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Meaning of One, Part One: Stone and Fire | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Humor Warnings: Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 1026 Summary: If two people are deliberately created to be together, how will the challenges in a world of magic and Dark Lords be dealt with? What would it mean for two people to truly become one? A re-imagination of first year. Hitcount: Story Total: 548255; Chapter Total: 32002 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and Treecat, who make this intelligible. |
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Harry and Ginny arrived at breakfast Friday morning while most of the students were still eating. The whispers that raced around the hall as they entered made it clear that the entire school had heard that McGonagall had dragged them out of Gryffindor tower less than an hour ago. They chose seats across the long table from Ron. Moments later, Fred and George dropped into the empty places on either side of them. They saw that Percy was on his way to them from his usual place near the head table. “Morning, Gin-Gin,” Fred said cheerfully. “We heard that you and Harry here chatted with McGonagall this morning,” George added. Ginny had an explanation ready. “She wanted to ask us about the sorting ceremony again.” “Did she, now?” Fred drawled. “From what we heard, McGonagall wasn’t wearing her ‘asking’ face when you left the tower.” “Sounded a lot more like her ‘telling’ face, if you ask me,” George offered. “Could be, George, could be. But it might have been the ‘lecturing’ face, too. Subtle difference there.” “Right you are, Fred.” The twins leaned in towards Harry and Ginny as though sharing a secret. The younger students were pushed together uncomfortably. “We understand, though,” George whispered. “Asking about the sorting isn’t a bad cover story.” “Simple, vague, and rooted in truth. That’s a good combination,” Fred complimented them. “And if we can’t find out what you really did, then no one else can, either. That means you pulled it off.” “Good show, O Favorite Sister,” Fred agreed. “And Harry, it’s good to see youngsters getting into the game for the first time. We old hands like to know that the mayhem will continue, you know?” “Carry on, then,” George concluded as the twins stood up. “Let us know if you need any advice.” They’ll make anything a joke, won’t they? Harry asked. They were serious, Ginny corrected him. Percy stopped across the table from them and heard the twins’ final remarks. “Ginevra, I sincerely hope you have not done anything to draw more negative attention to yourself. You should be focusing on your studies and seeking recognition for diligence, not for foolishness.” “We didn’t do anything wrong, Percy. Like I told the twins, McGonagall just wanted to ask us more questions about the sorting.” The older boy looked skeptical. “I rather doubt that, but I trust that Professor McGonagall handled the situation properly, either way.” He turned sharply and walked back to his place. Are you sure he’s related to the twins? Yeah, but none of them want to admit it, Ginny giggled. She turned to her youngest brother, who had heard everything the other Weasleys said. “Well, Ron, do you want to ask about it now?” “Did you lose any points or anything?” “No,” Ginny answered. That much, at least, was true. “Then why should I care?” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to talk to her.” The morning mail arrived shortly after Harry and Ginny started eating. Hedwig brought Harry a note from Hagrid, inviting him to tea that afternoon. He accepted, glad for any excuse to be away from the common room during their free time. Harry, do you think it would be okay if I came along? If I stay in the castle, Percy will start lecturing me. I’m sure Hagrid won’t mind, Ginny. He’ll like you. After breakfast they went to the dreaded potions class. It was even worse than everyone’s horror stories of the class. Harry lost points for Gryffindor when he did not know the answers to Snape’s questions, and the sour Professor took every opportunity to ridicule Harry for his supposed celebrity status. He sneered briefly at Ginny, apparently knowing that she was younger than the other students, but the professor seemed intent on tormenting Harry. At the end of the double period, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione fled the dungeon for the safety of lunch. Hermione was quiet, but the others spent the meal complaining about Professor Snape, which made them feel better about the class. When they finished eating, Harry and Ginny excused themselves to visit Hagrid. A few minutes later, they were approaching the Gamekeeper’s small, stone and wood cabin. They knocked on the door, and a large dog began barking inside. “Fang, quiet!” a gruff voice rumbled from inside. A moment later the door cracked open and Hagrid’s large and hairy face appeared. “Oh, it’s you, ‘Arry. Come in. Back, Fang!” The door swung open, and Harry and Ginny stepped into the cabin as Hagrid pulled a large boarhound away from the door by the collar. “An’ who is this, eh?” Hagrid asked as he released Fang. The dog made a beeline for Harry, trying to lick his face. “This is my friend Ginny,” Harry responded, attempting fend off the boarhound and failing. “Another Weasley, eh? I though I ‘ad the last of yer lot with them twins. Right bunch of trouble they are. Can’t seem ter stay away from the forest. Not like yer brother Charlie. Real decent bloke, that ‘un.” Ginny and Hagrid fell into a companionable conversation exchanging stories about Ginny’s brother. As they talked, Harry cleaned off a chair for them to sit in. In the mess on the chair he found a recent Daily Prophet that spoke about the continuing investigation into the break-in at Gringotts on the 31st of July by followers of You-Know-Who. That’s when Hagrid took me to Gringotts, Harry exclaimed, quickly reading the article. Really? Ginny replied, trying to chew off a bit of the rock cake Hagrid had given her. She quickly perused his memories of the day. Ron said something about it on the train, too. What did Hagrid get while you were there? Don’t know. He said it was for Dumbledore. Well the article says that the vault had been emptied earlier in the day. You were there pretty early. Harry saw her logic and actually made the next connection himself. You think Voldemort was trying to get whatever Hagrid got? “Hagrid?” Harry asked. “What was that thing you picked up at Gringotts?” He waved at the paper in his lap. “Is that what these people were trying to steal?” “Tha’s Dumbledore’s business. Great man, Dumbledore. Don’ you worry about it,” Hagrid said, handing over more tea and rock cakes. Harry shrugged, but Ginny was certain that Hagrid knew more than he was saying. They visited with Hagrid for as long as they could, but at last they had to return to Gryffindor tower to pack for their weekend trip. Harry climbed up to his room and found Ron reading a battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Opening his trunk, he emptied the schoolbooks from his knapsack and began pulling out clothes from his wardrobe. “Where you goin’, Harry?” Ron asked. “Err . . . well, I’m going to your house, actually.” Harry launched into the story that he and Ginny had put together. “Your mum asked Dumbledore to send Ginny home for the weekend, to see how classes are going, or something. She wanted me to come too. I guess she wants to ask me about the sorting again.” Ask him if he wants to come, Harry. That’ll put him off, Ginny advised. “Do you want to come along?” Harry asked Ron. “I bet your mum would be glad to see you, and maybe it wouldn’t be as weird.” “Uh, no, thanks,” the other boy replied. “I just got away. I’m not ready to go back yet. Say hi for me, though, yeah?” Spot on, Gin. Harry nodded. “Yeah, sure.” We’re going to have to tell him sometime, aren’t we? Harry asked Ginny. He’s most likely to catch us. Yeah, but we need to tell Mum and Dad first. We can worry about Ron when we get back, she replied. Ginny had finished packing already and was waiting for him in the common room. Harry joined her downstairs, and they set out to meet Dumbledore. Just as the portrait was about to close behind him, Harry noticed Hermione staring intently at them, her brow furrowed in thought. They walked to the Headmaster’s office, and the gargoyle stepped aside as they approached. Dumbledore handed them a frayed bit of rope. “This is a portkey,” he explained. “It will take you to the Weasley residence.” Harry was confused until Ginny showed him her memory of the previous summer, when she had taken a portkey to visit her great aunt. When he knew what to do and what to expect, they each took one end of the rope. “The same rope will bring you back here at four o’clock on Sunday. Enjoy your visit,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come along, sir?” Ginny asked with a straight face. The twinkle dimmed a bit, and the old man looked slightly nervous. “Ah, no, Miss Weasley. I am sure you will have a grand time without me.” She grinned at him, but she could not speak as something hooked them and jerked them out of the office. They appeared on the front lawn of the Burrow. Ginny and Harry tumbled forward to the ground, completely disoriented. I wasn’t ready for that at all, she said. Yeah, suddenly there were two different views of a new place, and I couldn’t figure out which was which, Harry agreed. I like our way better. They picked themselves up and proceeded into the front room of the Burrow. As they opened the door, Molly Weasley bustled into the room to meet them. “Welcome home, Ginny,” she said, hugging her daughter. “And Harry, it’s nice to see you again.” “Thank you, ma’am. It’s very nice of you to have me,” Harry replied politely. “It’s no trouble at all. Now sit down, here, and we’ll have a chat.” Mrs. Weasley sounded friendly and welcoming, but Harry could tell that he had been given an order. Mrs. Weasley directed her daughter and Harry to the sofa and took a chair facing them. Ginny faced her mother, but Harry scooted to the end of the sofa and watched the two quietly. “Now, Ginny, what’s this all about?” Molly asked. “Albus said that you and Harry had something you needed to discuss with us. but he wouldn’t say anything more. What did you do that was bad enough for him to send you here in person to tell us about it?” Oh, thanks a lot, Headmaster, Ginny commented sourly. “Mum, is Dad home yet?” she asked, hoping to delay the conversation. “He’ll be here in time for dinner.” “Can we wait until he’s here, then?” Ginny requested. “It’s really hard to explain, it’s going to take a while, and we don’t want to have to do it more than once. I promise that I’m not in trouble at school, and none of us are in any danger. When Dad’s here, we’ll tell you everything and answer any questions you want to ask, if we can.” Molly was puzzled by her daughter’s statement. What could be so difficult for a ten-year-old girl, and why would it involve an eleven-year-old boy? It must be a very strange story indeed, she decided. Still, she knew her daughter would never lie to her. If Ginny said she would explain everything, then she would. “Well, alright,” she agreed finally. “Your father will be home in just a few minutes, and we’ll have dinner. But that’s as long as I’ll wait, do you understand me?” “Yes, Mum. Thanks.” Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry, who was glancing back and forth between the Weasleys nervously. “Harry, I hope you like shepherd’s pie.” “Yes, ma’am, very much,” he replied carefully. “Good. You look as though you could use a good meal or two. Ginny, show Harry to Ron’s room, then both of you should wash up for dinner.” On the way up the stairs, Ginny pointed out the doors to Percy’s and the Twins’ rooms on the second floor, and her room and the loo on the third. At the very top of the stairs, on the fourth floor, was Ron’s room. Harry dropped his knapsack at the foot of Ron’s bed, which was as brightly orange as the rest of the room. The two of them returned to the loo to wash their hands and faces and then went downstairs to the kitchen. Mr. Weasley had arrived while they were upstairs, and he and his wife were waiting for them at the dinner table. The shepherd’s pie and various side dishes were set at one end of the long table. Harry and Ginny sat together across from Mrs. Weasley, with Mr. Weasley at the head of the table. The four began serving themselves, and without thinking Harry and Ginny chose the same foods and put them in the same places on their plates. Mrs. Weasley chatted casually with Ginny about her first week of classes. Mr. Weasley asked Harry about Muggle plugs and spent several minutes describing his collection. Even knowing Mr. Weasley from Ginny’s memories, Harry was still amused by the man’s fascination with Muggles. He was completely different from Harry’s uncle, and for some reason, that allowed Harry to relax as he and Ginny ate. When they all finished eating, Molly broke off her conversation and cleared her throat softly. “Well, Ginny, would you and Harry like to tell us why you’re here?” she asked. Her tone was polite but firm, indicating that she was unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation. Ginny took a deep breath, and Harry reached over to take her hand under the table. Here goes nothing, Harry. “This is going to be really hard to believe, and there’s a lot that we don’t understand. Please let us tell you what we can. We’ll answer your questions if we can, but I hope you won’t get mad if we just don’t know something,” she began. “Just start at the beginning, Firefly, and we’ll listen,” Mr. Weasley said. “Thanks, Dad,” Ginny smiled. Harry felt her utter trust and devotion to her father. “Okay, well, when Harry and I met on the platform last weekend, something happened. We don’t know what it was, but ever since then, we’ve been . . . connected, I guess. That doesn’t really seem right, but I can’t think of a better word.” Mrs. Weasley already looked concerned. “Connected?” “We share things,” Ginny explained. “Almost everything, really. If Harry sees, tastes, smells, hears, or touches something, it’s like I’m doing it, too. I can see his memories just like they were my memories. I can tell how he’s feeling, and we share thoughts. He can do all the same things with me.” “I don’t understand,” said Arthur. Help me, Harry. He understood what she needed. “Mr. Weasley,” he began, “when Ginny was four, she watched you try to charm a blender. It ran wild and chopped up a few of Mrs. Weasley’s roses, and you stopped it by smashing it with a golf club. You called the golf club a walking stick, though.” He turned to Ginny’s mother. “Mrs. Weasley, you do the dishes by hand when you’re upset, but you use magic most of the time. A few years ago Ginny asked you why, and you told her that doing them the hard way helped to work off your extra energy.” Both Weasleys stared at him. Mr. Weasley, surprisingly, recovered first. “Ginny, did you tell Harry those things?” “No, Dad, I didn’t,” she answered. “I guess I can’t prove that, though. Ask him anything you want. He remembers everything I do.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. He then turned to Harry. “Harry, what was Ginny’s favorite bedtime story?” Harry and Ginny both blushed, but he answered. “It was my story, sir. She wanted to hear about the night my parents died, but she’d never let you make up stories about what happened later on.” Mr. Weasley looked at his wife. “She’d never have told him that.” He’s right about that. I hope it doesn’t bother you, Harry. I’d rather nobody talked about me at all, Ginny, but if everyone knows all that, I can’t blame you for hearing about it. He considered this new information for a moment. I’m glad you didn’t listen to any crazy stories about me, though. That’d be weird. It didn’t seem right, she shrugged. Mrs. Weasley had been watching their expressions and saw Ginny’s shrug. “You can really talk to each other in your heads?” Ginny nodded. “Yes, Mum. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had us prove it by passing messages back and forth between them from two different rooms. We showed them how we share senses, too.” “What do you mean by sharing senses?” her mother asked. “If we’re not concentrating, each of us feels, tastes, smells, sees, and hears what the other does.” Ginny relaxed her sight. “Right now, I can see that I’m sitting across from you, but I can also see that there’s nobody sitting in front of me.” “Is that why you were eating the same things? I thought Harry was just nervous.” “He’s still nervous, Mum, but yes, it’s easier for us to taste the same food than it is to try to keep things separated at mealtimes.” Molly’s maternal instincts kicked in. “Harry, there’s nothing to worry about. Whatever’s going on, we won’t let it hurt you.” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Ginny cut him off. Let me, Harry. “That’s not what he’s worried about. We know it doesn’t hurt. We like it, actually. Harry’s afraid you’re going to yell at him or toss him out because you think he’s doing this to me on purpose.” She turned to Harry and spoke aloud for her family’s benefit. “Nobody’s going to make you sleep outside, Harry. If my parents get upset, they might yell a little bit, but they won’t be yelling at you. You didn’t cause this, and they realize that. Right, Mum?” And no matter what, I won’t let them take you away from me, she added silently. Harry was embarrassed by her announcement of his fears, but he knew she thought it would help. “Oh, dear. Of course we’re not angry with you, Harry. This is all very strange, but it’s not your fault,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly. “Ginny, did you say that you and Harry like having this ‘connection’ of yours?” Mr. Weasley asked. “Oh yes,” the red-haired girl replied. “It feels very natural, mostly. Sharing vision and such can be very confusing, but we’re getting used to it. The hardest bit is going up and down stairs, and the portkey this afternoon really had us turned around. “Dad, Mum, we’re really sorry not to have told you about this sooner. It started on the platform at King’s Cross, and we were getting used to it by the time we met with you in the Headmaster’s office. It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that we weren’t sure what to say.” “Is this the reason you started Hogwarts early, Ginny?” her mother asked. “We’re not sure, but it makes sense. The Sorting Hat saw that I was sharing everything with Harry, and it told me to come because it couldn’t sort Harry without sorting me.” “Have you figured out how you got there, then?” asked Mr. Weasley. “Sort of,” Ginny replied. “We know what happened, and we can show you that part. But we don’t know how it works.” Harry and Ginny stood up and stepped away from the table. Ginny vanished and reappeared at the foot of the table. Harry popped over to join her there. After squeezing her hand briefly, he disappeared and reappeared behind Mr. Weasley. Ginny winked and then was sitting in her chair. Harry followed a moment later. Each time they landed, they were steadier on their feet. When they were both at their original places, Harry joined Ginny at the table. “We just figured out how to do that last night,” Ginny explained. “Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall don’t seem to know how it works, and the wards at Hogwarts don’t stop us. We can go anywhere one of us can see, or anywhere we’ve seen before that we’re totally sure is empty. That’s how I got to Hogwarts for the Sorting Ceremony.” The table was silent as Ginny’s parents tried to absorb all of the unbelievable things they were being shown and told. At last, Mrs. Weasley began asking questions again. “Albus and Minerva don’t know how any of this happened?” Ginny shook her head. “Does anyone else know about this? Your brothers? Or the other professors?” “Nobody else knows, Mum. We wanted to tell you first, and the Headmaster thinks we should keep this a secret as much as we can,” she explained. “What about Harry’s relatives?” Mr. Weasley wondered. “They’re Muggles, sir. They wouldn’t understand at all,” Harry answered in a firm tone. Harry, that’s not why we’re not telling them, and you know it. I know, Ginny, but I don’t want to tell them that the Dursleys would rather I didn’t exist at all. Mrs. Weasley asked one of the questions they were dreading. “Does Albus have any idea how long this . . . situation will last?” “No, Mum. It hasn’t faded or anything since it started last weekend. We’ve just figured out how to deal with it.” Ginny swallowed and continued. “Harry and I feel like it’s permanent, but nobody knows for sure.” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes widened and she sat up straighter in her chair, speaking very forcefully. “Permanent? I should hope not! You can’t live your life like this. In a few years, you’ll . . .” She stopped herself, then closed her mouth with an abrupt snap. “Well, it just can’t be that way forever,” she said firmly. “But, Mum,” Ginny argued, “we like it this way. It’s nice, and we’re never lonely. Our best friend is always there to talk to.” “Young lady.” Her mother’s voice rose another notch. “You can talk to your friends without having them in your head! What about your roommates? They must be nice girls. Aren’t they your friends? You can talk to them every day and every night.” “Harry’s right here, Mum!” Ginny’s voice crescendoed to match her mother’s. “Don’t talk about him as if he’s not a good enough friend for me. It doesn’t matter if he’s a boy or a girl, he’s a good friend. He talks about things with me and makes me laugh. He helps me to see things in different ways, and he stands up for me. He treats me like he wants to be around me instead of like he’s been forced to keep an eye on me. Isn’t that what a friend is supposed to do?” “Don’t you speak that way to me, young lady!” Mrs. Weasley yelled. “Maybe you’re too young to go to Hogwarts after all, if you don’t understand what’s good for you.” “How can you say that?” Ginny screamed. “You don’t even understand what’s happened to us. How can you say if it’s good or bad?” The room was warming noticeably as the two women argued. Mr. Weasley was beginning to sweat, and the butter was melting into a puddle. Ginny’s anger was sparking Harry’s temper as well. He tried to restrain himself and let Ginny deal with her mother, but Mrs. Weasley’s next words enraged him. “I’m your mother! I decide what’s good for you because you don’t know any better. You’re acting like a foolish, ungrateful child!” Vernon Dursley had called Harry foolish and ungrateful for ten years. He refused to hear anyone talk to Ginny that way. None of this was her fault. Ginny felt that things were getting out of hand, and she fumbled to retain some control. “Mother, stop, please! You’re upsetting Harry.” “This is none of Harry’s business! He can go back to Hogwarts right now if you won’t behave yourself.” Mrs. Weasley bellowed. “No!” Ginny screamed, jumping up from her chair and planting her hands on the table. She no longer cared what her mother thought. She would not let Harry be sent away. “You don’t understand! You won’t understand! You’re not even listening to me. We want to be this way, and you can’t stop us! ” The wood beneath Ginny’s hands began to smolder, and when she lifted them to avoid being burned, the edge of the table burst into flames. Harry jumped out of his chair and away from the spreading blaze as Mrs. Weasley screamed in surprise. Mr. Weasley acted quickly. “Both of you, outside. Now!” he ordered. He whipped his wand out of his pocket and said “Aguamenti! ” Water poured from the end of his wand onto the fire. Ginny knew better than to question her father at a time like this. She ran for the door, with Harry close on her heels. They went into the yard and turned back to face the house. Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and waited for whatever her parents might say when they emerged. After extinguishing the fire, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen door to find the two children standing hand-in-hand. A shimmering haze of heat surrounded the young pair, wilting and blackening the damp grass beneath their feet. Both of them were soaked in sweat. They glared at Ginny’s parents, clearly prepared for another round of shouting. Mr. Weasley stopped his wife just beyond the threshold. “Molly, stay here, please.” Mrs. Weasley, who was recovering from her fright and still fuming, glared at her husband, but she nodded. She knew when to let him do the talking. The usually jovial man’s face seemed calm and somewhat sad as he faced his daughter and her friend. He put his wand back in his pocket and took a few steps forward. “Ginny, Harry, we’re sorry. You came here to tell us something very important to you, and we were surprised. We reacted to our shock instead of reacting to what you were saying. Your mother and I love you, Ginny, and we want you to be safe and happy. If Harry’s your friend, then he must be a nice boy, and we want him to be safe and happy too. “We need to talk about this. We’ll promise not to yell at you, if you’ll promise not to yell at us,” he concluded. Ginny was on the verge of tears as her father’s words brushed aside her anger, but Harry was not appeased. “You can’t call Ginny foolish or ungrateful or stupid, either,” he demanded. Mr. Weasley looked pained, but he faced Harry’s blazing green eyes squarely. “We won’t say anything like that about you or Ginny. I promise.” Harry, please. I know Mum said awful things, but I was yelling too. I’ve never been that angry before, and I got carried away, just like Mum did. They’re really not like the Dursleys. They’re worried about us, that’s all. Harry turned to Ginny, stared into her eyes, and let go of the division between them. Brown faced green facing green facing brown. He felt how anxious she was, and how much the fire had scared her. She showed him her memories of previous arguments and how they had ended. He saw that it was possible to be happy after an argument instead of just being punished. I trust you, Ginny, he said, finally relaxing. Ginny stepped over to him, hugged him, and leaned up to kiss his cheek as she always did with her brothers. Thank you, Harry. We’ll work this out. “Okay, Dad,” she said aloud. “No more yelling, and no more insults. We promise.” Mr. Weasley turned to his wife. “Molly?” Mrs. Weasley had seen the way her daughter and Harry looked at each other and how the dark-haired boy had suddenly relaxed. More importantly, she had seen Ginny kiss Harry like he was a member of the family, and she would never ignore that. “I promise,” she whispered tearfully. They all sat down at a picnic table nearby. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mr. Weasley steered the conversation in a different direction. “Ginny, why did you ask Headmaster Dumbledore to cast the potential power charm on you? Did you know what would happen?” “Not really, Dad, but I had a hunch,” she answered. “When I met Harry, I felt something change. I didn’t know what it was, at first, but I figured out that it was magical power. I didn’t have a lot before, so I didn’t know what it felt like to have that much. Harry has always had it, so he didn’t know what it was like to not have it. I asked the Headmaster to cast the spell so I could find out if I was right, and I was. You saw my new sphere. I bet it looks just like Harry’s always has.” “And the second time? Do you know why the sphere grew so much?” her father asked. Ginny shifted a little on the bench. This was getting close to the part she knew they would not like. “That time, I was holding Harry’s hand. When we’re touching, we both feel more powerful.” Mr. Weasley smiled gently. “Well, that explains what happened to the table and the grass.” “I’m sorry about the table, Dad,” Ginny began. “I could go and get you a new table, since we ruined the old one,” Harry offered in a small voice. “There’s no need, Harry,” the older man replied, chuckling. “With a family our size, the kitchen table takes a beating, so we started conjuring them years ago. Normally, we have to conjure a new one every few weeks. We just got a head start this time. It’s already there.” Mrs. Weasley had finally calmed down enough to speak. “Ginny, Harry, are you happy with this connection of yours? It’s not hurting you?” “Yes, Mum, we’re happy,” Ginny smiled. “And it doesn’t hurt us at all. For me, it’s like I lived for ten years with only one arm and then suddenly discovered that I had another one. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” “And you, Harry?” she asked. “Ginny knows what I’m thinking and feeling, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied. “Anything she says goes for me, too. She’s smarter than I am, though. I hadn’t thought about having two arms. That’s exactly how it feels.” “Well,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, “I suppose that’s what matters the most. Harry, I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier.” “It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. Ginny showed me what it meant.” He was not comfortable with the woman yet, but he felt that he could be, given time. Mr. Weasley blinked. “That will take some getting used to.” “Would anyone care for pudding? I have pumpkin pie and apple pie cooling in the kitchen,” Mrs. Weasley said brightly, rising from the table and clearly hoping to distract everyone. “Apple for us, please, Mum,” Ginny said. “Not pumpkin, Ginny? You always pick pumpkin when I make it,” her mother replied, confused. “Harry doesn’t like it very much, and apple pie is just as good,” the girl explained. Ginny, you should have whichever one you want. I can do something else while you eat pumpkin pie. It’s okay, Harry. I like the apple a lot, too. There’s always pumpkin pie at Hogwarts if I want it. Ginny’s choice of pie, more than anything, helped Molly to begin to understand. “Well, apple it is then.” The group moved back inside and took their seats at the new kitchen table. After they had all eaten their pie, Ginny finally had the courage to make their real request. “Mum, Dad, there’s one more thing.” Both of her parents looked wary. Having seven children made them understand that in a series of shocks, the last one was always the worst. Seeing their expressions, Ginny tried to reassure them. “It’s not something bad. It’s just . . . awkward.” She sighed. “Ever since we met on the platform, Harry and I haven’t been able to sleep unless we’re touching. We’ve spent the last few nights on one of the sofas in the common room." Molly's eyebrows shot to her hairline as her mouth fell open, but Ginny pushed ahead. “We talked to the Headmaster this morning . . .” Ginny began. "You what?" Molly demanded, her voice louder than ever. "You've been sleeping together?" Ginny tensed up as her mother's voice echoed in the room. You call that talking? Harry interjected silently, trying to help her relax. Hush, you. Ginny decided that finishing the plunge would be simplest, despite her mother's spluttering and rapidly darkening face. “ . . . and he said he’d allow us to both sleep in Harry’s bed at Hogwarts if you gave your permission. I can pop into his room without anyone knowing, and pop back to my room in the morning. He can’t stop us from doing that, but we said we’d come and talk to you about it,” she finished. “Share a bed?” Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously. “No. Absolutely not.” “But, Mum . . .” Ginny argued. “No, Ginny. I realize that you and Harry are in a very unique situation, and that you like it and want to be together all the time. But that’s no reason to do something so inappropriate,” Molly said in a tone that brooked no argument. Ginny stubbornly pushed onward. “Mum, it’s not about being inappropriate. We just want to sleep, and we can’t sleep separately. We either have nightmares or we stay awake.” “You’ll get used to it, dear, and you’ll sleep just fine,” Mrs. Weasley stated firmly. “Now, since you can do this popping thing, I don’t suppose we can force you to stay in separate rooms. But Ginny, listen to me. I’m asking you, as your mother, not to sneak into Ron’s room to stay with Harry. I’m going to trust you not to do that. If you do it anyway, I’ll be very disappointed in you. You’re in our house, so you will follow our rules. Do you understand?” Ginny sighed heavily. “Yes, Mum, I understand.” What are we going to do, Ginny? We’ll keep trying, Harry. She’s right. I couldn’t bear to disappoint her by sneaking around. But we have another day and a half to change her mind. “Thank you, Ginny.” Mrs. Weasley said, relieved. After Harry and Ginny cleaned the dishes from their pudding, they joined Ginny’s parents in the sitting room. Hoping for a more normal conversation, Molly asked Harry about his first week at school. With Ginny’s help, he managed to avoid telling Mrs. Weasley exactly the same things her daughter had told her over dinner. Instead, he talked about the things that would have been completely new to him if he had not met Ginny, such as talking portraits and moving staircases. At nine thirty, Mrs. Weasley sent the children up to bed. Harry and Ginny trudged up the stairs together. Ginny stopped at the third floor, and with a last look at Harry, went into her room. Harry climbed up to the fourth floor and laid down on his back on Ron’s bed. At the same time, Ginny changed into her nightclothes and settled onto her bed in the same position. Well, I guess that could have been worse, she said hopefully. Yes, we could have burned the house down instead of destroying the table. Ginny shuddered. I’ve never seen anything like that happen before. My brothers all did odd things, but they never set fire to anything. I’m sorry, Ginny. That was probably my fault. I used to make things heat up at the Dursleys’ until I learned not to get angry. When we both got so mad tonight, it just went out of control. You need to teach me how to keep my temper, then, Ginny said. We can’t go around burning things whenever someone says something mean. Didn’t you say I had to find a way to let the anger go, instead of just holding it inside? It wouldn’t help if you’re just holding it inside too, Harry commented. We both need to work on it then. She paused, feeling something vague from Harry. What is it, Harry? What are you trying to figure out? Is this . . . is this what it’s like, Ginny? Having a family, I mean. You have dinners and jokes and fights. Then you get a hug and you’re sent to bed and everything is okay? he asked wonderingly. That’s pretty much it, yeah. She considered his skepticism for a moment. Tonight was a really big fight, though. Usually there are a lot more stories and jokes. Sometimes we play games together, and during the day we do chores and such. But at the end of the day, you get a hug and everything is okay. It’s not perfect, like it would be if we were together, but it’s okay. You feel something wonderful when your mum hugs you. It’s warm, and safe, and happy. Ginny had never thought about it that way. That’s just how I feel about Mum. I love her. That’s what love feels like? I’m sorry, Harry. I sometimes forget about your horrible relatives for a while. Yes, that’s what it feels like for me to love Mum. Harry was puzzled. You mean it feels different with different people? Sure it does. Here, this is Mum. Ginny thought of her mother and all the things she loved about the woman who was raising her. The same warm feeling inundated Harry’s senses. Mum’s overprotective, and she has a pretty quick temper, but she really does care about us and want us all to be happy and safe. No matter what I do, Mum will take care of me, even if she doesn’t like it and doesn’t speak to me ever again. That’s just how Mum is. This is Ron. She repeated the exercise for her youngest brother. He’s crazy about Quidditch, chess, and food. Other than that, he’s clueless. Everyone knows exactly what he thinks and feels, so he never deceives anyone at all. But Ron kept me company when nobody else wanted to, and he was always there when I needed him. Ron sometimes knows just what to do, and he does it no matter what it is. Ginny’s feelings for Ron were slightly different than her feelings for her mother. With Ron, there was companionship, reliability, mischievousness, and a small bit of exasperation. I love them both, but it’s different, see? Ginny explained, and Harry agreed silently. Now, I don’t know if this will work, but this is you. A new feeling formed. This one was harder to define, because so much of it was tied up with how Ginny felt about herself. You’re my friend. I can tell you things that I wouldn’t tell Mum or Ron, and I know we can have fun together doing anything we feel like. You’ll stand up for me when you feel like you need to, but you’ll let me stand up for myself when I need to. You . . . you love me? Harry wondered in disbelief. Sure I do. But they’re all different, see? Mum’s mum, Ron’s my brother, and you’re my friend. Thanks, Ginny. I guess I, err . . . well . . . I know, Harry. I knew what to call it before you did. She said. Now come downstairs and meet me on my landing. Whatever Ginny had in mind had gone from idea to action so quickly that Harry was halfway down the stairs before he even considered asking what they were doing. They met on the landing, and Ginny took his hand and pulled him back down to the ground floor. In the sitting room, they found Mr. Weasley reading the Daily Prophet while his wife knitted and listened to the wireless. As the children stepped off the stairs, Mrs. Weasley put down her work and stood to face them. “Is everything alright, Ginny?” she asked. “Mum, could you give Harry a hug? He’s never had one from anyone but me,” Ginny stated simply. “Never? What sort of Muggles are those relatives of yours?” Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and reached down and grabbed Harry around his shoulders and pulled him close. She squeezed him so tightly he thought he was going to burst, but it was a comforting feeling nonetheless. With his face pressed into Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, Ginny was out of his line of sight, but he could feel that she was grinning playfully at his back. You’re almost impossible to prank, Harry. I had to take the chance when I saw it, she said. Besides, you needed it. Ginny’s mother released Harry with one arm, which she used to pull Ginny in to her other shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Ginny,” she whispered. Serves you right, Harry teased. After a minute, Mrs. Weasley released them both, and Ginny took Harry’s hand again and pulled him back towards the stairs. “Thanks, Mum,” she said as they began to climb. “Anytime, children.” Thanks, Ginny. Anytime, Harry. He left her at her landing again and returned to Ron’s room. This time, he changed into his pajamas before laying down on the bed. I guess we should try to sleep, Ginny offered with a grimace. Maybe Mum’s right and we’ll get used to it. I don’t really think so, but it’s worth a try, Harry responded. Pointless to say goodnight, isn’t it? she asked. Yeah. One of us will just end up in the other’s head, unless we fall asleep at the same time. See you later, then. Later. Friday night was horrible. Harry and Ginny slept for only a few hours and spent most of that time locked within nightmares dominated by flashes of green light. As dawn approached, they lay on their beds and stared at the ceilings, waiting for Mrs. Weasley to wake up so that they could abandon the pretense of sleep. When Ginny heard faint noises coming from the kitchen, they stumbled out of bed and dressed for the day. Harry met Ginny on her landing, where she hugged him tiredly. They took what comfort they could from the brief contact before they went downstairs and joined Mrs. Weasley at the kitchen table, slumping forward onto their elbows. “Good morning,” Molly greeted them as she made tea. “Morning, Mum,” Ginny replied. Her daughter’s strained voice caught Mrs. Weasley’s attention. “Ginny, are you alright? Are you feeling well?” “We didn’t get any sleep, Mum. Did you think I was making that up last night?” Ginny demanded irritably. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, don’t you take that tone with me,” her mother snapped. Ginny sighed. “I’m sorry, Mum. We really didn’t get any sleep, and I’m cranky.” Molly? Yeah. All the boys got old Weasley family names for their middle names, but nobody can remember any other Weasley girls. So I got Molly from Mum. I don't know my middle name. My Hogwarts letter was addressed to Harry J. Potter, though, so I guess it starts with 'J'. Hagrid said your dad’s name was James, didn’t he? That could be it, Ginny suggested. Mrs. Weasley poured three cups of tea and brought them to the table. Sitting down across from Ginny, she asked, “Why couldn’t you sleep?” “It’s hard to explain, but we’ll try,” Ginny began. Is it worth trying? Harry asked her. The more she hears, the more she’ll think about it. That’s the best we can hope for. She returned her attention to her mother. “When we’re not touching at night . . .” “I’ve already made my decision about that. You shouldn’t keep pushing me about it,” Molly warned. “I’m not pushing, Mum,” Ginny answered. “I’m just telling you how we feel. Okay?” Her mother nodded cautiously. “Well, when we’re not touching it feels . . . uncomfortable. It’s like trying to sleep with your hands up in the air. We just don’t feel relaxed enough. “Eventually, one of us falls asleep anyway, because we’re so tired. But when only one of us is asleep, their body is sleeping, but their mind is still hanging around in the other person’s head. Does that make any sense?” “Not really, dear.” Molly admitted. “What do you mean by hanging around in each others’ heads?” Ginny thought for a moment. “Normally, when we’re both awake, we keep our senses mostly separate. We can’t help thinking together or sharing emotions, but Harry uses his own eyes and ears while I use mine. We can combine our senses if we want to and see or hear both at the same time, and it’s really pretty neat, but it takes some getting used to. “Anyway, when Harry’s asleep and I’m awake, like last night, Harry can’t see out of his own eyes or hear with his own ears, but he can still use mine. For that time it’s like both of us are occupying one body without the other body doing anything. When we’re both asleep, it feels like sleep used to before we met. “So, Harry’s body finally fell asleep sometime after midnight. We were waiting around for my body to sleep, too. But then Harry started having nightmares. When he has dreams while I’m awake, we can watch the dream even though I’m not sleeping. With a normal dream, we can tune it out and it fades away, but with a nightmare it’s much harder. We spent about two hours last night trying really hard not to see his nightmare. Concentrating on that kept me from sleeping and made us even more tired.” Mrs. Weasley looked confused, but she did not interrupt Ginny’s explanation. “After that,” Ginny continued, “Harry woke up and the nightmare finally stopped. I fell asleep pretty quickly after that. He was awake, though, so we were stuck looking out of his head instead of mine. Harry never got back to sleep because we were uncomfortable, and I woke up an hour or so later. Then we just stayed there until we heard you down here. “Overall, we figure that Harry’s body slept for two hours and had nightmares the whole time,” she concluded. “My body slept a little less, but we didn’t have nightmares. At the same time, both of us can remember being awake for every minute of the last twenty-four hours. It’s exhausting.” “It sounds very complicated, but I can see that neither of you got much rest.” I’m so glad she can see that. It’s so helpful, Harry spat sarcastically. Be nice, Harry. She’s trying. Sorry, Ginny. Mrs. Weasley left them sitting at the table and went to prepare breakfast. Mr. Weasley woke up when the smell of cooking bacon filled the house, and he was at the table when Molly served breakfast. Afterwards, as Ginny predicted, Molly found them something to do. “Ginny, why don’t you take Harry out to the garden? The gnomes have been creeping in again, and it’s time to toss them out. Some exercise should help you sleep tonight, too,” she said. Gnomes? Harry asked. Yeah, gnomes. She showed him her memories of the bulbous little creatures and the proper process for getting rid of them. It’s actually fun, when it’s not too hot. They spent the morning chasing gnomes, snatching them up, and flinging them over the garden fence. They were too small to really discourage the creatures from coming back, but they knew that Mrs. Weasley was trying to tire them out. Ginny was right, and they did enjoy themselves. Harry had done plenty of chores, but he had never had anyone to help him, and he had never been allowed to have any fun while doing them. In comparison, degnoming the garden with Ginny was like playing. They had lunch with Ginny’s parents at the picnic table outside, and Mrs. Weasley tried to learn more about Harry. By silent agreement, no one looked at the scorched circle of earth in the yard nearby. “Harry, how is your family?” she asked innocently as she passed around a plate of sandwiches. Harry glanced up at her sharply, his posture becoming rigid, and the cool September air warmed noticeably around the table. “They’re not my family,” he stated flatly. The elder Weasleys recoiled from his expression. Calm down, Harry. They don’t know anything except what Dad used to tell me every night. His shoulders slumped and he stared at the table, ashamed of his outburst. Sorry, he muttered. He picked up his sandwich and began eating slowly and carefully. Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll take care of it. “Harry’s relatives,” Ginny accented the word slightly, “don’t like him very much. He doesn’t like them either.” “Why don’t you like them, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked. “He’s too embarrassed to tell you, Dad, but I’m not,” Ginny answered. Ginny, please don’t . . . They need to know, Harry. They have to try to understand. He was mortified, but he decided to trust her. The Weasleys were her family, and she had far more experience dealing with them than he did. “Harry lives with his Uncle, Vernon Dursley, his Aunt Petunia, and their son Dudley. His mother was Petunia’s sister. The three of them are Muggles, of course, and they’re horrible people. “They made him sleep on a cot in their broom cupboard until just a few weeks ago, while Dudley had two bedrooms of his own. They never told him he was a wizard. Vernon tried to keep him from getting his Hogwarts letter, and Hagrid had to go deliver it in person. The whole family was hiding in a shack on some little island. His uncle had a shotgun and was going to shoot Hagrid, Dad.” Mr. Weasley clearly knew what a shotgun was, and he recoiled at the thought of threatening Hagrid with one. Ginny continued her explanation. “All his life, Harry’s gotten nothing. His only toys are things his cousin has already broken and binned. He does all the chores in the house, and his relatives never say anything nice to him. They call him things like stupid, ungrateful, and foolish.” Ginny glanced at her mother. Mrs. Weasley blushed strongly and looked away from Harry. “They never even use his name. When he gets hurt or sad or scared, they lock him in his cupboard and tell him to shut up. Once, they left him in there for two days with no light and nothing to eat or drink. They’re terrible people, and they’re not his family at all.” Molly sniffed loudly as Ginny finished speaking, and Arthur sat there blinking at Harry. Harry himself buried his head in his crossed arms, unwilling to face the Weasleys’ reaction. He studied the grain of the wooden table to avoid seeing it through Ginny’s eyes as well. I’m sorry, Harry. I know how embarrassed you are, but they needed to hear it, even if they don’t understand it yet. I guess so, Ginny, if that’s what you think. Thanks for leaving out the worst bits, though. Honestly? I don’t want to see those things again. “Well,” Molly said. Then she stopped, unable to decide what else she could say. Finally, she grabbed two more sandwiches off the platter and set them on Harry’s plate. “Eat your lunch, Harry.” That’s Mum. ‘When in doubt, feed it.’ Harry grinned in spite of his mood at Ginny’s comment, and he glanced up at Mrs. Weasley in thanks. She beamed at him when she saw him smiling. After lunch, the two friends explored the land around the Burrow. The pond was too cold for swimming that day, but Harry dipped his toes in the water anyway. Ginny showed him the paddock where her brothers played Quidditch and she secretly flew at night. They walked through the woods at the edge of the paddock, watching small animals scurry away from them and occasionally chase each other through the trees. Around four o’clock, they made their way back to the Burrow and relaxed in the sitting room. Harry sat at one end of the sofa, and Ginny flopped across it with her head on the other armrest. They did not say anything out loud, but they spent the time sharing funny memories. Ginny had a lot more of those than Harry, but she thought that the few television shows he had seen were hilarious. Molly looked in on them once and found them looking at each other and occasionally glancing around the room. They were silent, but they grinned and nodded periodically. She could tell that they were having the same sort of conversation that all children do, except that they were not speaking aloud. She resolved to try to accept at least that aspect of their connection. Later, when dinner was ready, Molly entered again to call them to the table. This time, she found them sound asleep. Harry was still sitting up at his end of the sofa, and Ginny was lying with her head at the opposite end. Molly noticed that Harry’s hand was resting lightly on one of Ginny’s bare feet. She hated to wake them, but dinner was waiting. She walked over to her daughter and laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Ginny, wake up. Dinner’s ready.” Ginny’s eyes fluttered open and focused on her mother’s face. As she realized that she was awake, she sighed sadly. “Yes, Mum,” she said. She sat up and leaned over to Harry. “C’mon, Harry, wake up. It’s time for dinner.” “ ‘m here,” he mumbled, opening his eyes. The two of them rose from the couch and stumbled upstairs to wash up before dinner. As Ginny and Harry settled into their separate beds that night, Ginny grumbled. I wish Mum could have left us on the couch for a while longer. I was just starting to get some real sleep when she woke us up. Yeah, me too, Harry replied. Your mum’s cooking is great, though. I thought I was going to burst from all the food she kept putting in front of me. You can blame me for that if you want to, but you didn’t really mind. No, I didn’t, he agreed. Maybe we’ll be able to sleep tonight. I think we’ve been awake, one way or another, for about forty hours if you ignore that little nap. It seems like so much longer when you remember it all, doesn’t it? she asked. Yeah. My mind is more tired than my body, I think. Harry’s body fell asleep first again, but their exhaustion only intensified the nightmare. The green light and horrible laughter played over and over, and they found that they could not concentrate well enough to try to ignore it. They lay there, staring at Ginny’s ceiling. Watching the nightmare always frightened Ginny, and tonight she could not keep herself from seeing it at all. Harry felt her fear, and it fed the anxiety he always felt when he had this dream. Harry’s feelings went back to Ginny and multiplied her terror. Back and forth the emotion raged, growing stronger and stronger. After a while, Ginny’s body was trembling and she was sobbing brokenly into her pillow. Harry, we can’t live like this! We just can’t! We’d rather die than go through this every night and never sleep. I’m sorry, Ginny, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to do this to you, he replied, her tears in his voice. It has to stop. It has to. We have to make it stop. Why won’t they let us make it stop? she cried. Your mum . . . Harry began. Mum! Ginny screamed in their heads. She leapt from her bed, forgetting her dressing gown, and ran for the stairs. Ginny burst into the sitting room and found her mother knitting again. “Mum, you have to let me help us! Please!” she sobbed. Molly saw her daughter’s haunted, tear-filled eyes and reacted instinctively, disregarding her daughter’s choice of words. “Ginny, what’s wrong? What do you need?” she asked, leaping from the sofa to hold Ginny’s shoulders. “Harry needs me, Mum! Come on, I’ll show you. Hurry!” Ginny grabbed her mother’s arm and dragged her up the stairs to the fourth floor. She pushed through the door to Ron’s room, revealing Harry asleep on the bed inside. He lay on his back, the bedclothes tangled around his waist and legs. His pajamas were drenched in sweat, and his head was thrashing violently from side to side. His arms and legs, their muscles visibly overstrained and out of control, lifted off the bed and slammed back into the mattress. Molly darted towards the bed to attempt to comfort the suffering boy. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to put her hand on his shoulder, but as soon as she touched him he flung out his arm and knocked her hand away. She stood up from the bed and backed away, holding her right hand in her left. Arthur caught up to his wife and daughter in time to see Molly retreat from the bed. He stopped in the doorway and watched anxiously as Ginny clutched her mother’s arm. “He’s really sorry, Mum. He can’t wake himself up, and it won’t stop. Please, please let me help him!” Ginny begged, tears streaming down her face. “How can you help him? He won’t let anyone close to him,” her mother said worriedly. “I need to be there with him, Mum. He won’t hurt me. I need to be holding him and touching him so he can sleep,” she replied, desperately trying to make her mother understand. Her voice became less hysterical as she focused on convincing her mother. “But Ginny . . .” Molly began. “Mum,” Ginny said quietly and intensely, “do you know what he’s seeing right now? Do you know what I’m seeing right now? We’re watching the curse that killed his mother and listening to Voldemort laugh at her. Over and over and over again. It’s been going on for half an hour. Last night, after an hour of this, the dream changed and we saw the curse hitting you as you screamed my name.” Ginny . . . Harry tried halfheartedly to protest. Hush! Just be quiet and listen! Mrs. Weasley paled. She occasionally had nightmares like that, where one of her children died in front of her, but never so intensely. Arthur walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders in support. “This is just like when Ron has a nightmare,” Ginny continued. “You hold his hand and talk to him until he calms down and goes back to sleep. But nobody’s ever done that for Harry. He doesn’t know that’s what you’re trying to do, because it’s never been done for him before. Until last night when you hugged him, I was the only person who’d ever touched him in a way that wasn’t hurtful.” “What do you mean by that?” Molly asked, eyeing Harry sadly. “If we had time, I could tell you about every single time he’s ever been touched more than just bumping into someone in a hallway. His uncle touched him mostly to shove him towards a chore or into his cupboard. His aunt slapped his wrist to keep him from taking a second piece of toast at breakfast. His cousin . . . well, his cousin just plain beat him up. Other kids at school shoved him around, and his teachers avoided him completely. “When we met at the platform, he took my hand, and that’s the very first time he can remember someone touching him without hurting him at all. I’m the only one he recognizes as a friend, and because of our connection I’m the only one who can help prevent the nightmares in the first place.” Ginny spoke clearly and carefully, but tears streamed silently down her cheeks. “If you won’t let me do it for him, please, let me do it for myself. I see everything he sees, Mum, and it’s horrible. I don’t know how he’s survived like this for so long. He’s listened to Voldemort murder his mother so often, for so long, that he’s used to it. Can you imagine that? I really don’t want to find out what it’s like, Mum. Please let me help us.” Molly was crying now. Her little girl had always suspected that this boy was not the happy hero the world made him out to be, but it was shocking to see just how right she truly was. How could any mother refuse to do whatever it took to keep this sort of torment from affecting a child, especially her own child? “You can help him, Ginny? You can make it stop for both of you?” The tiny girl nodded firmly. Molly glanced back at her husband, who nodded also. “Show me. I need to see it.” Ginny needed no more permission than that. She leapt around Harry’s bed and tucked herself quickly under his flailing arm. He did not try to push her away. Instead, his left arm stilled on the mattress behind her back. Lifting the hem of his pajama shirt, she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his heaving chest. Aloud and mentally, she soothed him. “We’re here, Harry. It’ll stop now. It’ll stop.” She spoke to herself as much as to him. Harry’s body relaxed almost immediately as their connection became complete. His breathing slowed, his limbs settled, and his head fell to one side in exhaustion. Soon, he appeared to be sleeping normally. Ginny’s tears had finally stopped, as well. As the panic left her eyes, she took a deep breath and looked up at her mother without moving her head. “Thank you, Mum. Thank you so much.” “Can you wake him now, Ginny?” “I could, but I won’t,” she replied. “His body is exhausted, and he needs to rest.” She yawned. “We both need to rest.” “He’s there right now, with you, even though he’s sleeping? He can hear us?” Mrs. Weasley asked tentatively. “Yes, Mum, he’s always here if I’m awake,” Ginny mumbled, falling asleep herself. “Could you tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Ginny lifted her head from Harry’s chest to look at her mother sleepily. “It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks,” she said. Then she put her head back down. Molly Weasley raised her hand to her mouth in horror as her husband’s hands clenched on her shoulders. It was one thing to be told that your daughter shared her mind with another person, but it was quite another thing to see it demonstrated so bluntly. She realized, at last, that Ginny and Harry might always be this way. It was a truly disturbing thought. She stared at her daughter’s face for a long moment. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was relaxed. After a long and clearly stressful two days, she finally looked peaceful. Molly reached out and gently brushed a lock of Ginny’s long hair out of her face. Then she reached up and lightly stroked Harry’s forehead and cheek. The dark-haired boy did not react to her caress. Molly sighed. “Go to sleep, Ginny. We’ll sort out the rest tomorrow.” A/N: My beta, Jonathan Avery, has written a 'side story' relating to this chapter. It provides the story behind Ginny's nickname, from Arthur's point of view. The nickname was his idea to begin with. Check out the story on his author page. |
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