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SIYE Time:7:22 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: 154047; Chapter Total: 6836
Awards: View Trophy Room






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Author’s Note: I’m really shocked I got this chapter done as quickly as I did. I hope you enjoy it. Side note, any fans of Warwick Davis may enjoy this chapter more than others. As always, this story is nothing without my betas. My lack of skill with punctuation would make all you readers wonky if not for them. Please read, rejoice, and respond!




Chapter Eight

Head Held High and Walking Forward





Ginny stared up resolutely at the ceiling, mustering every ounce of determination and fortitude she possessed. She was a Gryffindor and quitting did not come easily to her.

And in this case, failure was not an option.

You can do this, Ginevra Molly Weasley. You have survived Death Eaters, heartbreak, being controlled by a Horcrux, and growing up with six older brothers. This is child’s play compared to all that.

“This is possible,” she affirmed to herself. “Completely possible to do without any magic whatsoever.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she reached down and started tugging the zipper of her jean shorts up, grunting with the effort. The tiny scarp of metal cooperated for a second before halting its progress; no matter how ferociously Ginny pulled at it or how much she twisted around on the small bed, the zipper refused to budge a millimeter more. Splaying back against the bed, she caught her breath and looked down, dismayed to see how far apart the closure on the shorts still was. She beat her fists against the comforter in aggravation.

“Sweetheart,” she huffed to her belly, “I love you and you really have no idea how much Mummy appreciates the new knockers you gave her, but did everything else have to get bigger along with them? You’re only three months grown and already Mummy can’t fit into her regular clothes. That just doesn’t seem right, does it?”

Not getting (or expecting) a reply, Ginny groaned loudly, reaching blindly to the side table for her wand. Muttering mutinously, she cast a quick Charm, expanding the fabric of her shorts so they could close. She then stood and, adjusted the straps of the billowy navy top that kept her cleavage secure, avoiding the mirror at all costs. She grabbed her purse and sun glasses and left her room to head downstairs.

Mrs. Nettles was carrying a tray of teacups filled with steaming pink liquid to a pair of guests in the sitting room when she spotted Ginny at the foot of the stairs.

“Well, don’t you look lovely dear,” she croaked out. “I see that you’re feeling much better since this morning.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Nettles. This one,” she indicated to her stomach, “is definitely a girl: she likes nothing better than to cause Mummy grief by sapping away all my energy. Do you need any help with that tray?”

“No, not at all.” She set the tray on the coffee table and scuttled over to the front desk where a pair of olive-toned women with silky black hair wearing bright floral saris waited patiently. “You just go on your way. Off to the Falcon again, are you?”

“Yes. I thought I’d meet up with Nell there and see if Bart could sneak away for the evening. Maybe we’ll head off for a night of people watching in the square or some gelato from Onzoni’s or-”

“A moonlit picnic by the lake?” Mrs. Nettles asked suggestively, her good eye giving Ginny a knowing once over.

She coolly pulled her wide glasses on, blushing scarlet, keeping her head held high. “It’s a warm night,” Ginny said nonchalantly. “If we should happen to end up, at some point, in the vicinity of the lake, I imagine we’ll have a delightful time there. Thank you for the idea.”

“You’re welcome,” the inn keeper said, hidden behind the tall desk. As she walked past, the two women who were checking in smiled at her and cupped their hands to their mouths, blowing lightly in her direction. A refreshing breeze of sea salt tinged air instantly washed over her. Ginny smiled kindly at them and exited to the muggy street, weaving around a group of smartly dressed men wearing tiny bowler hats on their heads as they entered the inn.

Silly old Mrs. Nettles, she thought, basking in the slowly fading sunlight of the peaceful Friday twilight, the air of the Indian Ocean still tingling across her skin. Ever since he brought me back to the inn the night of the feast and she figured out that Harry and I had once been a Harry and I, she’s been nothing but a meddling meddler who meddles! Every day, telling me how nice it is to see two old friends renew a friendship or offering up a story about all the good Harry does here in Hastom or reminding me what to order for Harry if he’s late meeting us for dinner at the pub. As if I need to be told that!

“Shepard’s Pie with onions instead of peas and an ice cold Butterbeer,” she mumbled, digging through her purse for loose change as she walked down the sidewalk. “If he ever ordered anything else when he ate out, I’d put my wand to his throat and ask him an old security question.”

It didn’t mean anything at all.

Finally succeeding in pulling two Knuts out of her purse, she glanced around the crowded street for the elderly man selling Arcus Violets, whose name she had learned was Mr. Chornin. Any time she walked by the area, she slipped a coin or two in the cracked pewter cauldron he kept at his sides, but she had to be careful about it. If he ever spotted her, he would try to put another one of his priceless flowers into her hand. She had avoided it thus far, but Ginny had had to make more than one mad dash away from the surprisingly fleet footed gentleman to avoid his generosity, throwing a smile over her shoulder at his creased yet laughing face, his seemingly frail body draped in robes of the richest purple.

It was a fun game, but it was growing costly. Even with Luna footing the bill for her stay at the Green Swallow, her money supply was dwindling, what with buying all the food her body now craved rather than repelled and paying Nell for the recording of her baby’s heartbeat she listened to every night before falling asleep. Nell had charged her only a fraction of what it actually cost, but it still lightened Ginny’s coin purse significantly.

Not that it mattered in the scheme of things. The sound of the little heart that beat faster than the wings of a hummingbird was the most soothing lullaby Ginny had ever known.

But it would mean that her stay in Hastom would be ending sooner rather than later. At her current rate, she only had enough money left to last for a week or so. She still needed to have some money when she returned to London to begin saving for her own flat and finding a job. As dear a friend as Luna was for taking her in, Ginny had too much Weasley blood flowing through her to accept that kind of charity for too long.

She would get a job somewhere. She would provide for her child. She would be able to stand on her own two feet.

As soon as she could find a way to leave this wonderful place behind.

If only Hastom hadn’t rooted itself in my heart so quickly, she thought with a sigh, slowing her pace as the unusually large crowd of people moved through the streets with the speed of molasses, dozens upon dozens of unfamiliar faces stopping frequently to browse through bins of exotic treats or haggle over a pair of hand-made dragon skin boots.

Hastom had seemed so frightening when she first arrived, but now as the clocked ticked down on her time here and she thought of all she would have to leave behind, the melancholy wrapped around her like a slowly constricting noose.

No more lunches every day with Nell, gossiping like schoolgirls one minute and revealing long-kept childhood secrets the next.

No more harmlessly needling Bart by pretending she couldn’t understand a word he said with that pronounced American accent of his.

No more running away from Mr. Chornin and his beautiful flowers.

No more Mrs. Nettles rolling her eye in annoyance most days while still making sure there was a fresh pot of tea and a plate of ginger biscuits everyday by the bedside table.

No more four hour-long debates about modern Quidditch tactics over a plate of powdery churros with Senor Batista, the owner of the Quidditch supply shop and a former Beater for the Spanish national team forty-five years ago.

No more nods of friendly greeting and cheerful waves of hello from the townspeople, many of whom may have known only her name, but all of whom embraced her willingly.

No more staring up at that beautiful yet baffling metal structure in the center of the square, watching the rings as they danced an unfamiliar dance to a soundless song, wondering if like Sapien Stellner she would ever dare feel anything other than humble in its shadow.

And of course, no more stilted conversations with Harry at the dinners they shared with the Nixons or any brief glimpses of him as she explored Hastom.

After their confrontation at the lake, things had been understandably strained between them. As much as she (and perhaps he) desired a path back to friendship, that same desire did not erase years of her guilt or his frustrations. Their only true interactions were their dinners a few times a week with their friends and it was far too problematic-for Ginny at least-to try to shift through their dirty laundry together in the company of others; to try to find a topic in their history that was unsoiled and that they could use to start to bridge the gap of their then and their now.

When her frustration hit a peak, she had to fight the urge to march down to his front door and wait for him to return home from work; to finish what they started that night on the dock and to try to help him heal the wounds she had inflicted upon him all those years ago. But that would be too much. She had already thrown him off course by stumbling back into his life in New York, and when she walked into the door of the Millennium Falcon that first day in Hastom, it had to have been the equivalent of a sucker punch to the kidneys. She was on his turf now and after everything, she owed him the courtesy of letting him decide how far and how fast he wanted to go with this whole thing.

Even if his tortoise-like pace made her want to pluck out her hair, strand by strand, to relieve her tension.

Doesn’t look like you’ll have to worry about that much longer, she mused, the noose tightening ever so slightly.

Walking by the spot where she usually found Mr. Chornin, she was surprised to find that his footstool and his little cauldron were sitting all alone. She turned slowly in a circle, wondering if this was a new game and he would pop out from behind a crate peacock feathers to scare her, but there was no sign of him or his purple robes anywhere. A quick word with a few of the other vendors who frequented the busy street proved fruitless in her search for the old man.

She bit her lip, uneasy but not knowing why. Mr. Chornin was almost as old as Auntie Muriel; surely he just needed a day off every now and again. It was nothing to sound the alarm over. Ginny would just ask Nell if she knew where Mr. Chornin lived and see if they could quickly pop in on him. Perhaps the healer was already at his home now, giving him a dose of Pepperup Potion as a pot of Bart’s scrumptious beef stew simmered on the stovetop.

Shifting her gaze between the cauldron and the coins in her palm, she hoped that she was right. Pocketing the Knuts uneasily, she made her way to the heavy doors of the Falcon and yanked them open, greeted by the happy chatter and laughter of the early dinner crowd. She found Bart in an old apron over his black t-shirt and jeans behind the long oak bar, huddled in conversation with Nell as she sat hunched on one of the barstools, the hem of her light green skirt almost touching the pale wood floor. Intent on finding out about Mr. Chornin, Ginny peeled off her sunglasses and walked right up to them, standing behind Nell.

“Listen,” Ginny began, “I wanted to ask about-”

“SWITZERLAND!” Nell shrieked, nearly falling off the stool as she whirled around to face Ginny, who clutched her chest in fright. Wincing slightly, Nell turned away from the other patrons looking over at her and back to her husband, whispering to him, “That wasn’t subtle, was it?”

“No,” he confirmed gently, patting her hand. “Not in any time, place, or culture would that have been considered subtle.” He smiled at Ginny. “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure thanks,” Ginny said, still staring dumbfounded at Nell, all thoughts of Mr. Chornin extinguished from her mind at the use of that ridiculous code word. The code word invented by Nell to prevent the fractious relationship between Harry and Ginny from bleeding over into the friendships they shared with Bart and Nell.

At the first of several dinners together three nights after the feast, Nell had sat them all down in a quiet corner of the Millennium Falcon and faced Harry and Ginny, an earnest expression on her face.

“Listen very carefully,” she had said, staring between the two of them as they sat across from each other. “I want us all to get along with each other as much as we possibly can. Given your…history, I know that won’t be easy for either of you. And that’s okay. It’s going to take you both some time to adjust to being around one another again.” Ginny had wanted to look away, already anxious about being around Harry again; however he didn’t seem to be taking his eyes off of Nell so neither could she. “But what’s not okay would be the two of you putting Bart and me in the middle of this whole thing. Neither of you have yet, which I commend you for, but in order to prevent any future catastrophes, I’m launching a preemptive strike now.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Harry asked.

“Meaning that as of this moment, here and now, Bart and Nell Nixon are officially-”

“Switzerland,” Bart chimed in helpfully from his place at the table opposite his wife. “We are the country of Switzerland insomuch as how they present themselves in matters of international diplomacy.”

Ginny looked to Nell for a translation. “I’m sorry?” she asked.

“He means,” Harry answered instead, rolling his eyes at his friend, “that they’re neutral. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are, Mr. Potter,” Nell agreed heartily. “Bart and I have decided for the sake of friendships, both longstanding and budding, we cannot get involved in matters between the two of you. This means: No trying to turn either of us against either of you if you-knock on wood-hit a rough patch.”

“No having us pass backhanded messages along to either of you,” Bart added.

“No fighting in front of us.”

“No asking our opinions on who’s right or who’s wrong.”

“No using ‘Bart said this’ or ‘Nell said that’ in private arguments between the two of you.”

“And most importantly,” Bart finished sternly, pointing his finger back and forth between Harry and Ginny, looking at them with grave seriousness. He paused for dramatic effect before finishing, “Absolutely no running whatsoever near the pool. You have no idea how easy it is to slip, crack your skull open, and drown. Understand?”

The tension lifted immediately. The four of them groaned and giggled together for a few moments as Bart signaled the busy bartender to come and take their drink order. Ginny took great pleasure in hearing Harry’s laugh again. She had gone too long without it.

Harry wiped his glasses with a napkin. “Anything else or can we eat? I’m starving.”

“Just one more thing,” Nell said, composing herself. “We know it sounds harsh, but Bart and I really think that this is the best way to go about things for-”

“All her idea. Just a willing participant. Take no credit or blame for the outcome,” Bart said under the guise of a long cough, hiding his mouth behind his closed fist. He quelled instantly under his wife’s stern gaze. “S-Sorry. Think I’m coming down with something, honey,” he apologized while rubbing his throat.

“For as long as Ginny is staying here,” Nell concluded, shaking her head at her husband. “And I’m not saying we’re completely killing off the topic of you two from any forms of discussion.” She waved both her hands in the space between Harry and Ginny. “We’ll listen to both of you whenever you need a friendly ear or a shoulder to lean on if it gets to be too much. But please-and I cannot stress this enough-don’t put Bart and I in the middle of this. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Bart said, still pretending to clear his throat.

Ginny looked carefully at Harry and was surprised to find him staring right back at her, the twin pools of emerald trying to size her up. The back of her neck burned, but she would not look away.

She would find a way to remain in control around him, even if it killed her.

“Agreed,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow slightly at Harry, daring him to object.

He thought for a moment, glancing between the different faces before finally settling on Ginny’s again, his eyes maddeningly unreadable. “Agreed,” he finally said quietly, quirking his lips upward. She felt floored as her heart hammered with hope; perhaps friendship was a possibility between them after all. No sooner had she begun to return his infectious little smile than the bartender turned up at their table.

“You like usual, Herr Nixon?” the burly man with more red hair on his face than on his head asked politely. “Round of bier and then meal?”

“Oh, just a glass of ice water for me please,” Ginny cut in before Bart could speak, turning her smile to the bartender. He nodded back graciously and went to fill their order. Bart began to tell Ginny a little about the German-born bartender, Klaus, who had been at the Falcon before it even was the Falcon. She listened but glanced quickly back to Harry, more than a little disheartened to find him looking away from her, his mouth a straight line once again as he listened to his friend speak.

There had been no mention of Switzerland since that night on Ginny’s end; whatever Harry discussed with them was his business, but she was careful from then on not to foist her inner turmoil on her new friends.

Though now it seemed it was being foisted on her by them.

“What’s going on?” she asked them, sitting down next to Nell. “Were you talking about me and Harry just then? I thought that was against the rules?”

Nell let out a high pitched squeal of laughter that lasted a few seconds too long.

“What?” she giggled, her blue eyes bugged wide. Bart bent down and came back with a bottle of water for Ginny. Waving his hand indiscernibly, the sound around the three of them faded to a small hum in the background. He leaned against the bar as his wife blathered on. “You…you are funny, you are, Ginevra. That’s what you are. Say, how did your parents ever come up with that name for you? Is it a family name? I had a great-grandfather named Gupenious. We all called him Guppy for short. He didn’t like to swim though so it was…strange.” Nell’s breathing kicked up a notch, her blue eyes somehow widening even further as Ginny folded her arms across her chest. “Bart, darling, help me please?”

“I would,” he told her, chin in his hand, “but there’s just something about you when you try and lie on the spot. It’s like watching a legally blind man try to play darts: You want to look away, cringing in embarrassment and praying no one gets hurt, but there’s something in you that just has to see what’s going to happen.”

“That is so-”

At her wit’s end, Ginny snapped her fingers between them to get their attention.

“Hey! Can you two save your bickering for your marital bed, where it belongs, and tell me why you,” she jutted her chin at a flushed Nell, “screamed out Switzerland when you saw me?” Husband and wife traded a series of head bobs and shakes in her direction, their eyebrows arching up and down absurdly. Ginny felt an enormous headache forming all the way from the back of her skull. “Anytime this century would be wonderful!”

“Okay, okay. Fine,” Bart said, raising his hands in defeat. He opened Ginny’s water, handing it to her before he continued, “Have you noticed today that there are a lot of people here in town? More so than usual?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking back on the people at the inn and the peaceful mob scene near the shops she had just walked by. “What does that have to do with Switzerland?”

“Well, once a month, citizens of Hastom are allowed to bring in guests from the outside. It’s all completely safe; no one evil gets in because the guests need approval from the Council like Luna got for you, but unlike you, they have no official status here. Not everything here is open to them: just the town healer, the commercial areas, the residences of the citizens they’re staying with, or the Green Swallow Inn. Everything else is off limits.”

Ginny held up her hand to pause him, confused. “But what else is there in Hastom?”

Bart smiled slowly at her, shaking his head. “Man, have we neglected our duties as your chosen tour guides. Don’t worry. We’ll let you in on the real wonders of this place soon enough.” He winked and before she could inquire further, he plowed on. “Anyways, this weekend Hastom is going to be packed to the brim with people.”

“And what does that have to do with me and Harry?”

He looked down, wiping the spotless countertop. Reluctantly, Nell said, “It means that Harry has a visitor here this weekend.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, still not understanding. “Who is…?”

And with the force of a steam engine hitting right between her eyes, she did understand. Bart and Nell had both shown themselves to be nothing but honest and straightforward. There was only one person one subject-that they wouldn’t feel comfortable broaching with Ginny:

Meredith Oxley. Harry’s girlfriend of almost three years. Here in Hastom for Ginny to finally lay eyes on, after all these years of studiously avoiding her.

A shocking realization suddenly occurred to her.

He’s been with her longer than he was with me. Even if you count my sixth year, which I do because when he was off with Ron and Hermione trying to kill Voldermort, he was still right dead center in my heart, no matter that he thought we were broken up. But now, he’s been with…her…Meredith, for nearly three years. She’s the one people think of when someone asks about the love of Harry Potter’s life.

It was true. The past six months, every gossip rag that the Wizarding press had to offer featured stories about the imminent proposal Harry had planned for the lovely Ms. Oxley. Everything from the ring (a square cut diamond surrounded by rubies in honor of his mother’s birthstone) to the wedding location (midnight on a small island in the Caspian Seas to ensure privacy) to intimate details about the happy couple’s plans for the future (according to the second cousin of a mediwizard Harry had seen once for a sprained ankle last summer, they wanted two dogs, two canaries, and two boys to be named Dore and Dumble).

Never mind that Harry wouldn’t want a dog because it would remind him too much of Sirius; or that he hated beaches because of the time when he was four and his cousin Dudley buried him in the sand up to his chin and refused to unbury him for almost two hours; or that his mother’s birthstone was a garnet being that she born in January and not July. So what if the fact-checking at Witch Weekly could use some oversight? The substance of the stories bore some truth: Harry had been with Meredith for close to three years. Surely, by now, a wedding (or at the very least, an engagement ring) was looming somewhere near the horizon.

“Ginny? Are you alright, luv? See, I told you we should’ve kept our mouths shut, Bart.”

“Okay, you really need to work on your eyebrow communication, honey, because-”

“Guys, please,” Ginny begged, setting her elbows on the bar and balancing her aching head in her hands. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Nell’s sure hands started rubbing small circles on Ginny’s back. “Are you okay?” she asked again quietly.

No, she thought.

She wanted nothing more than to simultaneously lapse into hysterical giggles, set her hair on fire, and collapse into a pool of salty, bitter tears while inhaling an entire pint of pistachio ice cream topped with salad cream. There was no reason ruling her emotions; no bit of logic she could latch onto to allow clarity to surface. Countless feelings swirled in her head, dizzying and confusing her with each spin, until finally Harry’s face that night on his dock came into her mind, so tired and so crushed with the weight of just her presence in front of him.

Truly, what right did she have to be upset over Meredith’s being here if the woman was a comfort to Harry?

Don’t begrudge him his happiness, she scolded herself, swallowing back her own tears and frustrations that the mere thought of seeing the woman who had given Harry that very happiness caused her. He needs it more than you need to be a mad, jealous bint.

Sniffling as quietly as she could, she pulled her hands away from her face, giving her eyes a quick wipe as she did, and faced her friends once more. “I’m fine,” she lied easily, making her smile as convincing as possible. If they looks Bart and Nell gave her were any indication, her acting skills left much to be desired.

Silly baby girl, playing Keep-Away with Mummy’s hormones like that, she silently told her child. You should be nicer, considering all the food and shelter I’m giving you.

“Really, I’m alright,” she tried again. She reached over to a small bowl and popped a few crisps in her mouth. “I think it’s great that she’s…that Meredith’s here. I’m sure that Harry’s missed her very much. And you two, you’re probably chummy with her as well. The four of you…you should all get together while she’s here for the weekend. She is just here for the weekend, right? Oh, no matter.” Ginny took a long sip of water, smiling with every tooth when she set the bottle down. “Anyways, I’ll only be here for another week, she and I will never risk coming into contact again, and then life can get back to normal for you two and Harry.”

“That is not what we want,” Nell countered. “I’m not suggesting that you march down to the lake with a big bouquet of flowers for the girl, but when you do meet her, let Harry set the pace and tempo; let him decide how much to reveal. Heck, let him decide if you and Meredith should even meet to begin with. We,” she pointed between Bart and herself, “don’t need you and Harry to be best friends again. All we want is for you and Harry to find peace with each other. Neither of you realize how much you need it.”

“It’s true,” Bart agreed, pointing his wand in the direction of a wizard across the room with his arm raised in the air. With the slightest flick from Bart’s wand, Ginny saw the man’s empty mug instantly refill with a frothy pint of ale. “I never thought there could be anyone in the world as stubborn as Harry and then I find you, Ms. Weasley, sitting at my kitchen table.” He poked her lightly on the tip of her nose with his wand, eliciting a smaller, but far more genuine smile from her lips. “So now that you know the big secret, what do you say we take your mind off it with a movie?”

“I really don’t think a movie is going to do much for my mind,” Ginny said with an air of pessimism, mulling over Nell’s words in her head.

“That’s just because you don’t know what movie I have in mind,” Bart countered, taking his apron off. “Come with us down to the pasture, there’s a huge movie screen set up for everyone to enjoy Movie Night, something I introduced the good people of Hastom to upon my arrival here. Klaus and Lara are handling the pub tonight. Let me just go change real quick and grab our dinner-before you ask, Ginny, yes there are pickles. Two whole jars, just for you. I’ll be right back.” Bart left the ladies alone to go back towards the kitchen area, waving away his Silencing Charm as he did, the pub coming back to life around them as Ginny brought up her thumb to her lips. Before she could begin gnawing on the fingernail, Nell tugged her hand down.

“Hey,” she said, “don’t fret over it. If you happen to meet her tonight or while she’s here, then so be it. You smile politely, say ‘nice to meet you’, and chitchat about the weather and shoes for a few minutes before bidding adieu. Trust me, Meredith is not the type to make a big scene over things.”

Ginny nodded, distracted by what she had just heard.

What is she talking about, Meredith not making a big scene over things? I hurt the man she loves. I don’t care how long ago it was, you don’t settle that with a handshake and a hello. If I were her I’d…

She wasn’t Meredith, though, defending her mate in a primal fashion from an old foe.

Ginny would never have to defend Harry from anyone.

“Are you sure I should go?” Ginny asked, shoving some more crisps in her mouth, hoping the salty snack would squelch the knots in her stomach.

“Definitely. We’ll have fun tonight, I promise. And if it makes you feel better, we might not even see Harry and Meredith down at the pasture. They don’t really do a lot of town things when she’s here.”

“Really? Why not?”

Bart strode back over to them, wearing a clean flannel shirt with a picnic basket hanging off his elbow. “They usually like to spend most of their time at Harry’s place alone just...” he blinked at Ginny’s suddenly queasy face, catching himself quickly, “doing crossword puzzles. As well as other assorted brain teasers. Very cerebral pair, the two of them.”

Ginny said nothing; just stuffed the remainder of the crisps in her mouth and chewed loudly.

“Let’s go, shall we?” Nell suggested tactfully, standing up. “We want to get a good spot. Did you bring the quilt, Bart?”

“I’ll Summon it when we get there.”

“You can’t Summon that from our house all the way to the pasture! That was my Gran’s. What would she say if she found out I let you do that?”

“Hopefully nothing, seeing as she’s been in the ground for twenty years. We’ll conjure a blanket when we get there, okay?”

“Why conjure something when it’s not the same as the real thing?” Nell countered, mulish even by Ginny’s standards. “I’ll Apparate home, grab the quilt and some pillows, and meet you two there. Deal?”

Bart shook his head at his wife. “I am the luckiest man alive,” he deadpanned, leaning forward to peck his wife on the lips, “to call the craziest witch on the Earth my own.”

“Damn straight you are,” she smirked before giving him another smacking kiss. She turned back to Ginny. “See you down there?”

“Sure,” Ginny agreed quietly, getting up and stretching her stiff muscles. A warm soak and an early turn in, frankly, sounded more appealing than seeing a movie (and maybe someone else) with her friends, but her time with them was dwindling down. She needed to enjoy every moment she had with them before reality smacked her rear end once more and she was back in London.

Nell walked over to the Apparition point by the front entrance, spinning soundly before vanishing in the air, leaving Ginny and Bart alone together for the first time. They smiled, each a little unsure of what to do or say without the buffer of Nell between them.

“Uh, can you Apparate or…” Bart asked, shifting the basket to his other arm.

“No, sorry,” she apologized. “Doesn’t agree with the baby.”

“Oh, no worries. We’ll just walk down together then. After you.” He held his arm and Ginny walked in front of him until they were outside and side by side. They walked quietly, glancing around the village and occasionally at each other.

“So what are we watching tonight?” Ginny asked after a few moments.

“One of my personal favorites,” Bart said with a grin, “a true modern classic: Willow. Lesser known, perhaps, than Lucas’s Star Wars trilogy, it’s one of Ron Howard’s crowning jewels and given that it was one of his first feature films, after Splash and Cocoon, it holds up as…”

Ginny smiled and nodded as Bart threw out words like “daikini”, “pecks”, and something called a “madmartigan”, whatever that was. Her thoughts shifted from the line-by-line re-enactment of the film her companion was giving her to other, more pressing matters.

What if Harry is there tonight? She thought, folding her arms across her chest. What do I do or say? What if Nell’s wrong and it’s not as simple between us as we all want it to be? On the other hand, if I see them together and happy, it could be…good? Maybe I do need to see for myself that he’s moved on; maybe if I saw that, I could learn to let go of all this guilt and focus on being a friend to Harry again.

Maybe if I knew that she…


“Bart?” she cut him off suddenly, taking his forearm and stopping them as they reached the outskirts of Hastom. The sky bled from orange to purple, the black of night approaching swiftly. “Can I ask you something?”

“I think so.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “With this answer, will you not invoke Switzerland? Just this one and only time? I promise I won’t ask anything like this again. There’s just something I need to know.”

Bart looked down at the ground, studying it for a moment, creasing his brows in contemplation. “If I answer honestly, without the protection of Switzerland,” he finally said, “it could hurt you. Is that something that you’re okay with?”

“Yes.”

He looked back up at her. “You’re sure?” She nodded. “And my lovely wife…?” he implored.

“Will not be told of this solitary breach,” she assured him.

“Okay then. What’s your question?”

She bit down on her lip, steeling her heart as much as she could. “Does she love him? Meredith, I mean.” It felt treasonous to ask, but Ginny had to know for sure. “She’s good to him and not, in any way, using him for…for his name or-?”

“No, she’s not,” Bart assured, raising his hand. “It’s…It’s not anything like that. She really does love him. Meredith,” he smiled at her sympathetically, “is a decent person. There are deceitful people and then there’s her. Harry wasn’t stupid; he knows who he is and what some people want from him. He did his homework on her before they started dating. She passed, and is still passing, with flying colors.”

“And Harry…he loves her too?” she whispered, her breath catching in her chest.

Bart was silent for some time, his eyes pulled away from hers to a spot behind her. “Harry loves Meredith as much as he’s able to love someone in that way,” he answered softly, looking straight at her.

Ginny slowly pushed the air out of her lungs, her breath whooshing audibly in the night, the last of her childish, improbable hopes leaving her as well. She stood still, trying to reconcile what she had just heard.

Well, that’s it then. He’s moved on and he’s happy. Now maybe I can do the same.

There was freedom in knowing the truth. Terrifying, gut-wrenching freedom, but freedom none the less.

He loved someone else besides her. That was that.

Ignoring the twinges of pain that echoed from her heart to the rest of her body, she put on a smile and nodded at Bart, who stood tense and alert, trying to ready himself for whatever grief she would give him.

“Thank you,” she simply said, continuing down the road. She motioned for Bart to follow her. She smiled at him when he caught up with her. “You’re a good person, Bartholomew Nixon.”

“You’re welcome, but please don’t ever call me Bartholomew again.”

Ginny grinned fully. Now they were on a subject she could speak to him about with ease. “Not a fan of your full name I take it?”

“1.) No, I am not and 2.) Bartholomew is not my full name, though the error is understandable.”

“So what is your full name then?” He groaned a little, shaking his head. Ginny nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Come on, it can’t be any worse than Ginevra.” He mumbled some gibberish under his breath. “You might as well just spill it. I’ll get it out of Nell before the evening’s out.”

“Bartowski,” he mumbled, giving her a mock death glare. “Happy now?”

“Ouch,” she winced in pity as they arrived at the massive clearing to the north of the village. Past the small fence that stretched for miles in each direction was an immense field of green, sloping slightly until it settled to a flat plain where a huge movie screen suspended itself in mid-air. Bright lanterns shining above mapped out a huge squared viewing area in front of the screen and a metal tower five or six stories high rose up at the base of the hill.

“Projection booth, where the film plays,” Bart explained as he helped her down the hill. “Slightly modified, of course.”

“I still can’t believe your parents named you Bartowski,” she said, glancing around for Nell amongst the witches and wizards who were getting settled in or the ones arriving by Apparition.

“It was my mother’s maiden name. On the birth certificate, they accidently filled it in for my name and they never bothered to get it changed. Such is life.”

“You poor thing,” she cooed dramatically, barely keeping a reign over her laughter. He stopped them about midway between the screen and tower, setting the heavy basket down.

“What can I say?” He bent and reached into the basket, pulling out two bottles of water. “My parents hated me.” He laughed a little when he said it, but stayed down low on the ground, avoiding Ginny’s eyes.

All her mirth floated away at his words, leaving Ginny with a wave of confusion.

What is he going on about? He wasn’t serious, was he? How could his parents hate him? How could anyone hate him?

“Bart,” she began, her fingertips grazing his shoulder. “What do you-?”

He straightened instantly, holding out a bottle of water for her, a crooked, playful grin on his face. There was something about the smile, though, that seemed almost… strained, something she never thought she’d describe a smile of Bart’s as. He looked at her expectantly, the smile never moving an inch. She took the water and the hint that went with it, immediately changing the subject.

“What do you think is keeping Nell so long?” she asked, looking around the field again.

“Nothing important. She probably just got home and saw a dish that needed to be cleaned, which meant that the sink needed to be scrubbed afterward, which would lead to washing the counters, then the floor and so on and so on. As previously stated, she’s crazy.” Pulling a red checkered napkin out of the basket, he took out his wand and Transfigured it into a blanket roomy enough for six or seven people. They both sat down and he spread their meal out to eat. “She’ll remember eventually in her cleaning frenzy that she’s married to a wizard named Bart and friends with a witch named Ginny. Give her an hour or two to turn up.”

“She sounds just like my Mum.”

Bart nodded, taking stock of the crowd of two hundred or so around them.
“Show time,” he said. He pointed his wand in the direction of the tower. “Commenciate,” he whispered. A beam of light shot out from the booth and lit the screen black. The crowd hushed into silence. The lanterns around them dimmed to darkness and a swell of music burst forth from the unlit hanging boxes as the movie began to play on the screen. Bart put his wand down and leaned back on his elbows, grinning up at his handiwork.

“Magic just plain rocks,” he stated and Ginny laughed, chomping down on a deliciously sour bite of pickle, her eyes on the screen.

She became so absorbed in the movie (especially in that precious little cherub, Elora) and the abundance of food for her to feast on that she almost jumped out of her skin when the crack of Apparition sounded behind her an hour or so later. She managed to hold back her scream by the skin of her teeth as she whirled around.

“Nell?!” she whispered loudly, squinting up to try and make out her friend in the dark. “Please stop trying to scare me to death! That isn’t good for the baby. You’re a healer, you should know that!”

Nell didn’t pay Ginny any mind; she merely lifted her wand and pointed it to the projection booth. The movie stopped instantly. A chorus of puzzled voices rang out from the crowd; Bart stood up beside his wife and used his wand to light the pasture once more. It was only with the harshness of the lights that Ginny saw her friend’s red eyes and smudged make-up. She lifted herself to her feet, frightened, but before she could say a word, Nell walked up to stand in front of the screen, facing a bevy of questioning faces.

“It is with great sadness that I come here to inform you, my fellow citizens and friends,” she began in a calm, booming voice that wavered only just, “that we have lost a respected and vital member of our community tonight.”

Ginny gasped, immobile, and faintly felt Bart take one of her hands in his, squeezing it.

Ha-Harry? She thought inexplicably.

“Emmarius Chornin died this evening,” Nell continued, “in the home he lived in his entire life, warm and safe in his bed. He joins the rest of his family in the next life and he is survived here in this one by all who knew him. We will honor him Sunday evening in the square.” She sniffed and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her nose. “Let us…let us return to our homes now and be thankful for the love we have in our lives. Thank you.” She marched back over to Bart and Ginny, throwing herself into her husband’s embrace. After a brief moment, she pulled Ginny into the hug as well

Ginny felt consumed by a wave of both joyful relief and clawing grief enveloped in Bart and Nell’s arms, the sound of other people around her quietly crying and shuffling out of the pasture an ocean away. Her joy that her irrational fears for Harry’s safety were proven false tempered as the sweet, wrinkled face of Mr. Chornin came into her mind. The intoxicating scent of an Arcus Violet materialized from her memory with it, so real it was like she was holding the flower up to her nose.

Her tears followed and didn’t stop for some time.

******

The baby was crying.

Ginny could hear her, could almost feel the little girl’s sobs in her bones, but she couldn’t see her. Where was she?

The narrow, brightly lit hallway stretched out in front of her, endless to her eyes, with identical doors on either side pressed tightly together lining the walls.

“Hello?” Ginny called out, her heart hammering. “Is anyone here?”

The baby’s shrill cries were her only answer, echoing from every wall. With no plan, just a purpose, she turned to her left and turned the doorknob.

Nothing.

She tugged and pulled, but the stubborn doorknob wouldn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she turned to her right and tried that door.

Again, nothing.

Her heart pounding, she went from door to door, growing more frantic and desperate at each one. She tried wandless magic to blast the doors apart; grasping at the edges to pull them off their hinges; even plowing her small frame into them to break through them. Each endeavor was as fruitless as the last.

The only change was that, if possible, the baby wailed even louder.

“HELP!” Ginny screamed, running down the hallway, not strong enough to hold in her own sobs. “SOMEBODY, ANYBODY! PLEASE HELP MY BABY!!!!”

She had never known fear like this. Not when she had woken up covered in the blood of chickens as a schoolgirl; not when her ankle was shattered and Death Eaters closed in around her; not even when she saw Hagrid carrying Harry’s limp body back from the Forbidden Forest. This was illogical and unbearable, hearing that tiny, frightened howl and knowing she could do nothing to help her child.

What if she couldn’t find the baby? What if her daughter…?

“No,” she whimpered pitifully, her heart screaming.

She stopped suddenly; every fiber of her body wrestled that dark thought from the world. Clarity and insurmountable strength coursed through her veins, fortifying her and clearing her mind. A powerful instinct known to centuries of women before her reared strong and true and she gave herself over to it fully.

Letting herself be guided only by senses she had never known existed before, she ran down the hall until, without conscious thought, her feet pulled her to a stop in front of one door. The cries stopped abruptly. Grasping the knob, she wiped her tears away and took a deep breath as she turned her wrist. The knob twisted with it and she wrenched the door open.

Bright flooded her vision, blinding her, but not deterring her from her course. She pushed forward until, blinking away the sharp glare until her eyes could make out her surroundings.

It was the village square of Hastom on the other side of the barrier, filled to capacity, but she paid no attention to any of the smiling faces. Her feet propelled her forward on the path the bodies of the citizens had made for her. Hands patted her back and words of encouragement were whispered in her ear; she neither felt nor heard a thing.

All she could comprehend was the tall, hand-carved wooden cradle at the end of the path. She ran towards it, faster than she ever had yet still slower than she could bear. At last, she was close enough to reach it. A hand grabbed her elbow and tugged gently.

Ginny, out of breath, pulled her free hand back to attack, only to have Harry’s face come into focus. He smiled at her, his eyes alight with love.

“It’s okay, Ginny,” he reassured her, lifting a hand up to stroke her cheek. “The baby’s just fine.” Lowering her arm, she let Harry turn her back towards the cradle. When she was a step away, fear seized her once again and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“What if I’m not good enough?” she asked Harry anxiously, uncaring if anyone else heard her. “What if I’m wrong and I can’t do this alone? How can I-?”

Harry put his lips an inch away from her ear and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked down at her peacefully sleeping child, long red lashes fluttering delicately in time with an innocent dream and tiny hands no bigger than Galleons clenched into fists. Her own hands reached down to take the baby into her arms, knowing that peace would be holding this child against her heart, Harry beside them.

“Iris,” she breathed her daughter’s name…


******

The quiet knocking on the door woke her suddenly from a sleep she didn’t realize she had fallen into. She peeled her swollen eyes open and shifted her rigid, sweaty body upright, the still-made bed groaning underneath her. The moonlight cast a dim glow in her dark room.

“He-Hello?” she managed to croak out, dazed and out of sorts. How long had she been asleep? Her mouth tasted like she had swallowed sandpaper, the skin of her belly ached from sleeping with her shorts buttoned, and for some reason, her hands felt empty, like they thought they were supposed to be holding something. She opened and closed them, trying to ease the strange sensation.

There was another faint knock from the other side of the door. “Ginny?” Harry whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she answered slowly, shocked he was here. He hadn’t once instigated contact between them in Hastom. She pushed her messy hair out of her eyes and stared at the door intently as if she could see through it to see him. Vaguely, she heard the recording of the baby’s heartbeat in the background and she groped the bedside table for her wand.

Desino,” she whispered and the heartbeat faded into nothingness. “Lumostia.” The candles in the room lit themselves, bathing the room in light. A quick glance at the clock showed her it was a little after eleven o’clock.

A pause. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, um, sure,” she said, pushing off the bed and walking to the door on stiff legs. Pulling it open a bit, she took in his appearance-hair mussed to perfection and a light jacket thrown over a shirt and jeans-before stepping back with the door to let him enter.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said with his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes drifting around the room. She sat down at the foot of the bed.

“That’s alright. I didn’t even know I was sleeping, if that makes any sense. Actually, I’m not even sure how I got here. The last thing I remember is…”

“Walking away from the pasture with Nell and Bart,” Harry finished.

Ginny blinked at him. “How did you know that?”

“She Flooed a little a while ago, to make sure I had heard about Mr. Chornin and told me they brought you back here to the inn after the announcement.” Ginny looked down at the mention of his name. “She, uh, said you were quite upset and I just wanted to check on you. Make sure that you were okay.” He sat down beside her on the bed, keeping a healthy amount of space between them. “Are you okay?”

“I suppose,” she shrugged half-heartedly. She glanced at him. “He wasn’t at his spot today, near the other vendors. Mr. Chornin, I mean. I noticed when I walked by on my way to the Falcon this evening and I was going to say something to Nell, maybe have her go check on him, but I…I got distracted and I didn’t…” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes; they were incapable of producing anymore tears, no matter how strong their desire to.

“From how Nell explained it, he died in his sleep in the early afternoon. He was already gone by the time you were on your way to meet Nell and Bart. There was nothing to be done. And there’s nothing to be done now by feeling guilty over something you had no fault in.”

“He put me at ease about this place,” she told Harry, looking up at him. “I grew up hearing stories about how horrifying Hastom was and once I get here, one of the first things someone does for me is give me a priceless flower.” She cast a glance behind her at the bureau, where the Arcus Violet sat in a small glass vase. “He was kind to me without having any reason to be. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

The silence closed in around them. Finally, Harry stood up slowly.

“I should let you get back to sleep.” He cleared his throat. “I have to, uh, get home anyways.”

“To Meredith?” Ginny asked icily, still staring at her flower. She didn’t give Harry a chance to reply. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, looking at him as a flash of guilt blinked out of his eyes. “That came out wrong.”

“No,” he sighed in defeat. “I should have been the one to tell you she was coming here. I shouldn’t have left it to Nell and Bart to let you know about it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Is it that difficult to understand? Ginny, I don’t know how this is supposed to work and I-”

“Do you want to be friends, Harry? Or would you rather just count down the days until I leave here and we can go back to ignoring each other?” Her exhaustion lowered her inhibitions and the words spilled out of her mouth with no resistance. He gaped at her trying to form a response, but she wouldn’t let him. “Because that’s not what I want. I know it won’t be easy, but I want us to be in each other’s lives again.

“I want to work past this…this awkwardness between us; I want us to be able to talk and tell stories about Ron being a fourth year when he slept with his Krum doll from the World Cup and make fun of Bart’s ludicrous accent together.” She laughed wearily. Harry smiled, albeit tightly, at that and she took it as a sign to stand up and continue. “I want…I want to design Quidditch plays with you that would never, ever work in a real match for no other reason but that it’s fun; I want to buy you a completely barmy Christmas present, like a yellow polka-dotted kilt, just to take the mickey out of you when you try it on, while you give me the most frilly hair ribbons in existence so you can do the same to me; I want you to come by my house here after a bad day at work to let off-” Harry’s eyes narrowed sharply and she stopped, breathing heavily. “What?” He shook his head, clearly taken aback by something that had managed to slip out of her mouth; she hadn’t even been paying attention to what she said. “What did I say?”

“You said you wanted a house here,” he replied woodenly, stepping back, blinking at her. She played back her own words in her head, her heart hammering. “You want to live in Hastom.”

“Yes,” she murmured to the door behind Harry, as struck dumb by the idea as he was.

It had never occurred to her that she would have the opportunity to stay in Hastom longer than her allotted time. Only citizens lived here and citizens were either born here or chosen....

If a citizen dies and has no other living relatives left born in Hastom to maintain citizenship in their family line, Luna’s voice answered her, explaining Hastom to a gob smacked Ginny only a few weeks ago.

Kind Mr. Chornin had died with no living relatives; Nell had said as much when she announced his death.

Was it possible a door closing had allowed another one to open?

Ginny straightened her shoulders and looked Harry dead in the eye.

“I don’t want to leave at the end of July,” she said determinedly, energized with her resolve. “I want to be a citizen.”

Her statement hung between them like a guillotine. Harry’s only response to it was to stare at her, freezing her motionless while he pondered her sudden decision until he came to one of his own. Abruptly, he turned on his heel for the door.

“Harry, wait!” she cried out quietly, latching onto his elbow and tugging him backward. He didn’t turn to face her; however, he didn’t try to leave either. The seconds ticked by slowly, but Ginny was at a loss for words. How could she make him understand why she had to stay?

“I listen to the baby’s heartbeat every night,” she blurted out, wishing she could snatch it back from her lips at once. Harry had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby; mentioning her daughter was not a way to win her cause. “What I mean…I….I…” Her shoulders deflated once more and the slight pressure of tears began building behind her eyes again.

Open the door, Ginevra. He needs to hear this.

“My baby is only going to have a mother,” she tried again gently. “Not a dad and a mum, just a mum. That means I have to work twice as hard to give my child a good life. I need strength to do that and Harry, I can’t remember the last time I felt stronger than since I’ve been here. I don’t know if that matters to you or not anymore-”

“You have family outside of here,” he said beseechingly, turning to face her. “Parents and siblings who would give you the clothes off their backs to help you provide for…for your baby. Why can’t you just go back to them?”

“Because I created her,” Ginny proclaimed, pressing her hands to her stomach. Strange how much firmer it felt than even a week ago. “Not my parents or my brothers. She’s my responsibility. What will I tell her if she asks me someday why we lived at the Burrow for the first three or four years of her life? We stayed with Grandmum and Granddad while Mummy got her own life straightened out because she couldn’t do it by herself? She needs me strong.” Ginny took a tiny step closer to him. “You didn’t answer me before, when I asked you if you still wanted to be friends with me. Do you?”

He sighed deeply, his eyes softening a bit. “It’s just…It’s so hard to be around you,” he admitted. “I never thought it would be. I keep waiting for it to get just a little easier, but it never does.”

“Friends, Harry. Yes or no?” she whispered, knowing deep down her world would shift one way or another depending on his answer.

“I don’t know,” he said apologetically.

“Well,” Ginny said doggedly, swallowing past the lump of pain in her throat, “I can tell you that I do. I think friendship is right for us. Before…before anything happened with us my fifth year, I loved having that time with you to talk about Quidditch and Ron’s eating habits and what would happen after we left school. That was wonderful for me and I want us to have something like that again. And if there is even a fragment of a part of you that wants that as well, then I need to try and stay in Hastom. Because if I go back to London, we have no chance of finding out if it can be easy again. We’ll let ourselves get caught up in our own lives and before we know it, another three or thirty years will have gone by without a word between us.

“Please,” she begged him, her hand itching to reach out for his, “please support me in staying here.”

Closing his eyes, he turned back to the door. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he said as he walked out slowly.

******

There was no more sleep for her that night. She lay in the bed, tossing and turning for hours after Harry left. The morning sun finally caught up with her and she heaved her body out of the bed, stumbling into the shower to freshen up. The warm water beat down on her, washing away the grime of yesterday, but not the uncertainty and the crushing sense of guilt.

If she stayed, she would hurt Harry. If she left, she would hurt herself and her daughter.

There wasn’t a choice, not really, but just because the decision was easy didn’t mean that her guts didn’t clench in pain or that her heart didn’t lurch whenever she thought of his face.

Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself carefully, letting the soft fabric of the towel linger on her belly as thoughts of the baby flooded her mind, easing her torn psyche.

Think of her. That’ll get you through this in one piece. Just think of Iris.

“Iris?” she said out loud through a deep yawn, knotting the towel around her. “Where did that come from?” She hadn’t thought of any names yet, still too disorientated from the upheaval of her life to think that far ahead. Rolling it around in her mind, she smiled a little as a vision of a little girl with long red hair, giggling with her eyes shut and running around in a field of purple flowers, became clear. The name seemed a bit old-fashioned; yet it fit the graceful little girl in her imagination.

She patted her belly again, smiling wider. “Iris.”

With that settled, she dressed for the day, combing out her hair to hang straight down her back and putting on the nicest outfit Luna had packed for her. Deciding to make an early start of it, she tiptoed out of her room and down the steps, surprised that she seemed to have woken before even Mrs. Nettles. Sneaking an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she walked through the lobby outside to greet the day.

I suppose I’ll give Nell and Bart an hour or two to wake up before I head over. Hopefully, they won’t think me completely mental and they’ll help me. I wonder how long it takes to get-

“Good morning.”

The voice stopped her thoughts and her body. She didn’t dare turn around to see what her sleep-deprived mind had conjured out of thin air. Because if she turned, that’s all she’d see is thin air. Not the person that voice belonged to. He would be at home, wrapped in his bed, nestled up against his-

“It’s customary in most cultures to reply in kind when someone addresses you,” Harry said. She turned to find him there-actually there-sitting alone on a bench across from the inn.

“Good morning,” she said, stunned. What on Earth was he doing here? His clothes were different but he wore the same red-eyed haggard look she knew she herself was sporting. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Not really,” he said, peeling his body off the bench with some effort, “but then again, I don’t need much to begin with.” He walked up to stand next to her. “I thought a lot about what you said last night and…it got me thinking about me when I came here. Truthfully, I was a lot like you. I needed someplace where I felt right again. Hastom gave that to me; who am I to stand in the way of it being that place for someone else? Especially someone,” Harry looked down at his feet, scratching his right shoe against the other, “someone that I want to be friends with.”

Someone could have walked by, thrown a bag with a million Galleons at her feet, and she wouldn’t have batted an eye. “I don’t understand,” she said, studying him for some sense of hesitation or lie. “Hours ago, you said you thought this was too hard and now…?”

Harry nodded in agreement. “What happened was that I remembered something a wise and complicated wizard once said to me. To both of us, actually.”

“And that was?”

“That there’s a difference between what is easy and what is right. This,” he waved a hand between their bodies, “is not going to be easy, but like you said, it is right.” He hesitated, frowning a little. “I…I don’t trust you. Not completely, not yet. I can’t. Not after what you did to me. I don’t doubt your intention was trying to protect me, but the Muggles have a saying about good intentions and where the road they’re paved with leads to. There’s no treatment for rebuilding trust except time spent together. The only way we can do that is by both living here, so you have my support in pursuing citizenship.”

“Thank you.” She wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms, but she tamped that instinct down. In this case, it was probably best to walk before trying to run a marathon.

“So,” Harry said, “if you want to petition for citizenship, you need to speak with Sapien Stellner first. Bart said you’ve already met him, so we’ll just head over there and talk to him.”

“Isn’t it a bit early?”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be up.” She followed Harry as he set a leisurely path down the street. “I should warn you, it does take a little getting used to living here. It did for me at least. You actually might have an easier time of it, growing up at the Burrow and all.”

“What do you mean?”

“The thing that you’ll figure out about Hastom,” Harry told her, “is that when you’re a citizen here, you’re not alone anymore.”

“Oh,” she said, rubbing her forehead, trying to understand why hearing him say that gave her the oddest feeling of déjà vu.
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