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SIYE Time:8:18 on 29th March 2024
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Foolish
By Tonksaholic

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Other
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Negative Alcohol Use
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 713
Summary: Can love survive, no matter what someone does to destroy it?
Hitcount: Story Total: 154048; Chapter Total: 6843
Awards: View Trophy Room






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Author’s Note: Another chapter for you all to (hopefully) enjoy. Thanks as always to my betas, who go above and beyond. The song used in this chapter is (regretfully) not mine, it belongs to the Beatles. Lastly, an enormous thank you to everyone who voted for this story in the Silver Trinket Awards. I could not stop smiling all day when I saw the results. You guys are so amazing and I hope that I can continue to keep you guys entertained and excited for updates. Happy Reading!


Chapter Ten

Truth, Lies, and Knowing When to Use Them






Wednesday afternoon was cloudy, the first time since her arrival that rained had threatened to touch Hastom. The weather felt fitting as she waited alone at the cemetery gate on the outskirts of Hastom, shifting restlessly between her feet. She hated cemeteries; she had been inside far too many of them in the days and weeks after the Final Battle, becoming far too familiar at far too young an age with the rituals of laying the dead to rest.

Sapien was by himself as well. He hadn’t been lying to her when he said that in Hastom the family alone buried their loved ones, nor had he been exaggerating when he declared himself to be the only one of Mr. Chornin’s relatives left. Ginny had arrived at the wrought-iron gates of the small graveyard fifteen minutes before and Sapien had been the only one at Mr. Chornin’s fresh plot, standing solemnly near the simple yet elegant headstone of his late father-in-law. She hated to disturb him from his mourning, but it was vital that she speak with him.

There was a loophole, somewhere, that wouldn’t force Harry to take her in throughout her trial and she was determined to find it.

She had been so confident yesterday, walking into the tiny white clapboard building that housed Hastom’s library, that she would find such an exception. Nell and Bart had both tried to dissuade her, unsuccessfully, their protests and assurances that there were no exceptions falling on deaf ears. As for Harry, he had occupied himself with Meredith for the weekend, probably doing his best to assure his girlfriend of his love for her. Not that Ginny knew that firsthand; it was the only assumption that made sense to her.

But that was not her focus as she prepared to research a way to avoid living with Harry. With such a small library, the town’s records and historical documents would be easy enough to find and sift through.

However, as soon as she pulled the door open, her jaw hit the floor when she saw the actual size of the room. It was akin to the tents her father had used for the Quidditch World Cup the summer before her third year. A space almost double the size of the atrium of the Ministry of Magic greeted her, with rows upon rows upon rows of towering wooden shelves filled to the brim with books against the walls, extending endlessly across the room and up to the tip top of the sky-high rafters.

“Cor,” she said, her whisper echoing throughout the cavernous space. Her hopes of finding a solution faded faster than the sound of her voice.

“May I help you, miss?” Ginny walked down the marble steps at a condemned woman’s pace to the wide oval desk. The eager young man standing behind smiled at her helpfully.

“Um…” Her polite laughed tittered off into a sigh. “I would like all of the documents you have regarding the lodging requirements of citizens during their trial period in Hastom.” She rolled her eyes. “If you have any, that is.”

The young man nodded and turned to a waist-high shelf behind him of glowing jars, searching before pulling one out. “I think Leroy here can help you with that.” He set the jar in front of Ginny. She blinked down at it. Peering skeptically inside, she saw a shiny white miniscule bug fluttering around, zooming back and forth across the glass.

“You named a bug Leroy?”

“It’s the only name he answers to,” he said, shrugging. “He ignores you if you call him anything else.”

“What does he do?”

“Leroy here reads every word of every book you put in front of him, and remembers it entirely. Then afterwards, he can locate any material from any source he knows. There’s an entomologist in the village, Deliock Browning, who breeds the bugs here. We call them, ‘Encyclopedia Browns’.” The librarian pulled out a tiny quill with a black feather and parchment and wrote:

Hastom…Citizen Trial…Lodging…All Rules.

He unscrewed the jar and pulled the bug out, cupping it gently in his palm; he then picked up his wand and pointed it at the bug, murmuring, “Reperiosa.” He set the bug over the parchment and stood back. Immediately, as the bug hovered over the words on the parchment, they vanished, and when the paper was bare, the bug made a shiny beeline for the stacks. Squinting, Ginny saw spots of glowing white appear at various points in the different shelves.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” she marveled, watching as more bright spots popped up over the room.

“Wicked, isn’t it?” The librarian smiled at her. He gestured behind him to show more jars of gleaming bugs, each a different color. “Leroy’s our resident reference bug, but we got all sorts: Fiction, children’s, topography, circulars. Anything you need, they can find. You know what that Yankee pub owner told me once?”

“Who? Bart?”

“Yeah, him. He was raised around them Muggles, see, and he says that they find information on subjects using camp otters. Can you imagine?” He snorted with laughter. “Using a camp otter to locate material for you? I mean, their little paws can’t possibly hold that much information! How, I ask you, do Muggles make it through the day in one piece?”

“No idea,” Ginny said offhandedly, losing count of how many spots she was seeing as new ones continued to appear. This was not going to be as easy as she imagined.

Well, at least you know what to get Hermione for her birthday, she thought, trying to find the positive in the situation.

That was the only good thing about that day. Hours later, as night arrived, Ginny had not found any answers in the mountains of tomes Leroy had provided for her; or rather, she didn’t find an answer that she liked. Now, her only hope was that Sapien would have mercy.

Despite his seemingly kind nature, she was not confident.

In the distance, she watched Sapien bow his head at the tombstone and walk closer to it. He bent forward and placed a kiss to the top of it before straightening and heading right for her. She stood tall, prepared to launch into a reasoned, articulate argument that would keep her out of Harry’s house for the next six months.

Sapien nodded graciously at her as he came up to her side, shooting her a smile. “There are no exceptions to our laws,” he said without preamble. “If you wish to become a citizen here, you will live with Citizen Potter throughout the duration of your trial. That is the final say on the matter.”

Ginny deflated. “But sir, if you only knew what-”

“You forget, Prospect Weasley, that I know everything. Well, almost everything.” He held his arm out to her and she reluctantly linked hers through it. “I must confess though, I have never understood the game of Quidditch.”

“You’re joking,” she said as they walked together.

“I am not. It might stem from my fear of traveling at high speeds perched on stick of a wood, but I am not certain.”

“Maybe after this little one makes her appearance,” Ginny laid a hand on her stomach, “you’ll let me teach you some things.”

“I look forward to it.”

They walked in silence before Ginny finally asked, unable to hold it in any longer, “If you know everything, can you tell me what’s going to happen when I move in with Harry?”

“I am afraid I cannot.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot see it yet.”

“But you said you could see-”

“When I say everything, I define that as certainties. For instance, I can tell you that we should expect rain very soon.”

“I could tell you that, too.”

“But could you also tell me that the rain will make the roads very slippery and that because of that, Citizen Ganille will slip and fracture three of his ribs this afternoon as he is on his way to the market?”

Ginny studied his profile, shocked at how nonchalantly he had explained his knowledge. “How do you know that will happen?”

Sapien looked out into the distance, his eyes flickering slightly in and out of focus. “Because Citizen Ganille ran out of mongoose liver last night and will make a trip to the market. He decided this morning to go rather than wait until tomorrow. His decision is firm; ergo he has a rather nasty spill in store for him today.”

“So you can see a future for people as soon as they pick it themselves,” she concluded.

“Correct. People foolishly believe time to be narrow and inert when in reality it is a living, organic thing, relying on us to shape it. Futures are not created until the people they affect make them so, with their thoughts and their choices. Take you, for example.” He patted her hand. “The evening Emmarius died, I knew that you would petition the council to stay because that was the first time it occurred to you that you could. You decided what you wanted and a new future opened itself up to you.”

They approached the village together, still linked arm in arm. It wasn’t until they were near the town square that Ginny thought to ask, “When will you tell, um…”

“Citizen Ganille.”

“Yes. When will you tell him that he’ll be hurt?”

Sapien raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. “Why do you think I would do such a thing?”

“So he won’t injure himself, of course.” Ginny was close to horrified at Sapien’s attitude. She extracted herself from his gentle hold. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

“No, because that would change his future,” he explained patiently.

“If you don’t, he’ll be in pain.”

“Yes, he will.”

She stopped near the massive statue in the center of the square and put her hands on her hips in defiance. “And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

“A person suffering is always a concern for me, Prospect Weasley,” he said, turning to face her. “I am not without compassion. But how do we know if I tell him he will hurt himself by walking down the street today that he will not simply choose to stay home, where a branch from the oak tree outside his kitchen window will fall and crash through his roof, crushing him underneath its weight?”

Ginny paused. “Is that what will happen?”

“I do not know because I will not tell him he will fall near the market today and open the possibility to a future that could kill him.” With the aura of a schoolteacher, he put his hands on her shoulders. “You are young and though you have seen more than your share of horrors, you do not possess the knowledge that I do: Fate is a willful, untamable creature. The second you try to control it, it wreaks havoc upon you until it gets its own way. All we can do is make the best decisions we can with the knowledge we do have and live our lives.”

Sighing, she sat down on a bench at the perimeter of the statue. “That’s all I’ve tried to do from the moment I decided I was keeping the baby. Every choice I’ve made is about giving my daughter the best life possible. Staying here and becoming a citizen is right for us, but to spend six months of it with him…I’m just so nervous about what’s going to happen to him if I stay.”

“Why, may I ask?” She arched her eyebrow in question to which he offered a smile. “Forgive me. My idea of a joke.”

“Not a very good one.”

“So there are two things in this world I do not understand: Quidditch and the art of a punch line. But to return to the cause of your concerns, you feel that Citizen Potter will suffer if you stay.”

“I mean…I ended things between the two of us. It wasn’t easy for me and I’m only now beginning to understand how painful it was for Harry. He’s…” Ginny breathed in deeply, “he’s moved on with his life now and I-I’ve tried to as well. It’s…frankly, it’s quite annoying sometimes. There are all of these layers, it seems, of hurt and each time we get through one, there’s a new one underneath it that burns even sharper than the last. How can we be expected to suddenly put all that combustible history behind us?

“Ah, therein lies the cause of all your stress,” Sapien said, sitting beside her. “Time. Specifically, your past time with Citizen Potter. Let me pose this question to you: Say Citizen Potter had never existed.” Ginny shifted, uncomfortable with such a thought. “Or, perhaps that you and he had never crossed paths. Would you still, on the eve of moving in with him today for your trial period, be in such a state of internal chaos?”

“But I do know him!” she cried, exasperated with his questions and the inexplicable logic that made sense in his mind only. She thrust her face into her hands. “That’s what mucking all this up to begin with!”

“Are you sure you know him?” Sapien asked, drawing her face back into view. She opened her mouth, but Sapien started speaking again. “I do not doubt that you still care for him as anyone would for someone they have known since childhood. That is not what I am asking. It has been three years since you parted company. You have had only a handful of moments together in that time. Do you really believe that he, or you for that matter, has not changed in that time? Is it not possible that he could be a stranger to you after so long?”

She wanted to deny him, to shout for all to hear that Sapien Stellner was a Class-A plonker of the highest order, but the words wouldn’t come. There was enough truth in what he was saying to give her pause. She knew Harry as a boy, as a teenager, and as someone on the cusp of manhood, but in truth, she didn’t know the person he had become in the three years they spent apart.

He lived in Hastom; he was an Auror; he lived by a lake; he coached Quidditch for young children in his spare time; he had two new friends named Bart and Nell; and he had a girlfriend who visited once a month. That was it. In twenty-eight days of being here, around him nearly every day, she hadn’t gleamed much more than that. Harry had never offered the information, but had she ever made the effort to really ask? Or was she too afraid of the answers she’d receive?

Could she really say, with a straight face, that her heart still belonged to a man that might only still exist in her memory?

She leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand, giving Sapien a wry smile. “It’s going to be awful, isn’t it?” she asked him. “Harry and I living together, I mean. It just has disaster written all over it. You’re right after all: He and I don’t know each other anymore; he has…someone else in his life, who by all accounts is a decent person that means a great deal to him; I’m pregnant with another man’s child; and now we’re going to be roommates for six whole months. Don’t need to be a Seer to see how this is going to work out.”

“It will be exactly as awful as you wish it to be, Prospect Weasley.”

She nodded. “He’s going to have pictures of his girlfriend in the house,” she stated distantly, almost to herself. “Pictures of the pair of them together, looking happy and in love and…and completely unaware that I’m about to come barreling in and insert myself into their happy and lovely relationship, something neither of them asked for. Please explain to me how that will not be awful?”

He gave her a far more hopeful smile. “Citizen Bart Nixon shows these Muggle movies to the village. I am actually quite fond of them. There is one in particular that has always resonated with me. It is about a wizard and a quartet of characters that set off to find him. When they finally reach his palace, they are stopped by a guard at the door. The guard is adamant that he will not give them entry, their cries not moving him an inch, until he sees that the young heroine is wearing a pair of magical red shoes. Upon seeing this, he cries out, ‘Well that’s a horse of a different color!’ and proceeds to let them in. They were the exact same group, saying the exact same things, but when the guard saw those shoes, his opinion of them changed entirely. It is a lovely film; you should have him show it to you sometime.

“My point is this: If you choose to see your current situation with such bleakness, such despondency, than yes it will be awful. Unbearable even. Of course, if you choose to see your citizenship trial as sharing a home with an old friend who so wanted you to be a part of his life again that he was willing to risk a, as you call it, happy and lovely relationship, than it might be something else entirely. It might be…”

“…a horse of a different color,” she concluded, staring into space, her head swimming with the realization that perhaps there might be a part of Harry that had known the trouble her presence would cause in his life and still decided that having her there was worth it.

Her heart, though, couldn’t risk opening itself to such a notion.

Sapien patted her back affectionately. “I have faith in your judgment,” he told her. He pulled her to her feet and they set off in the direction of the Green Swallow. “We did not get a chance to speak after the meeting the other night, but I have some official business to discuss with you. You are, of course, aware of the stipulation of your living arrangements. There are also other requirements of your trial that must be strictly adhered to for the next six months.”

“I know. Nell and Bart explained everything to me at dinner last night.”

“I am afraid I must insist that you explain the rules to me in your own words. Formalities and such.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “The rule they stressed the most to me was the limitation on the use of my magic. I’m not allowed to use magic except in the cases of communication, travel outside of the village if permitted, or a life-threatening medical emergency to myself or someone near me physically.”

“Correct. And the reason for this is?”

“Another one of your ideas of a funny joke?” she tried.

“Prospect Weasley…”

“To help foster a deeper appreciation of magic. At least that’s what Nell said. Bart, having endured it himself, described the restriction as something else entirely: It was a combination of the words ‘bull’ and a synonym for excrement.”

“Yes, that sounds like Citizen Nixon. What else?”

“I cannot leave Hastom during my trial, except for work or a medical emergency involving myself or an immediate family member.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I am required to volunteer one day a month in a community project, like maintaining the public herb garden or visiting with the elderly and infirm. The only acceptable excuse for absence is sickness of me or a family member. Also, if I see a fellow citizen in need of assistance that I can provide, I will make myself available to them as best I can, such as child minding or if someone needs help repairing a home or possession.”

“Correct.”

“A small portion of my wage will be taken to pay for the materials needed to build the home I’ll live in when I become a citizen. The fund is controlled by the Council. I can add more to that fund if I wish to have a larger home. The house will be built and given to me after my six month trial. If, for some reason, I don’t complete the trial, the money is returned to me in full.”

“Excellent.” The Green Swallow came into view. “Well, this is where we part company for the time being. Will you be requiring assistance moving your belongings?”

“No, thank you. Harry, Nell, and Bart are helping. I don’t have a lot here with me. Most of it’s in London still and a lot of it is sentimental. Don’t want to risk it getting lost or damaged traveling without anyone. Since I can’t get it myself, I was going to owl Luna sometime soon and see if she’d be able to bring it whenever she had a chance.”

“Perhaps someone here would be willing to retrieve your things for you.”

“I’ll make do with what I have. There’s no reason to trouble anyone else with it.”

The sky opened and the rain began to fall in large, sweeping drops. Ginny immediately ducked under the awning over the door of the inn while Sapien remained out in the street.

“You are not a burden to anyone, Prospect Weasley,” he told her over the rain. “It is far past time that you realize that.” He bowed his head farewell. “May the remaining day bring you peace.”

Ginny was taken aback by his bluntness. His back was to her and halfway down the street when she shook off her shock. Not that she knew what to say to such a thing.

Or if she wanted to make the effort to ponder what truth, if any, went with it.

******

That evening, after she had handed in her room key, Mrs. Nettles handed Ginny a large wicker basket filled with warm bread and blueberry muffins, along with a separate wrapped box containing a new tea set.

“It was lovely having you here, dear,” she told a teary Ginny. “You stop by and visit whenever you feel the urge to.”

“Thank you.” She bent to hug the small woman, but Mrs. Nettles raised her eyebrow and stuck out her jeweled hand instead. Ginny graciously took it in hers, trying to put all her emotions into the handshake.

“Oh look, Gin,” Bart said to her from his place at the desk. “The evil, tiny witch lady has feelings. Where’s a camera when you need one?”

Mrs. Nettles turned her purple eye on him menacingly. “Do you know the wonderful thing about having no feelings?”

“What’s that?”

“A distinct lack of guilt at committing horrible acts of violence against others who open up their wide traps,” she said darkly. Bart didn’t reply, but took a few swift steps towards the door, while Ginny giggled and wiped away her tears. Bart nearly jumped to the ceiling when the door opened behind him, smacking him in the back.

Nell wedged her way past her husband, paying no mind to the murderous look he gave her. “Are you ready? Packed to the brim and ready to embark on a new adventure?” she asked Ginny with a huge smile.

“As I’ll ever be.” Ginny threw her Harpies duffle over her shoulder, trying to secure the box under her arm and carry the basket. Mrs. Nettles strode over to Bart, paying no mind to the fact that he was still twisting his neck and lifting his t-shirt to try to see the size of the bruise forming on his back; she swiftly punched her small-and heavily armored-hand into his knee cap.

“Ouch!” he yelped, struggling not to fall over. “Why do women think that it’s okay to beat me up? It’s not! If there was a question of it before now, let me be clear that I am not a fan of it!” Nevertheless, he hobbled dramatically over to Ginny and relieved her of most of her things, keeping a wide berth of the diminutive innkeeper. She thought about trying to step on his foot for good measure, but decided to reward him with a kiss to his cheek.

Mrs. Nettles cackled throatily before her eye shifted around the group. “Where is Harry? He’s not going to escort the prospective citizen to her new home? I thought that boy knew manners.”

Ginny tensed, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t there. The plan was for Harry to meet Nell before she got off work and the two of them would meet Bart and Ginny at the inn. But she had walked in alone with no one following in after.

“Is…did he change his mind about me living with him?” Ginny asked, half hoping the answer was yes.

“No, of course not!” Nell assured her. “He Flooed me a few minutes ago. Something happened with Teddy at his school today and Harry went to help sort him out.”

“With Teddy? Is he alright? Is he hurt or-?”

Nell waved off her concerns as she went over to her. “He’s fine. Teddy has trouble with his physical changes as a Metamorphagus. It takes kids time to learn to control the shifts, especially when they’re young. At an early age, the shifts are based more on emotions: If he starts laughing hysterically or having a tantrum, his hair will start changing color or his fingernails will grow out a whole foot. Simple things like that.”

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. “So Harry’s good at calming him down again?”

“He’s the best,” Bart chimed in. “Teddy worships him and that little boy can do no wrong in Harry’s eyes.”

“He was only learning to talk the last time I was with him,” Ginny revealed softly, thinking back to the baby with plump apple cheeks, a gummy grin that could almost touch the tips of his ears, and bright turquoise hair. “I don’t think I ever saw Harry smile bigger than when Teddy said ‘Haw-ee’ for the first time.”

“So, Harry said he’ll join us at the house when he gets things sorted out with Teddy,” Nell explained. “It can take a while, depending on how serious the shift was. He told me that we should just get you as settled in as we can. Ready?”

“No,” she admitted. “But that hasn’t stopped me from anything lately.” Tightening her hold on the bag, she gave Mrs. Nettles one more smile and stepped out of the inn with her friends by her side.

They were quiet on the trek to Harry’s home. Eventually, Nell took the basket from Bart and wound her fingers through his, casually swinging their arms back and forth. Ginny felt a small but sharp twinge of envy as she literally watched the utter ease of their relationship. There were no questions or concerns about the past, they enjoyed each other in the present, and their future was seemingly open to any wonderful possibility.

She would never wish ill fortune on such amazing, kindhearted people. Not in a million years. Life was lived to find the happiness that Bart and Nell Nixon had found in one another. She knew that firsthand.

But there was a part of her-an ugly part of her that she had to believe existed in everyone-that almost wished she could hate them for having (or at least holding on to) what she didn’t.

Before the negative energy of her thoughts could spread, the trio arrived at Harry’s cottage. Ginny walked a little ways ahead of the married couple, down the small grassy hill, studying the house with fresh eyes. The view of the lake and the small island across from the dock was as amazing as she remembered, but this time, the sprawling three-story cottage itself held her attention. A small path of stones at the base of the slope led to the cherry-wood front door of the cottage. The huge bay windows along the walls allowed natural light to pour into the home while simultaneously making the cottage’s dark-wood exterior glow.

“It’s beautiful,” Ginny said out loud. And it was. Truly, it was the nicest looking place she had ever called home. Lionel’s apartment didn’t count, not with the benefit of hindsight. That colorless, formal setting had never been a home; just a place to lay her head and allow herself to be distracted away from what wasn’t in her life. But this place…

With great care, she stepped onto the stone path. It was intricate in a rather haphazard way; no stone matched the other but it was clear that someone had put in great time and effort to make sure every rock was in the perfect spot. Too perfect. Like she knew exactly where each stone was supposed to be. A memory was burning in the back of her mind, demanding to be recalled. The closer she got, she could see that the same odd perfection of the path was reflected in the earthy wood of the cottage and the silver-gray shingles on the roof. Even the lamp scones hanging by the door were familiar.

I know this house, she thought, squinting in concentration, trying to make the pieces fit. Somewhere, at some time, I knew this place. But where on Earth…?

“What do you think?” she heard Nell ask as the pair sidled up to Ginny’s side. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Nice?” Bart asked incredulously. “It better be nice. Do you remember how long he worked on this place and how much help I gave him?”

“What kind of help are you talking about? You put in the doorknobs.”

“Can you open a door without a doorknob? Can you have rooms without doors? And lastly, can you have a home without rooms?” Bart ticked off the list with his fingers. Nell only rolled her eyes in response. “No, I didn’t think so. See, honey, this is why men build things and women push children out of their bodies.” He pulled his wand out and waved it at the door in a long, slow sweep. From the windows, she could see the lower level of the house light up from the inside. The door clicked and Bart stepped to open it. He turned back to face Ginny, smiling. “Home sweet home.”

“For now,” she said under her breath. Nell prodded her forward and Bart held the door open wide, allowing her to enter first.

The living room greeted her warmly, with its red and white striped walls enveloping the large space. A plush red couch sat between a pair of cozy burgundy armchairs near the fireplace, the mantle filled with moving photographs. A worn throw rug under the coffee table was the only thing covering the hardwood floor and a small selection of tasteful, if somewhat generic pictures were hung on the walls. There was a wireless on one end table and assorted lamps and plants on the others; a small toy chest with little scraps of cloth spilling out sat next to the fireplace and to her surprise, an upright piano was showcased in the far right corner. To her left was a pair of French doors that led to a formal dining room and a staircase to the second floor; in front of her, another entrance that showed a glimpse of a tidy kitchen.

Clutching her bag tighter, Ginny walked in, caressing the fabric of the chairs with her fingertips and taking in the still silence of the room.

Home, she thought, testing out the word in her head. My home…Harry’s home…my and Harry’s home…

Nell and Bart joined her, the latter taken the basket from Nell and going to put it and Mrs. Nettles’ gift in the kitchen. As Ginny drifted around the space, examining every detail, Nell perched herself on the arm of the couch.

“It’s a great house,” she said, trying to catch Ginny’s eye. “I tease Bart about it, but he wasn’t lying about all the work Harry put into this place. He declined the Council’s offer to have it built for him and did it himself, with some minor assistance from Bart, emphasis on the minor. Harry built the frame, the foundation, and few of the really complicated things with magic. The rest he did by hand: The walls, the floor, the windows; he even put the shingles on the roof. It was almost his obsession for a while, after he became a citizen and he started building. He slept out in the yard, in an old beaten up tent until the house was done. It made us a little worried about him, actually.”

“He wanted it to be just right,” Ginny said without thinking, looking at the pictures on the mantle. There were flashes of Teddy growing across several photos; Harry, Ron, and Hermione at a Ministry event she couldn’t remember going to; his parents sitting together on a red sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms; various Weasley’s smiling and waving on the grass outside the Burrow; and a shot of three young boys-two dark haired and one with light brown-all in Hogwarts uniforms. One of the boys had Harry’s face, but different eyes, and one end was jagged, as if it had been cut to hide something from view. Meredith’s face didn’t look back at her from any of the frames. “You would too, if you didn’t have a real home until you turned eleven.”

“You know Harry very well,” Nell said gently.

Ginny turned away from the pictures of Harry’s family. “Not that well. Not anymore.” She walked to the piano and brushed the keys with her hands, trilling notes of music springing forth. “It’s been a long time and he’s changed from when I knew him.”

“You know the important things,” Nell countered, her voice unquestioning, “the things that truly matter. You just need to let yourself remember them.”

Bart came back in before she could speak, going straight to the piano. He bumped Ginny to the side, sitting down on the bench and cracking his fingers. He put his fingers to the keys and began to play, a cheerful melody flowing out of the piano and into the room. A wide smile broke out on Ginny’s face. Before she could say a word, Bart broke into song:

Desmond has a barrow in the marketplace
Molly is the singer in a band
Desmond says to Molly, “Girl I like your face”
And Molly says this as she takes him by the hand

Obladi, Oblada, life goes on, brah
Lala, how the life goes on
Obladi, Oblada, life goes on, brah
Lal, how the life goes on


“He’s divine!” Ginny said to Nell over the singing.

“Yes, he is. He even performs sometimes at the pub. Amazing, isn’t it? He can play a complicated musical instrument all on his own yet somehow he can’t figure out how to lower a toilet seat.”

Ginny laughed, bouncing a bit to the beat of music, her worries hiding themselves well behind Bart’s wonderful singing voice.

Obladi, Oblada, life goes on, brah
Lala, how the life goes on
Obladi, Oblada, life goes on, brah
Lala, how the life goes on

In a couple of years, they have built a home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard…


Bart stopped singing but kept playing, looking up at Ginny with expectant eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Finish the lyrics!”

“I don’t know the song. I thought you made it up on your own.”

“Are you kidding? This is a Beatles classic, how do you not know it?”

“Beatles? Do you mean like the bugs at the library, but instead of reading, these ones sing? That’s crazy!”

The music stopped abruptly. Bart turned his horror-stricken face from Ginny to his wife, who merely shrugged in reply.

“She’s a Pureblood, remember? How would she know about Muggle music?”

He nodded woodenly, gathering himself together. Standing up, he turned back to Ginny and gently pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair and rocking her.

Confused, she mumbled into his shoulder, “What’s going on?”

“It’s not your fault, okay? Do you hear me? It is not your fault at all that you have been deprived your whole life of good music.” His voice cracked a bit. “Beautiful, sweet music that lifts the soul and turns frowns into smiles. But we’re going to work together to fix that.” He pulled back and held her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. Somehow, she managed not to crack up laughing but it was close. “I will teach you all I know of popular culture.

“You will be able to quote every single lyric of every song by the Talking Heads.

“You will learn what a flux capacitor is and why owning a DeLorean is the coolest thing any person can ever do.

“You will see that constructing a Hobbit costume by hand for a Lord of the Rings convention can and should take precedence over a wide variety of things, including marital relations with one’s spouse.

“You will, after careful thought and consideration chose a superhero to pledge your allegiance to. I promise not to influence your decision in any way, but if you pick any one other than Spiderman, I cannot acknowledge your existence anymore.

“And on my honor,” he cupped her face between her hands, “you will see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at least one hundred and seventy-two times and be able to shout out every call back with accuracy and with pride. I give you my word, Ginevra Weasley.”

She was shaking with the effort of not laughing. Nell was lying across the length of the sofa, her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to keep her snickering mute.

“O-Okay,” Ginny bit out, with as much seriousness as she could muster.

“Okay.”

Nell couldn’t hold back anymore. A booming snort of laughter escaped her and Ginny soon joined her, plopping down on the piano bench, tears leaking out of her eyes. Bart shook his head at the cackling women.

“You,” he pointed at his wife, “mock me at every opportunity for…for…”

“Being a nerd of the highest order?”

“Having passionate interests in certain subjects! But let me remind you of something, my dear.” He walked over to the couch and leaned over Nell, trapping her in between his arms. “You knew all of my quirks and still married me. What does that say about you?”

“That you drugged me when you begged me to marry you?” Bart ducked his head and laughed, but Ginny stiffened from her perch on the bench. Potions-and using them on people you claimed to love-was a touchy subject for her now, and probably would be forever. Nell realized as soon as she saw Ginny’s face that her words had been in poor taste and the smile left her face. With her husband not focusing on her, she looked straight at Ginny and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

Ginny nodded in reply. The outside world suddenly began to encroach on the little bubble of normality they had created and she was tired.

She cleared her throat to get Bart’s attention. “So I’m inside the house now,” she said, faking cheer. “You guys should feel free to go on with whatever plans you had for the night.”

“No, we can help you get unpacked. It’s no trouble at all.”

“This bag,” she held up her duffle before setting it down on the floor, “is all I have. There’s no sense in you two staying here and watching me unpack my knickers for all of the ten minutes it will take me to do it. Go on, have a night to yourselves. You two realize that you haven’t had a full evening with just each other since I arrived?”

“It wasn’t like we were all hanging out, and we were counting down to when we were free of you,” Bart said. “You’re our friend, not dead weight we had to carry around against our will.”

“I know that,” she said quickly, forcing her eyes not to drift from his, “and it’s been wonderful fun, but I think I’d just like an evening in to get settled.”

Nell keenly understood what Ginny wasn’t saying and nodded in agreement. “That sounds alright to me.”

Bart wasn’t as convinced. “We should really stay until Harry-” he tried to say until Ginny cut him off.

“Harry and I don’t need chaperones to be in a room together.” Her tone was more biting than she wanted it to be, but she desperately wanted to be by herself. Harry would be home in a short time and she needed to time alone to appear collected and cool before he arrived. She took a calming breath. “I mean, he and I are going to be living together for a while; it’s not like you and Nell can move in, too. Harry and I have to learn how to do this alone.”

Bart furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Something in her expression must have convinced him because he held up his hands in defeat. “Okay. I get it. I’m not a moron; I can see when I’m being pushed out the door.”

“No, I would never-”

“I’m kidding,” he assured her, going to give her a hug goodbye. “Relax. It dramatically increases your life expectancy.” Pecking her cheek, he went to the front door, giving Ginny and Nell a moment alone.

“I’m sorry,” Nell said when Bart was out of earshot. “That was so insensitive of me before.”

Ginny pulled her close. “Don’t fret over it. Please don’t do it again, but also don’t fret over it.”

“I should tell you something. I’ve been meaning to but I hadn’t found a good time for it.”

“What?”

“Harry…well, when he found out I had seen you in London, he asked me about him. Lionel, I mean,” Nell admitted into her ear. “Not Lionel specifically, rather who the baby’s father is.”

Her shoulders tensed to coils. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, which is that I couldn’t say anything about privileged information.” Nell pulled back, holding Ginny’s eyes. “But you do know Harry: If he has any doubts, he won’t give up until you give him an answer. I didn’t want to upset you; I just wanted to give you fair warning.”

Truthfully, Ginny wouldn’t have minded an ambush if it meant that she didn’t have to add yet another worry to her overcrowded head, but Nell’s heart had been where it always was, in the right place. “Thank you.”

Nell pulled her to the open door where the moon was shown to be out in full. “There’s a bathroom through the kitchen and to the right,” she explained, “and one upstairs as well. The fridge is stocked and I ordered Harry last night to make sure there were fresh linens in all of the guest rooms. I don’t know how long he’ll be so…”

“I’ll be fine.” Ginny gave her hand a squeeze and led her and Bart outside. “Thank you again, for all you’ve done. Not just today, but with everything.”

Bart clapped her shoulder. “Not a problem at all. I will see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow morning for your first shift. There will also be a wide array of music for you to listen to and educate yourself with.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“We’ll start off easy with some classic rock and pop of the twentieth century: The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Michael Jackson and Madonna from the eighties, maybe even throw in a little U2.”

Ginny nodded as if she understood. “Me too?”

“No, no. U2.”

“Yes, I heard you. Me too, what?”

Bart threw his hands up in disgust, stalking back up the hill. “You will not break me, Ginny! Do you hear me? You will not break me!”

Nell eyes squinted with her smile. “Please do try, though. He’s so adorable when he’s like that. You sure you’ll be alright here?”

She shrugged and answered the question with another question. “This is crazy, right? I’m not crazy to know in my gut that this whole situation is crazy, am I?”

Nell shook her head. “No, this definitely has an air of insanity to it. But you know something; I’ve been around Harry almost every day for three years. I’ve heard him argue with Bart about Muggle things, with fellow citizens about issues here in Hastom, and even with Meredith when he thinks no one is paying attention. Never, though, have I heard him argue with such fire and determination as when he was trying to convince the Council to let you stay. He wants you here, Ginny, in this house and in his life. Don’t overthink it.”

“How can I?” Ginny scoffed, wrapping her arms around herself. “Thinking is not my strong suit.”

Nell began to speak, but sighed quietly instead, shaking her head. She leaned in for one more hug. “I want to see you for your appointment as soon as you get off work tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.” Nell walked backwards and held her hand up in a wave before turning to catch up with her husband, leaving Ginny all alone.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for a few hours and that she also wasn’t alone. Not completely, not ever again.

“Alright, you little beast,” she told her daughter. “Let’s pick out a room first and then I’ll get you some dinner.”

Going inside after shutting the front door, she grabbed her bag and slowly made her way up the stairs, taking in the creaks her feet made on the steps. At the top, the dimly lit hallway stretched to her left and right, three doors closed and four left open, one of the open ones a bathroom twice the size of the one she had grown up with. Deciding that a quick route to the bathroom might be her best bet, she went to the closest room to it. The darkness of the room was nearly impenetrable. Without thinking, she reached for her wand, only to remember that magic wasn’t an option for her now for the next six months.

“Damn it!” she hissed, dropping her bag carefully on the floor. Settling in would have to wait for Harry to get home.

It wasn’t until she was in the kitchen, slicing some of Mrs. Nettles’ bread for sandwiches that the absurdity really and truly hit her. She was making dinner in the home of the love of her life, waiting for him to come home before she ate and got ready for bed.

How many times had she watched her own mother do that for her father after he had worked late? It was almost like she was Harry’s…

The knife slipped, cutting into the skin of her hand. “Ow!” she cried, clutching her hand. Blood trickled steadily out of her palm. While she knew Hastom had provisions for using magic in a medical emergency, she also knew a simple cut did not meet the criteria. Glaring at the wand taunting her from its place on the counter, she grabbed a dishrag and pressed it against the cut, going over to the sink to turn it on. Under the running water, the cut was a little deeper than it first appeared; thin streams of red lined the porcelain. Ginny sighed in annoyance. “Lovely way to end the day.”

“What’s that now?” Whirling around, she saw Harry standing in the archway, wearing a rumpled white shirt and black trousers and balancing a pair of cardboard boxes. His eyes widened at the sight of her bloody hand and he immediately set the boxes down. “What did you do?”

“It was an accident,” she said in a rush, her injured hand becoming a tight fist around the dishrag. There were conclusions that he could easily jump to if she left any room for doubt, that he had jumped to in the past when they were together after her incident in the Gryffindor bathroom and her depression was still a struggle for her. “I was slicing bread and I cut my hand.”

He nodded, the tension on his face easing a bit. “Right. Of course.”

They stood standing across from each other, uneasiness paralyzing them both. Finally, Ginny’s hand started to sting. “Um, do you have any bandages or…”

Harry shook his head slightly and walked over to her. “Here let me fix that.” He guided her to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for her to sit on before sitting beside her and pulling out his wand. She unclenched her hand and kept her eyes on it as he wordlessly set aside the bloody rag and healed the gash. “Not liking the no magic bit, are you?” he asked, smiling a little.

“No,” she had to laugh quietly. “It hasn’t really started out well.” She narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, how did you manage being an Auror without doing any magic for six months?”

“I asked to handle the majority of the administrative matters in the office during my trial period,” he explained. “Processing suspects, interviews, paperwork, extraditions, and the like.”

“You must have hated that.”

“There are worse things in the world to do. Not many, mind you, but they’re out there. Actually, it was beneficial in the long run. I gained a lot of experience in the politics and procedures that go along with being an Auror that I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise and now I get my pick of field assignments.” He got up from his seat and went to the fridge, pulling out a small, tinfoil wrapped pot, holding it out in front of him. “Chicken curry. I made it this morning after Nell threatened to have certain body parts of mine chopped off if there wasn’t food for you in the house.” He unwrapped the pot and placed it on the stove to warm magically, cleaning up her messy attempt at dinner with his wand afterwards, and getting drinks and cutlery for them. When the food was warm after a moment, he filled two bowls and served one to her.

“Thank you,” she said, inhaling the warm, spicy aroma. She took a bite and smiled widely. “It tastes exactly the same.”

Harry dug his spoon in the bowl. “Well, I haven’t changed the recipe since the last time you had it.”

Their quiet conversation could veer sharply into a screaming match if they stayed on this course so Ginny steered them off the topic. “I don’t know how I’ll handle six months without magic,” she said off handedly.

“It’s not as bad as you think it’s going to be,” Harry told her. “Although, you’ve been around magic your whole life so it’ll probably take you a while to adjust. I had about eleven years of practice so it wasn’t too difficult falling back into doing things the Muggle way.” He took a long sip of his water. “Nell and Bart didn’t want to stay?”

“I sent them home.” She looked down at her food, toying with it. “It’s strange enough being here without having them do that thing where they talk to each other with their eyes and you have no idea what they’re saying, but you know it’s about you.” She let out a rush of air and raised her eyes to him. “You know?”

He nodded ruefully. “Yeah, I know. It’s annoying when they do it to you, but now I find myself doing it with Andromeda about Teddy now that the little bugger understands when we’re talking about him.”

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” She felt guilty for not asking before. “Nell mentioned that he had to be calmed down because he was shifting his features?”

“He’s fine and he had to be calmed down because he somehow managed to nick his grandmother’s wand and bring it to nursery school, where he used it to flood out two bathrooms in the building.”

“He didn’t?!”

“He did and found it so side-splitting hilarious, he began sprouting a purple and green polka-dotted Mohawk, which raised even more eyebrows than the bathrooms. It took three members of the Improper Use of Magic Office to reverse the damage and Obliviate everyone involved. I think Teddy was walking eight-feet taller the rest of the day. Not to mention the three-plus hours it took for that blasted Mohawk to go away.”

Ginny smiled at the perverse sense of pride ghosting at the corners of Harry’s frown. “Well, it’s official then.”

“What’s that?”

“Teddy Lupin is most certainly the son of a Marauder,” she told him, “and there’s not anything that can be done about it. Don’t worry. I’m sure Remus and Tonks are smiling about it somewhere.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, fighting back his own smile without much success. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He met her eyes and studied her unerringly, even as she tore her own gaze away to look down at the remnants of her dinner. “Can I ask you something?” he finally inquired.

“Sure.”

He didn’t speak again for a moment until he eventually blurted out, “Why didn’t you want to move in right away? Why did you wait almost four days?”

She shook her head, rubbing her hand across the back of her neck. Was he really that thick? “Meredith was here,” she explained as patiently as she could. “I didn’t feel comfortable being here around her and I’m positive she’d say the same about me.” She picked up her bowl and walked to the sink with it to rinse it out. “What’s going to happen when she comes next month?”

“What do you mean?”

Ginny tamped down her frustration as best she could. “I mean that I don’t think that your girlfriend would appreciate seeing me when she’s trying to spend time with you.” She glared at him over her shoulder when he answered her with silence. “Have you even thought about it all?”

“I don’t let myself,” he admitted to the wall in front of him. “Every time I tried to after you told me you wanted to stay, I couldn’t find a solution that wouldn’t involve someone getting hurt. I finally just stopped trying because I don’t like feeling like a failure.”

“Coward,” she scoffed softly, turning back to the sink.

“Yes, I am.”

“I can’t leave Hastom for the next six months and you can. Maybe…maybe you can go and visit her, like you were doing in New York. That might be the best thing.”

“She doesn’t have a place in New York or anywhere for that matter. She’s always off teaching or excavating or visiting her family. Usually she’s not in one spot for more than a month or two.”

“Well, then get a hotel room wherever she ends up,” she tried, not letting her mind form a picture of Harry and Meredith alone in a hotel room together. It wouldn’t be polite to spew out the lovely meal he had made for her into the sink.

“They’re expensive.”

“You have money.”

“And I have a home.” She heard him get up from the table and walk to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Butterbeer. “You may not understand, seeing as you’ve always had one, but for those of us who grew up without homes, we tend to like to stay in them once we get them.”

His logic infuriated her to no end. “For goodness sakes, Harry!” She threw the wet rag into the sink and leaned against the counter, struggling to keep a tight grip on her control. “I’m trying to find a solution to this; I would appreciate it if you helped a little bit!”

She heard a clunk as he set the bottle down roughly on the counter and listened as he took in several deep breaths before he spoke again in a low voice. “If she comes here, you’re hurt. If she doesn’t come here, she’s hurt. If I feel forced out of my own home, then I resent you both and that hurts me and the two of you all in one shot.” He waited for her reply, but she had none. “Do you see why I finally just gave up?”

The spineless git does have a point, she conceded.

“This,” she said to him instead, “won’t just undo itself if it gets ignored. We’re not third and fourth years, making a mess out of relationships just for the heck of it. We need to grit our teeth and be adult about the situation. If we all work together, sit down and talk it out, we can find a solution we can all live with for six months. Right?”

“Okay,” he said. “Ginny?”

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask you before. It was on my mind, but it wasn’t the question I really wanted to ask.”

“Well, what was?” She went to the stove and picked up the pot of leftover curry. “Keep it or bin it?”

“Keep. I’ll bring it in to work for Ron.” He got a few containers of his cupboard, smiling a little. “I tried to explain trash compactors to him one day. Why, I don’t know, but he just kept looking at me like I was speaking gibberish. ‘A thing to throw wasted food into? How do you keep food long enough to waste it?’” Harry took the pot and spooned the food into the containers. “Do you, uh, want me to break the news to him about, you know, you living here and all?”

“No,” she said at once, going to get the other dish and silverware to wash them out. “Thank you, though.”

Their elbows almost touched, standing next to each other as they were. “Are you afraid to tell them?”

“A little. You should talk. Luna’s the only one who knows you live here.”

“Coward, remember? Look, if a face-to-face is what you’re worried about, I can bring in letters to Ron for him and the rest of your brothers. Might be easier that way.”

“I’ll think about it. Just…later. Let me start working so I can tell them that even though I’m unmarried and pregnant, I at least have a job. Although it might not even register when they hear about Hastom.”

“I think,” he started, putting the leftovers in the fridge, “that if they see that you’re happy here, whatever prejudices they have about Hastom won’t matter.”

“The same applies to you about them, you know,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “So was that it? The question you wanted to ask me before?”

“No.” Slowly, he closed the fridge but stayed standing in front of it. “You just…when you mentioned Remus, it made me think of how…how he isn’t here to see Teddy and I couldn’t help but to think about….well…” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, bracing his back against the fridge. “It just made me think about the father of your baby.”

“Oh.” Shutting the water off slowly, she looked out of the tiny window over the sink, finally grateful that Nell had given her a small hint that this subject would come up sooner rather than later. It was time to face this once and for all.

I will be strong, she ordered silently. I will not leave him any room to doubt my story and I will make him believe me.

She wasn’t looking forward to having to lie to Harry again. It was for his own good, but still. It didn’t leave a pleasant taste in her mouth. At least this time she had been preparing for it over the last few weeks, practicing the words out loud in her room, cocooned around Silencing spells until her she was able to say the carefully chosen words without falling apart. Her story was well-rehearsed and would (hopefully) fool everyone in her life that it needed to fool.

She would have rather tried it out on someone other than Harry, though.

“We talked about it, briefly, in New York, but not since then.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“It was…mentioned during your petition.”

“I remember.”

“And I realized then that in the month and a half since New York and now, you still haven’t told me who the father is.”

The anxiety was making her blood run faster than a speeding train. She fought to keep her voice steady.

“No, I haven’t told you who the father is,” she said simply, peeling her eyes from the window to his penetrating ones. “And please don’t try to go around me and ask Nell again. She could lose her license if she tells, which we both know she won’t, and you could lose a few teeth if you pester her with it.”

“Fine, I’ll leave her out of it. But Ginny,” he pushed himself off the fridge and moved closer to her, “you don’t understand what I know and what Teddy knows, what it is to not have a dad.”

“How does that compare to my child? Her father isn’t dead.”

“Exactly! My father and Remus died and lost the chance to watch me and Teddy grow up. Who-whoever,” he gestured wildly at her midsection, “is responsible for that baby gave up being in their child’s life by choice. That isn’t fair to your kid. Nor is it fair leaving you alone to deal with all the burdens of parenthood. I see what that does to Andromeda sometimes and you have no idea what-”

“I know what I’m doing!” she whispered harshly.

“No, you don’t. You have no clue about the job you have ahead of you or what your baby is going to have to live with not knowing their father!” Positively growling in anger at his assumptions (and the truth lurking underneath them), she spun around for the archway, intent on getting away from him. He beat her to the exit and blocked her path with his body. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! That…That was out of line.”

“Yes, it was.”

“It's just that...you're what, a little over three months along?" She nodded. "So you'll probably still be living here when the baby is born and..." He rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. "That's not it. Honestly, I just don't know what kind of man can willingly leave their child behind. It makes no sense to me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“This subject, as I’ve told you before, is a bit upsetting to me.” She sighed in despair, folding herself into one of the kitchen chairs, setting her chin in her hand and using her other hand to twirl the salt shaker between her fingers. Harry joined her and she thought hard for a moment to put her thoughts into words she could say out loud to him without any dire consequences to his public image. “My daughter is going to miss out on things in life. Some of those things will probably be material, like brand-new clothes and toys, but those sorts of things kids can live without. I did and so did you for that matter. Living without a loving father, though…I don’t know even if all of the love I have for her is going to be enough to make up for what she’s losing. I hate thinking about it so I try not to.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow at her. “Coward,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Is it Lionel’s baby? I know he’s the only one-”

“For your information,” she began, wishing she could cross her fingers for good luck, “he was not the only one I was with. Most of the time, yes, he and I were together. Not always, though. He isn’t the father.”

Dead silence and then Harry asked, in a much tighter voice, “Who then?”

She forced herself to remember that little vial of Lionel’s and all the shameful memories the orange potion inside it had stolen from her. That had to be at the forefront of her mind for her to pull this off successfully.

“I don’t know,” Ginny lied, proud at how level she had kept her voice. She tugged her eyes from the spinning salt shaker to Harry’s face. It was clear he was fighting for neutrality, but it was a losing battle.

“What are you talking about?”

“I traveled a lot with Quidditch and the…the relationship Lionel and I had was more…open than I let on to my family and friends.” Her script sounded good so far to her ears; to Harry’s as well if the slightly nauseous look that came over him was any indication. She hurried to finish. “Because I played in a lot of the same towns, some of the…the flings I had were more regular than others. But sometimes…sometimes they were more one time only-”

Harry held up a shaking hand, looking over her shoulder rather than at her. “I get the picture,” he said hoarsely.

“So that was when I conceived the baby, during one of those….encounters,” she spit out, reminding herself of all the terrible and deeply personal things Harry had once felt safe enough to tell her. It had helped him then and hurting him now, as she was apparently doing, was also helping him.

Even if he could never know it.

“After I found out, I tried to find him, but he hadn’t given me his real name. I waited for a couple of days at the hotel where we…met up on the off-chance he would come back and he actually did. Only this time, he was wrapped around another woman and he had a wedding ring on that matched hers. I thought-and still think-that the best thing to do for everyone was to raise the baby by myself. So, here we are.

“For obvious reasons, I’m not proud of what happened. I know how much this going to hurt to my family when they find out, how disappointed my parents are going to be in me, and how ashamed of me my brothers will be. How this baby came into my life, I can’t change and I don’t want to. She saved me from myself and the selfish person I was. You’re right when you said that it isn’t fair that she won’t have a father, but I think it would be crueler for her to have a father like that man in her life.”

Harry looked almost in a daze. “None of this,” he whispered, rubbing a tired hand across his face, “sounds like you. It doesn’t sound like the girl I knew and you…you don’t do those kinds of things, Ginny.”

“We’ve been a part for three years. I changed and I’m sure you did as well.” She cleared her throat, deciding to give him a little bit of truth. “I…I felt awful over how I ended things with you. There was a part of me that I suppose almost needed to punish myself for…for lying to you then.”

“And you’re not lying now, about any part of your story?”

She sniffed quietly and looked into his eyes; the green eyes that used to look at her and make her feel that no greater force in the world existed besides his love.

“No,” Ginny said without a quiver or tremble.

I’m protecting you the only way I know how, she added to herself.

He looked troubled and achingly, terribly sad. It reminded her of standing by his side at all those funerals, understanding instinctively that he was thinking to himself of all the ways he could have saved the poor soul being put into the ground. Hopefully, like that tremendous sense of guilt, his disappointment in her would fade over time, as would his desire to try to find the baby’s father.

With any luck, her story had effectively stamped out that urge completely.

Harry suddenly looked suspicious, a thought forming. His face turned to stone and his hands clenched into fists. She tensed in response, bracing herself. “Do you swear to me, Ginny, that you’re not protecting Lionel Dresden from his responsibilities by telling this story about how you got pregnant?”

Damn Aurors! Always looking for a way to doubt someone they’re interrogating.

“No, I’m not,” she said. That was true. She was protecting Harry, not Lionel.

“Swear to me,” he demanded, his eyes nailing her to her seat, “on your baby’s life that Lionel isn’t the father.”

Ah, a test. Alright, Potter. I can play this game, too.

“Am I your friend, Harry?”

Her question broke through his anger and his posture relaxed. He considered her carefully for a long moment. “Of course you are,” he said in a softer voice.

“Then if that's true, who her father is is irrelevent. The only thing that should matter to you is that I am the mother of this baby.”

They sat together in silence for long time; a clock was ticking somewhere in the house and she lost count of the minutes after fifteen or so. There was no need any more to speak and yet, she couldn’t pull herself out of the chair and away from him.

“This isn’t right,” Harry finally said, leaning back into his chair and folding his hands against the back of his head. “This isn’t how ou-” He swallowed back his bitterness. “How your life should have been. This isn’t how you should be expecting your first child.”

“No it isn’t,” she agreed. “If you asked me when I was a girl if this is how I envisioned becoming a mother, I would have said no. Even a year ago, I would have never believed it. But this is the path my life is on now and I accept it. I will have my baby daughter, and I will love her with every beat my heart has left.”

“I know you will.” He came forward in the chair and put one of his hands on the table close to hers, only a breath away from touching it. “And...if you can find it inside you to let me, I’d…I’d like to help you.”

She smiled gratefully.“You are helping me, in a way I can never repay. There’s nothing else you need to do. I couldn't ask for a better friend, Harry.”

For some reason, his smile looked sad. “I’ll do as much you’ll allow me to.” He turned to stand quickly and Ginny had to hold herself back from reaching for his hand. Walking to the archway, he bent and picked up one of the boxes he had brought in earlier, setting it in front of her. “Speaking of help, I figured you’d appreciate this.”

She peeked inside and gasped out loud. “Oh Harry!”

All of her belongings from Luna’s apartment sat inside: Her photo albums, the rest of her books, the old quilt her mother had knit, her old Harpies jersey, and…

With shaking hands, she reached inside and pulled out a frame. Inside, a pair of magical flowers preserved by enchantments looked back her. The Arcus Violets her parents had given her. She caught a quick glimpse of her watery eyes in the frames reflection.

“You got my things for me.”

“It took forever to get them after Teddy got straightened out. I had to wait for Luna to come home and then there was a very detailed discussion of some creature I truly hope only exists in Luna’s imagination.” He smiled a little. “I just figured you wouldn’t feel at home here until you had your flowers.”

Hugging those flowers tight against her chest, she felt more at peace than she had in months, in ages really. It might not always stay this way, she knew:

The name Lionel Dresden could come up between them again.

There might be no way for both her and Meredith to coexist diplomatically in Harry’s life.

She could screw up her trial and be banned from Hastom forever.

Her family might never forgive her for what she had done or a hundred thousand other terrible things could befall them both.

But right now, standing in his-in their-kitchen, she found a way to will her mind to keep all those worries at bay.

“Yes,” she told him, smiling, “you’re right. Now it’s home.”
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