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Beyond Harry – A Potter/Weasley tale
By Jeograph

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts, Buried Gems
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Nymphadora Tonks, Oliver Wood, Other, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley
Genres: Drama, Fluff
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 16
Summary: What might life be like eleven to twelve years after the war is over? This is an optimistic view of the Post-War Harry Potter Universe. This Fic offers a snap-shot of the Weasley's after the war, with a glimpse through the eyes of Grandmum, Molly Weasley. Then it moves on to the arrival a new addition to the Weasley/Potter clan. Hopefully it's a bit of fun!
Hitcount: Story Total: 12157; Chapter Total: 2696
Awards: View Trophy Room






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Chapter Two
At the Manor



Potter Manor was an old stone edifice from the outside. It had several wings enclosing elaborate courtyards with gardens and fountains. The grounds were huge, and they sloped gently toward the ocean for at least a quarter mile.

When he had discovered his true inheritance, Harry Potter was astounded, and at first, he didn’t want to live in his expensive ancestral home. But, when he had finally married Ginny, she insisted that they take up residence there and that Harry should learn everything about his family that the Manor could teach him.

When Harry had asked Dobby and Winky to come to the Manor they had both agreed in a heartbeat insisting that Harry perform the House-elf Binding charm, which would take away their freedom and make them slaves to the House of Potter forever, or until they were given clothes *shudder*. Harry hadn’t wanted to do it, but the Elves had pleaded, insisting that no greater honor could befall them then to be given such trust and high status as to be the servants of the “Champion of the Wizard World.”

Harry had finally agreed and performed the charm, but he had insisted on conditions, that the Elves should wear “uniforms” consisting of forest green fitted robes with the Potter family crest on the left chest, and that they would never, ever, again refer to him by what he considered “That horrible nickname.”

Slowly the Manor had come to be home– most especially when it was filled up with friends and family. Today, however, the manor was feeling particularly empty. Harry had sent his son, James, to the Burrow to be with all of his cousins and his Grandmother, and he had sent Winky and her daughter Birdy, to assist with all the children, a task the two House-elves particularly cherished.

Shortly after the House-elves and James had departed, a trio of ladies had arrived by Floo from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Unclasping and handing their dark traveling cloaks to the youngest of their group, the elder two witches were each dressed in a crisp, light green, linen Healer’s robes with a Mid-wives’ badge pinned to the lapel.

Agatha Chumsum was the senior Mid-wife, a broad sturdy woman, about a head shorter than Harry, with her wiry gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. She smoothed down her white starched apron and looked Harry up and down with apparent disregard. Her second was Patricia Stempsen, a tall thin witch with a long face and sharp nose, also gray haired, but sleek, with a severe bun perched high on her head. These two, following Harry’s eyes toward a heavy oak door, had simply swept from the room headed for the master suite.

The youngest of the trio was Megan Jones, who Harry remembered vaguely from Hogwarts. She was a pale, handsome woman with dark hair and blue eyes. Her hair, rather than coiled in a bun, was caught up in a net at the back of her neck.

“Hufflepuff, right?” Harry inquired, offering to take the cloaks. Dobby appeared at Harry’s side, and with a snap of his fingers, levitated the heavy cloaks off to an appropriate closet.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I am surprised you would remember me at all,” Megan said softly. “Megan Jones,” she said, extending her hand. Harry shook her hand lightly and smiled.

“You were in my class weren’t you Megan?”

She nodded confirmation.

“And… please… call me Harry.” He added.

“Of course sir… Harry,” she replied, hesitantly. “If I may be directed to your kitchen staff?”

“Oh, yes… of course,” Harry said. He turned to Dobby. “Dobby will show you the way and assist you with anything you need.” Dobby bowed low and scampered out of the room, Megan following closely behind.

Harry had gone directly back to the master suite, where he entered the room and crossed to the large four poster bed where his wife lay. The Mid-wives had conjured a small rolling table across the room and were laying out various instruments from a black leather bag.

Ginny smiled at him as he took her hand, then moaned and leaned to one side with the onset of a deep labor pain. Harry immediately reached down to rub her lower back with his free hand, as Ginny clutched his other hand tightly. In a minute, the pain subsided and Ginny relaxed again. “It seems the girls have inherited the Weasley stubbornness,” she smiled.

“Girls you say?” Agatha Chumsum interrupted, stepping up to the bed.

“Well, that is what our son James says. He has insisted that his mother is having girls from the start,” Harry answered the question.

“And how old is your son Mr. Potter?” Agatha asked, not looking at him, but appraising Ginny on the bed.

“James is four,” Harry replied, not watching the Mid-wife, but smiling down at Ginny as her eyes lit with pride for their son.

“Hm… Well, Wizard children sometimes know these things,” Agatha replied dryly, and Harry could tell she herself put no stock in his son’s prediction. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping back a moment, Mr. Potter?” Harry released Ginny’s hand and stepped back a few paces. Agatha raised her wand and transformed the large four-posted, king-sized bed into what looked almost exactly like a Muggle exam table of the sort Harry remembered from childhood visits to the doctor. Ginny seemed completely undisturbed as she rose up to the new height, and the mattress narrowed beneath her.

Just then, another pain flooded over her and Ginny called for Harry, who rushed forward.

Agatha slipped her hands beneath the drape sheet and examined Ginny’s belly feeling it around, pressing in gently, yet firmly with her fingers. “Well, I can at the very least confirm that you are, indeed, having twins my dear,” she smiled coolly at Ginny. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

The door swung open and Megan entered, followed by Dobby, pushing a long cart, laden with several large kettles of apparently steaming liquid and some smaller ones that smelled suspiciously of tea and honey. Below the kettles on the cart shelf, were several rows of crisp white towels and other linens. Patricia, the tall, lean Mid-wife, second in command, stepped over and seemed to be inspecting the various fumes exuding from the kettle tops.

“Well, then,” Agatha spoke in a commanding tone. “If you will excuse us now Mr. Potter, it seems we have babies to deliver.”

Harry stepped up and looked Ginny in the eyes; he simply could not recall a moment in time when she had ever been more beautiful. He clasped his hand around hers and leaned down to kiss her lips. She reached her free hand to the back of his head and pulled him closer kissing him a bit more insistently than he had intended. When she let him go, he pulled back and whispered, “I love you so very much Mrs. Potter.”

“I know,” Ginny responded in a mischievous tone. “How do you think I got this way…Mr. Potter?” she winked. He grinned down at her and she whispered. “I love you too.”

Then, Harry was unceremoniously ushered out of the room, his own, heavy master bedroom door closed in his face.

Hours had passed. Harry absolutely hated the powerless feeling that had crept upon him. He paced in front of the Library fireplace for a solid three hours before Dobby had shown up with a tray insisting that he have a bite of lunch. Afterward, he had paced the hall outside the bedroom door, accosting Megan for news each time she‘d appeared.

About two-o-clock in the afternoon, Megan had appeared again, and Harry had followed her hurriedly to the Library. She looked flushed and nervous. “I’ll need my cloak Mr.…Harry,” she said, a note of urgency in her voice.

Dobby appeared with the cloak, and as Megan was fastening it, Harry grabbed her by the forearms, holding her tight. She stiffened in surprise, looking up into Harry’s eyes, her own eyes wide and a little frightened.

“Please…you must tell me what’s going on,” Harry commanded. Before he could stop himself, he had reached into her mind with his own and drawn out images of Ginny in pain, biting on a coiled cloth to keep from screaming aloud and the elder Mid-wives looking both concerned and deeply worried. Harry suddenly realized his impropriety. “I am so sorry,” he apologized sincerely, as he pushed himself back from Megan, “I…I didn’t mean to do that,” Harry said weakly.

“It… it’s… okay… Harry,” Megan replied haltingly, and somewhat blankly. “I… I understand. But now, I must get back to St. Mungos. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

Dobby, standing behind her, snapped his fingers, releasing the Floo locks on the fireplace. Dobby held up a small silver canister. Megan took a handful of Floo powder, tossed it on the flame, calling “St. Mungos, Maternity” in a clear voice, and stepped into the swirling green flame… disappearing.

Dobby snapped his fingers again, and the fire dimmed to a yellow flame. He looked up at his Master, who wobbled a little. Dobby snapped his fingers once more, and a soft chair slid quickly to catch Harry as his legs gave out beneath him. He dropped his head in his hands and began to weep.

In the years since the final battle, nothing had come close to scaring Harry. But this… this powerlessness... and the images of Ginny in such pain... this was something he didn't think he could take. Thoughts of loss flooded him and he felt fear, such as he had not felt in many years.

“Do not weep, Master Harry,” Dobby croaked. “Mistress Ginny is strong… she will be okay.” But Dobby didn’t look as sure as he sounded, and he turned, scuttling out of the room.

Harry wept for some minutes when suddenly there was a soft pop, and Birdy appeared. She turned to the fireplace and snapped her fingers. Then she ran over to Harry’s side and said in a whisper, “Master Harry, Mrs. Weasley comes… Molly comes with Little Master!” Harry stood up quickly and rubbed at his face with his sleeves.

With a slight swoosh, the flames rose green in the fireplace, and Molly Weasley stepped through with James riding comfortably on her hip. James scurried down off his Grandmother and ran to the outstretched arms of his Father. Harry gathered up his son in a tight hug. Mrs. Weasley crossed the room and hugged them both together.

“Now,” Mrs. Weasley said imperiously, “What has been happening here all day?”

Before Harry could answer, there was another slight swoosh at the fireplace, and Megan Jones came back through, followed closely by another aged Healer. They nodded to Harry and a somewhat startled Mrs. Weasley, and took off at a trot down the hall toward the Master bedroom. Mrs. Weasley smiled at Harry, and patted James affectionately, mussing his hair. “I’ll get right to the bottom of this,” Molly proclaimed as she spun around and headed down the hallway.

“Birdy goes back to the children now Master Harry,” Birdy stated squeakily.

“Wait, Birdy,” Harry said quickly, “Please contact the Weasley’s, and then you and your Mother bring the children here.”

“Yes sir,” Birdy squeaked, as she bowed, and, pop, she was gone.

Minutes later, the flames flared green again, and a succession of Weasley’s streamed out of the fire. Arthur Weasley limped out of the flame, stepping awkwardly on his prosthetic left leg, a daily reminder of the war.

Percy was next, followed closely by Fred and George. They clambered around Harry, all asking questions at the same time. James beamed at his Uncles and Grandfather, smiling and waving.

The fire flared again, and Hermione stepped through. Penelope, Susan and Sandra were quick in her wake. Charlie and Helena were next, and the room was suddenly booming with chattering voices all requesting information, wives quickly finding husbands to compare notes.

Hermione pushed through the men to the center, where James stretched out his arms from Harry’s embrace and called, “Aunty Mione!. Aunty Mione!” She smiled at Harry as she gently pulled away his stretching son. Harry mouthed a silent “Thank you,” as she turned with James and ducked back out of the throng.

One more time, the fire flared and Birdy came marching through, tugging a hand-in-hand procession of smiling, excited children, youngest to oldest. Her mother, Winky, trailing at the end of the line. The children each rushed to their parents.

Ron strode through the flame then, his Chudley Cannon’s practice jersey clashing violently with his red hair. He smiled broadly as he swept into the room, catching up a confused Juliette’s hand. He walked his niece over toward Hermione, where she was sitting with James on her knee and a serious looking Abigail leaning on her shoulder. Billy, seeing his Papa enter the room, was running at him and leapt into Ron’s outstretched free arm. He approached his smiling wife, and kneeling to the children’s height, smiled at them each in turn.

“What’s all this then?” He chortled winking at his giggling daughter. He turned to Juliette, smiling. “I expect your Mum will be along in a bit, so don’t you worry none about it. Takes longer to arrange an International Apparition, but she’s been sent word to come.” Hermione smiled at Ron, amazed at his awareness of his Niece’s apprehension, and the way he was setting her at ease. “I’ll tell you what,” Ron continued, “You and Abigail run along to the kitchen and you tell Dobby he’s to break out the ice-cream toffee bars.” The girls’ eyes lit up simultaneously. “Tell him I said, and tell him he’s to bring one to each of you in the nursery.”

“Me too, Papa?” Billy’s voice sang out gleefully.

“Absolutely, son,” Ron squeezed his squirming son, who was now clamoring from his father’s arms at the prospect of ice cream. The two girls, clasping Billy’s hands between them darted out of the room toward the kitchen.

Penelope and Helena had begun rounding up the other children, and they quickly lead them off toward the nursery. Susan and Sandra followed, then, to lend a hand. The manor nursery was not really a nursery at all, but a second ballroom, converted with all sorts of Muggle play equipment, for just such occasions as all the cousins visiting at once, which wasn’t, as it happened, an infrequent occurrence.

The other children having all departed, James turned on his favorite Aunt’s lap and pulled her head down to his taking a handful of curly hair on either side of her face. As their foreheads touched, his vision memory flowed into Hermione’s mind. Even though James didn’t fully comprehend the images, he somehow knew that his Aunty Mione would understand, just as his Mum-Mum had seemed to.

Hermione looked into Ron’s eyes, deep concern flushing across her face.

“Right then,” Ron said, taking the silent cue from his wife, “I’ll handle this lot.” He tipped his head to his brothers and father, still pelting Harry with questions “And you take Jamie here to check on his Mum.” He pushed himself up off his knee and held his hand to Hermione pulling her up from the chair, Jamie riding her hip. She pursed her lips at Ron in a mock kiss and he returned the motion. Hermione strode the few steps to the door and slipped into the Hallway with her nephew.

Ron watched Hermione leave, then turned and strode to the far wall where he tapped his wand to the front of a latch-less glass cabinet. The door popped open, and Ron pulled out a crystal decanter of what he knew to be some of Harry’s most excellent Single Malt Fire Whiskey. He nipped up a couple of glasses and turned back to the knot of redheaded men. He cleared his throat rather loudly and said, “What say you louts back off a bit and give Harry room to breathe?”

Ron shouldered between Fred and George, who eyed the decanter knowingly. Mr. Weasley immediately saw the sense in his youngest son’s words, and with a flick of his wand, all the deep leather wingbacks in the library assembled around a single low table. Charlie tipped his wand at the table and the appropriate number of additional glasses appeared.

Ron sat in a chair next to Harry, his Father directly across, and un-stoppered the decanter, pouring out a generous amount of the dark amber liquid into a glass and sliding it in front of Harry. He poured another and slid it across the table in front of his Dad. He poured a third for himself, before handing off the bottle to Charlie who poured for the rest of the brothers.

When each had a glass, Ron raised his, and said solemnly, “To the women we love… The mother’s of our children… Merlin knows we’d be half or less the men we are today without them.” There was a hearty, “hear, hear,” from his brother’s, and they each took a long draught from their glass. “Now then,” said Ron, “Suppose Harry, you tell us what the fuss is all about?”

A pale looking Harry then told them about the events of the day, leading to his unintentional use of Legilimency on Megan Jones and the images he had found in her mind.

Mr. Weasley shook his head worriedly. “Well, I expect that between Percy and me, we can smooth over the unauthorized use of Legilimency with the Ministry, given the circumstances, and provided that Miss Jones doesn’t wish to press charges.” Percy shook his head agreeably. “And as for Ginny…” he leaned over and grasped Harry’s arm, “I only know if it were Molly, no stern traditionalist Mid-wife would be able to keep me out of the room.” His sons all agreed, shaking their heads and grunting affirmations.

Harry realized with sudden clarity, the truth of his Father-in-law’s words, and in an instant, he was on his feet, and halfway to the door.

Ron grabbed Harry’s glass, tipping the unconsumed Whiskey into his own. He leaned back into his chair and grinned at his Father. “Good speech Pops,” Ron said teasingly, taking another deep draught of his drink.

Arthur looked at his son incredulously. “Well, I am still a bit worried Ron,” Arthur admitted. He was looking at the heavy door through which Harry had just departed. Ron’s brothers were all looking at him with worried expressions.

“Nonsense...” Ron exclaimed. “Look you lot… Mum… and Hermione… and Harry… and James are all down in that room right now with our baby sister.” Ron emptied his glass, and motioned to Fred to slide the decanter back up the table. “Have any of you thought about the fact that our nephew knew his Mum was preggers before she did?”

Ron paused and poured himself another double. “And that boy has been talking to those babies all along just as though they are listening.” He tipped his glass again. “And I know, he is just another brother to us, but we are talking about Harry freakin’ Potter here! I’ll lay odds with any man... Not a damn thing is going to truly hurt our Ginny today.”


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Chapter Three
Birthing Babies

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