Our story is nearly at an end, just one mor chapter after this one. As I begin wrapping up all the various story lines and tying all the loose ends into neat little bows, I want to thank Kezzabear for reminding me that Hermione and Neville’s story line wasn’t quite finished. Therefore, I added a short section for each of them that leads into what happens in the final chapter. We also get to see some of Ron and Arthur in this chapter. I hope you like the chapter and find it in your hearts to share your thoughts in the reviews.
As always, I appreciate the efforts of Melindaleo, Mutt N Feathers, Brennus, and Cackling Stump for finding misplaced commas, weird sentences, and ideas that need more explanation. You’re awesome!
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A Time for Healing | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:None Genres: Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 211 Summary: In the early summer of 2005 Ginny Weasley watches a lone figure walk past her window. She sets a bouquet of flowers on her window sill. Will the young man she’s set them out for understand what she’s saying with flowers? Hitcount: Story Total: 30528; Chapter Total: 1429 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Chapter Nineteen A very special piece of mail was in his inbox when Ron returned to his desk after lunch on Friday. His hands shook as he opened the envelope containing his payslip from his first two weeks of work at his new job. While he had signed all the papers to have his salary automatically deposited in his bank account, it still was a thrill to see the money had magically appeared there when this piece of paper appeared on his desk. He scanned it thoroughly to make sure all his deductions were correct, especially the amount he owed for his student loans. He frowned. Everything seemed right except for that number. It was half the amount it should be and there was no way he had paid back that much as an unemployed worker in the last two months. Something was up. He left his desk and went to the personnel office and asked to speak with someone who dealt with the student loans. “Mr Weasley, the amount is correct,” the woman told him emphatically as she stared at her computer screen. “I see that between you leaving your last job and coming to this one you paid down the debt by half.” “I did no such thing,” Ron sputtered. “Who do I call to find out why this is happening?” The woman gave him a phone number to call and Ron went back to his cubical still frustrated, but determined to get to the bottom of the matter. Two hours later, he set the handset of his desk phone back on its cradle. The woman with whom he’d spoken had assured him that the amount was right, that someone had generously paid the enormous sum that had halved the amount Ron owed. When he had protested, the woman on the other end of the line had asked why he was rejecting such a gift. Looking at it that way, Ron finally thanked her, thinking that he really didn’t deserve something like this, but didn’t want to question the person’s motive or feel indebted to the person who had paid down the loan. Maybe he’d bring up the subject at the next family dinner. His brothers had been harping the last time he’d attended one that someone was making donations to their favourite charities. (Charlie, in particular, had been mystified because the donation to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds had specified his sanctuary and had voiced his hope that his benefactor would choose another sanctuary the next time he or she donated.) He hoped they would know who was giving away so much money. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. * Neville pulled on Hermione’s hand, leading her to another bed of pharmaceutical plants. The two were spending the morning at the Chelsea Physic Garden and then, at Hermione’s insistence, were going to see a new exhibit she wanted to see at the Tate Modern after lunch. They had decided to play tourist and cram two attractions into one day. However, he sensed that their plan just wasn’t working, mostly because Hermione just wasn’t interested in searching for magical plants amongst the Muggle species. She’d smiled when they’d discovered a variety of miniature honking daffodils that peeped like goslings whenever someone was near and it had amused her that the other tourists started looking for a family of geese. Otherwise, she was just following along behind him. He had hoped the beauty of the gardens would keep her interested while he was absorbed in the plants. Neville’s purpose for visiting the garden was a dual one. He had needed to visit the Education Department’s Magical Education Office to order seed for the next school year and with that done, he’d wanted to walk through the Poisons Garden to see if there were any plants the sixth- and seventh-years needed to learn about in conjunction with their studies in Potions. Every time he came here he learned something he could use in his lessons or share with the Potions Mistress. Today, he’d learned about a couple of obscure Muggle plants in the pharmaceutical plant garden that he was sure would be of interest to those NEWT-level students who planned to become Healers or Potions Masters. Now, as he and Hermione stood staring at one of those plants and admired its delicate pink flowers, he felt invigorated by the plant’s beauty and the beautiful witch standing next to him with an unfortunately bored expression on her face. “Are we about done?” Hermione asked, sounding a bit impatient. Neville smiled at her. “Yes, we are. Shall we meander towards the entrance or have lunch here at the café?” he asked her as he tried to ignore her impatience. Hermione visibly perked up at the mention of lunch. “There’s a little bistro near the front entrance that should have a better variety of offerings than the café,” she said. “Would you like to have lunch there?” Neville shrugged. “That sounds good to me,” he agreed and the two wended their way through the walled garden to the entrance. After lunch, they took the Underground to the Tate Modern. Hermione, who had been gradually becoming more animated while they had lunch, was now very excited as they paid the entrance fee and entered the art gallery. Neville was now the one to follow his companion doggedly through the rooms as she made a bee line for the exhibit she wanted to see. It turned out to be a ginormous mobile that hung from the ceiling and moved gently in the air currents, reminding Neville of certain tropical magical plants. He peered at the pendants carefully, trying to decide what they were made from. “What do you think, Neville,” Hermione asked. “Aren’t you in awe of what the artist is expressing through bits of metal trash?” “How’s it all sticking together? Permanent Sticking Charms?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t sounding as stupid as he thought. Apparently, he was, for Hermione fairly hissed, “Watch out how loudly you say things like that! This room echoes badly. People will hear and think you daft!” Then, in a softer tone, she explained, “The non-magical artist soldered every piece of aluminium and tin together to form the pendants. It’s like gluing the pieces together with a small, hot iron and more scrap metal.” She stepped away a few paces and stopped to contemplate the huge monstrosity for a few seconds. This allowed Neville to form his own thoughts about his “interpretation” of the piece. “Do you think the artist was expressing his disgust with how much trash is made on a daily basis?” he asked, hoping this thought would interest Hermione. She smiled at him. “You know,” she said, “I believe you’re right. He’s used colours such as olive green and dark brown and burnt orange accents in the paint scheme that might represent decomposition. Let’s consult the pamphlet we were given at the entrance. We might both be right.” They spent the next few minutes talking about shape and colour and why the artist had selected the pieces of trash that were used in the mobile. After a while, Neville began feeling sleepy from the piece’s motion and went to find a bench. As soon as his back touched the wall his eyes unfocused and the room became blurry with a shifting picture of a large trash dump in the centre of his vision. Hermione’s hand gently shaking his shoulder aroused him from his stupor. “Are you all right?” she inquired. Neville smiled up at her. “The mobile is positively hypnotizing. I thought I saw a trash dump while staring at it. Shall we go look at something else?” he asked as he surreptitiously glanced at his watch: they’d been in the mobile room for nearly an hour. “Yes, let’s. I quite agree it’s mesmerizing.” She opened the pamphlet again and pointed to a gallery on the other side of the building. “Shall we go look at the sculptures?” Neville was grateful for the long hike to the sculpture gallery. By the time they reached their destination, his head had cleared enough that he could think clearly about what the mobile had shown him. Later that night, after seeing Hermione home, Neville wandered out to his greenhouse and stood just inside the door admiring the order and beauty of his plants. While he had appreciated the stillness of the items he’d seen at the art gallery, the quiet busyness of his plants, like those he’d seen that morning, soothed him in a way nothing else could. It made him wonder if he could ever appreciate inanimate objects like paper or metal that never changed by themselves the way plants did. He knew Hermione did because pieces of art required deep thinking to mean something to her. Plants weren’t like that at all. A plant could look static, but if you really took the time to observe them, even Muggle plants moved and changed: they reacted to light and air currents, they constantly stretched their roots looking for water, and they went through their life cycles slowly and steadily without any help from people. Once a piece of art was finished, it remained exactly the same until someone or something changed it. Neville smiled and went over to the sofa where he’d kissed Hermione that one evening. He sat down and stretched his legs in front of him as his thoughts wandered to another witch who very much liked wandering through gardens with him. He wondered if it was her night off and what she was doing with it. He very much wanted to tell her about the new South American fiddling fern he’d seen in the Fernery this morning and what he’d learned about the poisonous plants of Australia that would fascinate the seventh-year Herbology students. He suddenly realized that while he had shared his day with Hermione, he really had wanted her to be the other witch. With a jolt, he wondered what that meant to his relationship with Hermione. * Hermione took her after dinner tea to her study. Her desk was covered in orderly stacks of parchments whose words would change how the Wizarding world acted if the laws that were written on them were passed. She was proud of those words just as she had been elated to study the pieces of art at the Tate Modern. Those pieces represented the brain power of those who had created them. What they didn’t do was actively interact with people and the elements like plants did, and for some reason, she liked the art better than the plants. A sudden thought hit her. What did this say for her relationship with Neville? He clearly loved the quiet of the plants they’d seen, even the ones that dripped poison down their stems, but not the pieces of art they’d seen after lunch. She could tell that the mobile had bored him and it saddened her to acknowledge this, mostly because he’d tried to keep that to himself. She supposed that they were two different people, even though they had been brought together by a common concern: Harry. Neville had been exactly what she needed on those lonely nights at Harry’s bedside and she now wondered if she’d read more into his visits than she should have. Were they just so different that now that Harry was thriving because of Ginny’s love she and Neville would have to work even harder on their own relationship if they wanted to make it work? Her thoughts drifted to a long-ago conversation she’d had with her mother concerning relationships and choosing a life partner. At one point, her mum had said, “Hermione, I have a feeling you’re going to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your handsome prince.” Hermione had raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you mean that I’m going to have many boyfriends before I find the man I want to marry?” Her mum had nodded. “Yes, dear, that’s exactly what I mean. And when you find him, you’ll know almost from the beginning that he’s your handsome prince. Just ask your father: I think he was frog number seven for me.” The two had giggled and gone in search of Hermione’s father. Now, Hermione sighed and picked up her Biro and rummaged in a drawer for a small, thin book, and turned to the first page. On it was a list of names under the heading “Frogs?” and realized that she wasn’t ready to add Neville’s name to the list. Satisfied for the moment, she put the book back and picked up her tea mug and one of the parchments. She had a lot of work to do before Monday. * Ginny was nervous. Normally, when she was going to meet someone new, she looked forward to the introduction and to getting to know the person, like she had Hermione. However, this was different. Not only was she going to meet one of Harry’s long-time friends, she was also going to venture into the Wizarding world for the very first time and although he had given her many reassurances, the newness of his world made her wonder if she was ready to face an alternative, parallel reality. Harry showed up punctually and asked her if she preferred to drive or take the Underground. As they were going to Charing Cross Road, she opted for the familiar–even though she wanted to ride in Harry’s new car–so they took the Tube, then walked to their destination, having left Ginny’s mobile at her flat. Even though it felt strange not to have it with her, she knew that where she was going would just render the little machine useless within a matter of minutes. Harry seemed to understand this and told her about his first introduction to the wizarding world as they rode along, probably thinking the story would ease her nervousness. “What was it like to experience it for the first time?” she asked. “The only word for it is magical,” he told her. “It completely changed how I looked at the world, explained why I could do all the weird stuff my aunt, uncle and cousin thought was abnormal, and thrust me into growing up a little quicker than the average eleven-year-old.” “Do you think seeing the magical world for the first time as an adult will be different?” she asked. “It might, but only because you’ve had so many more years in your own reality that you can compare it to. I hope you find it as fascinating as I did the first time,” Harry said as they exited the train and started up towards the surface. To say that she was now familiar with the feeling of wanting to be somewhere else or not seeing something she was meant to was not a complete truth, it helped her when Harry tugged at her hand and had her focus on the pub door she was meant to see. A few seconds later, they walked into a room that looked as if nobody had bothered remodelling it for several centuries. She’d just adjusted to the dim lighting when they heard a voice hail them from the other side of the room. “Harry! Over here!” “That’s Neville,” Harry explained as he steered her towards a corner booth. “Oh, and Hermione’s already here.” Ginny focused on their destination and saw that the other woman, er, witch, was seated close to Neville, a glass of something amber and fizzy in front of her. As Harry and Ginny approached, the two rose from their seats and Harry made his introductions. “Ginny, this is Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville, this is Ginny Weasley, nurse extraordinaire and my girlfriend,” Harry said smiling. “Pleased to meet you,” Ginny and Neville said together and the four of them laughed. As the four sat down, Neville flicked his wand, muting the sounds of the pub. Ginny looked sharply at him, wondering if he’d done the same thing Harry had the other day at the Italian restaurant. Harry leaned over towards her. “It’s just a privacy charm. It allows us to be in public without being bothered,” he explained. “Neville played a significant part in the last six months of the war and people recognize him as much as they do me and Hermione. The war hasn’t been over long enough that people will leave us be. At least with the charm we can get together and share a pint with lunch without too much bother.” Ginny pondered this, then asked, “You’ll tell me more about the war someday?” Harry smiled tightly. “There’s a lot to tell, but I’ll do my best to answer your questions.” He paused and then asked, “Would you like to try a wizarding beverage or stick with something more Muggle?” “Wizard. What’s good?” “You’ve had butterbeer, but there’s cider, beer and firewhisky. Any of that catch your fancy?” “If we’re eating here, I’ll have a butterbeer.” “Wise choice,” he said, then turned to Neville and Hermione. “Want a refill?” Hermione shook her head. “I’m ready to eat, though. You?” The others agreed and Harry flagged down the waitress, whose name was Hannah, who told them the specials. Ginny chose the Cornish pasty while Harry ordered Irish stew along with butterbeers for them both. Neville and Hermione settled on chicken dishes. While they waited for their food, Ginny finally focused on her surroundings. It was as if they had slipped back in time four hundred or so years. While the pub was clean and tidy, it looked as if the décor hadn’t been changed since Tudor times and at a further glance, neither did the patrons. In her modern Muggle clothes, she felt quite out of place surrounded by people wearing long, flowing garments and pointed hats. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked, getting Ginny’s attention. “Is it always this quaint or is this place just atmosphere?” Ginny wanted to know. “Depends on where you are,” Hermione explained. “London is our government centre just as it is in the Muggle world. Wizards tend to be a bit adverse to change, so their dress, attitudes and laws tend to be behind the Muggle world, mostly because wizards are rather wary of Muggles wanting things instantly if they knew about magic. They also haven’t bothered to really learn much about the Muggle world, so half of their assumptions are just plain wrong! Anyway, if you leave London and travel anywhere in the UK, you’ll run into wizarding areas where the people dress just as modern as you and whose attitudes are more contemporary. Where are you from?” “Near Exeter in Devon,” Ginny answered. “Are there wizarding families living in the area?” “I think there are a few near Ottery St Mary,” Hermione answered. “Is that near you?” “It’s near my parents’ farm where I grew up. Would we have had contact with the families?” “Possibly, depending if they shopped in the village or not. If they did, they probably would have looked a little strange because wizards have a hard time choosing the proper Muggle attire sometimes,” Hermione confided. “Harry and I once attended a Quidditch World Cup game involving spectators from all over the world and it was just as much fun watching the people trying to dress inconspicuously as it was the match. When we went to get water from a spigot, for example, we encountered an elderly wizard clad in a woman’s nightdress in the middle of the day. He claimed he’d purchased the garment because he didn’t want to wear trousers.” This image made Ginny giggle. “I think I encountered a family of wizards once when I was about ten. My older brother knocked me upside the head and told me to stop staring at the strangely dressed people, that they were most likely foreigners.” “That sounds familiar,” Hermione agreed. Their food arrived and the four began eating. When they were nearly done, Harry asked, “Hemione, what happened with the werewolf vote?” “Oh! It passed!” she exclaimed happily. “I shouldn’t have worried. It’s going to take a fair amount of work, especially to get the Wolfsbane Potion clinics set up, but it’s now illegal to deny a werewolf access to the potion, to equal pay and jobs, and they will no longer be classified as beasts. Any newly turned person now has the right to keep his or her employment and no longer has to register with Magical Creatures. Instead, a support group has been set up to help them manage their condition.” Neville put down his fork and hugged her. “That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, planting a kiss on her cheek. Ginny glanced at Harry whose expression was sad and thoughtful at the same time. “Congratulations, Hermione,” he said, sounding genuinely happy for her. “Will the children of werewolves get compensation like you wanted?” Hermione nodded. “Not as much as I’d hoped, but the Wizengamot has set aside funds to help children like Teddy with their educations.” Harry looked pleased. “It’s a start, right?” he asked. “It is, and I shouldn’t have worried about the person who was trying to sabotage the vote,” Hermione admitted again. Neville was next to announce his news, the reason for asking them to lunch. “This has been great,” he said earnestly as Hannah came to clear the table and refill their beverages. “I didn’t know who I wanted to celebrate with and then it came to me that you lot are my family now. Mum and Dad barely recognize me since I hardly get the time to visit them and I don’t think they’d understand what I was telling them if I did.” He paused, looking around the table. Ginny didn’t really understand what was going on either, but listened raptly nevertheless. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that St Mungo’s has agreed to start trials with the Stink Sap potion I developed to counteract the effects of Spattergroit. The head of Magical Bugs thinks it’s more effective than the original, long-used cure of standing in a barrel of eel’s eyes during the full moon.” At this, Ginny couldn’t keep her opinion to herself. “I’m sorry, Neville, but did you say someone has to stand in a barrel of eel’s eyes?” she asked incredulously. “That’s positively medieval! It wouldn’t cure anything!” Neville grinned. “I agree,” he said with a laugh. “Plants and their derivatives have so much more potential. That’s why I worked so hard on creating the potion. Depending on the form of the disease, Healer Faulkner wants to use it as a topical balm to dry up the pustules or counteract the confusion and memory loss. Either way, victims of the disease have a better chance of living a normal life if they are given my potion.” “Do you get compensation for your work?” Hermione asked. “And what about patents? Can anyone take credit for the potion you developed?” Neville reached for her hand. “Thanks for looking out for me, Hermione,” he began. “When it looked like St Mungo’s wanted to use the potion, I contacted my solicitor who worked out a contract with the hospital and is making sure I retain full rights to the potion recipe. In the meantime, I’m still happily employed at Hogwarts for another year.” Hermione’s expression softened and she squeezed Neville’s hand. “I’m so happy for you,” she said earnestly. “I was just concerned that someone would swindle you out of what you deserve.” Harry leaned over towards Ginny. “Do you need any questions answered?” he asked quietly. Ginny shook her head. “If I followed the conversation correctly, Neville has been working on a medicine that comes from a plant he grows. It sounds like his hobby is using magical plants to benefit others.” “That’s just about the gist of it,” Harry smiled. “I’m glad he wanted to share his news with us. His childhood was just about as fraught as mine was. He’s been a good friend since we were eleven and I thank the powers that be that he’s been my friend since I entered the wizarding world.” He raised his glass and looked around the table. “To Neville!” he proclaimed. The others raised their glasses and drank to their friend’s success after which the conversation turned to more mundane topics. “I have news of my own,” Harry said suddenly, making Ginny, Neville and Hermione look at him expectantly. “I saw Madam Pomfrey yesterday.” “And…” Ginny prompted. Harry grinned. “I’m officially off the maintenance potions and she’s declared me free of the effects from Voldemort’s spell.” Ginny watched in amusement as Hermione sprang up from her seat and nearly collided with Harry across the table in her effort to hug him. “Oh, Harry! That’s wonderful! ” she cried. “Congratulations, mate!” Neville beamed. He looked across the table at Ginny. “You okay?” he asked. As Harry extracted himself from Hermione’s grasp, Ginny fished in her handbag for her handkerchief, then dabbed at her eyes. “That’s such good news,” she finally whispered. “Definitely something to celebrate.” Then, she threw herself at him and kissed him thoroughly right there in the pub. Harry, it seemed, had been waiting for her reaction and eagerly returned her kiss. When they finally came up for air, it was to find Neville and Hermione sharing an equally exuberant kiss. Harry cleared his throat. “Ginny, I wasn’t going to do this until I was absolutely sure that we were back together, but I now see that the only question left is this one,” he said, scooting out of the booth and fiddling with something in his pocket. “Ginny Weasley, will you marry me, knowing full well that our worlds are rather different, but equally intertwined? I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” As he opened the small box, Ginny felt her eyes widen. “You found it? Oh, Harry! Yes! My answer is yes!” And then the ring was on her finger and she and Harry were engulfed in a huge bear hug by both Hermione and Neville. * Harry and Ginny stood in the alcove behind the Leaky Cauldron, facing the brick wall behind the dust bins. They’d just said good bye to Neville and Hermione and as they were here, Harry thought it might be prudent to show his fiancée a little more of the world she was committing herself to become a part of. “Are you ready?” he asked her. “What are you going to show me?” “A part of who I am and what I fought for.” An uncertain smile spread across her face. She swallowed nervously as Harry tapped the bricks with his wand and waited for the arch to form. He watched Ginny’s face… She smiled a little broader as she received her first glimpse of the British shopping district. “It’s like going back in time,” she breathed. “I thought the same thing when I was eleven,” Harry said. “I have an errand that I’d like to do, then we can explore all you like until we need to get you back home.” “All right, lead the way.” Harry took her hand and they strolled slowly down the street, pausing at shop windows and admiring the magical things within. When they reached Gringotts Wizarding Bank, he stopped and turned towards her. “Ginny, this is where I bank. It is run by a very special people known as goblins,” he said. “They are as magical as wizards; some say even more so. My intention is now that we are engaged, that you know not only who I am, but where I stand in wizarding society. I’m not saying this to frighten you, I just want you to understand why I haven’t sought employment in the last few weeks. No more secrets.” “All right,” she said, and took a hesitant step towards the bank. Harry led her through the double doors into the bank and stopped to let her have a look around while he approached one of the account managers. They spoke for several minutes, then Harry called her to him. The goblin produced a sheaf of parchment and pointed to several places where Harry and Ginny’s signatures were required. Finally, they followed the goblin down to the carts. “Harry, this is the strangest bank I’ve ever been in,” Ginny exclaimed as they hurtled downwards. She squealed as they took a curve at speed. “I love this! Wheeeee!” All too soon, they stopped before Harry’s vault. The goblin driving the cart climbed out and opened the vault door. “Just the account holder,” he instructed. “Even with the account holder’s permission?” Harry asked. “This woman is my fiancée and she needs to know what I am worth. I just signed the parchments five minutes ago.” The driver eyed him suspiciously, then returned to the cart where he pushed a button. He spoke with someone for a few moments, seeming to become more annoyed by the minute. Eventually, he returned to Harry and Ginny. “Before she enters the vault, she must sign two more parchments, Mr Potter. Your parchments are not complete without them,” he said scowling. “What’s wrong?” Ginny asked when Harry beckoned her over to the door. “Red tape,” he said grimly. “Until you sign all the paperwork stating your intention to marry me, you won’t be able to enter my vault.” Ginny looked down at the goblin. “What do I need to sign?” she asked. “My idiot colleague upstairs did not think two parchments were necessary because you are a Muggle intending to marry a wizard,” the driver told her as another goblin came barreling down the track in another cart. The second goblin hopped out of the vehicle and handed the parchments to the driver. The driver approached Ginny and handed her a quill. “Sign here, please,” he said tersely. He pointed out where her signature and initials were required. As she handed back the quill, she asked, “What language are the papers written in and is there a way to verify that only the account holders will be allowed access to the vault? “The language is the legal language of Gringotts Bank, miss: Gobbledygook, the language of goblins,” their driver told them. “You can be sure that security is the highest available to our customers.” “Do you trust them?” Ginny asked Harry. “I could have signed away your fortune without knowing what those papers said.” He smiled. “I trust them and so does most of wizarding Britain. There was only one break-in–that failed–and that was fifteen years ago at the start of the second wizarding war. Since then, no one has tried to access another’s vault under false pretences.” “That seems all right with me,” she said decidedly. “Now what were you going to show me?” Harry took her hand and pulled her after him into his vault. Even though he had been here a month ago to arrange for various transactions, he still marvelled at the sheer vastness of the room. It had to do with the fact that not only had he inherited the Potter family fortune, but the Black Family holdings had been added to his when Sirius died back in ninety-six. It still felt strange to Harry to walk past the piles of coins, boxes of legal papers, suits of armour, and mounds of gold and silver treasures. Harry had been told that most of the treasure was from the Black vault because the family was older than the Potters and the Blacks had had a habit of seeking retribution in the form of objects rather than simple apologies. “This is what I wanted to show you,” Harry whispered to Ginny. “I think you’ll recognize the piles of coins as wizarding currency. I’ll tell you more about it later.” “How do you pay for things with this?” Ginny asked. “Banking in my world is done electronically these days. Do you have cash machines that dispense gold coins?” Trying hard to hide his smile, Harry explained about the credit card and cheque book he used when in the Muggle world. “I still carry around a money bag,” he told her, fishing into his pocket and taking out the one he carried on his person every time he left the house. “It’s not much different than carrying a wallet with paper bank notes in it.” “I suppose not,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “So why is all of this other stuff here?” Harry grinned. “Wizards are notorious pack rats, Ginny. They acquire all sorts of stuff that they can’t possibly display in their homes, so they store it here at the bank. It’s almost like the storage units Muggles pay for when they need to keep their excess stuff safe and not in their attics or cellars. It’s also very secure due to the goblins’ pride in keeping what has been entrusted to them safe. Does that make sense?” he asked. “It does, and I can see that your family has acquired a lot of treasure over the years,” she said, smiling. “I suppose that if you really didn’t want to work, you would be set for a life of leisure.” “I could,” he hedged, “but laying around this last year with only so much to do has showed me that I like being a man of action. There are jobs in the wizarding world that could use someone like me who is attached to a wonderful someone like you and I think if we put our heads together, we could do a lot of good in this world.” “Are you saying that if I choose, I can keep working?” Ginny asked. Harry nodded. “Because if that’s true, I know of places here in Britain that need people like us to make their lives better.” Harry grinned at her. “I like the way you think, Ginny. Shall we have a proper conversation about this sometime soon?” “Yes, when I’m not quite so overwhelmed,” she said, smiling. “I agree. Now, let me grab some money and we can be on our way. We have a lot of shops to explore!” * Harry made sure that Ginny was back at her flat by five o’clock, the time she needed to be there in order to dress for work and get there on time. He made her laugh when he consulted his watch and declared that they had thirty seconds to snog before he needed to leave. “When can I see you again?” he asked as he backed out the door. “Tuesday? That’s my day off,” she said. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll send Whitehorn with a note sometime on Monday,” he said, and snuck in another quick kiss as he pulled the door closed on himself. It was then that Ginny thought about calling her family. She knew they would want to know about the resumption of her engagement to Harry. However, on second thought, she wanted to keep her ring to herself for a few days. Maybe she should put in for a couple of days off… she had a lot to think about and she felt that if she organized her feelings and facts, maybe her family would not give her as much grief as they usually did about such things. She knew her parents would accept the situation if they understood why she had changed her mind. She just hoped her brothers wouldn’t try to intimidate Harry too much. With a satisfied smile on her face, Ginny readied herself for work and headed out the door. * Something told Molly Weasley that it was time to talk to her daughter. She knew Ginny was working nights and sleeping most of the day away. However, that didn’t prevent her from leaving a voice mail asking Ginny to contact her. Ginny called back on Monday, shortly before tea time. “I only have a few minutes before I have to leave for work, but I thought I’d return your call,” she said, sounding like she had just awakened. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you, dear,” Molly said. “It’s been so long since we last saw you. I know you’re working nights, but a mother still worries about her children.” There was a pause on Ginny’s end, then her daughter said, “Could I come down tomorrow? It’s my day off and I’d like to spend the day at the farm.” “You know you’re always welcome. Will you be taking the train or driving?” Molly asked. “Driving,” Ginny answered. “I’ll leave early and get there before noon. Now, I need to go so I won’t be late for work. See you tomorrow.” They hung up and Molly had the impression that Ginny wasn’t telling her something. * Harry’s owl showed up just as Ginny finished talking to her mother. She smiled as Whitehorn tapped on the window wanting to be let in. “What do you have for me, you handsome thing?” she asked as she took the rolled-up piece of parchment from his leg. If owls could shrug their shoulders, Ginny thought he would have. She giggled at the thought as she read Harry’s note. He wanted to know what her plans were for the week, so she grabbed a pen and added her reply to the bottom, telling him she wanted to go home on Tuesday and would he like to accompany her. Whitehorn eagerly bobbed up and down when she finished writing, seeming quite happy to play messenger between her and Harry. As soon as she opened the door, the owl zoomed in the direction of Harry’s house, only to return ten minutes later with Harry’s enthusiastic reply that he definitely wanted to join her and would she like him to drive. Smiling happily, she sent Whitehorn back with the time she wanted Harry to show up the next day, with the suggestion that Harry pack an overnight bag just in case they stayed longer than anticipated. While she did indeed have the day off, the prospect of driving down to Devon alone was daunting on the prospect of no sleep. If Harry drove, maybe she could nap once they hit the motorway. She was glad she had asked for Wednesday off. * Harry was early. He knew he was, but he was just so excited to be able to spend a weekday with Ginny that he hadn’t slept much and had drunk too much coffee and eaten too little breakfast to stave off the caffeine rush. He pulled into her drive and parked his car behind hers, then opened the hatch and pushed his broom farther back into the cargo compartment in anticipation of putting Ginny’s bag in with his. Then, he went to her door and pressed the bell. “Good morning, Harry,” she greeted him. “I’ll be right out. I just have to put a few things in my bag and then I’ll be ready.” “How was work?” he asked her retreating back. “About normal. You know, the usual rounds of meds, calming a few jittery newcomers. Thank goodness we got rid of the surly teenage crash patient a month ago. I was tired of minding him every Saturday, even though it had been several weeks since he tried to escape and ended up passing out somewhere,” she threw over her shoulder as she entered her room. She reappeared several minutes later lugging a small suitcase and her handbag. “All ready,” she chirped, and handed the bag to Harry, who stowed it under his broomstick. Harry drove silently as he followed the sat nav directions out of London. Only when he was on the motorway did he venture to make small talk. “Erm, Ginny, I need to tell you something.” “What is it, Harry?” “I’ve become a philanthropist,” he said by way of explanation, “and I started giving away my money because I thought you’d understand.” “Understand what?” she asked curiously. Harry hesitated, then said quietly, “That I did it for you.” Ginny frowned. “Why me?” “Because I thought that giving away my money to help others would show you that I value the things your family values.” He paused, then added, “And because I thought you might want me back when you knew about it.” Ginny sighed and looked out the window. “Thank you for telling me, Harry. That means a lot. Will you continue to help people after we’re married?” He took his eyes off the road and looked at Ginny’s profile. “Yes. It makes me feel useful.” Ginny looked back at him and patted his leg. “I’m glad. “Did you bring your Firebolt?” she asked suddenly. Harry grinned. “Do you want a ride tonight?” Ginny grinned back. “Do I have to wait that long?” * Arthur Weasley entered his office and wearily kicked off his boots. His morning chores were done and he thought he had a few minutes to himself. He had his accounts to work on, but at the moment, he didn’t feel like doing them, mostly because his wife was all a-dither because their daughter was coming home to visit… in the middle of the week. She seemed to think that Ginny had some news she wanted to share that couldn’t wait. He pulled a farming magazine out of the pile on his desk and began reading at random. Waiting for something to happen was hard work. The back door opened downstairs and Arthur heard Molly squeal their daughter’s name, followed by her startled exclamation of, “Harry?” Arthur thrust his feet in to a pair of slippers and took the stairs two at a time. He was just in time to hear Ginny ask, “Is Dad upstairs? We need to talk to him.” Arthur retreated to his office, sat back down, and picked up his magazine again. * Ginny tugged on Harry’s hand, urging him towards the stairs. “Dad’s office is in Ron’s old room. You slept there the last time we were here together.” When he hesitated, she smiled encouragingly and glanced up the staircase. “Go on, I’m sure he’s heard us.” Frowning, Harry asked, “Why do I have to go first?” Ginny chuckled. “He’s not going to bite and I think you know why you need to talk to him first. If it’s any consolation, I’ll be in my bedroom.” With a resigned expression, Harry marched up the stairs muttering, “Thanks.” In truth, he did know that in order for things to be right with the world, he did need to explain a few things… he just didn’t want to do it alone. Harry knocked lightly on the door and it swung open to reveal Arthur reading a magazine. Arthur looked up and Harry felt like he was being scrutinized. “Can I come in?” Harry asked hesitantly. Arthur closed his magazine and put it on his desk. “Harry, I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you here?” “Actually, sir, I need to talk to you, explain a few things,” Harry stated. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Do these things concern my daughter?” “They do,” Harry assured him. “We’ve gotten back together and re-established our engagement.” “I see.” Arthur looked thoughtful. “And why would Ginny want you back when you obviously hurt her?” Harry inhaled deeply through his nose. “The long and the short of it is that I love your daughter, even more than when we spoke the last time I asked for your permission to ask her to marry me,” Harry said with more confidence than he actually felt. “But I wasn’t being entirely honest with her or you at that time, which is why she broke up with me. I want to correct that and stop keeping secrets from you and your family. Ginny knows the truth now, and I want to share it with you also.” Arthur suddenly looked angry. “What secrets?” he asked suspiciously. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” he paused before continuing, “I’m a wizard.” “A wizard,” Arthur repeated, sounding rather sceptical. “Like Merlin or Gandalf?” Harry studied the throw rug, his head bent because he was trying very hard not to laugh because he knew Arthur was speaking about the wizards he was familiar with. Thank goodness he’d become familiar with Gandalf from the books Hermione had brought him while he was in hospital. Finally mastering himself, he said, “Well, sort of. Merlin was a real wizard, but he is considered to be one of the most powerful wizards in history, so I wouldn’t want to compare myself to him. I can do magic spells like he did, though. Gandalf, on the other hand, is fictional.” Arthur was silent at this revelation as if trying to decide whether or not to believe Harry. “Assuming that magic is real and you actually are a wizard, why did you keep it a secret from Ginny? Is being a wizard a bad thing?” he finally asked. “It really isn’t, except for the fact that the wizarding world is meant to be kept secret from non-magical people,” he explained. “I didn’t want Ginny to enter our marriage not knowing what sort of world she was getting herself into, so I told her, showed her some basic things about my world and explained about some of the things she’d noticed around my house. She became angry when I wouldn’t do magic in front of her because I’d been forbidden to do it by my healers. We fought and, when she threw her ring at me, I did what I thought was right. I performed a spell that altered her memories so that she wouldn’t remember the real reason we broke up.” “Do you mean to tell me that you bewitched my daughter?” Arthur asked, sounding incredulous and very angry at the same time. “Yes, and I wish I hadn’t,” Harry replied sincerely. “Why are you telling me this now? Haven’t you done enough damage?” Arthur demanded. “I deserve that,” Harry said, once again contemplating the pattern on rug beneath his feet. After a moment, he looked up at Arthur again. “The thing is, my spell wore off because I underpowered it and Ginny eventually remembered that she loves me and that I love her. Our time apart proved to us that we really are meant to be together. We make each other happy. Ginny’s love helped me get well.” Arthur studied him and after a few moments he said, “I take it your injuries were of a magical nature and that you really were not in the British Army.” “No, sir, I wasn’t. My travels have only been as far as Wales and Scotland, but the war I fought in was very real,” Harry said sincerely. “I see. So, why did you decide to tell us now?” “I can’t lie to her, or you, about my past any more, sir. It’s not right that she should be kept ignorant of certain things until after we are married. I refuse to lie to her about things as important as who I am,” Harry said earnestly. Arthur was quiet for a time. Then he said, “Well said. I appreciate your honesty with me, but before I give you my blessing, I’d like to speak with Ginny.” Harry sagged in relief. “Thank you. I’ll go get her.” As Harry turned to leave, Arthur asked, “Could you, er, I’d like to see some magic.” Harry turned back and took out his wand. Looking around, he zeroed in on the knitted afghan laying on the end of the bed. Arthur gasped as Harry first changed the colour from blue to pink and back again, then turned it into bicycle tire. As he returned the tire to its original shape, Arthur clapped his hands, exclaiming, “That’s marvellous!” Harry put his wand away and went to find Ginny. * Ginny squeezed Harry’s arm as she passed him in the hallway. All he said to her was, “He wants to speak with you.” She smiled at Harry. “Mum’s down stairs. She wants to talk to you, too.” Harry paused at the top of the steps. “Did you tell her about me?” Ginny grinned. “Only the good stuff. See you in a bit.” As Harry started down the steps, Ginny headed for the office door and stepped inside, taking a seat on the bed facing her father. “Hello, Dad,” she said tentatively. Her father regarded her seriously for several long moments and then asked, “Ginny, why do you want to marry Harry? He hurt you, made you think things that weren’t true. Why would you want to be with someone like that who lies to your face?” “Oh, Dad, I love Harry. It’s as simple as that,” she said, her heart on her sleeve. “He loves me so much that when I didn’t believe he was magical he enchanted me to give me time to accept who he is. He’s kind, generous to a fault, humble and heroic all at the same time. Did you know he made himself sick just so I could go on with my life after we broke up? Another man wouldn’t always be that selfless.” “I suppose not. So how did you come to understand that you’d been bewitched?” “I think I was meant learn about the magical world gradually, Dad,” she stated and she told him about her dreams and the things she experienced that helped her realize that in his own, peculiar way, Harry was telling her the truth and that he was just following the rules set by the Ministry of Magic. “And then, I received a letter from him, brought by an owl! A magical owl that belongs to Harry that knew he wanted to send the letter but didn’t want to startle me by sending it by owl post! Whitehorn knew to bring it to me because Harry loves me and his magic told the owl who to take it to!” “I see,” her father said vaguely and Ginny thought he was having trouble reconciling that magic was real, just like she had. “You spoke of Harry’s generosity. What has he done?” he asked instead. “I don’t really know the extent of his donations, Bill and the others will know of course, but Harry made donations to everyone’s favourite charities.” She sighed, wondering where her father was going with his line of questioning. “That’s all well and good, but what about Ron? He doesn’t have a favourite charity.” “No, he doesn’t, but he does have his student loans,” she said, “and I realized on the way here that Harry is taking care of that for him, even if he didn’t want to because Ron hurt me so much with what he said when Fred died.” Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Does Ron know?” “Possibly. His payslips will certainly show how much has been paid off and how much is still owed.” “And does Ron know who his benefactor is?” “I don’t know, but I don’t want him try to pay Harry back, mostly because it’s because of him that Harry met me. Please don’t try to make Ron pay Harry back.” “Ron is an adult. We should let him decide what he wishes to do.” “Thank you, Dad.” “Now, Ginny, are you absolutely certain that you want to marry Harry?” “Yes! A thousand times yes! When we broke up, I had a hole in my heart that just wouldn’t close. I wasn’t complete. Harry completes me!” Arthur smiled. “From what I’ve seen, you complete him, too, Ginny. I wouldn’t tell you I was happy with your choice if you two didn’t fit each other perfectly. If you can get along with living in both the magical and non-magical worlds, I believe you two can have a long, lasting marriage. You have my consent to marry Harry.” With a happy shriek, Ginny threw her arms around her father, kissed him soundly on the cheek, and then threw open the door to find Harry pacing in the hallway. At the look on her face, he snatched her up in his arms and they didn’t let go for a very long time. Ginny never did get her broom ride. |
| Reviews 211 |
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