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SIYE Time:10:17 on 29th March 2024
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Dreaming a Life
By GryffindorHealer

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Other
Genres: Drama, Romance
Warnings: Extreme Language, Intimate Sexual Situations
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 56
Summary: The last thing Ginny Potter heard before the Bludger hit her was ‘Harry! Al!’ Then she woke up in St. Mungo’s, and no one knew who Harry, James, Al, Lily, or Teddy were that she kept asking for. What the hell was happening?
Hitcount: Story Total: 17146; Chapter Total: 1628
Awards: View Trophy Room






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Spinning and crushing and bright and stumbling and four hands reaching towards two low stone walls and hammers on anvils between her ears and retching and hot acid on her tongue and clammy wet down her back her chest across her forehead and heaving heaving heaving and nothing coming out--

Strong, gentle fingers grasped her upper arms. ‘Breathe,’ Fleur said, a whisper against her ear. Ginny closed her eyes to the double vision, forearms rasping across the top of the stone wall until her hands found each other. She pressed her right thumb hard into her left palm, breathing slowly, the sensation on the acupressure point a team Healer showed her years ago beginning to suppress the nausea. Thank you, Bekka Scott, she thought.

‘You ‘ave pain?’ One hand remained on her arm, the other blotting at her forehead with a handkerchief.

‘Less,’ Ginny whispered. In truth, the decreasing nausea and dizziness seemed to be washing away the throbbing. The blacksmith no longer worked iron in her head, now only white-water rapids rushed about. ‘Or the waves.’

Oui, the waves, there are always waves. When did you last use the pain potion?’ Ginny chuckled at the thought she’d spoken aloud, continuing to breathe slowly.

‘A few hours, I think.’

‘When did you eat?’

Ginny shook her head, a single word, breakfast, hanging in the air between them. She chuckled again at the muttered words that followed. ‘Merde. Weasley imbécile .’ Then louder, ‘Come. There is food inside, I kept it warm. Soupe de nouilles au poulet.’ Ginny straightened off the stone wall at the gentle tug, grateful for the supporting arm around her waist as they started towards the cottage.

Fleur held the chair as she sat at the table, resting her hands on the cool oak. With quick wand movements and muttered spells, a large mug of chicken soup rested lightly before her, accompanied by two slices  of bread, the warm sourdough scents blending with the steam from the mug. Her stomach growled loudly, and Fleur ‘tut tutted’, waving her hands for Ginny to start as she walked to the pantry cupboard.

Despite the warm day, the heat from the soup mug felt good in GInny’s hands. She sipped the broth rich with chicken fat, Following several sips, she set the mug down and lifted a spoonful of noodles and chicken. Fleur set another small vial of potion in front of her on the table.

‘When you ‘ave eaten.’ Filling a mug for herself, she sat next to Ginny. Only the rolling schwoosh of the waves over the rocky beach outside filled the air as they ate, Fleur’s stern regard never leaving the younger witch. Ginny finished off her bread by wiping up the last of the broth and noodle pieces in the mug, then wiped her mouth with the serviette.

‘Thank you.’ Her whisper floated in the air between them. Fleur’s blue eyes remained icy. ‘I feel much better already, Fleur. I shouldn’t have skipped eating.’

‘Is what you found worth abusing yourself?’

Ginny focused on the potion vial, working the cork loose using fingers steadier than when she arrived. She tossed it deep to the back of her mouth wanting to keep the kinder flavors of the soup on her tongue. Like a shot of firewhiskey; the liquid burn down her throat not dissimilar though no smoke issued from her ears or nostrils. She faced Fleur straight on.

‘What would you do, to get back to the bébé within you?’ She uttered the French word with the finality of a thunderbolt. Fleur held the blazing brown eyes steadily, her own dark blue thawing slowly.

‘Everything. Anything,’ Fleur said, her voice a fluttering whisper of a dove bearing an olive branch. Their hands met on the table, fingers twining together. Ginny nodded.

‘It is not as much as I hoped. It is enough to keep going. But first, I need some rest.’ Fleur stood, nodding, then waved her hand at Ginny when she started to pick up her empty mug.

‘Leave that for now. We go to your room.’ The two climbed the stairs one after the other, Fleur entering Ginny’s room first. She pulled the covers down, turned to Ginny. ‘Strip.’ Ginny raised her eyebrows at the command, and began undressing as Fleur busied herself at the bedside table. ’When you are undressed, lay face down.’ Ginny set her clothing onto the chair, and did as Fleur bid her, though she turned her head to watch.

Fleur finished her business at the table and turned, wand out, whispered incantations and motions. Ginny felt the mattress firm underneath her, the bed raising a half foot or so. The blankets covered her legs and bum, then Fleur lifted the bowl of clear liquid and poured a thin stream of warm oil across Ginny’s shoulders and neck. Lavender and clove wafted through the air. Setting the bowl down, Fleur dipped her fingers and rubbed more oil on her hands.

Ginny moaned softly when surprisingly strong fingers began kneading the muscles in her neck. ‘Merlin, that feels so good.’

Fleur’s chuckle bubbles like a brook dancing over small stones. ‘Merlin ‘as nothing to do with this,’ she said, fingertips still pressing into knots in neck muscles as her palms slid firmly across shoulders. ‘This is all Airmid.’ Ginny didn’t bother to ask who that was, preferring to save her breath as Fleur matched her hands press and rise to Ginny’s breathing, working down her neck, around her shoulder blades.

The aching behind her eyes faded. She began to breathe in time with the waves below, Fleur’s hands continuing their journey in synchronization. Fingers found and released knots, muscles sighed in relief as Fleur worked down her back. Almost too soon, one hand lifted, returned with a towel that gently wiped what little oil hadn’t worked into her skin. Then that too left. Ginny rolled onto her side, following Fleur’s movements as she transfigured the bowl into a bottle and conjured a cork.

‘Thank you again,’ Ginny whispered. Fleur nodded, turning as she wiped her own hands with the towel. GInny regarded her with languid eyes. ‘Did your Veela help with that as well?’

'Un peu, oui. My Veela can be most helpful at times.’ 

Ginny barely nodded. Fleur dropped the towel and lifted the covers up to Ginny’s shoulders. ‘Rest now, ma sœur. I will send Bill if you are not awake by dinner time.’ Closing her eyes, Ginny let out a big breath and snuggled into the covers around her. She did not hear the door close as Fleur left.

GHGHGHGHGHGH

G inny raised her eyes from Obscure Curses at the soft knock on the bedroom door. ‘Come in.’

The door swung part way open and one brown eye peered in, fang earring bobbing left and below it. Then Bill stepped in, grinning at her. ‘Fleur said you felt a bit rough when you got back. You look like you feel better now.’

Ginny smiled back, nodding. ‘Your wife pours magic through her fingers.’

‘Oh, she most definitely does,’ he replied wickedly. Then gesturing to the book in her hands, ‘Find anything in there?’ I won’t be surprised if you don’t, it’s a bit of a long shot.’

‘Found some things I filed away for future use. Nothing that affects time, though.’ 

He nodded slightly, then frowned and pointed at her. ‘That’s one of my Unicorns and Roses shirts.’

Ginny smirked. ‘They’re almost as good as the Weird Sisters.’ He cocked his head to his left, crossing his arms. ‘On, don’t worry, Bill, I won’t take it. Fleur lent it to me, since I’ve no idea where the rest of my clothing is.’

‘You didn’t go by your flat today?’

‘Where is my flat, Bill? Didn’t Fleur tell you how I bemoaned missing my house I bought, oh, ten months and nine years ago.’ Bill frowned and the air vibrated slightly between them, her annoyance fueling a sharp, pungent tension.

Then his eyes widened in realization. ‘I keep forgetting, it’s just so odd. You look, sound, and act exactly like my sister who still lives in a barely decorated one bedroom flat, hardly spending any time there to bother because you’re always training at Quidditch.’

Ginny immediately felt a flush of regret. ‘I’m sorry-- ’

‘No,’ Bill said. ‘It’s one of the reasons Mum is so concerned about you, she says you’ve no social life. And you don’t, or at least not the Ginny we live, lived with. That Ginny wouldn’t spend the time to find a house for herself. Then you say or do something that’s so similar except colored with more experience, or depth of maturity.’ He waved his hands in the air. ‘Or something.’

Ginny’s face softened. ‘After my.... experience during my First Year, and some luck coming into a bit of money, Mum and Dad brought us to visit you in Egypt that summer. You said something like that to me then. Mum and Dad were so unsure what to do, how to treat me, but you just acted like it was all in a day’s events, even if unusual, while pointing out things you did there in Egypt. Until I started talking to you about what happened. It helped. A lot.’

Bill blinked, twice, lips turning up on one side, fang earring bobbing slightly to his nod. ‘That’s what Oldest Brothers do, yeah? Speaking of which, guess we better go by your flat tomorrow morning. Before we go to the Burrow.’

‘Why are we going to the Burrow tomorrow? Dinner’s not until Sunday.’ Both siblings frowned in confusion at each other for a breath, then lit in sudden understanding. ‘Another thing that’s different between this time and, well, my time,’ Ginny said.

Bill nodded. ‘Either way, dinner is ready downstairs soon as you join us. I’ll just,’ and he waved back towards the stairs a bit awkwardly, nodding at Ginny sitting with the covers gathered just at her waist.

‘Oh, yeah, I’ll just pull on some jeans,’ she said, not moving. ‘Bill,’ she called when he started to turn, pulling the door. He paused, looking back at her. ‘I’m sort of stuck here, aren’t I? There’s no curse to undo. Whatever happened to bring me to here, now, there’s nothing to change it, is there.’ 

His brow creased, drawing a vertical line between his eyes reminding her again of that summer before her twelfth birthday, His concern hung in the air between them, and she knew her face showed her aching from the holes inside her, the places filled by Harry and their children. ‘That’s what it looks like, Ginny.’ His voice held the same quiet strength as when he told her 18 years ago that talking about bad events with someone she trusted could help cope with them.

She nodded, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. “I’ll be right down,’ she said. Bill smiled softly, and closed the door behind him.

GHGHGHGHGHGH

Bi ll looked up from finishing the table setting when Ginny entered the kitchen. No words came, but the set of his eyes, the tightness in his jaw told her. Whatever this is that dislodged her in time, no curse caused it. They still didn’t know, and not knowing meant no way to reverse it. A surge of longing for Harry’s presence rose within her like the crescendo of the surf outside.

Bill took in her suddenly pale face and waved her to her place, which she gratefully took. Settling herself she bought time to settle the sad emptiness within, she watched as Bill levitated a pitcher to the table. ‘Hope you like French cooking,’ he said, a huge grin painting his face as he winked at her.

At the cooktop, Fleur scoffed at him while stirring a sauce. As she lifted a spoonful to sniff delicately, Ginny caught the scents of garlic, rosemary, and thyme wafting through the air. 

Ginny shook her head. ‘I’ve eaten Fleur’s cooking before, Bill. Pretty sure the Ginny you know has as well.’

‘There, you see, Bill? I told you she would not complain.’ Fleur glanced at Ginny. ‘The casserole is just staying warm. This sauce is ready for the side dish. I also told Bill you two could 'ave wine with dinner, but he is only putting out water.’ She waved her wand at the saucepot, which poured the contents into a strainer. Then Ginny watched French-cut green beans float from there into a serving bowl, and the sauce poured itself over the bowl. With another wave of her wand, that bowl floated over to the table. Bill poured water into three glasses while Fleur opened the oven and the casserole dish gracefully wafted to settle onto an iron trivet with a soft click, followed by a plate of warm, sliced baguette.

Bill added serving spoons to both. Then after he helped Fleur into her chair, the three quietly set about the serious business of feeding two Weasleys. Fleur waited until nearly a quarter of the servings on two other plates were consumed. ‘Ginny, ‘ave you and I exchanged recipes then?’

Ginny laughter floated through the room, and she felt her spirits lift. This surprised her a bit, realizing just how much of a load her hope for a simple solution to her situation weighed. ‘I can cook, and it’s edible,’ she said. ‘You’ve exchanged recipes with Harry, but I’m a bit more like Bill I suppose. ’ She returned Bill’s curious look with a smirk. ‘His breakfasts are to die for,’ and waved a chef’s kiss at him. Fleur laughed, the entire room brightening.

‘When did he learn how to cook?’ Ginny looked over to Bill, and Fleur noted her eyes darkening slightly.

‘His relatives started him when he was six years old or so. Speaking of which, I did promise to let you know my progress. But before that,’ she said, then stopped. She’d asked him already. Nothing changed. Silence thickened the air. Ginny looked down at her plate, swallowing nothing.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny,’ he said. She nodded, then sighed.

‘I already knew, but…’ she shook herself, lifting her face. ‘I’ve got a plan. What I found will help,’ she said, raising her glass to sip her water. ‘First of all, I’ve a good idea what happened to him through those years you tell me he disappeared.’ Her eyes lit at the anticipation in their faces. ‘Dumbledore put him with his mother’s sister’s family. Pretty nasty people, too, overall. Like I said, they made him do the cooking starting around six years old. There’s more, but I’m not going into that tonight.’

‘How did no one know them?’ Bill asked.

‘They’re Muggles. Hardly anyone knew about them in my own time, either. Which leads to, do you remember the big news in 1985 about Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban?’

Bill nodded, Fleur looking interested. ‘I also remember Black being completely exonerated after the War,’ Bill said.

Ginny nodded. ‘Since I know Harry was sent to live with his relatives, I went looking through Muggle newspaper archives after I left the Ministry. I found a very interesting article, about an investigation into a Surrey family in Little Whining after their nephew disappeared. They didn’t report it, the Head Teacher at his school did. The last person to see him, a teacher, described him greeting a large black dog while leaving school. This happened about three weeks after Sirius escaped.’ At both Bill and Fleur’s blank expressions she continued, ‘Sirius Black is Harry’s godfather.’

Bill frowned in concentration, but Fleur responded first. ‘So this Sirius Black, ‘e used that dog to entice ‘is godson, then took ‘im away?’

Ginny started to reply, stopped, simply nodded. She felt certain this Sirius Black was also an Animagus, but she didn’t know if this Ministry knew. She couldn’t risk outing him. ‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘I don’t know where to, though. I believe he saw to Harry’s education and upbringing after that, kept them safe and hidden, until it was time to deal with Riddle.’

Bill nodded, slowly. Ginny resumed eating. This is it, she thought. They did their search. They found no curse to reverse. Bill stopped nodding and resumed eating as well, yet his eyes remained on her. Fleur glanced between the two of them. Ginny set her fork down.

‘This is what it is. We’ve looked. There’s no way back. I’m here, and this is my life now, Bill, Fleur.’ He set his own fork down, met the blazing look in her raised eyes.

‘Are you okay with that?’ He appeared surprised when she shook her head.

‘Not yet, no. But I will be. I know what I need to do. I started today, I guess I knew this morning because I didn’t look for anything at all related to curses until I got back here. I need to find him, find Harry. I need to mourn my children, but I won’t give up Harry. I can’t.’ Their eyes locked together for minutes, until Bill turned to Fleur.

Fleur nodded to him. ‘C'est notre soeur. Nous l'aiderons à retrouver 'Arry.’ They both turned to her, and Ginny released the breath she held. She wasn’t alone, not totally. The rest of dinner passed silently as she mulled over possible courses of action. When they finished, she started helping clear the table, placing her own dishes in the sink and the serving bowl of green bean leftovers on the worktop. Fleur rested her hand gently on Ginny’s forearm.

‘We will do this,’ she said. Ginny looked into the blue eyes before her and knew Fleur meant more than the quest to find Harry. Her own eyes blazed back, but Fleur gently nudged her away from the counter. Ginny touched her sister-in-law’s cheek lightly, and turned away.

She stepped into the night through the kitchen door, gathering darkness around her as a soft, comforting cloak. It did little to ease the needs within, for a hand with the scent of leather and broom polish on it, the desire for the light slide of that calloused palm up her neck. Nothing to ease the ache for other small fingers twining into her hair. For the sound of three young male voices, one teaching the other two how to play Exploding Snap.

Overhead starlight poured down, ending its miles and centuries long journey by illuminating her steps. She knew she left Fleur’s tended garden by the drag of the dune sand slowing her feet. Her destination called her, so near that only a few more steps sufficed to gain her arrival. So far that she couldn't measure the miles between them.

Arrival did not heal the torn and sundered hole made by Harry’s absence. What she sought, comfort from seeing the physical mark of his once being here, of his caring nature, proved unobtainable. The gravestone for a  friend they often visited together, where her Harry once laid that friend to rest, did not exist.

One more hole in my life , she thought, one more reminder that here and now I never met Harry . Her chest tightened, breath stuttering as she inhaled, the tang rising from the flowering Thrift around her tickling her nose, their pink blooms hinted by the starlight. Eyes stinging and wet, she reached up to grasp as many of the twinkling flames as she could, recalling the childhood jingle. So bright, star light, this my wish on you tonight… Harry, please be here.

The light breeze fluttered her hair to caress her face. His sarcastic smirk floated before her eyes, ears echoing his voice, Sirius, Lee ? The nape of her neck ached for the light press of his fingertips. You’re out there, I feel your presence, she thought. But distant. So very distant.

‘A sickle for your thoughts,’ said Bill, behind her, and she stumbled slightly turning, her feet catching in the sand. His hands on her shoulders steadied her, reassuring, but still not the ones she longed to feel. She closed her eyes, tears spilling as she did, then a gentle calloused thumb wiped the damp from her cheeks. Opening her eyes as his thumb lifted the last of the wet from her cheekbone, she caught the tight wrinkles at the corner of his eye, his grin warm in the dim glimmer.

‘I miss the years, Bill, it’s like someone took a chalkboard eraser and wiped them away. I miss… his sunlit smile when I told him, the first time we learned he made me pregnant. James’ fingers wrapping around mine and he still smelling of his birth; Al’ huge smile taking his first steps, Lily laughing at Harry making stars fly from his wand and Harry’s heart melting. We both committed to taking care of his godson Teddy, helping him never feel alone as an orphan ...  they’re not here, the four of them aren’t here. All those little things, they mean everything.’

She shivered slightly and he gathered her into a tight hug. She melted into the warmth of her oldest brother’s arms, burying her face in the soft cotton of his Weird Sisters t-shirt. ‘I can’t imagine,’ he said quietly. ‘Each day, whenever Fleur grabs my hand and presses it to her belly so I can feel our growing child kick, or roll, I can’t imagine losing that.’

Pushing back from him, she nodded. Their eyes met, their colors hidden in the dimness yet their connection strong. ‘Treasure it, Bill,’ she said. ‘Treasure it all.’ Then she turned and stepped out of his embrace, one step only, looking down at the empty spot on the dune where the stone should be.

‘What brought you out here tonight then,’ he asked. She sighed largely, and pointed to the sand.

‘I came looking to visit a friend, but even that friend isn’t here.’ She could feel him cock his head just that much, lips quirking up at their corners. His curiosity crackled around them, a discharge of St. Elmo’s Fire.

‘And just why would some friend of yours be sitting at just that spot on my property?’

Ginny laughed at the possessiveness in his voice. She turned slowly, arms thrown out to embrace both the night and the boundaries of Shell Cottage’s place on the coast. ‘All this? Well. Let me tell you a tale, Bill Weasley. Of a house elf that defied his owners to bring Harry a warning, to try to keep him away from mortal peril.’ She paused at that, briefly tensing under the weight of a dead Diary. With a deep breath, she continued. ‘This happened my First Year. Harry ended that year by tricking this house elf’s owner into giving him a sock. Then Dumbledore "hired" him to work at Hogwarts. He continued to help Harry and others. In fact, he helped me a lot during my Sixth year, the Carrows’ year.

‘Toward the end, shortly before the Battle, he was killed while rescuing Harry and several friends including Ron, bringing them here. That’s why we went into hiding over the Easter hols. One of those rescued was a goblin from Gringotts, in fact. Harry made a big impression on that goblin when he watched Harry digging Dobby’s grave by hand. After they buried him, Harry placed a stone here over the grave, and used the wand he had to engrave the stone: Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf.

‘I hoped to come and visit Dobby a bit, is all.’

‘Dobby,’ said Bill. Something in his gravelly voice drew her regard to his face. Even in the starlight, the wonder lit his expression. ‘Your Harry buried Dobby here?’

She nodded. ‘Why? Do you know Dobby?’ 

Bill started to nod, then shifted to shaking his head slowly. ‘I knew Dobby. We. You.’ One slow breath in and out and he visibly steadied. ‘Summer of ‘95 Aunt Muriel rather uncharacteristically hosted your birthday party at her house. Something she said to her house elf, Pippen, made you comment about how much fun it would be to lure Pippen away from Muriel. Dad and I looked at each other. He nodded his head to the side and we walked away from the group a bit. Mum, Dad, even Charlie and I were already active with the Order by then.’

He shook his head again, looking at the spot on the dune next to Ginny. ‘He asked me if I thought it would be possible to do something like that, to lure a house elf away without it killing itself from betraying its family and House. I said not lure, but free. We brought that idea to Dumbledore, and, well, we came up with a plan. That plan freed Dobby. He went to work at Hogwarts, but mostly provided valuable information on the Death Eaters and some of their plans. Dobby led the house elves in the Battle. He’s buried at Hogwarts, though, not here.’

Ginny closed her eyes. One more thing, almost the same, so very different. All the little things , she thought, and though she knew these to be Bill’s arms that wrapped around her again, she felt Harry’s strong grip. Bill’s slightly salty tang filled her nose, but she felt Harry’s heart beating against her head as she rested it on this chest When she pulled away and looked at the shadows on the face before her, she saw Harry’s bright smile.

‘Come on,’ said Bill’s voice. ‘Let’s go back in.’ They turned, stepping towards the kitchen door, Bill’s arm around her but Harry’s voice in her ears. ‘We’ve got lunch at the Burrow tomorrow, yeah. You’ll need to rest for that. Mum’s sure to fuss at you about you getting hurt, and then not going to the Burrow when we got you out of St. Mungo’s so she could mother-hen you.’

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