found the solution on their own,” Vivian said. “Why don’t you go up and see Miss Weasley for yourself?”
“Unspeakable Scott!” one of the Healers said, swelling with rage. “I really don’t think it’s appropriate to encourage this indifference of all our safety measures.”
“Really, Daniel, don’t we have enough to be getting on with? He’s going up there, anyway, and I believe Miss Weasley will benefit from his company,” Vivian said dismissively.
“It’s highly irregular,” the short Healer insisted, his eyes goggling.
“So is our Mr. Potter, and I’ve discovered irregular isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Enjoy the rest of your day, Harry,” she said, giving him a rare smile and leading her entourage out the front door.
It was only after they’d left that Harry registered the unusual use of his first name. It didn’t matter at the moment, however. He didn’t want to keep Ginny waiting a second longer, he thought, sprinting up the stairs. He stopped outside the infirmary door, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his ragged breathing. He didn’t want to alarm her into thinking anything was wrong. He decided to forgo the Bubble-Head Charm. Vivian had all but said it was no longer necessary, and Harry wanted to really touch her. He yet again attempted to flatten his hair before turning the knob, and pushing the door open.
Ginny sat in her bed, staring out the window. The sunshine streaming in caught the flecks of gold in her fiery hair, which was rather tousled from being in bed so long. She turned toward him as the door opened, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw recognition flare in her eyes before she slammed her hands over her face and made an odd, squeaking noise. Her whole body shuddered as she turned away from him, her hands still covering her face.
“Ginny?” he asked uncertainly, taking a hesitant step toward her.
Ginny squeaked again, peering over the rim of her fingers briefly before burying her face in her hands and hunching over. He could see her blushing right down to the roots of her hair.
What on earth was going on?
“Do you feel all right? Should I have one of the Healers come back?” he asked, his heart thudding. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected.
“I’m f— f— fine,” Ginny stuttered in that breathy, high-pitched voice. “You’re so kind to be concerned.”
She gazed up at him with stark adoration shining in her eyes, causing Harry to take a startled step backwards.
“H— Harry Potter is here to see me,” she whispered as if talking to herself in amazement. “I can’t believe it.”
The horror filling Harry along with his confusion made him grasp the doorway for something solid to hold onto. Had she lost all her memory of their history except for the very beginning? Was she locked somewhere back in time when she’d had a childhood crush on him? Did she really only know him from the stories she’d read as a girl, and nothing of the man he’d become? Nothing of all the hopes and dreams they’d had together? He was finding it difficult to draw breath.
Before he had too long to spiral, he caught Ginny spreading her fingers over her face to peer up at him, and she smirked.
She smirked!
Harry’s eyes widened in shock.
“Ha! Gotcha!” she said, grinning madly.
Harry was dumfounded. “This? This is your first thought to say to me from waking up from a coma?”
“Oh, Harry — the look on your face! I wish I’d thought to ask someone to bring me a butter dish,” Ginny said, as peals of the laughter he so adored shook her small frame.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Harry said weakly, stumbling over to the bed and sitting beside her.
Ginny beamed at him. “I didn’t plan it. You just walked in here looking so damned handsome, and my mind flashed on that first morning when you came to stay at The Burrow, do you remember? I came downstairs in my night dress, hair a fright, and there you were sitting at the table with my lame brothers, smiling that damn smile that could always pierce my heart. I couldn’t help myself.”
Harry leaned over, pulling her closer, and kissed her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in, and he completely lost himself in the kiss. It felt so perfect to have her back in his arms, he didn’t want it to ever stop.
Eventually the need for oxygen overcame them both, and he pulled back, drinking in the sight of her. He reached up and pushed a fiery lock of hair behind her ear.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I’m certain I’d have missed you, too, if I could remember it,” Ginny said, keeping her head pressed to his and smiling her brilliant smile.
Harry chuckled. “I missed us enough for both of us, then,” he said, pulling her forward and adjusting their positions so he could sit behind her, leaning her back against his chest, between his open legs.
“How scandalous! I’m certain those sour-faced medi-witches wouldn’t approve of this,” she said, snuggling up to him and showing she clearly had no issues with it.
“It’s a good thing they aren’t here, then. Tell me what you do remember. Do you feel all right? Does your head hurt?” he asked, pleased to note that although still pale, she looked loads better than the last time he’d seen her. His body shuddered remembering that awful stillness.
“I’m all right now,” she said, patting him gently, comforting him. She somehow had always been able to read him. “My head doesn’t hurt at all anymore, and I have bits of memories, mostly before I came in here, though. I was awful to you, wasn’t I?” she asked quietly.
Harry shook his head in denial. “No, you weren’t. You were concerned, as you had every right to be, and I’m glad you don’t remember losing yourself to it. It was terrifying to see you so changed, and parts of that lovely spunk and personality just slipping away.”
“Even if my first instinct was to prank you?” she asked, peering up at him.
“Ginny, I’ve always been well aware of exactly whose sister you are. The twins aren’t the only ones who enjoy a good laugh in your family,” he said, grinning. He was pleased to notice that in his delight at having Ginny back, mentioning Fred didn’t even twinge.
“And you’d best never forget it,” Ginny said, laughter bubbling up. “I heard you made yourself sick, and both Ron and Hermione were concerned with that invincible Boy Who Lived rubbish you were spouting.”
Harry scowled. “Ron and Hermione should mind their own business.”
“You are their business. They love you; we all do,” Ginny said, grasping his hand.
“And you’re my Chosen One, and I’m so glad you came back to me,” Harry whispered, kissing the top of her head.
“I’ll always come back to you,” Ginny said, and Harry noticed she sounded sleepy.
“I was so worried that I’d wasted too much time. I kept letting life get in the way. I want you to always know that you’re the most important thing in the world to me, okay? We always have to make time for just us, no matter how busy our careers, or life in general pulls at us. We missed our holiday, and we should’ve just left everything and gone immediately afterwards. In fact, I have something for you. I’ll be right back, all right?” he asked, attempting to shift her weight.
She wasn’t budging, and he realized her breathing was deep and slow. She’d fallen back to sleep.
Harry sighed. It was all right. He’d learned his lesson. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head and holding her close. He wasn’t about to let her go again.
Movement brought Ginny to wakefulness, but she burrowed deeper into her pillow, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of sleep. The bed was warm and comfortable, and she didn’t want her rest to end it just yet. Gradually, she became more aware, and she remembered that Harry really had been with her, and it wasn’t just a dream. She must’ve fallen asleep on him. She sat up quickly, looking around, blinking the sleep from her eyes. He wasn’t there, but the warmth surrounding her let her know he hadn’t been gone long. It must’ve been him standing up that woke her.
Harry re-entered the room quietly, softly shutting the door behind him, then he started when he saw that she was sitting up on the edge of the bed, wide awake. His face brightened, and he put his hand in his pocket as he moved over to her, shaking his head.
“I was only gone for a moment. Figures you’d choose then to wake up,” he said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “Feeling all right?”
Ginny nodded. “What did you just hide in your pocket?” she asked, squinting as if that would help her see.
“What?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “I didn’t hide anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ron told me more of his memories kept coming back every time he slept. Are you experiencing the same thing?”
Ginny could see the clear outline of a small, bulky square in the pocket of his snug-fitting jeans, and her heart started thrumming madly. She’d long suspected what he was hiding in his sock drawer, although she was irritated by having to admit that before she’d become ill, she hadn’t been able to work out how to get past his various concealment charms. He’d learned some good ones after becoming an Auror.
“Yes, I find a lot of memories are coming back to me,” she said, trying to maneuver her head around so she could stare suspiciously at his pocket. He kept trying to shift his position to keep it out of her line of view, but she was having none of it.
She’d suspected that he’d had an ulterior motive for their failed weekend getaway, but was this finally the moment? She knew when she’d first realized she was in danger of succumbing to this disease, that her greatest fear had been forgetting him. She couldn’t remember any specifics from when she’d been really ill, but from what everyone had said, Harry had been stricken by all the memories she kept losing.
Neither of them wanted to lose what they shared.
Looking at him now, she could see the nervousness beneath his forced casualness. She’d always been able to read him. Did he really believe she’d say anything but yes? He was the only one for her. No one else had ever come close to making her heart thud the way he could. He both exasperated and charmed her — sometimes at the same time. There were certain expressions, or tells, that could cause her heart to melt. There wasn’t anyone else who simply understood her without the need of her having to explain how she felt. She sometimes thought he knew innately what she was thinking.
And she also knew that he felt the same way about her. They recognized similarities in one another — shared horrors that no one else could. They could laugh and joke about their implicit fears and anxieties, often using dark humor that would appall anyone else. Their connection might have been forged through the evil that was Tom, but Ginny took immense pleasure in how revolted the vile monster would’ve been to know he'd helped to create the loving bond between two of his victims. They’d not only beaten him — they’d beaten him with their love. She hoped that knowledge tormented him in his grave.
“Oh? And what is it you’ve remembered?” Harry asked. He was pacing along the side of her bed, and she knew he was trying to burn off some of his nervous energy without telling her the reason.
“I remember that I saw you hiding something in your pocket, and I want to know what it is,” she said, smiling happily. She felt a giddy sort of joy bubbling inside her, and she had to suppress the desire to laugh out loud. She was completely barking. Maybe something really was still wrong with her brain.
He sighed, his shoulders drooping. “You’re not going to let this go.”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head forcefully and smiling so wide her jaw was beginning to ache. She could sense his capitulation, despite the fact his eyes were glowing with amusement
He pulled the small velvet box from his pocket, his finger running seductively over the top. Her breath caught, and her eyes were glued to it.
“Is this what you’re on about?” he asked, smirking.
“Is that what I think it is?” she gasped, heart hammering. She licked her suddenly dry lips.
“Ginny, please, I’m trying to do this properly,” he said, exasperated, as he knelt down on one knee and took her hand in his own.
“Of course, I’ll marry you,” she blurted, unable to contain her excitement. She squealed in delight and threw her arms around him.
He rolled his eyes, which were bright with merriment. “Can you at least let me ask you first?”
“Sorry,” she said, pulling back and arranging her face in what she hoped was a pleasant expression, sitting primly on the edge of her bed.
“Ginevra Weasley,” he began solemnly before quirking one eyebrow upward, “Whisky, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, my partner in this crazy life? There’s no one else I can imagine spending my eternity with other than you. You complete me.”
Ginny couldn’t contain her second squeal of delight, squeezing his hand in her own and bringing it close enough to kiss. “Of course, I will. There’s no one else I’d rather spend my eternity with, either. There’s no one else who gets me the way you do, who really understands me,” she said, her throat tight and her vision blurring.
“And you for me,” he said tenderly.
“We can be a club — those possessed by Voldemort and lived club,” she said, unable to control her giggles. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She was just so dizzily happy.
Harry shook his head. “You were easier when you were unconscious.”
Ginny threw her head back and snorted. “I love you,” she said, leaning over to kiss him soundly.
“Love you, too,” he answered when they finally broke apart. They stared at one another for a moment before he finally said, “Well, do you want to look at the ring or have you already seen it?”
“I haven’t seen it! I couldn’t get your damn drawer to open,” Ginny said, reaching for the box.
He pulled it out of her grasp. “What’s that you say? You couldn’t sneak around my protections?” he asked, his eyes alight with glee. “Say that out loud, please. ‘Harry, you outsmarted me.’ I need to hear it.”
Ginny frowned, but she really did want to see that ring. “All right. Harry, you outsmarted me for once. Now lemme see!”
Harry grinned. “As long as we’re clear on that,” he said, and opened the box. Inside sat a gorgeous round diamond set in a platinum channel setting with several smaller diamonds on each side. It was the loveliest thing Ginny had ever seen, and she gasped as he took it out of the box. Both of their hands were shaking as he slid it on her finger.
Ginny moved her hand closer to her face, examining the ring and enjoying the way the sunlight streaming in from the window made it shine. “Oh, Harry… it’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“You like it, then?” he asked, oddly vulnerable.
She nodded vigorously. “Did you pick this out yourself, or did you have help?”
Harry swallowed thickly. “I went into Muggle stores to look without being recognized. I liked the way this one had the smaller, protected stones meeting in that one dazzling explosion. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. That’s how it felt when we were finally able to be together, unhindered.”
Ginny couldn’t completely keep the sob from escaping before she threw herself in his arms, kissing him soundly. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and she felt completely lost to all the pent-up desire and longing. It could’ve been hours; it could’ve been days for all she knew. Both of their hands began to roam as their passion intensified. Harry shifted so she was beneath him, and she suspected he was up for taking the snog a whole lot further, but she pulled back, panting.
He looked at her, his eyes dilated with desire, and reached for her again.
“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head. “I want to be certain it’s completely out of me, so I don’t chance passing it on to you.”
“I don’t care about that,” Harry said, nibbling on her ear lobe. It always drove her mad when he did that.
“I do. I care. I’m already trying to manage the guilt of what I’ve put you all through, of what I brought into this house. I can’t handle it if I give this to you,” she said imploringly. “I don’t care if there’s a remedy now. I have enough guilt to be getting on with. Besides, I promise to make it all up to you properly back in our own bed,” she said, lowering her eyelids.
Harry sighed, pushing up and sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, head bowed. She knew he understood the weight of guilt, probably more than anyone.
“Harry,” she said tentatively, touching the back of his shoulder gently.
“Give me a minute,” he said gruffly, still winded. “It’s been a long time.”
Ginny giggled. “Sorry, love — but you know you can use your hand for that in the meantime, right?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Ginny!”
“What?” she said, kissing him lightly. “Too much? Maybe a side effect of this illness is added cheek.”
“Oh, that’s all I need, an even cheekier Ginny,” he said, grinning. He moved back to the head of the bed, leaning against it and raising his arm so she could slide under and lie beside him. She snuggled against him, thrilled to have him there.
“You know,” she said, pausing for a moment, “we really can’t let the Dark wizards know that there’s no need to use Dark magic to defeat you. All they have to do is pretend to be a fangirl, and you’ll run away screaming.” She poked him in the side, giggling.
Harry shook his head. “Okay, I have a stipulation once we’re married. You can never pull a prank like that again. Leave fangirl Ginny in the past,” he said, smirking.
Ginny pursed her lips to the side, considering. “Okay, but I have a stipulation, too. You need to dance with me at our wedding.”
Harry looked puzzled. “Of course, I’ll dance with my wife,” he said, sounding rather offended, but she thought the pink that tinged his cheeks when he said wife was adorable.
“No, I mean a proper dance,” she said seriously, trying to keep a straight face.
“What? Like a waltz or something?” he asked.
Ginny shook her head. “No, not some stuffy old waltz. A tango. You have to learn to do a tango with me,” she said, her grin widening, the silly image of herself in a long white dress with a red rose clasped in her teeth blooming in her mind.
“A tango?” he asked curiously.
Ginny nodded, as if it had been decided. “Much sexier than a waltz.”
“A tango it is for our wedding, then,” he said happily, pulling him closer. “Our wedding.” He picked up her hand, and they both stared at the ring gleaming there.
“I’m going to be your wife,” she said, feeling a sense of awe and wonder.
“Until the very end,” Harry replied solemnly.
She kissed him again before a thought occurred to her. “Harry,” she said, pulling back.
“Yes?” he asked, sounding slightly disgruntled.
“Can we not tell the others yet?” she asked.
He cocked his head, looking puzzled. “What? You don’t want them all to know?” he asked, and try as he might, he couldn’t mask the hurt.
She shook her head vigorously, touching his face to soften it. “Just not now. I want to be able to walk downstairs with this beautiful ring shining on my finger and tell them with you. Can we do it together?” she asked. “Please?”
“Of course, we can,” he said, smiling softly. “I sort of like the idea of having you, me, and this secret all to myself for a few days. It’ll drive Hermione mad, you know. She’ll know something is going on.”
“Let’s let her stew a bit, then? For telling me you were sick,” Ginny said slyly.
Harry threw back his head and laughed out loud. “I love you,” he said happily.
“Love you, too, Mr. Potter,” she said, beaming.
“Are you going to call yourself Mrs. Potter, or stay a Weasley while you play?” he asked curiously.
Ginny looked scandalized. “I’m going to be a Potter, or course. I’m your family now,” she said firmly.
Harry had to blink a few times, and he swallowed heavily. She knew it was the one thing he’d always dreamed about — a family of his own — and she’d be damned if she wouldn’t give it to him.
“I’d like to see POTTER written on the back of your Quidditch robes,” he admitted softly.
Ginny grinned. “Oh, it’ll drive Ron and George spare. They like seeing WEASLEY there.”
“Ginny Potter,” he said, testing it. “Ginny Potter. Oh, I do like that.”
Ginny couldn’t help the blush she felt heating her face. “I have to admit that I may or may not have written that name — once or twice — in my youth — on various pieces of parchment,” she said, trying not to blush and laugh at the same time.
“Please tell me that’s not true,” he said, laughing as he shook his head.
“Honestly, Harry. I bet more than half of the Hogwarts population did that — male and female! Do you really think I was the only one brought up on stories of you? Hannah and I laugh all time about our silly, girlish fantasies. Susan Bones used to have pretend weddings with her Harry Potter doll. My roommate, Liz, said she had an entire collection of your story books on display in her room.”
Harry looked horrified, as if he wasn’t certain if she was taking the mickey again or not.
She laughed at his expression. “You were safe amongst the Muggleborns, at least, but only because they didn’t know your legend,” she said, snorting. “You were the closest thing the wizarding world had to a real rock star for the younger generation. Most of us were more than a bit enamored with you.”
“Please tell me you’re making this up,” Harry said, looking rather green.
“Nope. All true,” she said happily. “Of course, none of us ever knew how terrified you’d be if we showed you our affection. It really does shatter the image somewhat, love. Maybe it’s best if we keep that to ourselves.”
Harry shrugged. “Add it to the list of our secrets then,” he said nonchalantly, “When do you think you’ll want to do this? The wedding, I mean. It’ll have to be after the season, obviously.”
“Nothing is more important than you,” Ginny said firmly. “Everyone else can sod off. Besides, who knows if there’ll even be a season now. I bet the international teams will all be hesitant to play anyone on the continent. The wedding takes priority. We should decide if we want small and cozy, or if we want to have a big, splashy affair.”
“I want everyone to know I’m marrying the witch of my dreams,” Harry said, pulling her close.
“Oh, don’t say that to the press, Harry. Much too soppy. Save that for the bedroom, and I’ll reward you for it,” she said lightly.
“Promise?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course. Really, though. We should have our own wishes firmly in mind before everyone else gets involved,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She kissed him on the nose. “You really are adorable. Never mind my mum, you’re the poster boy for the wizarding world, and I’m a fairly decent Quidditch player. People are going to want to come to our wedding.”
“You’re a spectacular Quidditch player,” he said.
Ginny smiled, feeling bolstered. “I love you so much, but I think our wedding should be for the people who really matter to us. What about a small service for the actual wedding, and a larger party for everyone else at a later date?” she asked.
“After the honeymoon?” he asked eagerly.
She laughed. “Yes, definitely after the honeymoon. A really long honeymoon, somewhere far away where the Ministry, the Harpies, and my family can’t reach us,” she said.
“D’you really think we need a second party?” he asked.
Ginny rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You’re adorable, but really thick.”
Harry frowned. “Whatever you say, dear.”
“Ooh, I think we’re going to be really great at this marriage stuff,” she said, snuggling closer against him. Coming out of a coma really had its perks.
Chapter 21: Revelations
Author's Notes: I hope all my fellow Americans enjoyed their Thanksgiving feasts. I have one of my sons home from college, so it was extra joyful for me!
Thanks to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel, and Sue for their endless assistance and feedback in getting this into shape.
Revelations
The coffee mug shattering on the kitchen floor dragged Harry away from the paperwork he’d been looking over. Owen had sent him a large stack of information on known Death Eaters who’d been involved in serious crimes against Muggles. Most of them were now rotting in Azkaban, but there were a few who’d still managed to evade capture.
“Sorry!” Ron said, sitting on one of the kitchen stools and holding his bare feet in the air.
Harry picked up his wand. “Reparo,” he said, and the mug zoomed back together. He poured Ron a cup of coffee, and placed it in front of him.
Ron was mostly back to himself, although there was still an occasional motor function that would go haywire. He’d drop something, or trip unexpectedly. The Healers continued to do their scans, and his all appeared back to normal. They’d told Ron that his slips could be temporary, or they might be a permanent side effect to the illness.
Ginny was still confined upstairs. In fact, Vivian and the Healers were up there now with her. She’d also made fine improvements, although every once in a while, she’d sort of zone out as if she was somewhere else. Both Ron and Ginny were impatient with these missteps, but the Healers insisted they had to be patient.
Harry had put a Concealment Charm on Ginny’s ring so only the two of them could see it, but as Harry knew she would, Hermione already suspected something was up. True to his word to Ginny, Harry had remained mum. He found he quite liked sharing this secret with her, yet he was also impatient to shout it to the world that she was going to be his wife.
His wife.
He was going to have a wife. He really liked the sound of that. He fought to control the goofy smile that he knew was blossoming on his face. Fortunately, Ron was distracted by his own blunder.
“Sorry, mate. I really wish I could stop dropping things like that,” Ron said, his ears red.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replied easily, pouring himself another cup of coffee simply to have something to do while he arranged his expression into something remotely dignified. “They said it could take some time.”
“I know,” Ron said, nodding. “It happens more when I’m tired or not concentrating on what I’m doing, but what happens if I’m chasing some Dark wizard, and I trip over my own feet or drop my wand?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Harry said firmly, unwilling to admit he’d had the same frightening thought. “I’ll always have your back, and you’re not even close to returning to work yet.”
“Vivian said they’re talking about easing some of the restrictions, and we’re already considered essential,” Ron replied sullenly.
“You’re not on quarantine, you’re on sick leave. There’s no use creating problems before they exist. You’ve only been on your feet for a couple days,” Harry said.
“I’ve had enough of being sick to last a lifetime,” Ron said, grumbling as he helped himself to yet another of the excellent blueberry scones that Mrs. Weasley had sent over.
Harry reached over and took one, as well. “We feared you were going to die. I’ll take a bit of clumsiness. It’s not like you were ever all that graceful,” he said, taking a bite of the delicious treat.
“Sod off,” Ron said good-naturedly.
“Merlin, how does she do this?” Harry asked, savoring the scone.
“They are good,” Ron said, nodding with his mouth full “She sent over all the things I like. Almost worth getting ill.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Harry mumbled. “Hopefully Ginny will be able to come out within a day or two, and she’ll get some of her favorites, as well.”
“Harry, honestly, you live with two of her brothers. We really don’t need to hear about you giving Ginny whatever her favorite things are,” George said, entering the kitchen and dropping onto a stool. He pulled one of the last two remaining scones from the basket.
Ron choked on his scone as Harry grinned.
“Too bad for you then, because she’s dead sexy, and I’ll give her anything her heart desires,” he said.
“That’s revolting,” George said, although grinning.
“Ginny is most definitely not sexy,” Ron said, finally finding his voice.
“Oh, but she really is. Maybe I should make something special for her first dinner with us,” Harry said, envisioning Ginny showing off her ring.
“She likes when you roast a chicken with all the fixings,” Ron said, his entire countenance brightening.
Harry rolled his eyes. “No, Ron — you like that, and you’ve been spoiled enough these past few days. It’s her turn, now.”
“You know what she really likes?” George asked. “That gooey macaroni and cheese you make. Don’t ever tell my mum this, or I’ll deny it emphatically, but I think you might even do it better than her.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah, Ginny does like that one. She always liked macaroni and cheese best when we were kids.”
“Comfort food,” George said sagely.
“Well, if anyone deserves some comfort, it’s her,” Harry said, standing up and peering into the cold cabinet. “We need more cheese. I’ll have to get some sent over.”
“Do you really think she’ll be sprung today?” George asked, unable to mask the hopefulness in his voice.
“She’s so much better, and she’s really giving the medi-witch a hard time about being confined, so it wouldn’t surprise me. The macaroni and cheese will hold until tomorrow if not. And you,” Harry said, getting directly into Ron’s line of vision, “will keep your spoon, fork and any fingers out of it until she’s here.”
“Harry,” Ron said, aghast, “I’ve lost so much weight while being so ill. The Healers all said I need fattening up. I can’t believe you’d want to keep me unhealthy.”
Harry thumped the back of Ron’s head. “I’ll give you unhealthy. Stay away from it, or I’m telling Ginny you ate her favorite dinner.”
“She really has ruined you,” Ron said grumpily.
“Yep,” Harry grinned, tossing Ron the last scone and placing the basket by the fireplace. He knew Ron would use it to catch whatever Mrs. Weasley sent through next.
“I have some new Owl Orders to fill today. Up for helping me?” George asked, looking at Ron.
He shrugged. “Sure. Harry?”
“I need to talk to Owen first. He said he’d Floo call since he was actually going into the Ministry this morning,” Harry said, opening another cupboard.
“Is he back at work in person?” Ron asked eagerly.
“Not full time, but he’s been going in more and more since he was assigned to this task force. He said it’s really weird there since the whole Ministry is practically empty,” Harry said. “Still no support staff, so everything is moving very slowly.”
“I can’t wait until we can go out again. I want to reopen the shop, even if it’s only limited. Then I can tell Angelina to come by and buy something,” George said.
“You and she have made up, then?” Harry asked.
George grinned roguishly. “Oh, she can’t wait to see me.”
“More like the other way around,” Ron said under his breath.
“Ginny said you’d work it out once you got your head out of your arse. She’ll be happy to hear you’re breathing fresh air again,” Harry said, grinning.
George used his fingers colorfully. “What d’you mean me? She was the one who broke it off in the first place.”
Harry nodded, still pulling various ingredients out of the cabinets. “Yeah, but she said Ang is the only one who can stay one step ahead of you.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m getting seriously hacked off now. No one is ever a step ahead of me. It’s part of my charm,” George said indignantly.
Harry snorted. “Charm? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Listen, Potter, I’m not certain what’s made you so cheeky this morning, but I’m going to assume it’s because Ginny is on the mend, so I need to cut you some slack. I’d watch my step if I were you, however. I’ve a load of new products just sitting upstairs in need of unsuspecting testers,” George said, folding his arms over his chest.
Ron laughed. “I know you love that all your products are banned at Hogwarts, mate, but… you know who you’re talking to, right? Effin’ Lord Voldemort was scared of him. I don’t think you’ll intimidate him with a Canary Cream,” he said, slapping George on the back.
“Didn’t you two have work to do?” Harry asked, reckoning he needed to stop them or this could go on all day. “I’ll be up once I’ve spoken with Owen.”
The two brothers left the kitchen, George muttering about Harry’s big head as he left. Grinning and feeling extremely buoyant, Harry Floo called in his shopping request and began his pre-cooking preparations. The secret to the macaroni and cheese was letting it simmer over an extended period. He was so lost in thought, he didn’t hear Owen at first when the fireplace flared green.
“Oi, Potter! I don’t have all bloody day,” Owen’s gruff voice shouted from the flames.
“Owen!” Harry said, spinning around. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, lad. Glad you’re up and about and off your lazy arse. How’s that pretty lassie of yours doing?” he asked.
“She’s much better. I’m hoping she’ll be released from confinement today. Any word when we all might be allowed out of this house?” Harry asked, settling himself in front of the fire. His knees began to ache almost instantaneously, so he shifted to sit on his backside, bending his legs and wrapping his arms around his knees.
“No idea,” Owen said. “I think they’re going to have an uptick in domestic violence cases if they keep folks trapped with their own families much longer. We’re all this close to becoming permanent nutters.”
Owen held his fingers so close they were nearly touching.
“Have you made any headway on those Death Eater statements?” Harry asked.
“Nah, just the same old tossers and the same old crimes. We’re looking for someone with either some medical knowledge, or someone really good at potions who managed to keep their name out of too much scandal,” Owen said, sighing. “Can’t be someone who outright pledged their life, so I’m thinking someone without a Dark Mark.”
“What about Lestrange? He was good with potions. Maybe it was a connection to him?” Harry asked. Rodolphus Lestrange had been the one behind Harry’s own poisoning several years prior.
“Yeah, but we’ve rounded up his whole lot, and it’s all the same names. My gut is telling me this is coming from someone familiar to all of them, but he kept his head down, and didn’t get caught,” Owen said, scratching the scar on his chin.
“It can never hurt to look over the sacred twenty-eight list. Those names always tend to be involved somehow,” Harry suggested.
Owen nodded. “I suppose. Why don’t you do that? See if a fresh pair of eyes help, and you can do it from home,” he said.
“Is Ethan there with you?” Harry asked.
Owen frowned. “Hell, no. What do I want with a bloody noob tailing me and bugging me with his ceaseless prattle? I miss you, lad. You always knew when to keep your trap shut.”
“Wow, Owen. That’s some high praise, right there,” Harry said, widening his eyes.
Owen scowled. “Shut it. I must’ve forgotten what a cheeky little bastard you could be.”
“What about that bloke at St. Mungo’s, the one who told us about Gethin being missing? We could try leaning on him,” Harry said.
“Xander Peck, yeah, already thought about it. I’d like to do in-person interviews with both him and the bloke running the underground potions lab in Knockturn Alley. I need to wait for a few more of these restrictions to be lifted. I think we’ll get more in person than over the Floo for that,” Owen said, nodding.
“I think you’re right,” Harry agreed.
“Of course, I’m bloody well right. That’s why I’m the senior partner, here, laddie,” Owen roared.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh! So sorry to step on your ego. I must’ve forgotten how fragile you were when discussing your superiority.”
“You really can be a little twat, you know that? It’ll be good when your witch is back on her feet, so you can find something better to do with that mouth,” Owen said.
“That’ll delight her. Stay safe, Owen, and try to keep yourself out of trouble until I can watch your back,” Harry said.
“You? You’re the one who brings all the trouble. Hurry up and get cleared so you can get your arse back here and do some of my scruff work. This place is ruddy boring without you,” Owen said, scoffing.
“See you soon, I hope,” Harry said before the green flames vanished. He pulled himself off the floor, wincing at the pain in his bum. He really should’ve thought to cast a Cushioning Charm.
Ginny sat upright on her bed, staring expectantly at the closed infirmary door where Hermione had just vanished. She drummed her fingers on the blankets impatiently, but in reality, it only took a moment before her friend’s bushy head returned, carrying some clothing over her arm.
“I picked out a pair of jeans and a few tops. It felt weird going through your things,” Hermione said, sounding a bit breathless.
“Why?” Ginny asked, sorting through the tops Hermione had selected. “We’ve shared each other’s clothes before.”
“I know. It wasn’t the clothes, it was more being in the room you share with Harry,” Hermione said, whispering the end of her sentence.
Ginny stared at her, dumbfounded. “Hermione, I think my brother’s really rubbing off on you, and that’s not a good thing.”
“Oh, I know it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “You can’t always just change how you feel simply because you know you should. Why are you in such a hurry for these clothes, anyway?”
“Because I think they’re going to release me tonight when they come back for another scan, and I don’t want to leave this room in my pajamas,” Ginny said, staring at a white peasant top with lace trim. “I think I’m much too pasty to wear white.”
“You look absolutely fine. Besides, none of us have worn more than pajamas or a track suit since we’ve been stuck here. I’ve actually found it saves time, so I can focus on work right away,” Hermione said.
“Well, it makes me feel lazy, and I want to get dressed,” Ginny said firmly.
“This one’s nice. Where did you get this?” Hermione asked, holding up a bluish-violet colored one with puffy sleeves.
“Siobhan gave it to me,” Ginny said, taking it from Hermione. “I wonder how she’s doing through this whole mess.”
“Me, too. I think after it’s all this is over, and we can socialize again, we should arrange a girls’ night. Invite all our old roommates, and we can go to dinner or something,” Hermione said, beaming.
“Oh! That’s a fantastic idea, Hermione. We could meet in Diagon Alley somewhere. Padma and Parvati are already there,” Ginny said, feeling enthusiastic about the idea.
“I wonder if Padma was able to make the dress I’d ordered for Percy’s wedding. I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, but maybe it was something to keep her busy while she was in quarantine,” Hermione said. “I know George appreciated having the work.”
“You can wear it on our girls’ night,” Ginny said decisively. “If there’s one thing this whole mess has taught me, it’s to keep the people that matter to me close. I’ve let things slide too long with some of my old friends. I’m going to try and track down Luna and see if she can come, too.”
“Do you know where she is?” Hermione asked.
“I don’t know where anyone is right now, but knowing Luna, she’s on some random expedition in some exotic place far away, and she’ll be surprised when we tell her what’s been going on here,” Ginny said, laughing.
“She’ll probably blame it on some Gibberish Glubpumper or some other sort of nonsense,” Hermione said.
Ginny snorted. “That sounds about right. I hope she’ll be able to meet with us, though. It’ll be fun to get together again.”
“I can’t imagine they’re just going to end all these restrictions all at once, even if we now have an antidote,” Hermione said, pondering.
“Well, you’re on the committee. What have you heard?” Ginny asked, exasperated. “Don’t look at me. I’ve been unconscious.”
“That’s the thing, all my information comes through Vivian, and she’s not all that forthright,” Hermione said, grumbling.
“And what does she say?” Ginny asked, wondering if it would ever dawn on Hermione how alike she and Vivian were.
“She says it will probably go in phases, so they don’t get overwhelmed with a large number of new cases if it’s continuing to spread,” Hermione said.
“Well, what else would it do?” Ginny asked.
“We’re hoping that since we’ve isolated everyone, and eliminated it in those who’ve had it, that it might simply dissipate for the moment. We’re still uncertain about its incubation requirements. The Healers at St. Mungo’s and some in the Department of Mysteries are still studying it,” Hermione said. “Spattergroit flares up on occasion without warning, but Cerebrumous Spattergroit has never returned. There’s hope this one will be the same.”
“That makes sense. Even if it’s just small gatherings at first, I’ll take it. I want to visit my parents, and I know Harry wants to see Teddy,” Ginny said.
“Oh, I can’t imagine how Andromeda has explained it to him. Thank goodness she still has Kreacher there to help keep him entertained,” Hermione said.
“I hope he’s not angry with Harry once they finally get together,” Ginny said, biting her lip.
“Why would he be? It’s not Harry’s fault,” Hermione said.
“He’s three, Hermione — logic isn’t a necessity,” Ginny said, smiling. “He might just be cross that Harry stayed away for so long, and that would break Harry’s heart.”
Hermione frowned. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see. Your teammates are anxious to speak with you, as well. Willow has Floo called several times hoping you could talk.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to that, too. I want to know what happened to everyone else, and what kind of symptoms they had,” Ginny said. “None of the Healers have told me specifically which coach was really ill, and which players showed symptoms.”
“I heard they did a complete decontamination of the Harpies’ training facility. It should look sparkling new once you finally get to go back,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but that won’t last. It rains so much there, the floor has a permanent layer of mud,” Ginny said, grinning.
“And yet you say that fondly,” Hermine said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, I don’t want to talk about Quidditch. Are any of these tops all right, or should I go get more?”
“No, this one is good, and you have my favorite jeans. Good job, Hermione. Thanks!” Ginny said, pulling the bluish-violet top toward her and beginning to change.
“What time did the Healers say they’d come back?” Hermione asked.
“They didn’t, but I hope it’s sooner rather than later. I’m so bored sitting in here,” Ginny said, irritated. She felt as if she’d been stuck in this room for ages. It wasn’t as if she really had anywhere to go, but she wanted to get out and go to a different room, and she wanted to be wearing actual clothes when she did so. She tugged on the jeans Hermione had brought for her and turned to face her friend. “There. How do I look?”
“Beautiful as ever,” Hermione said, smiling. “Want me to plait your hair?”
“Yes, please,” Ginny said, handing Hermine the brush and sitting with her back towards her.
By the time Ginny’s hair was done in a single, thick plait down her back, the door opened, and Vivian and a Healer stepped in. Ginny beamed at them, despite her annoyance that they were still wearing Bubble-Head Charms.
“Am I done? Can I go?” she asked eagerly.
“Perhaps we ought to do the scan first,” Vivian said, her lips twitching.
“Right,” Ginny said, her face coloring despite her best attempts not to let it. She stood, holding her arms slightly out from her sides. “I’m ready, then.”
Hermione stood and took a step away from them, watching the procedure carefully.
The Healer — the one with the sourest face of all of them, and who never seemed to smile — stood in front of her and waved her wand slowly down Ginny’s front, and then again down her back. A series of lights and smoky symbols materialized in the air in front of the Healer, who perused them carefully.
“I see you’re feeling better and eager to escape,” Vivian said, indicating Ginny’s outfit. “You look very nice.”
“Thanks. I think they’re planning a dinner for me downstairs — at least my nose has been telling me that something good has been cooking all day. Would you care to join us — if, in fact, I do get the news I’m hoping for?” Ginny asked.
“Thanks very much for the offer, but we have a few additional stops to make. If you’re cleared, I’m going to seal the door to this room until a team arrives tomorrow to do a thorough decontamination,” Vivian said. “You’ll be able to reenter in about two weeks.”
“There’s no rush. Once I get out, I’m never coming back in this room as long as I live,” Ginny muttered.
Vivian actually smiled wide enough for Ginny to see teeth. “I think this room might’ve once been used as a nursery. You might decide you need one of those one day,” she said.
Ginny guiltily grasped at her finger where her ring was concealed under a charm. She let go quickly, pressing her lips together. “Right,” she said, coloring even more brilliantly in embarrassment. She knew both Vivian and Hermione had caught her odd, sudden movement.
“Well?” she asked, turning towards the Healer and trying to forestall any awkward questions. “What’s the verdict? Am I cleared? Please tell me I’m cleared.”
The Healer frowned, looking as if she didn’t like what she was seeing. Ginny wasn’t overly concerned, however, as the Healer never looked like anything pleased her. She remained mum, waving her wand and reading the various runes and symbols that hung in the air before dissipating. At last, she spoke grudgingly, “I can no longer detect any trace of the illness in Miss Weasley’s system.”
“Yes!” Ginny said, punching her fist in the air.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t contract it again. We still don’t have definitive proof that someone can only suffer the effects once,” the Healer said, scowling more deeply and looking as if she thought Ginny was behaving rather cavalierly with her health.
Ginny couldn’t help but wonder if they taught them all that look in Healer training, because they all seemed to know it. Merlin, she hoped it would be years before she ever had to see another Healer.
“But all indications are leaning toward an immunity amongst those who’ve suffered,” Vivian said, cajoling. “In any case, everyone else here has been tested regularly, and none of them are showing any symptoms that would indicate it’s still in this house. Well, Miss Weasley, it looks like your wish is granted, and you’re able to join your friends downstairs for your release party dinner.”
Grasping Hermione’s hand, Ginny took a step toward the door, nearly bouncing in her excitement. “Er…now?” she asked, when neither Vivian nor the Healer had moved.
“Yes, now. Congratulations on your full recuperation,” Vivian said, nodding.
“You’ll still need rest and to monitor and record any of those mental lapses you’ve been experiencing,” the Healer said, as if she just couldn’t bear it if she didn’t get in the last word.
Ginny was having none of it. She pulled the door open and tugged Hermione outside with her. “Right now, I feel I could beat the Pride of Portree singlehandedly.”
Harry placed the hot platter of macaroni and cheese on the counter under a warming charm and turned back to the steaming vegetables. He couldn’t stop glancing at the kitchen stairs, hoping to hear movement. Vivian and a Healer had gone up to see Ginny, and Harry was hoping she’d be released any moment. It would be so good to have her back with all of them.
Ron was busy setting the table while complaining about how hungry he was — the smell of food always increased Ron’s ever-present hunger, while George had gone into the wine cellar to get a few bottles for what they all hoped to be a celebratory drink.
“How long did it take them to clear me?” Ron asked, staring longingly at the macaroni and cheese.
“How should I know? I wasn’t there — you just appeared on the stairs, remember?” Harry asked.
“Right. They practically told her this morning they were going to do it. I can’t see what’s taking so long,” Ron said.
“They’ve been up there less than ten minutes, Ron,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I’m certain the wait is harder on Ginny.”
“You always take her side,” Ron grumbled.
Harry grinned. “Did George finish the owl orders?” he asked.
“Nah, he got more after the ones we filled this afternoon. Even remotely, he needs help. He can’t keep doing this alone,” Ron said, suddenly serious and turning away from the food.
“Yeah, well, I think we’ve all told him that repeatedly,” Harry said, putting down his cooking utensils. Something in Ron’s voice had caught his attention.
Ron nodded. “Yeah. I think… well, it seems… I think maybe I can help him best,” Ron said the last bit very fast, his ears turning dark red.
“What are you saying?” Harry asked slowly. He thought he might know. He wasn’t unaware of how well Ron and George worked together, and that Ron did seem to have a very good head for business. He also knew Ron well enough to be aware that the decision itself had to come from Ron.
Ron took a deep breath. “How would you… What do you think about me going to work with George… full time?” Ron asked uncertainly.
It crossed Harry’s mind that he hadn’t seen Ron looking so vulnerable in a very long time.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry said shrugging.
“You do?” Ron asked, apparently wrong-footed.
“Of course, I do. George has always said it’s a family business, so you certainly fit the bill. I’ve seen you two working together during this whole mess. You’re good at this, Ron, and I think you and George both play off each other’s strengths,” Harry said, and he meant it.
Ron looked extremely relieved. “Yeah? We do work well together, surprisingly enough. What about you, though?”
“What about me? I like being an Auror.”
“No. I know that, but… I won’t be there to have your back. You need to promise me you won’t be walking into anything without Owen or someone else big at your back,” Ron said earnestly.
Harry pressed his lips together, not wanting to hurt Ron’s feelings by letting it slip that he’d be more than relieved to get away from Ron’s clucking. He knew his friend meant well. “I think having George’s back for a while is a good thing, Ron. I’ll be fine, and you’ll still see me every day when we’re home,” he said seriously.
“Right,” Ron said, relief clearly etched in his freckly face. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other anymore.”
“That’ll never happen. What did Hermione say?” Harry asked curiously.
Ron gulped. “I haven’t told her yet. She’s going to be shocked. She knows how driven I was to become an Auror.”
Harry fought to control his smile. “She might surprise you. She’s rather clever, you know.”
“You think?” Ron asked, rolling his eyes. “You really think she might suspect already?”
“Have you ever been able to get anything past her? She’s somehow attuned to anything people don’t want to talk about,” Harry said, grumbling a bit.
“Yeah, but you never want to talk about anything, so that’s not a fair assessment,” Ron said. “I’ll talk to her about it tonight. What do you think George will say?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “You haven’t talked to George about this yet?”
“Talked to me about what?” George asked, reentering the kitchen with several bottles of wine.
“What d’you think about me leaving the Ministry and coming to work with you full-time?” Ron asked.
George froze, staring back and forth between the other two as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. “You’re serious?” he asked weakly.
“Well, yeah. We’ve been doing all right during this whole quarantine, haven’t we? And you said you need some help.” Ron said, looking nervous again.
“But what about being an Auror?” George asked. “I thought that had been your life’s dream.”
“Yeah, but… well, I’ve done that now, haven’t I? Harry’s going to carry on, but I thought I’d try my hand at business. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. I don’t have to,” Ron said, his ears growing alarmingly red once again.
“I do want you,” George said quickly. “I mean, I need the help, and you have proven surprisingly useful. Plus, it’ll definitely get me back on Angie’s good side.”
“Oh, yeah, and it’s all about you getting a leg over,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
“Everything is about getting a leg over, little bro. I thought I taught you better than that,” George said slyly. “Seriously, though, I think this’ll be great. I think Fred would’ve approved too, and that’s the highest praise I can give.”
The two brothers beamed at one another, slapping each other on the back enthusiastically. It was at this moment that Ginny and Hermione appeared at the bottom of the kitchen stairs.
Harry’s eyes automatically looked at Ginny’s finger, which still appeared bare due to her Concealment Charm. “Ginny,” he said, feeling winded.
She was across the kitchen in three strides, leaping into his open arms and wrapping her legs around him. “Cleared. Finally,” she said, glowing.
Harry spun her in a circle, feeling rather giddy himself. “Oh, thank Merlin. I was beginning to think they’d never let you out.”
“Do I smell macaroni and cheese?” she asked, following the scent to where it sat on the countertop. “Oh, the gooey one. That’s my favorite.”
“Of course, it is. Nothing but the best for my girl,” Harry said happily, leading over to a stool where Ron and George were already seated.
Hermione joined them at the end, and Ron began pouring the wine. “This calls for a toast since we’re all finally healthy,” he said.
Harry noticed Ginny casually point her wand at her finger beneath the counter, reversing her Concealment Charm. He took the stool next to her, reaching for the hidden hand. His stomach lurched as he felt the ring there.
His ring.
On her hand.
They were getting married.
He couldn’t mask his joy even if he’d tried. Fortunately, the others all took his jubilant smile at happiness on Ginny’s release. Hermione scooped some of the dinner onto everyone’s plates, while Ron raised his wineglass in salute. They all joined him in raising their glasses.
“To my best sister,” he began.
“I’m your only sister,” Ginny interrupted.
Ron glowered for a moment and returned to this speech. “To my best and most irritating sister, it’s wonderful to have you back. We’re all happy you didn’t die.”
“I’m fairly happy about that, too,” Ginny quipped, rolling her eyes.
George clinked his glass with hers. “We’re all really happy about that, Ginny. We’ve missed your acerbic humor more than you know. We do love you, despite doing our best not to show it.”
Before Ginny could respond, Hermione squealed, dropping her wine glass which spilled everywhere. She reached across the counter, grabbing Ginny’s hand that still held her own wine glass. Hermione tilted Ginny’s hand to the side, spilling her wine, too.
“Hermione! What’s gotten into you?” Ron asked, aghast. He used his wand to siphon up the spilled wine from the counter.
“When did this happen?” Hermione gasped.
It was then the two Weasleys brothers noticed the glittering diamond ring on their sister’s finger. Ron stared at it, gob-smacked.
“Harry, you sly dog. Finally worked out how to officially become part of the Weasley clan, have you? Can’t say as I blame you. There’s no other family that’s near as good,” George said, clapping Harry on the back and leaning over to kiss his sister’s cheek.
“This ring is gorgeous. When did you get it, Harry? When did you give it to her? I thought there was something funny upstairs the way you grabbed your hand, but I would’ve noticed this,” Hermione said accusingly, Ginny’s hand still clutched in her own.
“I had it under a Concealment Charm for a few days,” Ginny said, grinning widely. “It was something to look forward to while I waited to get out of there.”
“You’re getting married,” Ron said at last, staring at both of them, dumbfounded. “To each other?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “No, Ron, I thought I’d marry Zeus, and Harry’s going to ask Vivian Scott. Of course, to each other, you dolt.”
“Oh, we need more wine for this. Ron, d’you know what this means? It means we’re relieved of all future Ginny responsibilities, as they’re Harry’s now, and we get him for a brother. It’s a win-win for us,” George said, delighted.
“What d’you mean by Ginny responsibilities? Neither of you two louts has any responsibility for me. I’m a grown witch of legal age, and I’m responsible for myself, I’ll have you know,” Ginny said, yanking her hand out from Hermione’s grasp and pulling out her wand.
The other four all jumped from their stools and stepped back from the counter, watching her wand warily.
“Now, now, Ginny. Don’t over-exert yourself after just getting out of hospital. We’re your funny brothers, remember? All for a good laugh,” George said placating.
“You’re more funny-looking than amusing,” Ginny said, scowling.
Harry grinned, entertained by seeing Ginny intimidate and harass her much larger brothers. He really didn’t think anything could dampen his mood this night.
“Ginny,” he said quietly, unable to keep a straight face. “Let’s eat and celebrate first. You can always hex them later.”
Ginny pursed her lips, looking him over. Finally, she shrugged and said, “All right. I am starving. The smell has been driving me mad all day.”
And with that, she and Harry sat back down and resumed their dinner, leaving the other three on their feet, gaping at them.
Hermione recovered first, taking her own stool and saying, “So, who else knows about this, and what have you decided?”
“No one else knows yet, and I want to be the one who gets to tell,” Ginny said firmly, again glaring at her brothers. “Or, I at least want to tell the rest of the family.”
“That should be your right,” Harry said, backing her up. “You should probably Floo call your parents after dinner, anyway, just to let them know you’ve been released. They’ll feel better seeing how good you look.”
Ginny beamed at him as George made retching sounds. Hermione leaned around Ron and swatted George on the head.
“Er, Ron… are you all right?” Harry asked, finally noticing that Ron was still sitting motionless and looking rather thunderstruck. His dinner plate remained full and untouched.
Ron slowly raised his eyes to meet Harry’s. “You’re going to marry her, and you’ll look after her.” It was a statement, not a question.
Harry nodded solemnly.
Ron then turned to Ginny. “And you’ll look after him.”
Ginny nodded as well, her lips twitching slightly.
A slow but wide smile bloomed across Ron’s face. “Excellent. This is really excellent.” He quickly refilled both Ginny and Hermione’s wine glasses, then raised his own in the air.
“A toast — to our extended Weasley family. Welcome, Harry. It’s about time.”
“Here, here,” George called as they all toasted. It had been some time since there was so much happiness and joy within the walls of Grimmauld Place, and they all felt due.
Chapter 22: Here Comes the Sun
Author's Notes: First off, thanks so much to all the lovely readers over at SIYE for their votes. Contagion won the Best Drama category for the October Silver Trinket Awards. Thanks so very much!!
For readers on Harry Potter Fanfiction, I’ve begun adding a short Christmas story – A Potterverse Christmas Carole – with Petunia Dursley in the role of Scrooge. Check it out!
Thanks to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel, and Sue for their patience, feedback, advice and fixing all my type-ohs!! I’m always thankful for you lot!
Here Comes the Sun
Harry and Ginny were still in bed late the next morning. She sat perched between his legs, her back resting against his chest. They’d been apart for so long, neither was in any hurry to separate and begin the day, but Ginny’s stomach was beginning to grumble its displeasure over its empty state.
“Someone’s hungry,” Harry said, chuckling after a particularly loud growl. He was twirling one long strand of her hair between his fingers absently.
Ginny sighed. “I am hungry, but I don’t want to get up yet,” she said, her eyes drooping lazily. Although they’d been in bed for ages, they really hadn’t spent much time actually sleeping.
“I wish I could call Kreacher and ask him to bring something up,” Harry said. “I don’t want to risk his health, or sending anything back to Teddy and Andromeda with him, though.”
Ginny shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be fair. Besides, it’s not like I’m ill any longer. I’m just being lazy.”
“I like being lazy together,” Harry said, snuggling her closer. “But I should get you something to eat. You need to get your strength back up. You stay here, I’ll be back with some breakfast.”
Ginny refused to budge in order for him to get up. “No. I want you to stay here. I like having a place to be where I’m sure Ron won’t barge in,” Ginny said, snickering.
Harry grinned. “It’s probably best if you don’t say that out loud, or he might just start. He’s probably down there eating all the treats your mum sent you, you know.”
“No, he isn’t,” Ginny said smugly.
Harry raised his eyebrows. “What did you do?”
“I left a note on the basket that it was mine, and no one was to touch it until I’d had a look,” she said, smirking.
“And you think that’ll hold either of your brothers off?” he asked.
Ginny continued to smirk. “It will if they know what’s good for them.”
“You put a hex on the basket, didn’t you?” he asked, grinning.
“Very good. And I also ensured it was reversible only with the same wand that cast the spell — and my wand is sitting right there,” she said, nodding toward her bedside table where her wand rested.
Harry let out a bark of laughter. “And I can see you’re quite pleased with yourself for doing it. That’s my girl. So… your parents were happy about the engagement, yeah?” he asked, and Ginny could hear the very faint note of insecurity that he tried to cover. He’d come a long way, but she wasn’t certain if he’d ever completely lose that vulnerability, and she really hated the Dursleys for it.
“They’re over the moon. You know what, though? I kept waving my hand all around my face, and leaving my finger right over my mouth, and my mum never caught on. I was really disappointed in her,” Ginny said indignantly, remembering the Floo call she’d had with her parents the previous evening.
Harry chuckled. “To be fair, it was probably hard to pick up since it was only your head in the fire. I’m certain it would’ve been different if you could’ve seen them in person. Plus, they were so thrilled about your good health, she probably just wasn’t herself.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, scowling. “Once we’re married, you’d best not always take her side, you know.”
Harry grasped Ginny’s hand and raised it so he could examine the ring sparkling there. “I can’t believe she missed this. I mean, it’s so obvious. She must be barmy.”
A slow, reluctant smile spread across Ginny’s face. “You’re such a prat. And she is barmy. It’s perfectly noticeable.”
“Perfectly,” Harry agreed.
“Shut it. She actually asked me if there was something wrong with my hand, because I was waving it around so much,” she said, grumbling.
Harry snorted, though he tried to recover quickly. “I’m glad you like it. I like seeing it there.”
They both stared for a moment at their entwined hands, the ring glistening between them. “You’d obviously been thinking about this for a while to have the ring ready, since we’ve been quarantined so long,” Ginny said.
Harry’s shifted, and a light dusting of pink colored his cheeks. “Yeah. I wanted to give it to you on our holiday that never happened. I kept thinking I’d make it up to you, but when you got sick, I thought I’d ruined everything,” he said in a low voice.
“You could never ruin everything, Harry,” she said, kissing his rosy cheek lightly. “Have you given any thought to when you’d like to do this? Any particular season, I mean? How about a location? Did you have any place in mind? Would you prefer robes, or Muggle-style clothing?” she asked, her mind whirring the more she thought about all the details.
Harry stared at her, wide-eyed and looking rather panicked.
“There’s no right or wrong answers, Harry. I’m asking for your opinion,” she said, laughing at his expression.
“Yeah, unless my opinion is different from yours,” he mumbled, squeezing her around the middle to soften his words.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll go with my way if there are any big differences, but I’d like to hear what you think. Everyone imagines their wedding day,” she said.
“Er… they do?” he asked, perplexed.
Ginny shrugged. “Well, I have, anyway. Come on, you must have some idea on what you’d like if you went out and found this gorgeous ring.”
“I did imagine you once in a wedding dress, but it was before we left hunting Horcruxes. We were doing all those preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember? I thought I might not make it back, and you’d be marrying someone else, so I didn’t want to think about it anymore,” he said, staring at her hair that he was still curling around his finger.
“That wasn’t going to happen. I always knew you were the one for me,” she said, leaning into him. “You said a wedding dress though, not robes. I think that’s what I’d prefer, too. Something long and flowing, but fitted on the top, I think.”
“That sounds sort of like a blend between a dress and some robes. I like that idea,” Harry said, glancing at her quickly to see her reaction.
She smiled. “A blend sounds perfect, and you could do the same — blend robes with one of those tuxodos.”
“Tuxedo,” he corrected automatically. “I don’t know about that. You’ll have to come with me to pick something out, all right?”
“I’d love to do that if we’re ever allowed to get out of here,” she said sulkily. She’d had more than enough with being confined indoors. She’d even take a shopping spree — something she’d never really had much patience with — if it meant being allowed to leave. She’d rather go to the orchard behind The Burrow and fly, to be honest.
“Maybe the Patil twins could make something for you, if you told them what you wanted,” Harry suggested.
Ginny’s eyes flew open wide. “Harry! That’s brilliant. I think they’d do an excellent job, and we’d never have to worry about them leaking anything to the press.”
“D’you really think the press will be interested in what we’re wearing to our wedding?” he asked, still playing with her hair and sounding unconcerned.
Ginny blew out an exaggerated puff of air. “Harry, you’re still the darling of the wizarding world, and once the Quidditch League gets wind of this, they’ll want to hype it to their own advantage. We need to stand firm and get as many details out of the way as possible before any of them know.”
“I’m not the darling of anything,” Harry said, pouting and exceedingly disgruntled.
“Of course, you’re not,” Ginny said, giggling as she patted his hand. The most endearing part was that he actually believed that. Silly boy. She was lost in her own thoughts for what felt like only a second, but it must’ve been longer, because the next thing she became aware of was Harry’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Ginny!” he said, sounding alarmed.
“What’s that?” she asked, disorientated.
“You sort of went somewhere else again,” Harry said, attempting to sound cavalier but failing miserably.
Ginny had had several bouts of this since awakening from her coma. The Healers told her not to worry about it, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t like hearing the panic in Harry’s voice. To her, it didn’t seem as if any time had passed at all, but she could feel his heart thumping madly when she leaned back against his chest once again. She knew Ron was still having some side effects, as well, and she wished they would stop.
“I’m all right,” she said, trying to reassure them both. “I wish that would stop happening.”
“What were you thinking about when it did?” he asked, burying his face in her shoulder.
“Nothing, really. Our wedding, I suppose. We were talking about getting ahead of the press,” she said, decisively.
“No, you were talking about getting ahead of the press. I was checking that my answers lined up with yours,” he replied, chuckling.
“You’re awfully good at this husband stuff. Are you certain you don’t have another wife or two stashed away somewhere?” she asked.
Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, now there’s a story the press would love to run with. Where do you suppose I keep these secret wives of mine, and how on earth do I find the time?”
“Honestly, Harry. As if that would be a problem. You work at the Ministry, and half of Britain still doesn’t believe all the Time—Turners were destroyed when Voldemort first returned. The press will run with that. As to the identity of your other wives… hmm… I seem to remember Rita writing about an attractive tutor back when you were in Auror training,” she said, tapping her finger to her chin.
“That was George!” Harry sputtered.
“And how about a Muggle wife? That would explain why no one ever sees her, and they know you grew up in the Muggle world,” Ginny said brightly.
Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this a bit too much.”
“Ooh, I know. How about someone from a rival Quidditch team? They could play off your own love of the sport, and create some drama and gossip about us. I bet the League would love all the publicity,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his incredulous expression. “Well, what do you think?”
“I think I should thank my good fortune that you didn’t decide to take a job with the press,” he said wryly.
Ginny smirked. “I thought about it. I’ve always enjoyed writing, but I enjoy playing Quidditch more.”
“Maybe when you decide to retire, you could write about Quidditch, and leave the gossip pages alone, please,” he said.
“Actually, I think perhaps you could use someone on your side in the gossip pages,” she said thoughtfully.
Harry grinned, nuzzling her neck. “Let them spin their wheels. I like my life just as it is.”
Ginny turned her face and kissed him soundly. They snogged for several moments before he pulled back, frowning.
“You know, they are going to be even more relentless once this all comes out,” he said slowly.
“Chosen One selects his Chosen One and all, you mean? Yeah, I know, I can see the headlines now. What’s she got that some of our fine young witches don’t? Or perhaps, Could she be brewing a love potion to control our hero?” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“No! I meant the Quidditch reporters. They already insinuated you only were placed on the first team because of your connections, and now they’ll probably accuse you of being too distracted to play, or some other nonsense,” he said, getting riled.
He’d been outraged and indignant on her behalf when the articles about her had started appearing. It was all she could do to stop him storming into the Daily Prophet to demand a retraction. She knew it would only make it worse. He was probably right, however. Their wedding news, although it was making her deliriously happy, was going to spark a lot of spite amongst the vapid press, and some of the witches constantly trying to catch Harry’s eye.
Ginny hoped he could withstand the pressure. He always took it much better when they directed their speculation on him rather than when they aimed it at Ginny — or even worse — Teddy. And the vultures seemed to have caught onto that fact. The surest way to get Harry to lose his cool was to insult or disparage the people he cared about.
She never really considered it before, but the press was ironically like Voldemort that way.
She supposed she ought to warn her mum, too. Molly never handled it well when they printed anything remotely unflattering about either of them. Oh, and she suspected her mum would want this wedding to take place at The Burrow, so they better decide quickly if that’s what they wanted.
“Where do you want to get married?” she asked abruptly.
“What?” Harry asked, nonplussed.
“Where? I mean, in a church? On location somewhere? We can always have it at The Burrow like Bill and Fleur, but I want to know if you have anything else in mind?” she asked.
“Do you have something else in mind?” he asked carefully.
“I want your opinion, Harry, and I’m starting to get seriously aggravated,” she said, frowning.
Harry’s eyes widened. “Well, give me a minute. You change topics faster than I can collect my thoughts.”
She knew it was true. Her brothers had always accused her of talking incessantly, and she knew Harry liked to ponder things before making a decision, but once she started, she needed to get it all out.
“I’m sorry. I’m excited, and I just want to be sure we’re on the same page before anyone else tries to change our minds,” she said, lightly kissing his shoulder.
Harry shook his head. “No, don’t be sorry. I like that you’re excited about our wedding. I’m excited. too. Our wedding — I really like the sound of that.”
“Me, too!” she said, beaming. “Truthfully, I’m not really sold on any particular location, though. That’s why I want to hear your thoughts.”
“Well… I wouldn’t want to upset your mum,” he said hesitantly.
“But?” she prompted.
“It’s not really a but. I was just thinking, you lot all grew up there, so obviously it holds special meaning. I was trying to think if there was anything special to me, and all I kept coming up with is Hogwarts. It was the first place where I felt I truly belonged,” he said softly, avoiding eye contact.
“Hogwarts,” Ginny said slowly. “Actually, I think that could work.”
Her mind was exploding with possibilities of the Great Hall glowing with the ceiling reflecting a starry night, no matter what the weather. It was true, The Burrow did hold all her childhood memories, but the wedding was bound to be filled with loads of redheads and family she couldn’t even all name. She wanted there to be something there for him, too. She couldn’t bring his parents, though she would if it were possible, but this was something she could do for him.
“I don’t know if it would work. There’s bound to be students, and there’s probably all kind of liability with bringing alcohol into a school. I don’t think McGonagall would go for it,” he said, shrugging.
“We could do it in the summer, when the students are at home,” she said, brushing off the concern. “Or! We could do it over the holidays. A winter wedding at Christmas time. What do you think of that?”
Harry smiled brightly. “Well, if it’s going to make your face glow with that much excitement, how could I do anything but love it?”
“That’s only a few months away, but I think we could do it. The quicker it happens, the less chance of anyone finding a reason to stop it,” Ginny said, thinking out loud.
“No one is going to stop it, or I’ll whisk you away and marry you in secret,” he said, nuzzling her neck once again.
Ginny snorted. “Oh, then you’d definitely have to deal with my mother’s wrath. I don’t even think your orphan puppy eyes would save you from that one,” she said, grinning widely.
“My orphan puppy eyes?” Harry asked, taken aback.
“Yes, and they absolutely wouldn’t work if we eloped. My mum would kill you. Slowly,” she said firmly.
Harry grinned. “Well, we can’t have that. I wouldn’t want to make you a widow before you’d even had the chance to be a wife. All right then, Hogwarts in winter — if Professor McGonagall gives us the okay,” he said decisively.
“Definitely use your orphan puppy eyes for that request. It’ll work there,” Ginny said, tilting her head.
Harry looked skeptical. “I dunno. McGonagall’s never had a problem saying no to me in the past. She might’ve taken the most House points from me surpassed only by Snape, and that’s saying something as she was the Head of Gryffindor.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. She adores you.”
Harry made a face, causing Ginny to laugh outright.
“Didn’t you hear her when she thought you were dead? Those orphan puppy eyes had definitely worked their charm on her,” she said.
Harry shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t recall. All I could remember was your voice, and what I was putting you through.”
“Yes, well, I suppose the orphan puppy eyes might’ve worked on me, too,” Ginny said fairly.
Harry perked up. “Really? That’s very interesting news. I suppose I might find a way to put that to my advantage, then,” he said, reaching up to fondle her bare breasts.
“Don’t push your luck, and I’m way too hungry for another round now,” she said, pushing his hands away.
Harry made a ridiculous pleading expression, batting his eyes dramatically. Ginny tossed her head back with laughter as she continued stopping any movement of his hands.
“Enough!” she finally shouted. “Even orphan puppy eyes don’t outrank hungry Ginny eyes — particularly after I’ve been the one on her death bed. That’s usually your game, so I’m going play it up.”
“All right, then,” Harry said, easily scooping up both her and the sheet and bounding out of the bed, buck naked. “M’lady needs food.”
Ginny shrieked with laughter. “Harry, you have to get dressed. We’re not going down there like this.
Harry paused, considering. “So, let me get this straight. You’re too hungry to fool around, but not hungry enough to go downstairs starkers?”
Ginny kicked her feet, laughing. “Put me down, and at least throw on a dressing gown.”
Harry placed her on her feet. “Not even married yet, and she’s already bossing me around,” he said, pulling on a pair of track pants that he found on the floor.
“Food, first. I can’t think straight I’m so famished,” Ginny insisted.
“Never let it be said I came between a Weasley and food,” Harry said, grumbling as he led her out the door.
/* /* /* /*
They could hear voices as they descended the stairs into the kitchen. As Harry pushed open the door and allowed Ginny to enter first, he could see Ron, Hermione and George over the top of her head. Ginny’s shout of mirth alerted him to take a closer look.
Ron sat at the kitchen counter with Hermione hovering over him. George sat beside him, grinning. Ron’s nose had been replaced with a pig’s snout, and every few moments, he grunted.
“Ha!” Ginny said, grinning and sitting at the counter. “You tried to take something from my basket despite my note, I see.”
“Remove this,’ Ron snarled, although it came out in an oddly harsh — pig-like — grunt.
“The note clearly said it was mine,” Ginny said, pouring coffee for both Harry and herself, plainly unconcerned. Harry put a few slices of toast on a plate between them. This ought to be fun.
“Ginny, this really is uncalled for. I can’t find a counter-curse, and he’s been like this for an hour,” Hermione said, sounding frantic, and flipping through the pages of a book on jinxes.
“Ron was too easy. I don’t think anyone is surprised that he tried to nick your stuff, but it’s quite impressive that you outsmarted Hermione,” George said gleefully.
Hermione glared at him, her face pinched. She turned her scowl towards Ginny. “How do you know this isn’t causing permanent damage by being left in place so long?” she demanded. “I’d think you’d show more concern for your brother, who has been quite ill, if you recall.”
“Not too ill to steal treats Mum made for me,” Ginny said blithely. She calmly spread a large amount of jam on a slice of toast and bit into it, closing her eyes in pleasure.
“Er… Ginny, perhaps you ought to…” Harry said, waving vaguely at Ron’s pig-like countenance. He knew Ron deserved it, but he hated when they all rowed. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the time Hagrid had given Dudley a pig’s tail. Dudley’d had to have surgery to remove it.
Ginny swallowed her toast. “Oh, all right,” she said, sighing. She removed her wand from her pocket, pointed it at Ron, and simply said, “Finite.”
Ron’s snout disappeared and his long nose returned with a popping sound that made him wince.
“I tried that! It didn’t work,” Hermione said, sounding as if some sort of prank had been played on her rather than Ron, who was rubbing his nose.
“It had to be reversed by the same wand that cast it,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Next time I leave a note on something, perhaps you ought to pay attention.”
She primly took another bite of her toast.
George roared with laughter and leaned over the counter to give Ginny a high-five. She grinned back at him.
Hermione’s face had gone blank before she pressed her lips together, draining them of color. “That was quite reckless. What if something had happened to your wand in the meantime?” she asked stiffly.
“What? You mean if it suddenly broke it two while I was sleeping?” Ginny asked scathingly. “Yeah, I hate when that happens.”
Harry couldn’t help it. He snorted.
Hermione turned her flashing eyes upon him. “This isn’t funny. I can’t believe you’re supporting this juvenile behavior.”
“Of course, it’s funny,” George said. “You’re just angry because you couldn’t undo it. It was a good spell, Ginny.”
Hermione’s face darkened dangerously. Harry knew George was right, but he also knew Hermione wasn’t to be trifled with when she became this worked up. “All right, Ron?” he asked, diverting attention back to his other best mate.
“That was a dirty trick, Ginny. I shared the treats Mum baked for me with everyone,” he said.
“And I’ll share mine, after I get to pick first, which is more than fair, I think,” Ginny fired right back. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t eaten half of yours before you offered some to anyone else.”
Ron’s ears turned red. Hermione huffed and folded her arms across her chest, her lips still pressed into a thin line.
Harry stood up and walked over the fireplace, lifting the heavily laden basket in question and bringing it over to the counter, placing it in front of Ginny. It still had her note pinned on top. “Let’s see what you have in here, shall we?” he asked.
Ginny beamed, pulling off the note and untying the ribbon around the contents of the basket. As she began pulling the linen off the top, Ron asked, “How come you were able to do that, and I got turned into a pig? I didn’t see you cancel a spell.”
“The note said it was for me, so the spell I cast only worked against anyone who wasn’t me,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Ooh, look at this. Mum must’ve been baking for days.”
The inside of the basket was full of shortbread, banana bread, assorted biscuits, snow pudding, a wide variety of scones and an egg custard tart. Ginny pulled out the tart first and cut herself a slice. She then pushed the basket toward Harry, who selected a cheese scone.
“Dig in,” Ginny said, reaching to grab another scone before the others examined her haul.
Ron very cautiously reached his hand inside, looking ready to pull it back at the slightest provocation.
“Oink!” Harry shouted, making Ron jump and drop the scone he’d selected onto the table.
“Sod off, Harry,” he said, scowling and putting it on his plate while Harry and George laughed at him. A reluctant grin eventually spread across Ron’s face as he dug into his scone.
Hermione very stiffly cut herself a slice of the egg custard tart while George dug in enthusiastically. As the meal progressed, the slight tension emanating mainly from Hermione seemed to lessen, and they were all in a fairly decent mood when Vivian came down the stairs to join them — still wearing a Bubble-Head Charm.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said, sitting down on the stool next to George. “I’m glad to see you all up and about. How are you feeling today, Miss Weasley?”
“I feel great, actually,” Ginny said brightly.
“She might’ve had a lot of rest. She did just get up fairly recently, but she’s been with Harry the whole time, so it’s questionable,” George said, smirking.
Ginny threw him a filthy look. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Has something else happened?” she asked, reaching for her scone.
“Congratulations,” Vivian said, nodding at her extended hand. “The ring is beautiful. I wondered when you’d reveal it.”
“You knew?” Ginny asked, blinking.
Harry looked up quickly. This was news to him.
“I recognized the Concealment Charm when I did one of your scans the other day,” Vivian said.
“You can read the diagnostic scans?” Hermione asked, her head tilted. Harry had long suspected that Hermione had been using a lot of her free time trying to discover what they revealed.
“Well, I’ll admit I’m not a Healer, but I’ve had a bit of a crash course in diagnostic scans recently, as you can imagine. I’ve learned a bit of the advanced spells, but a Concealment Charm is fairly basic magic, so it’s not difficult to recognize,” Vivian said, reaching out her hand as Ginny held out her own for Vivian to examine the ring. “It’s quite lovely.”
Hermione’s spine stiffened, and she viciously stabbed at her egg tart with her fork. Harry quickly turned back to his own breakfast, desperate to avoid eye contact. It was a rare day when someone outsmarted Hermione. He didn’t think two people doing it in one morning was something Hermione’s competitive ego could withstand.
“Do you need to do another scan on Ginny or me?” Ron asked.
Vivian nodded. “I’ll do one on both of you before I leave to monitor any progress. I wanted to let you know that everyone who’d been afflicted and was then given the Draught has recovered. We’ve also successfully put it in place in Muggle hospitals, and their recovery rate has also been outstanding.”
“That’s excellent,” Harry said, looking up. “Does that mean the restrictions will be lifted? Can we all go back to work?”
Vivian shook her head. “Not so fast. All the houses that have had someone ill are to remain isolated. The plan is to gradually allow more and more social contact to be certain it doesn’t flare up again too quickly. Unfortunately, that means this house is still in isolation, but some of your friends and families will begin returning to work. Arthur Weasley is actually starting back full time at the Ministry tomorrow.”
“That’ll make Dad happy,” Ron said, smiling.
“That’ll make Mum happy, too,” Ginny said.
“How long are we still in quarantine if the results have all shown the afflicted have recovered?” Hermione asked, sitting stiffly with her legs tightly crossed.
“We believe Ronald and Ginevra,” she paused, her lips twisting upward slighting at the look Ginny was giving her. “Ronald and Ginny have recovered and most likely cannot contract it again. The uncertainty lies with the rest of you, and whether or not either of you two,” Vivian said, nodding at Ron and Ginny, “could still pass it onto anyone else. It’s been less than a week that the Draught was administered, and it’s an unknown entity. We realize it’s been frustrating, but precautions need to be maintained.”
“So… the shop can physically open, but I just can’t get there?” George asked grimly. “And I still can’t see Angelina?”
“Since there were two confirmed cases in this dwelling, we’re proceeding with an abundance of caution. The shop can open if you minimize crowds. We still don’t want people gathering in large numbers just yet,” Vivian said, and she really did look apologetic.
George still looked sour, however. “Unlikely, since people are going to be petrified to go out at first.”
“What about the communication mirrors, George? Did you ever get those to work? Maybe you could be there virtually to keep an eye on what’s happening,” Ginny suggested. George had discovered the old Marauder mirrors and how Harry and Ginny had kept in touch using them when she’d been at school.
George shrugged. “They still have several glitches that I haven’t found a work around for, but admittedly, it hasn’t been my main priority.”
“Well, since you have help from all of us on the production end, and I can help keeping in touch with Verity at the shop, maybe it’s time to put your focus on the mirrors. I bet Hermione would be able to help. She’s brilliant with stubborn problems,” Ron said, causing Hermione to sit up straighter.
“I could take a look at what you’ve done so far. Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes is all you need,” she said graciously.
Harry was impressed by how subtly Ron had cheered her up. His mate had come a long way since their school days. Ron seemed to know he’d done something right, as well, as he smirked quite smugly and took some biscuits from the basket.
“I wish we could offer you something, Vivian. Mrs. Weasley has really outdone herself celebrating Ginny’s release,” Harry said, indicating the heaping basket.
“It does look extremely tempting, but I think not. The Bubble-Head is for my own protection as well as your own. I’m still going in and out of all the sick houses, despite the recovery rate. I truly hope it won’t be for much longer,” she said pleasantly. “Now, I’m due back at the Ministry, so if neither of you object, we can just do the scans on each of you, and I’ll be off.”
Ron and Ginny both stood, Ron shoving the last of his scone into his mouth.
“Hold on a minute. This all began inside the Quidditch League, so all the contaminated houses are most likely connected in some way. What’s going on with the season? Does that mean it will be delayed longer?” Ginny asked, frowning.
“You are correct that the vast majority of cases stemmed from that exhibition match. While the Holyhead Harpies and the Montrose Magpies were affected most heavily, there were representatives from all the teams there, and none of them came through it unscathed,” Vivian replied.
“That doesn’t answer my question about the season,” Ginny said, and Harry noticed her fists were clenched. She had a lot of friends in the League.
“The Department of Magical Games and Sports will be issuing a statement, but I’m uncertain on the details. The Ministry is still getting up and running at the time,” Vivian said apologetically. “Now, if we can get those scans done, I can get back to the Ministry. I’ll certainly let you know if I hear anything.”
Ginny didn’t look thrilled, but she nodded.
“How bad were the Chudley Cannons affected?” Ron asked, eyes wide.
“You know I can’t answer that. Why don’t we just go up to the sitting room since I don’t have to do a full exam?” she said, leading them toward the stairs.
“Would it be all right if I observed?” Hermione asked suddenly. “I’m trying to work out how the Diagnostics scans work, and I have a few questions.”
“Certainly, as long as your friends don’t mind,” Vivian said.
George watched until they’d all clearly left before he said, “Odds on Hermione coming back bitching that Vivian didn’t explain clearly enough?”
“I’m not taking that bet, that’s a given. How about if she comes back pleased and eager to check her book?” Harry countered.
“You’re on. Let’s say the winner has to do the cooking on the loser’s night?” George asked.
“Deal,” Harry agreed, shaking George’s hand.
They were interrupted when the fire burned suddenly green and Angelina’s head appeared inside.
“Angelina!” George said, sounding very pleased. “How are you, love? Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” Angelina said, beaming. “Hi, Harry! Sorry to call earlier than our usual time, but I had to tell someone. I have an interview at the Ministry.”
“An interview? They’re doing interviews now?” George asked.
Harry knew that Angelina had been trying to secure a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports before the contagion had spread, but everything had been put on hold.
“Well, we did the first one through a Floo call, but now they’re asking the finalists to come in for in-person meetings. I have no idea who my competition is, but I do know there are three of us,” Angelina said, bouncing with excitement.
“We just heard that they’re working on an announcement about the delay of the season,” Harry said. “Let us know if you find out anything more.”
“Yeah, you know most of this bloomed from the Quidditch League, right?” George asked.
Angelina nodded. “Yeah. Oliver has been keeping me informed. He still has to remain quarantined, but he was never sick.”
“We have to remain quarantined here, as well, since this was a sick house,” George said glumly.
“Hang on, if Oliver was never sick, why is he still quarantined?” Harry asked. “I thought it was just those houses where someone was ill?”
“From what Oliver said, the League is recommending all teams stay where they are for now. They’re really spell—shocked by the whole ordeal. They lost several players,” Angelina said. “How is Ginny doing?”
“She’s much better. She’s upstairs now having another diagnostic scan along with Ron, but she seems back to herself,” Harry said, knowing his relief was clearly showing, and unable to mask it.
“And as you can see, Harry wasn’t worried at all,” George said, rolling his eyes. “She did prank Ron really good this morning, so I might have to have a chat with her to see if I can market it.”
“Stop your piggy friends from eating the last Chocolate Frog,” Harry said, grinning.
“Try our new Bovine Balm,” George said, giving Harry a high-five.
“All right, you two,” Angelina bellowed. “We need to get back to my job interview on Friday. I want congratulations and assurances that, of course, they’ll hire me over the others. I’ll be brilliant at this job.”
“Was that ever in question?” George asked without missing a beat. “Of course, you’re the only logical choice. They’d be mad not to hire you.”
“Congratulations, Angelina. I hope you get it,” Harry said sincerely.
“Because I’m wonderful, and they’d be mad not to hire me,” Angelina prompted, grinning widely.
“Absolutely bonkers,” Harry agreed, nodding his head vigorously.
“So, you should know by Friday?” George asked. “I don’t think I have any hope of getting out of here by then, but I promise a night on the town to celebrate once I’m sprung.”
“Well, the interview is on Friday. I don’t know when the others are, so the job offer probably won’t come until next week,” Angelina said.
“There’s my girl. Confidence gets the job done. Call me the night before and we’ll all try to prop you up so you go in feeling strong,” George said.
“Will do,” Angelina said, grinning. “Have a good day, you two. Try and get something done to pass the time.”
The fire briefly flared green before going out entirely.
“Easy for her to say. She actually gets to get out of her house,” George said, grumbling.
“Our day is coming, George. Our day is coming,” Harry replied, trying to reassure them both.
Chapter 23: Moving Forward
Author's Notes: My apologies for the delay. My house was rather crazy yesterday, and it was during the middle of the night that I realized I hadn’t posted this! Oops!
Thanks to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel, and Sue for their time and care in making this ready for human reading.
Moving Forward
Harry bounced on the balls of his feet and continually pulled at the collar of his bright red Auror robes. He was back at work. He was actually back at work, and he was having trouble wrapping his head around it. Both Ron and Ginny were still being monitored at home, but the rest of them had been granted their freedom. George had gone into the shop that morning, and Harry and Hermione were at the Ministry.
Harry hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived, and it felt extremely strange after scarcely seeing anyone else for months. He wondered how Ron and Ginny were doing. Ron hadn’t been pleased that he wasn’t allowed out yet, but Ginny had taken it better. The entire Quidditch League was still on hold anyway, so it wasn’t as if she’d be able to return to work yet.
Harry was currently waiting to meet with both the Minister and his Department Head about the investigation into what started this whole contagion. He paced to and fro in front of the empty secretary’s desk, his steps muffled by the lush carpeting. Owen had said he’d meet him, but as of yet, he hadn’t arrived, either. The entire Ministry had apparently gone to the dogs whilst he’d been away.
Harry had to admit it felt weird leaving Grimmauld Place that morning. He hadn’t been outside in so long that he’d actually walked part of the way to the Ministry before Apparating just to get some fresh air. The typical London rain had dampened that desire rather quickly, although he might’ve persevered longer if it hadn’t felt so odd to be amongst strangers again. He kept having to force himself not to shy away every time he passed another harried soul on the street. He saw many of the Muggles doing the same thing and sort of folding in on themselves if anyone happened to get too close.
It had been a very weird few months.
Hermione had pressed close to him, also feeling the oddness of it all. They’d finally looked at each other and by unspoken agreement, Apparated the rest of the way instead. They could always try again tomorrow.
Once he’d finished up at the Ministry, he planned to stop by Andromeda’s place to finally visit with Teddy. The little boy hadn’t wanted to come to the fireplace the last time Harry had Floo called, and he was worried his godson had forgotten him. He had been so worried about it, that he’d ignored Andromeda’s warnings and purchased a toy broom for the boy. He had it inside his desk drawer and hoped Teddy would be so delighted, he’d overlook the fact that Harry had been away so long.
In the letter he’d found that his own mum had written so long ago, she’d said that Sirius had given Harry his first broom. It seemed a godfatherly thing to do.
“Potter!” a voice boomed across the room, startling him from his thoughts.
He looked up to see Owen hurrying toward him, his shaggy hair and beard seeming much redder than Harry remembered.
“Did you use a color—changing charm on your hair?” he asked incredulously.
Owen stopped, a disgusted look crossing his scarred face. “Of course I didn’t. I’ve been ruddy working at home most of the time, haven’t I? Sunshine is good for your health, but it bloody well turns my hair ginger.”
Harry laughed, a deep, rolling belly laugh. It struck him that he hadn’t laughed out loud like that in quite some time. Things had been so tense and serious at Grimmauld Place recently.
“Don’t be a ruddy ponce,” Owen said grumpily.
“It really clashes with your robes. Ginny is always complaining how hard it is to wear red when you’re a ginger,” Harry said, grinning broadly.
“Keep taking the piss, and I’m going to file a report that you forgot who your superior was and should probably undergo the Spattergroit testing again,” Owen growled, looking extremely cross.
Harry reached out his hand. “It’s good to see you, mate.”
Owen shook his hand begrudgingly. “Good to see you, too, lad. It’s been bloody boring here without you. How’s your lovely lady friend doing?”
If possible, Harry’s grin widened even further. “She’s brilliant. She’s a bit put out that there’s still no Quidditch, so she can’t get back to her team and work out some of her frustrations with the whole mess, but health-wise, she’s loads better.”
“That’s good to hear. You know, there are other ways to work out frustrations. Reckoned you’d have worked that out by now,” Owen said, leering.
“Sod off,” Harry said good-naturedly.
Before Owen could get too wound up and tell Harry exactly what he ought to be doing, the door to Kingsley’s office opened, and the Minister stuck his head outside. “Sorry to keep you waiting, come on inside,” he said.
Harry and Owen entered the large, luxurious office to find their Department Head, Gawain Robards, already seated inside and drinking from a large coffee mug. Harry and Owen sat down in the two empty chairs opposite Kingsley’s handsome desk.
“Savage, Potter,” Robards said briskly, nodding at each of them. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. “It’s good to be back.”
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Kingsley said, beaming, his deep voice full of warmth.
“Sir?” Harry asked, startled.
“I spoke with Molly and Arthur over the Floo network a couple days ago. Molly is quite excited. Event of the year, and I daresay she’s right,” Kingsley said, smiling amiably. The gold of his earring glinted off the light from the oil lamps lit around his vast office.
Harry felt wrongfooted, and he stared blankly at the Minister for Magic, puzzled. He and Ginny hadn’t really made any announcements to anyone other than the Weasleys. Perhaps they should’ve mentioned their desire for privacy to Ginny’s parents before it was too late.
“Er,” he said, stumbling ineloquently.
“What’s this all about?” Owen asked, looking at Harry speculatively. As per his usual, Gawain Robards kept his neutral expression. He rarely became involved in any office gossip. In fact, Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen him socializing with anyone.
Kingsley had caught on to his blunder. “My apologies. I didn’t realize it wasn’t public information as of yet,” he said contritely.
Harry waved him off. “I suppose we should’ve thought to tell Molly not to share quite yet,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, “I’ve asked Ginny to marry me, and she’s accepted.”
“No, shit!” Owen boomed, causing the Minister’s eyebrows to rise and Robards to scowl at Owen, who didn’t seem to care. “I can’t believe she’s agreed to put up with you. She is an international Quidditch star, after all.”
Harry felt his face coloring. He honestly hadn’t expected that this was what he would be dealing with on his first morning back to work. Fortunately, Kingsley attempted to come to his rescue. “All right, we have Ministry business to attend. Harry, when you’re ready to share your plans, please let me know, and I’ll connect you with someone from the Department for International Magical Cooperation. In the meantime, what do you have to report on the origins of this Spattergroit strain?” he asked.
Harry’s head was spinning. Why on earth would he need anyone from the Department for International Magical Cooperation involved in his wedding plans? He must’ve misunderstood something. At least, that’s what he chose to believe rather than the sinking feeling in his gut that Ginny had been correct in assuming both of their celebrity statuses were going to make a quiet wedding impossible. He made a mental note to send her a Patronus when his meeting wrapped up.
“The Mandrake Draught has been administered with overwhelming success, amongst both the Muggle and magical communities. We’ve begun lifting restrictions amongst all but those directly infected. While the Department of Mysteries will continue monitoring various medical anomalies, the focus for the Auror department is shifting towards an investigation of how this all came about,” Gawain Robards said, and although he didn’t say it outright, Harry had the impression he was pleased to resume working independently.
“That’s a good thing, too. That will make this portion of the investigation more upfront and easier to manage,” Owen said, less successful than Robards at hiding his disdain for the Department of Mysteries.
“We’ve been scouring the records from St. Mungo’s. We found a few chronicles of potions Gethin worked on, but nothing related to this Spattergroit strain,” Gawain Robards said, frowning at Owen. “We know he was working on a remedy for the scarring left by traditional Spattergroit, and that he’d been testing his discoveries on Muggles, but the trail goes cold where his laboratory was destroyed. We decided to turn our focus onto the transcripts from captured Death Eaters, concentrating mainly on anyone with potions experience or a known record for tampering with Muggle products.”
“The Death Eater interviews were long and arduous, as you’ll recall, but I narrowed down several names of individuals who were mentioned multiple times, some were even brought in for questioning, but we never had enough evidence for a conviction,” Owen added.
“Did the name Fawley turn up anywhere?” Harry asked, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand. He’d worry about what Kingsley had meant about his wedding plans later.
“Fawley?’ Owen said, startled. “Yeah. I had the name Osbert Fawley turn up on several potions’ lists. He’s a large contributor to research at St. Mungo’s.”
“The Fawleys are a large and prestigious wizarding family. They are listed as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood families. Most of them have been Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Hector Fawley was Minister for Magic for a short time before the rise of Grindelwald,” Gawain Robards said, his brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“While I was home, I was looking over the names of some of the Pureblood families. I remembered when we were investigating poisons several years ago, that Theo Nott had received some threatening messages from several former Death Eaters looking to recruit him. At the time, he said he was staying with the Fawley family. I know the Fawleys haven’t been connected with Dark magic in the past, but I also personally know of several members of a known Dark family who followed their own path. Families all seem to have their squabbles, so why couldn’t it work the other way? Someone who leans more Dark in a traditionally non-Dark family.
“Osbert Fawley is not only a contributor at St. Mungo’s, he’s also a large contributor to the Quidditch League. He’s been advocating for a change in how gold is dispersed amongst the teams for some time now,” Harry said.
“And you believe the fact this disease flourished within the Quidditch League to be of more significance than anyone suspected?” Robards asked, sitting up straighter.
“It’s a possibility. I find it intriguing that he’s involved with both the hospital and the Quidditch League. He’s chairman of several committees and is a huge contributor on both,” Harry said neutrally.
Kingsley nodded at Robards. “It needs to be looked into, but do it quietly. If it’s merely a coincidence, we don’t want to go upsetting a powerful family unnecessarily. The Fawleys have several members who sit upon the Wizengamot, and they’ve done an upstanding job for years.”
“And if it’s more than a coincidence?” Owen asked grimly.
“Then he’ll be brought in for questioning. Be sure to check all the boxes before that happens, however,” Kingsley said, his expression grim. “Despite my best efforts to weed out the innate prejudices that being from a Pureblood family should mean they are beyond reproach, some people still feel this way. Anyone with a known Death Eater amongst them has been spurned, whilst others seem to have developed an even higher status. I want this Oswald Fawley looked into thoroughly, without any prejudice until we have some clear facts. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Minister,” the all agreed, nodding.
While Gawain Robards stayed behind with the Minister, Harry and Owen left the office posthaste.
“Nice one, Potter,” Owen said once the door was closed. “You have a good mind for connecting details.”
Harry shrugged. “Well, honestly, it came from seeing the name Abbott on the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Ginny butted heads with one of them recently, and that made me think every family has a black sheep, and it just sort of bloomed from there.”
“Speaking of Ginny — when were you planning on telling me you’ve got yourself engaged?” Owen asked, looking affronted.
“I wasn’t planning on telling anybody yet,” Harry said sourly.
“Don’t worry lad, your secret is safe with me. You’re going to break a lot of young witches’ hearts when the news leaks out, and I’ll do my duty to comfort each and every one of them,” Owen said, waggling his eyebrows.
Harry rolled his eyes. He hoped Owen would keep his word, but he also knew his partner tended to have looser lips depending on the attractiveness of the witch in question. “Please do, at least long enough for me to give Ginny a heads up,” he said, running his hand through his hair and subconsciously flattening his fringe over his scar.
“We need to document everything we know about Fawley, and I want you to see my notes on the others. Once Robards gives us the go ahead, I also want to question that dodgy little potion shop owner in Knockturn Alley,” Owen said as they walked away from the Minister’s office.
It didn’t take long for Harry to feel like he’d never left.
After a very long first day back at work, Harry Disapparated from the Ministry directly to Andromeda Tonks’ home. It looked the same as it usually did, but with more toys in the enclosed little area on the side garden. Andromeda and Kreacher must’ve been desperate to find ways to tire Teddy out during the confinement. He climbed the front steps, dragging his fingers along the rough wood of the railing. He had Teddy’s new broom shrunken and hidden inside an inner pocket of his Auror robes. He’d have to be certain to present it to the toddler when Andromeda wasn’t in the room.
He hoped he wouldn’t be in too much trouble.
She was a wonderful guardian and adored her grandson, but she could be a bit overprotective. Understandable, after losing the rest of her family, but Harry had made it his job to ensure the boy didn’t become too stifled.
He knocked on the front door, which was opened nearly instantaneously by Kreacher, whose expression brightened considerably upon seeing who it was.
“Master Harry,” he croaked, flinging his long, thin arms around Harry’s knees. “It’s so good to see you looking fine and healthy. Kreacher worried how you would manage for so long without anyone to look after you.”
“I can look after myself just fine,” Harry said, untangling the elf’s arms so he could take a look at him. “How have you been? Is everything all right here?”
“Oh, yes, Master Harry. Kreacher has kept the house in tip-top shape, and Mistress Andromeda has ensured the food cupboards are always well-stocked. If you is outside, is it okay for Kreacher to visit the noble most ancient House of Black?” Kreacher asked eagerly.
“I’m sorry, Kreacher, but not yet. Ron and Ginny still haven’t been given the all clear, but soon. I promise. I think the house misses you,” Harry said, causing Kreacher’s ears to rise to the top of his head.
“The house misses Kreacher?” he asked, the hint of wonder in his voice.
“Absolutely. I’m trying, but no one takes care of it like you do,” Harry said solemnly, making Kreacher beam.
He bowed at Harry. “Kreacher will be there once Mister Ron and Mistress Ginny are feeling well,” he said.
Teddy’s voice coming from the stairway caught Harry’s attention. “But I’m not finished with my picture,” the boy whined.
“I thought I heard the door, and I think you’re going to want to see who it might be,” Andromeda said before the two of them entered the sitting room where Harry stood.
Teddy’s hair was his favorite turquoise color, but it seemed to darken a shade when he saw Harry, his face going rather blank before his lower lip pouted and a very sad expression stole into his eyes.
It made Harry’s throat hurt just looking at him.
“Hi, little mate. I’ve missed you so much,” he said, crouching down to the boy’s eye level, a sharp pain ripping at his heart.
Teddy remained utterly still and silent, staring at Harry with those big, soulful eyes that were tearing a piece out of Harry’s own soul. He could see Remus’ disappointment clearly in those betrayed amber eyes, and it made Harry feel small and insignificant. Remus had trusted Harry to look after his son when he couldn’t, and Harry had failed them both. The look Teddy was giving him now was more powerful than any spell Voldemort had ever thrown at him.
Harry cleared his aching throat. “I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. I didn’t want to be, but we all had to do our part to make certain no one else became ill, right?” he asked, feeling slightly desperate and repeating the words Andromeda had told him she’d used to explain it all to the young boy. “They said it was okay to come outside now, so here I am. Do you still want to play with me?”
Teddy continued to stare, and Harry actually felt a trickle of sweat rolling down his spine. His heart thudded in his chest, but he didn’t look away from his godson.
“What d’you want to play?” Teddy finally asked, his little head tilting to the side.
Harry had to physically restrain himself from forcefully exhaling. He pressed his lips together, considering. He knew Andromeda wouldn’t like it, but Harry was feeling desperate, and he was surprised to realize he wasn’t above bribery. He stood up, reaching into his pocket.
“I brought something you might like,” he said, holding the package out.
Teddy bounded over to him, a smile finally spreading over his face. “You brought me a present? What is it?”
“Open it and look,” Harry said, grinning with relief. His knees actually felt weak. This little boy had no idea of the power he held over him.
Bouncing on his toes with excitement, Teddy ripped open the wrapping, and Harry used his wand to revert the toy broom to its original size.
“A brrrrrooooom! A real, live, racing broom just for me!” Teddy squealed, delighted. He pulled it from the wrappings and ran in circles around the sitting room, holding it in the air above his head.
“You’re supposed to ride it, not carry it,” Harry said, feeling his own excitement bubbling in his chest.
“Oh, Harry,” Andromeda moaned, but Harry was pleased to realize she sounded more exasperated than angry. Perhaps she’d known all along that he’d buy one for his godson eventually.
Teddy enthusiastically swung his little leg over the broom, overbalanced, and crashed to the floor on his bum.
Harry roared with laughter, helping him up and snagging the broom out of reach. “Okay, I’ve got some ground rules,” he said, fighting to keep his expression stern. “First off, you can only ride this with me or Aunt Ginny. No asking Kreacher or your grandmum, okay?”
Teddy nodded excitedly. “Deal. What’s the next rule?” he asked, impatiently trying to jump to order to reach the broom that Harry still held over his head.
“Next rule is, you’re not allowed to beat me when we race,” Harry said, grinning.
“No way!” Teddy shrieked. “Fair is fair, and I’m going to beat you easy.”
“Oh, we’ll have to see about that. Come on, let’s go out in the garden and try it out. What’s taking you so long?” Harry asked, finally handing the broom back to the small boy.
Teddy’s entire frame shook with indignation. “I’m not taking so long — you are! I’ll race you,” he said, running for the front door, broom in hand.
Harry turned apologetic eyes toward Andromeda. “It doesn’t go higher than knee-height, and I’ll watch him. I promise!” he said, pleading and feeling just as excited as his godson.
“Honestly. Go on with you, then,” Andromeda said, shaking her head and pinching her lips together to avoid smiling.
Kreacher looked longingly at the front door where Teddy had just disappeared. “Shall Kreacher prepare some dinner while you’re out riding Master Teddy’s new broom?” he asked, sounding dejected.
“Of course not!” Harry said, stunned. “Come on outside and watch him. I bet he’ll even let you take a spin if you ask him.”
“Kreacher has never ridden a broom, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, looking both apprehensive and intrigued.
“Oh, come on along, Kreacher. This is a battle neither you nor I were ever going to win. Let’s go watch my grandson make his godfather run all over the garden chasing him. It’ll serve him right for giving him the blasted thing,” Andromeda said, winking at Harry.
With that, the three of them followed the over-excited toddler out the front door.
Ginny stood in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and various pots and pans while she tried to decide what to make for dinner. Harry, Hermione and George had all gone back to work today, and she didn’t trust Ron to make anything edible.
She slammed a few cupboard doors shut and scowled at the entire kitchen. She didn’t really want to cook. She wanted to storm and rage, but there was no one here to bear the brunt of her fury. Ron, wisely, was hidden up in George’s workshop working on who knows what and probably just avoiding her temper.
He obviously wasn’t as daft as she’d always claimed.
Harry had sent her a Patronus earlier that day warning her that Kingsley Shacklebolt had congratulated him on their wedding plans. The Minister for ruddy Magic knew about their pending nuptials before her good friends Luna and Siobhan had been told. It was just so bloody wrong, and she needed to calm down before she spoke with her parents. This was her and Harry’s secret to tell, not theirs, and she’d be damned if she was going to let anyone steal any of it from them.
In her heart, she knew her parents hadn’t meant any harm. They were just sharing good news with their long-time friend. She should be happy they thought it was such good news and loved her intended so much.
She just wasn’t ready to be that generous.
She slammed the ice box closed and continued her pacing. Perhaps, with the mood she was in, it might be a better night for take away. The others could all pick something up since they were now allowed outside.
That was another thing irritating her. How come, if all her scans were so positive and showed the illness had finally left her system, she wasn’t allowed to leave this bloody prison? She didn’t want to be jealous that Harry, George, and Hermione all got to leave, but she was. There was the bald truth of it. She was exceedingly jealous, and it ticked her off. She kicked the bottom of the kitchen island in temper, then stumbled around blindly grasping for a stool while her toe throbbed.
It was at this inelegant moment that her mum stumbled out of the Floo, Bubble-Head Charm and all.
“Mum!” Ginny exclaimed, forgetting about her sore toe. “What are you doing here? Are you supposed to be here?” she asked, shocked. She was both overjoyed to finally see her and enraged that she’d dare show her face after spilling Ginny’s biggest secret.
“Oh, Ginny!” Molly gushed, oblivious to her daughter’s bad mood. She threw her arms around her, hugging fiercely and knocking Ginny’s head against her Bubble-Head. “It’s so good to finally see you. Let me take a good look at you.”
Molly pulled back, still holding Ginny’s arms and perusing her critically. Ginny was uncomfortably aware she was wearing the same track pants and oversized T-shirt she’d slept in. Molly, of course, wore traditional robes in a shade of midnight blue that had clearly been starched and pressed.
“You’re looking pale, but I suppose that can’t be helped after being cooped up so long. How are you feeling? It’s lovely to see you up and about. Are you cooking something?” Molly asked, looking around the kitchen at the various supplies Ginny had tossed around.
“No,” she said shortly, picking up the items and tossing them back into cupboards. She felt extremely wrong-footed. She hadn’t expected her mum to just show up here before she’d had the chance to calm down. As she reached for a jar of honey, her mum grabbed her hand, pulling it closer to her own face.
“Oh, Ginny, it’s lovely,” her mum breathed, staring at Ginny’s ring with tears in her eyes. “He must’ve spent a small fortune on this.”
Ginny snatched her hand away. “Yes, well, the cost is between us, but it is lovely,” she snapped.
Molly appeared momentarily taken aback before her eyes narrowed. “Watch that tone, young lady. What has got into you today?”
Ginny’s fury, which had been licking at her insides all day, exploded. “I’ll tell you what’s got into me: Kingsley Shacklebolt congratulated Harry on our engagement, despite the fact we haven’t gone public with that information yet. Just how many people did you tell my news to, Mum?” she asked furiously.
Molly swelled with indignation to match. “I don’t recall your asking me not to share the news. Why on earth would you want to keep it secret anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps so we could set some of our own plans in place before the press is all over it. I haven’t even shared this with my friends, never mind yours. Again, how many people did you tell?” Ginny demanded.
Two high points of color had risen on Molly’s cheeks, and her eyes were flashing. “As I said, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to share. I’ve told quite a good number of people, actually,” she admitted.
“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” Ginny growled, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m surprised it’s not the headline of the Daily Prophet already. You don’t think!”
“I’ve had just about enough of your attitude, young lady. I apologize for sharing what I thought was happy news before you were ready, but again, I don’t see why the need for such secrecy. I didn’t tell anyone who won’t be invited, anyway,” Molly said, glaring.
“How do you know they’ll be invited? How do you know anything about what Harry and I want for our wedding? We haven’t even talked about any of it yet,” Ginny said, seething.
Molly looked taken aback. “Well, of course your family will be there, and with both of your careers, it’s bound to be a large gathering.”
“No! That’s not what we want, and that’s not what we’re planning. Let’s get this straight, there will be no one on the guest list that Harry and I don’t specifically put there. Am I making myself clear?” Ginny asked, glaring.
Molly glared right back. “What are you saying? That you don’t want your family to attend your own wedding?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying because we haven’t had the chance to plan anything without outside interference,” Ginny shouted.
“Outside interference? Is that what I am now? What could possibly make me think I’d be involved with my own daughter’s wedding? My only daughter, mind,” Molly said, and Ginny was dismayed to see tears sparkling unshed in her mother’s eyes.
She wasn’t going to be swayed by them, though.
“Please tell me you didn’t mention this to Auntie Muriel,” Ginny said, feeling a powerful headache building behind her temples.
Molly faltered, her color paling slightly.
“Oh, Mum, you didn’t,” Ginny moaned.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you, or make any plans for you. I was excited, and I wanted to share it. Muriel’s always going on and on about making an appropriate match for you. I’ll admit, I might’ve been pleased to toss that back at her,” Molly said contritely.
Though she was still fuming, she could appreciate the humor in Molly’s words. Muriel criticized everyone, but she was perhaps even harder on members of her own family, and Molly had certainly born the brunt of her acerbic tongue on more than one occasion. “Bet that shut her up,” she mumbled.
A trace of a smile crossed Molly’s red face. “Momentarily, but it was a glorious moment. Then she accused me of exaggerating your relationship with him since she’s never even met him.”
“She has, actually. She just didn’t know it at the time. Apparently, she horrified him at Bill’s wedding with all her trashy opinions on Dumbledore’s childhood,” Ginny said, remembering Harry telling her how unkind her great aunt was.
“She’s a spiteful old woman, but she’s still your aunt, so you’ll treat her with respect,” Molly said at once.
“I will if she does the same to me,” Ginny fired back.
Molly took a deep, calming breath and seated herself on one of the stools around the island. “All right. I won’t speak of it again until you’re ready. Do you want to tell me anything of what you are planning?” she asked brittlely.
Ginny sat on the stool beside her, aiming her wand at the teapot, which began to boil. She Summoned spoons, cups and saucers from the cabinet, and began preparing her tea. It was a few minutes before she realized Molly hadn’t moved. When she looked up, Molly waved a hand at her Bubble-Head Charm. “Honestly, I think this is ridiculous, but it’s the only way your father would agree to me coming over.”
“He’s right. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything though,” Ginny said, sighing and feeling suddenly drained.
Molly petted her hand. “It’s all right. You drink your tea, dear, and I’m just going to listen to what you’ve decided.”
“We don’t have any solid plans yet, but a few ideas. I’m just not ready to share them. We both agree that we want a wedding, not a circus, so it will be small, with just the people we actually care about there,” Ginny said, choosing her words carefully.
Molly rubbed her fingers around the edge of her empty teacup. “A lot of people are going to want to attend your wedding, dear. Harry is everyone’s hero, mind, and your Quidditch celebrity makes you two a power couple.”
“A power couple?” Ginny asked, snorting. She’d never heard her mum use that expression in her life. Clearly, she’d been reading too much Witch Weekly.
Molly’s cheeks turned pink. She pulled her hand away from her teacup and waved it in the air. “Well, a high-status couple, anyway. All your friends, family, co-workers — even people you haven’t seen in ages are going to want to be included.”
Ginny sighed, knowing her mum was right but still dreading dealing with it all. She wished there was a way for her and Harry to just be magically married. She took a sip of her own tea. She didn’t really mean that. She wanted to have a wedding with Harry and have their own special day. Harry was too soft. She’d have to be the one to stand up to all those who wanted to butt in on it.
“I know, but that’s not going to happen. We’ve talked about perhaps having a Ministry-sanctioned function after the wedding for everyone to celebrate, but we want our moment to be just that — ours,” she said firmly.
Molly frowned pensively, pressing her lips together, but she kept her silence. Ginny knew how much it went against her nature to do that, so she appreciated it all the more. Still, she knew what her secret weapon was.
“You know Harry doesn’t like all that fuss and attention, Mum. He never has, and I’m not going to have him feeling uncomfortable at his own wedding just to make everyone else happy,” she said, raising her chin in the air.
Molly’s eyes twinkled, and Ginny suddenly suspected her mother knew exactly what she was doing. “And what about you?” Molly asked.
“What about me?” Ginny asked, perplexed.
Molly reached over and tucked a strand of Ginny’s hair behind her ear, cupping her face. “Well, you always did enjoy being the center of attention, and you’ve always been a social butterfly. You make people feel close to you all the time. What do you want for your wedding?”
Ginny blushed at her mother’s words, but she beamed at her. “I do like a good party, but I’m happy with whatever the size, as long as I get to boss everyone around.”
Molly laughed. “Oh, you’ll excel at that — you always did. In fact, the only thing you liked more than chatting was bossing your brothers around.”
Ginny grinned, knowing it was true. “We’ll worry about the list later. I’m going to need to tell a few friends before this story leaks to the press,” she said, biting her lip.
“I am sorry about that, Ginny,” Molly said, smiling sadly.
Ginny waved her off, feeling much calmer now than she had earlier. Even though she’d never admit, she was enjoying talking out the wedding plans with her mum. “It’s all right. I should’ve asked you to keep it in confidence. I was excited, too. I love just staring at the way my ring sparkles in the light,” she said, waving it around.
“You said Harry asked you while you were still in your hospital bed?” Molly asked, her voice sounding nasal.
Ginny looked up, surprised to see Molly’s eyes were shiny again. She reached out and grasped her hand. “Actually, at first I didn’t let him get the question out before I said yes,” she said, feeling slightly abashed.
Molly laughed. “That does sound like you.”
“He was so flustered. He told me I was easier when I was unconscious,” Ginny said in mock-outrage.
Molly brushed her off. “Oh, pish — he didn’t mean that. He was frantic when you were so ill.”
“I know that, Mum,” she said softly. Everyone had told her so.
Molly cleared her throat. “When are you planning on doing this, then? If it’s next summer, that gives us less than a year to get all the plans in place. It’ll be tight, but we’ll all help. I think we can manage it.”
Ginny cringed, knowing how this was going to go over. “Actually, it might be a bit sooner than that.”
“Sooner?” Molly asked blankly, then her face lost all its color inside the Bubble-Head Charm. “Oh, my word! Are you—” Molly broke off, staring avidly at Ginny’s mid-section.
“I’m not pregnant, Mum,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes and feeling exasperated. “Although, I suppose that’s how all the papers will try to spin it. We just feel things keep getting in our way, and we simply don’t want to wait anymore.”
“So… how much sooner?” Molly asked cautiously.
Ginny took a deep breath and took the plunge. “We’re thinking Christmas time,” she said.
Molly’s reaction was as expected. “Christmas time!” she shrieked. “Oh, no! There’s no where near enough time for that. How can you possibly think you can pull this all together in just a few months?”
“Well, that’s another good reason for keeping it small then, isn’t it? We’ll manage,” she said, quite enjoying Molly’s look of panic.
“You’re not planning on having it at The Burrow then? It’ll be too cold outside, and we can’t accommodate so many guests indoors,” Molly said, and although she tried to hide it, Ginny could see her disappointment.
“I know you’re disappointed, but we have somewhere else in mind. If that doesn’t work out, things might have to change again. Just give us the time to let us try, all right?” she asked, reaching out to hold her mum’s hand once again. She didn’t want to disappoint her, but thought it would be better to be upfront about that right away.
Molly smiled, returning the pressure on Ginny’s hand. “Of course, dear. I’d do anything for you.”
When Ginny considered the fact that her mother had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemort’s most lethal supporters, in defense of Ginny, she knew it to be true. “I know you would, Mum.”
“Have you thought about bridesmaids?” Molly asked, clearly looking for a new topic to keep the conversation going.
“I think just Hermione and Luna, and Harry would have Ron and George, but we haven’t talked to any of them yet. Merlin, Luna doesn’t even know we’re engaged. I have no idea where she is at the moment,” Ginny said, lost in thought of how to track down her wayward friend. She supposed Zeus could find her anywhere.
“That will be lovely. Ron and Hermione have always been like family to Harry, so it’s like you have both families represented, even if untraditionally,” Molly said, her eyes crinkling.
Ginny was hit with a sudden rush of affection. She knew how important wizarding customs were to her mother, but clearly her and Harry’s well-being topped her list of what was important. “I think we’re both fairly untraditional, anyway. And Harry likes Luna. It’s impossible not to like Luna,” Ginny said, feeling rather giddy and happy with everyone at the moment.
“Oh, your father will be so proud to walk you down that aisle. He’s talked about it, you know. I do hope you’ll consider a father-daughter dance with him, even if it is old fashioned,” Molly said.
As her mother spoke, Ginny found herself hoping that her own voice would speak so lovingly about her husband after they’d been together as long as Molly and Arthur had. “Of course, I want to dance with him. I’ve always looked forward to it, too,” Ginny said, feeling emotional.
“You’ll be the most beautiful bride there ever was,” Molly said, sniffling. She reached for her handkerchief in her bag before realizing she couldn’t use it through her Bubble-Head Charm. “Oh, honestly. How much longer do you think we’ll have to do this?” she asked, exasperated.
Ginny laughed and threw her arms around her mother’s shoulders just as Ron entered the kitchen.
“Mum!” he said, startled. “What are you doing here? Did you bring Ginny more treats? Are there any for me?
Molly and Ginny both laughed, letting go of one another.
“I’m sorry, dear, not today. I came to get a good look at this ring your sister is wearing. I’ll send some more things tomorrow, all right?” Molly asked, getting up to hug her son. “How are you feeling? You look healthy enough.”
Ron’s face fell comically once Molly let him go. “What are we going to eat?” he asked plaintively.
“I don’t know. What are you cooking?” Ginny asked, smirking. Molly winked at her across the counter.
Chapter 24: Release
Author's Notes: Author’s Note: Woke up this morning to a foot of snow! Woo Hoo! I love a white Christmas! Many thanks to the lovely Brit Pickers over at the Harry/Ginny Discord for their help with some of Owen’s dialog. I do love Owen. I hope you all do, as well.
As always, thanks to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel, and Sue for their time and attention to detail in getting this ready each week. I’m really sorry it’s winding down!
Release
The day after Ginny was finally released from lockdown, she and Harry Apparated to Hogwarts for a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall. She was so excited to be free, she felt the need to stop and smell the breeze and the scent of autumn in the air. It had still been summer when she’d first been confined. The school opening had been delayed until the first of October, so they had a small window of time before the students returned. Professor McGonagall and the other teachers were back and preparing for the upcoming belated school year.
The Quidditch League was still working on putting together a revised schedule for their season, and some sort of ceremony to acknowledge the deaths of several of its members. Ginny planned to return to the Harpies’ practice stadium later this week for the first time since the quarantine had begun. It had been thoroughly cleaned and decontaminated, and life was slowly beginning to return to normal.
Harry was back to work full-time and tracking down leads on former Death Eaters with grudges against Muggles. Some things never changed.
The pair had Apparated just outside the village of Hogsmeade on the dusty road leading up to the Hogwarts’ gates. Both of them tended to attract crowds, so they were trying to avoid being recognized. They quickly came upon the large stone memorial to the Fallen Fifty who’d perished at the Battle of Hogwarts. A small crowd lingered around the wall, having hushed conversations or placing flowers beneath names of their loved ones.
Harry put his arm around Ginny’s shoulders, trying to shield her from the stares they were already receiving. Both of them kept their heads down and their wands clutched in their hands, just in case. They paused at Fred’s name where Ginny traced the letters with her finger. Harry hugged her closer, trying to offer silent support. He would’ve liked to visit Lupin’s name, as well, but the pointing and whispering from the scattered onlookers had begun, so he quickly steered Ginny away without making eye contact with anyone.
“It’s so frustrating not to be able to remember in peace,” Ginny growled under her breath, walking away very quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sighing. “I should’ve thought of the need for some disguises, but I was more focused on our meeting.”
“It’s not your fault — it’s their fault,” Ginny snapped, jerking her head towards the direction they’d just left. “It’s disrespectful. You have as much right to grieve as any of them.”
“I don’t think they meant it disrespectfully. They didn’t actually approach us, after all,” he said fairly.
“They would’ve had we lingered,” Ginny said. “They don’t seem to adhere to any boundaries where you’re concerned.”
“I’d forgotten about the Memorial,” he said in a low voice. He’d been there when it was unveiled, and at the memorial ceremony this past year, but it wasn’t something he dwelled on when thinking about the Battle.
Ginny grunted noncommittedly.
“Ginny, are you all right with this idea of marrying at Hogwarts?” he asked suddenly, feeling worried. In his mind, he always separated the Battle and the school as two separate things. Yes, it had taken place here, but he somehow didn’t associate Hogwarts with the destruction Voldemort caused. Harry’s memories of Hogwarts were filled with warmth and fond nostalgia. His memories of the Battle were of terror and despair, but he was able to separate them in his mind.
Was that nave of him? What if Ginny didn’t see it that way? Her brother had died here, after all. Perhaps he was asking too much of her to want their married life to begin here.
“What?” Ginny asked, startled. She stepped out from under his arm as they walked so she could peer up into his face. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. What are you on about, Harry?”
He shrugged. “Well, I know it holds some bad memories, too. Your sixth year here was horrible, and the Battle…” he trailed, unable to find the words to convey what he wanted to say.
“Harry,” Ginny said softly, taking his hand. “I’ll never forget what happened here. Neither of us will, but we can’t let the bad memories win. The good memories are more important, and what we fought for. We started dating here. It seems very fitting that we complete that circle.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “We did start dating here.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes. “You’d best not have forgotten that, or I’m going to be very displeased,” she said, a few gold sparks emitting from the end of her wand.
Harry grinned. “Absolutely not — that was the best thing that ever happened to me, and the highlight of my time at school,” he said, beaming at her as that delicious, warm, bubbly feeling she always brought out inside him filled his chest.
“Good answer,” she said, grinning. They’d left the monument behind now, and strolled hand-in-hand up the lane. “Remember all the startled looks in the common room after you kissed me that first time?” she asked.
“I mostly remember Ron looking as if someone clubbed him over the head with the Quidditch cup,” Harry chuckled.
“Romilda Vane looked rather thunderstruck herself,” Ginny laughed. “You didn’t, though. You looked very confident… and sexy as hell.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I doubt that. I don’t think I’ve ever looked sexy in my life.”
“Oh, yes, you have. Trust me. Dead sexy,” Ginny said, sounding delighted. She looked even more pleased when he felt his face and neck reddening, and she giggled girlishly.
He cleared his throat. “I think that was the best decision I ever made — even if it was subconsciously. I wish I’d done it so much sooner. It would’ve saved me a lot of Bludger injuries.”
Ginny threw back her head as she laughed. “You were getting really careless there for a bit. Demelza was on to you way before I was.”
“Was she?” Harry asked.
“Definitely. I blew her off, though. I didn’t think you could possibly be interested in me after ignoring me for so long. I didn’t want to dare hope, so I ignored all the signs. It was quite stupid, really. I should’ve just listened to my instincts, grabbed you by the collar, and snogged you senseless.”
“Sort of what I did, you mean?” Harry asked, grinning. “I really wouldn’t have complained if you had. I was battling my attraction for so long. It felt as if I had a monster in my chest clawing its way out, and I’d get so jealous thinking about you with any other bloke.”
“A monster in your chest, or in your trousers?” Ginny asked slyly, giggling when once again she managed to cause his face to color.
“Both,” he agreed, nodding. “I used to have put Silencing Charms around my bed because I was so afraid I’d talk in my sleep and that Ron would work out what I was dreaming about.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Ron was as oblivious as you were. Worse, even. You, at least, got a move on far before he managed to recognize his own feelings for Hermione.”
“You’ll have to excuse us for being stupid teenage blokes,” Harry said, grinning as they turned a corner and the gates came into view. They were closed. Harry frowned as they approached. “She knows were coming, yeah? Do you think they’ll just open?” he asked.
Ginny shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Harry reached out a hand, pausing before actually touching the wrought iron. He couldn’t detect that familiar humming of a Charm beneath his hand, although there were so many Charms surrounding the castle, the air surrounding it felt alive. Harry wrapped his hand around one of the stakes and pushed. The gate creaked, but opened easily. After he and Ginny had walked thorough, the gate behind them closed on its own, and a clicking sound could be heard.
“I suppose she cast a spell to let just the two of us in,” Harry said, impressed with the magic.
Ginny grinned. “You have a very Hermione-ish expression on your face. You’re trying to work out how she did that.”
“It is clever,” Harry conceded.
“Well, that’s Professor McGonagall in a nutshell, isn’t it?” she asked. “She’s always been rather brilliant. The Carrows never knew what to do with her. She’d insult them so thoroughly, and use such big words, half the time they didn’t even realize they were being insulted.”
“I saw some of that the night of the Battle when she came out to the Ravenclaw common room,” Harry said, nodding.
The castle had come into view in front of them. It was a crisp, clear day with puffy clouds dotting an azure sky. Harry couldn’t keep the smile from his face as memories of running across the blooming grass with Ron and Hermione toward the green-houses, or sitting beneath an old oak tree by the lake with Ginny on a warm afternoon filled his mind. In fact, he squinted toward the lake, trying to pinpoint which tree it was that he and Ginny had carved their initials into that day so long ago.
“What’s making you smile that way?” Ginny asked, her eyes sparkling as her hair fluttered in the light breeze.
Harry happily swung their clasped hands between them. “Just memories,” he said, at a loss to express the torrent of nostalgic thoughts flooding his brain.
“Me, too, and that’s why I think getting married here is perfect. It’ll give us an adult memory to add to all our young ones,” she said.
When they reached the front steps into the castle, Harry stopped, looking her over critically. He knew she’d hate being coddled, but he had to check. “D’you want to sit down for a few minutes before we go in? It’s been a long walk.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed, and he watched her swell as he knew she would. “I’m not ill, Harry, and I’ve done this walk dozens of times.”
“I know that, but you were bedridden for a long time. They told you to take it easy,” he said, trying not to show his annoyance. Why was she so blas with her own health? She’d nearly died!
“What are you going to do when I go back to practice? They’re not going to let you hover in the changing room with pumpkin juice and Pepper-up Potion, you know,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Harry frowned. “I think you might be better off starting back on half days,” he said, knowing he’d lost before the words were even out of his mouth.
Ginny set her lips in a grim line. “I’m fine. You’re an expert on fine, so you should recognize it. If you don’t want to chat with Professor McGonagall with huge bat-bogeys flying out of all your orifices, I’d suggest you stop this ridiculous overprotectiveness right now. You’re getting worse than my mum.”
Harry scowled. “I don’t think it’s being overprotective to be concerned about your health after all you’ve been through.”
Ginny took a deep breath, obviously attempting to control her ire. “I know I worried you, and I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find a better way of dealing with it. You, of all people, know how irritating it is to be coddled when you’re feeling better. You have to trust me to know if I’m overdoing anything. The walk didn’t tire me at all.”
“And you’re the one who always tells me I’m the worst judge on the state of my own fineness, so you need to consider that perhaps your judgement is faulty this time,” Harry said, breathing through his nose in an attempt to control his temper. He knew flying off the handle was the surest way to get her to dig her heels in, but she needed to see reason.
Ginny pressed her lips together, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Harry, there is an entire medical staff looking after the team. If they feel I’m not up to playing, I’ll concede, but it’s their call, not yours. Until then, I’m trusting my own judgement, and you’re going to have to accept that.”
Harry let out a long breath and slumped onto the stairs, staring away from the castle and out onto the grounds. His head knew she was right, but his heart still wanted to wrap her in pillows and keep her tucked safely away from the world and all its dangers. This illness that had managed to get to her under his watch had really shaken him, and he was at a loss how to process it all. Usually, Ginny was the one to help him put his thoughts in order, but now, she was the one making them spin out of control.
“I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to let go of some of that control. It’s only an illusion that you have it anyway,” she said softly.
“How?” Harry asked gruffly.
Ginny put her arm around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. “You know how you think Andromeda tends to smother Teddy, so you like to stretch the boundaries with him once in a while? That’s sort of the same dynamic between you and me.”
Harry lips twitched before a reluctant smile formed. “So, you need to be reckless once in while to show me I’m not in charge? I thought >i>I was supposed to be the reckless one?”
“I like it best when we’re reckless together, actually,” Ginny said, nudging him. “Come on. Let’s go talk with the Headmistress and see if she’ll allow two of her most reckless students to take over the school for a day in order to be married. What could possibly go wrong?”
After their meeting, Harry and Ginny sat in a quiet, out of the way table at the Hog’s Head sharing a couple of Butterbeers and some crisps. Aberforth had been good enough to direct them to this particular table since it was to the side of the bar and not in direct line of sight of the other tables. Ginny couldn’t help but wonder how many illegal deals or exchanges had taken place at this table. She was happier to note the entirety of the bar was much cleaner than she remembered it, and Aberforth seemed to have hired some help.
The pub wasn’t overly crowded, but no place was yet. People were still feeling reluctant to be out and about. Harry wanted to come here since he thought they’d attract less attention than at the Three Broomsticks, but Ginny wasn’t certain there would be much of a crowd there, either. Perhaps once the students returned, things would pick up.
“Well, that went well,” Harry said, stuffing a few crisps into his mouth. “I still feel like an errant schoolboy when McGonagall peers at me over those spectacles.”
Ginny grinned, sipping her Butterbeer. “You did squirm a lot, and when she told you could call her Minerva, I thought your head might explode it turned so red.”
“You’re one to talk,” Harry shot back. “It’s not often I see my chatterbox at such a loss for words.”
Ginny giggled. “All right, then. Somehow, I don’t think I can bring myself to use her first name. I’m certainly going to give it a go, though.”
“I’ll stick with Headmistress, and I’m good,” Harry said, grinning.
“Coward,” Ginny replied. “She did seem pleased with the idea of hosting the wedding, though.”
Harry nodded. “I know. I didn’t mean she had to take on any of the work, but once she started, I felt awkward interrupting her.”
“I think she was pleased to have something to plan. I always had the impression she enjoyed getting the castle all done up for the Yule Ball,” Ginny said.
“I hope that however many students stay behind over the Christmas holidays, they won’t mind being locked in their common rooms while it takes place,” Harry said, frowning.
Ginny shrugged. “Professor McGonagall said she could have the elves bring food up, and I’m certain the adventurous ones will find a way to sneak out. I would’ve done.”
“Me, too — although I probably wouldn’t have cared who was getting married. I’d just want to hear what was going on,” Harry said, laughing at his younger self.
“I’d have wanted to get my hands on some Firewhisky,” Ginny said, unabashed. “It shouldn’t be too hard at a party.”
“How long do you suppose we have until the press gets wind of this?” Harry asked, lowering his voice despite the Muffliato Charm he’d already cast around their table.
“Not long at all. We were seen at the monument today. Even if they don’t know the details, they’ll make something up,” Ginny replied, irritated. She needed to get a move on and let her team know before they were ambushed with it. It somehow seemed disrespectful to bring it up while they were trying to plan a memorial for Theresa and the other three staff members who’d perished from the illness. She hated being pushed into anything, but she supposed she didn’t have a lot of choice if she didn’t want to let them get the upper hand.
“Well, we have the date and the place, and I’ll let the Minister know what we’ve planned when I go to work tomorrow. I’ll call that a win that we managed it without interference,” Harry said, grinning boyishly.
It always brightened his day when he managed to slip one over on the press, and Ginny couldn’t help but feel his good humor was infections. “So, December twenty-ninth is to be our wedding at Hogwarts, and December thirtieth is our Ministry gala. Then we can start our honeymoon on New Year’s Eve,” she said, shivering slightly at the prospect.
“I suppose I should get a move on that before anyone can butt in, as well,” Harry said thoughtfully.
“Why? What do you have in mind?” Ginny asked. He’d told her he was going to surprise her with their honeymoon plans, and it had been driving her barmy ever since. She hated when there was something going on that she didn’t know about.
Harry wagged his finger. “Uh—uh. You’re not going to trip me up on this one. It will be private, romantic, and completely secret. I’m not taking any chances that one of your brothers can get ahead of me and have a bunch of Weasley’s Whiz-Bangs go off the moment we get naked.”
Ginny laughed, picturing it happening just that way. “All right, here’s something we can agree on — no brothers on the honeymoon. But I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell them, so you can tell me where we’re going.”
“You really don’t get the idea of a surprise, do you, Weasley?” he asked, shaking his head.
“That’s soon-to-be-Potter to you, Mister,” she said, looking down her nose but unable to keep a straight face.
Harry beamed at her, as he always did when she mentioned her upcoming change of name. Ginny Potter. That was going to take some getting used to, but she really liked it. Even Ginevra Potter wasn’t that bad, although Ginny was still a lot better.
Before she could respond, Aberforth joined them, placing his own pint on the table and snagging a few of their crisps, scattering crumbs on the table. “That’s a fine-looking rock on your finger there, miss. I don’t recall reading anything about it, so I’m assuming it’s new,” he said gruffly.
Harry and Ginny both glanced at her finger in surprise. They hadn’t done anything to draw attention to it, but they hadn’t concealed it, either. Ginny supposed Aberforth was Professor Dumbledore’s brother, and not much had ever slipped past his notice, either.
“It is fairly new, and we’d appreciate it if it remained between us as long as possible,” Harry said, clinking his bottle to Aberforth’s.
Aberforth shrugged. “Can’t say I was ever much for gossip. Nobody’s business, anyway. I’m glad to see you both out and about. It’s been dead silent around here.”
“And here I thought you liked the quiet life,” Ginny cajoled.
“I like it quiet, not empty. I have a business to run here, and Spattergroit of any kind is definitely bad for business,” he said.
“It looks as if you have a decent crowd today,” Harry said, glancing around at the various tables. Only about half of them were filled, but that had been rather normal back when they’d been at school.
“Things picked up a lot after the war. I even had to hire a couple barmaids to help me keep up. Only one of ‘em came back,” Aberforth said grumpily.
“She’s obviously better than you at wiping down the tables,” Harry said, smirking. “Be glad she came back.”
“Don’t give me any of your cheek, boy.” Aberforth said, glaring at Harry. He turned his attention toward Ginny. “Where’s your brother been? Haven’t seen him in here since the restrictions were lifted.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that. I have a lot of brothers,” Ginny said, winking.
“This one here’s partner,” he said, nodding at Harry. “Likes to eat and drink. My kind of bloke.”
“Ron’s been ill, but he’s finally cleared today. I’m certain you’ll see him before too long,” Ginny said, thinking of all Ron’s grumbling and complaining and listing of all the places he wanted to go once he was freed, and exactly what he wanted to eat at each and every one of them.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aberforth said, looking startled.
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll be expecting you to have a toast with him to celebrate his good health in no time,” Harry said, smiling fondly. Ginny had no doubt he was thinking about Ron’s lists, as well.
Aberforth finished off his pint and pushed back his chair. “I’ll look forward to it. You two enjoy your day, and save me a dance at that wedding, lass,” he said, rather fondly for Aberforth standards.
“My dance card is filling up fast,” Ginny said once Aberforth had moved away. “You’d best get a move on with those tango lessons.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Who else have you promised a dance? I should already have most of the slots on your card. I’ll be your husband by then, after all.”
Ginny felt a delicious tingle go down her spine at his words. Her husband. He was going to be her husband. She didn’t think December the twenty-ninth could come soon enough.
“Well, my dad for one. He gets the traditional father/daughter dance, and I think the rest of my brothers will just cut in if I didn’t say yes anyway,” Ginny said grinning.
Harry’s face had taken on a pensive look. Usually Ginny could follow his thoughts, but now she was at a loss. Was he really worried about the tango?
“Harry?” she asked when he remained silent.
“The groom traditionally dances with his mother at weddings, right?” he asked, his voice low.
Ginny’s insides hurt. “Well, yes, but we’ve already decided we don’t have to be traditional about everything. I know it’s important to my dad, but we don’t need to call any special attention to it. As long as I dance with him, he’ll be happy.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Of course, you should dance with your father. D’you… do you think your mum might want to dance with me?” he asked, ducking his head. She could see the brilliance of his cheeks all the way across the table.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she swiped at them hastily. “I think she’d be honored if you asked her. Of course, you’ll need to carry an extra towel during the dance, or she’ll drench you with her tears.”
Harry grinned half-heartedly. “So, what’s next then?”
She reached across the table, grasping his hands in her own and squeezing reassuringly. “Enough wedding plans for today, but I definitely don’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place just yet. Let’s go into Muggle London and have a look around. We won’t be harassed, and we can still be outdoors,” she suggested.
Harry nodded, draining the last of his Butterbeer. “How about a stroll along the Thames? Some of the leaves are changing.”
“Harry — what a romantic afternoon. And I can think of the perfect happy ending for afterwards,” she said, winking slyly.
She knew Harry would quickly follow her out the door. And he did.
Harry and Owen went into Knockturn Alley on a Tuesday morning. The shops were all still rather empty on the high street, but even down in the alley, there were still a few shoppers milling about. They wore their full Auror robes this time, and some on the street watched them warily as they strode toward the dark little apothecary.
“We had the ruddy bloke who runs the place under surveillance for a few weeks before we all went into lockdown, and he visited a few remote locations where potions might’ve been being brewed, but we didn’t have enough bloody evidence to search. Once the lockdown happened, everything went underground,” Owen said, speaking out of the side of his mouth as they walked.
“Is he being watched again now?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, but it’s no good. He’s onto us, so he’s pretty much been here in the shop whenever it’s open. Whoever is brewing for him is communicating in some other way,” Owen replied.
“Or he’s hired someone else to be his pigeon,” Harry muttered. “When we were here before, I had the impression Gethin was brewing for him, but that he wasn’t the only one.”
“I wonder what happened to all the purchasers who didn’t get their Wolfsbane on time,” Owen said. “We didn’t have any reports of increased werewolf activity.”
“Someone else must’ve met the demand, or else the poor sods simply had to lock themselves up and suffer the consequences,” Harry said, remembering how Remus had once told him about the painful transformation process. “We have a lot of eyes on us right now. Are you certain you want to go in there?”
“Can’t back down, can we? Now then, my lad, watch and take notes… and if, by some miracle, he gets past me, twat him with a Stunning Spell,” Owen said, pushing open the door of the apothecary.
Harry rolled his eyes, gripped his wand, and followed Owen into the shop. The same shopkeeper who’d been manning the register the last time they’d visited watched them coolly as they moved toward the counter at the back. The shelves were lined with various potions and potion ingredients, and a sign reading, If you don’t see what you want, it can be brewed for a fee.
“What do you want?” the proprietor asked in his deep, gravelly voice. His grey eyes swept over them, and Harry had the feeling there was very little this wizard missed.
“I think we’re going to be asking the questions this time,” Owen said pleasantly, folding his arms across his chest. “We were in here a few weeks ago looking for one of your potion brewers — a Gwilym Gethin. Seen him recently?”
The shopkeeper’s face remained impassive, although Harry thought he saw something flicker behind his eyes. Did he know Gethin was dead?
“I told you, he disappeared. I have a lot of angry clients who had to make other arrangements. He’s no longer welcome here,” he said, sneering.
“And you don’t know anything more? Any idea where we might find him… or anyone who may have worked with him?” Owen asked, staring at his own thumbnail as if disinterested.
“No idea,” the man stated uneasily, glancing out the front window.
As Owen continued to question him, Harry surreptitiously glanced behind him through the window. He didn’t see anything in particular that stood out, although the shop was getting several curious looks from passers-by. The hairs on the back of his neck had begun to stand on end, however, so he angled his body sideways to keep watch on both what was happening inside the shop and on the bit of street he could see outside the window.
“Look, you two are bad for business. I told you I don’t know anything, now unless you’re here to arrest me, I’m going to ask that you move along,” the shopkeeper said, showing uneven yellow teeth.
“So, you’re still brewing off-premises. I suppose you have a license for remote manufacturing?” Owen asked casually.
“Never said I was brewing anything,” the man said calmly, once again glancing at the window. “Do you have any proof that I was?”
Owen scowled, but before he could respond, the glass on the front window shattered as several spells flew through the opening at once. Shards of glass flew inward along with the flashes of light from the incoming spells. Harry felt a searing pain on his left shoulder before throwing himself behind a display stand of potion ingredients. Outside the window, several black-clad figures were firing spells into the now wide-open storefront. From his makeshift cover, Harry returned several Stunning Spells, but knew it was no good. He was too far away. Crouching low, he moved over the glass and debris covering the floor toward the front of the shop.
Owen had ducked behind the register and was casting spells in rapid succession. Harry could hear the low moaning of the shopkeeper in Owen’s vicinity. He hadn’t seen it, but assumed the man had been hit. As Harry crept toward the front of the shop, he had time to note that none of the spells that were being cast inside were lethal.
Harry’s robes were wet with blood from his shoulder, but his wand arm was steady as he aimed another Stunning Spell at the closest figure outside, who crumpled to the ground. Shouts could be heard along the alley, and Harry cast several more spells through the broken glass.
A Blasting Hex tore through the front window, hitting the display stand he’d taken cover behind only moments ago. Fragments and bits of wood splintered the air, and Harry had to use his good arm to cover his head from the falling debris.
Glancing out the window, he saw one of the robed figures grab the arm of the wizard Harry had Stunned, and both of them disappeared before his eyes. The street was filled with several more popping sounds as the others who’d been involved Disapparated. Harry leaned back against the wall, gasping and trying to catch his breath. His shoulder, which hadn’t bothered him at all during the fight, began to throb in earnest as his adrenaline subsided. His bright red Auror robes had a dark stain forming along one side.
“All right, Owen?” he called, his breathing shallow. “They’ve Disapparated.”
Owen’s head appeared above the counter where the register rested. His hair looked wild, and he was bleeding from a cut near his eyebrow. A trickle of blood dribbled toward his eye, and he swiped at it impatiently, smearing it all over the side of his face.
“Bloody hell, I have a load of glass stuck in my hair,” Owen said, grumbling and shaking his head like a dog. “Did you recognize any of them?”
“No,” Harry said, grunting as he pulled himself to his feet. “They wore hoods and were all too far back. I Stunned one of them, but one of his mates Side-Along’d him away. How’s the shopkeeper?”
“He’s all right, just whinging. He was hit with a Cutting Curse. It’s on his chest, but shallow,” Owen said, also standing.
“I’ve been maimed, and it’s all your fault. I’m going to file a report at the Ministry detailing your lack of safety measures,” the man said, remaining on the ground and curled into a ball.
Owen rolled his eyes and cast a Patronus. “I’ve called for some crime scene investigators. They can send this one,” he said, jerking his head toward the floor, “to St. Mungo’s to be looked over.”
Harry peeled his robe away from his shoulder to take a good look at his wound, wincing at the deep gash there.
“You were hit, too?” Owen asked, eyes widening when he saw all the blood.
“Another Cutting Curse,” Harry said, using his wand to repair the damage. He’d learned several basic healing spells as part of his Auror training. It certainly wasn’t up to Madam Pomfrey standards, but it would hold until he could get it treated properly. He lowered his voice so only Owen could hear him. “It’s minor. That was a warning. They weren’t using lethal spells. Someone didn’t want the shopkeeper talking to us.”
“I think you’re right. I wonder what he knows?” Owen said speculatively. “We’ll have someone keep a watch on him while he’s at St. Mungo’s, then we can question him at the Ministry.”
He was poking his finger at the cut along his eyebrow as if trying to feel how big it was.
“Here, I can fix that,” Harry said, pulling Owen’s hand away from the cut so he could see what he was doing.
Owen pulled back. “No, leave it. Another scar will make me more intimidating,” Owen said happily. “Facial scars can be very useful in putting perpetrators on edge.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, and Owen’s brain seemed to catch up to his words. “Oh. Right. I suppose no scar I manage to get is going to outshine yours. All right, fix me up, then,” he said, sighing.
Harry shook his head and cast another spell to heal the damage to Owen’s face. “Well, that escalated more quickly than I’d expected. It’s good to be back, though,” he said, grinning. “Someone is worried what we might learn in here.”
“You think it was related to our case, or just something they’re brewing illegally in here? I don’t have the impression this place is all on the up-and-up,” Owen said.
“You think?” Harry joked. “I’m just glad we didn’t bring Ethan along for this one. It would’ve been a nightmare.”
“He’s such a noob. I don’t think he’s been involved in any actual spell-fire yet. He’d probably pass out at the first sign of blood,” Owen said disparagingly.
“Are either of you idiots going to help me or just leave me here to bleed to death?” the shopkeeper asked. He’d pulled himself onto a stool behind the register and was dabbing at a minor cut on his breastbone with a handkerchief.
Before Owen could insult him, Harry intervened. “I only have minor healing skills. There’s someone coming to collect you and take you into St. Mungo’s where they can tend to you properly,” he said.
The man seemed mollified with the attention. Within a few moments, a team from the Ministry arrived to collect evidence and prepare a report on what had happened. The shopkeeper was taken to St. Mungo’s, and Harry and Owen, after having their own wounds looked at, were able to go outside onto the street to have a look around.
Harry could feel a number of eyes watching him as he perused the street, but no one approached them. In fact, several street vendors went out of their way to avoid speaking with the Aurors.
“I did take a shower this morning,” Harry said, smirking as yet another vendor quickly packed his wares and scurried away from them.
“Yeah, but you do have a huge, garish blood stain smattered across your front. It has to be you, because it’s certainly not me. Criminals find me quite engaging,” Owen said, walking with a swing in his step.
Harry rolled his eyes. “It certainly couldn’t be your ego driving them away. What do you think? Anyone who was involved in that skirmish is long gone now.”
“I agree. Let’s go over to the hospital and question our shopkeeper again. I think he’ll be far more cooperative now that he knows he needs our protection,” Owen said, leering as if looking forward to frightening the man.
“All right. I want to swing by the Ministry first and get some clean robes. My cleaning spells aren’t good enough to get blood stains out,” Harry said ruefully. Perhaps Molly could help him with that.
“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can grab a bite after we visit St. Mungo’s. A good life-and-death skirmish always gives me an appetite,” Owen said, rubbing his hands together.
“Life and death?” Harry asked scathingly. “You didn’t even get hit with a spell. You just didn’t duck away from falling glass fast enough.”
“Don’t disparage your supervisor, or he can ensure you do nothing but paperwork for many moons to come,” Owen said, nose in the air.
“Or until you get exasperated having to partner Ethan,” Harry said, grinning.
Owen scowled before Disapparating.
Chapter 25: It's My Party
Author's Notes: Author’s Note: First off, thanks so very much to my beta team, Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for all their help and encouragement.
I’d also like to thank you, the readers – and particularly the reviewers – for welcoming this story so warmly! I originally started it as a way to keep myself occupied during the lockdown. I can’t believe I’m going to finish up before our own pandemic is over. I worried that no one would want to read something like this while we were going through something so similar. You all proved me wrong – and I’m very thankful for that.
Lastly, I’d like to wish you all very Merry Christmas, and a happy, healthy 2021. Let’s give 2020 a kick on its way out the door!!
It’s My Party
The first post-outbreak gathering of the entire Weasley family was held on a Sunday, the final day of September. Even Charlie was able to attend as the travel restrictions had finally been lifted. There was a lot to celebrate, not the least of which was Ginny and Ron’s return to good health. Percy and Audrey were married; Harry and Ginny were engaged; and George and Angelina were back together.
Ron had given his notice to the Ministry, and as of the next day, he was going to work with George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes full time. The students across Britain would be travelling on the Hogwarts Express back to Hogwarts the next day, and it finally felt as if some normalcy was returning to the world.
The sky was dotted with puffy white clouds, and despite the autumn crispness in the air, a table had been set up in the back garden to accommodate the overflowing crowd. Molly had spent the days leading up to the event baking up a storm, and there were several hovering trays around the table containing an assortment of tasty treats.
Teddy had insisted on bringing his new broom, so naturally, Harry, Ginny, Ron and George had all pulled theirs out of the shed and were currently having mock races in the orchard. Harry had let the others know in no uncertain terms that Teddy was supposed to win. Sometimes, the Weasley competitive nature overrode their good sense.
Teddy’s squeals as he zoomed around the orchard at knee-level echoed throughout the garden, buoying everyone’s good mood. Victoire sat on Fleur’s lap watching the races, waving her arms in the air and shrieking with delight every time the riders flew anywhere near her.
“Come on, Teddy. I’m going to get you this time,” George said, hunkering low over his broom handle and squinting his eyes in mock determination.
“Can’t beat me,” Teddy laughed, delighted. “I ride like the wind. Unca Harry told me so.”
“Well, you’re fairly stiff competition, but I think I can do it. I want to prove your Uncle Harry wrong,” George said, smirking at Harry.
Teddy laughed. “Unca Harry is never wrong. You should know that, George,” Teddy said, looking at George as if he were ridiculous.
Harry beamed at George over Teddy’s head.
George went to move his hand in a rude gesture, but stopped when he noticed Teddy staring at him avidly. Narrowing his eyes at Harry, he said, “Your godfather has a big head there, mate.”
“I know,” Teddy said, nodding happily. “He has a big everything, and I’m going to be big like him someday, too.”
Harry’s grin widened even further. “Hear that, George? I have a big everything. Are you two going to race, or sit around chatting all day? Shall I get you some tea?”
“Yeah! Come on, George — stop stalling. It’s time to lose — to me,” Teddy said, taking off before George had even acknowledged him.
Ginny roared with laughter as George, startled, had to catch up. “Go, Teddy! You’ve got this,” Ginny called.
Harry followed the two racers, keeping a close watch on Teddy, who wobbled quite a bit as he put all his effort into trying to beat George. As Teddy reached the finish line, and Harry declared him the winner, he felt a thump on the back of his head, pushing it forward. He reached up to find a clump of earth stuck in his hair on the back of his head. Bewildered, he looked behind him to find George grinning smugly.
“George Weasley!” Fleur yelled, incensed, before Harry had time to respond.
They all turned to see a furious Fleur standing over Victoire, who was gleefully throwing fistfuls of dirt at all of them.
“I ‘ave been telling her for weeks not to throw ze dirt, and her oncle does it right in front of her! Mon dieu! You fool,” Fleur raged, ducking away from the falling dirt. Using her wand, she levitated Victoire into the air, brushing off her hands before placing her on her hip. “You need to set a better example for les enfants!”
George stared at them both blankly for a moment before adopting an over-the-top contrite expression. “Sorry, Fleur, Victoire. Uncle George was wrong to throw dirt at Uncle Harry.”
Ron and Ginny were doing their best not to laugh. Ron had to put his hand over his face to hide his grin, and Ginny bit down on her knuckle.
“Honestly, George. You ought to know better. Mum raised you better than that. You’re not a child anymore, no matter how much you act like one,” Ginny said.
Fleur let out an angry huff of air, agreeing with Ginny’s words, despite the mirth in Ginny’s eyes.
Teddy walked between George and Fleur, looking up at George with wide eyes and dragging his broom behind him. “Did you throw dirt at Unca Harry because you lost to me? Grandmum says that’s being a poor sport.”
Ron snorted. “Hear that, George. You’re a poor sport,” he said, sniggering.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Ginny said, reaching over to brush some of the dirt from Harry’s hair.
“What’s going on over here?” Mrs. Weasley asked, arms akimbo and looking around at the gathered group suspiciously.
“Nothing, Mum,” all the Weasleys chorused innocently, even Harry and Fleur kept silent.
“Well, dinner is ready, so you lot need to go inside and wash up before we eat,” Mrs. Weasley said, but Harry didn’t think she believed them.
Once they’d all gathered at the overflowing table, Harry and Ginny were seated at one end, with Mr. Weasley on the very end, while Ron, Hermione, George and Angelina were at the other end, near Mrs. Weasley. Percy and Audrey were seated across from Harry and Ginny, and they all shared mutual congratulations.
“Good for you getting to start your married life without any interference. No practical jokes on your honeymoon had to be a plus,” Ginny said, raising her glass in a toast.
Percy chuckled, clinking his glass to hers. “It would’ve been, had we actually gone on our honeymoon. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be this year. We’re still hoping to have some sort of a celebration on our one-year anniversary next summer.”
“My mother was really disappointed we didn’t get to do the wedding properly with all the bells and whistles,” Audrey said, sighing. “I’m so sorry you all purchased new dress robes for nothing.”
“I know, such a shame,” Ginny said with a perfectly straight face. “There was nothing you could’ve done to change it, though, so don’t feel bad.”
Harry, knowing how much Ginny hated her pink dress robes, snorted into his glass. Bubbles went up his nose, causing him to choke and cough. Ginny absently clapped him on the back as he spluttered.
“Yes, Molly was quite upset not to have it here, as you’ll recall, but in the end, what matters is you were able to get married,” Mr. Weasley said, and Harry was impressed with the casual, seemingly offhand way he reminded the newlyweds that neither mother had had her way.
“I suppose,” Audrey said, shrugging. “Certainly, it was a let-down after so much planning, but we felt strongly that although a large gathering was out of the question, we didn’t want to cancel altogether.”
“Exactly,” Percy said pompously. “We felt, as representatives of the Ministry, it was our duty to shoulder the responsibility of following all safety protocols and set a good example. I think the Minister was quite appreciative of our initiative.”
“I’m certain he was,” Mr. Weasley said, and this time it was his turn to hide his smile behind his glass.
Percy nodded obliviously. “Those of us in positions of authority have a moral obligation to lead responsibly.”
“So, I hear you’ve decided on two separate celebrations,” Audrey said, smiling at Percy adoringly. “That’s ambitious. Just planning one event was making me want to tear my hair out with all the little conflicting details.”
“Yes, about that,” Percy said, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. “The Minister asked me to connect you with an Event and Conference Coordinator to handle the Ministry party. I have to say, I think you’d be better off using this person to help with all the details of your wedding and simply have one large affair. Two separate events really are unnecessary, and since there is a publicity aspect involved, it will only benefit you to have aid of someone who understands the intricacies and expectations of protocol.”
Harry felt a pit of dread forming in his belly, feeling Percy sounded incredibly similar to past Ministers who’d tried to bully him into playing on a Ministry team. Before he could respond, however, Ginny intervened.
“No,” she said flatly, staring at Percy as if daring him to disagree.
“Ginevra, I realize a wedding is most significant to the couple involved, but owing to the circumstances of who you’re marrying, there are other factors to consider,” Percy said, glancing at Harry with what couldn’t be mistaken as anything but resentment.
“Sitting right here, Percy,” Harry said lightly, deciding to let Ginny handle her pompous brother, as she seemed itching to do.
“No,” Ginny repeated, taking another bite of her chicken and chewing it calmly. Harry could see the pinching around her eyes and mouth, and knew it wouldn’t take a lot for her to pull out her wand.
Upon further consideration, Harry decided a united front was called for. “With all due respect to the Ministry, Percy, we’ve agreed to the post-wedding celebration to appease those expectations, but the wedding itself will be private,” he said firmly.
Percy pressed his lips together. “I’m not certain you understand the expectations of your position. There will be members of the Wizengamot, and certain high-ranking officials who’ll expect, even consider it part of their duty, to share in this occasion,” Percy said, persevering.
“Well, that’s just too damn bad. Our wedding has nothing to do with the Ministry, Percy, nor are we going to allow it to be,” Ginny said, the air around her seeming to crackle. “I’m willing to let this Event and Conference Coordinator arrange the details of the Ministry function, but there needs to be an understanding that this person will have absolutely no say whatsoever in the actual wedding ceremony. I believe the Minister has already agreed to this stipulation.”
Percy didn’t look pleased, and his expression left no doubt he wasn’t in agreement with the Minister on this topic.
“Well, the details can be discussed once a Coordinator has been assigned,” he said hastily. “My personal recommendation is a delightful young witch whom you might already know. I believe she attended Hogwarts with both of you. Her name is Cho Chang, and she’s a rising star at the Ministry.”
“Absolutely not,” Ginny said flatly, eyes widening.
Percy adopted his most condescending expression “Ginny, I’m certain once you’ve met and—”
“We’ve met, and I can’t imagine a bride anywhere who’d agree to hire her fianc’s former girlfriend as a party planner,” Ginny said.
Percy’s face fell. “Former girlfriend?” he repeated faintly.
Harry wanted to laugh, but didn’t think Ginny would appreciate it. He thought it was a bit of a stretch to call his failed date with Cho as anything more than that, but since he knew how irritating he found having to work with Michael Corner could be, he was going to back her up on this one.
“I think you’ll need to suggest someone else, Percy,” Audrey said, frowning, and Harry was surprised to see the flash of solidarity between the two women.
Ginny nodded her appreciation to her sister-in-law.
“Mais oui,” Fleur said. She was sitting on Ginny’s other side, and she’d obviously heard part of the conversation. “Zis eez unacceptable. How could you suggest such a thing?”
Percy spluttered, his head rotating at the three angry witches surrounding him. Harry really couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to have any of them looking at him that way, either. He was surprised to feel sympathy for Percy after being so annoyed with him only moments before.
“There must be other Coordinators at ze Ministry who can handle the arrangements, no?” Fleur asked, swelling with righteous indignation.
“Of course, there are. I’d suggest choosing one of the younger ones who may make selections that are closer to your own tastes, but most certainly not a past girlfriend,” Audrey said, glaring at her husband.
“Of course not! I didn’t mean— I didn’t know,” Percy wailed, eyes wide. “I’ll get you a list of names, and you can look them over yourself,” Percy said, looking as if he wanted out of the entire conversation.
“Don’t worry, Ginny. We will ‘elp with whatever you need. With all ze Weasleys, there are plenty of hands to get things done,” Fleur said reassuringly.
Audrey nodded. “Yes. One of the Ministry Coordinators recently arranged a conference I attended for a legal matter. I believe the Coordinator’s name was Marietta Edgecombe. Very quiet and unobtrusive, but she really pulled off a very tasteful affair. Do you know her?” Audrey asked.
“You haven’t dated her, too, ‘ave you?” Fleur asked, turning to Harry, eyes narrowed.
“No!” Harry yelped, feeling his neck grow very warm. Merlin, did they forget he’d been rather busy dodging a madman during his Hogwarts years? It wasn’t as if dating opportunities had been jumping out at him, anyway. He’d been lucky enough to find Ginny when he was still young — she’d found him, truth be told — and after everything that had gone so wrong in the other areas of his life, he felt as if he deserved this one thing to go so right.
“She did betray the DA once, though,” he said, feeling as if he ought to contribute something.
“I think we should meet with her and see what we think. She might’ve changed since school. What do you think?” Ginny asked, tilting her head to the side.
Harry shrugged. Honestly, the whole mess with Marietta seemed to have happened a lifetime ago. “All right.”
“As I remember, she joined the DA because she was friends with Cho. Funny they ended up working together, too,” Ginny said thoughtfully.
“Well, to be honest, since they’re in the same department, they’re all fairly friendly,” Audrey said. “I think no matter which Coordinator you chose, they’ll likely be friendly with her, so don’t let that be your deciding factor.”
Percy straightened up and adjusted his glasses, apparently ready to re-enter the fray now that he wasn’t being scolded. “I know you’ll do what you want, but I really hope you’ll heed my suggestions as I only have your best interests at heart. Listen to whichever Coordinator you choose, and consider her input on the wedding, as well. You need to consider your future prospects,” he said, staring at Harry specifically. “You’re a rising star at the Ministry, everyone knows it. Owen isn’t polished enough to ever be placed in a position of authority. Your name is already being tossed about as a successor to Gawain Robards, but you need to be careful of your penchant of flouting authority. Careful grooming of the people who matter will serve you well.”
Percy managed to get that all out with only a hint of resentment betrayed in his voice. Harry, however, thought Percy was up a tree. He’d only been with the Ministry for a few years.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Percy,” he said offhandedly.
“Are you going to wear ze same outfit for both occasions, or a different one for each?” Fleur asked eagerly.
“Different, I think. What if I spill something? Then, I’d look ridiculous,” Ginny replied.
“Does that mean I have to get two, as well?” Harry asked.
“Of course, it does. There will be loads of photographers, and it’ll just be silly eef Ginny is looking gorgeous, and you’re just looking rumpled,” Fleur said, looking at Harry as if he had three heads.
“That’s going to happen anyway,” Harry said, feeling Ginny always looked gorgeous no matter what she was wearing.
“No, it isn’t, but we don’t need to give Rita Skeeter and the rest of those hags easy fodder. Let them work to find something to criticize us about,” Ginny said firmly, taking Harry’s hand in her own and giving it a squeeze.
Harry privately thought the press would do that no matter what they did, but he wasn’t about to say that to these witches who already looked ready to pounce on someone. He’d never appreciated how much thought went into planning a wedding.
“Speaking of that, are you going to make a statement to the press?” Mr. Weasley asked. He’d managed to remain out of the conversation so far, but now he was looking at the young couple with concern.
“Statement?” Harry asked blankly.
“Yeah, the Quidditch League sent me a letter asking about that, as well. They want to be involved, but I’d like to get ahead of it on our own,” Ginny replied.
“How are things going with the team?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Ginny frowned, choosing her words thoughtfully. “It’s odd. We had the Memorial for Theresa, and the Magpies did the same for their Chaser, but getting a new player ready to go in a few short weeks is no easy task. It just all feels so awkward. It’ll be such a short season before winter break, then we’re adding a few more matches in the spring to try and balance it out.”
“It’ll be strange to go to a match and be around that many people. Even just shopping in Diagon Alley makes me uncomfortable,” Audrey said.
“I know. I felt that way the first day I walked on the street. It faded quickly, though, and now I barely noticed it,” Harry said, recalling that first day back to work.
“Did you get some decorations for your flat?” Fleur asked.
Audrey nodded happily. “I did! Thankfully, Percy had already had his own flat, so we had some furniture, at least. Everything was closed, so the walls remained bare until now.”
“That’s one less thing we have to worry about,” Ginny said, winking.
“Aren’t you going to get your own place to start your married life?” Audrey asked, eyes wide.
Harry and Ginny looked at each other, stunned. Neither of them had even considered leaving Grimmauld Place.
Ginny shook her head. “We hadn’t planned on it. We’re happy where we are.”
“Yes, but you want to build your own life once you make such a monumental commitment,” Percy said.
“I think eventually, Ron and Hermione will settle down, and George and Angelina seem on the same track. I’d like us all to stay together for a bit longer while we can,” Harry said. He enjoyed living with the others. It felt like having a family, and he didn’t think the fact that he and Ginny would share a name needed to change that. He couldn’t be any more committed to her than he already was.
Fleur nodded. “Zis is true. Once les enfants begin to appear, you’ll all need more space. Might as well enjoy your time now.”
As the dinner was consumed and the pudding served, Bill had been quietly multiplying the supply of wine bottles when his mother wasn’t watching. They were all in good spirits as Ron and George readied the Whiz-bangs for a display. Harry quickly disappeared into The Burrow to use the toilet before the show. When he came downstairs, he found Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, stowing away what little food remained.
“Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Weasley?” he asked, looking around for somewhere he could simply pitch in.
“Not to worry, Harry. I’m just putting the food away. You know,” she said suddenly, spinning around and placing her hands on her hips, “we’re going to have to come up with something else for you to call me.”
“Pardon?” he asked, perplexed.
“Well, if we’re going to be related, you can’t keep up using Mrs. Weasley. I realize ‘Mum’ might be awkward for you, although you’re more than welcome to try if you like. How about we try just Molly?” she asked kindly.
“Molly,” he said, testing it. It seemed very odd indeed to call her by her first name, and she seemed to know it.
“Well, it is my name, after all. You work on calling us Molly and Arthur, and I’ll let you know if anything else occurs to me. How does that sound?” she asked briskly.
Harry knew she was being very business-like for his own comfort, and he loved her all the more for it. He swallowed heavily.
“I really don’t think I could pull off Mu— er… what Ginny calls you, but not because I don’t appreciate all you’ve both done for me. This watch you gave me when I came of age is still one of my most cherished possessions,” he said, feeling rather stupid.
Molly’s eyes filled as she looked at her brother’s watch strapped to Harry’s wrist. “It needed to remain in the family,” she said, smiling through her watery eyes.
“About that,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “When Ginny and I were talking about our wedding plans, we talked about her dancing with her father.”
“Arthur has always looked forward to that,” Molly said.
“Er… I was wondering… if it’s not too much trouble… er, ifyou’dwanttodancewithme?” he asked, the words rushing out in a gasp at the end.
Mrs. Weasley frowned, trying to decipher his garble. “What’s that, dear?” she asked absently, turning back to putting the food away.
Harry took another deep, calming breath. He could do this. “I was wondering if you’d want to dance with me when Ginny and her dad do?” he said, proud that he’d kept his voice fairly steady.
Molly’s back was to him, but he saw her go ramrod stiff before slowly turning around, looking stunned.
“Er… you don’t have to,” he said, alarmed by her expression.
She promptly burst into tears, dropped her food containers on the floor and flung her arms around him, attempting to squeeze the life out of him. He patted her on the back awkwardly.
“Mrs— Molly, it’s all right, really. There’s no need to fuss,” he stammered, uncertain if she was upset because she was overcome with emotion that he’d asked her, or if she hated the idea and didn’t want to say no.
“Harry James Potter,” she said, pressing his cheeks between her hands so his face scrunched up. “I would be honored to dance with you during the parental dance at your wedding. I’m beyond touched that you thought of me.”
Harry pulled his face from her hands and hugged her again. “Of course, it should be you,” he said, his own throat rather tight. “I’m well aware who’s been darning my socks since I was twelve years old, and who sent me my first Christmas present before even being properly introduced.”
It took quite some time to calm Molly down enough for her and Harry to rejoin the celebration and watch the Whiz-bangs.
Ginny used the Visitor’s Entrance when she arrived at the Ministry. Harry had planned to meet her in the Atrium, but she’d received a Patronus that he was running late because he was questioning a suspect, and that he’d meet her there. They had an appointment in the Department of International Magical Cooperation with several Event and Conference Coordinators. Percy had sent her a list of all of them, including some photographs of parties they’d planned.
Most of the Coordinators were closer to her mum’s age than her own, so Ginny had focused on the four closest to her own age. She’d already ruled out Cho, so that left Marietta, a witch called Cressida Kane who Ginny remembered as once dating Bill, and another witch called Fiona Mason, who’d once dated Charlie. Ginny had entirely too many brothers.
She didn’t remember Fiona at all, but the way Charlie winced when she’d asked him about her led Ginny to believe the break-up hadn’t been mutual.
Although Bill and Cressida had separated on friendly terms, her style was very frilly and girlish — something that made both her and Harry cringe. That left Marietta. Ginny had to admit, her photographs were lovely, and she seemed to adapt well to all different sorts of requests, and everything seemed elegant and tasteful. They’d agreed to meet with Marietta today, and apparently, her department head was going to sit in.
She and Harry had discussed Marietta and her betrayal of the DA at length. Harry was more wary than Ginny was, but he’d always been cautious with his trust, and once it was broken, that was a huge hurdle to overcome. While Ginny wasn’t pleased with Marietta’s actions at Hogwarts, she was more generous with second chances — at least for things other than becoming a Death Eater. She’d certainly needed people to give her a second chance after her disastrous first year. She hated to think what would’ve happened if her roommates hadn’t done so.
Marietta had been young and under a lot of pressure from her mother. Perhaps she’d learned a lot about herself after the collapse of the DA and Umbridge’s takeover of Hogwarts. Ginny was willing to talk with her and listen to her ideas about their party. If either her own or Harry’s gut said Marietta wasn’t the right person, they’d simply have to choose one of the older witches.
Ginny curled in on herself as she pressed the button for the lift. It felt odd to be surrounded by so many strangers. Ginny’s memories had all returned, though she still couldn’t stop herself listing things in her head to be certain. Those odd lapses that had been frequent when she’d first come out of her coma were few and far between now, and the Healers told her they thought they’d eventually disappear completely.
When the lift stopped on the fifth floor, she stepped off, allowing the push of strangers — who all knew exactly where they were going and appeared in such a rush to get there — past her. This was the floor where her father worked, so she’d been here before, but she wasn’t certain where the conference room was where she was supposed to meet Marietta. When the bell from another lift sounded, she felt relief seeping through her as Harry hurriedly stepped off, his whole countenance brightening when he saw her.
“You’re here! I was afraid I’d be late,” he said, leaning down to kiss her check. Ginny felt her confidence rising simply because of his presence. He looked very handsome in his scarlet Auror robes.
“I just arrived,” she said, shaking her head. “D’you know where this conference room is?”
Harry nodded, and put his arm around her waist to steer her in the right direction. “I have to admit, I’m glad Percy isn’t sitting in on this one,” he said. “Hopefully, it’ll be less stuffy.”
Ginny grinned. “My dad let slip that he wanted to come, but Kingsley assigned him somewhere else.”
“I’ll have to remember to send my appreciation to the Minister, then,” Harry quipped.
“It’s rather disheartening that the Minister for Magic is more on our side than my own brother,” Ginny said, frowning. She hadn’t let go of her irritation with Percy from trying to insist she should turn her wedding plans over to the Ministry Coordinator.
Harry shrugged. “I can sort of understand how he feels. I mean, he had to give up his own wedding because of the contagion, so it’s natural to be envious of all the attention ours is generating,” he said, his cheeks growing pink.
Ginny felt a surge of affection. Harry still hated having to admit anything to do with him was special. It was quite adorable, actually. She, however, felt she could see her brother’s actions more clearly and without the rose-tinted hue.
“He tried to use his own wedding as a stepping-stone for prestige. Don’t pretend anything different. He’s annoyed that you’re being handed everything he wants, and you don’t even care,” Ginny said sagely.
“It’s not that I don’t care. I’m not ungrateful or anything. It’s just… my role is over. I wish they’d stop all the fuss,” he said, his cheeks nearly glowing.
“I know,” Ginny said consolingly, patting his arm.
“This is it,” Harry said, indicating an unobtrusive door. He rapped his knuckles a few times, but when there was no response, he pushed it open. The room was empty.
“Looks like we’re the first ones here. I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before,” Ginny said, giggling. She was notoriously running late for everything. Sometimes, her team captain made her fly extra laps depending upon how late she was.
It didn’t take long for the door to open again, and two witches joined them. Ginny recognized the younger as Marietta. Her curly hair was restrained on each side of her head by two barrettes. She wore a lot of heavy make-up, but Ginny could no longer detect the word “sneak” written across her face. She did have more acne than Ginny remembered, but perhaps that was due to the amount of make-up she wore.
The other woman was an older, formidable witch with shiny black hair that she wore tied back. She wasn’t heavy, but had a stocky, square-shouldered build, and she was dressed impeccably. Her bright red lips were the only bit of color she displayed.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, I’m Gladys Flint, Head Event and Conference Coordinator,” she said, reaching out to shake each of their hands firmly.
“Any relation to Marcus Flint?” Harry asked.
Gladys Flint’s cold dark eyes perused Harry warily. “He was my son,” she said, at last, the lines around her mouth tightening.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry said quietly.
Ginny had only vague memories of the Slytherin team captain. She thought Fred and George might’ve had some sort of altercation with him, but she couldn’t recall all the details. She’d have to ask George later. She knew Marcus had joined the Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.
Gladys nodded. “I understand we’re here to plan a party to celebrate your nuptials. May I ask why the actual wedding isn’t being included in the event?” she asked briskly.
“Because we prefer to keep that private,” Ginny said, striving to keep her voice calm. Something told her that she was in for a similar battle to the one they’d avoided by Percy not being there. She couldn’t help but wonder if her brother had recruited Gladys to take up his role. Percy took the Ministry’s image very seriously.
Gladys’ smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Ginny felt as if both she and Harry were being sized up. Gladys Flint was sorely mistaken if she thought their age would allow her to push them around.
“Well, Marietta here has come up with some lovely ideas she wants to show you for a large gathering. However, I really think you ought to reconsider the idea of two separate events. Despite the fact the Ministry function is larger, it’ll be obvious that the smaller, more intimate gathering is the more significant of the two,” Gladys said.
Ginny found her incredibly condescending, and she struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. “Naturally. That’s where we’ll speak our vows,” she replied flippantly.
Gladys ignored the sarcasm. “Exactly. The wizarding world wants to be included in your joy after being so much a part of your tragedy. Leaving out certain high-ranking officials will only create turmoil and resentment in the new regime we’ve fought so hard to create,” Gladys said with syrupy sweetness.
“I highly doubt the lack of an invitation to our wedding will destabilize the government,” Harry said sarcastically.
Ginny, who’d been holding his hand since the meeting began, squeezed it in solidarity.
Glady pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. “Perhaps not, but I assume the Minister will be in attendance?” she asked pointedly.
Ginny fired up. “The difference is, the Minister would be invited whether he was Minister or not. We’ve known each other since both Harry and I were teenagers, and he’s regularly a dinner guest of my parents.”
“Those who will be invited to the actual wedding will only be close friends and family — those people close enough to us who are willing to give up a whole weekend of their time just for us,” Harry said, his expression leaving no doubt he thought anyone would be mental for doing it.
Gladys smiled stiffly, perhaps deciding to try a different tact. “I see. Perhaps I could suggest moving the two parties further apart, to give more significance to the second, then.”
“No, we’ve told you the dates we’re available. If you’re unable to accommodate our wishes, we’re wasting our time,” Harry said, the tone of his voice making it clear he wasn’t going to compromise on this.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Arthur Weasley poked his head inside the room. As the Head of International Magical Cooperation, he was technically both Gladys and Marietta’s supervisor. It was obvious from their surprised expressions that neither of them had expected Arthur to make an appearance at the meeting.
“Arthur! What a pleasant surprise. Can I do something for you?” Gladys asked, looking derailed. It was obvious that she thought Arthur’s appearance was anything but pleasant.
Ginny didn’t know if it had been Percy’s idea to get Gladys involved in the planning, but she was certain that someone had tried to derail her plans. She suspected her father might be aware of it, as well. Why else would he have turned up here?
“I just thought I’d sit in to see how my daughter’s gala plans were coming along. Quite exciting,” Arthur said, sitting down on the same side of the table as Harry and Ginny, leaving no doubt where his loyalties lay.
“Yes, it is. We were just broaching the idea of including the wedding itself in those plans,” Gladys said, pulling herself together and attempting to draw Arthur’s parental influence to her aid.
“Oh, no. I think Ginny is quite firm on wanting to plan the wedding herself. An intimate, family affair,” Arthur said jovially.
Glady’s lips thinned, but she ploughed on undeterred. “Yes, but every bride could always use a bit of help.”
Arthur smiled easily. “True, true, but that’s Molly’s role. As a mother yourself, I’m certain you can appreciate the tight bond between a mother and daughter in preparing a wedding. I understand Harry and Ginny have selected Marietta as their planner. Why don’t we hear what she has in mind?”
Marietta looked as if she was trapped in a very bright light. Her eyes flicked back and forth uneasily between Arthur and Gladys. “Well…” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. She pulled out a handsome, leather-bound case from the chair beside her. “I’ve brought a few photographs of some ideas on decorations and table settings. I also have a suggested menu. You didn’t give me colors for your attendants, so it can all be accommodated for that.”
“We each have two attendants, and they’re wearing a deep, royal blue for the wedding, and a softer, icy blue for the gala. I thought both of those colors could be used,” Ginny answered promptly, thankful to Fleur, Audrey and Hermione who’d conferred with her on color ideas.
“Only two attendants? Usually the wedding party is larger for such a large crowd. I know you have a number of brothers,” Gladys said, simpering.
Ginny nodded. “Two of them — Ron and George — are Harry’s groomsmen, and my closest friends, Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger are to be my bridesmaids. That’s all I need,” she said firmly.
Marietta’s face lost all its coloring, despite her heavy make-up, at the sound of Hermione’s name. Ginny made a mental note to watch how that unfolded and if Marietta could work with Hermione, however limited that contact might be.
“I see. So, you won’t be following traditional wizarding customs then. And you mentioned different robes for each occasion?” Gladys asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes,” Ginny said firmly. She’d already met with the Patil twins, who were designing outfits for both events.
“So, this means that the Ministry attendees won’t see you in your actual wedding attire?” Marietta asked, jotting down notes as they spoke.
“No. I plan to wear a dress for the wedding, and robes for the Ministry function,” Ginny said firmly. She and Harry had discussed it, and they’d decided robes would be more appropriate for the Ministry party.
“I see. And are the robes going to be white?” Gladys asked coldly.
“Excuse me?” Ginny asked, feeling color flooding her face. Her wand sparked of its own accord.
“I’m really not certain where you’re going with this, Gladys, but the question is inappropriate,” Arthur said sternly.
“Begging your pardon, no offense intended,” Gladys said, nodding. “We’re working on the color scheme, and most brides dress in white. Since you’re being so unconventional about it all, I thought it best to check.”
“My robes for the gala are white, with silver threading to catch the light,” Ginny said through clenched teeth.
“Pardon me, but why are you here?” Harry asked bluntly. “I thought this meeting was set up with the Coordinator we’d selected. That would be Marietta.”
“Yes, well, as Marietta’s supervisor, I thought I’d keep an eye on the proceedings. This is a large and important affair, after all. We wouldn’t want anything to slip through the cracks,” Gladys replied.
Marietta cleared her throat. “We can arrange for a wedding photograph to be displayed at the gala. That way everyone can still see you in your wedding dress. Will you be supplying me with a guest list, so I can add them to the Ministry list?” she asked, her voice a higher pitch than it had been previously.
“You can prepare the Ministry list, and we’ll add anyone that’s inadvertently missed. We’re leaving the politics of it all up to you, with one stipulation. There are to be no members of Voldemort’s inner circle in attendance,” Harry said, his green eyes flashing.
Marietta shrieked, and a violent shudder rocked Gladys when Harry said the name. Ginny couldn’t stop herself rolling her eyes this time.
Once she’d recovered, Gladys said, “There are a few old, respected Wizarding families—”
“No members of Voldemort’s inner circle will be in attendance. That is not negotiable,” Harry interrupted firmly.
“I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request,” Arthur said quietly, but there was a distinguishable edge to his voice.
“No, of course not,” Gladys backtracked. “The true inner circle is all locked away in Azkaban, as they should be, but for those family members who have served their time and are trying to reintegrate themselves into society — the Malfoys, for instance. Lucius has paid his debt, and he’s been a significant donor to worthy causes in the past.”
“Yes, we’re all aware of his penchant for bribing certain high-ranking officials. I’d hoped that sort of activity is being discouraged nowadays. Besides, if you’re looking to get him to donate to something, you’re wasting your time. The vast majority of his fortune and his holdings went to recompense the war,” Harry said coldly.
This time, color did suffuse Gladys’ face. “I wasn’t attempting any such thing,” she said quickly, glancing at Arthur nervously. “It was just an example of a prestigious old family.”
“A prestigious family with antiquated ideas on blood supremacy. From what the Minister has told me, he’s working hard to sweep out that sort of thinking and build a new Ministry. In fact, I’m going to ask that a copy of the guest list be supplied to him, as well,” Harry said. The anger that had laced his words since Gladys Flint had inquired about the color of Ginny’s dress robes flashing in his eyes now. Harry definitely wasn’t a fan of Marietta’s boss.
Marietta seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Why don’t you take a look at my suggestions? You can send an owl with any changes or additional thoughts. We can each work on compiling lists for the two events, and that’ll give you plenty of time to make any changes you feel necessary. Does that sound all right to you?” she asked.
“Yes, that sounds perfect. Our next meeting can be more informal, perhaps just the three of us,” Ginny said pointedly. She wanted it to be clear that she’d work with Marietta, not Gladys. She was certain the elder witch would have her nose in everything behind the scenes, but they’d let Marietta deal with her.
“I’ll walk you out. Your mother was hoping I could convince the both of you to return to The Burrow for dinner,” Arthur said, his eyes sparkling.
Ginny bet her mum was dying for an update on how the gala plans went, and she wanted to ask her dad about the Head Coordinator. She could just imagine Molly’s reaction to Gladys Flint.
“We’d love to,” she said, smiling.
Chapter 26: Interference
Author's Notes: Happy New Year, everyone!! Whatever you did to celebrate the end of 2019 – DO NOT DO THE SAME THING AGAIN!
Interference
Harry pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, keeping his head down as he rapidly scanned the tables. He spotted Owen sitting in a booth near the fireplace, and quickly made his way across the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The pub was more crowded than he’d seen recently, showing people were getting back into their normal routines. He wasn’t certain why Owen had asked to meet him here. The Daily Prophet had finally sniffed out word of his engagement, making any public appearance a nightmare for Harry and Ginny.
The Ministry was back to screening their mail — as they’d done after the war — because Ginny had received several death threats and one exploding letter from disgruntled witches. The exploding letter had actually come from the mother of one of these witches. Harry had received his fair share of scorned witches writing to him, along with a ton of alternate marriage proposals, but none of them had exploded.
The lunchtime crowd was loud and chatty, the murmur of various conversations filling the pub. A trail of silence followed Harry as he strolled past the various tables as people looked up and realized who’d entered the establishment. Harry’s neck burned as he felt the weight of so many eyes upon him. He reached the booth where Owen sat and slid across the bench, close to the wall, in an attempt for some cover.
Owen smirked at him lazily, obviously enjoying Harry’s poor attempt at being subtle.
“Mr. Potter—” a short, paunchy wizard at the next table began excitedly before Owen held up a hand to stop him. Using his wand, he cast a spell around the table. The paunchy wizard’s lips continued to move, but Harry couldn’t hear what was being said.
“Nice,” Harry said appreciatively. “Does that also prevent him from hearing what we say?”
“Naturally,” Owen said cockily. “Unfortunately, I can’t cast a repelling charm as I’m waiting for the waitress to bring my drink. Also, Robards is meeting us here.”
“Robards? Here?” Harry asked, bewildered. Gawain Robards was rarely social, and Harry had never met him anywhere but in front of his large desk at the office.
“Don’t ask me. He sent me a Patronus asking us both to meet him here. Something must be going on that he wants to keep on the down low,” Owen said.
“Do you think it has anything to do with our detainee?” Harry asked.
“Must have, unless he has another lead,” Owen replied, smiling at Hannah as she brought a couple Butterbeers to their table.
Their Knockturn Alley proprietor was currently being held in a Ministry safehouse. After the attack at his shop, a second one happened at St. Mungo’s before he was brought to the Ministry. As of yet, the shop keeper had remained tight-lipped, but he obviously knew something and was terrified of being sent back into the general public.
“Here you are, Auror Savage, Auror Potter,” Hannah said, sliding the bottles toward each of them. “You’ve created quite a buzz by showing up here, Harry. I have a list of drinks various patrons have requested to be sent over.”
“Nothing today, thanks, Hannah,” Harry said, shaking his head. “We’re on duty.”
Hannah nodded. “I reckoned. I’ll try and keep them away from you. Mostly, they’re just happy to see you up and about. How’s Ginny?”
“She’s fine. Back at work, too,” Harry said. “I saw Neville earlier this morning. He looks good.”
“I’m so glad he’s back at work. Between the quarantine he experienced before the quarantine we all experienced, he’s been climbing the walls. He has new plant projects crawling all over his flat. There’s barely any room for actual people in there.”
Harry laughed, easily picturing the scene. “We’re expecting one more to join us, if you could direct him this way when he comes in.”
“Will do. I’m not certain it’s official, but if the Daily Prophet has it right, let me offer my congratulations,” Hannah said, her cheeks turning rosy as she ducked her head.
“Well, they have the engagement part right, anyway,” Harry said, smiling. The number of false stories appearing in print far outnumbered the actual truth. As Ginny had predicted, there had been a lot of speculation that she was expecting. So much so, that people had actually been sending baby gifts along with the pile of letters. Fortunately, none of the baby things had exploded, either.
“I reckoned as much. They always did like having a go at you. The Quidditch League has certainly latched onto the story,” Hannah said.
Harry grimaced. Desperate for something to distract attention from their exhibition match being a super spreader of the illness, and so many of its players and personnel being affected, the Quidditch League had latched onto Ginny’s engagement to ‘The Dark Lord Vanquisher’ like a lifeline. They tried to get Ginny’s comments on most stories, and kept making offers to host the entire wedding.
Ginny had repeatedly turned them down, but as of yet, they were unperturbed by her lack of enthusiasm. Gwenog Jones had even requested that Harry make a special appearance at their next match. Harry tried to attend all of Ginny’s matches, but this time, he was seriously considering watching it from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Fortunately, the match was still a few weeks off.
“Don’t I know it? You’d think a player never got married before,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.
Hannah giggled. “Well, best of luck keeping all the nosy nellies out. Can I get you some lunch, or will you wait for your friend?”
“Our boss, actually, so I think we’ll wait,” Harry replied. Hannah nodded before returning to the bar.
Owen had already nearly finished his Butterbeer. “Are you enjoying all the ruddy wedding planning? The whole idea of a big fancy do never appealed to me.”
“Good, that’s one less invitation I’ll have to worry about, then,” Harry said easily. He and Ginny had already begun making a list of potential attendees.
“Right,” Owen snorted. “I’d best get my bloody invite, along with a plus one. That’ll be the hottest ticket in town, that will. I bet I could finally get Michelle down in the Department for Magical Transportation to go out with me.”
Owen had been chasing this particular witch since long before the pandemic, and she’d yet to give him the time of day. “Good luck with that,” Harry said, grinning.
“I bet I could wrangle two dates out of it. Once just to be sure we’re compatible before committing to a whole day together at a wedding, mind,” Owen said, mulling it over.
Harry shook his head, silently wishing Michelle in the Department for Magical Transportation luck.
“Never mind the wedding, I want to know about your stag night. Is Ron planning it?” Owen asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Funnily enough, I’m not involved with any plans for my own stag night,” Harry said, not being entirely truthful. He’d warned Ron that if he did anything too out of hand, there’d be payback when it was time for him to marry Hermione, and Harry knew exactly how to hack Hermione off. Ron had paled slightly at these words, but Harry thought he’d ensured that his own stag night would remain in some semblance of control and off the front page of the Daily Prophet.
“Oh, don’t give me that ‘effin shite. You know. You always know. Will there be strippers?” Owen asked hopefully.
“Not if Ron knows what’s good for him,” Harry muttered under his breath, imagining the field day the press would have with that.
Before Owen could continue his needling, Gawain Robards entered the pub. His penetrating dark eyes spotted them immediately, and he joined them in their booth, sliding in next to Harry.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” he said brusquely, forgoing any greeting. “I wanted you both to be aware that there’s been certain pressure from within the Ministry to cease and desist investigating the records from St. Mungo’s.”
“Pressure from where?” Harry asked swiftly, straightening his spine.
“Indeterminate. I keep getting notifications of complaints from the Wizengamot. Apparently, the fact you’re keeping that Knockturn Alley potion maker in Ministry custody is causing some unease in very high-profile families,” Robards said, raising his eyebrows.
“Interesting. I’ll wager a bet that the pressure is coming from those same families who wouldn’t have had a problem with experimenting on Muggles,” Owen said.
“Bingo,” Robards said. “Although I don’t have any specific names to give you, they’re using the excuse that all the war trials are over, and we need to move on to more current crimes.”
“Like discovering who spread this new strain of Spattergroit?” Harry asked, already suspecting the answer.
Robards shook his head grimly. “Surprisingly, they’re remarkably blas about that one,” he said.
“I wonder if they’re more concerned that we’re investigating old war crimes, or that our potioneer might connect one of them to an illness infecting wizards?” Harry mused.
“How do you mean?” Robards asked sharply.
Harry shrugged. “Well, if the original goal was to infect Muggles, and someone was fine with that, but instead something mutated and began infecting wizards indiscriminately, I can’t imagine the backers would be too pleased,” Harry said slowly, his thoughts forming as he spoke.
Gawain Robards rubbed his finger along his lip thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting angle, Potter,” he said.
Harry’s brain wasn’t finished, however. “Of course, even if a family supported the old Pureblood supremacy in the past, the tide has changed, and most of the families of former Death Eaters are being ostracized and shunned. It could just as easily be someone who escaped notice after the war, and doesn’t want to draw that sort of negative attention to themselves now,” he said.
“Both plausible theories, and both plausible reasons certain members of the Wizengamot might want the investigation diverted,” Robards said, his finger still running along his lip.
“So, are you telling us you want us to drop our investigation, sir?” Owen asked, puzzled.
Robards raised his eyebrows. “I think the fact that I’m meeting with you here to fill you in would’ve clued you in to the fact that I’m not telling you that, Savage. Keep doing what you’re doing and ruffling some feathers. You’re both surprisingly good at it.”
Harry and Owen grinned at one another, tapping their bottles of Butterbeer together. It was at this break in the conversation that Hannah appeared, always so appreciated for her tact. She took their lunch orders, as well as leaving a refill of the Butterbeers.
“Has this detainee given you any solid leads?” Robards asked once Hannah had left.
“Nothing. He makes like a clam every time we show up at the safe house,” Owen said sourly.
“Tell him you’re releasing him, then,” Robards replied.
“Er… there have been multiple attacks on his person, so there is a safely issue,” Harry said cautiously.
“I’m aware of that, but if he thinks he’s being turned out on his own, it might loosen his tongue,” Robards said unconcernedly.
“And if it doesn’t?” Owen asked.
Robards shrugged. “Keep up surveillance. If anyone strikes out at him again, perhaps you can apprehend someone with looser lips.”
“Yes, sir,” both Harry and Owen chorused.
The food magically appeared in front of them, and the three wizards dug in. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw a booth full of witches huddled behind a copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet. His hapless photograph appeared alongside one of Ginny’s where she looked decidedly shifty. The headline read, Could Our Savior Be Under The Influence Of A Love Potion?
Disgusted, Harry took a long draught of his Butterbeer and stabbed his fork into his beef casserole. His reaction didn’t go unnoticed by either Owen or Robards.
“They ought to just add a separate daily paper — the Harry edition,” Owen said, sniggering.
“Or they could just quit making stuff up and report actual news,” Harry snapped, scowling.
“Don’t worry about it. They exist to sell papers, and stories like that lets witches believe you need saving, and they could be the one to do it,” Robards said, barely looking up from his lunch.
“I’m getting married. I don’t need saving. Where were all of them when Voldemort was trying to kill me year after year?” Harry asked, grumbling.
Robards smirked, actually smirked! “Does it upset your fianc?” he asked.
“Ginny? Hell, no. She’ll probably slip a few drops of water in whatever I’m drinking while my back is turned the next time we’re out, just to mess with them,” Harry said.
“It sounds like she has the right attitude. You could take a lesson from her,” Robards said, causing Owen to grin.
“Yeah, well, we each have our buttons. You should’ve seen her yesterday when the Quidditch League was trying to bully her into allowing them to host our wedding. It’s a wonder she didn’t hex anyone,” Harry said, remembering her fury with appreciation.
“Yes, Ludo Bagman approached me wondering if I would be interested in teaming our departments up in order to get the inside scoop on what you’re planning,” Robards said, watching Harry closely.
Harry’s mouth fell open despite himself. “He did not. What did you tell him?” he asked, wondering why he continued to be amazed at the lengths people would go.
“I told him to mind his own business,” Robards replied.
“Thank you!” Harry said. “I wish there was more of that attitude going around.” He viciously stabbed a piece of his lunch, no longer feeling very hungry.
“All right,” Gawain Robards said, pushing back his plate. “I need to get back to the Ministry and deal with the stack of complaints against the both of you. I’m sure there have been a few more while I’ve been here. Keep me updated if you learn any more. Oh, and lunch is on me.”
As he left the table and approached the bar, Owen muttered, “If I’d known that, I would’ve tried getting a bloody Firewhisky.”
“So, what d’you think? Shall we head on over to the safehouse and tell our tight-lipped friend he’s free to go?” Harry asked.
Owen nodded. “Sounds good. I want to play the ‘bad Auror’ role today,” he said.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You naturally play the ‘bad Auror’ role, Owen. We should transfigure our robes into plain black ones before we go over, just in case he calls our bluff and we have to follow him out.”
“Good idea. I honestly don’t think it’ll get that far. Bloke is spooked,” Owen said, finishing off his Butterbeer. “Be wary of anything he says, though. I wouldn’t put it past him to lie just to save his own neck.”
Harry picked up his fork and took another bite of his mostly uneaten lunch. It really was quite good. “True,” he said, “unless my ‘good Auror’ routine has him so convinced I’m on his side, he’ll hang whoever he’s shielding out to dry.”
“Right,” Owen said, rolling his eyes. “Finish your lunch so we can get a move on it. You really need to learn to ignore the papers. Letting it upset you only makes them win.”
“Easy for you to say,” Harry snorted. “They’ve been making up things about me all my life, but it’s harder to take when they have a go at her. That article there,” Harry said, tossing his head toward the booth of witches reading the love potion article, “it’s only going to make it worse. She’s already getting death threats from some barmy witches who are usually the ones who actually are trying to slip me love potions.”
“How about you? Isn’t there a well-known group of fan-wizards who like to follow the Harpies from match to match and show up at all their post-win victory parties?” Owen asked, sounding familiar enough with the concept that Harry was slightly disturbed. “Have any of them sent you death threats?”
Harry frowned. “Oddly enough, it’s only increased Ginny’s fan mail. She keeps getting letters from them offering her alternate wedding proposals, or to come visit them when she gets tired of me. None of them have written to threaten me at all.”
Owen snored, closing his eyes as if pained and shaking his head.
“What?” Harry asked blankly.
“Harry, you’re the bloody Dark Lord Vanquisher. Anyone in their right mind is going to think twice about challenging you to a duel. Didn’t you say you’re more wary of Molly since watching her duel the Lestrange bint? Same concept,” Owen said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said, scrunching up his face in disbelief.
“For those of us who know you, of course it is,” Owen said. “But to the general populace, you’re a legend. They’ll think twice about threatening to attack you. More like they’ll do it when your back is turned.”
“Gee, thanks for that,” Harry said sarcastically.
“No problem,” Owen smirked. “It’s been ages since anyone had a go at you. I’d say you’re overdue.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll have to mind my surroundings.”
“Don’t worry, lad. I’ve got your back. Weasley made me promise before he went to work for his brother,” Owen said.
Harry put his empty Butterbeer bottle back on the table with a clunk. “He what?” he asked, disbelieving.
“He told me he was handing the job of watching your back over to me. If you get hurt, I have to answer to him,” Owen said, smirking.
“Bet you’re shaking in your boots,” Harry said. Ron really was a pain in the arse.
Owen shrugged. “Ron might’ve been all right with being the sidekick, but let’s get this straight: you’re my sidekick, and you always will be.”
Harry nodded. “Glad you were able to get that straightened out.”
“Don’t give me any of your cheek. Get your skinny arse up and let’s head over to the safe house,” Owen said grumpily.
Harry gave him a mock salute and followed him out of the pub.
Ginny blew a puff of air upwards to get the hair out of her eyes. Her hands were full with her training gear, and the stray strand of hair was driving her mental. She lugged her heavy bag to the corner and unceremoniously dumped it. She’d have to do some laundry later. She grabbed an apple off the counter and hurried upstairs to the sitting room to see if anyone else was home yet.
She found Hermione in the sitting room, curled up with a book on the sofa and a bottle of wine open on the coffee table in front of her. Ginny exchanged her apple for an empty glass and poured some wine for herself, plopping down beside Hermione.
“Long day?” she asked, amused.
Hermione shut her book, rolling her eyes. “The longest. It’s hard to be back working at the Ministry with all the interruptions. I used to get so much more done working from here.”
“I can’t agree with you on that one. I’m so glad to be back on the pitch,” Ginny replied, grinning.
“Oh, there was a Ministry owl waiting when I arrived home with this,” Hermione said, reaching over to a side table and pulling a large envelope off it.
Ginny took it with some trepidation. In her experience, Ministry owls had rarely meant anything good. She felt Hermione’s eyes on her as she perused the contents of the envelope. It was Marietta’s additions to the wedding guest list that she’d sent her just that morning.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. She tried to peer over the top of the parchment.
Ginny laid it flat on her lap so they both could see. “It’s from Marietta. Her writing doesn’t look any different from mine, so I really have to look carefully for any changes she’s made.”
“Have you had a problem with anyone she’s added?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her wine.
Ginny shook her head. “Not for the Ministry gala, no. We basically told her she could add anyone she thought appropriate other than former Death Eaters,” she said.
“But?” Hermione prompted.
“But… she keeps trying to recommend certain individuals for the actual wedding, and it’s beginning to get on my nerves,” Ginny said, holding up a separate, smaller piece of parchment. “This is her latest suggestion. Hubert Marcellos is the new Quidditch Commissioner, but I’ve never met him, and I don’t understand why he needs to see me make my wedding vows.”
“So, what happens when you say no to one of her suggestions?” Hermione asked curiously.
“She’ll make it again, a bit more forcefully, and when I again refuse, I’ll get a very stern admonition from Gladys Flint,” Ginny replied with a sour expression.
“So, you think Gladys is behind it all, or is Marietta running to Gladys whenever she can’t convince you?” Hermine asked.
“At first, I thought it was all Gladys, but… now I’m not so certain,” Ginny said slowly, picking up her wine glass.
“Why?” Hermione asked, leaning closer.
“Just little things — like this handwriting being indistinguishable from my own. I don’t remember it always being that way. Something just feels off,” Ginny said.
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You think she did it on purpose?”
Ginny tilted her head to the side, considering her words before shrugging. “I think the fact the word ‘sneak’ appeared across her face is very telling. A chimera doesn’t change its spots.”
Hermione pressed her lips together for a moment before reaching out her hand for the parchment still on Ginny’s lap. “Here, give it to me.”
Ginny handed over the list and watched as Hermione waved her wand over it in a complicated pattern.
“There you go,” Hermione said, handing it back.
“What did you do?” Ginny asked, frowning.
A small, secretive smile flitted across Hermione’s face. “Look at it,” she said, beaming.
Ginny did, and was surprised to see several names clearly highlighted. She looked up in askance at Hermione.
“It’s a spell that will alert you if anyone other than you or Harry makes a change. It won’t be obvious to anyone but you, so you can keep track of what she’s doing,” Hermione said, grinning.
“Hermione, you’re brilliant,” Ginny said. “Now I can keep careful watch of what she’s up to. I really like everything else she’s suggested, and I think it’ll be a lovely party, but…”
“You still don’t trust her,” Hermione finished.
Ginny shook her head. “I don’t. There’s something off about the whole thing, even though there’s nothing so egregious I want to sack her. As I said, I like all the other plans… but I think she’s sneaky.”
Hermione smirked, pouring each of them another glass of wine. “You could always threaten her with hexing the wedding list if any other names are added.”
Ginny snorted so hard, some of her wine went up her nose. “Let’s not give her reason to sabotage my wedding plans. How do you get on with her at the Ministry?” she asked curiously.
“Honestly, I didn’t even know she worked there. I never see her,” Hermione said. “I have no idea if that’s intentional or not, but the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures really doesn’t host a lot of fancy parties.”
They were interrupted by Angelina’s appearance in the doorway, carrying a stack of pizza boxes. She placed them on the coffee table and pulled a stack of paper plates and napkins from a bag.
“I told George I’d pick these up since it’s his night to cook, and he’s running late,” she said, sitting in one of the wing-backed arm chairs.
Hermione poured her a glass of wine while Ginny handed out the plates, and they each took a slice of their preference.
“Thanks for the pizza, Angelina,” Ginny said, biting into hers. “George talked about nothing else but missing this the whole time we were quarantined.”
“Don’t I know it? I Floo called him one night wearing nothing but a necktie he left in my flat, and he still spent most of the time talking about how much he missed pizza. Good thing I don’t have an inferiority complex,” Angelina said, shaking her head.
“How’s your new job going?” Hermione asked, once the three of them had stopped laughing.
Angelina shrugged, a troubled expression crossing her face as she glanced at Ginny before quickly looking away. “It’s all right,” she said weakly.
“What’s going on, Angelina?” Ginny asked sharply. She knew Angelina worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, who handled most of the Quidditch oversight. “Are they going to delay the season even further?”
“What?” Angelina asked blankly. “No… it’s nothing like that. Everyone is looking forward to the start of the season. If anything, some are pushing to get it started more quickly. It’s just…”
“Just — what?” Hermione asked, looking as if she already knew when she also gave Ginny an apprising glance.
Angelina made a face, brushing a few of her braids out of her face. “I overheard my boss and a couple of the higher-ups discussing your wedding today, actually,” she said, looking directly at Ginny.
“Oh, let me guess? Strategizing ways the Quidditch League can get involved and use it for publicity?” Ginny asked, rolling her eyes.
Angelina’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yeah! You already knew? I’ve been agonizing all day on whether or not to say anything. Something about it sounded so underhanded, though.”
“I’m aware. I’ve been getting pressure from the Harpies ever since I told them, and it’s only getting worse. They’ve always angled to use my relationship with Harry to their benefit. They’d finally begun to accept my refusal, but the wedding news right after the whole contagion nightmare is just too much for them to ignore,” Ginny said, sighing.
“What are you going to do about it?” Hermione asked.
“Just keep pushing back on my personal and professional boundaries. I mean, I’m inviting my teammates to the wedding, but I see no reason that the Commissioner or any of the League officials need to be there. Your department can make a list of those they think should be invited to the Ministry Gala, and I’ll forward it to Marietta, but that’s it,” Ginny said, finishing her wine. It was getting harder to hold her temper.
“That sounds more than fair,” Hermione said, taking another slice of pizza.
“I’m sorry if they’re pressuring you,” Ginny said.
“Oh! They aren’t. I don’t think they’ve cottoned on yet to how close I am to your family. I’m still the noob in the department, so they don’t pay me much mind,” Angelina said, grinning.
Hermione laughed. “You’d best have your ducks in a row if they realize before this wedding happens. They’ll be all over you.”
“Don’t I know it?” Angelina said, laughing. “Maybe George and I can stage a fake break up. I think he’d like sneaking around under the Ministry’s nose.”
“He would get a kick out of that,” Ginny said, chuckling.
“You know what’s even funnier?” Hermione asked, glancing around. “The fact we’ve demolished half this pizza before the boys are even home. Wouldn’t that serve them right for a change?”
“Ooh, let’s do it! Let’s eat it all so there’s only a slice left for each,” Ginny said gleefully.
“How about we just hide a couple full ones, and leave out the remains of this one?” Hermione said, her wand already out as she Levitated a couple of the pizza boxes into a cabinet, shutting the door behind them. It left two open and picked over boxes on the coffee table. “I put a Warming Charm on them.”
“You’re way too good, Hermione,” Angelina said. “I like the idea of just eating it all instead.”
“How about we at least finish the wine?” Ginny asked, topping off all their glasses.
“Cheers!” Angelina said, picking hers back up. “Forget the wedding, let’s talk about what’s really important. Your hen night. Any requests?”
Ginny felt her face coloring and was powerless to control it. “I think you’ll have to talk to a few of my teammates. I know they’re up to something.”
“Oh, that’s right. Tell one of them to get in touch with me, and we’ll take it from there. What about Luna? Have you heard from her?” Hermione asked.
Ginny laughed outright. “I did. She’s on some expedition, but I still haven’t worked out quite where. She’ll definitely be here for the wedding, and although she prefers to wear sun colors for a wedding, she’s conceded to wear the blue. She said she was going to get a tattoo of a sunflower, and she thought that would suffice.”
Hermione looked startled. “She’s getting a tattoo? For your wedding?”
“Hermione, haven’t you learned by now not to question anything Luna says? Send her an invite to the hen night, but I don’t know if she’ll make it. She told me she was having an affair with a tribal shaman, although she wouldn’t be bringing him to the wedding because she didn’t think his brand of magic would blend with ours,” Ginny said, barely containing her giggles over the look on Hermione’s face.
“Oh, she’d be a laugh at a hen night. I hope she can come,” Angelina said, grinning and also watching Hermione’s reactions. “It’ll be interesting to see how Audrey and Fleur get on with your teammates… and Luna, if she comes. It should be a rather odd mix of players.”
“Don’t forget that Fleur was a Triwizard Champion. She might surprise you,” Hermione warned.
“Yeah, I think Fleur would be one to kick up her heels,” Ginny said. “I’m not certain about Audrey, however.”
“How about Liz and Siobhan? Have you heard from them? They’re coming, right?” Hermione asked. She’d shared a dormitory with Ginny’s roommates during her delayed seventh year, and Hermione had become quite fond of them.
“Yes, they’re both coming — and Siobhan told me we’d be shocked by her date. She wouldn’t say who it was, though,” Ginny replied.
“Does she still work for Ogden’s?” Hermione asked. “I bet she could get us a great deal on stocking up for hen night.”
“She does, and Seamus, too. He sent Harry an owl that he’d be attending, as well. He was the last of his roommates to reply,” Ginny said.
“What’s this about my roommates?” Harry asked, entering the sitting room with a general wave. He sank down on the sofa next to Ginny, looking rather tired.
“Hi, Harry,” Angelina and Hermione chorused while Ginny gave him a proper kiss hello.
“Oh, you have pizza left. I’m starving,” Harry said, taking one of the few remaining slices gratefully.
Ginny glanced nervously at Hermione and Angelina, who both narrowed their eyes at her. Truly, she’d wanted to play the missing food joke on her brothers more than Harry. He wouldn’t make a fuss if there wasn’t anything left, just scrounge up something else to eat.
In fact, even as this thought ran through her head, Harry picked up her discarded apple and bit into it.
“We were talking about Siobhan and Seamus still working for Ogden’s,” Ginny told him, deciding there was enough of their pizza left to share, even if it had gone slightly cold. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, yeah. He sent me an owl. He was really the last I was waiting to hear from. I don’t think we’ve had any no’s at all, have we?” he asked, turning to Ginny wide-eyed.
“Of course, you haven’t,” Hermione scoffed. “This is the hottest ticket in town, and everyone knows it. I even had Amos Diggory nosing around if I knew who was on the guest list.”
“Diggory?” Harry asked, startled. “He’s really doesn’t like me much, but I suppose he’s friendly with your family.”
“He’s a work friend of Dad’s, that’s all. He’s on the Ministry list,” Ginny replied coolly. She knew Amos Diggory had been destroyed by the loss of his son, but his continued aggression toward Harry, who was in no way at fault for what happened, continued to grate on her nerves.
“What about your cousin, Harry? Have you heard back from him?” Hermione asked tentatively.
Ginny knew Harry had no interest in inviting his aunt and uncle, but he and Dudley had got together for a pint a few times, and they seemed to have settled into some sort of truce. He’d hemmed and hawed about sending the invitation, knowing it would be a magical wedding so Dudley wouldn’t be unable to bring a plus one. Ginny had promised him they’d find someone friendly for him to sit with should he choose to come.
“I did, actually, and he’s going to come. He’s taking the train north, and I’ve arranged a room in Hogsmeade for him for the night. Professor McGonagall says she’ll have someone accompany him through the gates, and once he’s through, he’ll be able to see the castle,” Harry said.
Ginny had wondered how that all worked. She knew Hogwarts appeared as nothing more than ruins to Muggles, and the Muggle-Repelling Charms usually sent them scampering away, anyway. Dudley would just have to resist the urge to flee until he was through the gates.
“We’ll need to seat him with someone friendly towards Muggles — other than my dad, of course. I’m afraid my dad will scare him away,” Ginny said, grinning.
“Won’t he be at the family table, anyway?” Hermione asked, blinking.
Ginny’s eyes widened. She hadn’t really considered that. Stupid, really, as of course he was Harry’s family, even if he didn’t act like it.
“That’s good, then. I’ll keep him company since George will be up at the high table. Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll make certain he has a good time,” Angelina said confidently.
Harry suddenly looked very worried. “Er… Angelina… you see, he’s not really all that keen on magic.”
“That’s not really true, anymore, Harry. Perhaps when he was younger, but he’s grown a lot since living with Hestia,” Ginny said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She could never quite forgive Dudley for the torment he put Harry through as children, but she wasn’t spiteful enough to deny that he’d really come a long way.
“I suppose you’re right,” Harry said. “All right, Angelina — your job will be to look after my cousin and make certain no one hexes him.”
“Maybe you could find him a nice witch to rock his world,” Ginny said, sniggering. Her eyes flew open wide and she slapped her hand over her mouth, shocked she’d said that out loud.
Harry grinned at her, amused. “Just how much of this wine have you had already? This bottle seems very full.”
“That’s because Hermione is excellent with refilling charms,” Angelina said, giggling.
They all heard the front door bang closed and heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs before Ron and George appeared in the doorway, both of them shaking droplets of water from their damp hair. It had started raining again.
“What’s going on? Have you started without us?” George asked, looking around at the empty pizza boxes. He sat on the empty chair next to Angelina, taking a sip of her wine.
“Did you eat all the pizza? Without us?” Ron asked, looking horrified. “I’m starving!”
“There’s a piece left here for both of you,” Angelina said without batting an eye. She slipped the last two small pieces of pizza onto plates and handed them over, beaming.
Ron looked at his sadly. “But it’s cold.”
“Are you a wizard or not? Warm it up,” Hermione said scathingly. She was having a lot of trouble keeping a straight face.
Harry quickly swallowed his last bite, perhaps afraid Ron would steal it from him. George stared at his piece, looking rather forlorn.
“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” Hermione said, always the first to give in. She used her wand to open the cabinet and hover the two, full, steaming pizzas onto the coffee table. “We saved some for you. Perhaps you both could remember that the next time you get to it first.”
Ron’s face broke out into a wide grin, leaning over and kissing Hermione soundly. “I love you, Hermione.”
Hermione’s cheeks pinkened, but she looked quite pleased. Even Harry reached over and took another slice of the hot pizza.
“Why are you so late, anyway?” Ginny asked.
“Well, we need to restock quickly before the Christmas rush starts. Hogwarts being delayed pushed everything back, so now we’re behind,” George said, his mouth full. “It’s really good Ron is there.”
Ron nodded, his cheeks bulging. “Biddy,” he said, unintelligibly.
“He said it’s busy,” George translated. “We’re thinking of buying another premises strictly for manufacturing. We can hire a few extra hands for separate phases, that way we don’t have to share our product secrets.”
Ron nodded eagerly, his cheeks still full.
“That’s very clever,” Ginny said.
“Ron, if that’s your idea, I think I’ll kiss you,” Angelina said, leaning over to do just that.
“Oi, watch it,” George said, pulling her back into her chair. “There’s only so much I’m willing to share.”
Angelina rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see anything about you two in the Prophet today,” Angelina said, turning back to Ginny. “I told you the love potion stuff would peter out.”
Ginny snorted. “There’s a Quidditch reporter at the Prophet that I’ve become fairly friendly with. She covers all the Harpies’ matches. Anyway, she told me on the sly that someone wrote a biting letter on how foolish they were making themselves look. This person listed very clearly all the symptoms of being under a love potion, and how Harry doesn’t exhibit any of them. Also, that since he pined for me the entire time we were separated, there’s no love potion in the world that could last that long. She said the letter was anonymous, but the author really knew their stuff.”
Ginny looked pointedly at Hermione.
“It wasn’t me,” Hermione said, raising her hands in the air. “Although now that you say it, I wish I’d thought of it. It really wouldn’t be difficult to disprove.”
“It really wasn’t you?” Ginny asked, deflated. She’d been so certain. Who else knew that Harry had pined for her during the Horcrux hunt?
“It wasn’t,” Hermione said. “But bully for whoever did it.”
Ginny turned toward Harry, who’s face was very low over his pizza, the back of his neck extremely red.
“Well, it really doesn’t matter anyway. My reporter friend gave me a tip that tomorrow’s headline will be that I have him under the Imperius Curse,” she said.
Harry choked on his pizza.
Chapter 27: Unintended Consequences
Author's Notes:
Unintended Consequences
Harry pressed the lift button for level nine and tried to shake off his apprehension. An interdepartmental memo in the form of a paper airplane was still clutched in his hand. There was no reason for his disquiet, really, but truth be told, the Department of Mysteries still gave him the creeps. When he’d read the few brief words from Vivian requesting that he meet her in the brain room, Harry couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his whole body.
He really hated it down there.
Fortunately, the lift was empty, so he was able to avoid any unnecessary stares. It seemed everyone wanted to stop him for a chat these days. Hermione told them they were looking for an invitation to the wedding. She’d had a number of people approach her, as well, to see if she would influence Harry for them. People had gone mad.
When the lift stopped, the cool, female voice announced they’d reached the Department of Mysteries, and Harry hurried toward the black door. So much of the Ministry, and the entire Atrium, had been refurbished after the war, but that blasted lift voice remained unchanged. Harry wondered if there was anything that could be done about it.
He pushed open the black door and found himself in that nightmarish circular room. He knew how to use it now, however, so his stay was fortunately brief once he’d asked for the brain room. He inexplicably found himself missing Ron. It wasn’t as if he and Ron had always worked on the same cases, but it happened often enough that Harry felt the absence of his presence quite keenly. Ron had always been there, solid, irascible. He knew Ron was only a few blocks away in Diagon Alley, and he’d see him at home that evening, but sometimes, during the day, Harry simply felt bereft without him.
He shook his head. He was being stupid. The Department of Mysteries always made him feel stupid.
He spotted Vivian standing over a tank with a table set in front of it. He recognized two brains lying side-by-side on the table, and he suppressed another shudder, his mind flashing to the tentacles sinisterly twisting around Ron’s forearms. The quiet in the room felt unnatural. Vivian wore her Bubble-Head Charm, so Harry quickly cast one on himself as he approached the table.
“Morning, Vivian,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to act casual. She’d seen him at one of his lowest points — not to mention examined him in nothing but his pants — so interacting with her continued to be awkward. For him, anyway. She was as inscrutable as always.
“Good morning, Potter. Thank you for joining me,” she said, never taking her eyes off the brains in front of her. They were leaving wet marks on the table surrounding them.
“Care to share your thoughts?” Harry asked, wondering if she’d reprimand him for his cheek, but she actually smiled.
“I’m making a comparison on two of our Spattergroit victims,” she said. “The former owners of these two brains contracted it at relatively the same time, although their experiences were vastly different, despite the eventual fatality.”
Harry didn’t want to ask her who the victims were, or how she’d come to have their brains in her possession, but he couldn’t stop the macabre thought, wondering if one of them was a former Quidditch player, or someone Ginny had known personally. It was an eerie thought, and he grimaced, trying to keep his professional demeanor in place.
“And have you noticed anything?” he asked, pleased his voice was steady and sure.
“I didn’t, no, but one of the Healers I’ve been working with did. This brain,” she said, indicating the one on the left, “came from a Muggle, whereas this one is from a magical victim. Obviously both contagions were fatal, but the magical brain suffered vastly more damage.”
Harry looked at each brain in turn, but had no idea what she was talking about. They looked the same to him.
“I don’t see anything,” he admitted.
Vivian waved her wand, making a projection of one of the brains hover in the air in front of her, magnified to several times its natural size. “Here,” she said, indicating an area that had some shadowing, much darker than other areas. “This is the magical brain. Now, on both brains, the cerebral cortex — the outer surface of the brain — is smaller than a normal brain. The Healers have explained that the disease causes the brain to atrophy, and that is seen in both Muggle and Magical victims. The difference is in the severe shadowing we see only on the magical brain.”
“What does this mean for those who survived and recovered?” Harry asked sharply, his heart beating fast. Were Ron and Ginny’s brains damaged? They seemed perfectly normal, but what if the damage was permanent, and what consequences would it have?
Vivian raised her hand in a calming gesture, the image of the brain disappearing. “My apologies. I should’ve reassured you first. Once we knew what we were looking for, we were able to examine the brains of our living victims through their diagnostic scans. All of those treated with the Mandrake Draught — both Muggle and magical — have had normal brain scans. No shadowing remains, and the size is back to normal, meaning the brain has also regenerated.”
“I didn’t know that was possible,” Harry said.
“The purpose of the Mandragora root is to revert a subject back to their original state. It appears to have done that. I believe the brief memory lapses and… lags in their recovery, for lack of a better word, took place while the brain was undergoing this regeneration.
“What I want to draw your attention to now is the Muggle brain,” Vivian said, re-waving her wand, and this time, the other brain’s image appeared in front of them. This was about the same size, but there was none of the deep shadows that had appeared on the other brain. “You’ll notice the absence of the shadowing.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” Harry asked curiously.
Vivian paused. “I only have a theory at the moment,” Vivian said, her eyes guarded.
“Most discoveries begin with a theory,” Harry said, remembering a time when Professor Dumbledore had told him they were leaving the area of known fact and entering the realm of possibilities in regard to Tom Riddle. Dumbledore’s theories had proved amazingly accurate.
Vivian nodded. “Let me give you a little background first on how I came to be involved with this case. Although I never completed my qualifications to become a Healer, it was my area of study before joining the Ministry, so my background is medical. It’s my chosen area of study here in the Department of Mysteries. I was already investigating various Muggle anomalies after learning of the Muggle experimentation in the transcripts of various Death Eater trials when our contagion began.
“At the beginning, I felt I was spinning my wheels trying to connect the illness between the two groups since something affecting both to this extent was unprecedented. My curiosity was piqued however, by a conversation we had at Grimmauld Place about Muggle immunizations.”
“I vaguely recall the conversation,” Harry said. Truly, his mind had been in such turmoil once Ginny, and then Ron, became ill.
“My father was Muggleborn, so he’d had all his Muggle inoculations as a child, and explained them to me when I inquired about a mark left on his upper arm. Apparently, one of those inoculations left a scar. Anyway, I began a comparison on the number of Pureblood wizards affected as opposed to Half-bloods or Muggleborns. I found that the more serious cases were all in those of Pureblood parentage.”
“But this disease also affected Muggles. So how does that fit?” Harry asked.
Vivian nodded. “It did affect them, however, it affected them differently, and when we were trying to understand why, we thought, what if it was in the alterations made to Gethin’s experiment? What if, when the Death Eaters were trying to find a way to harm Muggles, and Gethin was trying to heal magical people of Spattergroit scarring, something was crossed.”
“I’m still not following you,” Harry said slowly.
“I think what the two entities were trying to do wasn’t compatible. The Death Eaters were trying to inflict a magical illness on Muggles, but as so few wizards truly understand anything about Muggles, they didn’t take the inoculations Muggles receive into consideration. I think the inoculations for common Muggle illnesses actually helped them recover from this altered magical disease. In turn, magical folk were unable to combat it, because only those with some sort of Muggle ancestry had the antibodies to fight it,” Vivian said.
“But Muggles did catch it,” Harry said, perplexed.
“They did, but those that died weren’t young, healthy individuals like their magical counterparts. They were mostly older, with underlying health conditions,” Vivian said. “Perhaps they weren’t up-to-date on their inoculations.”
“So, you think the Death Eaters created this to attack Muggles, and some sort of weird instance of fate turned it back on them?” Harry asked, wondering where this cosmic justice had been all those years he’d been fighting Voldemort.
Vivian shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m not certain about fate, but the turnabout would be a Death Eater’s worst nightmare, no?”
“So… where do we go with this?” Harry asked, suspecting she wanted something from him. This wasn’t the kind of information Vivian simply shared without getting something in return.
“I know you and Auror Savage are questioning Osbert Fawley later today. I wonder if I might sit in on that, or at least observe it?” she asked, moving to stand in front of him. The clicking of her heels against the floor was the only sound in the room.
Harry paused, deliberating. Owen wouldn’t be happy, but he thought her theory was worth investigation. Their skittish shop keeper had finally given them a name, and it had been the one Harry already had some suspicions about. “All right. Let me prepare Owen first, though, yeah?” he asked, grinning.
Vivian returned his smile. “Consider it done.”
It was a lot more difficult to convince Owen to allow Vivian into their questioning of Osbert Fawley than Harry had anticipated. Owen was still holding a grudge for the way Vivian had taken over their case. Harry also suspected he was still smarting over the way they’d been held in the safe house all that time ago without any explanation.
In the end, Gawain Robards made the call that she would be allowed to view the interrogation with him behind an observatory window. Owen wasn’t pleased, but Harry thought it was a good compromise. Vivian could fill in Robards on her theory, and perhaps they could startle Fawley with what they knew — or at least what he thought they knew. Harry carried a bit of parchment into the interrogation room, while Vivian had a matching piece with her on the other side of the glass. Anything written on the parchment would appear on both copies, that way they could communicate without the suspect being any the wiser.
“Now remember, this isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill suspect. He has some powerful connections, and if any of those connections are involved in this, I want to know about them. Mind your manners, but don’t allow him to feel he’s in control at any point of the interrogation,” Robards said, glaring particularly fiercely at Owen. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Owen said grudgingly, leading the way into the glass interrogation room.
Harry followed, wondering if they shouldn’t have given Owen longer to collect himself. He really didn’t like to lose. Harry thought it might be prudent if he led this one.
Osbert Fawley was an older wizard with neatly trimmed grey hair and mustache. He wore expensive, well-tailored, smoky grey robes, and his mouth was set in a grim line. His irritation at being called in for questioning exuded from him, and the Aurors had left him to stew for nearly an hour before joining him in the interrogation room. He was livid.
Unsurprisingly, all the letters, complaints and demands to stop their investigation had ceased once it became clear the Aurors were continuing their inquiry. Suddenly, those members of the Wizengamot who had staunchly defended Fawley were unavailable for comment. When Owen and Harry had followed up with some of the letter-writers, they had backpedaled their support, leaving Fawley out to dry. It seemed a lot of people didn’t want the subject of Muggle testing looked into too closely, but if it was going to happen, they didn’t want their names associated with it in any way.
Even some of the Fawley family had distanced themselves from Osbert, claiming he’d dissociated himself from them and had been acting erratically. He was an island, and the time had come for Owen and Harry to make their move.
“It’s about time,” Fawley snarled, eyes bulging, when they finally joined him. “I’m a busy man, and I don’t have all day to sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting out your blatant stall tactics.”
“Sorry for the delay,” Harry said pleasantly. “As I’m certain you’re aware, there are multiple cases being conducted.”
Fawley’s narrowed eyes were like cold chips of ice behind his gold-rimmed spectacles as he perused Harry appraisingly. “Mister Potter—” he began, but Harry interrupted.
“That’s Auror Potter, actually. Please continue.”
Fawley glared and clenched his teeth. “Auror Potter, I realize you’ve become accustomed to getting your own way under the current administration, but I can assure you, you’re making a mistake.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here to determine, isn’t it?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “I’d like to discuss some of the orders given during the time the Death Eaters were running St. Mungo’s, if you please.”
“The Death Eaters were never running St. Mungo’s,” Fawley said hotly, his cool demeanor cracking. “We followed orders from the Ministry, but the mission of our magical hospital remained the same — to give outstanding care to our magical brethren.”
“I see. A very noble goal. And does that lofty ideal include Muggleborns?” Harry asked lightly.
“It includes all who seek care through our doors and are born to magic, regardless of their parentage,” Fawley said, regaining some of his composure. Harry noted a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, however.
Harry nodded encouragingly. “That’s good to know, because according to some of the transcripts from various trials of Death Eaters now incarcerated in Azkaban, St. Mungo’s became a key arsenal in Voldemort’s war against the Muggles.”
As Harry expected he would, Fawley gasped and cowered away from the name.
“There’s no harm in hearing the name, Mr. Fawley. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back. Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort! See — nothing happens,” Harry said lightly, enjoying the way the man squirmed. The continued nonsense surrounding that name drove him spare.
An ugly scowl crossed Fawley’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You go ahead and be as smug as you want. You spent the war safely tucked away in hiding. Those of us who remained behind to uphold our responsibilities had a taboo to worry about. Those fears don’t go away easily,” he sneered.
Owen coughed dramatically. “You’re not seriously suggesting that Harry Potter had it easy during the war, are you, mate? Do you remember him being hunted as Undesirable Number One? He was never out of Voldemort’s mind. In fact, I think the whole taboo was put in place in an attempt to track him. Of course, most of his followers still avoid the name,” Owen said speculatively, his eyes darting to Fawley’s covered forearm.
“I was never one of his followers,” Fawley spat, pulling up the sleeve on his robe to reveal bare, unmarked skin. “See, there’s nothing there.”
“There were plenty who endorsed his ideals without taking the Mark,” Harry said quietly.
“Here’s what I think,” Owen said, leaning on the conference table separating them, staring directly into Fawley’s eyes. “I think the Death Eaters were using the potions lab at St. Mungo’s, experimenting with ways to spread their death and destruction to the Muggle world without them realizing what was happening. I imagine there were loads of experiments being conducted. It wouldn’t be that hard for some of those samples to simply disappear and be tucked away for potential use at a later date.”
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I have always supported the good Healers at St. Mungo’s,” Fawley said, the sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly, and he had to readjust them.
“Yes, you’ve always given loads of gold to worthy causes. Your reputation is outstanding,” Harry said calmly.
Fawley puffed himself up. “I’m glad to see you’ve noticed. Why on earth am I here being subjected to this lunacy, then?”
“You’re also a large contributor to the Quidditch League, am I correct?” Harry asked.
Fawley paled slightly and swallowed heavily. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked with forced calm.
“As I understand it, you’ve been advocating for a change in how gold is dispersed amongst the teams for some time now,” Harry said.
Fawley tugged at the collar of his robes. “What does this have to do with St. Mungo’s?”
Harry tilted his head to the side, shrugging. “Well, I imagine a large outbreak of an illness that is wiping out Muggles being traced back to a Quidditch match as being the spreader would go a long way in damaging the reputation of the League. It would sway public opinion away from the current League officials, perhaps leaving an opening for new leadership. As we all know, the general public can be very fickle,” he said casually.
Rivulets of sweat were trickling down Fawley’s face now. “You’re barking,” he gasped.
“Of course, that was before the results of the contagion began turning on the magical community. In fact, it affected Pureblood wizards more than any other, isn’t that correct?” Harry asked relentlessly.
Owen shook his head. “That certainly would look bad for someone who was supposedly going after Muggles. Such a culprit would have both groups upset with him, no?” he asked mockingly.
“This is outrageous. Just because I support both St. Mungo’s and the Quidditch League doesn’t imply I’m out to destroy both of them,” Fawley said, slamming his fist onto the table.
“But… that is how it’s now being perceived, is it not? At least amongst those aware of your machinations?” Harry asked.
Fawley’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any proof of my involvement in your outrageous fantasies?”
Harry casually looked down as writing appeared on his parchment. Looking back up, he asked the question Vivian had suggested, “Of course, most of the public is, as yet, unaware of how lethal the contagion was to Pureblood wizards. I wonder how they’ll feel when that fact hits the press?”
“I would imagine the press needs facts to run a story,” Fawley said in a strangled voice.
Harry laughed bitterly. “Oh, right. ‘A paradigm of integrity’ is always the phrase I use to describe the Prophet,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Imagine how angry the true Healers at St. Mungo’s would be, knowing the origins of this illness, which wreaked such havoc, came from within its own walls,” Owen said.
“Not to mention the Quidditch League learning it was to be used as a pawn of mass destruction over a power struggle,” Harry added.
“A power struggle for gold. It always comes back to gold, doesn’t it?” Owen asked.
“No, I can’t imagine either group will be happy. Anyone crossing both powerful entities would have a lot to answer for, not to mention the underground supporters of the Dark Arts who remain to this day. I can’t see how they’d support a disease that attacks Pureblood wizards,” Harry said musingly.
“That’s right, you have a lot of experience with those Dark Arts supporters, don’t you, Auror Potter? I know they like to play with their victims before killing them,” Owen said. “Some really ugly methods of torture. So uncivilized.”
Fawley glanced at Owen warily, his eyes darting at the glass walls. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think he was looking for an escape route. He was sweating profusely now.
Harry smiled tightly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. While we’ve been having our chat, a team of Aurors has been searching your residence,” he said.
“Your private Nottingham residence,” Owen added, grinning.
Ugly red coloring suffused Fawley’s face. “You have no right,” he spluttered.
“We have every right, and we’ve obtained the necessary paperwork. Now, as I said, a team has been searching your Nottingham residence,” Harry repeated.
“Including the secret cupboard behind the bookcase,” Owen added gleefully.
Shock and dismay crossed Fawley’s face, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly, that’s so mystery-novel. A secret cupboard behind your bookcase? Couldn’t you have come up with anything better than that?” he asked.
“Once they bring in any evidence they may find — and I bet they’ll find some — you’ll be placed under arrest with the recommendation we hold you in Azkaban until your trial,” Owen said.
“You’d best hope no other phials of potential deadly Muggle-killing potions are discovered. They’ll all be tested, of course,” Harry said.
Fawley’s eyes opened wide and panicked. “You can’t do that,” he said, breathing heavily. He’d lost all his bluster, and real fear shone in his eyes.
“Oh, you’ll find we can,” Owen said.
“They’ll kill me in Azkaban,” he howled. “I have a lot of enemies being held within those walls. You have to offer me some sort of protection, or my family will be certain there’s hell to pay.”
Well, perhaps he hadn’t lost all his bluster… yet. “It was your family who told us about the secret cupboard, oddly enough, so I don’t expect they’ll be contributing much to your defense. Here’s the thing, though: I don’t think you could’ve pulled off this sort of thing alone. You must’ve had some backers,” Harry said, leaving the thought dangling like a lifeline to a drowning man.
Fawley nervously pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and patted his forehead repeatedly in an effort to stall for time.
“Of course, were some of these mysterious backers brought to justice, that could only swing favor to your sentencing,” Harry said, sweetening the pot.
“Reliable information, of course, none of this vague, namby-pamby so-and-so might’ve been involved. Solid facts only,” Owen stated.
“You’re in trouble here, either way, Fawley. It’s all about whether you’re willing to go down alone,” Harry said, leaning back and crossing his arms. The ball was in Fawley’s court now. Harry hoped he’d take the bait and leak some names. He’d love to bring more of these blood-status obsessed fools to justice. They might not be wearing masks and robes, but they’d proven they could still be dangerous.
Fawley took a few breaths, attempting to pull himself back together and regain his composure. “I’m not going down alone, but if I’m giving up names, I want some assurances that I’ll be protected. And I want to see it in writing before I talk,” he said, sneering.
“That can be arranged. I’ll have my boss draw up a deal. You can look it over, but remember, if the names you supply aren’t valid, the contract will be null and void. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, but we can make certain you don’t have to pay with your life,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. He hated having to bargain with this man. It was ultimately his fault Ginny and Ron had become ill, but he knew there were more names than just his behind it all.
“You do that,” Fawley said, regaining some of his bluster. “I’m not saying anything more until I’ve seen this contract.”
“Well, you really haven’t said all that much. We’d already worked out it was you. You just didn’t realize how deeply we’d dug,” Owen said, smiling widely.
Fawley scowled. “Just get me your proposal, and I’ll let you know what I’m going to do,” he said.
“All right, then. Just so you know, the door will be sealed until we return,” Harry said, getting to his feet.
Smirking, Owen followed him out of the interrogation room.
Ginny pressed her lips together and slammed the button on the lift. She was still sweaty from practice, but she didn’t care. She’d had enough, and she was going to have a chat with Marietta and get a few things straight. She wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with.
She probably should’ve showered first, but bloody hell, she’d had enough of Marietta’s messing with her guest list. Hermione’s brilliant little charm had let her know it had been done again, and this time, it had gone too far. Harry was busy wrapping up his case, and although he’d offered to come with her, she felt she wanted to have this out with Marietta on her own.
She’d tried to be patient. She’d tried to explain that she and Harry wanted the actual wedding to be personal and intimate. They wanted to be surrounded by people they really knew, who they wouldn’t feel embarrassed or wary about showing their emotions in front of. This latter part was more for Harry’s benefit, of course, but still, their feelings ought to count for something. According to the Ministry, they didn’t count at all.
The invitations were about to go out, and her insides were fluttering just thinking about it. No one — not Marietta, not her mother, not bloody Gladys Flint — was going to mess with it. Ginny had heard all the stories about Banshee-Brides, and she really didn’t want to be considered one — but she’d been pushed as far as she was willing to accept. If they wanted to call her a Banshee-Bride, have at it. This was the only wedding she ever planned on having, and she’d be damned if she’d let anyone mess with it.
She was aware of people stepping away from her in the lift, but she wasn’t certain if it was because of the thunderous expression on her face, or the fact she’d neglected to shower after practice. Maybe her aura was simply emanating the fact she was spoiling for a fight. Whatever it was, people scurried out of her way as she stormed down the corridor. She spotted Marietta sitting at her desk and walked right up to the front of it.
“We need to talk,” she said without preamble.
“G-Ginny… do we have an appointment today?” Marietta asked, eyes wide as she moved several things around on her desk. Her curly hair was down today and looking particularly bushy, oddly reminding Ginny of Hermione.
“No, but we need to talk anyway,” Ginny said firmly. “Do you want to do it here, or would you prefer we use a conference room?”
“Is there a problem?” a third voice asked, peering around a nearby cubicle. Cho Chang, her hair now cut short, folded her arms across her chest, frowning when she saw with whom Marietta was speaking.
“No problem, and this doesn’t concern you,” Ginny said dismissively.
“Are you all right, Marietta? Shall I get a supervisor?” Cho asked, ignoring Ginny completely.
“N-no, it’s fine. I really don’t have time this afternoon, Ginny. Perhaps we could set up an appointment later in the week?” Marietta asked, pulling herself together.
“Certainly. But I thought you ought to know I’m sending out my wedding invitations today,” Ginny said, shrugging her shoulders and turning to walk away, well aware the reaction her words would bring.
“Today?” Marietta yelped. “No, you can’t do that. The lists haven’t been finalized. We need to discuss a few of the details.”
Ginny stopped, turning back around and placing her hands on her hips. “I think you’ll find I can. I’m sending out my wedding invitations to the guests on my list, not this one,” she said, tossing the list she had clutched in her hand, the one with Marietta’s alterations clearly highlighted by Hermione’s charm.
“What is this?” Marietta asked, her eyes scanning the list and seeing all the highlighted items. Her eyes widened even further as she read.
“What’s wrong?” Cho asked, moving around the desk uninvited to look at the guest list held in Marietta’s shaking hand.
“It’s my guest list, only a copy that my good friend Hermione Granger charmed to highlight any changes that I didn’t make. We suspected you were attempting to slip unapproved names in, and we’re not having it. You were assigned the task of organizing a Ministry function, not my actual wedding, and none of your changes are acceptable,” Ginny said, fuming.
Marietta lost her doe-eyed confusion at the mention of Hermione’s name. Her face reddened, and she narrowed her eyes. “Granger, of course. I’m surprised she didn’t curse the list whilst she was at it.”
“There was no need. We already suspected you were still a sneak,” Ginny said coolly.
If possible, Marietta flushed an even deeper red.
“That’s uncalled for,” Cho said angrily, placing a hand on Marietta’s shoulder. “She’s just doing her job.”
“No, she’s not. She was told repeatedly that she had no say in the actual wedding. Her job is to plan the Ministry function that we agreed to. She has full reign to choose the menu, the decorations, the music, I really don’t care,” Ginny snapped.
“That’s the problem — it shows,” Marietta said, her voice shaking with rage. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that this Ministry gala is merely a formality to you, that the wedding is the important invitation. Of course, people want to be on the select list. That’s only natural. This gala is an afterthought, a concession to the hundreds of people who want to be involved and congratulate the wizard who spared us all a lifetime of misery and torture. But that’s too much to ask of the great Harry Potter and the shrew he’s chosen to marry, isn’t it?”
“Marietta,” Cho said awkwardly.
Ginny saw red. “A shrew, am I? For standing up for myself and the plans I have for my own wedding? I can live with that. Harry doesn’t owe anyone anything anymore. He’s fulfilled far more than should ever been asked of him. This party is simply because of other people who can’t accept that and feel they still have a right to anything to do with him. This is what we agreed to. This is what the Minister agreed to. Your alterations aren’t being done on anyone’s authority, so stop pretending they are. This is nothing but the expectations of certain individuals who feel the need to interfere for their own gain.”
“My apologies,” Marietta said through clenched teeth. “I was out of line.”
“The invitations are going out. You will no longer be consulted on anything to do with it, even just out of courtesy, as you’ve proven you can’t be courteous. As for the gala, you need to decide if it’s something you can handle, or if it should be passed on to another organizer,” Ginny said, past caring who made the rest of the arrangements. In the mood she was in, she wasn’t even certain if she was going to show up.
“That’s not acceptable. You’ve even crossed off the names of the Minister’s security detail,” Marietta said, spluttering and waving her altered list between them.
“Yes, I did. The security at Hogwarts will be enhanced, a number of the guests are Aurors, and the entire remaining Order of the Phoenix will be in attendance. The Minister will be quite secure,” Ginny said.
“That’s not for you to decide. The security detail is also for your own protection as not everyone is as enamored with the two of you as you seem to think they are,” Marietta snapped.
Ginny tossed her head back in scoffing laughter. “As if we’d ever trust you to arrange security.”
“Ginny, it’s a wedding, people are there to celebrate. A security detail will not partake in any libations, merely be there to do their job,” Cho said, placating. “Marietta is right. I think there are still a number of enemies out there who might want to do you harm.”
“Have you ever met any of the house-elves at Hogwarts? They take protecting Harry very seriously, and house-elves know everything. Trust me, if there’s anything suspicious afoot, an alarm will be sounded faster than any security can get their wands out of their holsters,” Ginny said.
“House-elves?” Marietta asked. “You can’t be serious. All they’re good for is cleaning up the mess afterwards.”
“Clearly you haven’t actually ever spoken with one, then. Harry has managed to keep himself alive without Ministry assistance for most of his life. I don’t feel it’s necessary now. Besides, did you think I wouldn’t notice that half the names you added on the security detail were actually high-profile donors to Ministry causes? You weren’t very subtle there, at all,” Ginny said scathingly. “In fact, downright sneaky.”
“How dare you?” Marietta said, sputtering.
“What on earth is the meaning of all this shouting? Your voices are carrying across the department,” Gladys Flint said, storming up to Marietta’s desk, the lines in her face showing deeper with her intense disapproval. “I will not have a scene.”
“Marietta has ignored the instruction not to add names to the wedding guest list, and I’m informing you all now that your alternations have been vetoed. The wedding invitations have been sent, unaltered,” Ginny said, glancing at her watch.
“What do you mean they’ve been sent?” Cho asked sharply. “You said they were being sent this afternoon.”
“And so I did. They were scheduled to be released simultaneously at half three. They’ve just left the Hogwarts owlery,” Ginny said, smiling sweetly.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Miss Weasley,” Gladys said, perplexed. “Certainly, we could’ve come up with something mutually acceptable.”
“This list is mutually acceptable — to Harry and me — the ones actually getting married. Marietta has expressed that I need to take a more personal involvement in the Ministry gala, so I’ll be expecting your notes detailing any decisions that have been made, and I’ll add my own two Knuts, as requested,” Ginny said, eyes flashing.
“That’s not what I said,” Marietta said, aghast.
“Didn’t you tell me that I wasn’t respecting the gala’s importance, and its prominence to those invited to attend? I think you’re right. I think I should take more of a personal involvement, so I can be certain nothing too ostentatious or anything that would make Harry or me uncomfortable is being planned. You’ll have a list of the modifications I’d like to see made,” Ginny said unflinchingly. “Oh, by the way, I noticed you added Pius Thicknesse to the list. I want him removed, if you please.”
“He's the former Minister,” Marietta said.
“He’s a former Death Eater,” Ginny countered.
“He was under the Imperius Curse, he couldn’t help what he did under that curse, no one can. As a former Minister, he deserves the respect due his station,” Gladys said firmly.
“You can respect him all you like, but he’s not to be invited to the celebration of our wedding. We were quite clear about no Death Eaters, former or otherwise,” Ginny said, voice rising.
“Is everything all right, Ginevra?” a very familiar voice asked from behind her.
Ginny spun around. “Dad!” she gasped, shocked to find him standing there in his work robes, frowning at the lot of them.
“What brings you here? I wasn’t aware you were visiting today. Did you come right from practice?” he asked, his kind blue eyes surveying the scene from behind his glasses.
“I did — sorry about that,” Ginny said, sheepishly. Leave it to her dad to be the one to point out the fact she stunk. “I didn’t feel this could wait. The wedding invitations have been sent, I’ve assured your team that security for the wedding is being provided by Hogwarts, and that I need to take more involvement in the Ministry gala now. Oh, and that Pius Thicknesse is uninvited.”
“Thicknesse? Oh, I can’t imagine anyone would’ve added him to your list,” Arthur said, shocked.
“Imagine it, then,” Ginny replied grimly.
“Gladys? What is the meaning of this?” Arthur asked, turning his attention to the supervisor of the Event and Conference Coordinators.
Gladys looked flustered, but she fluttered her hands, placing one at her neck. “Oh! Well, as a former Minister—” she began.
“No. He might’ve served his sentence and been excused of most charges, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences. I’m certain our current Minister would agree. Besides, didn’t Harry stipulate no member of Voldemort’s inner circle was acceptable?” Arthur asked sternly.
“Yes, sir,” Gladys gasped, shuddering at the sound of the name.
Cho and Marietta looked at one another furtively before dropping their eyes to the floor.
“Miss Chang? Why are you here? I wasn’t aware you had anything to do with this event,” Arthur said, business-like.
“Er, I don’t actually, but I heard the commotion,” Cho said, glancing once again at Marietta.
“Very well, then. Why don’t you get back to your own work, shall we?” he asked, smiling tightly.
Cho nodded hastily, practically fleeing from the area.
“Now, I’d suggest we take care of any pressing needs without continued shouting on the floor. I think it would be best, in future, to arrange an appointment to discuss any further details,” Arthur said, looking at the remaining three in disapproval.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Arthur.”
“Yes, Dad,” Marietta, Gladys, and Ginny said together.
No one could ever make her feel so small without raising their voice by any measure the way her father could, and Ginny felt properly abashed. She wasn’t at all surprised that the other women felt it, too.
“Very good,” Arthur said briskly. “Now, what absolutely cannot wait?”
“One thing, whilst we have you here,” Gladys said swiftly. “You mentioned there would be a photograph of the actual wedding provided. Might I have the name of the photographer so I can give the specifications needed?”
Ginny paused, her instincts screaming that it wasn’t a good idea to let the name of the photographer granted access to the wedding become publicly known.
“Oh, there’s no need. I can take care of that as I’ll be attending both parties. Is there anything else?” Arthur asked, apparently understanding Ginny’s hesitation.
Gladys pressed her lips together very tightly. “Very well,” she said. “I do hope we can plan this event without further misunderstandings. As your betrothed works for the Ministry, and the Quidditch League falls under the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I’m certain you want what’s best for all involved.”
“Oh, and how many other Aurors’ or Quidditch players’ weddings have you meddled in?” Ginny asked tartly.
“All right, I think that’s as far as we can hope to get today,” Arthur said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Ginny, can I walk you to the lift?”
Ginny knew a dismissal when she heard one. She quietly walked with her father towards the lift, shoulders slumped.
“Ginny,” her dad said quietly once they were well away from Marietta’s desk, “I understand how upsetting this has all been for you and Harry, and believe me, I intend to have words with Gladys about it. However, I do expect you to conduct yourself appropriately at the Ministry. This is not only where Harry works, it’s where I work, and I need to respect my employees if I want them to respect me.”
“Sorry, Dad,” she said glumly. “I’m just so tired of rowing with them. Is it really so much to ask that the most personal experience of our lives be witnessed only by those we feel closest to?”
Arthur smiled, wrapping his arm around her despite her grubby practice gear. “Ah, but here’s the thing, love. Being celebrities makes a lot more people feel they are closer to you than they actually are. Try not to let it trouble you. When the day arrives, everyone there will be wishing nothing but the best for the both of you.”
Ginny blinked sudden moisture from her eyes. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, my firecracker,” Arthur said tenderly.
Chapter 28: The Important Things in Life
Author's Notes: Hope you all enjoyed my interpretation of their magical celebrations. My older two sons returned to school, so this was a nice distraction to keep be busy.
As always, huge thanks to my beta team – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for always sparing time to read and edit for me. I tend to write ahead, and their feedback always keeps me moving and able to control that itch to post before it’s ready.
The Important Things in Life
Ginny slipped a simple gold bangle bracelet on her wrist and stared at herself critically in the mirror. She wore her favorite jeans with the swirls on the back pockets, and a black, pullover jumper with a high collar. Simple and comfortable, as suggested. Ginny frowned at her reflection, feeling irritated.
She hated when someone else knew something that she didn’t.
She added a plain gold chain around her neck. She’d put on a bit more make-up than she usually wore, but knowing the group she was heading out with, she thought it was appropriate.
Harry entered their bedroom wearing a dashing Muggle suit with a red tie. It clung to his shoulders so perfectly, Ginny had to fight to resist the urge to run her hands along them.
“Are you certain you don’t know where I’m going?” she asked petulantly, unreasonably annoyed with him for not knowing where the girls were taking her.
“No one told me anything,” he said, grinning, and wrapping his arm around her waist. “They didn’t tell you where I’m going, did they?”
She rested her head back against his chest. “No. They refused to tell me,” she said, still irritated with all her brothers over this. Usually, Ron could never keep his mouth shut.
Harry chuckled as if knowing exactly what she was thinking. “That’s because they knew we’d let each other know. It’s supposed to be a surprise, Whisky. We’ll both know in a couple hours.”
“Don’t call me that,” Ginny snapped, still frustrated. “It’s impossible to dress without knowing where you’re going.”
“You look beautiful,” Harry said, kissing the top of her head. “Besides, you can transfigure anything you need.”
She hated when he was reasonable. Tonight was to be Harry’s stag night and her hen party, but none of their friends thought they ought to know what had been planned.
“They told me not to get too posh, and wear something comfortable, yet you’re supposed to dress like an uppity Muggle. We’re obviously not going to be together,” she said, pouting her lower lip.
“Well, I think the whole idea of a stag and hen night is supposed to be a sort of last hurrah before getting hitched, no?” he asked, chuckling.
“They’re probably taking you somewhere that Muggle girls take all their clothes off,” Ginny said, irritated with herself by how much the idea bothered her.
“No, they won’t. I told Ron not to do anything that would cause a press frenzy if they got wind of it,” he said, kissing the top of her head once again.
“As if they’re going to listen to you! They thrive off embarrassing you, Harry, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said grumpily.
“I had noticed, funnily enough, but even though they like to cause me discomfort, they’re oddly protective of anyone else doing it,” Harry said, perplexed.
Ginny had to smile, filled with fondness for him and all her brothers, despite their new habit of keeping secrets. “I still wish we could go together.”
“You’ll have fun out with all your friends. You talked about doing it all the time when we were quarantined. Maybe you’ll be the one going to a Muggle place where the blokes take all their clothes off,” he said, and a crease formed between his eyes as he thought about it.
“I think a few of the Harpies’ fanboys offered to do just that,” Ginny said, giggling when she thought of some of the bizarre offers she’d received from the groupies.
“Great,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He’d never been thrilled with the Harpies’ followers. “I think it’s your teammates you have to worry about more than your friends, to be honest.”
“It’s just a good thing they put me back on the first team, or none of them would’ve been invited,” Ginny said, disgruntled.
When the Quidditch League had finally recovered from its losses during the contagion, Ginny had been benched for the first few matches. She’d been told it was to give her more time to recover from her illness, but Ginny knew that was a load of dragon dung as Galinda Chen, another of the team’s Chasers who’d also been infected, had started playing right away.
The team’s owner had said Galinda’s case was much milder than Ginny’s had been, but Ginny wasn’t buying it. She’d been benched for her refusal to cooperate with the League’s desire to sensationalize her wedding for their gain. Ruth Getter, long-time reserve and suck-up to the team’s captain, Gwenog Jones, had been given Ginny’s spot. If they’d thought Ginny would immediately cave to their shenanigans, they’d been sadly mistaken. Ginny had ranted and raved, but she folded her arms and sat on the bench, rolling her eyes whenever the press focused upon her.
It took three matches, three dismal losses, the last of which Ruth had actually tossed the Quaffle to an opposing player, before the team announced Ginny was fit to retake her spot. She’d scored seven goals that match, and the Holyhead Harpies earned their first win of the season.
It hadn’t stopped the League or the Harpies’ brass trying to get her to agree to publicity for the team, but they had stopped threatening to bench her. Of course, Harry had still come to her matches even when she was a reserve, but he’d worn his Invisibility Cloak in the stands. She’d wanted him to still wear it for the match where she was reinstated, but he’d made a point by publicly cheering her on but refusing to make any comments to the press.
“I don’t think they’ll dare to ever bench you again,” Harry said, laughing. “It wasn’t your teammates’ faults, though. They really rallied behind you.”
“They did,” Ginny conceded. “They’re all coming tonight, except Ruth Geller. She hasn’t spoken to me since I took my place back.”
“D’you think she’s going to be traded? Quidditch Illustrated seems to think so,” Harry said. “I read an article hinting at it last week.”
Ginny shrugged. “I can’t see any teams lining up to sign her after that wretched performance in the last match. The Chudley Cannons might, I suppose,” Ginny said, quite pleased she’d managed to keep her gloating to a minimum.
“Ron’ll suddenly become a fan,” Harry said, chuckling. Ron had been one of Ruth’s biggest detractors when she’d been assigned to Ginny’s spot.
“He’ll somehow find a way to justify it, even in his own warped sense of Quidditch justice,” Ginny said, laughing.
“Oi, Harry! Are you ready yet? We were supposed to be at Bill’s ten minutes go,” Ron said, interrupting them by loudly pounding on their bedroom door.
“Speak of the devil,” Harry muttered under his breath.
“Why are you meeting at Bill’s? What’s he got to do with this?” Ginny asked, remaining encircled in Harry’s arms but shouting through the door.
“Never you mind. Don’t you have your own plans to be getting on with?’ Ron asked smugly. “Come on, Harry. Unhook your lead and let’s go.”
“Unhook his lead?” Ginny asked, spluttering. “How do you know he’s not the one keeping me here?”
“Because he’s not the one who’s been complaining non-stop for days about not knowing where you’re going,” Ron said. “Padma and Parvati are here, by the way. They’re all waiting for you.”
Harry met Ginny’s eyes in the mirror in front of them, raising his eyebrows. “I think it’s time we say good night. You’ll have fun as soon as I’m gone, anyway,” he said.
“That’s not true,” she replied, twisting in his arms and tilting her head upwards so she was facing him. “Kiss me properly, then, so I don’t forget you whilst you’re gone.”
Harry grinned, his green eyes twinkling brightly as he entwined his fingers in her hair, He leaned over her, clutching her to his chest, and her head fell back as she opened her lips to meet his. The kiss was heated and passionate. The stubble on Harry’s jaw caused her sensitive skin to tingle, but she didn’t care. He clutched her to him fiercely, making her breathless and dizzy. She clung to his shoulders to keep her balance. He had leaned her so far back that she could feel the ends of her hair brushing the dresser behind them. She stumbled slightly when he finally pulled back to release her, blinking at him dazedly, breathless.
“I hope you’ll remember what you have to come home to now,” he said cockily, his eyes dilated as he stared at her hungrily.
For once, Ginny was at a loss for words. She nodded mutely, lifting her hand to rub her swollen lips. Merlin, that boy could kiss.
Harry grinned, kissing her forehead before turning and walking over to the door. She didn’t care what he said, he was definitely strutting. He pulled the door open just as Ron had raised his hand to knock again. Harry had to duck to miss Ron’s pounding knuckles.
“Watch it,” Harry said.
“It’s about time,” Ron said, peering at his best mate closely with a look of disgust. “Merlin’s balls, Harry, wipe the lipstick off your face, and let’s go.”
Ginny giggled as Harry quickly swiped at his lips, turning to close the door. “Love you. Have fun,” he said.
“Love you, too,” Ginny replied as the door closed. She turned back to the mirror to repair the damage to her very smudged lipstick, feeling the stubble burn on her still-tingling skin. Staring at her reflection, she decided she was ready, and there was no point in stalling. It was time to find out what her crazy friends and teammates had planned for the evening.
She could hear loud voices coming from the sitting room as she descended the stairs, and could tell some of her friends had already started priming for their evening out. Someone had turned on the wireless, and a bottle of Firewhisky rested open on the coffee table. Padma and Parvati Patil sat on the sofa, Hermione between them, while Angelina, Fleur, Audrey and Luna were gathered around the wireless.
“Luna!” Ginny said, smiling widely as she entered the room. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.”
Greetings were shared all around, and Parvati slipped a frilly white hat on Ginny’s head with the word BRIDE written in glaring pink letters. Ginny vowed to ditch it at the first opportunity. She felt quite pleased with her decision to limit the hen night to the witches whom she was closest to. Some of her Prewett cousins had been angling for an invite with a plethora of owls recently. She hadn’t seen most of them since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and she suspected they were far more intrigued with who she was marrying rather than just the fact she was getting married.
“Well, I’ve been so busy traipsing through the jungle in search of the forked-tongue jezebel lizard, I just thought I was a due a night out with the girls so I could get thoroughly pissed. I haven’t been properly pissed in ages,” Luna said, raising her glass of Firewhisky in the air as if to prove she was already making headway.
“Er… brilliant,” Ginny said as Luna poured Ginny her own glass. “Where are Siobhan and Liz?”
“They’re coming. I’ve left the Floo open for them and your teammates. Once everyone is here, we can go,” Hermione said.
“Go where?” Ginny asked immediately.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Angelina said, grinning wickedly. There was something about the expression on Angelina’s face that made the hair on Ginny’s neck stand on end. That couldn’t be good.
Ginny looked around. While Fleur and Angelina were dressed comfortably, as Ginny had been instructed to do, the others were all rather dressed-up. It didn’t look as if they could all be going to the same place. Fleur, of course, managed to make track pants and a black, tunic-style top look chic and elegant.
“Don’t worry so much about where we’re going,” Padma said, watching her. “Sit down, have a drink and catch up. I think you’re going to enjoy yourself if you just get out of your head.”
Ginny sighed and sank down onto one of wing-backed arm-chairs. She slung her legs over one arm, and downed her Firewhisky in one go. “All right, then. I’m in,” she said, grinning at Padma’s surprised expression.
“Excellent,” Parvati squealed, refilling Ginny’s glass. “Wait until you see your dress, Ginny. It’s coming along beautifully.”
“Yeah, I — we were hoping you’d let us take a photograph of you wearing it once it’s done. You need to understand we want to use it for publicity, though. Are you all right with that?” Padma asked hesitantly, her shoulders tense.
Ginny really didn’t have to think about it. She wanted to help her friends’ business succeed. “’Course you can, as long as it doesn’t appear until after the wedding. I don’t want anyone getting a sneak peek.”
“Absolutely,” Parvati said, beaming, reaching around Hermione to squeeze her sister’s shoulder.
“Hello, hello!” Demelza Robbins called, entering the room with Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet in tow. Ginny had played Quidditch with all of them at Hogwarts. She noticed that all of them were wearing extremely casual, sporty clothing.
Katie and Alicia moved to stand by Angelina while Demelza sank into the other armchair next to Ginny’s. “We met up at the Leaky and decided to have a drink before coming over. I should’ve known that you’d all be doing the same here,” she said.
Ginny poured her a Firewhisky. “How are things at Nimbus going?” she asked. Demelza had taken a job with the famous broom makers after Hogwarts, and she’d been travelling all over the Continent promoting their newest addition.
“Things are great now that we could all get back to work. I was going spare being stuck in the house. My main source of contact was Zacharias Smith, who works in the Broomstick Regulation Office at the Ministry, and you all know how I feel about him,” Demelza said, scrunching up her face.
“I didn’t know he was working at the Ministry,” Hermione said, eyes widening. “Although, I really don’t have much contact with that department.”
“He’s still the biggest gossip you’ll ever find. I’ve heard all about your going toe-to-toe with Marietta Edgecombe, Ginny,” Demelza said. “He went on and on about it, and how upset Marietta was afterwards.”
“Marietta Edgecombe? Wasn’t she the one who betrayed the DA to Umbitch?” Alicia asked, turning toward their conversation.
“She’s the one,” Padma said sourly. “Not a prime, outstanding member of Ravenclaw House, if you ask me.”
“What were you rowing with her about?” Alicia asked.
“What else? Wedding plans. She’s in charge of organizing the Ministry gala,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“Oh, is that why the Prophet reported that you were storming around the Ministry like a raving Banshee Bride?” Parvati asked, giggling.
“I am not a Banshee Bride. She just drives me spare,” Ginny said crossly. The Prophet had done a large spread highlighting Ginny’s tantrum at the Ministry, and how she was making unreasonable demands of all the employees. If it wasn’t for the fact that Marietta actually knew Ginny was cancelling plans rather than adding anything, she might’ve thought it was Marietta who leaked the story herself. Grudgingly, she had to admit it could’ve been anyone on the floor that day, however, as they’d had their go at one another right in the middle of the department. It would’ve been easy to get the details wrong that it was Ginny making additional demands.
“Ha! Why am I not surprised someone would accuse you of being a Banshee Bride?” Siobhan asked, entering the room with Liz, both of whom had been Ginny’s roommates since her first year at Hogwarts. They’d had a rough start, what with Ginny being possessed and all, but they’d eventually moved past their mistrust and misgivings and become supportive friends. Losing their fourth roommate, and really the glue who’d linked them all, during the Battle had only strengthened their bond.
After many squeals and greeting ensued, Siobhan nudged Ginny over and sat with her on the armchair. “So, what’s the real story behind the Banshee Bride article? I can’t imagine that our delicate little flower is making so many demands,” she asked, knocking Ginny’s shoulder with her own.
“Yeah, some of the witches I work with at the apothecary were gossiping about it. They think being a celebrity has gone to your head,” Liz said, smirking.
“Why is it always me?” Ginny asked, grumbling. “I haven’t seen any reports that Harry’s being a Banshee Bride supporter.”
“Is he?” Siobhan asked. “I thought you said you weren’t a Banshee Bride.”
“Shut it, Siobhan. You know what I mean. It’s always the bride they accuse of being unreasonable,” Ginny said crossly.
“To be fair, I theenk you might’ve referred to me as a Banshee Bride at one time,” Fleur said smiling.
Ginny felt her face going scarlet. “That’s not the point. I haven’t been making demands. I’ve actually been trying to get Marietta to tone things down,” she said. “The only demand actually came from Harry, and that was that no Death Eaters were allowed on the list.”
“Oh, they didn’t try to invite Death Eaters?” Liz asked, aghast.
Ginny nodded. “They did. Apparently, even the Quidditch Commissioner wants to attend my wedding.”
“Oh, I did hear about that. My boss was quite put out you nixed that one,” Angelina said. “They had a whole meeting to discuss possible ways to change your minds.”
Ginny was growing rapidly irritated. She more than pulled her weight scoring goals for the Harpies. She didn’t remember the Quidditch Commissioner demanding an invite to any other player’s wedding. “What are we waiting for? Are we going out, or is the hen party just to sit around and gossip about how bad a match the Prophet thinks I am for Harry?” she asked irritably.
“That just proves they don’t know you,” Siobhan said, attempting to cheer her up. It didn’t work.
“We’re waiting for your teammates to arrive. They’ve made some arrangements,” Angelina said, grinning.
“What sort of arrangements?” Ginny asked warily.
“You’ll see,” Angelina said, winking at Alicia.
Ginny folded her arms across her chest, feeling decidedly less festive. Luna came over and refilled her drink. “Don’t worry, Ginny. Everyone knows Harry is completely besotted with you. I think some of the reporters might actually be jealous of that, so that’s why they like to point out imagined flaws in your relationship. I love you both, but even I sometimes get jealous of what you’ve found,” Luna said.
This was one of those awkward things that Luna often said that made Ginny feel uncomfortable. She loved her friend for attempting to cheer her up, though, and she leaned over to hug her to show her support since she didn’t know what to say to that profound statement.
“Harry just wants you to be happy,” Hermione said, smiling. “As long as he thinks you’re happy, he’ll put up with anything.”
Before Ginny could say a thing, a loud thumping came from the stairway, along with a cacophony of female voices. Ginny knew before they entered that her team had arrived. They were notoriously noisy. Gwenog Jones, team captain and leader of the pack, led them all into the sitting room, sharing greetings and waves. It didn’t matter that Gwenog didn’t really know any of them. She was usually the most confident one in the room.
Ginny made the introductions, and was pleased to see none of her friends wearing that dazed, star-struck expression some people usually had upon seeing the team. Beaters Willow and Gilda added a few bottles of Firewhisky to the collection and began pouring generous amounts into glasses for the rest of the team.
All of them were dressed in black track suits, similar to the green ones they all usually wore in the training room.
“All right,” she said loudly, causing the room to still and look toward her. “Now are you going to tell me what we’re doing this evening? Why are you all dressed the same? If we’re going to a pub, you’ll look ridiculous.”
“Sit down and have another drink, Weasley,” Gwenog said easily. “You’re not in charge here, we are, but I think you’re going to like it. I have a Portkey to take us all there, but first, we need to change a few things.”
She pulled several masks from her pocket, all of them black except one white one with sparkles around the edges. They were similar to the sort of thing one might wear to a masquerade party.
“What on earth are those for?” Ginny asked.
“This one matches your hat,” Gwenog said, smirking and handing Ginny the white one. She gave the rest out to the team. “Now, we have to do something about your hair. It’s too recognizable.”
Apprehensive, Ginny watched warily as Gwenog pointed her wand and transformed Ginny’s hair to a much darker shade of red, nearly brown.
“Why can’t we be recognized?” Ginny asked, although she had to admit the thought of going through the evening anonymously held great appeal. She’d appeared in the pages of the Daily Prophet far too often lately.
“Trust me, it’s better this way. You all might want to make a few adjustments if you’re seen with Ginny a lot. We don’t want anyone to know who we all are,” Gwenog said.
The hairs on the back of Ginny’s neck stood on end. “Er… we’re not doing anything illegal, are we?” she asked, envisioning spending her wedding night in Azkaban.
“Let’s just say it’s better if it doesn’t leak out that the Holyhead Harpies were there, all right?” Gwenog said, smirking.
Fleur transfigured her hair to a darker shade, and Hermione shortened hers considerably before they all gathered around an empty milk jug. Ginny hesitantly reached out a finger — in for a Knut, in for a Galleon — and felt the familiar tug behind her naval. Portkeys were Ginny’s least favorite method of travel, and she regretted the Firewhisky she’d consumed as soon as she was jostling through space, Luna on one side, Siobhan on the other.
They appeared on a mossy glen just outside a wood. It was colder here than it had been in London, and their breath came out in puffs of vapor in the chilly air.
“Oops, should’ve thought of warming charms. You’re all on your own for that,” Gwenog said cheerfully, looking around.
The glen was very crowded and full of a carnival-like atmosphere. Jugglers and clowns walked amongst the crowd, who tossed Knuts into their empty hats as they performed. Vendors sold racing paraphernalia along with various sweets and snacks. It was like a hidden party with a sense of excitement and urgency in the air.
“Hold on. I’ve been to something like this before. Are we at an illicit broom race?” Ginny asked, feeling the first real flicker of excitement she’d felt all evening.
“Yes, we are,” Angelina squealed, linking her arm with Ginny’s “I remembered how much you enjoyed the last one. Once I spoke with a few of your teammates, they wanted in, and it all sort of came together.”
“We can’t let anyone know who we really are, so that’s the reason for the masks. Don’t do anything to call attention to yourself — other than win, of course,” Gwenog said, as if that was expected.
“Win? Do you mean we’re actually racing?” Ginny gasped, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. The one time she’d seen a race like this, she’d been fascinated with one witch in particular, and longed to try it herself.
“Of course, we’re racing. Why else would we come?” Angelina asked, looking at Ginny as if she were daft. Of course, Ginny felt rather daft wearing the silly bride hat. She tried to surreptitiously remove it, but Luna caught her hand and instead, straightened the silly hat.
“You’re joking,” Ginny said. It wasn’t like her captain to do anything to risk getting suspended, but she supposed the season was over for the winter now, anyway.
“Obviously, none of us has ever done this before, so we’ll have to qualify for the big race at the end, but that shouldn’t be a problem,” Gwenog said, narrowing her eyes and looking at her team fiercely, as if daring them not to qualify.
“Are we all racing?” Ginny asked, looking around at her other friends who weren’t on the team.
“I’m not,” Hermione said at once. “That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy cheering you on, even though we’ll all be in so much trouble if we’re caught here.”
“I am, and so are Katie, Alicia, and Demelza,” Angelina said. Ginny was unsurprised by any of those names.
“Oh, and Fleur is racing,” Angelina added.
Ginny stared at her beautiful sister-in-law in shock. “Fleur? But you don’t like flying,” she said, remembering how Fleur had chosen to ride a Thestral rather than a broom the night they’d all gone to rescue Harry from the Dursleys. She’d been so angry to be left out of that, too, but of course, she’d been underage at the time. Harry was, too, but they’d ignored her when she’d tried to point that out.
“I don’t enjoy it, no, but I do love a competition, so I wouldn’t miss it,” Fleur said, putting her own mask on.
“We all reckoned it would be a good idea to wear the masks so no one could put together that we’re all connected to you. Not that that’s likely, but you’ve been in the papers so much, we didn’t want to take any chances,” Angelina explained.
“Besides, with you being identified as a bride by that hat, it’s obvious we’re all together and with you, so no one should suspect the team,” Gwenog said.
Ginny privately thought that unlikely once they all flew so well, but she was too eager to race to lodge an objection.
“All right, those of us racing, we need to check in at the starting point, which, from what I’ve been told, is just on the other side of the wood. There should be a path leading through it,” Angelina said.
“We’ll meet the rest of you when it’s over. Try to stay in groups. Our return Portkey isn’t on a timer, so it’s whenever we’re ready,” Gwenog barked as if giving orders on a typical day at practice.
Ginny and Hermione shared a grin. Hermione had heard all about Gwenog’s bossiness. Hermione squeezed her hand once, and Ginny followed the rest of the racers. They found a well-worn path through the wood, and soon had their names registered to fly. Willow handed Ginny her Firebolt. Ginny smiled gratefully. Naturally, she hadn’t thought of it since she hadn’t been aware of what she was going to do, but she would’ve regretted having to race on anything else but her own beloved Firebolt.
“We thought of everything,” Willow said, beaming.
Ginny was assigned number five-hundred eighty-eight, and she was scheduled to fly in the second race, along with Fleur and Katie Bell. Galinda Chen, the third Harpies’ Chaser, who’d also suffered the effects of the Spattergroit strain, was their only member racing in the first round.
Galinda easily won her race, but Ginny was happy to get to observe one before doing it herself. She purposefully moved to the other end of the starting line, away from Katie and Fleur. She intended to compete, but she didn’t want to get too competitive against her friends. Best if she didn’t see their faces.
She mounted her broom as instructed and gripped the handle. As soon as the whistle blew, the crowd noise, the wind, the nip in the air, all of it disappeared. Ginny lay flat against her broom, taking off like a spell. There was a slower racer beside her infringing slightly into her lane, but Ginny merely dropped her height, continuing to move forward. She imagined she could feel her toes hit the ground, but knew that realistically, she was still too high for that. She easily outstripped her competition, and was only vaguely aware of the racer beside her swearing at her maneuver.
By the end of the early qualifying races, the only ones who’d been eliminated were Fleur, Katie and Alicia. Both Angelina and Demelza, along with all the Harpies, had qualified for the main event. Neither Katie nor Alicia had flown much recently, and Fleur had never enjoyed it. None of them seemed too disappointed by not making the final heat.
As they were getting ready for the big race, Ginny once again tried to remove the hat identifying her as a bride. Willow stopped her this time, shaking her head.
“Half the fun for us is seeing you wearing it,” she said, grinning.
Ginny scowled, but left it in place. The announcer at the last race, which she’d won handily, had dubbed her ‘the bride,’ eliciting howls from her fellow racers and friends in the crowd.
“All right, witches, wizards and race fans of all breeds, it’s time for our final match of the evening with a hefty prize pot of two hundred Galleons. We have some exciting new racers with us here this evening, including the best flying bridal party I’ve ever seen. Without further ado, riders, mount your brooms,” the announcer’s voice echoed over the crowd lining the wood.
Ginny did so, leaning over to find her perfect grip. As she began tuning out all the other sounds and sights around her, she couldn’t help but notice a large, loud, female contingent on the sidelines, all wearing masks and already screaming their heads off. She could pick out Hermione in the center, and just knowing how little interest her friend had in anything to do with brooms filled her heart with fondness. Hermione was here for her, because this was what she enjoyed. Padma and Parvati, too — she didn’t think illicit broom racing was anything that would’ve caught their interest if it wasn’t for her. And there was Luna, not even looking at the race, but instead watching some invisible something flickering around the heads of crowd. She didn’t doubt for an instance that Luna would be able to recite exactly what happened during the race once it was completed, however.
As the starting flag flew in the air, and Ginny felt the now even colder rush of wind through her disguised hair, she grinned at her friends and teammates. At any other hen night, the witches might automatically let the bride win. Her friends knew she’d never accept a win that was given rather than earned. She was so grateful to have these women in her life.
They’d come through a war, trials and hardships, but the one thing that had remained strong and true was their friendship. Ginny hoped that would never change.
When Harry and Ron finally arrived at Shell Cottage — late, of course; everyone else was there and awaiting them — all of the Weasley brothers along with Owen and several of Harry’s fellow Aurors, his department Quidditch team, as well as a few of his fellow classmates at Hogwarts.
“Bloody hell, Harry. I thought you were going to miss your own do. How are you?” Oliver Wood asked, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.
“What took you so long?” Percy asked, scowling. “Do you have any idea the paperwork involved in arranging an International Portkey? If we’d missed it, the whole night would’ve been rubbish.”
“International?” Harry asked, perplexed.
“Of course. Ron told us you didn’t want any sort of scandal in the papers. No one will expect to see you outside of Britain,” Bill said, grinning.
Harry looked at Ron, wide-eyed, and feeling as if he’d just miss-stepped into a very large hole.
Ron handed him a pint. “We have everything under control,” he said, smirking. It didn’t make Harry feel any more secure about the evening’s plans. “Besides, it’s best to let them all start drinking before you do and get all mushy on us.”
“Here you are, Harry! What took you so long?” Charlie asked, reaching out to shake his hand. Harry noticed he had several patches of healing skin on his forearms.
“All right, listen up, you sods. The Portkey is scheduled to leave in ten more minutes. Grab a final pint, and gather round. If you miss it, you’re out of luck,” George bellowed.
“Where are we going?” Harry asked warily.
“Don’t worry about it. Bill arranged it all. He says it’s a place his father-in-law recommended. We’re going to a wizard-only area, but we have to get through a crowd of Muggles to do it. That’s why we all had to dress this way,” Ron said, tugging on the collar of his dark grey suit.
Harry’s mind was racing. If Fleur’s father had recommended it, he assumed they were going to France. He was perplexed over what they’d find there that they couldn’t find in England — except perhaps warmer weather.
As they all gathered around a large and dented old bicycle tire, Ron made certain Harry had grabbed hold.
Bill nodded at everyone. “All right, it should go in five… four… three… two…”
The jerk behind his naval came a second before he was expecting it, and several moments later, he was blinking hard and adjusting his glasses to take a good look around. It was definitely warmer than it had been in London, but still crisp and chilly. He looked up at a magnificent palace rising high above the ground, its turrets outlined with fairy lights. Although still early in December, superb fir trees were lit and festively decorated with lights and imitation snow along gleaming pools of water. The lights reflected off the water making it appear rather magical. Harry could faintly smell salt in the air, although he couldn’t tell how close they were to the sea.
“Where are we?” he asked, gazing up at the striking castle in front of them. There was a clock set in the center turret.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Bill asked, grinning. “Welcome to the Monte Carlo Casino, haven for hedonistic high rollers. There are a number of small, private areas inside the main casino, and one such area is accessible only to wizards. That’s where we’re headed.”
As Bill began to lead the way, Harry rapidly kept swiveling his head, trying to take everything in. “Nice here, innit?” Ron asked, keeping up with him. “We’re right on the Mediterranean Sea. A bit posh, but it should be fun, yeah?”
Harry could hear the uncertainty in Ron’s voice, and see the anxiousness behind his mate’s eyes. It had been Ron’s job to arrange the stag night, and he was obviously eager for Harry to be pleased.
“It’s brilliant,” Harry said at once. “I’ve never bet in a real casino before. Should be fun.”
Ron’s entire being relaxed. “Yeah, it’ll be great. Wow,” he said, goggling as a very scantily clad woman hurried past them. “Maybe we can come back here for my eventual stag night.”
Harry grinned, pleased to hear Ron mentioning the possibility without any trace of his former stuttering. He already knew what he wanted to plan for Ron’s stag night, had known it for ages. He planned to rent out a box at a Cannon’s match, and everyone who came with them would be required to dress and cheer for the Cannons.
George and Oliver came up beside them, frog-marching Percy. Lee Jordan and Ken Towler, another Auror and old roommate of George’s, followed along chuckling.
“Come on, Perce. We’re going to get you good and properly pissed tonight,” Oliver said, gleeful.
“Yeah, it’s time you let loose now that you’re out without the ole ball and chain,” George said.
“Audrey is not a ball and chain, and I resent the implication,” Percy said haughtily.
“You’re still getting pissed,” Oliver replied as they hurried their pace. “No excuses allowed.”
Harry snorted. “And here I thought I was the one everyone was going to try and get pissed tonight,” he said, laughing.
Ron rolled his eyes. “Harry, everyone here is aware how easy it is to get you pissed, and then you get entirely too soppy, anyway.”
“I don’t get that soppy,” Harry said, disgruntled.
“Do so,” Ron said easily. “Besides, we thought you’d be happier doing something you’d never done before.”
“I am,” Harry said, grinning. Truth be told, he hadn’t considered his stag night more than an occasion to go out and drink with his mates. This was far more impressive, and he was looking forward to reaching the magical area. He wondered if wizards played the same sort of gambling games as Muggles did — not that he’d ever done any of those, either. The occasional hand of poker was about the extent of his experience.
The entrance hall had been impressive with its massive columns and cathedral ceiling, but upon entering the open gaming hall, Harry was at a loss at where to look first. Billiard tables and roulette wheels lined the outside with tables of many card games filling the floor, all covered by a massive green carpet. Waitresses brought drinks to the high rollers on winning streaks, while the sounds of clinking chips and slot machines filled the air.
It was packed with Muggles in fancy dress. Many of the men wore tuxedos rather than suits, and even in his expensive apparel, Harry felt underdressed. Bill led the way to a side room that led to a marble stairway. After climbing a few flights, they came to several, smaller gaming rooms hosting private parties.
A small, unobtrusive area of wall was covered with a rich, Oriental carpet. As Bill reached it, it shimmered slightly and allowed them to lift it away from the wall. A small, dark passageway emerged into a spectacular marble room with glistening crystals hanging from chandeliers.
Some of the guests here still wore their Muggle attire, while others had transfigured theirs back into traditional robes. Harry could hear a smattering of languages being spoken, although mainly French. He watched as a wizard used his wand to tap a roulette wheel. As the wheel began to spin, he noticed it contained a small fairy rather than a ball. It fluttered its wings, eyes watching the wheel before settling on a number on which to sit.
Smiling heartily, the wizard collected his stack of winnings.
“How can they be sure that’s just luck, though?” Ron asked, watching the same game. “Maybe the fairy just likes him. What if you get a grumpy one that purposefully makes you lose all your gold?” he asked.
“Dunno. We’ll have to try it and see,” Harry replied eagerly, never before imagining he’d find the need to charm a fairy.
There were various card games and people throwing magical dice that spun in the air before falling onto the numbered tables below.
“All right, gather ‘round,” Bill said, herding their group to one side. “Our Portkey takes us back to Shell Cottage at two in the morning, so I want everyone to meet down in the entrance hall at half one, understood? Until then, you’re all on your own. Don’t forget to buy Harry a drink.”
“Here, here!” Seamus said, thrusting a glass into Harry’s hand. “Come this way, mate, and I’ll give you a tour. I came here once on a business trip.”
“Business?” Dean asked, pulling a face. “What kind of business were you doing in a casino?”
“Did you forget that I work for Ogden’s? We supply them with Firewhisky. Lucrative contract, too.”
“I want to take a tour, too,” Neville said. “I’ve never been to a casino, either. My gran was never interested.”
Percy looked as if he was going to join them for the tour, but George and Oliver pulled him away toward the bar. Harry saw Owen and a few of the other Aurors begin to mingle into the card tables, while Bill and Charlie moved over to the roulette wheel. They were surprised to realize Seamus actually had been there before as he knew many of the hidden gems of what to play and where things were. Harry ended up having a very enjoyable evening trying his luck at many of the tables. He’d discovered he was neither very lucky nor a very good gambler, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.
When it became too stuffy inside, he decided to duck out onto a terrace that Seamus had shown them. Ron, who was having luck at one of the Craps tables, waved him off. Once outside, he breathed deeply, inhaling the wonderful sea air. He could definitely hear the rolling waves from up here. He spotted Charlie, Owen and Hans Rickman, another Auror and fellow member of Harry’s interdepartmental Quidditch team tucked in a corner having a smoke.
“Oi, Potter! Why is your hand empty? We have a rule that we don’t let you go without a drink tonight. I’ll go get some refills,” Hans said, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he approached them.
“It’s really not necessary. I just put my glass down,” Harry said waving him off.
“Nonsense. You’re still entirely too sober for your stag night,” Hans said without slowing his pace.
In truth, Harry was feeling much warmer than the chilly air indicated he should, and his head was buzzing pleasantly. Maybe that’s why he’d had such a hard time concentrating on the card game.
“Having a good night?” Charlie asked, grinning. His eyes were very blood shot, and Harry knew Charlie had imbibed far more than Harry had.
“Yeah, I am. This place is amazing,” Harry said, grinning.
“Bill told me that they had small gaming parlors in Egypt that he used to go to with his cure-breaking mates, but nothing as extravagant as this. We’re lucky if we can find a deck of cards in Romania,” Charlie said, swaying slightly.
“Yeah, but you’ve got dragons,” Harry said wryly.
Charlie shrugged, “Aye, we do have those. Hey, did you see my new burn scars?” he asked, displaying the healing skin on his forearms. “We took in a Peruvian Vipertooth last month, and the tosser just doesn’t like me. He can detect when I’m approaching the paddock, even within a group, the blighter.”
“That’s because you smell,” Owen said. He was swaying as much as Charlie, if not more, and clutching the railing of the terrace.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, but I live amongst the other draconologists, and we all share the same space, even the same protective gear. It’s odd that this one can always mark me,” he said, not taking Owen’s claim as an insult in the slightest.
“Here you are,” Hans said, returning with several drinks. He shoved one brimming with Firewhisky into Harry’s hand.
George, Oliver and Lee Jordan had followed Hans out onto the terrace. Lee’s pockets were jingling with the sound of gold.
“Had a good night, did you?” Harry asked, grinning. “What have you done with Percy?”
“We managed to get him pissed all right, only now he’s in the toilet puking. Bill’s with him,” George said, disgusted.
“We didn’t get to take him out for his own stag night with the ruddy contagion and all, so we reckoned it was only right,” Oliver replied.
Harry took a sip of his drink to avoid having to answer. He’d discovered this was how most people thought of the contagion, as some sort of past annoyance. They’d grumble a bit about their confinement, or what they’d missed, or what they couldn’t do, but then they’d move on to the present and their desire to make up for lost time. Harry couldn’t see it that way. The contagion had been so much more real and terrifying for him. It had nearly taken not only the most important people in his life, but the future he’d been so carefully building. It made him realize more clearly than any Auror mission or danger to himself ever could, that nothing was ever certain. He needed to grab onto happiness while it was there, to jump in feet first and take the happiness when it was offered. He’d also learned to never take the important people in his life for granted.
“There you are,” Ron said, joining them out on the terrace and scowling at Harry. “I hate when you just disappear like that, mate.”
Rather than being annoyed — Ron’s need to behave like a mother duck always strengthened when he’d been drinking — Harry felt an upsurge of affection. He wrapped his arm around Ron’s shoulders. “I’ll never go far. I love spending time with all of you,” he said happily.
Ron groaned while the others laughed. “Now, we’ve done it. He’s pissed.”
“Our mission tonight was a success,” George said, raising his glass in a toast. Harry clinked his glass right along with the rest of them.
Chapter 29: Till Death Do Us Part
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed it! As most of you know, straight fluff is not my strong suit, and I’ll admit I considered adding a surprise Death Eater attack for some excitement, lol. Harry and Ginny didn’t deserve that, though. The last Weasley wedding was interrupted, so this one needed to go smoothly.
As always, huge thanks to my beta team – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their edits, thoughts and ideas as this story took shape. Talking it out with people always helps to form stronger ideas in my head, so they’re very much appreciated.
Till Death Do Us Part
Ginny stared at her reflection in the mirror of her girlhood bedroom at The Burrow. Pale skin. Freckles. Bright brown eyes with a mane of fiery hair. It was the same reflection she’d seen in this same mirror all her life, but something about it looked different today.
It was her wedding day. Today, she would become Harry’s wife, Mrs. Potter, a married woman. She had to pinch herself to be certain the day had finally arrived after all the planning and talking about it. She’d spent her final week of being a single witch living here in her childhood home. It had been Molly’s idea, but both she and Harry had liked the notion of separating a bit before finally coming together as husband and wife — forever.
She blushed thinking about it, and watched in the mirror as a rosy hue filled her cheeks and chest. She and Harry had only been living apart for a week — and he’d still been here to celebrate Christmas — but she felt emptier for it. Something was missing — and she was randy as hell. Her thoughts kept drifting to the fact she’d never actually made love in the castle before, and she wondered if she and Harry would have any opportunity to sneak away after the ceremony…
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She wondered if Harry was feeling the same way. She hoped he was.
There was something about sleeping here, alone, that reminded her too much of being confined in that sick room at Grimmauld Place with her mind feeling so fuzzy. She never wanted to sleep without Harry by her side again.
She took one last, long look around her room, still decorated for Christmas which had passed only four days before. Her room was a bright, sunny yellow, and although most of her things had already been moved out, some of her childhood still remained. There was an old Holyhead Harpies’ poster that had been ripped in the corners and re-taped up after one of her brothers had torn it down, and a stain on the rug in the corner where Ginny had spilled an entire mug of hot chocolate and tried to hide it from her mum since she wasn’t supposed to have it up in her room.
“Ginny, dear, are you up?” her mum called before opening the door and barging in anyway. “Oh! You are. Well, come on down and have a spot of breakfast before we Floo to Hogwarts. I daresay you won’t have the chance to eat much today.”
Professor McGonagall had arranged some guest quarters for the wedding party to prepare — she’d even given Ginny the password to the Prefects’ bathroom — and made separate arrival times so there was no chance Harry and Ginny would see one another before the main event. Ginny thought it was a silly superstition, but she allowed it, just in case.
“Coming, Mum. It just seems odd without the need to bring anything along,” Ginny said, staring around aimlessly. She was still wearing her pajamas.
“Everything is there and waiting, dear — the dresses, the shoes, everything,” Molly said, her eyes brimming.
“Oh, don’t start already, Mum,” Ginny said, laughing. “You won’t have any water left by the time we get through the day.”
Molly waved her hands in front of her face, fanning it. “Don’t mind me, dear. I’m all a dither. You can have a nice soak once we get there, and Fleur should be arriving to do your hair.”
Ginny wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist, squeezing it gently. “Let’s get something to eat, then. Merlin knows us Weasleys can get into quite a temper if we haven’t been fed properly. I don’t want to scare my new husband off before the vows are even spoken.”
Molly shooed her off, grinning. “Oh, posh. I think Harry’s already well aware of your temper, dear, and he loves you anyway.”
Arthur was sitting in his familiar spot at the head of the table when they arrived in the kitchen, and Charlie was serving them both some eggs from the steaming platter in the center of the table.
“And there she is, the star of the day,” Arthur said, his eyes also rather bright. “Of course, I usually think you’re the star of every day.”
“Morning, Dad,” she said fondly, kissing his head before sitting down across from Charlie. Molly sat down in a chair opposite Arthur, and they all tucked into their breakfast.
“Hey, squirt. So… are you sure you really want to do this? You’re still very young, after all. There are loads of blokes out there who you haven’t met yet,” Charlie said.
Ginny rolled her eyes and slapped his hand away from her toast. “Really, Charlie. Harry’s perfect for me, and you know it. Who else do you think would make a better choice?”
“Honestly, I think spinsterhood is highly underrated,” Charlie grumbled, causing Arthur to snort into his breakfast.
“Yeah, well, we’ve got you to fill that role, haven’t we?” she asked, smiling sweetly as she took a bite of her toast.
Charlie’s face turned a bright red. “I most certainly don’t fit that role. Besides, we’re not discussing me.”
“We’re not discussing me, either, because I have a wedding to get to, and this is one thing I plan on arriving on time for,” Ginny said, raising her chin in the air.
Before Charlie could fully open his mouth to respond, Arthur interrupted them. “That’s enough, Charlie. The days of treating your sister as a little girl you need to shield and protect are in the past. She’s a young woman now, who knows her own mind, and has made some very good choices,” he said firmly.
Ginny felt her own eyes fill. What was wrong with all of them this morning? She beamed at her father through watery eyes.
“I know,” Charlie said, gruffly. “I’m just taking the mickey.”
“Save it for another day, then,” Arthur said.
“All right, Ginny, we’d best be off. We don’t want to risk anyone seeing the bride before she’s ready,” Molly said, bustling about.
“I’ll take care of the dishes, Molly. You two go along,” Arthur said.
“Aren’t you coming?” Ginny asked, surprised.
“It doesn’t take wizards quite as long to get ready, so we can have a bit more leisurely breakfast,” Arthur said, his eyes twinkling.
“Yeah, we don’t need to spend hours on our hair and make-up,” Charlie said, grinning.
“No, you need the hours for all the burn paste to cover your wounds,” Ginny snapped, rolling her eyes.
She dodged the dish towel he tossed at her as she stepped into the Floo. Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, already dressed and wearing a cameo brooch at her throat. She showed Ginny and Molly to the guest quarters where the dresses were waiting, and Ginny made her way to the Prefects’ bathroom to enjoy the luxurious tub. She used to love soaking in here after Quidditch practice and when she was training to try out for the Harpies.
It seemed like it took no time at all before Fleur was there and helping her with her hair. Ginny’s hair was neither as straight as Fleur’s, nor as curly as Hermione’s, but she did have a natural wave to it. Fleur used her wand to meticulously curl Ginny’s hair into spiral ringlets. It took ages, but when the curls were finished, she put part of her hair up in an elaborate knot, with many loose curls falling around her face and down her back. It was the up-do she’d wanted, but still down the way Harry enjoyed most. She’d never want to spend that amount of time charming it on a normal day, but for today, it was perfect.
Fleur also helped her with her make-up, insisting she needed to wear it a bit heavier than she usually did for the photographs. Molly watched them doing both the hair and make-up, blubbering into her handkerchief the whole time.
Hermione and Luna were the next ones to arrive, followed closely by Padma and Parvati Patil who’d decided to be close at hand in case any of the dresses needed alterations. They’d brought their own party clothes along with them. Ginny had never before had so many people watching her get dressed, and it felt awkward at first, but she quickly grew accustomed to all the poking and prodding and smoothing of the rich fabric. Her dress had long sleeves, as did the attendants’ dresses. She couldn’t imagine having short sleeves in December, so it was the one thing she’d insisted upon.
Hermione and Luna had dresses of a deep, royal blue with glittering crystals embedded in the trim. Luna was, in fact, sporting a new tattoo of a bright sunflower on her collarbone, which was bared by the cut of the dress.
“Oh, Luna — that looks lovely,” Ginny said, admiring the colorful design. “Too bad there isn’t time for you to get one, too, Hermione.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’d do just about anything for you, Ginny, but I draw the line at permanently marring my skin.”
“Yes, it was quite painful, actually,” Luna said, dreamily. “But now, it’ll always be there in case anyone ever decides to get married at the spur of the moment.”
“So, in addition to something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, you want to add a sunflower to that list of wedding necessities?” Padma asked, grinning.
“Well, only if the couple wants luck for their future marriage,” Luna said seriously.
“Thank you so much for ensuring that for me, Luna. Harry and I will always appreciate it,” Ginny said.
Luna smiled happily. “I do hope the luck will mean lots of babies.”
Molly didn’t quite know what to do with that statement, but Hermione, Fleur, Padma and Parvati laughed uproariously at the expression on Ginny’s face.
When it was time for Ginny to step into her own dress, she felt as if she were magically transported into a storybook. She’d wanted some sort of mixture between traditional robes and an actual dress, and the Patil sisters had come through amazingly. Her dress was off the shoulder and tightly fitted on top with beaded long sleeves that flared out slightly at the wrists. It was long and flowing, with a train that could be bunched up after the ceremony for dancing. The beads and crystals woven into the fabric gave it the illusion of glistening snow wherever the light touched it. Ginny thought it was the best dress she’d ever seen, and was slightly saddened that she’d never get to wear it again.
She slipped on the high-heeled shoes she’d selected, and carefully applied the charm Hermione had shown her to make them feel as if she were wearing slippers. She’d wanted the heels to give her the benefit of some added height to showcase the dress’ long train but without the discomfort of wearing them.
Molly came over and carefully placed Auntie Muriel’s beautiful tiara upon her head. Parvati had added a thin, gossamer veil that hung down her back.
“Oh, you look so lovely, Ginny,” Molly said, once again bursting into tears. “The tiara is your something old.”
“And the something new is the dress,” Parvati said, beaming.
“So, here’s something borrowed,” Hermione said, placing a delicate strand of pearls around Ginny’s neck. “These belonged to my mum, but she gave them to me when I finished Hogwarts.”
“And I’ve got the something blue,” Padma said, flinging a lacy, blue garter around her finger. “Put your foot here so I can slip this on.”
“I can do that myself,” Ginny said, feeling her face go scarlet as she grabbed the meager piece of fabric.
“Oh, no, Ginny, don’t get all flustered now. You’ll smudge your make up,” Fleur said, re-applying some blush. As if she needed any more of that.
A knock at the door startled them all. Molly hurried over, blocking Ginny from view. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“It’s the father of the bride,” Arthur said, chuckling.
Molly whipped open the door and pulled him inside. “Oh, is it time already?” she asked, looking at her watch. Molly was dressed in traditional dress robes made of a silvery color, with a speck of blue peeking out from inside the sleeves.
“Don’t you look fetching,” Arthur said, leaning over to kiss his wife on the cheek. This time, it was Molly’s turn to flush.
“Charlie, Percy and Audrey have already taken their seats. Angelina went and fetched Harry’s cousin from the village, and they’re here as well. George and Ron are seating all the guests, so it’s just about time for our entrance. Fleur, Bill is waiting for you before taking a seat.”
“Oh, we’d better go,” Padma said, looking at her sister. “We don’t want to miss anything.”
Fleur and the Patil twins left, adjusting their own hair and dresses as they walked out the door.
“Is Harry here?” Ginny asked.
“He’s here, and looking rather pale, to be honest. I’m certain he’ll feel better once he sees you. You look beautiful, Ginny,” Arthur said, taking Ginny’s hands in his own and raising her arms. “Absolutely lovely.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ginny said, her stomach suddenly feeling as if it were filled with over-excited butterflies.
“We’d best get down there, too,” Arthur said, offering Ginny his arm. Molly, Luna and Hermione led the way down the staircase, followed by Arthur and Ginny. A charm set on the train of Ginny’s dress made it flare out and fall perfectly as she descended the stairs. She couldn’t stop herself repeatedly turning to look.
She and Arthur waited behind the wall of the Great Hall while Ron and George escorted Molly to her seat. Hermione and Luna each turned to beam at Ginny before making their own way down the aisle. At last, the music changed, and Ginny heard the sounds of guests getting to their feet as the wedding march began to play. Snow was falling softly on the enchanted ceiling, and Ginny had no idea if that was merely for effect or if it was really snowing outside.
“I’m so proud of you, daughter, and I heartily approve of the match you’ve chosen. You may be becoming his wife, but you’ll always be my little girl,” Arthur said, his voice choked as he smiled down at his only daughter. “Are you ready to make this final walk?”
“I am — and I can be both Harry’s wife and your daughter,” she said, winking at her dad fondly. “As long as neither of you tries to tell me what to do.”
“I think we’re both smarter than that,” Arthur said, laughing. They were both still smiling as they began their walk into the Great Hall.
Ginny vaguely heard gasps and sighs from the guests, but truthfully, she didn’t register anyone but the man standing at the very end of the aisle. He looked handsome in his black tuxedo with long tails, giving it the appearance that he was also wearing half-robes, half Muggle attire. The collar was turned up, and the fit was perfect, highlighting his slim, athletic frame. His hair was combed yet still stood up in the back, and the light from the candles glinted off his glasses. His smiled blossomed when he saw her, eventually lighting his whole face. He squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath, as if the sight of her soothed all his nerves. Something about this gesture, and knowing he was nervous, too, settled the butterflies in her own stomach.
When she was close enough, she could see the green of his eyes sparkling brighter than any gem could hope to do. His eyes really were his most exquisite feature. From the look she saw shining in them, she could tell he was hungrily taking in every aspect of her appearance, and she could tell that he was pleased.
When they’d reached the end of the long aisle, Arthur leaned down and kissed Ginny on the cheek, nodded at Harry and clapped him on the back before taking his seat next to Molly, who was sobbing into her lacy handkerchief. Arthur deftly pulled another one from his pocket and handed it to Molly, who smiled tearfully.
Harry leaned down and kissed Ginny’s other check. “You look brilliant,” he whispered, squeezing her hand as he assisted her up the step onto the dais that had been placed there. He took his spot next to Ron and George, who were both smiling widely. George, she noticed, also had glistening eyes.
“You look brilliant,” she whispered back, feeling joyous as she stood beside Hermione and Luna.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the witch who stood in the center of the dais said in welcome. She was a tall, grey-haired witch with incredibly warm blue eyes. Something about her radiated welcome, and Ginny couldn’t help returning the woman’s smile. Harry took both her hands in his own as if he couldn’t bear the idea of not touching her in some way. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two of our dearest loved ones, Harry and Ginevra, who prefers to be known as Ginny.”
Chuckles filled the hall, and Harry squeezed her hands. She’d agreed to sign the wedding documents as Ginevra Potter, but wanted Ginny to be used for the ceremony.
“Yes, my tiara looks splendid on Ginevra. I knew it would. It’s meant to be worn by a Prewett, after all,” Auntie Muriel said loudly from her chair beside Molly.
“Shh,” Molly hissed, causing Ginny to raise her eyes. Molly rarely reprimanded Muriel. Apparently, Muriel was taken aback as well, for she fell silent.
“Everyone knows the icons of these two individuals — the Quidditch star and our savior — but you, the people invited here today, are the ones who know the people behind those personas. You are the ones Harry and Ginny chose to spend this special day with. You are the ones whom they love,” the officiant said, smiling fondly at both of them.
Ginny thought that was a bit rich after Auntie Muriel’s outburst. The hall was filled with all her Weasley and Prewett cousins, but also friends, teammates, coworkers, and the those who they’d fought with side-by-side during the war. Her entire life story was represented in this room.
“Do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly to be your wife, your partner in life, to become magically bonded to her?” the officiant asked solemnly.
“I do,” Harry said clearly, his deep voice ringing across the silence of the Great Hall.
“And do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, Ginny, take Harry James to be your husband, your partner in life, to become magically bonded to him?” the witch asked.
“I do,” Ginny said, and her voice sounded shaky to her own ears. She could feel herself trembling, not with fear or trepidation, but with joy and happiness.
“I promise not to ever leave you behind again, and to tell you what’s on my mind, and to say more than fine if something is troubling me,” Harry said, and now his voice shook, too. “I promise to listen, to ask your advice, and to fill our home with laughter until the very end.”
Ginny’s throat felt constricted. She blinked repeatedly and forced herself to speak, “And I promise not to sulk if you beat me in a race, to try and understand your protective instincts, and to openly share what’s troubling me rather than insisting I can cope alone. I promise to always fight to come back to you, and to never leave you alone. And, I promise that I’ll always be the whisky to your fire.”
She knew he’d understand that she was giving him permission to use that silly nickname, but truth be told, she liked it.
“I love you, Ginny, and I always will,” he said clearly, slipping a sparkling platinum band upon her finger. “And as someone who took a long time to understand what love truly was, I say that unequivocally.”
“And I’ll love you even more,” Ginny said, winking as she slid his larger band onto his finger. He stared at it, mesmerized. “You always knew what love was, because it’s the essence of who you are.”
“And with that, I declare you bonded for life,” the officiant said, raising her wand in the air and giving it a slight wave. A shower of sparks hovered above them, gently framing them and spiraling around their linked hands and up their arms. “You may kiss your wife, Mr. Potter.”
As Harry did just that, they were surrounded by a spray of brilliant red and gold sparks that fell over them, and a sweet, ethereal song filled the Great Hall, surrounding them, filling them. Ginny had heard music like this only twice before in her memory, and when she and Harry broke apart, they looked up to see Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix, perched lightly on the table where they were to sign their marriage certificate. His beautiful, serene eyes blinked at them peacefully, and he appeared to nod his head at Harry.
“Hello, Fawkes,” Harry said gruffly. “It’s good to see you again, my old friend. I hope this means you approve of my choice.”
Once again, Fawkes released a sound of beauty, of peace and tranquility. He continued his beautiful song as Harry and Ginny turned to face their guests and applause joined his song throughout the Great Hall.
After the ceremony was complete, Harry and Ginny were swept into a small chamber off the Great Hall, the one where Harry had learned that he was, in fact, a Triwizard Champion. This time, it was where wedding photographs were being taken. Fawkes had followed the newlyweds into the room, settling himself on Harry’s shoulder. The photographer, a paunchy man with a goatee, was taken aback by the impressive bird, and, slightly panicky, directed Harry to perch him on the back of a chair without approaching the magnificent phoenix.
Harry kept rubbing his fingers together, feeling the weight of the thick, platinum band there and getting used to it. He kept trying to surreptitiously stare at it, or at the one on Ginny’s finger, but he kept getting caught by Ron and George. Not wanting to get laughed at any further, he attempted to restrain himself from following this particular impulse. He was married. He had a wife. A family.
The Potter line had doubled in size that day. He and Ginny kept grinning at one another giddily, and he wished all these other people would leave them alone and give them a chance to talk. That wasn’t to be, however, because apparently, it was imperative that all these photographs be taken immediately. The photographer kept arranging them in groups to snap various shots. He even took one of the unlikely grouping of Harry, Andromeda, Teddy, Dudley and Hagrid — Dudley keeping a wary eye on Hagrid the entire time.
It was very strange for Harry to have Dudley there. He remembered once being called to this very room where they were now taking the photographs on the morning of the Third Task for family visits. It was Molly and Bill who’d showed up for Harry that day, but for one brief, panicked moment, Harry had wondered if the Dursleys had come. Of course, they hadn’t then, but Dudley had come this time, and Harry was oddly touched by it.
“Yeh did it, Harry. Yeh did it. Beautiful wedding, just beautiful,” Hagrid said, clapping Harry on the back so hard that Harry stumbled. Ginny grasped him by the arm to keep him steady.
“And you both look so good standing there together. I always knew you’d get together one day,” Hagrid said.
“Oh, you did, did you? Why didn’t you clue me in earlier, then?” Harry asked, amused.
“That’s something you need ter work out on your own. Ginny had it right before you did, though,” Hagrid said, grinning at Ginny.
“She does most things,” Harry replied easily.
“Professor Dumbledore would’ve been so chuffed you chose ter marry at Hogwarts. Perfect choice, I think,” Hagrid said, his eyes growing misty.
“And Fawkes came,” Harry said quickly, hoping to distract him. “It’s so good to see him again. Where d’you think he’s been?”
“Dunno. Phoenixes do what they do. He’s chosen you now, so you’ll be aware of his whereabouts,” Hagrid said.
“What d’you mean? Harry asked, nonplussed.
Hagrid stared at him. “Don’t be daft, Harry. Phoenixes aren’t chosen. They do the choosin’. Fawkes has chosen you.”
“Yeah, don’t be daft, Harry,” Ginny said, giggling.
Harry stared at the magnificent bird, perplexed. Fawkes blinked at him serenely. “What do I do with him? What do Phoenixes eat?” he asked.
“Insects and berries mostly, but they take care of themselves. As I recall, Fawkes was rather partial ter owl treats, though. I’m sure his old perch is in storage around here somewhere. I’ll get Filch to send it to yeh.”
“That’d be great, Hagrid. Thanks,” Harry said absently, staring at Fawkes. He hadn’t worked in getting a new…pet?...companion?... just now. He was leaving on a week long holiday after the Ministry gala.
“Fawkes found us here. I’m certain he’ll find us anywhere if he needs to,” Ginny said quietly, somehow knowing where his thoughts had gone.
When the photographs were finished, and the guests filed out of the room, Harry and Ginny were finally left alone, waiting to be called back inside to open the dance floor.
“Are you ready for this?” Ginny asked, grinning.
Harry leaned over and kissed her properly, something he’d been dying to do the entire time the camera had been clicking. “I’m ready,” he said, rather breathless. He’d been practicing his dance steps for weeks now. He wasn’t going to let her down.
“We’re married now,” Ginny whispered, even though they were the only two left in the room. “I’m Ginny Potter.”
Harry couldn’t suppress the shudder when she said her new name. “I really like the sound of that,” he said, smiling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter,” the band singer announced.
Both took a deep breath as the music began to swell. They’d agreed to share their first dance and open the dance floor immediately. That way, people could have the dance floor available in between courses, and no one would have to wait. Harry tried to calm his nerves. He knew the steps to this tango, but he’d never done it before with a crowd watching. He needn’t have worried, however. Ginny fit in his arms perfectly, and the other eyes quickly disappeared as his focus was solely on her.
The crowd applauded as the music finished, and Harry leaned down and kissed his wife, who was beaming. “Very sexy, Harry,” she said, nodding.
Neither of them barely had a moment to sit down and enjoy themselves. Every time either of them tried to take a bite of their dinner, someone would approach them to offer their congratulations. At one point, after Harry had snuck away to use the loo, Dudley approached him on his way back to the head table. Harry had noticed both Angelina Johnson and Hestia Jones keeping him company all evening. Oddly enough, Dudley had had a surprising number of dance partners.
“Hey, Harry,” he said, ducking his head. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Dudley,” Harry said, feeling warmer toward his cousin than he ever had before. “I’m glad you could come. Are you having a good time?”
“Yeah, I am,” Dudley said, unable to completely keep the note of surprise from his voice. “The food is amazing, and this castle is something else. I couldn’t see it until we walked inside, you know. I kept thinking it was going to collapse.”
“Yeah, there are charms and protections to keep Muggles — er, non-magic folk — away,” Harry said, nodding.
Dudley nodded, shuffling his feet. He took several deep breaths, as if gearing himself up for something. Harry watched him curiously, wondering what was on his cousin’s mind.
“My parents should be here,” he said at last, shoving his hands into his pockets and scuffing his feet.
“Er…” Harry said, taken aback. He’d never considered sending his aunt and uncle an invitation, and it never occurred to him that they would come.
“They shouldn’t have done what they did to you. I shouldn’t have, either. I know that now,” Dudley said, his face very red and refusing to meet Harry’s eyes. “I know they were wrong.”
Harry was speechless, and was left standing there gaping like a fish. Finally pulling himself together, he clapped Dudley on the back. “It’s over now, and we turned out all right, yeah?”
Dudley grinned, apparently just as happy to be done with the conversation as Harry was. “Yeah,” he said.
“Harry!” Owen said, clapping Harry on the back as he headed toward the gent’s room that Harry had just vacated. “Congratulations! Well done.”
“Thanks, Owen,” Harry said, grinning. “I noticed that Michelle from the Department for Magical Transportation did agree to come with you after all.”
“‘Course she did. I told you, no one was going to miss this do,” Owen replied, his eyes straying to Dudley.
“Owen, this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley. Dudley, my partner on the job, Owen Savage,” Harry said.
Dudley and Owen shook hands in greeting, and Harry couldn’t help but feel it was more of a melding between two worlds.
“No shit. You’re the Muggle, right? You’ve become quite a sensation here. Most magical folk never get the chance to chat with a Muggle without a need to fear the Statute of Secrecy,” Owen said. Harry had noticed Dudley was getting a lot of attention, as well, but he hadn’t realized it was because he was a Muggle.
“Er…yeah. A lot of people do seem to want to talk to me,” Dudley said awkwardly.
“You’re nearly as big a celebrity as your cousin, here. Are you coming to the Ministry shindig tomorrow?” Owen asked, oblivious to Dudley’s discomfort, or more likely, ignoring it.
Dudley glanced at Harry questioningly, and Harry took pity on him. “No, that’s more than I think he ought to be put through.” Attending the marriage of his one and only cousin was one thing. Being thrust into the center of the wizarding world at the Ministry of Magic was something else entirely.
“You should invite him to lunch one day to meet Ethan, then. That ought to be a laugh,” Owen said amicably.
“Perhaps, I’ll do that,” Harry said. “Meanwhile, I’ve left my wife to attend to all these guests on her own for too long.”
When Harry re-entered the Great Hall, he saw Ginny dancing with Charlie. When he’d left to use the toilet, she’d been dancing with Percy, and he wondered if she’d gone through all her brothers yet. As he stood on the edge of the dance floor, admiring his new wife dancing with her brother, the music changed. Harry watched as Ginny smiled at Charlie, then, turning, she wiggled her finger in a come here gesture. Harry watched as Ron, rolling his eyes, shrugged his shoulders in defeat and joined his sister on the dance floor.
Grinning at their antics and avoiding some of the Prewett cousins who were eyeing him avidly, Harry made his way over to Hermione. She still stood where Ron had left her, also watching the siblings dance. He held his hand out to her. “Dance with me?” he asked.
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who are you, and what have you done with my awkward best friend Harry?” she asked, smiling but taking his hand all the same.
Harry grinned, sweeping Hermione onto the dance floor. “I think he’s done some growing up since the Yule Ball,” he replied easily.
“He’s grown up quite nicely, I might add. Quite a feat, considering we’d all worried if he’d ever get the chance on several occasions,” Hermione said.
Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I think I learned more about what I want out of life from this contagion than anything during the war.”
“I did, too,” Hermione said, quietly. They were each lost in their own thoughts for a few moments before Hermione broke the silence.
“You’ve become quite a good dancer. I was so impressed with that tango. You and Ginny really looked amazing, and everyone was breathless watching you both. I told Ron that I think we ought to take some dance lessons,” she said.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, great, I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me about that,” he said, easily imagining what Ron would have to say about dancing lessons.
Hermione smirked as if she could imagine it, too, which she probably could. “Most likely, since Angelina overheard me, and she roped George in, as well.”
Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s just great. I can expect new pranks from both of them, then?”
When the song wound down, he was acutely aware of Ginny releasing Ron and turning towards Bill, crooking her finger at him the same way she’d done to Ron. Harry was amused how they all immediately acquiesced to her demand. Ron ambled across the dance floor to where Harry and Hermione still stood, wrapping his arms around both of them. “I think it’s only appropriate that we all share a dance. We’ve been through a lot together, we have,” he said, his eyes slightly unfocused.
Hermione squeezed them both around their waists. “We certainly have. Who could believe it now if they ever saw us as first-years?” she asked.
“Yeah, Ron and I couldn’t even find our way around this castle,” Harry snorted, remembering his younger self fondly.
“And neither of you even talked to me,” Hermione said pointedly.
“Well, you were too busy trying to get the teachers to notice you to bother with us, anyway,” Ron said, smirking at her fondly.
Hermione shot her hand up in the air, waving it frantically while bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh, I was such a nightmare.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, causing Hermione to elbow him in the gut. “Remember when we had to convince Harry to teach us Defense during our fifth year? Harry, you were such a prat about it.”
“Yeah, I was,” Harry acknowledged.
“We?” Hermione asked indignantly. “As I recall, you ran for the hills once Harry started shouting, and I had to work on convincing him myself.”
“Yeah, but you’re so good at that,” Ron said, leaning down and kissing her on the top of her head. “We’d have been lost without you.”
“We made a fairly decent team, yeah?” Harry asked, so thankful to the god of orphans, or doomed prophesized souls, or whoever it was that was watching out for him back then, for bringing these two people into his life. And of course, that had also led to his meeting Ginny. Funny how life worked out sometimes.
When the song ended, the trio were approached by Viktor Krum, who tapped Hermione on the shoulder. Harry, Viktor and Fleur were linked together in a way perhaps no one else could ever understand. They’d come through the Triwizard Tournament, and Cedric’s subsequent death, together, and it had bonded them in some odd way. Even though he didn’t see Viktor on any sort of regular basis, it had never occurred to Harry not to invite him to his wedding, despite Ron’s grumblings.
“May I cut in?” Victor asked, winking at Ron as he led a blushing Hermione onto the dance floor.
“He’s still a git,” Ron said without any venom.
“Nah, he’s not, and you know it. Come on, we have some Yule Ball mistakes of our own to make up for,” Harry said.
“Eh?” Ron asked, perplexed.
Harry nodded his head toward one of several bars that had been strategically located throughout the hall. Padma and Parvati were sitting at one, sharing a very large glass of something bright and smoking.
Ron’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”
“Why not?” Harry asked, grinning. “We were lousy ball dates.”
He was aware of Ron following as he approached the Patil twins, who were giggling, of course. They giggled more than anyone Harry knew. Before he could lose his nerve, he held out his arm to Parvati, “May I have this dance?” he asked, in what he hoped was a gallant voice.
Both girls’ eyes widened in shock, but Parvati smiled and took his arm. “I’d love to,” she said.
“How about you, Padma? Care to give me the dance I should’ve asked you for ages ago?” Ron asked.
As he and Ron led the Patil twins onto the dance floor, Harry saw Ginny wink at him across the room.
When their dance ended, Harry was just about to ask his wife to dance with him next, except the band’s singer asked everyone to take their seats.
“I’d like to ask our new couple and Arthur and Molly Weasley to take the dance floor,” she said. “Harry and Ginny have chosen a song for their dance with their parents.”
The surrounding crowd sighed, oohed and awed as the four of them joined one another on the dance floor. As Ginny took her father’s hand, and Harry raised his to Molly, her tears began in earnest.
“Mrs… Molly, please don’t. We don’t have to dance,” Harry said, feeling slightly panicked. He’d learned the steps, but he wasn’t certain he could do them if he had to support her being hysterical. Her overly emotional displays always made him uncomfortable.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Molly sniffed, pulling herself back to some semblance of dignity as the two of them began slowly revolving on the dance floor. “I wouldn’t miss this moment for the world. I’m standing in for your mum, here, and she’d never forgive me if I missed it. She’d be so proud of you.”
Harry suddenly found he’d lost his voice, as he stared at her, wide-eyed.
“I never knew your mum and dad personally, but she sent a lovely note after the deaths of my brothers. It’s no surprise such a kind, thoughtful woman created such a kind, thoughtful son,” Molly said, her voice growing stronger the longer she spoke.
Now, it was Harry who felt as if he were in danger of losing his composure. He swallowed heavily, forcing air into his lungs and concentrating on his steps.
“If I couldn’t have them, I don’t think I could’ve found a better substitute. I’ll never forget all you and Arthur did for me,” he said, his throat extremely tight and constricted.
Molly sniffed. “You take good care of my girl. She can be quite a handful, but she has a good heart, and she’s not always nearly as tough as she likes to portray.”
“I’m aware,” Harry said, grinning. “I do love her, Mrs. Weasley.”
“I know you do, dear. And it’s Molly,” she said, smiling at him fondly.
As the final notes of the song played, Auntie Muriel’s cackling voice rang out amongst the still—silent crowd, “So, this is Harry Potter. Well, you’re not as tall as I expected you would be, are you?”
Harry didn’t know how to respond to that, but Ginny did. “He’s the perfect height for me, and I’d like to dance with my new husband. If you’ll excuse us.”
She didn’t give anyone time to answer as she pulled Harry away, fuming. “There ought to be a law against insulting the guest of honor on a wedding day,” she fumed as the dance floor filled once again. Auntie Muriel and her parents were lost in the crowd.
“Not really an insult, just a comment about my height, or lack thereof, in her opinion,” Harry said, shrugging nonchalantly.
“You’re a perfectly lovely height. She just didn’t like all the attention being on Mum instead of her, the old cow,” Ginny said sourly.
Harry thought she was adorable when she was being protective of him, and he hugged her close as they danced.
As the sky outside darkened fully, Harry pulled his wife to a nearby table, sinking gratefully into a chair. “My feet are killing me. I’m ready to take off these shoes,” he said, wincing at the pain in his feet.
Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Hermione showed me a charm that made mine as comfortable as slippers all day,” she said.
“Well, she didn’t show it to me,” Harry said, grumbling. That was one particular spell it would’ve been nice if Hermione had shared.
Ginny pouted out her lower lip in sympathy, her eyes twinkling as she patted him on the head. “I’ll show it to you for tomorrow.”
Just then, Professor McGonagall approached them. Her hair wasn’t nearly as sleek and tight as it usually was, and several stray wisps had pulled out from her bun as she’d been dancing most of the day. “Your leaving clothes are up in the guest accommodations where you began your day, Miss Wea… Mrs. Potter,” she said, catching herself and smiling fondly. “I’m certain you can find it again. Harry, Hagrid mentioned you’d like to take the perch that Professor Dumbledore once kept in his office. I asked Mr. Filch to locate it for you and have a house-elf deliver it, but your own house-elf just appeared and took it himself. You should find it at Grimmauld Place once you return there.”
Harry had invited Kreacher to the wedding as a guest, and while the elf was thoroughly touched, he wasn’t comfortable spending the entire day consorting with wizards. Instead, he chose to oversee the kitchens and be certain everything being served was up to his own high standards.
“Oh! Thanks,” Harry said, eyes widening. It hadn’t occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Fawkes in quite some time.
“Are you ready to go and get changed, then?” Ginny asked after Professor McGonagall had walked away.
Harry had booked them a room at a posh London hotel for the evening. Their dress robes and everything they’d need for the Ministry gala was awaiting them there.
“Are you certain? It’ll be over once we leave,” Harry asked, not wanting her to miss a moment of their wedding day.
“I think some of the guests are ready to go, but they won’t until we do. Besides, it doesn’t mean our wedding day ends just when we leave here. And… we don’t have to get changed right away,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“We don’t?” Harry asked blankly.
Ginny leaned closer, whispering in his ear and sending a delicious tingle down his spine. “Don’t you want to be able to say we’ve made love in the castle before we leave?”
Harry quickly followed her out of the Great Hall, not caring who noticed they were leaving.
.
Chapter 30: The Ministry Gala
Author's Notes: I had a birthday over the weekend, and I wished for a Tampa Bay win. Hooray, Bucs! Here’s hoping they can follow through in the SuperBowl. For me, Tom Brady will always be a Patriot 😊
As always, huge thanks to my beta team – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their endless patience and cheerleading as they whipped this story into shape.
The Ministry Gala
Ginny was pulled from sleep when she felt the warmth of the comforter tugged off her shoulder. Drowsily, she went to pull it back when she realized she’d kicked it off herself, and the majority of luxurious blankets were huddled around her feet. She had a habit when she slept to steal the covers from Harry, and of course, he let her — with minimal complaining. Sitting up, she could tell it was still very early, pre-dawn even. She tugged the sheets and comforter back in place, pulling them back over a sleeping Harry, too.
He was curled on his side — huddled for warmth, probably — and she snuggled closer, attempting to share some body heat on this cold, December morning. They’d arrived at the posh hotel last evening, both of them ravenous. Somehow, neither had managed to eat very much at their own wedding feast. Harry had ordered room service, and they’d gorged themselves on the sumptuous fare.
The hotel was exquisite, and Ginny could only imagine how much it must’ve cost. Harry had told her not to worry about it, but old habits died hard. She made a decent salary as a Quidditch player, and Harry had signed her name onto all his accounts, but her frugal beginnings had shaped who she was.
After they’d eaten their fill — they’d consummated their marriage — several times. Ginny thought she should still be tired at this early hour, but in truth, she was wide awake. She lifted her hand in the air, staring at the rings on her finger. The room was still very dark, but she could make them out. She liked how they looked on her finger, and she liked the way they sparkled when the light hit them. She’d have to wait for the sun to rise, she supposed.
The Ministry Gala was scheduled for that evening, so they had the whole day to do whatever they liked. Harry had booked the room for another night. He said they’d be leaving for their honeymoon in the morning. He still hadn’t told her where they were going, and it was driving her spare not knowing, but fun to imagine. Harry had told her to pack warmly, so they certainly weren’t headed anywhere tropical.
She sighed, glancing up at Harry’s sleeping face. He was breathing deeply and showed no sign of waking. Ginny tried not to pout. She wondered what kind of breakfast food they could get from that room service menu. She’d found she liked room service very much. Grey, pre-dawn light was seeping through the gap left in the curtain, and she thought it was probably still too early for room service, even. She should probably go back to sleep, but she felt so alert.
Memories of her wedding day flashed in front of her face like the moving picture shows Harry sometimes brought her to see: Luna’s tattoo, her dad walking her down the aisle; Harry’s tender expression; dancing with her brothers, and Siobhan and Seamus making a spectacle of themselves with their exuberant dancing.
Merlin, she loved them all.
She stretched out, accidentally kicking Harry, although he still didn’t wake. She contemplated kicking him harder but restrained herself. Barely. Her stomach rumbled, and she vaguely wondered if there was anything left from dinner the previous evening. Reaching onto her bedside table, she picked up a sweet wrapped in foil that had been left on her pillow. She unwrapped it happily and stuck it in her mouth, groaning with pleasure as the chocolate mint melted on her tongue.
Unfortunately, it did nothing to appease her hunger, but only whetted her appetite. She sighed dramatically, finally giving up and poking Harry on the chest. It took several pokes to drag him into wakefulness.
“Harry, wake up,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice low.
“S’matter?” Harry mumbled drowsily, his eyes still closed.
“Nothing is the matter. We’re married, you know,” she said, her voice hushed now as if it were some huge secret. She burrowed herself back into the warmth of his chest.
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, and his sleepy eyes fluttered open. “Morning, wife,” he said.
“Morning, husband,” she replied, beaming. “D’you think we could order room service again for some breakfast?”
“What’s the time?” Harry asked, obviously not nearly as awake as Ginny.
“It’s about half five,” she said, peering over him at the clock with the light-up display numbers. “Do you think that’s too early to call for breakfast?”
“It’s a bit early. I know what we can do to pass some time first,” he said, reaching for her, his body perking up a bit.
“Harry — I’m starving,” she moaned.
“I should’ve remembered I married a Weasley,” he said, chuckling. “All right. Let me call and see if they’ll bring breakfast to the honeymoon suite at this ungodly hour of the morning.”
He pulled himself into a seated position and reached for the telephone on the bedside table. Ginny used the loo, deciding if she was awake, she might as well commit to it.
“Breakfast will be delivered shortly,” he said once she emerged from the bathroom wearing one of the big, fluffy dressing gowns she’d found inside. He looked exhausted, and she felt a fluttering of guilt over waking him as he rubbed his sleep-encrusted eyes. “What time is this Ministry person coming, anyway?”
Despite the fact Harry and Ginny had prepared themselves for their wedding — well, Ginny did have a spot of help from Fleur, she conceded — Marietta had decided they needed a Ministry stylist to prepare them for the gala. Ginny was certain it was in retribution for the fact she’d refused to allow the Ministry any influence over their clothing choices.
“Marietta said they’d be here at four o’clock,” Ginny said, sighing.
“What are we supposed to do with them for two hours?” Harry asked, eyes bulging.
“They’re going to attempt to get your hair to lie flat. Honestly, I don’t think two hours is near enough time,” Ginny quipped.
Harry rolled his eyes at her. “Funny.”
Ginny smirked. “We’re supposed to meet them in the lobby and bring them up here. There was no way I was telling them the room number ahead of time,” she said.
“Good thinking. We probably would’ve had a Daily Prophet reporter in here secretly documenting when we made our marriage official,” he said, snorting.
A sly smile crossed Ginny’s face. “They would’ve had to have been back at Hogwarts for that,” she said coyly.
She delighted in the pinkness that lit up Harry’s cheeks.
“I really wish we hadn’t agreed to this whole thing,” he grumbled. “We had our wedding. Honestly, this seems like overkill.”
“I know,” Ginny replied, sighing. He’d expressed this concern repeatedly in the past. “We told everyone not to feel obliged to go to both. Quite honestly, everyone but us seems really eager to attend. I suppose there’s not a whole lot else to do, being mid-winter, and all.”
“Really, though, what is the stylist going to do to us?” he asked, unmollified.
“Nothing too embarrassing, Harry,” she said gently. “A few charms to press our robes, style our hair, make-up for the photographs that I’m certain they’ll require us to take.”
“More photographs?” he asked, groaning. “They took about a million yesterday. And they’re not putting any make-up on me.”
“You can tell them so, then,” Ginny said, amused.
“I will,” he said, grumpily.
There was a discreet knock on the door, and Harry quickly grabbed some Muggle money and slipped on one of the fluffy dressing gowns. A hotel employee wheeled in a breakfast tray holding covered silver platters set on a lacy white cloth.
Ginny’s stomach rumbled.
They enjoyed their fancy breakfast, then spent most of the day doing what typical newlywed couples did. Fortunately for Harry, both of them managed a leisurely nap so they’d be ready for the night’s festivities. At four o’clock, they were seated in the hotel’s elaborate lobby, awaiting the Ministry stylist. Harry looked decidedly less happy than he had the entire afternoon.
They’d perched themselves behind a large potted plant that allowed them to observe the entryway without being readily visible. Harry thought it would be easy to spot someone from the Ministry, as they were never all that good at blending in with the Muggles. Ginny enjoyed watching the many Muggles bustle about with their daily activities. Harry, hair still wet as he’d insisted on having his shower before the stylist arrived, explained various things to her as they observed the Muggles.
Ginny felt Harry stiffen beside her as she was watching one particular hotel worker attempting to balance a large number of food trays. She turned to see not only the Ministry stylist — a dark-haired witch with elaborately-styled curls — but two support staff following closely in her wake. One was male with thinning hair and wearing a poufy purple ascot, the other… Ginny’s heart sank… was Romilda Vane.
“They have to be bloody kidding me,” Harry bit out through gritted teeth. “Don’t eat or drink anything she gives you.”
“I’m not stupid,” Ginny said, watching the trio searching haplessly for them. Neither Harry nor Ginny made any attempt to help them out.
It was the wizard who spotted them first, pointing at them excitedly and saying something to his co-workers that Ginny couldn’t hear. They made their way toward the couple. The stylist and the wizard looked beyond excited, but Ginny thought she detected something predatory in Romilda’s dark eyes. She conceded that might only be down to the fact that Ginny couldn’t stand her.
The stylist reached them first and immediately kissed both Harry and Ginny on each check as if they were old friends. Ginny estimated the witch was in her forties with olive skin and tightly set curls. Ginny suspected she might’ve used the same charm Fleur had used on Ginny’s hair the day before.
“Oh, I’m so delighted to meet you. It’s an honor to meet the recently deposed Most Eligible Bachelor in Wizarding Britain and the star Chaser of my most favorite Quidditch team,” she gushed, barely pausing for breath. “I’m Effie Makemova, the Ministry stylist who’s been given this lush assignment. Thank heavens for my long-term, outstanding relationship with Gladys Flint. I’ve worked with her on dozens of events like this, although I think this one is to be my crowning jewel. These are my two assistants, Bruce Hornby and Romilda Vane.”
Effie’s sharp eyes swept over both Ginny and Harry as she spoke, pausing on his wet hair, and Ginny’s tousled curls. Most of Fleur’s charm had worn off between all the dancing and her night-time exploits, not to mention sleeping on them.
“Marietta didn’t tell me that you’d be bringing assistants,” Ginny said, not bothering to conceal the accusation in her tone.
Effie blinked, startled. “Oh… well, I always have assistants accompany me. It’s a big job,” she said, waving away Ginny’s concerns. “I assure you, Bruce is excellent at noticing small details, and Romilda told me she knew both of you.”
“Did she mention that she once tried to slip my husband a love potion?” Ginny asked coolly.
Effie’s mouth opened and closed, fish like. She cast an alarmed look at Romilda, who smiled widely.
“Oh, pish-posh, that was just ages ago,” Romilda said. “I think I was only a second-year. Everyone was trying to get to Harry back then, but he’s spoken for now, right?”
“As I recall, you were a bit older than that, but I was onto you, anyway,” Harry said stiffly, wrapping his arm around Ginny.
“Well, of course you were. It was a clumsy attempt by a silly, lovestruck little girl, right? We’ve all grown up since those days,” Romilda said, batting her eyes.
“All right, chop-chop. We need to get a move on if we’re going to make it to this party on time, and it won’t do to be late,” Effie said, shaking off her disconcertion. She glared at Romilda, who ignored her.
When they had all entered the lift, Harry maneuvered his body to conceal the display panel, so they couldn’t read which floor he’d pushed. Romilda tried several times to crane her neck, but Ginny kept shifting to block her. As they walked along the hallway to their room, she noticed Harry fingering his wand in his pocket.
Romilda paused as if confused, shaking her head as if she had water in her ears. Harry hurriedly ushered them all inside the vast honeymoon suite.
Ginny had been worried about the messy state they’d left the room and what comments would be made about its shambles, but she needn’t have worried. The hotel staff had obviously been in whilst they were downstairs to tidy up room.
Ginny let out a small sigh of relief. Other than Romilda’s presence, so far, so good. None of them would be able to tell a reporter exactly where Harry and Ginny were staying, if they’d been so inclined.
“It’s such an honor to be assisting you today, Mr. Potter. I’ve been a long-time fan, and I only want to help you present your best self. I realize there is very little for me to do,” Bruce gushed, shaking Harry’s hand enthusiastically.
“Er,” Harry said awkwardly, flummoxed.
Ginny snorted. In all the scenarios Harry had envisioned for this stylist, she didn’t think he’d ever once consider that he’d have a gushing bloke crushing on him. If she wasn’t so hacked off by Romilda’s presence, she’d be amused.
“Now, we have a lot to do, so multi-tasking will be essential. Both of you can start with showers, and let me take a look at your dress robes. I understand you’ve chosen a non-Ministry-approved designer, but I assure you, I’m quite capable of alterations. We’ll have you both up to snuff in time for the party,” Effie said, her eyes constantly moving over the layout of the suite.
Ginny was stung by this. “I assure you, there’s nothing wrong with the dress robes. They’re quite stunning, actually,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Yes, I’m certain they are, but why don’t you let me be the judge of that. Now, showers for both of you so we can begin hair and make-up,” Effie said dismissively.
“I’ve had my shower before we went downstairs to greet you,” Harry said.
Effie pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath. “Right. Bruce has brought along several wonderful products designed specifically for men, and I think—”
“I assure you, I’m fine,” Harry interrupted firmly.” I think we need to get something straight. You are here at the Ministry’s request, not ours. You’re making suggestions, but we are in no way required to oblige. Neither my wife, nor I, will be eating anything in that one’s presence,” he nodded toward Romilda, “and you all will Disapparate from this room ahead of us. Do I make myself clear?”
“Mr. Potter, I understand security is a high concern, but we mean you no harm. There really is no need for all this cloak and dagger,” Effie said, placating.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Harry replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Ginny, do you want to have a shower?”
Ginny smiled widely at the way he’d taken over. The Ministry workers were all staring at him with eyes wide, mouths agape. “Yes, I think I will — but I’m using my own Wonder Witch products, thank you very much,” she said pointedly.
“I could assist with handing you anything you need,” Romilda said, still attempting to insert herself wherever she saw the opportunity.
“I’ve bathed myself on my own for years, and miraculously enough, have managed it. I’ll be out shortly,” Ginny said, closing the door behind her and leaving Romilda standing on the other side. After a moment, she cracked it slightly in order to hear what was going on. It had never occurred to her that she could use an Extendable Ear on her honeymoon!
“Bruce, you’ve welcome to attempt to tame my hair, but I’ll give you fair warning, no one has managed it yet,” Harry said. He’d obviously resigned himself to getting this done and over with.
“I’ll give it a go — but honestly, it’s a bit of a trademark, so we don’t want to over-style it,” Bruce said. Through the crack, Ginny could see he had one finger pressed over his lips as he perused Harry’s hair.
“I think you and I will get on just fine, Bruce. Effie, the robes are hanging in the wardrobe. No alterations are to be made without our express permission. Agreed?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Effie said, disgruntled.
Ginny shut the door and proceeded to have her shower. When she was finished, she once again cracked the door slightly to peek at what was going on. Harry’s hair was sleek and stylish, although still poking up in the back. She knew from experience that the more time that went by, the more unruly his hair would become. Bruce was putting a bit of powder on a very disgruntled Harry’s face. Effie was still examining the dress robes, and Romilda…
Romilda was wandering around, staring at the elegant room longingly, running her hand lovingly along the bed.
Ginny shuddered, pushing open the bathroom door and causing Romilda to jump, looking guilty.
“There you are, Ginny. Good, good. Romilda, get started on her hair. Let me see your nails, Mrs. Potter,” Effie demanded.
“Did the dress robes meet your high standards?” Ginny asked. Effie didn’t catch her sarcasm, but Harry stuffed his knuckle in his mouth, causing Bruce to slap it away and reapply his powder.
“They’re quite good, actually. The truth remains in the fit, but they are much better than I’d been anticipating,” Effie replied grudgingly.
“Here, Mr. Potter. You’re ready to put yours on. Please mind not to smudge your face. Do you need any assistance?” Bruce asked hopefully.
Startled, Harry snatched the robes and strode toward the bathroom. “I can manage, thanks,” he said.
While Romilda tugged a comb through Ginny’s hair, Harry emerged from the bathroom wearing his dark grey dress robes. They had a lighter grey material on the trim, with the same silver threading as on Ginny’s robes.
“These robes are spectacular. You look good enough to eat,” Bruce said, gushing. He looked as if he was considering taking a bite.
“Er,” Harry said ineloquently.
“The silver thread catches the light, and you nearly shine. Oh, wait until the photographer gets a look at you. You’ll have some competition for his attention, Mrs. Potter,” Bruce said, continuing to gush.
Ginny nearly choked at the horrified expression on Harry’s face. Bruce winked at her across the room.
“How’s the fit on the shoulders?” Effie asked critically, as if determined to find something she didn’t like about the dress robes.
“It’s impeccable. Just look at him,” Bruce raved.
“How about his arse?” Romilda asked bluntly, one comb clenched in her teeth, the other in Ginny’s hair. She tugged rather hard on a tangle, making Ginny wince.
“I could bounce a Knut off him,” Bruce replied, pressing his lips together appreciatively.
“Er,” Harry said warily.
When it was time for Ginny to get into her own dress robes, she slipped them over her head, staring at herself in the mirror. The material was light and flowy and felt as if she were wearing flimsy lingerie rather than dress robes. The silver threading caught the light, shining beautifully. The robes cinched in at her waist then fell delicately to the floor.
Ginny emerged hesitantly, certain Effie would find fault. Harry disentangled himself from Bruce’s fussing and strode across the room to her, kissing her fully. “You look stunning,” he said.
Effie hurriedly followed, pulling him back. “Don’t smudge her lipstick,” she snapped, carefully examining Ginny’s robes.
“Well?” Ginny asked aggressively.
“They’ll do,” Effie said, grudgingly.
“Why are you so determined to dislike perfectly lovely dress robes? Because they weren’t designed by one of your old cronies?” Ginny asked.
Effie looked affronted. “I said no such thing.”
“No, but your attitude does. The robes were designed by Patil Squared at one oh three Diagon Alley. Please be certain to include the information in the press clippings,” she said, speaking to Bruce rather than Effie or Romilda. He was the only one she trusted.
“On that note, I think we should get to the Ministry,” Harry said, indicating the stylists should Disapparate. The Potters were supposed to arrive before the guests in order to take more photographs, then be introduced to the ballroom later.
Harry cast a few security charms on the room before extending his hand to Ginny.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked, grinning and taking his hand.
“As ready as I’m ever going to be.”
/* /* /* /*
Harry fidgeted behind the closed door that led to the Ministry ballroom. He was closeted in a small room with the rest of his wedding party, awaiting their introduction. The photographs had taken much longer than anticipated because of some trouble the photographer was having with glare. It wasn’t until Ginny had hissed, “Harry, cut it out!” that he realized he might’ve been wishing too hard to be finished, and his magic had acted of its own accord. Once he became aware of this, the photographs were able to be completed.
He was here, he was dressed up, and he was with all of his most favorite people in the world. What was the point in continuing to grumble about the Ministry’s heavy handedness? He remembered something Arthur had once told him about having to bear the burden of being the symbol of their victory, but he might as well enjoy a good party.
He glanced down at his grinning wife. She looked lovely in her shimmering dress robes, and excited to see everyone else. Hermione and Luna were both dressed in soft, ice-blue robes made of the same shimmery material as Ginny’s. They looked as if they were made of winter itself.
“Are you ready for this?” Ginny asked, adjusting his boutonniere.
Harry had been touched when Bruce had attached it before the photographs were taken. “It’s a lily,” he’d whispered, “so your mum can be part of the festivities.”
Harry had hated the whole idea of a stylist, but he had to admit, Bruce had been all right. He glanced over and received the thumbs up from the wizard in question, who was standing back and watching the proceedings, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice should there be a wardrobe malfunction.
“I’m ready. Let’s begin, yeah?” he asked.
The Minister’s voice sounded from inside the ballroom, and Harry could just imagine the restless crowd on the other side of the door settling down.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Ministry. I’m glad you were able to enjoy all the fine spirits and elf-made wine while awaiting our guests of honor.”
They could hear laughter spread across the ballroom.
“Yesterday, the wizard whom we all fondly think of as our savior married one of our favorite Quidditch sensations. Today, they’re both here to celebrate their joy and happy occasion with us. I ask you to stand and raise a glass while I introduce the wedding party,” Kingsley’s rich baritone rang across the entire room.
Harry was grateful to the Minister for keeping the introduction brief and focused more on why they were there rather than anything that had happened in the past. Harry had requested this, and he was pleased that the Minister, at least, had listened.
“First, please welcome the attendants, Luna Lovegood and George Weasley,” Kingsley said.
Luna took George’s proffered arm, and the others stood back as the door was opened and Luna and George slipped through the closing door to a roar of applause. George kept pausing to bow and wave to the crowd, blowing kisses as if he were a beauty pageant contestant.
Harry had a brief glimpse of the ballroom, which was decorated like a winter wonderland in white and blue. White roses, lilies, gardenias, orchids, iris, larkspur and many other flowers Harry couldn’t name adorned the tables and hung in displays on the gleaming columns.
“Oh, the flowers are beautiful,” Ginny breathed. “I’d wanted color for my bridal bouquet, but I’ll admit Marietta was right about the all-white theme for this event.”
“And our second pair of attendants, names you’ll all recognize, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley,” the Minister said.
“Let’s show ‘em how’s it done,” Ron said, grinning as Hermione took his arm. The shout of cheers and applause was even louder as Ron and Hermione entered the ballroom.
This was it. Harry wiped his sweaty palm on his dress robes before taking Ginny’s hand.
“Honestly,” Bruce grumbled, quickly hurrying over and casting a cleaning charm to the spot. Waggling his finger in a “behave” sort of motion, he re-pressed Harry’s robes.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered whilst Ginny giggled.
“And finally, may I present the couple you’ve all been waiting to see, the newlyweds, Harry and Ginny Potter,” the Minister called.
Harry and Ginny entered to a deafening roar that caused them both to startle for a moment. Harry tightened his grip on Ginny’s hand and walked into the room, waving at the cheering crowd. He could see Gawain Robards and several other department heads standing in a row beside the Minister. He recognized the Quidditch League Commissioner amongst them.
They stopped in front of the Minister, shaking his hand. They turned toward the crowd, and Harry saw Bruce miming to add the Sonorus Charm to his throat.
“Ginny and I would like to thank you all for coming to join in our celebration. As you’re all aware, there were several times I feared this day would never happen, but thankfully that proved unfounded,” he said, fighting the urge to fidget.
“We’re both looking forward to starting our lives together with this party. After that, we hope for a bit of privacy as we accustom ourselves to married life,” Ginny said, raising her chin in defiance. Marietta had told her to avoid making any such statement. Harry knew she would as soon as Marietta had told her not to.
The couple began shaking hands and making their way down the long reception line of high-ranking Ministry officials, Quidditch League bureaucrats and — Harry was certain — big donors to various pet causes. He reckoned this was the real reason so many of them wanted this function to happen.
Once they were finally finished, the couple was hailed by Owen and several other Aurors huddled in a group. Owen slapped Harry on the back, and offered Ginny a glass of wine, which she accepted gratefully.
“And here are our celebrities,” Owen said, his voice dripping with mock sarcasm. “It’s about time you came over to say hello.”
“Hi, Harry! This must be your lovely wife,” Ethan said, shouldering his way to the front and reaching out to shake Ginny’s hand. “I’m Ethan Zeelus. I work with Harry.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Ethan. Harry has told me so much about you,” Ginny said with a perfectly straight face.
Harry choked on the lager Owen had placed in his hands.
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you, too. It’s such a great honor to be working with Harry. He’s really amazing, but I’m certain you know that. If you need anything at all while you’re away, don’t hesitate to ask. I can feed any pets, or water plants, or… just anything,” Ethan said with such sincere honesty, Harry could see even Ginny was taken aback. Ethan took some getting used to.
“Thanks very much, Ethan, but we have housemates to take care of that,” he said smoothly.
“So, are you ready to spill on where you’re going on this honeymoon?” Owen asked, smirking. He’d been trying to wheedle it out of Harry for ages.
“I doubt it,” Ginny said, casting a scowl in Harry’s direction. “He won’t even tell me.”
“I’ve been trying to look into it, but he’s covered his tracks really well. I suppose that comes with being such a good Auror,” Ethan said, coloring when three pairs of startled eyes turned towards him.
“You’ve been trying to research where he’s going on his honeymoon?” Owen asked incredulously. “I mean, half the fun is taking the mickey.”
As Harry and Ginny walked away, she leaned into him, “I’m sorry for all the times I teased you about Ethan. You really do have to put up with a lot.”
“I’ll remind you of that the next time, then,” Harry replied, grinning. They made their way to the table that had been set up at the front of the room. Harry had assumed they’d be seated with the wedding party, but the Weasleys were all together at a large table off to the side. Harry and Ginny were seated with the Minister and several dignitaries, including the Quidditch Commissioner, Hubert Marcellos, and his wife, Octavia.
Harry stared longingly over at the Weasley table, already roaring with laughter. Angelina had squeezed in next to George, leaving Luna next to Charlie. Both were engaged in animated conversation and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what they could be talking about. Probably some sort of never-before-heard-of dragon breed, if Luna had her way.
Harry and Ginny’s table held Royden Gray from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and his wife, Madam Gray, who was apparently some high-ranking member of the Wizengamot, in addition to Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. Ginny had whispered that their daughter, Astoria, had left Hogwarts with her and had been Head Girl. Astoria also currently worked for Royden Gray. Harry’s heart sank, reckoning he was in for very political dinner discussion.
He was pleasantly surprised, however, when Hubert Marcellos turned out to be much more personable than expected. He and his wife were both huge Quidditch fans, and Octavia had once played Chaser for Ravenclaw when she’d been at Hogwarts. She and Ginny hit it off fabulously. Both the Grays and the Greengrasses tried several times to turn the conversation to other matters, but Ginny deftly kept the talk on Quidditch. Both the Minister and his wife joined in on the lively discussion. Harry wasn’t certain he remembered Kingsley ever being a huge fan, but when he subtly winked at Harry across the table, Harry realized both the Shacklebolts were ensuring Harry and Ginny had a good time at their celebration.
Harry was amazed by his charming wife. She generally liked to talk, but when the subject was Quidditch, she just came to life, and the others were like moths around her bright flame. He usually struggled with having to speak at these functions, but she more than made up for his reserve, subtly drawing him into the conversation.
He was quite a lucky man.
As dinner wound down, several other members of the Quidditch League stopped by the table. Harry saw Ginny’s teammates and Oliver Wood, who was one of the few guests actually on Harry and Ginny’s personal list, approaching them.
“Oi, Potter, there you are,” Oliver said, shaking Harry’s hand.
Harry slid out his chair from the table, making room for Oliver to slide an extra one in while Ginny’s teammates surrounded her. The Grays and the Greengrasses, apparently giving up on dragging Harry into a political discussion, moved away from the table, scowling.
“How are you, Oliver?” Harry asked.
“Quite a do. I’ve managed to get a word in with a few officials from other teams, which is highly useful. We’re talking about getting a junior league started amongst some talented kids before they start at Hogwarts, get them pointed on the right track, you know?” Oliver asked.
“Sounds great for wizarding families,” Harry said, feeling Muggleborn students would be at even more of a disadvantage. He remembered fearing that at his first flying lesson, but being relieved that he wasn’t alone in being a novice.
“Yeah, I think so,” Oliver said, completely missing — or ignoring — Harry’s hesitancy. “I was thinking about the amount of Quidditch talent that any kids you and Ginny have will inherit. It’s staggering to think about.”
Harry felt his face growing red, and he tried to tamp it down. “Oh?”
“Yeah, between you and Weasley… er, Potter now, I suppose, well, that’s something scouts are going to want to keep an eye on,” Oliver said eagerly.
“Scouting for Puddlemere now, are you?” Harry asked, amused.
“Well, I can’t play forever, can I? I need to think of my future, and I think this could be a good direction to go,” Oliver said.
“So glad any future children Ginny and I might have suit your potential future needs,” Harry said, sardonically.
Again, Oliver missed the sarcasm and slapped Harry on the back. “I know, right? It’s best to keep an eye on these things now. Time flies, as you well know. In fact, there’s a lot of talent in the Weasley family alone, and there should be a whole new generation of gingers running around Hogwarts in another few years.”
“We can only hope,” Harry said, thrilling at the idea. He wondered if Minerva McGonagall wanted to stay on as Headmistress long enough for that. He’d have to ask her. She was around here somewhere.
“Mr. Potter, may I offer my congratulations?” asked a rosy-cheeked man with a boyish face, pumping his hand enthusiastically.
Harry followed Oliver’s lead and stood up to greet the man.
“Harry, this is Charles Brown, owner of the Chudley Cannons,” Oliver introduced helpfully.
“Are you really?” Harry asked. “My friend, Ron, Ginny’s brother, is a lifelong Cannons fan. I bet he’d love to meet you.”
“Is he really?” Charles asked, looking bemused. “Can’t say I find that all that often.”
Harry stood on his tiptoes and waved his arms frantically at Ron, who was watching them longingly from the Weasley table. He perked up when he noticed Harry hailing him. Harry dropped his arms, feeling as if he was making a spectacle of himself. Perhaps he’d had more of the elf-made wine than he’d realized.
As Ron approached, Harry opened his mouth to make the introductions but found it was unnecessary.
“Charles Brown,” Ron said, thunderstruck. He stuck out his hand and shook Charles Brown’s proffered one enthusiastically. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve been a fan of the Chudley Cannons my whole life.”
Harry quickly offered Ron his chair, because he thought Ron looked as if he might pass out at any moment. Ron didn’t sit, but he grasped the back of the chair and leaned on it gratefully.
As Ron, Oliver and Charles descended into Quidditch talk, and Ginny was still surrounded by her team, Harry wandered over to the Weasley table. Percy and Audrey had left to socialize, but the rest of the family was still there, chatting happily. Luna and Charlie were engaged in deep conversation, and his curiosity was piqued. He took Percy’s empty chair.
“Oh, Harry, dear, how are you? Did you get enough to eat?” Molly asked fussily. Harry thought it was part of her innate make-up to feed the people around her.
“I did, Molly. Thank you all for coming. I know we’ve monopolized your entire weekend,” he said sheepishly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, waving her hand in a brush-off moment. “Eet is a lovely party.”
“Yeah, it’s what families do, after all,” Bill said, filling Harry with a strong gush of warmth inside. They were truly his family now.
“We’ve always been family to both of you, lad,” Mr. Weasley said, as if knowing exactly what Harry was thinking.
Harry ducked his head, desperately seeking a change of subject. “Luna, you and Charlie seem to have hit it off,” he said, his cheeks coloring. Perhaps that had been tactless.
“Yes, I’ve been filling him in on our upcoming expedition to locate the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. There’s been another siting in Scandinavia, and my father is organizing the trip,” Luna said earnestly.
“It sounds rather like a creature we’ve spotted several times around the encampment in Romania. It only rarely appears, but the dragons all get extremely feisty around every appearance,” Charlie said, as if Luna sounded perfectly reasonable.
“It sounds to me like you might have a web-footed Gremelime on your hands. They consider dragon eggs a delicacy, you know,” Luna said, blinking her wide, protuberant eyes.
“Hello, family. I thought I’d never get away,” Ginny said, slipping into the chair beside Harry and kissing him on the cheek.
“I thought you were enjoying yourself,” Harry asked, startled.
“I was. I love talking about Quidditch, in general, you know that, but Gwenog has begun a bit of pre-season training session, and I’m not ready for that yet,” Ginny said, scowling at her team still huddled in a group. “Today is about celebrating our marriage.”
“Who’s that Ron is speaking with? He looks as if he’s been Confunded,” Hermione asked, watching Ron at the head table.
“Charles Brown, owner of the Chudley Cannons,” Ginny supplied easily. “Ron is in heaven. He’s regaling him with his thoughts on how the team can improve its standings.”
“Oh, ho, you won’t see him again tonight, Hermione,” George said, laughing.
“I honestly don’t understand how he can be so infatuated with that team. They’re dreadful,” Angelina said, shaking her head. Both she and George were studying Ron intently.
“You lot had all chosen your teams by the time Ron came along. As usual, he took the leftover,” Ginny said, laughing.
Charlie clinked his glass with Ginny’s. “Fair point,” he said.
“Maybe so, but think where we all could be without Ron’s loyalty. Even when he stumbled, he always came back stronger,” Hermione said firmly.
Harry clinked his glass with Hermione’s. “Cheers,” he said.
“Harry, Ginny, Congratulations,” Neville said, clapping Harry on the back and leaning over to kiss Ginny’s cheek. He and Hannah beamed at the newlyweds.
“Hi, Neville, Hannah. It’s so good of you to come to both parties,” Ginny said.
“How is your grandmother, Neville?” Molly asked.
“She’s well, thanks. She’s over there telling off a few members of the Wizengamot,” Neville said, tossing his head in her direction. “I haven’t seen Andromeda tonight. She and Teddy both seemed to really enjoy themselves yesterday.”
“I think they did. Andromeda chose not to attend this one. She’s still not a huge fan of Ministry functions,” Harry said. He suspected that Andromeda was rather tired after the wedding, although she’d never admit it.
“I can’t blame her for that. I’m not a huge fan of Ministry functions, either,” Neville said.
“Sorry,” Harry said immediately.
“Of course you are. When aren’t you sorry, Harry? Honestly, we’re all here dressed in our party clothes, eating and drinking on the Ministry’s gold, and chatting with friends and family. What’s not to enjoy?” George asked, placing his hand over his heart dramatically.
Angelina elbowed him in the gut, but Molly approved. “Well said, George. It’s nice to be here celebrating such a happy occasion, and who can blame people for being eager to attend the bonding of two such wonderful young people?”
“And you’re not the least bit biased at all, are you, Mum?” Ginny asked, giggling at her mother fondly.
“That has nothing to do with it. The truth is the truth,” Molly replied huffily. Arthur slid his arm around her back, patting it affectionately.
As the evening went on, and the crowd began to thin, Harry leaned over and whispered to Ginny. “What do you say if we make our exit? We have an early start tomorrow.”
“We do? Where are we going?” she asked sharply.
“You’ll see when we get there,” he said, enjoying holding it over her; she really didn’t like not knowing something.
She slid her small hand into his larger one. “I’ll follow you anywhere,” she said happily.
They were able to quietly skirt the edge of the ballroom and make their way outside. Harry had feared Marietta would’ve tried to have him make another speech. As they strolled the hallway toward the Atrium hand-in-hand, they found Vivian securing her cloak over her crimson dress robes.
“Hello, Vivian. Thanks for coming,” Harry said.
Vivian graced them with one of her rare smiles. “I tend to avoid these smart Ministry parties, but this one was very nice. Congratulations to both of you. Enjoy your holiday. You’ve both earned it.”
“Thanks to you,” Ginny said. “If you hadn’t worked so hard on that Draught, it might’ve been a very different outcome. I’ll always remember that.”
Vivian nodded graciously. “You made the situation most personal, but I’m pleased it all worked out in the end.”
“So, what happens for you next? Back to skirting the Muggle world to see if any weird new diseases or symptoms appear?” Harry asked.
“You know I can’t answer that,” she replied.
“I know, but I thought I’d see if I could catch you off-guard,” Harry said.
“I’ll miss working with you, Mr. Potter. You were a pleasant surprise, and not at all what I’d expected. Should I ever need Auror assistance on a project again, you’ll be top of my list,” she said.
Harry felt his face grow warm. “He’s rarely what anyone expects,” Ginny replied, grinning at his embarrassment. “I’ll send you some Harpies’ tickets when the season resumes. I’d like to see you sporting the green and gold.”
“That would be most welcome,” Vivian replied. She glanced at the ruckus outside the door when someone else pushed it open. “Uh, oh — it looks as if the reporters are awaiting your exit.”
Harry groaned. “Of course, they are.” He should’ve known that Marietta had given in way too easily about not allowing reporters to attend the event. She wasn’t going to let them get away without any added publicity. “I don’t suppose you’d want to create a distraction?” he asked.
Vivian shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re on your own. I’ve had about enough of pestilence of every kind. Good luck,” and with that, she slipped out the door.
“I don’t expect we’re lucky enough that there isn’t an anti-Disapparition ward here, do you?” Ginny asked, sighing.
“Not likely, and I’m certain they’ve been alerted to watch for us. I have another idea, though,” he said, concentrating.
“What are you planning?” Ginny asked, unconcerned.
A flash of fire over their heads startled her, but they looked up to see Fawkes hovering above them.
“Just grab onto a tail feather. I’ve always wanted to see what this was like,” he said happily.
They each grasped a tail feather, and a pleasant warmth spread over them. They were gone in a flash of fire, and the reporters were left standing outside, still awaiting their departure. Harry and Ginny were back at their London honeymoon suite, unscathed and un-interviewed, in no time at all.
Author’s Note: I had a birthday over the weekend, and I wished for a Tampa Bay win. Hooray, Bucs! Here’s hoping they can follow through in the SuperBowl. For me, Tom Brady will always be a Patriot 😊
As always, huge thanks to my beta team — Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their endless patience and cheerleading as they whipped this story into shape.
Chapter 31: And Life Goes On
Author's Notes: Well, there it is, finished! Woo hoo! I first started writing this back in March when we all went into lockdown – and it’s finished before its over. Two weeks! Yeah, right. I lost my mom to Covid back in April, which is when it all become much more real, and it had to separate what was happening in my story to reality. By the time it was wrapping up, I was so tired of our own confinement, I needed a happy ending for this one.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.
As always, huge thanks to my beta team – Sherylyn, Arnel and Sue for their tireless work and patience and even just listening as I worked out idea. I don’t think I can ever express my appreciation to them enough.
Until next time – and Go, Tampa Bay Buccaneers!
And Life Goes On
Ginny groaned as she submerged herself in the hot, bubbling water, shutting her eyes to let the soothing feeling wash over her. She’d never even heard of a hot tub before this holiday, but she was determined to never be without one again. The Holyhead Harpies’ changing room needed this sort of luxury. Harry had surprised her with a secluded chalet in the Swiss Alps for their honeymoon. They’d learned to ski amongst the Muggles by day, but had the chalet to themselves to practice magic as they pleased when needed.
Ginny had been cautious of strapping the bits of wood onto her feet at first, but as both she and Harry were sporty and loved flying, she’d quickly learned that skiing was the closest thing the Muggles had to it. They both thrilled at the speed of it, and were soon racing down the intermediate trails. Harry was determined to try a black diamond before they returned, and though slightly more cautious than him, she knew she’d end up following him — and beating him to the bottom if she could manage it.
They dined in posh restaurants each evening, and relaxed by the roaring fire in the chalet at night. The hot tub had been an unexpected bonus, but had soon turned into one of their most favorite things.
A splashing sound and the rippling of the water let her know Harry had joined her in the tub, and he groaned in much the same way she had once he settled on the bench inside the tub. She cracked her eyes open to see that he’d also shut his eyes and had his head resting back against the rim of the hot tub. He had some vivid bruising along his left shoulder — he’d crashed rather spectacularly into a tree the day before. Ginny knew her own body was bruised in several places from falls of her own. It hadn’t occurred to her they’d need bruise balm on their honeymoon.
But they both found they loved skiing, despite the minor abrasions.
“How about we forget about returning to London in two days and just stay right here instead?” he asked without opening his eyes. He worked out the kinks in his neck while keeping them closed.
“We’d prune,” she replied sadly, “and I don’t want to spend my life all wrinkly before my time.”
“Fair enough,” he sighed. “I suppose London it is, then.”
“I expect the weather in London is probably enough to make us prune, as well, though, so it might be better to just stay here,” Ginny said thoughtfully, sliding along the bench to sit closer to him, resting her head in the crook of his outstretched arm. She was careful to avoid his bruising.
“Okay,” Harry said, sounding as if he was falling asleep.
“In a way, I don’t want to leave, but I also want to see everyone, and get some post addressed to Ginny Potter,” she said. “Ooh, and my game kit with POTTER on the back should’ve arrived by now. I can’t wait to see that.”
“So, you are ready to go home, then?” Harry asked.
“Well, I still have some time off before training begins anew, so it’s not like it’ll be completely back to reality yet. And you have a few more days off, as well, mind,” Ginny said.
“True,” he replied. He’d taken a few more days’ leave so they could have some time to look over their wedding gifts and get all their affairs in order now that they were a bonded pair. Osbert Fawley had been tried, and he’d given them a few other names, but Harry was certain Dark magic would rear its ugly head again. It always did, and he'd be there to fight it. For now, he was enjoying his time with his new wife. “We’ll need to visit Gringotts, and I want to see if the Sirius Black Home for Little Wanderers received any donations.”
He'd used some of the Black fortune to arrange a place for orphans and troubled youth to go and feel safe. Rather than more wedding gifts, they’d requested the attendees of the Ministry gala make a donation to the orphanage.
“I’m certain they did. There were a lot of people there, so the Home should’ve done well,” Ginny said. “I wonder if Ron’s still alive.”
“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, this time actually opening his eyes to look at her, startled.
“Well, without either of us there, and George back with Angelina, who d’you suppose has been feeding him and Hermione this whole time?” she asked.
Harry let out a bark of laughter. “I’m sure they managed. Maybe they learned to make something for themselves.”
“Honestly, we were stuck in quarantine for months, and neither of them bothered to learn. I doubt our being away for a week has changed anything too drastically,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“Your mum, then,” Harry said, nodding decisively and shutting his eyes once again. “She’d never let them starve.”
Ginny pondered this for a moment, knowing he was right, but irritated by it, nonetheless. “True. I hope she makes them visit a few times, at least.”
“She had Charlie home to spoil for a while, too, don’t forget,” Harry said lazily, again sounding as if he was beginning to drift.
Ginny pursed her lips. “Yeah, but I expect he’s gone back to Romania by now.”
“He and Luna seemed to be getting on well at the gala. Maybe he extended his stay,” he said absently.
Ginny shook her head. “Nah, both of them like their nomadic lifestyles too much. They did have sex at the gala, though.”
Harry’s eyes flew open, and he sat up so quickly, he slipped off the bench and went under the water. He reappeared a moment later, choking slightly and shaking the water from his hair like a shaggy dog. “What? How do you know?” he gasped.
“Luna told me they shagged in the cloak room,” she said, giggling as she watched the water drip from his fringe and into his startled eyes.
“You’re joking,” he said warily.
She shook her head. “I am not. She even said that when someone came to get their cloak, she calmly handed it back to them and went about with her tryst.”
Harry’s jaw hung open. He blinked at her, uncertain if she was having him on or not. “Are you taking the micky?” he asked.
She grinned, delighted. “Nope. I don’t expect they were the only ones to make use of that cloak room, mind. I saw Seamus and Siobhan emerge at one point looking distinctly rumpled, but I didn’t want to ask.”
Harry eyes widened even further. “Are they together?”
Ginny shrugged. “I’m not really certain. I’ll have to Floo call her when we return. He’s really not Siobhan’s type, but they work together, and they did seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“I’d say,” Harry grumbled, his mouth forming a pout. “Why didn’t we know to make use of that cloak room, then?”
Ginny couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Oh, that’s rich! As if you’d ever dare to be so blatant at the Ministry with reporters all about. You like your privacy too much,” she said, chuckling.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, suddenly alert and looking wary.
She shook her head, patting his chest gently. “Not at all. I like your privacy, too. They’re always speculating about us, just looking for a scandal. I like that we can keep that air of mystery. It makes me feel as if I have a bit of control over it all.”
Harry relaxed back against the rim of the tub, pulling her tighter to his chest. “I’m all for letting you have control, then, and frustrating the reporters.”
“Ooh, I like frustrating them. Want to stage a public row about something absolutely ridiculous and watch them make fools of themselves?” she asked, sitting up again.
Harry shook his head, pulling her back against him. “No, I don’t want to antagonize them, either. It’ll just make it worse.”
“Fair point,” she conceded. “All right, we’ll just play up that mysterious elusiveness. It drives them spare. D’you think you’ve been replaced as Ron’s best mate?”
Harry shook his head, trying to keep up with her rambling thoughts. “What d’you mean?”
“Well, he seemed fairly enamored with Charles Brown, you know, the Cannons owner. At one point, I thought he was going to snog him,” she said, shrugging.
Harry let out another bark of laughter. “D’you think Hermione should be worried, then?”
Ginny nodded. “I would if I were her. Although, I could never understand what she sees in him anyway. He’s a pain in the arse.”
“They’re good for each other. Hermione has a tendency to be too serious. Ron lightens her up and reminds her to laugh,” he said.
“I suppose it is easy to laugh at him,” Ginny said, shrugging.
“Ginny,” he said warningly.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, not feeling contrite in the slightest. It made Harry feel better to defend his mate, though. “So, if we’ve decided we are going to go home, what do you think about getting one of these hot tubs for Grimmauld Place? There are loads of empty rooms we’re still not using.”
“I think most people have them outside,” Harry said, laughing. “Still… I don’t think we could get a Muggle one to work properly. Remember all the trouble we had with the television set? Magic and Muggle electronics just don’t mix. I bet we could work out a few spells to make it work, though. I don’t think it would be that complicated.”
“I would definitely reward you if you could do that,” Ginny said, luxuriating in the feel of the tub.
“Promise? Consider it done, then. I can buy the tub itself from a Muggle shop, then set some Charms to make it work,” Harry said slowly, already working out the details in his head.
“I love you,” Ginny said suddenly, feeling an overwhelming swell of affection for her husband. “I’m so glad we planned that whole wedding quickly. So much less stressful, and I like being married now.”
“If there’s one thing I learned from you’re getting sick during the whole contagion mess, it was to never take time for granted again. We need to always live life to its fullest. It’s a lesson I should’ve learned a long time ago after everything with the war, but I let life get in the way. The contagion was a brutal reminder, and I’m determined to never forget again,” Harry said, swallowing heavily. His cheeks were tinged pink, and his eyes burned like emerald fire with that intensity he sometimes displayed.
“I promise to live that life right along-side you and not let procrastination win. We’re going to have a great life, Mr. Potter. Together,” she said, beaming.
“Together until the very end,” he agreed, smiling broadly.
The End