|
How Did You Know? | ||||
|
Category: Post-HBP, Post-DH/PM, Holidays Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 4 Summary: One Christmas, James Sirius Potter has a few pressing questions on his mind. Answering them takes Ginny back a couple of decades. A small mother-and-son moment, with a large helping of Ginny-and-Harry thrown in. Hitcount: Story Total: 1477 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights ? J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Written for the Harry And Ginny Discord’s 2022 Incognito Elf exchange. Dear SIYE, season's greetings, Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all! |
|
|||
|
Most of the time, James Sirius Potter fit comfortably into his shoes. This Christmas, however, for the first time in his life, he felt overwhelmed and lost. James slunk glumly through the kitchen of the Burrow, sidling past the crew poring over something bubbling on the stove - Gran, Aunty Fleur, and Uncle Ron - and filched a mince pie from the tray on the table, more out of habit than hunger. The fruity, flaky, spicy treat tasted as delicious as anything Gran ever made, and all the better for having been stolen, but it seemed to miss something all the same, like a six-coloured rainbow. James sighed, and clumped up the stairs to Mum’s room. Christmas, for the Potters and Weasleys, is always Christmas at the Burrow. The planning begins weeks beforehand, almost as soon as November passes into December. There are presents to buy, cards to write, schedules to organise (especially for Hermione Granger-Weasley), houses to decorate, heaps of food to cook and bake, and so on. On Christmas week, everyone converges on the Burrow and stays there for days, talking and feasting. It began as a novelty, then deepened into habit, and thence into tradition; that the Weasley grandchildren stay over at the Burrow for the Christmas holidays. They set up tents in the backyard, or in the orchard, though they’re also allowed free use of their parents’ rooms. Granddad shows them his Muggle gadgets; Granny Weasley cooks massive meals; and they ramble and play boisterous games in the orchard and the paddock, with even more freedom and less supervision than they get at Hogwarts. Ordinarily James would be in the thick of the crazy game of tag going on right now in the backyard, spilling over into the orchard, and aided by Uncle George’s prototype Bop-It Ball. You threw it at someone and if it touched them, for a few seconds they were compelled to do various actions, like patting their stomachs, tweaking both ears, or sticking out a tongue, to the accompaniment of whistles and squeaks and conjured sparks bursting out of thin air. Shrieks of laughter from the young ‘uns, Lily, Hugo, Roxanne and Lucy echoed around the Burrow, while even bookish Albus and prim Molly were giggling madly and darting around trying to tag each other. But this year… this year, James only wanted to crawl into a corner and not be disturbed until it was all over. He sighed again as he reached the first floor of the Burrow, and pushed open the small door painted bright lemon-yellow. And stopped. “Mum? What are you doing here?” “I was looking for some of my old things I thought I might have left up here,” said Mum, sitting in front of the ancient wardrobe, her wand sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans. “After all, this is my bedroom, or was. Why aren’t you playing with the others, James?” “Didn’t wanna.” “If your cousins are hacked off at you for something you did, James, that’s on you, and you’re not getting any sympathy from…” “Didn’t do anything.” He flopped on his camp bed, and half-buried himself in the pillows and bedclothes. The bedsprings groaned in protest and sank nearly all the way to the floor under James’s weight. Then Mum’s hand brushed the back of his head. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me,” she said softly. James hesitated. Deep down, he knew he wanted to, and all he had to get over was his pride… but… “If I do, will you tell Dad?” That was the most important point. Although James loved both his parents, somehow or other, Mum had become James's confidant on certain matters. Dad sometimes... wasn't as sensitive. Perhaps it was because he had grown up in solitude, whilst Mum had a huge family. “If I think he doesn’t need to know, I won’t.” Which was not to say, no. But James knew that was the best he was going to chisel out of his mum. “Teddy says after Christmas, the professors are going to talk to us about our NEWT subjects, and what we want to do. He says it’s called ‘Career Advice’.” “Oh, yes.” Mum began nattering away. “They’ll give you stacks of pamphlets and stuff to read, McGonagall will talk to you about what N.E.W.T.s you ought to take, and these days I think they bring in people to talk about their work…” “How did yours go? How did you decide what you wanted to do?” “Wow. Whoof.” Ginny sat back. “Well, there’s a question that takes me back…” It was Careers Advice time again, and stacks of little pamphlets littered the Gryffindor common-room. “Pass yours over when you’re done, Ginny,” said June Deverill, not looking up from The Apothecary’s Apprentice: Join The Most In-Demand Profession In Britain Today! “An E minimum in Potions and Herbology, ‘preferably’ O?! Not asking for much, are they?” “Makes sense, though, dunnit? You want to be an apothecary, you have to know your recipes and your ingredients.” Heather Lawson poked through the booklets strewn over the study table. “You’re good at Transfiguration, June, why don’t you try this one? ‘Technomancy, The Craft Of Crafting: Build The Tools Of The Modern Magical Lifestyle’.” “There’s not that much money in charming magical items,” said June. “I want something that’ll pay the bills.” Heather snorted. “You want the high life, you mean. What’s wrong with making and selling stuff? Ginny’s brothers do, and they’re making a packet. Eh Ginny? Reckon you’d join them?” Ginny threw Responsible Banking on June’s lap. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to make a career out of working with those two clowns. Besides, jokes and pranks are fun, but I want to do something that’ll really help people, and in a way that’s more than just entertaining them.” “What’s this? Oh. Banking with Arithmancy. Merlin’s balls, could the Geekgotts have come up with a more bo-o-oring title for this thing…” “Oooh, check out Missy Charity over here,” said Heather. She tossed a pamphlet over. “You want to ‘really help people’, eh, Ginny? Try this on for size then.” Ginny picked up Changing Lives At St Mungo’s. “Brilliant. E-grade N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence. Probably the most demanding profession in all of Britain,” she said levelly. “Why not ask me to play for England at the World Cup while you’re at it.” “Why not?” said June, waggling her eyebrows. “You’re a great Chaser.” “Yeah right,” said Ginny. “Not that great. Healing, though. That’d be a worthwhile job, wouldn’t it?” She could see herself in green robes, curing curses and diseases, helping jinxed patients, maybe developing vaccines for dragon-pox or researching treatments for magiphobia. Healer stuff. Her grades had never been terrible, she was talented, five N.E.W.T.s was achievable, she was sure… “Just need to put your nose to the grindstone,” said Heather. “Yeah, maybe…” “But you did join the Harpies, Mum,” James objected, “and you did play for England, and you are a great Chaser!” “I did,” Ginny acknowledged, “but it wasn’t what I set out to do at first. Life kind of got in the way of that, and I ended up doing something else. That’s how life goes, really.” She shrugged. “As far as second choices go, Quidditch wasn’t half bad. So I wouldn’t put too much stock in Career Advice, James. Give it your best, but don’t think that you absolutely have to choose what you want to do now… you’re only fifteen.” “Hmm. Healing does sound good.” James still sat on his bed, hugging his legs, knees drawn up to his chin. He hadn’t done that since he was a child, remembered Ginny. She knew her son well; clearly he had more on his mind than just career advice. She turned back to digging through her old wardrobe. “Ah, found it.” She extracted a long, dust-covered box, and opened it. A multi-coloured quill sat inside. Ginny took it out, shook it experimentally next to her ear, found a scrap of parchment, and wrote her name. Every letter emerged a different glimmering colour. “Still about half-full, looks like. Self-Inking Rainbow Glitter Quill,” she explained. “Hey, I was young once, too!” she retorted, to James’s wordless expression of disgust. “Lucy’ll love this.” “When did you start seeing Dad, Mum?” James blurted. Ah. Right. “Well, I went with Granny to see your Uncle Ron off to Hogwarts, his first year, and there was…” James rolled his eyes. “Mum, please. I know that one. I meant, when did you start going out with him. On a date, I mean, not to Diagon Alley to buy quills or books or whatever.” “Really on a history trip today, huh son? In my fifth year,” said Ginny. She made her voice sound as casual as she could. “Why?” “There’s a, uh,” began James. He faltered, then started again. “There’s a girl. At Hogwarts. I, uh… She’s really clever. Good at Potions. And Charms. And she, uh, she, uh… dresses really neatly,” he finished lamely. Just as I thought. Ginny gave her son a look full of sly meaning. “I’m sure you were only admiring the neatness of the embroidery on the front of her jumper, son. Or the stitching on the bum of her jeans.” James flushed a deep red. “Oh, Mum!” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why it always escapes you lot that I grew up in a house with six brothers, married your father, and have three children; yes, James, I know quite a bit about boys and se…” “Mu-u-um!” James squashed his ears with his upper arms and waved his hands wildly. “Just… please, Mum!” Ginny grinned. It wasn’t often she could so thoroughly discomfit her normally self-assured eldest. “So. You like her?” “That’s the problem. I’m not sure.” James looked pleadingly up at Ginny, and she was reminded of how he’d looked as a child, asking for a sweet, a toy, or to be picked up and hugged. She’d never not see her son as a toddler of five, even while he was asking her for dating advice. “You were friends with Dad, I know, and then… you weren’t. How did that change? When did you realise you fancied him? How did you know he was, y’know…” James waved his hands vaguely, “…the right one for you?” Ginny looked out her old bedroom window. It was a wonderful winter morning, with the sun shining, but with the crisp taste of frost in the air to set off the season. Snatches of laughter floated in from the garden. “It was in my fifth year also,” she said softly. “The very best year I had at Hogwarts.” The night before the match Ginny was a ball of nerves, so just before lights out she went up to the Owlery to send a letter home, hoping it would take her mind off tomorrow. This late at night, the corridors of Hogwarts were empty, and she expected the Owlery to be as well. She was surprised then, when Ginny entered, to see a tall figure, back turned to her, standing at one of the large windows. Her heart skipped a beat; she’d recognise that messy head of hair anywhere. “Harry.” He looked around. On his arm was Hedwig, the snow-white owl nuzzling eagerly at a bloody piece of meat he held in his other hand. Harry gave a kind of half-smile that didn’t reach far up his face. “You’re up late,” he said. “So are you.” “Just giving Hedwig a treat,” said Harry, turning his attention back to Hedwig. The owl took a piece of meat from his hand, and swallowed it quickly. “Got a bit of squirrel off Hagrid.” “Doesn’t Hedwig usually hunt for herself?” “She does. But I thought I’d pamper her a little. She loves it when I feed her like this,” added Harry. “Came to post something?” Ginny held up her letter. “I’m too eaten up with nerves, thought I’d write Mum and Dad. Get my mind off tomorrow.” Harry’s not-quite-a-smile dimmed even more at the mention of tomorrow’s match, which he - the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain - would be spending in detention, for cursing Malfoy. “I came up here to get away from all that,” he confessed. It seemed the whole school had talked of nothing else for the past two days but the upcoming House Cup final and his sudden exit, and as Harry was universally acknowledged to be one of the best fliers in Gryffindor, and indeed in Hogwarts, Harry wasn’t exactly flavour of the month with practically all of Gryffindor House at the moment. “Sorry I brought it up, then.” “No,” said Harry quickly. “No, I don’t mind, when it’s you.” When it’s you. Was it her imagination, or did Ginny detect a touch of deeper meaning in those words, in the way he’d looked at her as he said them? She’d never really gotten over her crush for him - and a crush it must remain, for as far as she knew, Harry didn’t seem to return her feelings. To him, she remained his best friend’s little sister, and nothing more. Then again, it was true that this year, ever since the battle at the Ministry - ever since losing Sirius - she and Harry had gotten closer… Too late Ginny realised the silence between them had stretched too long, and looking for something to say, she blurted out, “Do you really think Malfoy’s up to something serious?” Harry sighed, went to run his fingers through his hair, then checked himself as he realised his fingers were still red with squirrel blood. “I wish I hadn’t followed him.” Ginny shook her head. “Never mind what happened afterwards. You said you had all these suspicions about him - do you still think so, now? Honestly?” Harry thought for a long moment, staring absently at her. His green eyes were intent, focused, and suddenly a shiver ran through Ginny at the thought of him staring so intently at her, for the purpose of looking at her, and she felt her cheeks warm and she ducked her head and pretended to coo at Hedwig. “Yes, I do,” he said at last. “Malfoy’s plotting something, and Voldemort’s behind it somehow, so it can’t be anything good. I'm sure of it still.” Ginny nodded. “Then you did the right thing.” The look Harry threw her was one of mingled surprise and relief. Of course; he knew she'd lashed out at Hermione on his behalf, but this was the first time they'd had the opportunity to talk it out, together. Alone. “Look, I know perfectly well what the Malfoys are capable of, and Draco’s just about as bad as his father. If I had to choose one person out of anyone in the castle, I think Draco’s the single most likely one to be working with Voldemort.” He was pleased at her support, she could see that, but he’d also caught the reference to her disastrous first year at Hogwarts. “I haven’t forgotten, Ginny.” “I know.” Ginny hated revisiting her memories of first year, but… “I don’t like thinking about it, usually. But I don’t mind, when it’s with you.” It was true. It went beyond the fact that he’d saved her in the Chamber - Harry grounded her, helped her remember the good along with the bad. He understood. “So yeah. I’d have loved to play in the Cup Final with you, Harry, but you needed to find out what Malfoy was up to, and then you had to defend yourself. Between Quidditch and stopping Malfoy from doing whatever he’s doing?” Ginny pretended to think. “Yeah, I’d go with the latter.” Harry coloured, ducked his head, and nodded. “Thanks. That - you have no idea - it means a lot to me, Ginny. That we - that you think so as well.” Why would that be? Ginny suddenly saw that they’d drawn closer during their talk, she was standing nearer now to Harry than she normally would, her shoulder almost nudging his. She so rarely got the chance to have a heartfelt one-on-one conversation with him, she wanted to save this memory as vividly as she could; looking up, Ginny realised she was so close, she could feast her eyes on every feature of his face… his green eyes gazed intently down at her, and suddenly Ginny realised he was doing the same… Hedwig made a loud, purring hroo, hroo. Ginny and Harry looked down at the owl. “Oh, right. Here you go, Hed.” Harry picked up the last gobbet of meat, and the snowy owl plucked it blissfully out of his hand. He sighed. “All the same, Ginny… I’d have liked to play tomorrow, and win the Cup.” “Then I’ll win it, for you,” Ginny blurted out. “For us.” She felt the flush creeping up her neck again. Where did that come from?! “Thank you,” said Harry. “I'd like that. You - you understand me more than Hermione does. More than Ron, even, I think.” Almost before Ginny was conscious of seeing the opening, she’d plunged in already: “Ron? Well, I’m not just Ron’s little sister, am I?” “You’re not.” He said it quickly, maybe even forcefully. “If not for the Prophecy, I’d…” Then Harry stopped as suddenly as if he’d run into a brick wall. The Prophecy. The battle in the Department of Mysteries. “What about the Prophecy?” asked Ginny. “It’s something to do with him, isn’t it? You’re… you’re going to kill him, is that it?” Frankly, Ginny couldn’t see anything wrong with that. After all, as far as she was concerned, he’d nearly killed Voldemort once already, as a baby. And he’d certainly destroyed whatever Tom Riddle had been. That suited Ginny just fine. But something like pain flickered across those green eyes. Harry started, “If I had a normal life, I would…” Would what? Ginny grabbed his arm. “You will, Harry. Whatever this prophecy means, you’re going to have a normal life. You’re going to do whatever you want to. I’ll help you.” For the second time that night, Harry looked surprised, pleasantly surprised. “You?” Tell him. “Why not? You’re always thinking of everyone else. Of saving them. Me, Gabrielle Delacour, Sirius, the whole damn world. You hardly ever think about yourself. You hardly let anyone think about yourself. So I’ll do that for you. Because I…” No. No, I can’t. Ginny ran to a stop. Maybe he understood though, the thick lump-headed git. Because Harry shifted slightly, and the arm on which Hedwig perched came up, almost as if to reach out for her. His other hand had come up, to reciprocate the grip she had on his forearm. Those green eyes were staring intently at her now, and Ginny let herself drink in their attention. “I’ve been a complete idiot, haven’t I?” said Harry, and she had never heard him use this tone before, all serious and low and… wanting. Wanting what, or who? Wanting… me? “I’ve been a complete fool all this while, not realising…” “Maybe,” said Ginny, trying for cool and flippant. It came out as a whispered croak. “I don’t deserve y… this.” “You don’t have to,” she said. “People just lo… like you for who you are.” He knows, Ginny realised. He’s always known about me, everybody knows. But this time he’s not pulling away - AND I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! She glanced down; his lips, his serious lips were just there, tempting hers; there could be no mistaking that if she tried, he couldn’t possibly mistake that… Could she…? Dare she…? “Potter! Weasley!” They jumped apart so fast Hedwig swayed on his arm, flapped her wings and clucked in alarm. Professor McGonagall stood at the Owlery door, tall and forbidding. The wintry gaze she fixed Harry with turned on Ginny, and it softened, but only just a hair. “It’s ten minutes until lights out, and all students should be in their rooms,” McGonagall said coldly. “And you have a very important match tomorrow, Miss Weasley, which you know very well you cannot afford to sit out,” she continued, and Ginny could almost swear the temperature in the Owlery lowered several degrees more. The Gryffindor Head of House was also a not-so-secret Quidditch fan, and had had a lot to say to her Captain about his detention as well. Ginny had always had a knack for fibbing, and whichever part of her brain that was, it made a beeline for her mouth and took over. “We were just working out a secret strategy for the match, Professor.” McGonagall snorted. Ginny had the distinct impression she had a clearer idea what was going on than anyone else in the Owlery. “I hope you really do have a strategy. Hurry up, and then make straight for Gryffindor Tower.” When McGonagall had swept out of the Owlery, Ginny gave Harry a shaky grin. “Phew.” He looked just as terrified and relieved as she felt. “Nice one. We’d really better go back, though.” Whatever moment they had been having was lost, she could see that. Faced with another threat, this time of McGonagall, Harry had closed back up again. Ginny sighed inwardly, and looked around for a school owl to carry her letter. “I’ll be just a minute.” “Why not use Hedwig?” Harry offered. “She could do with a fly.” Kek kek, clucked Hedwig, sounding rather like a giggle, and stuck out her leg for Ginny to fix her letter to. “Thank you, Harry.” Their walk back to Gryffindor Tower was a fast and silent one. Ginny looked down at their swinging hands, so close together, and wished she could hold his. She glanced up, and caught Harry’s green eyes on her, a wistful expression on his face, and again he looked quickly away. He has to know, she reminded herself. We nearly just went for it, back there. And there and then she decided. The next time… I won’t hesitate. “Nice one, Mum,” said James approvingly. His grin turned sardonic. “So, owls are the key, huh?” “Not the point, James,” said Ginny. “Look… I decided to date your Dad because he was one of the most selfless, decent, and honest boys I knew. He'd had a harsh childhood, but he hadn't let it destroy his spirit, and he bravely stood up for what's right and took up the challenge to defeat Voldemort when it fell on him to do so. He knew what was important. I loved him for that. But I only saw all this, only saw his true personality because I'd spent time around him. And even afterwards, after getting together, we spent some more time learning about each other, before we decided to marry.” James made a face. “That’s looking a bit far ahead, Mum…” “Your dad showed me he cared for me, and that I could trust him. So don't worry your head, just be yourself, and spend some time with this girl, see if she's the right sort of personality for you, and see if she's interested in you and if she thinks you're the right sort for her, and if you both care for each other. If not, well, it’s not the end of the world. Don't hang your hat on one person right off the bat. I didn't.” The corner of Ginny's lip quirked up mischievously all on its own. “Not even with theHarry Potter.” James looked a little stunned, but Ginny could see he was absorbing her words intently. “Okay. Okay. Thanks, Mum.” “Loving someone means giving a bit of yourself to that person, without thinking of what you're getting out of it. If you're thinking of doing something for someone so she will do something for you, that's not love. I know I can trust you to be a decent person, and treat others with respect, right James?” James rolled his eyes. “Of course, Mum. You and Dad always bang on and on about that stuff. I'm the son of the ‘Chosen One’ and the best Chaser the Holyhead Harpies ever had ever, I have to be on my absolutely best behaviour all the time. Bleargh,” he added. “Oh James,” said Ginny, “don't think about all that. Dad and I don't have huge expectations, we only ever want you to be a good person, and to be happy. Do you have any more questions?” James perked up. “Loads, Mum! What really happened in the war? What was the Prophecy about? What did you do in Hogwarts? How exactly did you and Dad defeat Voldemort?” Ginny knew her son well enough to know he wasn’t being serious. She gave him the answer they’d always given their children. “We'll tell you everything when you're older, James. I promise. Now go on, go play with your cousins. Enjoy your Christmas holidays. Come spring, Dad and I expect you to concentrate on your O.W.L.s.” She winked. “And do tell me how it goes with what’s-her-name.” Late that night, after all the Christmas festivities, Ginny found her husband alone out in the back garden of the Burrow, gazing up into the night. Overhead, the stars and planets filled the sky. Shining brightest of them all was the Dog Star - Sirius. She put an arm around his waist, and felt his come round her shoulders and rub her upper arm. “James had a word with me today.” “Oh? Anything serious?” “He was a bit anxious about Career Advice. So he’s dropping out of Hogwarts to join a secret organisation of avid Quibbler readers dedicated to exposing Hermione’s cover-up of the Great Snorkack Conspiracy,” said Ginny evenly. “Oh, and he’s unsure if he might fancy a girl at Hogwarts.” Harry nodded. “Wish him luck with the Snorkacks. Not keen on the girl, though, it’s O.W.L. year.” “That wouldn’t be a problem since he’s dropping out,” said Ginny. “Keep up, dear.” Harry put up his hands in surrender. “There really is a girl though? What did you tell him?” “To get to know her, and be nice to her. Oh, and he wanted to know when and how I knew you were right for me. So I told him about the Owlery, back in sixth year.” “Hah, good choice. Beats telling him we were completely clueless right up until we snogged at the victory celebrations the next day, and just took it from there.” “He’ll pin you next, I’m sure.” A glint of mischief entered Ginny’s eye, and she put her hands on her hips and struck a coyly challenging pose. “What are you going to tell him, Potter?” “When was the moment I knew you were ‘The One?’ ” Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and smiled fondly at his wife. “Today. And yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Oh, and the one before that too. In fact, every single day of every year since we were together.” Ginny reached up and laid a soft kiss right on top of Harry’s grin. “Good answer,” she whispered. Author's note: Growing up, I thought my parents were utter clowns for giving me altogether three or four wildly-different versions of the “how we got together” story - and I only learned of one more crucial detail as recently as last month! Now however, I realise how complicated an apparently simple question can be, especially if that question is asked by one’s teenage progeny, and if the relationship has come by a bit of a winding road. Some very crucial elements of Harry and Ginny’s relationship seem to have developed during the parts of Half-Blood Prince that were skipped over most unsatisfactorily. Given that the books are mainly told from Harry’s point of view, I can only conclude that the canonical version we got is a censored version, perhaps told for his children’s edifice. Thank goodness, therefore, for fanfiction. |
| Reviews 4 |
|
