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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP Characters:None Genres: Tragedy Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 1174 Summary: Harry gets one night that gives him a glimpse into what life could be like with the Dursley's. But events turn for the worse and both Harry and the wizarding world are left wondering what it's consquences mean for the future of the world. Hitcount: Story Total: 501652; Chapter Total: 9884 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: I don't own anything. JK Rowling owns the entire Potter Universe. No copyright infringment is intended. I write fan fics for fun. |
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A/N: I've decided to give you guys Part I of the epilogue since you've all been waiting patiently. Part II is nearly done and will be out in a few days, it just needs to tweaking for the end...which means the end of Normalcy. So enjoy Part I! Epilogue I “Ouch.” Ginny hissed as she watched the paring knife slip from the parsnip she was peeling and slice into her thumb. Bright red blood immediately rose to the surface of the thin slit, soon threatening to run over onto the cutting board below and ruin the parsnips she’d already prepared. With a sigh of frustration and a deft movement so as not to drip blood on the counter, she moved to the sink and turned on the tap, holding her thumb underneath. The cool water that rushed out immediately washed away the scarlet drops already dotting the stainless metal finish, mixing together to form a pink rush of water as it swirled down the drain. Ginny’s eyes moved back up to her thumb, which was still bleeding steadily. Leaning up against the counter, she blew out a long puff of air, ruffling the bit of bangs on her forehead that weren’t pulled back in her ponytail. She hated cooking, Ginny decided. Or rather, cooking when she decided to try something new or remotely complicated. If only she could have inherited some of her mother’s prowess in the kitchen, none of this would be a problem. But no, it seemed that Ron was the only one in the family who had gotten any of the Weasley DNA that contained Molly Weasley’s culinary skills. Lucky Hermione. But for some reason, she found the need to have to prove that she could indeed make a wonderful, edible dinner or keep a clean and tidy home. It was like some strange notion that kept popping up in her head. Harry had told her countless times that he didn’t need nor want her to be a traditional housewife. He didn’t need a ‘domestic goddess’ who could whip up an eight course meal in a matter of minutes and cater to his command and every need. He just needed her. He needed her to be his partner and to work with him. They would figure out the rest from there, he’d said. And they had so far. They’d been married for a little over five years now and Ginny had never been happier. Harry made her happy, the home they’d built together made her happy, hell, even the idea of cooking made her happy now. After the war, she, Harry, Ron and Hermione had all returned to Hogwarts to finish their final year. Despite the lingering horrors and hardships that came in the aftermath of war, they’d found solace and light in returning to the place that still seemed like home. There’d been many carefree days spent lounging the grounds, forgetting about the long months of previous and making their own new memories. There had been some studying done, Ginny mused to herself. Hermione, of course, was the one to take revision most seriously; constantly pestering Ron and Harry to tighten their own study habits, despite the fact that none of them really needed their N.E.W.T’s to get a job after school. The guys, Ginny had known, had gone back to school to escape things for a while. They wanted that one last sliver of time where they’d simply get to be eighteen and not have to worry about saving or rebuilding the world. They wanted to be able to skive off classes, snog their girlfriends and try not to get in trouble for it. And of course, there was always Quidditch. Ginny had reclaimed her captaincy from the year before and had quickly reformed the Gryffindor team, heavy-heartedly filling the spots of those members who could not return. Ron had eagerly taken back his keeper position and Ginny her chaser. It wasn’t until about halfway through the season that they got their starting seeker back. But Harry’s return to the pitch was well-worth the wait. He’d worked hard to get himself back up on a broom and in shape enough to survive the rigors of a game. She had been so proud of the way he’d prepared and of the extra rehab and training sessions he’d put in. So seeing him finally dressed in his gold and maroon robes again, nervous and pacing with his broom over his shoulder in the changing rooms pre-match had been great. And watching him fly out into the stadium to the roars of the crowd had been amazing. It had been just one more step towards that normalcy for him. After that last year at Hogwarts, they’d entered the real world; one albeit, that was holding together much stronger and looking much more promising than when they’d left it before. Hermione had accepted a position with the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’d done amazing things straight away for the rights of house-elves, werewolves and other magical creatures. And these days she was a top official at the Ministry, acting as a liaison and consultant to many departments. Ron had started Auror training a few months after graduation after being recruited by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Their mum had been a bit unsure of Ron’s choice of such a dangerous profession, especially after what he’d gone through. But he’d assured her that it was truly what he wanted to do; to help rebuild the wizarding community from the inside and to catch the bad guys still out there creating havoc. Molly had been able to read her youngest son’s intentions straight away and knew that it was where his heart was. Harry had also entered Auror training after school. But unlike Ron, who was planning to make it his sole career and focus, Harry had agreed to join up under conditions relayed to Kingsley that it was sort of a part-time endeavor for him. Harry had forever wanted to be an Auror. But he understood now that he had done his share of fighting and shouldn’t be expected to carry on just to satisfy that lingering sense of responsibility he had. He could be an asset to the department and a needed agent when his services were needed. But fighting and hunting down dark wizards would not be his full-time job anymore. Training hadn’t been easy for him. He’d still not recovered fully from his injuries and in truth, he never would. Physically, training had been so demanding on his body and Ginny recalled several times where she’d popped into the flat after training to find him sprawled out on the sofa, too sore and tired to move or even lift his head to acknowledge her arrival. She had, of course, been all too willing to help massage out the kinks and nurse him back to health… And there had been one time along the way where she’d gotten an urgent owl from Ron, calling her to St. Mungo’s. Compared to everything else he had been through previously, this trip to the hospital for getting hit with a rather nasty stinging hex during dueling practice had been absolutely nothing to worry about. Harry’d been awake, regained full sensation and was laughing with Ron by the time she’d arrived. But that call had shaken her to the core once more and had drawn up all sorts of horrible memories of those weeks he’d spent there. It was something she did not want to do anymore and a trip she had not been willing to make a regular occurrence. So after training, Harry’d taken an on-call status with the Aurors. He would be available when they needed his help and he’d be there for regular weekly briefings and meetings to keep himself up to date on the situations the department was handling. But just because he wasn’t a full-time Auror, didn’t mean Harry sat around doing nothing either. As a result of the connection he had had with Voldemort, he still maintained superior magical ability and strength compared to most wizards. And while he had been under Voldemort’s control, he had learned a lot about the arts of tracking ad interrogation. So along with his Auror credentials, Harry worked most of the time for and his office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an interrogator and tracking specialist. Although the methods he now employed were nowhere near the brutal ones he’d been forced to use while under Voldemort’s hand, he had become rather skilled at using those same principles to extract and obtain information painlessly from captured criminals and suspected dark wizards. And often times, when the trail had gone cold for most hit wizards and Aurors, Harry could be called in to find the smallest hint of spell residue at a scene and try and piece the parts together to determine apparition destinations of whoever they were tracking. She was extremely proud of the way Harry had gone about making a career for himself. He could have taken any number of cushy, meaningless jobs in any department or he could have, as Ron had pointed out many times, simply not worked at all. He’d had enough money to sustain himself for a while anyway. But he’d worked for everything and hadn’t simply taken anything lying down. He’d become an Auror and moved into a wonderful position with the Magical Law Enforcement department that she knew made him happy. He may not have been out there everyday “bashing heads and taking names” as Ron had described the work of an Auror once. But he was contributing and helping maintain that balance and the peace he’d worked for nonetheless. Plus, he was home more often and more regularly than he would have been as a full-fledged Auror. Ginny, on the other hand, had taken up an offer to play for the Holyhead Harpies and had started training the week after school had ended. She had gotten to live her dream and play professional Quidditch for the team she had grown up following, with the players she had idolized. It was amazing to be able to play a game for a living and fly out in front of a stadium packed with thousands of people cheering and chanting her name. But it had also been a hard and hectic time in the beginning. Quidditch on that level was a whirlwind and she nearly got lost in the frenetic pace of life as a player on and off the field. Not only was she getting beat up and battered at daily practices, dealing with press conferences, team meetings and other appearances, and just overall adapting to the pace of the professional ranks. But she and Harry were finishing planning for their wedding that was set for the end of August of that year. Looking back on it, it was more her mother’s probing that made it a headache. She and Harry really didn’t care what color the napkins or the napkin holders were or the order of the songs the band was supposed to play. They’d organized a small wedding that they wanted to share with their close friends and family for a reason. They wanted it simple and intimate and just for themselves. But Molly Weasley was planning the wedding of her only daughter. And if the bride didn’t care much about the smallest of details, Molly certainly did. But their wedding had been beautiful and amazing nonetheless. It had been simply the best day of her life up until then. And although there’d been a mix-up with the floral arrangements that had driven her mother up a wall, all Ginny remembered was the feel of Harry’s hands in hers as they’d stood at the hand carved alter in the garden outside of the Burrow in front of their family and friends. He’d been shaking slightly as nerves had overcome him, but his green eyes were steady and warm as they’d locked onto hers. She could recall the sound of his voice as they’d exchanged their vows, the feel of his lips as they’d had their first kiss as husband and wife. Their first dance…and their second…their wedding night… Everything had been perfect, Ginny smiled to herself as she turned back to reality and her thumb still under the flow of water. The stream was no longer pink and the bleeding seemed to have stopped for now. She reached up and turned off the tap, then stretched for a dry dish towel on the counter to dry her hand off on. She looked down at the now dry cut, noticing that it was a lot deeper than she’d originally thought it would be. Ginny sighed once more and reached up to the cupboard next to the sink. She opened the door and pulled out a small white box sitting on the bottom shelf. Fumbling slightly with the top, she pulled out a thin strip, replacing the box once more in the cupboard above. Rather unskillfully and with a growl of frustration she removed the band-aid from the wrapper and carefully molded it around her thumb. She really didn’t get the point of these strips of plastic. They weren’t a very good substitute for a good healing charm. But Harry insisted they have them round’ the house now that. .. Interrupting that particular thought was the sound of a voice coming through the open kitchen door that led to the living room. She couldn’t make out any of what was being said yet, but the sound alone was enough to discern one thing. Nap time was over. With a smile, Ginny turned away from the nearly finished dinner, quickly turning the pots on the stove down to simmer, before heading towards the little hallway that connected the kitchen to the sitting room. As she drew closer, she could see light flickering off the walls and knew that the telly had also been turned back on; it’s artificial light filling the room. The sound of the televised conversation of some news program met her ears as she slowly padded towards the doorway, the floorboards feeling cool beneath her feet. Ginny stopped just inside the doorframe, careful not to draw too much attention to herself as her eyes settled upon the scene before her. Harry was sprawled out on the couch where he had fallen asleep earlier this afternoon. His stocking feet hung over the far end of the sofa; his still lanky limbs too long for the comfortable piece of furniture. He was awake now and had turned back on the television that Ginny had turned off when she’d found him fast asleep a few hours ago. However he wasn’t paying any attention to the weather report currently playing on the screen. He had eyes only for the tiny girl currently sitting atop his chest. For their daughter. Their Lily. As much as their marriage had been a blessing thus far, having Lily had made everything that much more amazing and wonderful. Truthfully she and Harry hadn’t originally been planning on starting their family when Lily had come along. She had been halfway through her second season with the Harpies after her breakout rookie season the year before. And Harry had truly just started settling into his roles with the Ministry after his formal training had finished. But there she had been, not quite twenty and married just a few months over a year, when they found out she was pregnant. Looking back on the time, she had been scared and overwhelmed at the prospect of being a mum sooner than she’d planned. She had figured that she would have four or five seasons in before they started trying to have a baby. She knew Harry wanted children, but he had never pushed the subject and had even suggested he liked her plan–it meant more time for him to have her to himself. But whatever fears or trepidations she may have had were quickly swept aside. Her family had been so supportive when they finally got up the nerve to announce their news. Her mum had been over the moon and immediately began knitting booties for her third Weasley and first Potter grandbaby. (Bill and Fleur had had their little Victoire a few months after the war and Percy and his fiancée Aubrey had welcomed their daughter Lucy the year after.) The Harpies had put her on “injured reserves” for the rest of the season and assured her that her spot was open and her contract valid whenever or if ever she wanted to return. And she had returned for the start of the next season once Lily had been old enough and had played the last few seasons up until about eight months ago… And Harry, although he’d been anxious and nervous about the prospect of being a dad, he’d been amazing through everything. He’d been there for every Healer visit, sat up with her through every sleepless and uncomfortable night, given her countless foot and backrubs throughout the duration and put up with her when she was completely miserable and seemed to take everything out on him. And when Lily had been born he had been right there, allowing her to squeeze his hand as hard as she could through every contraction, offering all the words of encouragement he could muster through his own nervous uncertainty. (Harry had of course, opted to allow her to squeeze the prosthetic hand as to avoid some of the pain inflicted by her vice-like grip). She would never forget the look of awe on Harry’s face as he held his baby girl for the first time. He’d struggled and failed to keep his emotions in check as he took in the sight of the tiny newborn slumbering peacefully in his arms. She’d seen the love in his eyes many times before when he had looked at her, but the intensity of that love had reached new depths when he’d looked upon his little Lily. And Harry was an amazing dad to her. He’d quickly gotten over his anxiousness of having to take care of a baby and had taken up the role of fatherhood naturally it had seemed. Whether it be waking up in the wee hours of the morning to calm a fussy Lily, playing with and babbling along unabashedly when she had started to begin to talk, or tucking her in every night and checking for monsters under her bed after Jacob had convinced her there really were some under there…Harry had been the best father. Yes, life had been amazing these past few years… Ginny drifted back to reality and her eyes fell upon the interaction before her. Harry, even though she knew he was awake, was feigning sleep. His head dropped off to the left towards his chest as he let out a long, loud, exaggerated snore. “Daddy,” the small girl on his chest squeaked as she rocked slightly against his chest, trying to ‘wake’ Harry up. Even from the doorway, Ginny could see Harry’s eye crack open for a second before he let out another fake snore; his mouth open for added affect. Even though she could only see the back of Lily’s head from this position, she could tell that her daughter was getting frustrated with Harry’s little game. The dark raven curls on the back of her head–that were so like her father’s, sans the messiness--bounced as she once again pushed on Harry’s chest, her other tiny hand pushing at her dad’s face. “Dad-dy,” she emphasized as she once more tried to wake him up. “Wake–up,” she chanted. Harry once more did not respond. Perhaps unfortunately for Harry at this moment, Lily had very much inherited a lot of Ginny’s own persistence and spunk. She was quite the high-spirited and funny little girl. Lily scooted further up on his chest and leaned in–close to his ear. “Wake–up!” she shouted mere inches from Harry’s ear. “Nap is over!” Harry could no longer pretend and tease his daughter. He flinched as the syllables threatened to puncture his ear drum. “I’m up, I’m up,” he conceded, ‘pretending’ to wake up fully now. “You were snoring, Daddy,” Lily matter-of-factly, stifling a small giggle at the idea. “I was?” Harry asked in mock confusion. “Yup,” she replied nodding. “And it sounded like this–“ she continued at a fast clip, her tiny voice comical as she let out a fake snore of her own in imitation of Harry. Ginny had to bring her hand to her mouth to keep her own snort from leaving her as she tried not to laugh out loud at her daughter’s antics. As Lily finished imitating her father’s snores, she erupted in a fit of giggles–absolutely amused at her own actions. “You’re silly,” Harry laughed heartily as he pulled her towards him, placing a kiss within her dark locks. “No…you’re silly,” Lily shot back, falling into Harry’s chest as her little body shook with laughter. Harry could only chuckle and let out a contented sigh as their four-year-old daughter succumbed to her own amusement. Ginny continued to watch, but was drawn away from Lily to Harry’s face. He had winced as he had tried to shift he and Lily to a proper sitting position on the arm of the sofa. A wave of pain briefly passed over his features as he used his legs to work into position. He had managed to sit up, but he hadn’t stopped the groan of discomfort from escaping his lips. She knew what was bothering him. He’d fallen asleep this afternoon with his prosthetic arm on and had obvious slept on it wrong as he’d attempted to fit on the couch with Lily. Discomfort was something that happened if he wore the limb too long or fell asleep on it and was something he had learned to contend with in the past years. Lily too seemed to have picked up on her father’s pain. “Do you have an owie Daddy?” she asked concernedly as she watched Harry reach up and rub his shoulder where the prosthetic connected. “No, Daddy’s arm’s just sore,” he replied a little distractedly, reaching underneath the collar of his shirt to rub the skin there and remove the problematic limb. “Can I help?” Lily asked excitedly as she watched Harry reach for his arm. She was at that age where she wanted to help do anything and everything–even that which was still beyond her at the moment. It was actually very cute to watch her help make cookies or fold the laundry. She seemed so serious about it too. It hadn’t been all that long since Lily had first questioned about Harry’s arm and why her dad could take his off like that. She and Harry had taken the time to try to explain that he had gotten hurt in an accident and he needed his “magic” arm to help him now. She’d grasped the basics of what that had meant and in the cutest manner had given Harry a big hug as though it had been a recent thing and told him that it was “ok”. Shortly after that, like with most things nowadays, she became very curious about how his arm worked and had asked Harry to show her how he took it off. “Remember how I showed you?” Harry asked with a nod as he pulled back his collar and exposed the area where the arm connected to what was left of his shoulder. Lily nodded enthusiastically and scooted further up so she could see exactly where her tiny fingers should go. Ginny watched Harry’s features dropped that last bit of pain and change to amusement as he watched Lily reach forward without hesitation and find the small notch that would allow the arm to be released. Ginny could picture in her mind’s eye the look on Lily’s face; scrunched up in concentration as she set to help her dad out. After only a few seconds a hiss of air could be audibly heard, signaling the release of the connection between skin and prosthetic. Lily let out a noise of triumph as Harry pulled the prosthetic through the sleeve of his t-shirt and removed the limb completely. He gave a contented sigh as relief was achieved and Lily ‘helped’ him put his arm on the floor beside the couch and out of the way. After that had been done, Lily did something that had not been expected and put her small hands back on Harry’s exposed shoulder. And in a very tender and gentle way, began rubbing and kneading the skin there. Harry paused for a moment, a curious look on his face as he watched his daughter work quietly. “What are you doing, Lily-pad?” he asked quietly, using her nickname as he reached up to brush at a stray shiny, black tendril of hair. “I’m ‘assaging,” she replied softly, continuing what she was doing. “Making it feel better,” she added. Harry seemed as though recognition of her words and actions had come to him and he smiled at his daughter’s mispronunciation. “You are?” he asked gently. “Yah-huh…like Mummy does,” she told him, continuing to emulate the massages she had seen Ginny give Harry before. “You’re doing a very good job,” Harry encouraged, leaning down to place a soft kiss in her hair. “Maybe better than Mum even,” Harry whispered with a smile, just as his eyes lifted to the doorway where Ginny was standing. His bright green eyes met hers and his smile grew even wider as he caught sight of the matching grin on her face. Ginny wondered if he had known she had been standing there before he’d made that last comment. “Oh is that so?” Ginny asked teasingly as she stepped into the room, slowly stepping towards the sofa where her husband and daughter were. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” she added in mock indignation. At the sound of Ginny’s voice, Lily spun around on Harry’s chest to find the source; her movement causing Harry to grimace one more as her weight shifted quickly. “Mummy!” Lily squealed as she bounced excitedly as she spotted Ginny. Lily was smiling broadly; her bright brown eyes wide as she caught sight of her mum. “Hi, sweetie,” Ginny whispered as she reached the couch and sat down on a small space near Harry’s knees that was left unoccupied. Lily crawled off Harry quite ungracefully, Harry grunting in slight pain as Lily’s flailing limbs hit all the wrong places. Unaware of any pain she might have inflicted on her father, Lily wrapped her arms around Ginny, snuggling into the crook of her mum’s neck. “Daddy and I took a nap,” Lily said matter-of-factly as she pulled away to look up at Ginny. “And then I helped with his arm,” she added, sounding very proud of her achievement. “I see that,” Ginny applauded her with a smile. “That was very helpful of you.” Lily smiled widely, her nose scrunching slightly, causing some of the light smattering of freckles across her nose to disappear momentarily. Lily really was a perfect mix of she and Harry. She had Harry’s black hair. But instead of being messy and not lying flat as his still did, it had seemed to settle on being curly and wavy, falling in cute curls around her face. She had that very light dusting of brown freckles across her nose that spilled faintly onto her cheeks that she had gotten from Ginny herself. Although Ginny had always dreamed of having dark haired, green eyed babies with Harry, Lily’s eyes were simply beautiful in their own right. They were wide and dark brown, a more intense shade than Ginny’s chocolate brown ones. And even at four years old, having had her birthday a few weeks ago, Lily was the tiniest little thing. And as her own father often reminded her, so much like Ginny had been at that age: Small, but full of energy, fire and life with an unending curiosity for the world around her. “I smell food,” Lily added randomly, her little nose scrunching even more as smells of dinner from the kitchen wafted into the sitting room. “Well…that’s probably because dinner is going to be ready in just a bit,” Ginny told her with a smile. “Yum,” Lily replied excitedly, showing the sort of enthusiasm about food that her Uncle Ron might have. “What are we having?” she asked. “That might just have to be a surprise,” Ginny teased. “You’ll have to wait to see.” “That’s not fair,” Lily scoffed with a disbelieving noise. “Not when I can smell it,” she pouted slightly. “Now…you’ll just have to wait like Mum says,” Harry chimed in. “But…” Lily started to whine. “It’ll only be a few more minutes. I promise,” Ginny reassured Lily. “Why don’t you go into the playroom and pick up all the toys on the floor while we wait?” Harry suggested. “You can put all the toys in the trunk and make it look nice again and then you can wash your hands up for dinner,” he added. “And then I can eat?” Lily asked innocently. “And then you can eat,” Harry replied with a smile as he watched Lily mull over the proposition. “Ok,” she said softly with a nod as the situation suddenly seemed agreeable to her. With that she lid off of Ginny’s lap and stood up to head out of the living room to the playroom that had been set up for her down the hall. Lily and Harry had spent most of the day before their nap playing around in there. Ginny was sure that the playroom was currently a mess of dolls, building blocks and miniature training Quidditch gear that she’d gotten for her birthday. Harry was convinced Lily was going to be a seeker. She had an uncanny knack for catching the toy snitch already and that seemed proof enough for Harry to proudly proclaim his daughter had inherited HIS skills. Though Harry didn’t know it yet, Lily was definitely going to be a chaser… “Make sure everything goes back in the toy box,” Harry called after her as Lily disappeared out of the living room; her small footsteps padding down the hallway and out of sight. “How do you get her to do that?” Ginny asked in amazement as she turned her eyes back to Harry. “I usually have to spend ten minutes arguing with her and then I have to go pick up the toys myself,” Ginny mused as she slid further down the couch, closing the gap between her and Harry as he reached out for her to do so. “It’s a very advanced silent persuasion technique,” Harry whispered devilishly with a grin on his face as he pulled Ginny to him. “I use it at work on my hardest of criminals,” he finished as he brought his lips to hers, kissing her softly and slowly in a way that still made Ginny melt. “Works wonders on four-year-olds,” he added as he finally pulled away, a lazy sort of grin on his face. “I saw that. Very impressive, Mr. Potter,” Ginny breathed out in reply with a smile of her own as she leaned her head on Harry’s chest and he wrapped his arms around her. His arms completely encircled her, his hands coming to rest automatically on her swollen belly as they always seemed to. This--had been the reason for her departure from the Harpies nearly eight months ago. Ginny was expecting their second child in only about a month now. After her final match of the season, she and Harry had decided that it was time to try and see if they couldn’t give Lily a little brother or sister. They had settled on the idea that they would take the off-season to try to expand their little family. And if it happened, that was great. And if not, Ginny would play another season and they’d try again another time. Needless to say–it didn’t take them very long at all. A few weeks into the off season, she’d found out she was pregnant and she’d informed her team that she would once again be going on “injured reserve.” Though this time, Ginny had to admit, it might just be for good… “How’s the littlest one?” Harry asked as he leaned his cheek against her head. His fingers were playing with the fabric of her shirt stretched over her stomach. Ginny sighed and smiled, moving his hand further down her tummy before speaking. “Kicking,” she replied, knowing that he could now feel the baby moving very pronouncedly under his palm. “And currently sitting on my bladder,” she added for good measure. She heard Harry let out a small snort of amusement before his lips pressed against her temple lovingly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered apologetically with his lips still against the skin of her temple. Ginny couldn’t help but grin at his words. This was something he had done even when she’d been expecting with Lily–apologize for the way she was feeling as though it were solely his fault. It was endearing and extremely adorable to hear him do so, speaking as though he should be scolded for impregnating her and making her blow up to look like she was holding a giant quaffle under her shirt. Though, she had to admit, when her hormones had gotten the best of her, she probably had made him feel and believe she truly blamed him and hated him for it. “You’re being silly again,” she warned him as she always did when he apologized. “Yeah…” he breathed in reply. “I suppose so…” he added. Ginny could feel his lips curl into a smile against her skin. Just as they lapsed into a wonderful sort of silence, the light from the bathroom just outside the living room flicked on and flooded the hallway. Ginny looked up and could just see Lily’s form inside. She watched as her daughter leaned over and reached for something just out of sight. With a small grunt of effort, Lily pulled over the small stool they had put in the loo for her so she could reach the countertop. Ginny watched as Lily pulled herself atop the stool and began reaching for the soap to wash her hands as Harry had told her to do. After watching the scene for a moment, she looked back up at Harry. She expected to see him observing Lily in the same manner she had been, with a smile on his face. But he was staring off into the space somewhere just beside the doorway, his eyes looking as though he were somewhere else at the moment. Watching him…the idea of what could possibly be taking him away and bothering him came to her mind… --------------------------------- --------------- Despite the perfectness going on around him, Harry felt a heavy sort of weight about him right now. He’d tried shaking it off all day. Playing with Lily hadn’t done the trick as most days it had. And even sitting here with Ginny nestled comfortably in his embrace; their unborn child moving under his own hands couldn’t keep him from falling into this leaden sort of lull. He knew, of course, what exactly was bothering him. It was just–well–he’d decided he wasn’t going to let it bother him. Things were going to be ok--everything was going to go alright and any worries could be thrown to the wayside. But he had been worrying and letting those uncertain thoughts consume him… And it seemed Ginny had noticed despite his attempts to act otherwise. She was watching him with a concerned look on her face. She knew him too well. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, reaching up to bring a hand to his cheek. He leaned into the touch. “Yeah,” he whispered breathily, knowing she didn’t buy his answer. He kissed her palm as her hand rested against his cheek. “You’re nervous,” she said. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t respond. “About tomorrow,” she added, hitting the nail directly on the head. Tomorrow is exactly what had been bothering him all day today. He was nervous–and if he would really admit it–he was scared. Tomorrow was a day his life would change drastically once more. No. He wasn’t taking down some evil dark wizard threatening his life or the lives of those he loved. He wasn’t even going to be a father tomorrow…that, hopefully, would wait a few more weeks. Tomorrow he would be heading to St. Mungos to be a patient again. This time–voluntarily. These years after the war had been wonderful. After picking up the pieces of their lives after so much tragedy and angst he’d gotten to experience the joyous side of life. Starting his career at the Ministry, getting married to the most wonderful woman on the planet, and becoming a father for the first time had seemed to fill him up and heal him more than anything else could have after all of the horrors he had been through. But there had always been that small piece missing. Whatever ails had been reconciled or wounds mended since his rebirth into this life, he had had to deal with those ailments that would never heal–that which was lost and could not be recovered. Or so he had thought… He’d learned to live without his arm thus far, quite well, he had to admit. Due to the advancement in prosthetics and the new designs Peter Kristoff had managed to develop for him, there were many times where he forgot he didn’t have an arm. The range of motion and the responsiveness of the false limb were amazing and he was so grateful to Peter for all the work he had put in to make Harry’s life easier. But there were moments where the realities of losing an arm did come crashing down on him. There was the ever-present soreness between limb and skin when he had worn the prosthetic too long or had worked it too hard. And every morning he woke up, he had to face himself in the mirror; the glaring reality of the situation present every time he rolled out of bed to get ready for the day. And more recently and perhaps most pressingly, he’d had to explain to his four-year-old daughter why he didn’t have an arm and what had happened to him. He’d found talking to Lily extremely and surprisingly difficult. How did you explain that sort of thing about a horrific accident to a 4 year old without scaring the hell out of her and giving her nightmares? As usual, Lily had been amazing and had seemed to grasp at least the basic concept of what had happened to him. She’d seemed a bit sad after he’d answered her question of if it had hurt. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t told her the entire truth of how great the scope of his pain had been either. Lily had seemed to take it well enough and had hugged him and cuddled with him for a while afterwards. But he wished he hadn’t had to have that conversation with her; wished she’d never had to wrestle with something so tragic. It was for that reason he was going in tomorrow. These past years, Neville Longbottom had become quite the accomplished herbologist, having worked to find new uses and new applications of many everyday plants that had not previously been discovered. He had already been hailed as somewhat of a ‘savior’ in his own right, developing cures and treatments for all sorts of diseases and sicknesses that had longed plagued even the best of healers. So Harry had been surprised when Neville had sought a meeting with him a few weeks ago about a treatment he had been working on. Neville had been studying the largely untapped healing properties of the Climbing Vine for quite a while. He had first come across the unknown uses when his grandmother had used the plant to treat a stomach ailment he’d had summer before his 7th year. He’d then become interested in the potential the pesky vine might hold for aiding or serving other medicinal purposes when he had began his herbology career and had done numerous studies with it. It was during those studies that Neville had discovered the Climbing Vine held particularly powerful cell regeneration properties when combined with the right amount of other certain elements. After having made this useful breakthrough, Neville had poured a good amount of his research into experiments testing those capabilities, starting off by cloning and replicating plant cells. His work had quickly progressed with each success and he had recently completed his testing on more lively subjects such as mice and other small mammals. The Climbing Vine formula Neville had thus far perfected was ready to move into the realm of human testing. There was great hope that Neville’s discoveries could lead to a greatly improved rehabilitation and replacement program for those witches and wizards who had lost limbs. Right now, St. Mungo’s was still only able to re-grow fingers and toes and their methods were not geared for large-scale, traumatic replacements. Neville, however, had changed all that. Neville hadn’t approached Harry to try to coax him into becoming his next, very famous lab rat in his experiments. Instead, Neville had asked Harry as a good friend to his lab to show him the data, the analysis of his research and the very animal subjects who had been successfully treated. Needless to say, Harry had been amazed at what Neville had been able to do. He’d taken all of the precautions and mapped out all the variables–anticipating and compensating for any and all complications that had arisen in his experiments. He’d carefully documented and analyzed each and every test and trial and the results were beyond belief. He’d seen the before pictures and met the mice, dogs and birds in Neville’s lab who had regained limbs, tails and parts of wings as a result of Neville’s work. And when Neville had begun talking about how he was working with St. Mungo’s to get the beginnings of a human testing program started, Harry hadn’t hesitated to say he would back those efforts and had up front offered the funds and the endorsement to do so. At first and surprisingly, it hadn’t even occurred to him what Neville’s research meant for himself and the possibilities it held. Neville hadn’t mentioned it or asked Harry if he wanted to volunteer. It wasn’t until Harry had come home and began to tell Ginny about Neville’s work that the idea sprung up. She’d asked him if he was going to undergo treatment for Neville’s testing stage. The idea and the opportunity, Harry had to admit, seemed too intriguing and too exciting for him to pass up. Neville’s findings meant he would be given a chance to have his arm back. It meant not having to rely on the use of a prosthetic molded from metal and plastics. It meant being whole again. But he knew there were risks to it. He’d seen the data and read Neville’s notes on how the treatment worked and what would happen. And he’d listened to Neville recount the specifics of the process and the potential complications and side-effects that could occur. It would be excruciatingly painful. And there was no guarantee it would work. His trepidations about undergoing such a procedure were based solely on the concern he had for his family. It was an unnecessary risk to take. He didn’t need his arm back. He had proven he could live quite well-off the way he currently was. The thought of putting Ginny, at nearly 8 months pregnant, through that sort of stress and having her worrying about all the potential problems that might go with this, was enough to have him shoot down the option straight off. And although the danger of him suffering complications dire enough to be fatal was extremely low--it wasn’t impossible. He didn’t think he could ask his family to go through that just so he could fulfill this desire. So the conversation had ended that night with the conclusion that Harry wouldn’t be involved in any procedure but he would still be backing Neville’s research through funds and endorsements. But as the next few days had gone by, the idea would not leave him alone. As he dressed himself in the morning and got ready for bed at night, his hand would reach to release the prosthetic on his shoulder and he would find himself wondering what it would be like not to have to worry about it; his fingers lingering much longer on the place where it connected, feeling the difference between skin and imitation. And then there were moments when he’d let those thoughts even invade the feelings of excitement and anticipation he had about the impending birth of his second child. What would it be like to be able to hold that baby and be able to feel the same sensations of softness and warm weight as he could with his left hand? Even though he hadn’t done anything to hurt Lily when she was a baby, there had always been that fear that he’d squeeze or grip too hard. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to worry about that again with this baby? These thoughts had continued to bother him. He’d tried to beat them away and get on with things–busy himself at work and at home–but nothing seemed to help. And as intuitive as she was and as well as Ginny knew him–she picked up on his restlessness right away. She had let him try to figure it out for himself the first few days as she always did, but lying in bed one night, she had brought things up again–trying to get him to open up as to what had thrown him off as of late. Like most times since they’d been married–he’d let her in and spilled his concerns and confessed to have been thinking non-stop about their conversation about Neville’s research. Ginny had let him pour everything out to her before she’d given her response. She had told him, first and foremost, that she loved him, and that she too had been initially worried about the thought of him going through Neville’s testing. She had expected him that night to have come home already signed up and ready for an argument if she had protested. But he had chosen his love for the little family they had built together over any of his own desires. That much had touched her. But as she had watched him in the few days afterwards, she knew that the part in him that wanted to be whole again, that had never really gotten a chance to heal since the accident, would never allow him to rest easy. “You’ll always be asking yourself, ‘what if I had?’ Harry,” she had said to him. And Harry knew it to be true. If he didn’t at least try the treatment, there would always be regret. Because--even if it failed to take, at least he could say that he had given it a go. To not try and get that part of himself back was against everything he knew of his own demeanor. He couldn’t live with that regret, and he knew Ginny couldn’t either. Once it was decided between them that they were going to pursue this–together–the question became “when?” He, of course, could wait until Neville’s treatment had been tested and perfected to undergo it. And it probably would be best for him to prolong it until after the baby was born. But he had shared with Ginny his yearning and wish to be able to hold this baby–without worry and without barriers–and she had shared with him in the understanding of those desires. So…tomorrow was to be the day that his life would change once more. He would be once more in his life facing the prospect of pain and uncertainty. And although it was for a different sort of cause and reason as he’d experienced before, he was still excruciatingly nervous about what lay ahead. “Tomorrow is going to be fine, Harry,” Ginny whispered to him, drawing his attention back away from his thoughts. “I know,” he sighed out. “I’m just–thinking too much…” he added, trailing off. “Well…I can’t say that’s ever been a problem before,” Ginny teased, trying to interject some sort of humor into the situation. Harry tried to force out a laugh at Ginny’s attempted cheek, but it was nowhere near as genuine as he’d intended. “Seriously…” she whispered to him, gently taking his face in her hands. “Tomorrow is going to be a good day. I know you’re scared about the pain and the risk…but it’s going to be ok.” “I know I’m not going to be in the room with you,” she continued quietly. “But we’re in this together…and after tomorrow…we get to start another chapter of our lives.” “We look forward now…”she told him firmly. “And no matter what happens…no matter the results…we take this as another blessing and we carry on.” Harry stared deep into her chocolate brown eyes for a moment, memorizing every fleck of gold within the irises that were locked into his own. She was so amazing. She was his rock, his life…and she was right. As long as he had his Ginny…everything would be alright. “I love you,” he whispered to her in response, leaning in to kiss her gently. He felt her smile against his lips and the reassuring grin remained as she pulled away and rested her head on his shoulder. They rested like that for a bit, Harry completely content with the contact as his mind started to drift away from the troublesome thoughts that had been plaguing him. His attention was further diverted from that which had been bothering him by the light from the hallway bathroom turning off. Not a second later, Lily appeared once more, her tiny frame appearing in the doorway as she held her hands out in front of her. “All washed,” she exclaimed with a proud grin as she waved her small hands for her parents to see. “And dried?” Ginny asked, her tone laced with amusement. Lily looked down at her palms for a second as if trying to remember if she’d toweled them off before looking up with raised brows. “Uh oh,” she said in realization as a thin sheen of water on her hands could be seen glinting against the lamp lights. Harry expected his daughter to scamper back into the loo to finish washing up. But instead she ran her hands down the front of her shirt, repeating the gesture a few more times for good measure. “Lily,” Ginny tried to admonish in a hushed voice. But the quality of her voice was influenced more by her attempt at keeping herself from laughing than trying to scold her daughter. “What?” Lily asked in confusion, totally oblivious to anything wrong she might have done. Harry, however, could not do anything to keep his laughter contained and he was soon shaking with it as he did his best to turn away from what he assumed was a scathing glare from his wife. He brought his hand up to his mouth in an attempt to muffle the deep chuckles now escaping his lips, but the gesture did nothing to stem the flow of amusement. Harry chanced a glance at Ginny, who was shaking her head and biting her lip as best she could. Lily still looked baffled as to why her mum and dad were acting the way they were. “Next time…we use a towel to dry our hands, Lilypad,” Harry finally managed to say. “Ok,” Lily said with a nod and a grin, quickly realizing she hadn’t angered her parents with her actions, but made her dad laugh. She swung her hands out in front of her once before she bounded in a few hops to the couch, landing on the far end of the couch. She then crawled up behind Ginny, clambering up onto Harry’s lap in the space between them. “Be careful, Lils,” Harry warned gently as he pulled her further onto his lap, trying to keep her straying feet from bumping into Ginny’s stomach. “Remember we have to be careful about the baby, luv,” he added, kissing the top of Lily’s head. “Oh…can I feel the baby again?” Lily asked excitedly, looking from Harry to Ginny for permission. Ginny smiled in response to her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Come here, sweetheart,” Ginny beckoned, motioning for Lily to slide onto what part of her lap that wasn’t taken up by her belly. Harry tried not to make any sort of noise or movement to indicate his nervousness while Lily moved onto Ginny’s lap. He really couldn’t help but be extra cautious when it came to the safety of his family. He had gone through so much; lost too much to ever be able rid himself completely of all of his overprotective urges that still flared up from time to time no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. His stresses abated, Harry now watched as Ginny guided Lily’s small hand to a place on her abdomen where the baby was most active and where Lily would certainly be able to feel the movement of a tiny hand or foot of her baby brother or sister. Lily seemed lost in concentration as her palm rested flat against a spot just under Ginny’s distended belly button After a few moments of silence, Lily’s face lit up with excitement and she let out a gasp of amazement as her mouth dropped into an “o” of surprise. “The baby,” she whispered in awe as she looked up at her mum. “I feel it.” Ginny could only smile and nod in response to Lily’s innocent enthusiasm. Harry couldn’t keep his own smile from curling the corners of his mouth as he watched the two ladies of his life interact. It was the perfect, simple moments like this that Harry enjoyed most about having his life back. The constant reminders of all that he had gained since the war and the family that he and Ginny were building together were healing him slowly and certainly. He had a beautiful wife. He was the father to the most amazing little girl… he was about to become a daddy for the second time… And tomorrow…tomorrow would be a good day. |
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