Monday 26 July, 1999

Ginny Weasley stepped out of the Windsor Suites lift looking for the signs to the Harpies breakfast conference. She followed Kate Glencross and her Fledgling, Gai Sinclair, to the door, catching a snippet of their conversation.

‘So glad the team is getting our mail forwarded,’ Gai said. ‘The newest issue of The Comet arrived this morning.’

‘Oh, good, I’ll look through my mail when we get back to the suite. Anything interesting in it?’ Kate replied

‘There’s a new fic from Dienw, it combines both the only one bed and sharing the bed tropes. Optimistic Pessimists, I think it’s called. Sorry, I’m  bad at remembering titles.’

Then she saw Harry at the door to the conference room, waving Gai and Kate in. Her heart felt lighter with his brief smile as he checked her in, winking, and nodded to the line forming behind her. Returning the wink, she made a mental note to ask him how he arranged being assigned to the Harpies security detail on this Goodwill Tour. Inside the door, she joined Helena Goodchilde-Browne, her own assigned mentor, by the serving buffet, before loading her plate with eggs, round slices of bacon, and diced fried potatoes.

‘Glad you made it, Fledgling,’ Helena said with a friendly smile. ‘You always that hard to wake up in the morning?’ 

Ginny scoffed.

‘Not always. Still adjusting to the time changes is all.’ Two days ago Ginny woke up in Holyhead as a new hire “Fledgling� being shown around the Harpies training pitch and dormitories by Helena. The Welcome Brochure told her she would live here for her six month orientation. The next morning that changed when the team owners announced the Ministry of Magic organized a Worldwide Goodwill Tour for the entire British-Irish league. All teams departed that very day, at nine pip emma for their various destinations. The next morning the Harpies woke up in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. In a time zone five hours earlier than they felt used to, and started their training after a two hour combined breakfast and playbook class.

Ginny sat across from her mentor. ‘Helena, did you ever hear about a magazine called The Comet?’ 

Helena glanced at her briefly between bites of breakfast, nodding.

‘I read it, a lot of us do. Newest issue arrived with this morning’s post, which by the way if you’ve gotten anything it will be in our suite upstairs. Why do you ask?’

Ginny nodded, enjoying the peppery flavor of the potatoes as she finished her mouthful. ‘I heard Gai talking about it with her mentor, coming down. The story she described sounds like something I enjoy reading.’

‘You can borrow mine when I’m done, if you like. For what little spare time reading you might find in the near future.’ Helena grinned wickedly at her Fledgling, the wink she gave easing the bite of the words. Ginny grinned back; she’d expected a lot of work as she began playing Quidditich professionally, and still admitted the pace of the previous few days exceeded her expectations.

They both turned their attention to the front of the room, continuing to eat, as Judy Pendlelton, one of the owners of the Holyhead Harpies, stood and with a tap of her wand to her throat began speaking using the Sonorus charm. ‘Morning, Harpies, and we’ve got another big day ahead of us. Head Coach Gambletwist has some comments first, and after breakfast we will divide into two groups for classes with our Offensive and Defensive coaches. Starters and Reserves will remain together, so you Fledglings can stay with your mentors. Now, let’s all enjoy our breakfasts, yeah!’

Tuesday 19 October, 1999

When Ginny asked Harry what prompted him to enter Flourish and Blotts that Tuesday afternoon on the way home from work, he replied, ‘I wanted to see if Fifi LaFolle published her sequel to Crowley’s Corner yet.’ Instead, the name Aurium Agentium 6 caught his eye among the magazines and journals. He glanced at the masthead above the table of contents (First published June 1967). Skimming the Table of Contents, Standing on a Corner in Winslow Arizoner caught his eye, thinking; that’s a chapter title from Crowley’s. Turning to that page he skimmed the opening paragraphs. Merlin’s mighty mustachioes, he thought, this story is about the characters in Crowley’s Corner!

Anticipating the flabbergasted expression on Ginny's face when she saw this, he closed and bought the magazine.

Later (much later, many years later) the two of them would chortle about discovering fanfiction. Ginny would pause, looking at the last story listed, and wonder out loud, ‘How did we  miss Trivia Night in the Pub with Rose and Bilius?’

Monday 7 February 2000

The door to 12 Grimmauld Place slammed shut, earning GInny a reproachful glare from Walburga Black’s portrait. Ignoring her, Ginny hurriedly hung her coat on the rack and stepped around the troll-foot umbrella stand. ‘Harry!’ she yelled. ‘You home yet?’

Kreacher appeared in front of her with a soft pop. ‘Sir is in the first floor sitting room, Miss. There is no reason to yell.’

Nodding to him with a quick, ‘Thank You!’ she trotted up the stairs into the sitting room. Harry looked up from the report he held in front of him.

‘Good day at practice, GIn?’ 

She smirked at him as she pulled the parchment out of his hand and went to sit in his lap. He smiled at her bright eyes, cheeks rosy from the cold outside, and at her excitement. Her rapid nod told him she continued to ride her high from the Harpies victory yesterday.

‘Yes, Gwenog is looking at the next match already but she’s happy with our performance. That’s not what’s got me excited, though. Look!’ She pushed the magazine she held into his hands. Turning it right side up he read the title masthead.

‘In Essence.’ He opened the cover to the Table of Contents. ‘A brand new one.. Says they’re going to offer subscriptions.’

‘Yes. This is a promotional copy. I had to stop in at Flourish and Blotts to get Mags Meloche’s new Quidditch book for work, and these are at the counter. There’s a fic in there you’re going to love! It’s written by Anaam,,something new and we need to find the original, Harry. This is going to be a series called “Himalayan Mystics�. The first story is Journey to the East. Molly, a young British witch, travels to India to become the governess and teacher for the adopted son of Raj Jaimee. Oh, it’s going to be good!’

Harry skimmed down the Table of Contents, pointing. ‘It’s got fourteen other stories too.’

‘Yes! And they’re going to publish quarterly. New stories every three months, Harry!’ She jumped up and spun in front of the fireplace, the new magazine held close as a dance partner. 

Harry shook his head, smirking. He stood, and when she circled back towards him, he pulled the pages from her clutching fingers. ‘Excuse me,’ he said politely to the paper, ‘I’m cutting in.’ Then he dropped the magazine onto the table, gathering her into a hug.

‘Whoa, there Gin, you’ll have plenty of time to read.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. ‘I love that you get so excited about these stories.’

She smirked back at him. ‘I love that you buy them for me. And you read them too.’

Nodding sagely, he replied, ‘Only so I can keep up with your discussion about them.’ Laughing, she quickly kissed him, then pulled back to lose herself in those luscious green eyes.

‘You can’t fool me, Harry James Potter. You’re a closet romantic too.’

Saturday 11 November 2000

Harry stepped out of the en suite of their bedroom running his fingers through his damp hair and cinching his towel around his waist. He paused at the sight of sunset lit waves in Cymyran Bay. A soft whimper from the bed next to him made him turn. Ginny held the copy of Rhymes & Reasons open to a page in one hand, her fingertips of the other hand gently covering her mouth.

‘Okay, Weasley?’ he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked at him with bright, damp eyes.

‘It’s a poem, Harry.’

‘Well, yes, those are usually found in poetry magazines. Anything about fresh pickled toads?’

She shoved his arm away from reaching for her cheek, smirking. ‘I should never have told you I found a poetry magazine. This one’s like the kind we need to write with our washi papers, right? Written by Lionhead Shamen, and it’s about a young married couple visiting their parents. Listen to this:

‘Behind, needles click,

‘Percussion in four/four time;

‘Becky, knitting, says,

‘Jamie, you need a haircut...

‘They could be my parents! It’s so sweet!’ He chuckled, leaning in to brush her lips lightly with his, once, twice, thrice. She lowered the magazine on the third kiss, her fingers twining into his hair to hold him in the kiss. When they broke for air he chuckled.

‘I’m losing my girlfriend to a poem. Is there anyone else you ever show this romantic side to?’

Her eyes burned fiercely at him. ‘No. And if you tell anyone I will Bat-Bogie you so hard--’

Harry laughed, raising his hands. ‘Your secrets are always safe with me, Ginevra.’ She glared at him again, the pleased smile at his tone of voice saying her full name betraying her pleasure.

‘I might let you off, if…’

‘If what?’

‘You make it worth my while.’ His eyes darkened.

‘Oh, I’m sure I can do that.’

Later, echoes of her crying ‘Harry’ ringing in his ears, he sighed happily when Ginny curled tightly to his side. As both of them slowly drifted off to sleep, the memory of her comment about the poem turned around three times and lay down in the back of his mind like a cat settling in for a long nap.

Saturday 27 January 2001

‘Oh, that bloody cow!’ Ginny slammed the magazine she’d been reading onto the table in front of her. Hermione looked up from her book, glancing between the offending In Essence copy and Ginny’s face.

‘The character, or the writer?’ she asked. Ginny glared back at her, eyes blazing.

‘Either. Both. Just. Ooooh!’

‘So what happened?’ Hermione closed her book, marking her page with a finger.

‘Anaam spent a year building up this relationship between Jaimee and Molly, this incredibly slow burn, to finally get them together, and now she’s got some absolute trollop of a witch using a voodoo doll to put a curse on Molly so she hates Jaimee. Even wants to kill him.’

‘Simulacrums are one way to work magic, Ginny.’

‘But this story is set in India, Mione, and to the best of my knowledge they do not use voodoo dolls in India. And yes, she specifically says it’s a voodoo doll. Argh!’

‘So it’s the use of misplaced terms that’s annoying you?’ Hermione fought a smile as she asked the question.

‘Not just that. That’s the feather that broke the hippogryphs back, but she’s doing this to Molly and Jaimee! After taking so long to get them together. They must be a couple, Hermione, they are in nearly all the stories about them.’ Hermione did chuckle now, earning her an even darker burning eye roll.

‘Ginny, it’s a story. Either trust in the writer that they’ve a good reason to add this to their plot, or if you don’t like it, don’t read it.’

Ginny sat back with a huff, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and turning to stare out the window.

Wednesday 17 April 2002

‘Harry,’ Ginny called from the great room of her cottage, ‘I’ve found an amazingly funny story for you to read.’ Harry looked over the pots on the stove and turned the heat down on the sauce, allowing it to simmer while he went to the door into the great room.

‘Yeah? About your favorite relationship, Jaimee and Molly?’’

‘No, actually it’s about Jaimee’s parents,’ she replied, looking up from Beedle Quarterly to smile at him. ‘It’s one of Nohny Maus’ Muggle Alternate Universe. Monty is the Prince of Wales and Jasmine is an Academy Award winning actress. The setup is, she’s just returned to Britain. It’s a good meet cute using the party trope. You see, he’s a huge fan of hers, but she isn’t involved about him because she’s a commoner, and he was awful to an old friend of hers at boarding school. The banter is spot on.’

‘And that’s what’s funny?’

‘Partly, but mostly they start to get involved when she discovers there are websites on something called the World Wide Web that dedicate themselves to ‘Shipping’ characters from stories and films and such. Some of the ‘Ships are about real people, and someone’s started a trend about the two of them.’

‘Yeah, that could be fun. I’ll read it after dinner, which is almost ready.’ He heard Ginny following him back into the kitchen. Her wand conducted a ballet, with plates, mugs, and cutlery swirling into the dining room. Then she snuggled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her face peered around past his arm.

‘Smells really good,’ she whispered. ‘You spoil me, Potter.’

‘If you’re that hungry, don’t be distracting me just now, right?’ he chuckled. Then he started to plate the pork chops and green beans for their meal. She grabbed a couple butterbeers from the cold box as they both adjourned to the dining room to eat.

After Harry washed and dried the dinner dishes, he went into the great room and sat down on the davenport next to Ginny. She looked up briefly from the new Harpies playbook she studied and smiled when he picked up the copy of Beedle Quarterly, turning to the story Jasmon. He struggled keeping quiet, knowing she needed to study the playbook for her work. She smiled while they both read when he chuckled at events in the story.

They both set their reading aside with the cuckoo clocks began striking nine.

‘What do you think,� she asked, then pinched her lower lip slightly between her teeth, eyes pensive.

‘It’s funny, yeah,’ he replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders pulling her close. She swung her legs over his lap, sliding up closer to him. ‘I like that they get together by the end.’ He brushed her lips lightly with his.

‘I need to get up early tomorrow, Harry,’ she whispered.

‘So, I need to help you get to sleep quickly?’ Ginny smiled into his cheek, her fingers tracing his forehead scar lightly.

‘I’d appreciate it, yes.’

‘Well then, I’ll just close the floo, yeah, and let’s go appreciate.’

Her fingers twined into his hair when stood, pulling his lips to hers softly, insistently, briefly, eternal. ‘I’ll just put on something more comfortable then,’ she whispered, fingertips stroking his cheek.

He pushed her gently towards the stairs, heard her feet pattering away as he closed the floo from incoming calls or visitors, then hurried upstairs.

Later, Ginny snuggled her head into Harry’s neck, legs wrapped around his. Inhaling his scent in a deep ragged breath, she drew Snitches  on his chest with her fingertips. Letting her mind wander while drawing she idly thought, Why haven’t I ever seen a story written by Èloigné Lesoir in any of these magazines. She’s my favorite romance writer. Harry’s slowing heartbeat as they both wound down from their love making lulled her off to sleep.

Harry lost himself to her slow breathing as she fell asleep. Far in the back of his mind, a memory woke after a long, pleasant nap, stretching cat-like, claws gently, insistently pricking his brain.

Bloody hell, thought Harry, his eyes flying open.

Thursday 22 May 2003

Harry appeared in their designated apparition point, the scent of salt and bluebells tickling his nose. The sussuration of surf breaking on the rocky beach washed his thoughts while slowly walking to the cottage. He paused at the corner of the house, shadows from the lowering sun behind him stretching toward the edge of the bluff above Cymyran Bay.

He didn’t feel any hurry to enter their home, which had been empty of Ginny’s warmth while she was in Europe with the Harpies the past three weeks. A small blessing, as her absence provided needed time to meditate on what he discovered.

He’d finally taken a few hours of personal time from work, going to his vault at Gringotts for some much-delayed research. Those results weighed in the leather satchel hanging from his left shoulder.

With a sigh he resumed walking, rounding the corner on the seaward side of the cottage only to stop again. Memories of friendly discussions about which side of the building was the front (This porch is, Harry, because it faces the water. But Ginny, everyone comes in through the door facing the road, so that’s the front. Not at the Burrow, Harry, we all enter through the kitchen door, and our kitchen is off this porch.) brought a smile to his face. Wand in hand, he tapped the door handle with a silent Alohomora, and entered. Setting his satchel on the dining table they kept out here, he repeated the charm on the french doors to the great room, and again on the door into the kitchen. He pulled leftover Coc au vin that he made from Fleur’s recipe out of the cold box and set it into the oven to warm. Then he went upstairs to change out of his work robes.

Coming back downstairs in jeans and a t-shirt, he collected the morning post he’d left on the small desk in the great room, dropping it on the porch dining table on his way back to the kitchen. Collecting some cutlery, a butterbeer, and levitating his now warmed dinner out to the porch, he sat down to eat and read over the notes he made earlier in his family vault at Gringotts.

But his eyes kept moving from the satchel, to the magazine, to the Bay, burning bright green with, surprisingly, a mix of confusion and concern. The notes he made called to him, and so did the headline story on the cover of Aurium Argentium 6‘s new issue. Privacy, by Anna Noumousse. Both of them enjoyed reading her work. The brief catch sentence under the title, He craves privacy, despite his position in life, spoke strongly to him, and it would to Ginny as well. If what he began to suspect a few years ago proved true, he and Ginny faced a dilemma.

He shook his head at himself, taking another bite of dinner. Telling Ginny how much he cared, that she meant to him, still proved hard for him. Showing her, though; that came easy. Big things, little as well if not moreso. Recognizing from her posture and a couple other small tells that her monthlies were about to begin. Bringing her a hot water bottle, having her lie on it while he rubbed her lower back. Refreshing it before they settled in for the night, and pressing against her back as the big spoon to her small one to keep her warm from both sides. Making her happy brought him the most happiness he ever considered.

He worked hard to keep her in the forefront of any publicity about them, often easy because she played Chaser so bloody well. He’d promised her, and it worked out, that the headlines when they got married would print her name first. She in turn proved incredibly fierce protecting his privacy and avoidance of publicity.

He lit the lamps with a negligent wave of his wand as the sun dipped lower behind him and the cottage, the waters of the Bay becoming dark purple. Looking at the satchel he decided he knew what he placed inside said well enough. So he reached for the magazine, and flipped it open to the starting page of Privacy.

She’d taught him so much about romance stories by explaining how they should flow, the “beats�. He watched her while she read, eyes lighting at the good parts, brow furrowing to a vertical crease between her eyebrows at the obstacles to the relationship's progress. Surprising himself that it also helped him figure out more ways to show her he couldn’t conceive a life without her.

This story started, an Alternate Universe, a small country both nowhere and anywhere. Jaimee the Crown Prince bemoaning to his parents his lack of privacy, anonymity. Arrangements made for him to take some time off moved foreshadowing (at least now, unlike when he first started reading Ginny’s beloved romance stories), the Meet Cute. And that meeting brought loud laughter from him, with the woman he knew to be Molly literally tripping and falling onto Jaimee as he lounged in the small town square park. Their short week together set the foundation, and their both immediately discovering feelings for each other led to the Separation. The Crown Prince needed to return to his duties, and she to her work also in the Capitol. He felt himself falling in love with a commoner. He told her who he really was, and gave her his private phone number.

The longest week of his life regretting he hadn't gotten her phone number, before the huge relief when she texted him. The story progressed, overcoming small obstacles to secret dating, through a fairytale wedding, to the birth of the Heir. Ginny will love this story, he thought. This is going to be one of her favorites.

It didn’t help his dilemma how much she laughed about the antics of several characters from the Hidden Passions soap opera in stories like this in these magazines. He quickly glanced at the brief writer's notes at the start of each story. They made it clear their works are totally made up stories. Some, like this one, in a completely different universe perhaps yet the characters bore such a strong… resemblance.

Sighing, he ran fingers through his hair. Tomorrow he would listen to the Harpies game in Milan on the wireless with Ron and George and a few more friends, and Ginny Potter’s Number One Fan would cheer the Harpies on to victory. In a week when she got home, by then he would know the right thing to do. He was good at that.

Tuesday 27 May 2003

They stood inside the still open door, hands entwined in each other's hair. Lips pressed together, teasingly soft, hungryly hard, in a never ending hello. Ginny’s hands stayed in his hair when they broke the kiss, her face pressing to his chest, inhaling the scent that brought her peace ever since the start of her sixth year Potions class.

‘I missed you so much,’ she whispered, then grinned at his response.

‘I missed you more.’

‘Nuh uh’ she chortled, rubbing her face lightly against the softness of his shirt. ‘I missed you the most.’

‘Good thing the weather’s nice,'' he said, and she pulled her face back to look into those green pools where she always lost herself, her own eyes creased in question. ‘Because the door’s still open.’

‘The door was open before I came in, Harry,’ she scoffed. ‘Like you were expecting someone. Hire a new maid? Does she provide… extras?’

Harry rubbed their noses lightly, his eyes bright with mischief. ‘No maid,’ he whispered. ‘No veelas either. Just waiting for you.’

‘Hmm, maybe we should close the door then. Are you going to unwrap your present I brought you?’

He laughed this time, a deep chested, soft bouncing. ‘The road is a quarter-mile away, Even with sunset an hour off and shining right at us here, even without all our privacy charms and wards, no one would see us.’

‘Then why aren’t you unwrapping your present, Harry?’ 

He pressed his lips to hers again, lightly teased them with his tongue before pulling back.

‘Because you haven't given it to me yet?’ 

An impish grin lit her face. 'Oh, I'm sure I did,' she purred, her arms tightening around his neck.

He nodded, eyes darkening. ‘I made tea, knowing you wouldn’t eat before the last portkey to Holyhead.’ With the mention of food, Ginny’s stomach rumbled loudly. She shook her head slowly, impish grin on her face.

'Traitor stomach,' Ginny whispered. 'I had plans to seduce my husband I've not seen in a month now!' Her lips pressed lightly to his. He responded by deepening the kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue.

‘As much fun as it is to watch you two snog and shag all over this house,’ came a voice from behind him, near the door to the kitchen, ‘the Dryad in the kitchen asked me to remind you that shepherd’s pie is ready.’ Ginny felt Harry’s hand leave her shoulder, and raised her own to join him, waving two fingers each in the direction of the voice. ‘There’s no need to be rude in front of children,’ came the response.

They broke their kiss, chuckling, and Ginny pressed her face into his chest again, muffling her response. ‘Luna!’

Harry laughed loudly, his head rolling back, then looking over his shoulder at the painting Luna gifted them after their wedding. It’s called Satyrs In the Glen, Luna had told them, but Harry always thought of it as Mother and Daughter. She stood there in the glen now, holding her daughter on her hip. As always, the wee satyr watched Harry and Ginny with rapt attention. ‘I happen to know that pie is under a warming charm, since I did it,’ Harry said. ‘However, thank you for reminding us.’

‘You do know the way to a witch’s heart, My Soul.’ She pulled his face back to hers for another kiss, then her lips slid slowly along his jaw to his ear. ‘And what if I said, unwrap your present before we go eat?’ she whispered.

Harry’s eyes darkened as his hands slowly slid away from her hair. She thought she’d feel bereft except that his fingers began circling to the neck clasp of her Harpies traveling cloak. With a soft click, he opened it, and gathered the green and gold wool together, tossing it onto the chair of the small writing desk by the door while his right hand stroked lightly around the collar of her blouse. ‘Tea first. Then unwrap. After that we’ll talk about pudding.’

‘Pudding is one of my favorite parts of tea,’ she said as she tilted her head slightly. ‘So Mum made you a treacle tart, did she? I hope you saved some for me.’ Then she purred when his hand returned to her back, fingertips pressing firmly along her shoulder blades.

Harry shook his head slightly, grinning. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny that your Mum made a treacle tart, and if she did, I didn’t save you any of it.’

Ginny pouted. ‘I understand, treacle tart being your favorite and all.’ His fingers brushed lightly down the backs of her upper arms, his eyes lighting.

‘It’s not my favoritest pudding any more,’ he said, honeyed tones in his voice plus the sensation of his fingers on her arms making her purr louder.

'What is your favoritest pudding now, then?'

'That would be telling,' he deadpanned, then pushed out of her embrace and turned toward the french doors to the porch. 'Are you ready to eat?' Ginny brushed his earlobe with her lips while they walked.

'Am I on the menu?'

He waved his hand at the painting he thought of the Satyr Mother and Daughter. 'Our friend did mention a shepherd's pie.' She pulled forward and turned as they stepped through the open doors onto the porch, pressing her palms against his chest. 'But I really want to know about pudding now.'

‘How can you have pudding if you don’t eat your meat?’ he asked, eyebrows rising. Her stomach rumbled again. They froze, then both burst into laughter.

‘Damn my Weasley appetite sometimes,’ she muttered.

‘Let’s get you fed, yeah?’ He turned toward the open door to the kitchen at the end of the porch, hand rising with his wand extended, and she rested hers lightly on his wrist.

‘Let me try something,’ she said quietly, then raised her own hand as if she gripped her wand which was still secure in the pocket of her traveling cloak. Her face relaxed into concentration, eyes blazing, and her hand moved through the swish and flick for Accio. Two butterbeers, plates, and cutlery wafted out of the kitchen cupboards onto the table next to them, settling where they would sit.

‘You’re getting much better at that,’ Harry said proudly.

‘I’ve one of the best teachers, is why.’ She kissed his cheek.

Harry’s wand swished and flicked and two bowls with steaming shepherd's pie settled onto the plates. They settled into place and started to eat. Ginny noted Harry continued to watch her, and smiled back. With about a quarter of each pie gone from their bowls, he grinned when the magazine on the table caught her eye.

‘The most recent Aurium Argentium 6 arrived while you were gone,’ he said, nodding toward the issue before taking another bite off his fork.

‘I reckoned, since Gai had hers with her. Did you read it? There’s a good story in there.’

‘I did,’ he replied. ‘You talking about Privacy?’ 

She nodded, her eyes lighting. ‘Yes! It’s so sweet. I loved the scene when Jaimee met her brothers at her flat in the Capitol after they’d been secretly dating. I literally laughed out loud when her youngest brother thought they were taking the mickey.’ 

Harry chuckled in turn, nodding. ‘Of course it was the pompous brother that recognized him.’ 

Ginny nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, of course!’ She watched him as he chewed his mouthful, the slight tightness around his eyes, the set in his shoulders. Taking another mouthful herself she thought about that while she savored the meal he’d cooked for her. ‘Something’s bothering you, Harry.’

He took a sip of his butterbeer, now looking out the window over the Bay. She waited another mouthful, knowing he would continue when he felt ready. When she picked up her butterbeer, he turned back to her. ‘Just thinking about something you said a while back.’ He took another bite. She set her fork down and rested her hand lightly on his, waited for him to finish.

‘How long a while?’

Harry shrugged, looking back out the window. ‘Oh, a couple years.'

'That's quite a while, Harry. Must be important.'

'It was about that poem you liked so much, remember?’ His face turned back to hers, and she nodded to herself inside her head. Now that he started talking about it, she knew he felt calmer.

‘The one like how we write our message?’ He nodded. ‘And what did I say?’

‘That those could be your parents.’ He took another bite of pie, and grinned while chewing as he picked up her fork and put it back into her hand. She paused before taking another bite, her eyebrows crinkled in thought.

‘I did, didn’t I?’ He nodded. Taking a bite, her eyes scanned over the small whitecaps on the bay waters before them. She swallowed, she turned to face him with purpose in her brown eyes. ‘And in Anna’s newest fic, when he goes to meet her parents, those could be my parents too.’ After several heartbeats, he nodded. She took another bite, then another, thinking while she ate.

‘Harry, do you know if your mum & dad had middle names?’ The tone in her voice reminded him a bit of a different comment she once made, seven years ago after Dumbledore’s funeral. After he’d told her they couldn’t be together.

‘Dad’s middle name was Fleamont, after my grandfather. Don’t know exactly about Mum.’ She kept her eyes on his, setting her fork down again and resting her hand on his.

‘What do you mean, don’t know exactly?’

He took a slow, deep breath. ‘When you read that poem, and said that, it sort of settled into the back of my mind for a while, like it took a nap or something. Then when we read that story about Jaimee’s parents, the one where his mother was an actress and his dad the Prince? That memory woke up. I meant to go look some things up, but things kept happening to distract me.’

Ginny tilted her head at him, recalling how long ago they’d read that story. ‘You mean, getting stung by those Kadavra Hornets and then recovering, and the whole training project while you were on limited duty.’ He nodded, his own grin turning wry.

‘Yeah. That.’ Her fingers caressed the back of his hand lightly, waiting. ‘Then when you left for this most recent tour, I found some time to look in the Department of Records while I researched something for a case. What I found made me take some time off, just an afternoon, to go through our vault at Gringott’s.’ Her fingers drew small circles and figure of eights. ‘I didn’t find a name. On their marriage registration, she signed Lily J. Evans, and on some of the property titles from after they got married, her name is listed as Lily J. Potter. But, no name.’

The cuckoo clock on the porch sang the half-hour. A couple minutes later, the rest of the cuckoo clocks in the house joined in. Harry shook his head. ‘Need to re-set that one clock,’ he said lightly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

‘Harry, Monty isn’t far off from Fleamont. And Jasmine is both a name and a flower.’ Her voice sounded tight, brittle, even to her. He simply looked at her, his face neutral except for a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. A few more minutes passed, measured by the ticking of the cuckoo clock. ‘Jaimee and Molly. Our middle names,’ she said, her voice firmer. He could see her cheeks reddening, and her lips held a thin line between them. He nodded.

She inhaled deeply. ‘You’re saying these stories are about us.’ 

He nodded again. 

She pushed her chair back and started to stand, but stopped when he grasped her hand firmly. ‘That’s not right, Harry. They’re making things up about our lives. They’re … I won’t have them invading your privacy!’ She made to stand up again, but he tugged her back. ‘And you’ve known this for two years? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I only suspected, until just recently,’ he said calmly. ‘And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this.’

‘Like how, Potter?’

‘Becoming a Gryffindor lioness and protecting your Heart and Soul.’

‘Damn right I’m going to protect you, Harry.’ Her cheeks grew brighter red, her voice rising in volume. ‘You went through enough absolute shit invasions of your privacy growing up. Nobody gets to do that to you again, nobody. I will--’ Her eyes blazed brighter when his finger pressed lightly on her lips.

'Finish eating, Gin.'

'Why? I'm not going to let you sidetrack me, Harry. This is important.'

'I know. And we will finish this. But, eat first, think about it for a bit.’

'What's that going to accomplish, Harry James, except to delay all this.'

'I’ve learned something over the years.’

‘And what is that, Harry?’

‘A sated Weasley is a calmer Weasley,’ he replied. 'And I didn't, don't want this to ruin your homecoming. It's just, I've had a bit of time to think about it already. You need that time too.' She stopped, astonishment washing over her face, and pulled back slightly. He could see her freckles standing out stronger against her cream skin, clenched jaw, her hand under his now twitching trying to reach for her wand. Then she lifted another forkful from her bowl, paused just before biting hard on the fork, and a drop of gravy escaped at the corner of her lips. He reached up and wiped it off with his thumb.

She stopped chewing, mouth dropping open, her eyes on his thumb as his tongue cleaned the gravy from it, and now he did chuckle.

‘I’ve made you speechless again.’ His voice was light, teasing. 'But you do look a bit like Ron just now.' She started to sputter, closed her mouth, and swallowed. Then she growled at him, but did pick her fork back up. He watched briefly to make sure she intended to eat rather than stab him, and chuckled again when she started chewing angrily. Turning her eyes back to the Bay, hrumphing at him.

He tried keeping her in his peripheral vision while she silently fumed. He knew she’d be angry figuring this out; that didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him, what shouldn’t surprise him, what kept bringing his eyes back to her neck, her shoulders, and particularly that hard set of her face and it surprised him how it brought up the ache at how much he’d missed her over the previous month.

His heart didn’t race, not exactly, as he continued taking portions of his own shepherds pie, yet he felt it beating faster than it had before he’d seen her coming up their gravel road from the apparition point. Even with her eyes focused out over the waters, he could see the gold flecks blazing. When she stabbed a bit of potato or meat with her fork, he felt her temper flowing around them. Not at him, though.

That fierceness mirrored the intensity she brought to her Quidditch. And it added to the longing he felt from her absence, feeding the ache in his groin. He tried keeping her in his peripheral, and he failed. Her freckles stood out on her cheeks. She'd let her hair grow out a bit, still short yet long enough to tuck behind her ears. She still kept her gaze on the waters of the bay, avoiding the longing in his green eyes.

She stabbed another chunk of lamb, and he knew she turned the corner when her cheeks relaxed, her eyes closing briefly as she took the morsel in her mouth, lips closing over the fork. Ginny chewed slower, when her eyes opened he could see the appreciation in them for the spices he'd mixed into the pie filling. She still watched the bay as she finished off her meal, scraping a few crumbs of crust across the bowl before setting her fork into it and pushing the plate closer to the center of the table.

'You've been watching me eat the whole time.' She didn't look at him, but her soft voice confirmed what Harry thought, what he'd told her: A sated Weasley is a calmer Weasley.

'Don't think I'll ever be able to stop watching you, Gin.'

'These people are writing stories about us, Harry,’ she said, her gaze locked out over the bay, whitecap waves shining in the evening sun. 'About you. Not about some characters in Crowley's Corner or Hidden Passions. It isn't about Buck Rogers and Armageddon 2419, not Percy Jackson or Les Miserables or Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. They aren't about Violet Crawley, or Billy the Innkeeper. These are stories about us.'

'Yes.'

She did look at him now, blazing brown eyes meeting his cool green. He nodded slightly acknowledging that she still showed her need to protect his privacy. He slid his hand over to hers, fingertips tracing a figure of eight lightly on the back of her hand.

'You're right, Harry, I am a good bit calmer now. But you...'

'I'm not fussed about it, Gin.' The warmth of her smile permeated through the air on the porch.

'I get that, Harry, but I don't understand.' She shook her head slightly, dislodging several strands of red hair from behind her ear. He reached up and slowly tucked it back. She took in a loud breath as his fingers stroked her earlobe.

'I'm still pretty shit at describing things, Gin, but I've been thinking about it a bit so maybe...'

'How long is a bit,' she whispered. She rolled their hands over, twining her fingers between his, waiting as he sat silently lost in her eyes.

'About a year now. We'd both just read that one fic about people “shipping� my parents, as an actress and Prince of Wales. You'd drifted off to sleep, and I wasn't far behind, and then that memory of what you said woke up. I didn't get to sleep for another couple hours.' Her thumb started tracing her own figure of eight on the back of his hand. 'Initially I felt pretty angry about it, like you. But then I thought well, I need to be sure these really are supposed to be my parents.

'But it took you a year. Because yeah, we needed to keep doing things, living.' She tilted her head, waiting again.

'Yeah.' Harry’s other hand rubbed his head, then he dropped it to the table, frowning. 'Then at first, I started noticing things in all the stories because we kept reading and enjoying them. That's a big part, Gin, we like these stories. They're good, funny, romantic. They really are like slices of life. And I saw something else too.'

Her thumb continued its course, letting him know she knew he needed time to organize his thoughts, that she wanted to know those same thoughts.

'I think I'd noticed this right from the beginning, and just didn't really see it. At the start of each story, if it is one from those other shows and books we like, the writer says something about not owning the characters and a thank you for being allowed to play in that “universe.� ' Ginny nodded when he paused again. 'And every story, even the ones about us, the writers say “This is a work of fiction.� Every single story, Gin.'

'So, what are you saying, Harry?'

'That these people, writing these stories, they aren't like Skeeter and her ilk. They aren't taking things out of context to make up something sensational and sell more rags, or making shit up and passing it off as truth. They are right up front about making it up, yeah. They tell us It's A Story. It's Not Real. It's like, even though they don't know us, even though they only know our public faces, they like us and want to see stories where we end up happy.'

She reached over and picked up the copy of Aurium Argentium 6 and flipped through the first few stories. She stopped on a page and pointed to a paragraph in italics. 'Like this one, Harry? “I really appreciate Fifie LaFolle allowing us all to write some missing moments.� And then here,' she turned the pages back to the start of Privacy, 'where Anna Noumousse writes like you said, “This is a work of fiction, made up in my head. Hope you enjoy it.� Those are what you noticed?'

He nodded. He reached for the magazine and she passed it to him. He flipped through the pages to near the end, then looked up at her. Her smile still warmed him, and he knew she accepted his points, and wouldn't be going out to bat bogie anyone tonight. Her eyebrows rose at his expression.

'Harry, you're looking just like you did that day you figured out how to get around Huxterby-Sanderstone about our wedding. What else did you find?'

His own grin grew into a full smile. 'There's one more thing. Did you read the mystery story in this issue?' Ginny's eyebrows pulled together, the crease between them showing, and her lips pursed in puzzlement.

'There's a mystery? Harry, I felt lucky to get time to read Privacy, since I borrowed it from Gai. What's this one about?'

His grin grew wider. 'It's a delightfully satirical story about a magical private investigator that uncovers and foils a plot to kill Father Christmas by a total wanker that is angry Father Christmas never, ever brought him a gift.' He spun the magazine around and pointed to the page where he'd opened it. Ginny looked down, reading. Slowly, her eyes grew wide and her grin light up.

'Roonil Waslib and the Bad Really Evil Rex Wenceslas! Roonil Waslib? Harry, thats--'

'Your brother Ron, yeah. Right down to the freckles, the long nose, and the height.'

'Oh, please tell me there's a bushy-haired witch called Jean in this story.'

'Sorry. Her name is Henrietta.’ Ginny waved her hand, a difference that made no difference. ‘And, she's Roonil's office clerk.'

Ginny's laughter rang loudly around the porch. 'Oh, this is priceless! Do you think he's read it? I know Hermione has read some fan fiction, things I recommended to her.'

Harry shook his head, his own laughter matching hers. 'I doubt it. You know how he is about reading if it isn't those comic books or Quidditch magazines.' Ginny chuckled as she read the first paragraph, then looked back up at Harry.

'This has so much potential,' she chortled. Harry nodded, reaching up and stroking her cheek lightly.

'So, not going to go bat-bogie anyone today?’ 

Ginny shook her head, slowly. 'Not today, Harry. You convinced me. But I reserve the right to get all Gryffindor Lioness about you at any time.' He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers, grinned again at her moue when he pulled back.

'Wouldn't have it any other way, My Soul.'

Tuesday 13 September 2005

Ginny Potter sat down in the typical, stiff Healer Office Waiting Chair, her left hand moving unconsciously to her lower abdomen, resting lightly and fingers drifting slightly while her right shifted through the magazines on the coffee table in front of her. She glanced over the glossy covers of Witch Weekly and Magical Babies. A ratty, creased cover with a drawing of an old cottage caught her eye, particularly the title: Portmanteaus, and the line beneath that: 1st published 1967. This one displayed the date 1 March 1970.

The short list of titles on the cover interested her enough to pick it up and sit back, wondering why an obstetrical healer would put such an old literary magazine in her waiting room. She opened it to the table of contents and skimmed down, stopping. Afternoon in Trois-Rivières, by Miles à Parcourir. She turned to the page listed, started to read, her left hand sliding under the open magazine and again lightly brushing her lower abdomen.

She started into the story about two young people meeting in the city Trois-Rivières. She recognized the meet-cute of the woman slipping on some ice and the man catching her; this led perhaps too obviously to their starting a friendship. Some of the drama felt a bit over the top, but the editor did say in an introductory note this story was one of the first ones for this writer.

His sandy red hair reflected brighter than the setting sun she read, shaking her head, thinking that sounds like an unpolished Mags turn of phrase. ‘Mrs. P?’

Startled, she looked up into the young Healer witch’s face.

‘I’m sorry,’ started the Healer, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Apprentice Healer Braxton.’

Ginny shook her head wryly, closing the magazine yet keeping it in her hand. ‘That’s alright, I simply lost myself in this one story.’ She stood when the young witch gestured.

‘Healer Ferguson is almost ready for you now, if you’ll come with me we’ll get you sorted.’ Following her out of the waiting room, it occurred to Ginny that young Braxton didn't use her full name, and made a mental note to thank Angelina for the referral. They’re very discrete, she’d said, and hardly ever use full family names in the open areas.

Following a quick yet unhurried scan for her vital signs, questions about any changes since the previous visit a couple weeks back, and helping Ginny change into a patient gown, Apprentice Braxton left the treatment room. Ginny turned back to the story, idly wondering why she’d kept the magazine instead of leaving it on the table.

With a soft knock Healer Karen Ferguson quickly entered and closed the door behind her. She smiled when Ginny looked up from her reading, once again closing the magazine. ‘Afternoon, Ginny. What’s that you’ve got there?’

Ginny chuckled, feeling the slight blush color her cheeks. ‘It’s an old literary you had out in the waiting room. I found a cute little story, and I’m also wondering why such an old issue would be here?’ 

Karen stepped closer, glancing at the cover Ginny showed her as she pulled her own wand from the pocket of her green healer robe. ‘Ah, Portmanteaus, yes, I was doing some housecleaning over the weekend, and asked my partner if he needed to keep any of those old issues.’ She grinned. ‘He’s a literary critic, you see. Had a good laugh at my expense, reminded me that this particular one is an old fanzine now gone out of print. Now,’ she said, her wand beginning her scan, ‘Bonnie says you’ve no complaints, things are moving along swimmingly. By the by, I thought Harry would be coming with you.’

‘He needed to testify before the Wizengemot, one of his cases got moved up on the calendar. He really does want to be here so badly. But, did you say fanzine?’

Karen kept her focus on the lights and runes from her wand, nodding gently. ‘Yes. I used to read quite a bit of it as a young lass. Then my Healer apprenticeship started and nearly all my reading time went to healing texts.’ She finished her scan. ‘Baby is just fine, Ginny. Have the Harpies grounded you yet?’

Ginny shook her head briefly. ‘Not totally, but I’m not on the roster for matches any more. I’ve been assigned to help train the reserve Chasers.’ Karen nodded.

‘Good. As I told you on your first visit, you should remain as active as you comfortably can during your pregnancy. That will help you get back into training postpartum since you plan to continue playing. By the way, congratulations on your last match. I shouldn’t mind thanking you for the two galleons I received from Charles over at St. Mungo’s.’

Ginny chuckled. ‘Happy to oblige, and thank you for not mentioning it before the match or I’d have needed to excuse myself.’ 

Karen chuckled as well.‘We couldn’t have that, now could we. Right, then, Bonnie will provide you some more of the nutritional supplement potion, keep that up, and Harriet will schedule you for another visit in a month. Don’t hesitate to floo call if something changes. Anything else?’

GInny glanced down at the copy of Portmanteaus in her hand, then up to face her Healer. ‘You said you were housecleaning. Do you mind if I take this with me? I really would like to finish the one story, it reminds me a bit of one of my favorite writers.’ She tilted her head slightly at the flash of mischief in Karen Ferguson’s eyes.

‘Let me guess, you enjoy reading Romance novels,’ she asked, her voice lowered conspiratorially.

Ginny nodded. ‘It’s my one guilty pleasure, and Harry indulges me shamelessly.’

‘Would it be the story by Miles à Parcourir?’ Ginny nodded. ‘And the writing reminds you of Èloigné Lesoir, doesn’t it?’

‘How? You read Romance as well, don’t you.’ 

Karen nodded, her smile growing broad.‘I do indeed, even if not as often any longer as I’d like. Èloigné once mentioned in notes inside of one of her books, oh, which was it now.’ She paused, eyebrows pursed in thought. ‘Well, I’ll think of it eventually and make a note to tell you. But the note she wrote is that she learned how to write well by writing fan fiction, as Miles à Parcourir. You go ahead, take that with you. I�m more than happy to share with another Èloigné Lesoir fan.’

A Writer's End Note of sorts

The idea came from a chat on Discord, coupled with my thoughts that Wizarding GB is still lagging a good bit on integrating Muggle tech with Magic. However, they do have printed materials, and I grew up on fanzines. The Comet is generally attributed as the 1st Fanzine, published in 1930. While brainstorming with a few other writers, Little0Bird mentioned punning on the ship names, and Golden and Silver Trios became Aurium Argentium 6. Littl0bird also suggested Portmanteaus, though indirectly, and that became one of the fanzines. DisplayHeartCode suggested Beedle’s Quarterly and Crowley’s Corner (which became the book by Fifi LaFolle Harry read). In Essence is riffing off both an excellent long fic by Velvethope, go read it, and one of Dumbledore’s lines. Rhymes & Reasons is my own.

The different fan fictions and characters that are in this fic, well to quote from an old Telly program: The fics and writers are real, only the names are changed to protect the innocent (or me, the not so innocent). With two exceptions, I did ask before including them. One exception, annerb, put a blanket authorization in their profile (which I’ve adapted in mine), that basically says These are derivative works, feel free to fic my fic. The other- Sorry, not sorry Breanie, you are too much fun to tease. And to be fair, I included myself.

The different fics and characters Ginny lists off while they discuss this are: Crowley's Corner by Fifi LaFolle, a fictional book by a canon fictional writer, Hidden Passions, fictional Wizarding Wireless soap opera from Breanie’s ASC, Buck Rogers and Armageddon 2419, the original book from 1928, Percy Jackson, the Olympians series, Les Miserables, book, stage musical & film, Colonel Brandon, Sense and Sensibility character (Alan Rickman), Violet Crawley, Downton Abbey character (Maggie Smith), Billy the Innkeeper, Stardust character (Mark Williams)

Credits for the fics that I riffed on here (all found on AO3, not all of them are Ginny and Harry so will not be here on SIYE): Annerb: for a pessimist i’m pretty optimistic, Breanie: A Second Chance, cgner: Key Limes, Matrixaffiliate: Anonymity. And for Thanks to little0bird, GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey, and DisplayHeartCode for brainstorming (before it became an IE fic, eh Dusk), and particularly to Dusk for organizing the event.