FACING FUTURE ONE: The Revenge of the Lime Green Bowler Hat

CHAPTER ONE: Au Fait

~*~

Someone was singing.

Harry Potter stretched and rolled over without opening his eyes, smiling to himself. . Trust Ginny to do something completely unexpected, like sing him awake! He reached out for her, but encountered only empty air.

Damn, Gin, where are you?

In the morning room.

He opened his eyes then, squinting against the glare of the sun. Sure enough the bed was empty, though the feather mattress still held the impression of where her body had laid through the night. Well, not all of the night. Harry grinned at the memory.

Fourteen rooms down,Gin, two to go!

Unless you’re counting the old servants quarters upstairs. Ginny shot back.

In that case, we have our work cut out for us. Harry grinned as he felt the blood creep up Ginny’s neck. Good. He could still make her blush. He thought it had been a brilliant plan; to make love in every room of their house before their honeymoon was over.

“You mean like a christening?” Ginny had asked when he’d suggested it on their “official” wedding night (the first part of which they’d spent exploring the rambling old house, poking into corners and discovering odd nooks and hidden passages that delighted them both).

“Well not a christening as such, unless we get real messy,” Harry replied, earning him a punch on the shoulder from his wife. “More like a — a blessing,” Harry had said, ruefully rubbing his arm. “You know, make this house truly ours.”

Ginny, who had opened her mouth to make a retort had been taken completely by surprise at this and instead had closed it again, and then had made love to him with such a slow intensity that Harry was certain that he wouldn’t have the energy to so much as lift his little finger before morning, let alone make love to her again. He’d been wrong on both counts.

It had been three weeks since the double wedding on the south lawn. Ron and Hermione had left for two weeks in the South of France. As far as the wizarding world was concerned, he and Ginny were on a three-week jaunt around Europe. Only the house elves knew that they had instead spent their honeymoon on the Potter estate. They had congratulated themselves every day on a clever plan, especially when Matthias had griningly told them of the crowd of witches and wizards that had gathered in Paris to catch a glimpse of ‘The Most Powerful Wizard Alive.’

“They had banners saying that, sir!” Matthias had been breathless with laughter as he recounted the news he had received via one of the elves employed by the Delacour household. “Banners and bunches of flowers, and when no one could find that you or the mistress had checked into any of the hotels like the published itinerary had said, well sir, there was nearly a riot!”

Nobody had been hurt, but according to Matthias the French wizarding equivalent to the Daily Prophet had received hundreds of irate letters asking why they had published ‘falsified documents,’ and Madam Bones, the newly elected Minister of Magic, had quashed a rumor stating that Harry was indeed dead and that the British Ministry of Magic was covering up the fact by releasing erroneous information outright.

Other than these bits of information, neither Harry nor Ginny had been in contact with the wizarding community for over three weeks now, which was exactly what they had wanted. A break from the world was exactly what they needed after everything they’d been through.

The only reason Matthias had shared even that much news with them, was because he had to explain to Ginny about the frantic message he had received from Ginny’s parents and how he had assured them that both Harry and Ginny were fine, that they had been in contact with himself and his wife, and had, for privacy reasons, changed their itinerary.

Harry showered and dressed before joining Ginny, chuckling with amusement as he listed to Shalinda relating to Ginny an incident from his father’s childhood.

“ . . .and then Mistress, if you can believe it, he was so embarrassed that he banished the entire crib, dirty sheets and all, sent it straight into the river, and him only two years old! ‘Twas the first magic he ever did, but not the last. The owls the Ministry sent regarding Master James, I could not rightly count. Magic came so natural to him he never thought twice about it . . .”

Shalinda had been serving the Potter family all of her life. She had cared for Harry’s father as an infant. When she had fallen in love with Matthias, an elf visiting from the Nott family on an errand, the Potters had bought Matthias for her and then had given both elves their freedom. In return, Matthias and Shalinda had both vowed to serve the Potter family faithfully of their own accord.

Their daughter, Mia, was a freeborn elf, the first of her kind in over fifteen hundred years. They lived on the grounds, in what had once been the gate-keeper’s cottage and kept the manor house and grounds in pristine condition.

Harry could have saved time by Apparating to the Morning Room, but he took his time, walking slowly through the bright and cheerful rooms he now called home.

The house he had inherited from his parents was a big rambling manor house built of native stone with a slate roof, deep set windows, solid oak doors carved from large oak planks which were worked all over with runic symbols. Ginny was determined that she would, eventually decipher them all.

The Morning Room was a bright and cheery room just off the kitchens in the South East corner of the house. It was small compared to many of the other rooms in the house, only about twenty feet square, but with banks of floor-to-ceiling windows on both the South and East walls that let in cascades of sunlight for most of the day, a thick brightly colored rug that covered most of the available floor space, and big squashy arm chairs roomy enough for two people (they’d tested this feature thoroughly).

It was far and away both his and Ginny’s favorite room (excluding the bedroom of course), and it was here that they would gravitate after breakfast each morning with steaming cups of fresh-brewed coffee to plan their day, or sometimes just to sit in silence and watch the river as it flowed by in majestic serenity.

Ginny was standing by a window wrapped only in a robe. Her long, vividly red hair hung loose down her back, catching the sunlight and refracting it into glints of scarlet and gold.

A true Gryffindor, thought Harry, grinning to himself.

“If that were the case, Potter, you really should have been in Slytherin,” said Ginny, turning her head to smile at him. “Eyes as green as yours should never have been allowed in Gryffindor.”

“My eyes are as green-” sang Harry, wrapping his arms around Ginny from behind and tucking her head under his chin, “As a fresh pickled toad-”

“There he goes again,” Ginny said to nobody in particular, “but he forgets that the pickled toads in Snape’s dungeon were purple.”

“Disgusting things,” said Harry, shivering slightly. “You know Gin, I always did wonder why Snape had all that stuff in jars.”

“Potion ingredients? That’s what he always claimed.”

“I’ve never heard of lobster claws as a potion ingredient, but there was one jar over the sink that had two huge lobster claws suspended in some sort of orange goo.”

“What about the eel ears?”

“Or the chicken tongues.”

“Who knows, he probably just kept the stuff to put students off their food. Add to his reputation.”

“Slimy git.”

“Yeah, well, at least he turned out to be on our side,” Ginny reminded him.

“He’s still a slimy git,” said Harry comfortably. “God, Gin, can you believe that it’s already been three weeks?”

“According to the itinerary we’re due home tomorrow,” said Ginny wistfully. “I really wish we could have prolonged our trip by another three weeks - at least.”

“Did we have a good time then?” asked Harry, deftly undoing the loose knot at her waist and slipping his hands under the folds of her robe.

“Mmm, a marvelous time,” murmured Ginny, nearly purring with contentment as his hands ran the length of her body. “Although neither of us has much of a tan.”

“We didn’t get out much,” replied Harry, slipping the robe from her shoulders and admiring the way the sun burnished her fair, lightly freckled skin. “It was our honeymoon, they’ll understand.”

“They’ll expect souvenirs.”

“There’s a box of them upstairs,” Harry reminded her, “Remember we sent Dobby around to collect them?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ginny, slightly distracted now as Harry had replaced his lips with his hands.

In moments they were both too busy to worry about itineraries or souvenirs or the elf who had appeared in the doorway, but who withdrew almost immediately, a wide smile gracing his face.

* * *

By the time they had both showered (it was Harry’s second shower of the morning, but he wasn’t complaining, especially given the company) and dressed, it was nearly time for lunch.

“Would the young master and mistress care to catch up on the news and their mail before they are expected to start answering questions?” asked Matthias with a toothy grin as Harry and Ginny joined himself, Shalinda and Mia at the long trestle table in the kitchen.

“Do we have to?” groaned Harry, looking at the stack of newspapers Matthias had placed on the end of the kitchen table.

“Of course not sir, but I thought that perhaps it would be best . . .”

“Why, what’s happened?” asked Ginny quickly, taking in the look on the elf’s face.

“We have respected your wishes, mistress,” said Shalinda in her soft, musical voice, “and have kept away the news, the mail . . .”

“We would have informed you if it had been an emergency,” put in Matthias, taking his wife’s hand in his own. “But so much has happened . . .things have become quiet . . .erm . . .complicated.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you were to read the news in order,” suggested Shalinda. “That way you will understand what has happened. But I must insist that it is time now for both of you to eat.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged exasperated looks. When it came to regular meals, Shalinda was nearly as bad as Ginny’s mum, and nearly as good of a cook, which Shalinda took to be a real compliment. It had to be admitted though, that Matthias’s Treacle Tart was to die for. Even Mia preferred his puddings to her mother’s. It seemed to be somewhat of a standing joke between the three elves.

“Have you heard from Winky?” Harry asked Shalinda as he helped himself to a third roast beef sandwich.

“Oh yes, she is thrilled with the accommodations. She and Dobby are very excited to be keeping house for the new Order of the Phoenix.”

It had been Harry’s original intent to let Dobby and Winky stay on the grounds, but the elves had discussed it together, and had decided that even property as large as the Potter estate did not contain enough work to keep five house elves occupied. And keeping occupied, it seemed, was a must for house elves.

It had been Dobby’s idea for him and Winky to set up housekeeping at the new Headquarters of the new Order of the Phoenix. Dobby had been placed in charge of restructuring #12 Grimmauld Place to suit the needs of the restructured Order. According to Matthias and Shalinda, it would be ready well ahead of schedule.

“I really hate this room,” said Harry, shivering slightly as they entered the formal dining room (dining hall, would actually have been a more accurate description, thought Harry. The room was easily forty feet long and half as wide). He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his dislike with any accuracy. Perhaps it was the lingering gloominess of the room, for even though the ceiling was vaulted and windows ranged along the outside wall, it was still shadowy due to the fact that the windows faced due north. Or perhaps it was the fact that the entire room was paneled with some sort of heavy, dark wood, or the two ancient suits of armor that stood in niches on either side of the massive stone fireplace like some sort of malevolent hearth gods. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, not even the elves could get a fire to stay lit in the grate for longer than an hour or two at a time. He and Ginny usually avoided the dining room it like the plague, preferring to take their meals in the cheery kitchen, which was the domain of the elves.

“We could just gut it,” said Ginny, wrapping her arms around herself and eyeing the heavily embroidered tapestries with distrust. “You know, take down all the paneling, whitewash the beams, put in a few skylights, that would be bound to let in a little light. Warm it up a little, anyway,” she added, hunching her shoulders slightly against the chill.

“I don’t know, Gin, I’m betting it would still manage somehow to be cold and damp and cheerless. There’s something, oh, I don’t know, wrong about this place.”

Neither of them, however, needed to ask why the elves had chosen this particular location to spread out the newspapers. It really was the most logical location. The newspapers had been set up around the perimeter of the huge oak table (easily large enough to seat twenty people).

“You can start here,” said Matthias, pointing to a paper at the closest end of the table. “This one is dated the day after your wedding. Reading counterclockwise will bring you up to date. I’ve lit a fire,” he added, glancing skeptically at the rather weak-looking flames in the huge stone fireplace that took up half of the wall opposite the bank of windows. “It should last you long enough to get caught up. Oh, and Mistress?” he said, addressing Ginny.

Ginny looked up, she had been bent over the first paper, grinning at the picture of Harry and herself flying off from the estate on Harry’s Firebolt. “Wedding of the Century Dazzles Guests!” boasted the headline.

“Yes, Matthias?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of assuring your mother that you and the Master will be available for Supper tomorrow night.”

Ginny groaned and Matthias smiled sympathetically.

“Which is another reason why you should catch up on your news now. It would help you to understand why she is so distraught.”

“Distraught?” said Ginny sharply, glancing sideways at Harry. “Is she okay?”

“She is fine, mistress. She is simply . . .” he paused, shrugging his slight shoulders, and gave her a rather sheepish smile. “I am afraid that when I was unable to properly answer her questions, she became rather loud of words and, well, red in the face I suppose — angry?”

Ginny groaned, putting her face in her hands.

“Angry at you, Matthias?” asked Harry, rubbing a hand across Ginny’s back and grinning sympathetically. Ginny’s mother in a towering rage was not something the elf would have a ready comparison for.

“She is not happy, Harry Potter,” said Shalinda quietly. She had been standing in the doorway, listening to her husband attempt to describe Mrs. Weasley in a fit of temper and unable to come up with a reasonable description. “She thinks that she has been lied to by you and her husband and is demanding explanations. I think, if you read, you will begin to understand.” Shalinda took Matthias by the arm and steered him out of the hall, back to the kitchens where they would be out of Harry and Ginny’s hair.

There were two other, shorter articles beneath the headline of the Potter wedding. One was regarding the ongoing investigation into the misuse of Ministry funds and resources by the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection, complete with headshots of both Fudge and Crofton. “Trial Dates Set: Ex Minister of Magic Claims No Knowledge of Misdeeds.”

“Could he have been under the Imperius Curse do you think?” Ginny asked, skimming the length of the article.”

“Possible, but I doubt it. He didn’t act like Crouch did, not at all. Nice one of you!” Harry added, pointing to the photo heading the , looking at the photo beside the second article. It showed Ginny in a very skimpy, sparkly outfit with a slit to mid-thigh. It was, Harry recognized, one of the publicity shots from the National Latin Ballroom Dancing championship Ginny and Bill had performed in the previous year. But the story beneath the picture had nothing to do with dancing.

“Wild Weasley Witch Weds Wicked Warlock” declared the caption.

Harry James Potter, the wizard who single-handedly brought about the demise of You-Know-Who was married to Ginevra Weasley, youngest child and only daughter of the newly elected head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Arthur Weasley, in a lavish wedding held on the ancestral Potter estate in the Lake District.

There is, however, reason to believe that the wedding, which took place yesterday, may have been for cosmetic purposes only. It has been rumored that the pair have been married for over a year and, if sources are to be believed, that they consummated the union while the new Mrs. Potter (who turned seventeen on June first) was still legally a minor. Other sources claim that the Weasley’s were well aware of their daughter’s liaison with the handsome Potter, but went through with the wedding so that there would be no dispute as to the legitimacy of the grandchild they are expecting in the not so distant future.

“That’s news to me!” growled Ginny, finishing the piece and flipping the paper open. “Where on earth do they come up with such rubbish?”

“Speculation,” said Harry, shrugging. “Angelina was pregnant when she and Fred got married, they figure if it can happen once . . .”

“I recognize that style though,” said Ginny, tapping the story with a forefinger. “But I thought Rita wasn’t writing anything?”

“There’s no by-line,” said Harry, squinting at the writing. “It simply says ‘daily prophet staff writer’. Bet you anything she’s putting out her garbage again!”

“Thing is,” said Ginny slowly, “You know how mum gets, if she confronted dad about us being married . . .” she gulped. “He’s as bad as Ron when it comes to telling lies,” she groaned. “The ears . . .always the ears!”

“Gin, she was bound to find out sometime!”

“And I wanted to be the one to tell her!” snapped Ginny. “I’m her daughter. She should be hearing it from me, not from — from-” She gestured wildly at the author-less article. “How could they print something like this when . . .Ooh, if I could get my hands on Rita Skeeter right about now, I’d-”

CRACK!

A bolt of lightning suddenly filled the gloomy hall with unearthly brightness. The simultaneous clap of thunder made Harry wince.

“Gin!” he said warningly. The last time he’d seen her mad enough to lose control like this, she’d been thirteen years old and in tears over Mandy Davenport’s comments regarding Ginny’s being a pureblood.

He pulled Ginny into his arms, stroking her hair soothingly, holding her head against her chest until her breathing became less ragged. He had to grin. He’d never known a girl or woman who couldn’t turn emotional at the drop of a hat. It was one of the things that made them, well, interesting . . .and . . .different.

Take Mrs. Weasley’s sudden fits of temper (or tears). Molly Weasley could yell until she was blue in the face, and then turn around and dispense hugs and hot sausages as if nothing had happened. Aunt Petunia’s icy rages had been legend in the Dursley house. If Uncle Vernon happened to do something she didn’t like, she’d become frigid, her voice brittle crystal, until he relented. Even Cho crying like a hosepipe every time she’d look at him for ten solid months had had her redeeming factors, and he was certain Malfoy was probably enjoying them to their furthest extent even as they spoke. And then there was Hermione.

Hermione’s entire third year had been nothing short of an emotional roller coaster, complete with loop-the-loops there at the end when she’d stunned them all by finally cluing them in to the fact that not only was she taking extra classes, but had been using a Timeturner to do her hours over. She’d snapped people’s heads off, slapped Malfoy around the face, walked out of Divination. In short, she’d been entirely unpredictable. And the way she could get so passionate about Ron . . .it occurred to Harry for the first time that Hermione, who he’d never really thought of as more than one of his best mates, must be a hellion in bed.

But he, Harry, would end up with the one woman whose emotions could not only turn volatile, but who had the power to act on them and (literally if she so desired) burn down the house with a single glance. That’s what he got for marrying an Elemental Magician!

Ginny sniggered into his shirt.

“A hellion in bed, Harry? What makes you think that?”

“How could she not be?”

“And Ron?”

“A lion tamer,” said Harry, grinning into her hair. “You okay now?”

Ginny shrugged. She’d be all right. She’d deal with it. Did she have a choice?

No.

“Well then, Potter, let’s get back to business.”

Two entire pages on the inside were devoted to the ongoing investigation of the previous leaderships misuse of funds and accusations of misconduct.

“I wonder if they’ll charge the employees,” said Harry, thinking of Angela Shipton and her obvious enthusiasm for the work that she did.

“She was just doing her job, wasn’t she?” said Ginny, shrugging. “I mean, during a war, a soldier is ordered to shoot the enemy. He trusts that the ones giving the orders are doing so in a responsible manner.”

“And that’s what’s the matter with this bloody planet,” growled Harry. “Nobody thinks for themselves any more. If your hypothetical soldier thought for himself, he’d realize that it doesn’t matter who he’s being ordered to shoot, killing is wrong. End of discussion. He’d put down his gun and go back to doing whatever it was he did before.”

“But every now and then you get a soldier who likes killing so much that he takes it up full time, even when the war’s done,” said Ginny with a wry smile. “And they do what, either become career soldiers, or they become, oh, I don’t know, what is the name for those disturbed Muggles who go out and just start shooting people because they think they should?”

“Vigilantes?” asked Harry.

“Something like that.”

“Are you saying that Miss Shipton will be out a job and will take up . . .erm . . .seducing men on her own?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “It’s called prostitution, Harry, or in your case, rape. There was nothing remotely seductive about what the Ministry had her do to you.”

“Damn straight,” said Harry, shuddering and turning the page. He was arrested by a large photo of Lucius Malfoy capping a small piece titled: Suspected Death Eater Still at Large!

“I — I thought Draco said that his father was dead!” said Ginny, staring at the photo, which sneered at them through cold, gray eyes.

“Voldemort said it,” said Harry running his finger down the column. “When told Draco that it was a pity that he wasn’t more like his father. Remember? Then Draco said ‘it’s true then,” and Voldemort said that he, Lucius Malfoy, had served his purpose.”

The article reported that while several individuals had reported seeing the Dark Lord kill Malfoy in a fit of temper, his wife, Narcissa, claimed to have been in contact with him after the date of the supposed execution, and had now officially filed a missing persons report. It had, according to her, been three months since she had spoken with her husband. Anyone with information regarding Malfoy’s whereabouts was asked to come forward with the information, since Malfoy was wanted for questioning regarding the possible misuse of Ministry resources for the support of Voldemort’s reign of terror.

“Thing is, if they don’t find him, Fudge could get off,” said Ginny quietly as she finished the article.

“What?”

“Well, remember how tight Fudge and Malfoy were for awhile there?” said Ginny, her forehead creased in concentration. “Well, all he would have to do is say that he’d been under the Imperious Curse-”

“Which he’s already claiming,”

“Yeah, but if he said that it had been Malfoy who’d been controlling him . . .”

“And they can’t find Malfoy . . .” Harry shuddered and turned the page. Here, among the advertisements (“Hey, look! Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes is having a sale!”) was a list of engagements and marriage notices, including a longish piece on Ron and Hermione’s wedding. “Son of Newly Elected Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Marries Muggle-born.”

“See?” said Harry, flicking the picture of a grinning Ron and a glowing Hermione with his forefinger. “This is what we’re going to change, Gin. It shouldn’t matter an iota if Hermione is Muggle-born, pureblood or a mermaid with yellow teeth. Ron and she are in love. They get married. Why does the wizarding world insist on making such — such — distinctions?”

August second’s papers proved to be less sensational and more informative. A headline regarding the dismantling of the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection, and a pronouncement by the new Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, regarding the rescinding of the order to have all non and part-humans licensed and collard graced the front page.

“Ragnock will appreciate that,” said Harry, grinning.

“So will his cat,” said Ginny, chuckling.

“Ginny?” said Harry, staring at the page, suddenly realizing something for the first time. “If they had all non and part-humans submitting to licensure and being collard, why didn’t Fleur or Gabrielle have to? They’re part Vela, right?”

“Fleur’s mother did,” said Ginny, shrugging. “She’s fully half Vela, but Gabrielle and Fleur are technically only one quarter Vela. According to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, only those half blood or greater are considered to be part human. The magical creature blood is supposed to be diluted enough after that to make them, erm, safe.”

“Well, at least we didn’t make the headlines,” said Harry, but Ginny, who had just flipped to the second page, held it up for him to see. “Okay, so I spoke to soon,” said Harry with a grimace.

A photo of Harry and Ginny (their official engagement photo), topped a story that was titled: Love Match or Political Ploy?

The mutual attraction between the two teenagers is unmistakable, but would such an early marriage have been approved if Mr. Arthur Weasley, newly elected head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had not been anxious to secure himself a position of respect in the eyes of the restructured Ministry hierarchy?

“He’s insinuated himself in every aspect of Harry Potter’s life,” quotes a friend of the family who whishes to remain anonymous. “Since the day Harry Potter rejoined the magical world, the Weasley’s have acted as his adopted family, having them to stay at their home, chauffeuring him on trips to Diagon Alley, ensuring that he become best friends with their youngest son, who is the same age as potter, and practically throwing their daughter at his head.”

Harry snorted. “That’s why you hardly spoke to me for years Gin. You knew your parents were throwing you at my head. That’s good to know.”

“Interesting, don’t you think?” said Ginny, pointing to the article on the opposite page, “That this article should run in tandem with the one about my Dad’s investigation into Crofton and Fudge.”

“Very,” said Harry. Mr. Weasley’s photo was gesturing widely, probably in conjunction with his report he had filed on the commissions findings regarding improper arrests made by the now defunct Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection.

“What I find even more interesting,” said Ginny smiling wryly as she turned the page, “Is that people can read about you and I having to get married to cover up the fact that I’m pregnant one day, and believe it, and then reading the next that it wasn’t really a love match at all, but a ploy on my parents part to ensure that dad got Madam Bones position, and believing that as well.”

“They’re getting it from a source they trust,” said Harry, smiling grimly and rustling the pages of the paper. “They figure the journalists are trustworthy, that they are there primarily to tell the public the truth. But remember what Rita said to Hermione my fourth year?”

“Which bit?” asked Ginny. “She and Rita had quite the confrontation in Hogsmeade if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, well, the bit about the Daily Prophet existing to sell itself, not to tell people the truth.”

Ginny grimaced. “Too bad really, that they’ll change their tune every couple of days just to rake in more subscriptions.”

“I think you’ll like this report though,” said Harry, pointing to a small piece under an advertisement for The Waltz Wizard’s Studio of Dance on the last page.

Resident of St. Mungo’s Long Term Ward Makes Miraculous Recovery!

Maurice Johnson, age 23, was released today from St. Mungo’s with a clean bill of health, and a thick volume which he refuses to relinquish.

As the last resident of the Long Term Ward, Mr. Johnson’s recovery signals the first time in 400 years that there have not been patients housed in the Long Term Ward. The motion to shut down the ward has been tabled by the governors of the hospital pending further investigation.

“Wasn’t that the bloke with all the books piled around his bed?” said Ginny wonderingly.

“The healer said that he believed that when he finally found the book he was looking for that the world would be able to enter a time of peace,” said Harry. They looked at each other then, and shivered.

“You don’t think . . .”

“No idea. Possible I suppose, but then, wouldn’t that mean . . .”

“No,” said Ginny flatly. “I refuse to believe that he, or I, or we could simply be part of someone’s — someone’s story. That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought you believed in the magic of possibilities,” said Harry seriously.

“Well yes, but-”

“Hey, Gin, look at it this way. If we are in a story, someone else’s story, they must be a really good writer.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, it certainly seems real enough. I mean, I can feel you,” Harry tucked her hair behind her ear, and let his lips trail down her neck. “I can feel my body’s response to you,” he whispered against her hair. “That’s good enough for me.”

Ginny’s frown melted away completely as Harry turned her around and covered her lips with his own. It took them several minutes to come up for air.

“God, Harry, keep this up and we’ll be here all day,” Ginny panted, pressing herself even closer against him. “And we need . . .we need . . .” voice trailed off as his lips found the hollow of her throat. “We need to finish.”

“Just proving my point,” said Harry gruffly, letting go of Ginny and picking up the next paper. “If none of this is real, then someone is going to have a blockbuster of a novel.”

August 4th’s paper contained an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley concerning the marriage of their daughter to Harry, a list of the people permanently incapacitated by the Questioning of the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection and a piece on “The Sexiest Seeker” which sported a flattering photo of Draco Malfoy, looking cool and aloof in his team robes and spoke of the upcoming playoffs for the Quidditch World Cup.

“Hey, what do you know, we’re all the way back on page six!” hooted Harry gleefully. But his good humor was short lived, for by August 5th they found themselves back in the headlines.

Even a drenching downpour could not quench the enthusiasm of the hundreds of witches and wizards who gathered at El Casa de Amour, the famous wizarding vacation hotel popular with honeymooning wizards, and the first public stop on the Potter’s released itinerary. They waited for hours for a glimpse of the famous couple, but were disappointed when informed by hotel staff that the Potter’s, while having reservations, had failed to check in.

“I just wanted to see for myself that he’s really alive!” said Isabella Valesquez, 36, a resident of Madrid who made the trip to Barcelona to catch a glimpse of the elusive wizarding couple. “He’s very important to the wizarding world. It’s one thing to be told that he actually killed You-Know-Who, but I’d like to have heard it from him myself.”

“Don’t people have anything better to do?” said Harry, astounded as he read a number of quotes from individuals who had traveled to Barcelona from as far away as Portugal, Morocco and Southern France.

“You can’t blame them,” said Ginny, smiling sadly at a photo of a small, dark-haired girl in pigtails who was holding up a sign that said, ‘Harry Potter, You’re My Hero!’ “That’s a lot to accept, that you killed Voldemort, that it’s all over, that they can go to bed without worrying about Death Eaters bursting into their house in the dead of night.”

“But to — to — ambush us, on our honeymoon!” said Harry, glaring fiercely at another photo of a tall, black man dressed in richly embroidered robes holding up a sign which was flashing from ‘We want Proof!’ to ‘We Want the Potter’s!’. “Don’t we deserve a few weeks without — without all of this?”

“Which is exactly why we stayed here,” said Ginny, picking up the next paper.

“Yeah, but now I feel bad,” said Harry glumly. “I mean, they all went out of their way, and we never showed up. I mean, it looks bad.”

“We’ll explain later,” said Ginny coolly. “We’ll release a statement explaining why we didn’t follow the itinerary.”

“Release a statement,” said Harry, groaning. “Damn, Gin, and I thought it was bad when I was the object of so much attention at Hogwarts. Always the hero or - or-”

“The scapegoat,” said Ginny, smiling slightly. “Lighten up, Potter, at least we have a place where we can escape from it all.”

It was true, too. The Potter Estate had been set about by some phenomenally powerful wards which, according to Shalinda and Matthias had been put in place by one of Harry’s multi-great grandfathers and which Harry and Ginny strengthened with their own elemental powers and a few handy tricks courtesy of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. And then of course, there were the elves. House elves had their own brand of magic that protected the house and grounds and were reputed to be far beyond anything that the average witch or wizard could put in place.

August sixth’s paper was hardly worth reading. Apart from the latest regarding the ongoing investigation, there was a small piece stating that Lucius Malfoy was still at large and upping the reward for information leading to his arrest, and an article relating the details in the capture of the Nudu that had been plaguing the African wizarding community for nearly two years. The only mention of himself Harry could find was a bit in an article on page two where, in an interview with the Daily Prophet, Mr. Weasley had said that he did, indeed regard Harry as a son, but that his relationship with Harry had not had the slightest thing to do with him wanting to take Madam Bones’s position.

“Back on page one,” sniffed Ginny, holding up August ninth’s edition of the Prophet. There was a picture of Harry in full Quidditch gear just below the headline:

Magical Community vies for Potter’s Patronage!

Ever since Harry Potter turned down three dream offers to play professional Quidditch (including one offer to play for the national squad) offers from other wizarding establishments have been pouring in to the famous eighteen-year-old, and the wizarding world waits with baited breath to see how Potter will choose to employ his many talents.

As the heir apparent to Albus Dumbledore, reputed to have been the most powerful wizard of the age, Harry James Potter has already demonstrated his right to carry the title of “The Most Powerful Wizard in the World” by destroying, at the tender age of seventeen, the dreaded Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, whose reign of terror spanned two generations and was responsible for hundreds of deaths.

Needless to say, there isn’t a witch or wizard who wouldn’t like to be able to say that Harry Potter is working for them. Offers supposedly include an offer for Auror training through the Ministry of Magic, a position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, just to name a few.

“Hogwarts asked you to teach?” asked Ginny, looking up from the article, her forehead creased.

“McGonagall knows better,” Harry pointed out. “She knew about the Order.”

“They must have heard about you teaching Defense this last year,” said Ginny shrugging. “Well, at least this bit’s not nasty.”

“Like this you mean?” asked Harry, holding up the headlines from the tenth of August.

PARIS WIZARDS PROTEST ABSENTEE POTTERS!

Scores of disappointed wizards stormed the Magical Centrale in Paris today demanding answers today when, for the second time in as many weeks, the newly married Potters failed to show up at the location released on their itinerary. Six people were injured when protesters stampeded at the sight of an approaching broomstick thought to belong to Harry and Ginevra Potter who were married on July 31st on the Potter estate in Great Britain.

The Potters, who are, according to their itinerary, supposed to be in Paris this week, have so far failed to put in an appearance at any of their listed destinations and rumors are beginning to circulate that perhaps Harry Potter is indeed dead. Many witches and wizards are demanding proof that the wizarding savior, Harry James Potter, is indeed alive and well.

“Perfect,” said Harry, glowering at the photo of a huge crowd of disgruntled witches and wizards all carrying banners and bunches of flowers. “More people hurt, just what I needed. Wonder why there’s a copy of Witch Weekly on the next stack?” he said, pointing to the glossing magazine on top of August 11th’s paper.

“Probably because of this,” said Ginny, holding up the cover so that he could see it. It featured Harry and Ginny’s engagement photo beneath the caption.

EVERY GIRL’S DREAM

It had to happen . . .Harry Potter, Triwizard Champion, Heir Apparent to Albus Dumbledore’s powerful legacy, the wizard responsible for the death of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, and voted by popular consent of this publication to be the sexiest wizard alive, is off the market.

He was married on July 31st to Ginevra Molly Weasley, daughter of the newly elected Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The wedding was held on the ancestral Potter Estate in the lake district and anyone who is anyone was there! From the newly elected Minister of Magic, Madam Amelia Bones, to the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Madame Olympia Maxime, the grounds were packed with the rich and famous . . .

“Oh please!” said Ginny, sniggering as she read of her “dazzling dress” and the “daring break with tradition” in not having the groom wear dress robes. “You’d think we were royalty or something, the way they carry on!”

“Gives them something to do I suppose,” said Harry, remembering the way his Aunt Petunia used to follow the lives of the celebrities in her gossip magazines. “I suppose they like to imagine that it could happen to them,” he added, grinning as Ginny turned to him, a look of incredulity on her face.

“What, they wish that they had been forcibly possessed by the most powerful Dark Lord ever seen, gone through hell when they thought they were going crazy when they realized that they were able to know what was going on inside of someone else’s mind, then watch as he fell for another girl — with them in his head — nearly loose him more than a few times, and finally have to deal with the great prat’s morbid moods and nightmares?”

“Now Gin, if it landed you — what was that they called me?”

“The sexiest wizard alive.”

“If it landed you the sexiest wizard alive, wasn’t it worth it?”

Ginny had dropped the magazine, advancing on him with an evil grin on her face. “You tell me,” she said silkily. The magazine lay forgotten on the cold, flagstone floor.

* * *

“Damn,” said Harry eloquently nearly half an hour later. “I was wondering when we’d get around to the dining room.”

“It wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected,” said Ginny vaguely, looking around her as she tried to put her clothes in a semblance of order.

“Thought it was pretty good myself,” said Harry dryly.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Potter, said Ginny, cuffing him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean. It’s always so dark and chilly in here.”

“Must have made our own heat,” Harry murmured, burying his face in her hair. “Good thing we were done with the papers on this side though,” he added, looking at the newspapers strewn across the flagstone floor.

“Did you see this bit?” asked Ginny, holding up the front page of August 12th’s issue.

“Shit.”

The picture was of an assembly of wizards in heavily embroidered robes. Nearly all of them had long hair and beards.

International Confederation of Wizards Demands Truth About Potter

In an official statement released this morning, Marcus Aurelius, current President of the International Confederation of Wizards demanded that the British Ministry of Magic produce proof that Harry Potter is indeed alive.

“Enough people have been hurt,” said Aurelius in his statement to the press following the reading of the statement. “It is time for the magical community to know the truth. Clearly, the failure of the Potters to make a public appearance after the events at Hogwarts in June is indicative of the British Ministry’s desire to conceal the truth from the rest of the wizarding world.”

“What in the devil are they talking about?” said Harry, staring at the article in confusion. “I wasn’t exactly hiding during those last couple of weeks at Hogwarts, and tons of people saw me — saw us — at the wedding! How can they think that the Ministry is trying to cover something up?”

“Well, you have to admit, after this fiasco with Fudge and Crofton,” said Ginny, smiling slightly. “The wizarding world doesn’t have much to go on trust wise now, does it?”

“But to think I must be dead, just because we choose not to make public appearances during our honeymoon?”

“They’re scared, Harry,” said Ginny softly, watching a picture of a crowd outside of the International Confederation of Wizards Headquarters in Rome, Italy. “They’ve lived in fear for years. Many of them have lost people they loved. They want someone to take responsibility. They want someone tell them that it really is over.”

“Why me? — no, don’t answer that. I know why. Same reason everyone has always wanted to get a good look at me. I’m The Bloody Boy Who Lived.”

“You were The Boy Who Lived,” said Ginny smilingly. “Now you’re The Man Who Killed the Dark Lord.”

“Great. Just what I need,” growled Harry, balling up the paper and tossing it towards the fire. “More publicity.”

“Hate to break it to you love,” said Ginny coolly, thumbing through the next copy of The Daily Prophet, “But publicity is your middle name.”

“And here’s me thinking it was James,” muttered Harry grumpily.

“If it makes you feel any better, Fudge’s trial is set for tomorrow,” said Ginny, showing him the article making the announcement.

“You mean it was set for the fourteenth,” said Harry, frowning at the picture of a now rather disheveled Fudge clutching a rather dilapidated lime-green bowler hat.

“Stupid hat,” said Harry finally, remembering the first time he had seen Fudge — and that ridiculous hat. It had been in Hagrid’s cabin at the end of his second year. Fudge had come to take Hagrid away to Azkaban, the wizarding prison, because of the attacks on students at the school. If the hat had looked ridiculous then, it looked downright absurd now. Harry caught himself thinking that it was really too bad the Dementors had all gone . . .give Fudge a taste of his own medicine: stupid, great, power-hungry git.

“I used to think he was just sort of, well, harmless,” said Harry, still staring at the picture of Fudge. “You know, sort of all bluster and blow.”

“It wasn’t until Voldemort came back in a proper body that he started to show his true colors,” Ginny agreed. “Here, see?” she said, folding the paper open to an article on the charges brought against Fudge. “Misuse of Ministry resources, misappropriation of funds — he used Ministry money to purchase stock in his own company, well, in the company that he signed over to Crofton to hold while he was Minister of Magic. And then there’s the charge of withholding information from the Wizengamont. See? There’s a whole list of people who were held without trial. Supposedly some of them even had their property confiscated, their records erased.”

“I’d like to erase his record,” growled Harry, turning to the next issue. Unsurprisingly, a large head-shot of fudge adorned the front of the paper.

Ex-Minister of Magic Found Guilty!

Disgraced ex-head of the British Magical Community found guilty of abusing his position as Minister of Magic. The trial, which was held today in old courtroom thirteen, lasted approximately four hours. The vote by the Wizengamont was unanimous. As of the printing of this issue, the court was still in session to determine the punishment to be meted out.

“What’s there to determine?” Harry wondered. “He’s guilty, lock him up. Throw away the key.”

“Hard to do without the Dementors,” Ginny pointed out. “A powerful enough wizard can break out of Azkaban now. Without the Dementors there it’s sort of, well, a token punishment at best.”

“So what else could they do to him, to make up for everything he’s done?” said Harry bitterly, thinking of Sirius and the ferocity of the Ministry’s hunt for a man they refused to believe was innocent, of the way Fudge had insinuated Umbridge into Hogwarts as a spy, and the way he’d gone after Dumbledore with a determination bordering on obsession.

“Guess that’s what they’re trying to figure out,” said Ginny, shrugging. “At least it took their minds off of us for a bit,” she added, pointing to page three where there was a formal statement issued by Amelia Bones, the Minister of Magic, in response to the International Confederation of Wizard’s demand for proof that Harry was alive.

“I have any number of reputable witches and wizards available who will attest to the fact that as of July 31st, Harry and Ginevra Potter were alive and well. Both of these young people have been through a great deal in the last year and are, most undoubtedly enjoying a well-deserved holiday.

“As to why they have yet to contact anyone regarding their whereabouts, I would think, seeing as that they are on their honeymoon, keeping in touch with family is probably not high on their priority list.”

“It is the position of the British Ministry of Magic, that the Potters are most definitely alive and we have received reassurances from trustworthy sources that Harry Potter will be back in contact with the wizarding world by September 1st at the latest.”

“Thank you Madam Bones,” said Harry, grinning at the photo of the forbidding-looking witch sporting her trademark monocle.

“She must have talked to Lupin,” said Ginny. “Or Tonks maybe. Everyone involved with the Order knows that you plan on starting things up officially on the first.”

“Yeah, and Lupin told me he’d take care of the publicity statement,” said Harry, eying the last seven papers still waiting for them. “There’s just one problem with the Ministry releasing this statement on this particular day.”

“You’re thinking that the wizarding community will be so distracted by Fudge’s trial that they won’t pay any attention to the statement.’

“If they read it at all,” agreed Harry. “Damn, the one time when it would actually have done us good to have been on the front page, we get buried on page three. With our luck they’ll stick us on the front page again on the fifteenth with some stupid crap.”

“Not with Crofton’s trial set for the fifteenth,” said Ginny, glancing nervously at the next paper in line. “Why am I not wanting to open that one up? I mean, if they convicted Fudge — an ex-minister of Magic, they won’t think twice about convicting Crofton.”

“We can hope,” said Ginny in a low voice. She picked up the next issue. They both stared at it for several minutes.

“I don’t know if I want to know what happens next,” said Harry, his throat feeling very dry. “I — I have a bad feeling.”

“Is it yours, or are you feeling mine?” said Ginny with a wry smile.

“Does it matter?”

“Probably not.”

CROFTON ESCAPES! TRIAL POSTPONED.

Andrew Crofton, age 56, disappeared from his maximum security cell at Azkaban Fortress where he was being held on a number of charges relating to the recently disbanded Department of Magical Security and Home Protection.

“Those cells are completely escape-proof,” says Warden Justin Fleming, 32. “Each cell is made of steel-reinforced concrete and anti-dis-Appeartion and retention spells are an integral part of the structure which, as you will recall, was completely re-modified after the escape of the Death Eaters two years ago. On top of that, the maximum security cells have two guards posted outside of them twenty-four hours per day.”

Authorities can not account for Crofton’s disappearance, but insist that they are doing everything within their power to apprehend the disgraced ex-head of the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection.

In response to the escape security has been heightened considerably, particularly in regards to ex-Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge (who is being held at Azkaban Fortress until his punishment has been determined). In addition to the two guards outside of his cell, there is also an Auror inside the cell at all times.

Anyone with information pertaining to the escape of Crofton is urged to contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately.

“They won’t find him,” said Harry flatly. “He’s got resources. He’s gone.”

“Where would he go? I mean, anywhere in the wizarding world and someone’s bound to recognize him.”

“I guarantee you he doesn’t have all his interest tied up in wizard money,” said Harry dully. “He’ll have outside contacts. Look at Sirius, even with his face plastered all over the wizarding and Muggle newspapers and television he still managed to escape capture for to whole years!”

“But as long as he keeps clear of the wizarding world, there’s nothing to be worried about. I mean, it’s not like he had a personal vendetta against you or anything.”

“He’s evil,” Harry insisted. “He approved Ms. Shipton’s . . .erm . . .alternative questioning methods, he made Hagrid wear a tracking collar — a tracking collar! — Hagrid! And then there’s what Bill said about the Goblins, him poisoning their stew and then making it look like they had fought another Goblin group.”

“But why would he come back?” Ginny reasoned. “I mean, there’s no point! People aren’t going to believe him now. Not after everything the investigation turned up. Sixteen people died during formal inquiry’s Harry, and that doesn’t include the three who have been incapacitated by the questioning methods he employed. That’s enough to earn him life in prison, Harry, perhaps even the death sentence!”

But Harry was shaking his head. “There’s something else, Gin. I can’t put my finger on it. But there’s something else . . .something . . .more . . .”

“Well, let’s not borrow trouble,” said Ginny, attempting to sound cheerful. “He may have been caught. We still have seven days worth of news to get through.

But he hadn’t been. They skimmed eagerly through the next week’s worth of papers to no avail. Crofton was, indeed gone, and to top it all off, just the day before yesterday, Fudge too had disappeared from his cell.

“Impossible!” croaked Harry. “There was an Auror with him the entire time!”

“Maybe he fell asleep.”

“No, look, here he’s quoted as saying “one minute he was just sitting there on the edge of his bed. I blinked, and he was gone.”

“The he must have dis-Apparated.”

“There were charms on the cells. You read the article back on the 15th! The spells are woven right into the fabric of the cells themselves.”

“Then he had help,” Ginny insisted. “Outside help.”

“Who would risk arrest to help Fudge? Especially after the whole fiasco with the investigation? Unless . . .” Harry’s voice died away.

“Crofton,” they said in unison.

“Who else?” Harry wondered. “Everyone else seems to think it’s good riddance, getting rid of Fudge. But they were partners, remember what Hermione said? They were business partners way back.

“But why would Crofton risk recapture by the Ministry just to get Fudge out of jail?”

“He knows something,” said Harry, staring at the photo of Fudge on the front of the 15th’s edition of the Prophet. “Fudge knows something about Crofton, something Crofton doesn’t want the Ministry finding out.”

“But they’ve already questioned him,” said Ginny slowly, her forehead creased in concentration.

“But maybe they haven’t gotten that far yet. I mean, some stuff is going to be obvious, like his actions at the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection. Public record and all of that. But maybe they haven’t thought to question him about stuff he did before.”

“When they were partners you mean.”

“Yeah.”

Ginny shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t like it,” she whispered, staring down at the last paper. “It worries me . . .makes me cold inside.”

“Actually, you’re probably cold ‘cause the fire’s gone out,” he said, nodding towards the heap of cold gray ashes that had, only minutes before, been, if not a robust fire, at least a mediocre one.

“It’s always doing that,” said Ginny, scowling at the fireplace. “I don’t like it. I was in here a couple of days ago, just going through — shortcut you know, from the kitchens to the music room. It felt as if I’d walked into an icebox.”

“Yeah, Shalinda says that sometimes if the pantry is full she’ll put fruit and even meat in here to keep it fresh.”

“That would explain why the table was covered in raspberries then,” said Ginny, her eyebrows raised. “I wasn’t as concerned about the berries as I was about the fact that I actually broke out in goose bumps when I walked through.”

“Definitely weird,” agreed Harry. “If I didn’t know better I’d say it was a ghost. It can get that cold sometimes.”

“But the whole room?”

“Yeah, I know. The entire hall would have to be packed with them. Besides that, I’ve never heard of a ghost interfering with a fire before.”

“Yeah, and no one had ever heard of a ghost going beyond before, either,” Ginny pointed out.

“Well, there is that.”

“Ahem.” They both turned to find Matthias waiting patiently in the doorway. “You’ve finished then, sir?”

“Yes, Matthias, thank you, we have. You were right, there was a lot to catch up on.”

“Then you will understand why I have made an appointment for you to see the Minister of Magic tomorrow morning sir. She will be wanting to arrange for you to give an international press conference regarding the events of the last few months.”

Harry stared at the elf. “A press conference?” he said blankly.

“Of course sir. It is not just the British Ministry that has been affected by your absence sir. The entire wizarding world is clamoring for news of you. They seek reassurance sir.”

“A press conference?” Harry said again. For some reason he kept picturing a Muggle news interview with microphones and cameras flashing and rude journalists shouting questions.

“That is what it is called when one wishes to announce an event to the public at large,” explained Matthias patiently. “Journalists are invited to witness the event so that they can report what they have seen to their constituent readers. An international press conference is when not only local journalists are invited to the event, but journalists from other countries as well.”

Harry caught Ginny’s eye and grinned sheepishly. It seemed that the differences between a Muggle and wizarding press conference weren’t that great after all.

“The appointment is for ten in the morning, sir,” said Matthias. “Plenty of time to meet with the Minister before you are expected at your parents house.”

“House?” said Ginny blankly. The last either of them had heard, the Weasley’s were still staying at Hogwarts, where they had been since the attack on Harry at Headquarters last Easter.

“Yes Mistress. They began rebuilding just after the wedding. All of your brothers, except the youngest, all of them have been helping. They are supposed to have moved in yesterday.”

“Cool!” said Harry, grinning broadly. “The Burrow, take two!” He glanced sideways at Ginny, who was looking nervous.

“Don’t worry, Gin. We’ll explain everything. Your dad knows anyway. I’m certain you’re mum will understand.”

“Yeah, she’ll be real understanding,” said Ginny dryly. “After she’s done yelling that is.”

“Look, Mrs. Potter, if you can handle playing host to Tom Riddle’s consciousness, if you can handle being an Elemental Magician, if you can handle being married to me, then a little yelling shouldn’t phase you in the least.”

“Prat.”

“But a handsome prat.”

“Egotistical bastard.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

“Yes,” said Harry, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply. “I would.”

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes full of love and laughter, and Harry was lost. It didn’t matter if Mrs. Weasley was on the warpath. It didn’t matter if the entire wizarding world was rioting for a look at him. It didn’t matter that deep in his heart a shadow squirmed in discomfort as a tsunami of emotion washed through him. All that mattered right now was the slim girl in his arms.

~*~

Author’s note:

FACING FUTURE: The Revenge of the Lime Green Bowler Hat, is the first story in the FACING FUTURE series. It is, however, a multi-chapter work. There will be approximately ten chapters before I post FACING FUTURE: Underhill, the next story in the series.

For those of you curious as to Harry and Ginny’s mind-connection, I refer you to SUMMER OF THE SERPENT, THE FORGOTTEN GIRL, TOWARDS TOMORROW and TODAY THE TEMPEST. All of which are posted on this site.