Salvation by PatronyBologna



Summary: Post HBP: Life is everchanging, expect the unexpected. Secrets are revealed, wrong assumptions are made.
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarstar
Categories: December Engagement Challenge (2006-6)
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2006.12.05
Updated: 2006.12.13


Index

Chapter 1: Declarations
Chapter 2: Preparations
Chapter 3: Reparations


Chapter 1: Declarations

Author's Notes: For Jaq....


Chapter One:


Declarations




Life. Various moments strung unceremoniously, continuously together. Some are taunt, ragged, or bits and pieces knotted and bound to make a whole. Speckled and banded, the rainbow of colors that litter each individual thread mark where we have been and what we have done; the darkness of sorrow, the glorious brilliance of joy. And in the infinitesimal spaces between them, before color bleeds into color; it is in these intimate moments that life seems to stop.


This was not how he had imagined it; this was not the time, nor the place. It just was.


“Gin?” It was barely a whisper. He sat facing her; waiting, expecting some sort of response– anything.

Conveniently, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were spending the evening at Bill and Fleur’s flat in London and were not due back until ten o’clock. Exactly who he had to thank for the arrangements, Harry wasn’t sure and quite honestly wondered if he should be wary of such an occasion.

Ron and Hermione, though unofficially officially together, provided themselves with errands of their own. Hermione had made sure to periodically mention throughout the week that she had not finished her holiday shopping and stressed the importance of finding just the right gift and that to do so would take a great deal planning, time and effort on her part.

The fact that Christmas was only two days away, virtually sent her into panic mode, or so that’s how she presented the matter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over lunch earlier in the day. If it wasn’t for her crooked smile in his direction, Harry would have believed the very convincing act. Even Ron was playing along nicely. Completely cool, calm, and collected, throwing in a roll of the eyes or a snort here and there for good measure, his usual method of handling an over-zealous and sometimes uptight Hermione. Harry appreciated the fact that he took it all in stride, considering Ron knew the particulars of just why the charade was being played.

Two hours ago, after a strenuous tournament of Weasley Snap, a new and improved, perfectly twisted game of Exploding Snap, Fred and George bid their adieus with obvious winks in Harry’s direction. He was sure he heard George mutter something about all night and a merry sunshine-something or another.

Either way, Harry and Ginny had been left alone at the Burrow, together.

What started out as playful banter became much more serious, though how it came about, Harry was unsure. For the first time since the funeral, he talked to her. Not just the civil, polite, completely sterile conversation two estranged friends would have upon a chance meeting in a shop or hall, but open, truthful, and heartfelt dialogue. One subject lead to another and then another, building unexpectedly to what Harry had been planning all along– just not like this– but the moment felt right and barring any intrusions or sabotage, this was the best opportunity he had and he could no longer keep it to himself.

He watched anxiously as the slender redhead sank further into the threadbare, gold velour cushions of the sofa. Her once rosy cheeks had lost their color; her eyes glazed and distant.

Swallowing his pride to make room for concern, he nervously asked again, “Gin?”

She took a quick, shallow breath and paused, leaning over as if she were going to stand and leave. Slipping the ring he held delicately between his fingers into his front trouser pocket, Harry knew what was coming.

“I know…” Sighing, he turned away from her dejectedly and focused his attention on a small crack in the keystone brick above the dying flames, “I don’t know what– I don’t blame you for–“

No sooner than he could stumble out the rest of his apology, Ginny divulged exactly how she was feeling.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said, and proceeded to do so all over the hearthrug.

“I’m sorry.” Wide-eyed, Harry took her response to his proposal quite literally. He never fathomed that asking the love of his life to marry him would garner such disgust. Granted, it wasn’t the most romantic or even the most eloquent of proposals, but every bit of his declaration was sincere. He felt every word and knew– no, he thought he knew– that she felt the same.

“Ohh…” Ginny whined, now with a slight tinge of green in her complexion and made a mad, pell-mell dash up the stairs for the loo, skipping several steps as she went, rapidly disappearing out of sight.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered over and over again to himself, pacing the space between the sofa and the hearth, pausing for a moment to cast Scourgify on the pool of sick below his feet before continuing his rant. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

He ran his fingers through his mess of hair and tugged at the nape of his neck, letting loose a deep sigh as his arms fell back to his sides, dangling pointlessly back and forth. Harry made the long journey up to the second landing and gingerly knocked on the door.

“Gin?” His voice cracked, “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?”

From behind the door, he could hear her retch again followed by the whoosh of the toilet being flushed.

“Nuh-uh,” was all he was able to make out before she was drowned out by the tap.

“Can I get you something, a potion maybe?” Desperate to undo what he had done, Harry remained hopeful, wondering if he dared to try to obliviate the last ten minutes from her mind and if doing so would help her current, sudden illness.

“Uh,” Could be heard as the spigot squeaked closed. “OH!”

Harry’s forehead hit the cool wood of the bathroom door with a dull thud, “I’m sorry, Ginny,” he spoke into it amidst a new bout of heaving, “I think its best if I go.” Pausing for a reply that would never come, Harry finished, “I’ll send word to your mum that you’re feeling a bit under the weather.” With a final thud against the door, he turned and walked away.




Four Months Earlier….


The musty tang of the dirt floor, mingled with the acrid scent of old chewing tobacco and wool, stirred through the air within the rough hewn walls of the old storehouse as they creaked and groaned; a late summer storm beat against it without remorse. Harry’s cries were indistinguishable from the howl of the wind.

“Just hold tight, Ron,” Hermione took command of the situation and tore off another strip from what was left of a lilac t-shirt tucked inside her rucksack. “Keep the pressure on it and don’t move or pull it out.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Ron bit back, both his hands covered in blood, firmly pressing on the left side of Harry’s abdomen where there was a rather large shard of wood protruding from it. Harry hissed from the pain and tried hard not to move. This was bad and he knew it.

After the wedding, they had traveled around the upper portion of England and into Scotland in their hunt of the horcruxes. An old steamer trunk that they believed to have contained the cup once belonging to Hepzibah Smith, one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, blew to pieces as Harry approached it near the back of the building; a bad tip from a somewhat reliable source. He would pay for this one. If there was a bright side to his current predicament, it was the relief of knowing that Ron and Hermione remained, for the most part, uninjured thanks to the crates responsible for such a distinctive stench. It was his fault this had happened; a simple mistake he knew better to make. He hoped to live long enough to regret it.



Harry was glad that he had discussed a contingency plan with Ron and Hermione. Their first night out on their own, after Ginny’s birthday, Harry made arrangements– his final arrangements– that if something should happen to him, they were to carry on with their lives the best they could. Not wholly unexpected, Ron and Hermione promised to keep the fight, find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and if they survived long enough, kill Voldemort in Harry’s stead. And with much reluctance on their part, equal portions of Harry’s money was to be split between Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lupin, the twins, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, with a modest sum earmarked specifically for Dobby.

Harry pulled Ron aside later that evening while Hermione slept and sternly whispered his last request of him. “Ron, I want you to have Grimmauld Place.”

“Me?” Ron was taken back.

“Shh,” Harry raised his hand to quiet him; they both glanced toward Hermione, who was comfortably curled up in the only bed of the room. “Don’t wake her.”

Ron screwed up his face and leaned in closer, matching him eye to eye. “Why? Straight up, Harry, why?”

“Well, it has a lot of rooms for one thing,” Harry opened his eyes wide and lowered his head as he said the last bit hoping Ron would understand what he was trying to say, “and I’m sure you’ll need it.”

“For what, the Order?” Ron squinted, not following Harry’s train of thought. “This doesn’t have something to do with S.P.E.W., does it? Is that why you don’t want Hermione to know? Am I supposed to start up some kind of House-Elf halfway house or something?”

Completely straight-faced, Harry spelled it out for him, “Just so you and Hermione can have a place of your own if you want it and room enough to fill it.”

Ron’s eyes glanced up and to the right as he fell back on his heels. Harry could see the cogs in motion until an unpretentious smile stretched across his face. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Just don’t name one after me.” Harry patted him on the shoulder as he passed on his way to his improvised bed on the floor.

Following his cue, Ron blew out the lamp and took up his space on the floor. Before resting his head on his rucksack, the redhead whispered across the room, “Just so you don’t curse me from beyond, I reckon I won’t have much of a say in the matter.”





Handing Ron the new makeshift bandage, Hermione frantically thumbed through a small Medi-Witch guide to first aid. She knew enough to be aware that she couldn’t physically remove the splinter and that Harry needed more than just a simple healing spell or potion. She was looking for something to just get him by; they were a long way from Hogwarts and any trusted help.

“Tell Ginny I love her.” Harry held back a groan. “I always have, never stopped.”

“You tell her, mate.” Ron tried to smirk. “I’m certainly not going to.”

“I was going to marry her.” Harry let a small, painful laugh escape. “I wanted to marry your sister.”

“He’s delusional,” Ron whispered to Hermione out the side of his mouth, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Where’s the potion already?”

Harry mustered the fight, pausing after every other word or two. “I may be bleeding all over the place, and I may be skewered through the middle, but I’m not delusional.”

“Okay, Harry.” Ron carefully shifted the pressure, still trying to stop the bleeding from the other side. “You want to marry my sister, who says she wants to marry you?”

“Ron!” Hermione shook her head, still scanning the miniature pages. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m up to my elbows in Harry’s blood and I’m not helping?”

“Hey, I thought you were arguing with me.” Harry’s eyes were barely open and he was slowly gasping for breath.

“I am!”

“You and Hermione.” Harry’s eyebrows wiggled slightly, recalling their late night conversation.

“Never mind me and Hermione, I believe we were discussing how you want to make my sister your little woman– your ball and chain– Mrs. Harry Potter of all things.” Ron tried to spur him on, but Harry slipped from consciousness.

“Oh no,” Hermione whispered, holding the vial of blood replenishing potion between her thumb and index finger, “there’s not enough, I don’t know what to do.”

“It’ll have to do.” With one hand, Ron took the near empty vial, uncorked it and dripped what remained of the purple contents into Harry’s pale, parted lips. “Let’s get him to Madam Pomfrey; nobody else is good enough to marry my sister.”





“Hey.” Slightly groggy and blurry-eyed, Harry recognized the swirl of red in front of him.

“About time.” Ron closed the book he was reading, slouched forward in his chair, and grabbed Harry’s glasses from off the bedside table and handed them to him.

With his glasses on, he could see his surroundings and knew exactly where he was. “How’d you manage?”

“We just did.” Ron left it at that. “Hermione’s in the library of course, she got special permission from the Headmistress to use the Restricted Section. That is, until school starts in three days.”

Harry pushed up from the bed and threw the bedclothes off him, revealing a patch of gauze on his bare chest where he had been injured. “Oh.”

“It was cursed,” Ron said matter-of-factly, “Apparently someone was tired of us poking around. We were set up.”

“I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Harry carefully peeled away one side of the gauze revealing a slightly oozing, pink wound about twice the size of a galleon. “Great, another scar.”

“Madam Pomfrey said that it’ll fully heal in a couple of days, but yeah– you’ll have another scar.”

“Where is she, anyway?” Harry pressed his finger along the edge of the plaster, resealing the gauze against his skin, and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

“She and McGonagall left about an hour ago.” Ron stood up and slid the chair back into its place next to the bed. “They kept whispering. Well, McGonagall was doing all the whispering and Madam Pomfrey did a lot of nodding, to be exact. She asked me to stay here with you until she got back. Hungry?”

“Starved.” Harry tried out his legs and felt a slight pull in his stomach and back. He felt around to the other side where there was another square of gauze.

“Dobby?” Ron asked the empty hospital wing.

Instantly, the clothed House-Elf appeared with a small pop and upon seeing Harry upright, leaped and wrapped his arms around Harry’s legs. “Harry Potter Sir is all right!”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” Harry grabbed his pajama trouser strings and quickly tugged them tight around his waist. “I’m just fine, Dobby,” he said and pried the exuberant elf off his legs. “Thank you.”

“Harry Potter Sir didn’t look so good when Dobby was summoned, Sir. You’s was sleeping in a bad way; lots and lots of blood–” Dobby recoiled at the thought of it, “and Mr. Wheezy and Miss Granger didn’t look so good either, but Dobby knew how to help Harry Potter, Dobby brought you to Hogwarts.”

Astonished, Harry glanced to Ron and then back to the beaming elf. “I owe you my life again, Dobby.”

“No, Dobby would do anything to protect Harry Potter Sir. Dobby owes Harry Potter his life.”

Ron coughed quietly and asked, “Dobby, how about some breakfast for Harry, all his favourites?”

“Dobby knows just the thing!” And with that, Dobby Disapperated to the kitchen.

“Here,” Ron took out a shirt and a pair of jeans from the lowboy at the foot of Harry’s bed and tossed it to him. “You might need these.”

“Thanks.” Harry eased the shirt over his head and shoulders, taking particular care in pulling it over his wounds.

“I’ll stand guard.” Ron turned around and sat on the dresser facing the door to the hospital wing, giving him his privacy. “So, did you mean what you said, or were you delusional like I thought you were?”

Stepping out of the blue-ticked trousers that were now crumpled on the floor, Harry pulled on his jeans and replied, “Every word of it.”

“Don’t make me tell her.” Ron kept his eyes on the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t make me be the one to–”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Harry zipped his pants and threaded the button through. “I just don’t know when.”

“The sooner the better,” Ron shrugged.

“It’s complicated.” Harry sat back down on the bed letting Ron know he was safe to join him. “I said some things that I shouldn’t have. I’d be going against every reason and excuse I told her at the funeral.” Ron turned to face him, ready to offer up any advice he could give. “I don’t even know if–“

“Oh, she loves you.” Ron shook his head, dispelling Harry’s doubts.

“How do you know?” Harry asked, scooting up against the headboard. “Did she say anything?”

“Hermione.” Ron smirked. “Nothing gets by her.”

“How did that subject come up?” Pulling his knees up, Harry wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin in the space between.

“Uh, it just did.” Ron shifted a bit and looked uncomfortable. “You were right about me and Hermione. We–uh–Hermione didn’t want to end up like Ginny.”

“End up like Ginny?” Harry looked up, believing that he had hurt her more than he imagined. “Like Ginny how?”

“Without knowing– without knowing that–” Frustrated, Ron sighed. “Hermione and I, well, she knows how much I love her, she knows that after all of this, if– when we survive, she knows I won’t leave her. I’ll always be–”

“Be what?” Harry was beginning to feel like he had been left in the dark.

“Do you really want to marry Ginny?” Ron avoided the question and futilely tried to get back to the original topic.

“Be what?” He wasn’t going to let it drop. “Be Hermione’s what?”

Ron glanced to the door, got up off the lowboy and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Harry. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” Harry was thoroughly confused by this point.

“It should be Mrs. Weasley,” Ron whispered.

“Your mother?”

“I promised I wouldn’t say–she didn’t want it to be ‘weird’ between the three of us.” Ron whispered all at once. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell you, so technically I’m not.”

“Are you sure you’re not delusional?” Harry asked skeptically, “At least I had a good reason to be at the time, but what does your mother have to do–”

“Don’t be weird,” Ron pleaded, checking the door again for intruders. “She’ll kill the both of us.”

“Mrs. Weasley…” Harry said wonderingly. It was like being speared through the gut again when he finally caught on to what his best mate was trying to tell him. “Mrs. Ronald Weasley! When? How?”

“This summer, after the wedding.” Ron flushed slightly.

“The same day?” Ron merely nodded while Harry recounted the day in his mind, looking for a possible time it could have occurred. “Who else knows, and where was I?”

“Only Dobby. You were preoccupied with Ginny at the reception. Mum and Dad were doting over Bill and Fleur and thanking guests.” Uneasy with all he was revealing, fearing the pending wrath of his best mate and his bride even more, Ron muttered out the final details. “In the garden. We were already somewhat dressed for the occasion, the Sealer was there... we had made all the arrangements before, nobody knew and it worked out rather well. I asked Dobby to help out, to keep watch and promise not to tell anyone as a personal favour.”

“No wonder he came when you asked.” Harry was still in awe.

“Yeah, well… being your best mate does have some perks other than getting into life and death situations on a regular basis. Just remember, I didn’t tell you anything.”

Pop! Dobby reappeared with a tray piled high full of Harry’s favourites, so much so that a thick ham steak teetered precariously over the edge. “Mr. Wheezy,” Dobby set the tray down on the bed, “Miss Granger is on her way back to the hospital wing.”

Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the mention of Miss Granger, which earned him a dirty look. Ron snatched a sausage link off the tray in reprisal. “Thanks, Dobby.”

“Dobby, would you mind escorting her to the hospital wing? Harry and I need to discuss a few things.”

“Dobby would be honoured.” The elf bowed deeply and disappeared again.

“Nuw, batch twu d’poynt,” Ron mumbled through partially chewed sausage and swallowed audibly. “Ginny?”

“Well, since you seem to be experienced in secret weddings of which your best mate, let alone your family, wasn’t even aware of…” Harry sliced thought the ham steak that had caught his eye earlier. “It’s obvious I’m going to need your help.”

“You can’t marry her yet.” Ron eyed another sausage link. “She’s not of age. Mum and Dad would have to approve, which won’t be a problem, but I’m guessing that you’d like to keep it quiet. It’s complicated.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry chased down his ham with ice cold pumpkin juice. “I can’t let him know–I can’t let anyone know–she’d be as good as dead, but I don’t want her to–” He took a quick swig and set the glass back on the silver tray, giving himself a moment to find his words but the sound of the door swinging open told him his time was short. “–if a promise is the only thing I can give her, it’ll have to be enough. You or anybody else for that matter shouldn’t have to tell her how much I love her.”

“All right then.” Ron popped an apple wedge into his mouth. “Lebts jib toob ibt.”

“Hi, Harry.” Hermione walked in carrying a pile of old, leather-bound books. “Feeling better? Dobby said he’ll be back to visit later. Professor McGonagall had an errand for him.”

“Yeah, thanks.” It was hard not to blurt out his congratulations; Harry wasn’t sure how long he would last without saying something incriminating so he kept his answer short, bit hard on the inside of his cheek, and made sure, at least for the time being, not to meet her eyes.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked suspiciously, setting her books down on the lowboy and taking a seat on the bed next to Ron.

In mock astonishment Ron declared, “He wasn’t delusional.”


AN: A most sincere thanks to Cwarbeck who has worked her magic for me yet again. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.

This is a three chapter entry, so all the gaping holes will be filled in. I've never tackled a timeline like this before. Here's hoping I can decently wrap it up and tie it off with a big red bow. Thanks, ~Patrony :)

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Chapter 2: Preparations

Chapter Two:


Preparations





“The three of you may stay, but on one condition.”

Uneasy with having any limitations, no matter what the intentions were behind them, Harry left the door open to possible negotiations and gave a slight nod; they would at least be respectful enough to hear her out.

“You will attend classes–” Expecting the worst, the Headmistress pushed herself up from her desk chair and in a rather foreboding pose for a woman of her age and size, stood her ground and continued, “you will attend classes whenever you are not otherwise engaged.”

“So that means not at all.” Ron was equally firm in his defence, but remained seated, slouched against the back his chair.

“Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall took a moment and glanced down at her desk, running her fingertips along the edge of the leather writing pad. When she began again, her tone was less severe, almost pleading. “I do not need to tell you how close Hogwarts came to having its doors locked down. Only a quarter of the student population will be returning this evening. Though I do not condone special treatment, I have been advised to offer you Hogwarts as a sanctuary as the three of you see fit; a place not only to learn, but to give you rest and the means to carry on with whatever it is the former Headmaster has entrusted you with. However, I can only extend such an offer if you are indeed students.”

Upon hearing the mention of Dumbledore, Harry finally gained the courage and looked to his portrait on the wall. The previous Headmaster wore what suspiciously looked like a smug, satisfied expression as he quietly watched the proceedings from his nearby perch.

“Professor McGonagall?” Hermione sat on the edge of her chair, “Are you implying that we can come and go as we please, get what information we can find, and still meet our N.E.W.T. requirements?”

“It would seem so. One private, half-hour class a week with a professor and subject matter of your choice, is all that is required.” The witch carefully took her seat again and pulled a piece of parchment from the top left hand drawer. “As long as you take the final examinations at the end of the year– and pass with acceptable marks– you will graduate.”

“Professor?” Harry asked over the scratching of her quill. “Won’t that be putting Hogwarts and its students in further danger than they need to be?”

“As long as you are students, Mr. Potter, you are welcome.” McGonagall did not bother to look up from her parchment. “As you know, there are measures in place to keep Hogwarts relatively safe, though I am not foolhardy enough to forget that it is not infallible.” The astute woman paused for a moment to look over her work through her bifocals. “I will be giving you the means necessary to pass through the wards.”

“Thank you,” said Harry sincerely.

“While I have you here, there are a few items of some importance we must attend to, such as new lodging arrangements, etcetera, etcetera– assuming that I will be adding three more students to the attendance roll.”

“We can’t stay in Gryffindor tower?” asked Harry, somewhat disappointed.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter. But after six years of clandestine activities, I’m sure you can navigate these walls without drawing undue attention to yourself.” Professor McGonagall relaxed back into her chair, removed her square spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Speaking as the Headmistress, I have met what requirements are needed to make you students. As a member of the Order, I understand that you three, in particular you, Harry, have circumstances to deal with which are far greater than any other student that has ever attended Hogwarts. It is my wish — and the late Professor’s — that Hogwarts continue to provide you with the knowledge and the tools in order to give you the best chance to succeed in your quest.”

“I understand,” Harry acknowledged what she was trying to do and the constraints given by the Ministry and the Board of Governors that she had to work with. However, he wasn’t about to make the decision himself and consulted the others for their input.

“Hermione?”

“It would help.” Despite her logical response, Hermione was beside herself at the opportunity of finishing school. “We’ll have access to the Restricted Section and the archives?”

The Headmistress replaced her glasses and nodded. “I will give instructions to Madam Pince. You will also be given three Portkeys that will take you to the hospital wing in case there is another emergency. Madam Pomfrey has to put together an extensive kit of medical supplies as well.”

“Ron?”

“If I don’t have to complete assignments...” He shrugged, giving Harry his blessing to accept McGonagall’s offer.

“We’re in.”

“Welcome back to Hogwarts.” The Headmistress tore off the bottom portion of the parchment she had been working on and beckoned the three to examine it as she slid it across the desk. “Read and remember.”






Three Months Later…





“Oi!” George stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk on Upper Street as they were making their way back from a late afternoon sales meeting with the Ministry. Taking in the sights and sounds of holiday shoppers, and mingling with Muggles always provided them with unusual inspiration. “What do you make of that?”

“Of what?” Fred, a few paces ahead, turned to see what had piqued his brother’s interest. He glanced down at the soggy edition of yesterday’s London Evening Standard below George’s feet. He cocked his head to the side and read what he could make of what was lit up by the orange glow of the streetlamps and flashy shop signs. “There’s a holiday sale at Sprocks and Bridgeforth’s on the first of December? Okay, granted that giving the one you care for a lovely scarf is thoughtfully odd and all, but–”

“Not that.” George rolled his eyes and nudged his head toward the store window just ahead of them. “That.”

Hovering over one of the many glass cases were the backs of three very familiar heads. One ginger– like theirs, one bushy-haired brunette, and an unruly mess of jet black hair.

“I suddenly feel the need to shop for jewellery.” A plan was in the making as Fred whisked open the shop door and ushered George inside.

“And the ruby means what again?” Ron asked the muggle shopkeeper, eyeing a striking oval cut ruby ring Hermione held between her fingers.

“Lust,” Fred piped up over Hermione’s shoulder, startling not only her but the entire group.

“Yep, lust,” George concurred and expounded, joining the fray. “Shameless, wanton, abandon–”

“Enough.” Ron tried to put a stop to it. He took the ring from Hermione and gave it back to the shopkeeper.

The salt-and-peppered haired man chimed in with a toothy grin, “Passion, Miss, the ruby represents passion– fire and heat.”

“See,” Fred sighed, “It’s so stereotypical to assume that a bloke doesn’t know his gemstones.”

“Would you like to see another, Sir?” Ignoring the interruption of a possible sale, he pulled another display out from under the case to be viewed. “Sapphires perhaps?”

“No– no thank you.” Ron was quick to end the parade of engagement rings.

“Oh, go ahead, don’t mind us, we’re his brothers.” George motioned for the salesman, who was all too happy to oblige, to bring out the display again. He pointed to a setting on the topmost row. “I like that one.”

“Figured you get the ring before you get the girl, Ron?” Fred crowded in and watched as George stuffed what he could of the ring onto his finger, showing it off to the tight-lipped group. “I have to admire you strategy, little brother.”

“Ah, a handsome choice for your consideration,” the salesman said smoothly; he was a seasoned professional after all.

“Nah, it didn’t look as good on, I’m afraid.” George twisted off the ring and neatly set it back into its slot.

“Sweeten the pot.” Fred patted his younger brother’s back, praising him on such a shrewd idea. “Maybe then you could tempt some poor, unfortunate-looking girl to marry you.”

Harry took a quick look at Ron, who was starting to ball his hands into fists. He understood that Ron and Hermione were taking the brunt of the situation to protect him and Ginny from the sudden intrusion of twins.

“Hey, Hermione, you’re a good sport to go along and try all these on.” Fred offered her his favourite ring. “Here, what do you think about that one?”

George placed his hands on Hermione’s shoulders, who was blushing like mad, and said, “Now look at Ron over there, he’s the one that looks half a pint short and a bit ruddy in the face. Would you want to marry a bloke like that if he gave you this ring?”

Ron and Harry were surprised by Hermione’s deliciously ruthless reply. “I wouldn’t be tempted to marry either of you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Nope, sorry Ron– you might as well give it up– a brilliant scheme though– it won’t work.”

“Hermione’s your friend and even she won’t have you,” Fred consoled.


“Out. Side. Now.” Ron ground out through clenched teeth, trying not to make more of a scene than it already was; he had reached his limit.

“Yeah, I think we could all use a bit of fresh air.” Harry’s tone was enough to make the twins follow suit and drop their well-mannered shenanigans.

“Thank you for your time, Sir.” Fred gave back the marquis cut sapphire ring and filed out the shop door with the rest of them.

Thinking fast, wanting to avoid any type of discussion in the middle of Muggle London, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “I haven’t been the shop in a while.”

Though the twins had a tendency to take things too far, they did know how to take a hint.

“Right this way.” Fred smiled meekly. He zipped up his dragon-hide jacket and led the way back to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes through a light, misty rain.






“We’re sorry, Ron.” George was the first to offer an apology; the bell bleakly clinked as the door shut behind Verity, who had just been excused for the day, leaving them alone in the shop.

“Apologise to Hermione.” The walk through the rain had given Ron some time to cool off and consider his next move, making things a bit more civilised. However, he remained protective of his wife nonetheless.

“I am sorry, Hermione.” Fred began sincerely, holding open the curtain to the backroom where they could talk, out of view of the street. “We were just taking the mickey out of him.”

“It was nothing against you.” George offered his hand to her as she passed through.

Wanting to settle the hostilities, she accepted his offer of forgiveness. Fred, eager to be included, made to grasp her left hand; Hermione tried to pull away but it was too late.

With a wink of Weasley charm, she knew at least part of the gig was up.

“I’m glad you’ll be our sister.” Fred whispered into her damp hair, beaming from ear to ear and proceeded to take her up in a bone-crushing hug, spinning her around on the spot.

“Hey!” On the cusp of losing his temper, Ron was quick to jump in.

“Ron!” Fred released Hermione and grabbed him in a manly, one-armed embrace.

Seeing the events unfold and helpless to stop it, Harry practiced a few non-verbal spells by inconspicuously locking all entrances and casting Muffliato to keep anyone within earshot from overhearing things they shouldn’t. He retreated to the furthest, most out of the way corner he could find and busied himself by reading the warning labels on the twins’ latest inventions.

Completely oblivious to the reasons of Fred’s erratic behaviour, George, with his hands on his hips in a pose very much like their mother’s, asked, “All right, what’s with all the touchy-feely?”

“Our little brother has some news.” Almost giddy, Fred took a step back to enjoy the look on George’s face when comprehension struck its blow.

“I uh, we–” Ron stammered, trying desperately to keep their secrets.

“They’re engaged!” Fred blurted out like a five-year old who got an early peek at the Christmas presents, “Ron and Hermione are engaged! It is you, right, Ron?”

“No way.” Gaping, George looked between the accused before deciding if there was any truth to the matter. “Congratulations!” And with the same macho air, he wrapped Ron tightly in an embrace. “May I hug our future sister?”

Figuring that asking politely was permission enough, George scooped Hermione up and twirled her around as well.

“So you two were serious!” Taking a few steps back, slightly out of breath but still chuckling, George wanted details. “I never would have thought in a million years–“

“Yeah, we know.” Ron sighed, tucking a frazzled but happy, Hermione close to his side.

“No way...” George mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “How’d you know, Fred?”

Harry held his breath and waited for it.

“I felt the ring on her finger.” Taking the time to think about it logically, Fred and George picked up the trail. “Wait, she already had a ring on her finger.”

“So why would she be trying on another?”

“Those obviously weren’t for blokes–”

“Dear sister-to-be, would you mind showing us?” George asked sweetly.

Warily, Hermione looked to Ron for reassurance; she knew if she removed the Disillusionment Charm she had placed upon her ring, his would be revealed as well. Explaining a secret engagement would be a whole lot easier than a secret wedding.

“She doesn’t need to, George.” Fred eyed the two of them keenly. “We’re getting off track.”

Like a couple of feral lions sniffing blood in the air, George redirected the line of questioning. “So why would they be looking at engagement rings– again?”

Slightly panicked, Ron tried to catch a fleeting look from Harry in the background; that was all the ginger-maned beasts needed. Ron had inadvertently betrayed him.

“Harry!”

Instantly, both Weasleys rounded on him. Harry nearly dropped the box of Insta-Shields he was looking at and hoped he wouldn’t be in desperate need of one anytime soon. He had to admit that they looked very intimidating, dressed in dragon-hide, and wondered if he would make it out alive with none of his limbs missing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” George’s eyes pinned him against the display cabinet; all Harry could do was stammer aimlessly, unable to complete a single explanation in his defence.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Fred snapped and snarled.

Whatever favour he gained as The Boy-Who-Lived, Ron’s best mate, or their benefactor was apparently not enough to save him.

Ron jumped in again; he seemed to be doing that a lot of that lately. “You two better quit while you’re ahead.”

“Who is she, Harry?” There was something very unsettling, condemning even, in Georges’ tenor.

“We know about you and Ginny.” Fred took the first bite of flesh.

“We know that you two were together.” George continued to get to the heart of the matter. “We know that since the funeral, Ginny hasn’t been the same.”

“You got it all wrong.” Harry swallowed hard; he knew the Weasley brothers were not to be meddled with when it came to their one and only baby sister.

“You couldn’t take you’re eyes off her at the wedding–“

“And now you’re planning to propose to another girl!” Fred sunk his claws in deep.

Frustrated by the accusations and cynical assumptions, Harry practically shouted, “I’m proposing to her!” Making himself take deep, steadying breaths, Harry waited for them to go for the jugular and end him in one, swift burst of rage amid the silence which was unexpectedly broken by laughter.

Satisfied from the hunt, George smirked. “We knew you would.”

“What?” Thrown by the sudden change of events, Harry tried to keep up as the twins bounced back and forth.

“When’s the date–“

“Can we help? I know the perfect spot–”

“Do you need sometime alone?–”

“Of course they need time alone, George–”

“I just thought I’d asked if he had it all worked out–”

“Oh, the ring! He still needs a ring–”

“Faerie lights and violins–”

“Hold on, girls.” Hermione mocked, trying to rescue Harry from the strangely feminine happiness of the twins, “I know you’re all excited, but give the guy a break.”

“We love you, Hermione!” The twins grinned in unison, and even Ron had to smile.

“Look, you two need to keep this to yourselves. No one– absolutely no one– under any circumstances, can know.” Harry firmly laid down the first rule now that it was out of the bag.

“And just for the record, that goes for Hermione and me as well.” Ron made sure to stick the point.

“Seriously, Harry, we couldn’t be happier,” George said with a hint of soberness. Harry was given the same masculine show of affection, further welcoming him into the fold.

“A Holiday Proposal it is!” Fred clapped is hands together and rubbed them fiendishly. “We have a lot of work to do, only twenty-three days left.”






Twelve Days Before Christmas …





“I was thinking maybe at King’s Cross.” Harry shrugged, recalling the memory of Ginny running behind the train, even then she had made an impression. “On the platform.”

“Where you first met.” Hermione put the significance together and nudged Ron, “We all met on the train, and you had a bit of dirt on your nose.”

“I still have a bit of dirt on my nose.” Ron wiped his sleeve across his face; they had just finished cleaning Bill’s old room now that he had moved everything out to his flat. Mrs. Weasley said that Harry could room there since the twins decided to stay at the Burrow throughout the holidays.

“King’s Cross it is.” Fred slid out a chair and magicked the kettle to pour him a fresh cup. “We can get a flashy, light-up banner if you’d like.” Harry nearly spit out his tea. “Too over-the-top?”

“Why don’t you send out invites to the Death Eaters while you’re at it?” Hermione helped herself to a wheat roll left over from dinner the night before. “Harry may want to shout it from the rooftops but–”

“Just because he’s been marked for death by the Dark Lord and all doesn’t mean he can’t make it memorable.”

“How did he ask you?” George inquired; the thought of Ron mustering a decent proposal was a hard stretch.

“It was just us.” Ron wasn’t about to reveal much more than that.

“It was perfect.” Hermione smiled, also withholding information, to the twins’ chagrin. “And it was personal, as it should be.”

“Huh, I need to rethink this.” Harry shook his head at the whole idea; he knew what he wanted to do, but planning details seemed tedious and beside the point.

“Look, Harry,” Fred intervened. “We’re not daft. We just want it– for you and Ginny– to be special. We’ve seen what’s out there and what you’re up against–”

“McGonagall has kept the rest of the Order informed. We know you’re not spending most days, or nights for that matter, at Hogwarts, otherwise you wouldn’t be here–“

“–and that a time or two has been rather sketchy to say the least.” Fred pointedly glanced to where Harry’s abdomen would be underneath the tabletop. “I have to say Mum and Dad have been taking the news of the three of you running about the countryside rather well, if you exclude the fact that Mum’s been a nervous wreck and Dad keeps checking in with Kingsley to hear of any word of attacks involving you lot.”

“Ginny, on the other hand–”

“I see her when I can.” Harry rolled back into his chair and gazed at the ceiling. “I haven’t been able to spend much time with her–as much as I should– she has every right not to even speak to me.” He remembered the last time he saw her: saying their good-byes, giving her a quick, chaste, friends-only kiss amongst the shadows of the tall oak doors, and her reserved, understanding smile as she watched him disappear into the darkness. “I need to tell her my way.”

“Have you found a ring yet?” Fred asked and from the reaction he got, presented his own solution. “Have you found a setting you like?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. “something about it didn’t quite seem right.”

Little did the twins know that in their efforts to find Salazar’s locket, Harry had been in every jewellery store, antique shop, consignment business, second-hand junk shop– Muggle and wizarding alike– for the last three months. Not all of his visits had been of the legal sort. He had learned his lesson.

Upon cornering Mundungus Fletcher, the dodgy wizard muttered that he vaguely remembered seeing something in his less-than-legal business endeavours, but Harry had a gnawing suspicion that it had been in his possession all along and right under his nose at Grimmauld Place.

The mystery of R.A.B. had been solved; in fact, despite faking his death with the help of Dumbledore and living in virtual obscurity for the last two decades, the wizard in question remarkably retained a sense of humour.

“Fred and I have been working on a new invention–”

“Now don’t jump to conclusions–”

“We think it might be just what you looking for.” There was no pretense in what George was suggesting. “Go pick it up and while you’re at it, find a little something for yourself.”







The Last Day of Term…





“Are you sure about this, Harry?” Ron asked.

“I’m sure.” Harry scribbled out the last of his note to Ginny and read it back to himself. He was careful not to include too much information.



Meet me in the common room, eight hours from now. I’m taking you home.


“Just make sure you and Hermione let us have a few minutes.” Harry rolled up the parchment and reached for the flickering, green taper on the writing desk and let it drip along the center edge. During what little time he did stay at Hogwarts, this was how he chose to communicate, something Dumbledore had started and the Room of Requirement provided for. Harry blew on the cooling wax, watching as a thick skin grew from the outside in. At just the right moment, he etched a lightening bolt into the wax with the tip of his quill. “Dobby?”

As if expecting it, the loyal House-Elf appeared with a pop at Harry’s side. “I need you to take this to Ginny, Dobby. Would you do that for me?”

“Harry Potter Sir does not need to ask Dobby.” The elf held his long, slightly wrinkled hand out for Harry to place the scroll in his care. “Miss Wheezy will be expecting Dobby?”

“No Dobby, she won’t be.” Harry smiled softly. “Just don’t scare her if she’s asleep, okay?”

“Dobby shouldn’t wake her?” The creature look confused, “Is Dobby to wait, Harry Potter Sir?”

“Don’t wait, Dobby, it’s very important that Ginny gets this in the next few minutes.” Harry glanced at his watch; it was two in the morning.

Sensing Harry’s uneasiness, Dobby replied with great humility, “Miss Wheezy will not be scared of Dobby coming so late. Dobby will take extra care of Harry Potter Sir’s Miss Wheezy. Dobby always does while Harry Potter is away.”

“Is there anything I can get you, Dobby?” Harry asked in appreciation for everything the elf had done. “Anything at all?”

“Dobby is well enough, Harry Potter Sir, you’s is too kind.” He bowed low, his knit hat sliding precariously down his bald head, and was gone.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed the sleep from his eyes; the pressure easing up somewhat.

“Calling it a night?” Ron asked behind him from the sofa. His stocking feet kicked up on the coffee table and by comparison, totally calm. “There’s nothing more you can do.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, pulling his arms up and resting his laced hands on the top of his head, tilting the spindly chair back on its hind legs.

The two sat in momentary silence, each in their own thoughts. Hermione had kissed Ron good-night hours ago and retired to her four-poster, leaving them to it. She had tried to put Harry at ease, but felt that her words of wisdom were only compounding the situation. There was only so much she could do and only so much Harry would confide in her. It was Ron that Harry needed.

“How’d you do it, mate?” Harry finally asked.

“I just did,” Ron answered truthfully.

“I feel sick to my stomach,” Harry admitted, rocking the chair down to all fours. “I can’t sleep, I don’t want to sleep. I can’t think, I can’t stop thinking.”

“Remember my birthday?” Ron changed positions, taking a more serious stance: he bent low as he sat, leaning his forearms upon his knees and let his gaze fall to the floor; Harry remained with his back to him. “I don’t remember much really, I’d reckon you could fill me in on a few things,” he paused with a small chuckle, “she was the only thing I could think of– Hermione– I was more worried about her… I needed her– wanted her… I knew if she was near, everything would be all right… sometimes things become remarkably clear when you’re hanging on.”

Harry closed his eyes and hung his head, seeking solace in Ron’s candid words.

“…sure, I won’t say that I wasn’t scared at first–petrified to be exact– but I realized what it was that horrified me more… and that it was not taking the chance, of possibly losing my chance.” Feeling that he had given Harry what he needed, reminding him of what he already knew, Ron got up from the sofa and shuffled across the room, pausing as the words came to him. “You still have that chance, Harry.”





“Oh!” Hermione anxiously popped on her tip-toes and gave Harry a peck on the cheek. “You’ll do fine.”

“Good luck, Mate.” Ron clapped his shoulder. “Here’s hoping you don’t get her Bat-Bogey Hex for an answer; that’s probably not a good sign.”

“Thanks.” Harry replied dully, quickly skimming the Marauder’s map, making sure all the Gryffindor students had left the dorms. “I needed that.”

With another shriek of excitement, Hermione gave him one last hug. “Now you got the rings?”

“Yeah.” Harry felt his front right trouser pocket and started to panic.

“It’s in the other one.” Ron smirked. “See you at home.”


Harry gave Ron and Hermione a few minutes head start and wore a groove into the stone floor as he paced back and forth; he would not let his nerves get the better of him.

Reciting at least a dozen variations of his proposal, changing his mind with every other step, Harry suddenly found himself at the portrait hole.

“I haven’t seen you around much.” The Fat Lady stroked her hair and placed a small, white poinsettia behind her ear, presumably nicked from another painting, “Password?”

“Baubles of Blue.”

“Yes, a lovely song it is– one of my favourites.” The Fat Lady said in a sing-song voice, “That’ll do and a Happy Christmas to you!”

Harry got a feeling that she and Vi had partaken of the Christmas spirits a little early this year.

Before he knew it, Harry found himself standing on the spot– the spot that he had first kissed Ginny– the spot that started it all. He was early; she hadn’t come down yet. Harry searched the room, making absolutely sure they were alone.

“Hey.” She came bounding down from the top of the staircase leading to the girls dormitories. Her hair tied loosely behind her, a few wispy strands framed her face. In jeans and jumper, she was absolutely beautiful.

“Hey.” He discreetly wiped his sweaty, clammy hands behind him, hoping she didn’t notice.

“Burning the midnight oil last night?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She was close enough to touch; he swallowed hard, this was it. “Ginny?”

She only smiled, folding her cloak over her arm, waiting for him patiently to continue.

“I…”

Don’t choke, don’t choke, breathe... breathing’s good, Harry’s mind was rapidly whirling.

“Ginny, I’ve been…” There was a distant, distracting ringing in his ears; it was getting louder. “I know that–”

Spit it out, Harry or she’ll hex you… she’ll hex you if you do…

“Ginny, I’ve never been good with words.” Relieved that he had managed a somewhat comprehensible sentence, he strained to produce another.

“You’ve been better,” she grinned. “It’s just me.”

“Ginny…” Harry took a deep breath and slid his hand into his pocket.

“Hiya Harry.”

He whipped around to see Neville trudging down the stairs carrying his Mimbletonia in front of him.

“Neville!” He had missed him on the map.

“It’s been a while.” The unknown, could-have-been-Chosen-One extended his hand after shuffling his ghastly plant to the side. “How’ve you been?”

Unwilling to refuse the welcome, Harry took his hand and in a voice not sounding an ounce like himself muttered, “Fine.”

“Hey, Neville,” Ginny said brightly. “Have a happy Christmas.”

“Yeah, you too.” Neville furrowed his brow and released his grip. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“He just has a bit of a cold,” Ginny filled in Neville’s blanks. “Harry’s escorting me back to the Burrow for the holidays.”

Unconvinced, Neville nevertheless accepted Ginny’s explanation. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Me too.” Harry returned his hands to his pockets and watched Neville head for the portrait door. “Happy Christmas.”

The once round faced boy smiled and Harry swore that he had winked at him; was he that obvious?

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

When they were alone again Ginny asked, “What was it you were trying to tell me, Harry?”

“Uh– nothing.” He had lost this chance. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”





A/N: Two down and one to go! I hope that this has been (so far at least) as enjoyable to read as it has been for me to write. I feel out of my element and am trying to throw caution to the wind... hopefully its blowing in the right direction!

Many thanks again to Cwarbeck for trudging through all my muck. Congrats on another (double) DSTA!

~Patrony :)

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Chapter 3: Reparations

Chapter three:


Reparations







Tick… Tock…. Tick…. Tock...

Harry lay awake listening to the pendulum as it swung relentlessly back and forth turning the cogs of the time; the second hand strictly obeying its every command with lethal precision.

Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…


And he waited.


For one day– one very long day– Harry had made himself scarce around the Burrow. Considering Ginny’s bizarre, violently ill response to his proposal, his declaration of unrequited love, he felt the urgent need to leave. He needed to think things through again; to lick his wounds.

After sending Hedwig on her way with a message for Mrs. Weasley regarding Ginny’s welfare, he went to visit Lupin. It was the only place he could think of where he would not be reminded of her and not yet be alone. Solitude was a mistake he could not afford.

Trying to put on his best air, he struggled just to be himself. Obviously surprised by the out of the blue visit and wise enough to know that something wasn’t quite right, Moony lent his ear and his tea pot and subtly kept away from any conversation involving his holiday plans and the Weasleys. It was late when he returned to the Burrow and found the house and its occupants asleep or a least it seemed that way.

Even Ron and Hermione had given him his space. With a few pointed looks between the two over breakfast and Harry’s pitiful shake of his head, Ron knew what had happened and that the outcome was not in Harry’s favour. They were polite of course, but kept their distance; they had their own reasons to celebrate and Harry wasn’t about to drown them in his failure.

Ginny, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened between them– at all. She was friendly; smiling and laughing with her brothers and doing the things girls do when Hermione was around. He would steal a glance when she wasn’t looking; intruding on her joy, deepening his wondering sorrow.

He was responsible for this; it was his fault. In the battle between protecting her– saving her– putting her life and the rest of the wizarding world before his own, Harry realized that he had lost her. It was Harry who told her they couldn’t go on; that he just couldn’t do it. And now they had become a casualty. He knew Ginny better than to believe she blamed him and he could not blame her. It just was.

Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock


Yesterday was hard and today– already Christmas– would prove to be just as, if not more difficult to bear.

He could wait no longer.

Harry sifted through the pile of gifts at the foot of his bed. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s yearly jumper and tin of treats, a journal from Hermione, and a traveling Wizards Chess set from Ron. There were other gifts as well, all from people he loved and who loved him; his odd extended family of sorts, but they were opened without much excitement and the items displayed randomly on the bedside table. To his dismay there was no gift from Ginny, not even a handmade card or note; his heart ached a little more.

He quickly and very quietly showered and crept his way downstairs, careful to avoid the steps that would betray him and entered Mrs. Weasley’s domain of the kitchen. If he was going to have any chance of keeping it together, he would have to distract himself from her and at the moment, breakfast sounded like a good diversion.

It had been a while since he had prepared anything decent, other than a quick sandwich or a thrown together meal of whatever was available while they were out hunting horcruxes. He knew his way around the kitchen thanks to the years of cooking and serving the Dursleys. Harry pushed up the sleeves of his new green jumper and set out to find the various fry pans and ingredients he would need. Even though breakfast was hours away, the Muggle method of cooking would provide him with at least a temporary reprieve from his misery.

The potatoes were peeled and washed, diced and boiled, batter mixed from scratch and eggs whisked to a froth, ready to be poured onto the griddle when the time came. He held off on frying the sausages and bacon until the last minute; the sun was up and soon so would be the rest of the house. Harry knew that the slightest whiff of smoked bacon and the sound of crackling grease would summon Ron and the twins out of their deepest slumber. But it was Mrs. Weasley that was the first to arrive.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” Mrs. Weasley tied her apron around her waist and surveyed what had already been done and what was left to do. “You’re up early this morning.”

“Yeah.” Harry made to grab the turner before Mrs. Weasley did; tending sausage this morning would require attention– a lot of attention. “I thought I’d help you out and fix breakfast for everyone.”

“It seems to me that you’ve pretty much covered it.” Mrs. Weasley filled the kettle and put in on. “It looks like all I’m good for this morning is making a spot of tea.”

“It’s Christmas, enjoy yourself.” Harry used his wand to light the stove underneath the fry pan and as he had expected, before he could roll the sausage links over to brown, the Weasley men were up and were shortly followed by the rest of the Weasley women.

When they were all gathered around the table, Harry placed the platters of hotcakes, bangers and mash, scrambled eggs and crispy bacon down the center of the table and returned to manage what was left to be done; in other words, the dishes.

“Come and join us, Harry.” Mrs. Weasley slid out the one remaining chair at the table next to her– next to Ginny.

“Oh, I’ve been picking all morning.” He shrugged. “I’m not all that hungry.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Weasley would not be denied and started to fill an empty plate for him. “Come and sit.”

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was told and slid down into the seat. Ginny scooted her chair over to give him more room– or more space between them– with a smile.

“Everyone get what they wanted this Christmas?” Mr. Weasley asked between bites.

“Yep.” Ron was first with a grin.

“Sure did.” Harry knew there was more to Hermione’s answer.

“Absolutely.” Ginny beamed.

“Everything.” Fred chimed in his turn.

“No, not really,” mocked George disappointedly.

With all eyes on him, trying to find just the right gusto, Harry replied, “Uh… yeah.” It sounded better in his head.

“So what are we all going to do today?” Mrs. Weasley poured herself a fresh cup.

“I’ll be visiting my parents for most of the day,” Hermione said, reaching for another strip of bacon.

“She’s invited me to go with her, so I thought I would.” Ron wiped his mouth to hide his smile.

“Will you be back for dinner?” His mother asked.

“No, maybe in time for afters though,” Hermione continued, “I haven’t seen them for quite some time now and want to visit as long as I can, but I’d like to stay here again tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Hermione, you’re always welcome dear, you know that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

Shortly after breakfast, Ron and Hermione left for the Grangers. For his own selfish reasons, Harry was sad to see them go. He ran the dish water and put up a good fight with Mrs. Weasley for the dishrag, claiming that the cook was solely responsible and that he wasn’t very good at housekeeping spells. It wasn’t until he told her that this was meant as a gift to her, that she surrendered.

Over the clank of plates and bowls, he could hear the Wizard Wireless Christmas program and the bouts of laughter from Fred, George, and Ginny from in the living room and Mrs. Weasleys feeble attempts to quiet them when they got a little out of hand. Mr. Weasley, the moment the table was cleared, brought out his present from the twins– a microwave– and proceeded to take it apart, piece by piece and examine each one.

When there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, having taken as much time as he dared without raising suspicions as to why he was being so thorough, Harry gave the distraction up and joined the rest of them.

“Winner takes all?” George suggested. “Here, you play Ginny and whichever one of you survives, moves on.”

“I don’t know.” Harry tried to get out playing Weasley Snap with Ginny. “I’m not very good.”

“You beat me earlier this week,” Fred gave him the look, “you have until I count to three.”

It didn’t take long for Ginny to finish him off and claim victory against him. Harry was more preoccupied with what Ginny was doing than the game itself. He wanted to know what she was thinking– how she was feeling– how she could sit and play a game with him without… Am I the only one?

By mid afternoon, Harry was left alone at the Burrow with only the company of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The twins had to return to the shop, claiming that a new arrival of Pygmy Puffs were due to be born today and that it required their immediate attention. Ginny practically begged to tag along.

Harry knew that Christmas would be uncomfortable, but it was turning out to be downright odd. The Weasleys were not together. Bill and Fleur stopped by to visit, but feeling a bit more like Hermione than himself, Harry kept his nose glued to the book Lupin had given him on protective spells and only offered short, ambiguous comments if he was asked by any of them directly. Just as the light of Christmas day was drawing to a close, the new Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said their good-byes, leaving just the three of them; Mr. Weasley and his microwave, Mrs. Weasley and her knitting, and Harry– just Harry.



Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…


Holding onto hope that Ron and Hermione would be returning soon, and surprised that the twins and Ginny had not, Harry nodded off in the side chair with the book resting against his chest.


Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…


“Harry.” He thought he heard his name but tried to ignore it. Things had worked out differently in his dream and he did not want to leave it.

“Harry, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked again; the dream was gone. “Pigwidgeon’s here, would you mind letting him in?”

“Sure, no problem.” Harry picked himself up, rubbing a small kink in his neck and made his way over to the frosty kitchen window to find Ron’s owl tottering on the ledge of the empty, snow-covered flowerbox.

He pulled back the brass latch and tried to pry his fingers under the pane; it would not budge. Harry tried again as the neurotic owl fluttered into the air and tapped the glass showing his impatience. Not wanting to break the window, Harry decided to forgo using magic and fetch the bird himself; it would give him an excuse to get some fresh air.

“C’mon, Pig.” He offered the brown owl his arm. “Let’s see what you have.”

Harry untied the scroll from Pigwidgeon’s leg and sent the overly excited owl on his way. The scroll was not addressed so he assumed that with Pig being Ron’s owl that it was more likely meant for Mrs. Weasley, telling her that they would not make it back for dessert after all. The cold night air had made its way to his skin and Harry decided to deliver the message.

“Here you go.” Harry held out the scroll to Mrs. Weasley who was finishing up a scarf; threads of yarn dangling here and there over her family clock.

“Oh, no dear, I don’t think that’s for me.” She continued with her half-stitches.

“Mr. Weasley?” Harry made is way over to the kitchen table that was now covered with bits and pieces that once resembled a microwave. “This is for you?”

“Nuh-uh.” Mr. Weasley said with his tongue between his teeth, trying to extract a diode from the readout with a pair of odd-shaped tweezers. “Not mine.”

“It doesn’t have a name.” Harry returned to his chair he had been occupying for the last three hours.

“Whoever it’s for, I’m sure you could read it to us and then we’ll decide.” Mrs. Weasley offered a solution.

“Okay.” Harry pulled open the scroll and read it to himself as the words appeared.

You know where to find me.


Harry read it again and abruptly stood up as he recognised the handwriting, surprising Molly and Arthur.

“Well?” Mrs. Weasley asked expectantly, finally putting her knitting down. “What did it say?”

“Nothing,” Harry swallowed the lie and shoved the note in his pocket. “I gotta go.”

“Everything okay?” Mr. Weasley asked, vaguely alarmed by Harry’s sudden need to leave.

“Fine.” Harry made his way to the cloak rack and the door, unexpectedly followed by Mrs. Weasley.

“Let me help.” She held out the sleeve of his cloak for him as he shoved his arm through. “It’s cold.”

“Thanks.” Harry flipped the collar out from around his neck and reached for the door knob, ready to pass through it without delay.

“Just a minute, Harry.” Mrs. Weasley made her way to the scarf she had just finished knitting and brought it back, wrapping it around is neck as she spoke, “Keep warm, mind you, and if you happen to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, tell them that I expect to see them at least once before the three of you take off again.”

“What?” Notwithstanding his urgency, Mrs. Weasley’s revelation left him dumbstruck.

“It’s an enchanted clock, Harry.” She said matter-of-factly, tucking the ends of the scarf underneath his cloak. “It keeps track of all of my children.”

“Who–” Harry had no idea how to reply, but instinctively felt the need to defend Ron.

“Despite what these lines on my face tell you, Harry, we were once young too. They’ll tell us when they’re ready.” Mrs. Weasley looked up and smiled, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shoulders. “Now get going, you’re in a hurry.”

“Yeah.” Unable to produce any kind of response, he finally turned the knob more than a quarter of the way to disengage the lock, but was stopped again.

“Oh, and Harry, she’s not at the shop.” Mr. Weasley went back to his microwave. “We trust you’ll have her home by midnight.”

“Yes, Sir.”







Hogwarts– the common room, was the first thing that came to his mind; she must be there. Harry Apparated to the outside gates and passed through the wards. His cloak billowing behind him and seeing by what moonlight lit the landscape, illuminating the newly fallen snow, he ran up to the castle as fast as he could.

By the time he was half-way, Harry’s lungs were burning. The frozen air stabbed him with every breath but he would not slow down. And then it hit, stopping him in his tracks. Listening to his heart and not his head, Harry turned and started heading away from the castle and towards the lake, recalling one of the happier times he and Ginny had spent on the shore beneath the trees.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Harry peered through the trees as he passed them; she wasn’t there. He stood alone on the edge of the shore in the small space between the brilliant snow and the frigid, dark waters of the lake.

“Ginny?” He called out into the night, listening for any sign that would tell him she was near. “Ginny?”

“I’m here.”

Harry turned around in time to see Ginny, his invisibility cloak pooling at her feet.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Laced with pain and wonder, it was the most honest statement he could make.

Gradually pulling the hood of her cloak back behind her head, she quietly replied, “You have me, Harry– you always will.”

With three swift steps, Harry had taken her up into his arms and kissed her passionately; it was all he needed to hear and she answered just as eagerly.

Slowing breaking the kiss, cradling her face in his hands, Harry rested his forehead against hers; their flushed lips barely apart from one another. Her breath was his as it swirled between them and his was hers.

“Marry me, Gin.”

Without words, there was no doubt to her answer. She kissed him deeply; it was as if they had never been apart, forgetting the rest of the world and what lay ahead of them– it was the moment where life seems to stop.







“Are you warm enough?” Harry asked bringing the blanket he conjured up around her shoulders; her cloak and jumper were not enough to keep out the crisp winter air.

“Perfect.” Ginny snuggled in closer, her head on his chest, tucked underneath his chin. Harry was content to hold her, to breathe her in, and enjoy what time they had left before he would have to take her home. The two had returned to the hollow against the tree and gazed out over the lake.

“Harry?”

“Hmm”

“What changed your mind?”

“Give me your hand.”

Ginny did as he asked and Harry gently guided her tiny hand underneath his jumper and t-shirt; the ridges of scar tissue could be easily distinguished.

“Harry?” She sat up to meet his eyes.

“It’s one of a matched set,” he answered darkly. “I’m okay, now.”

“You could have died.”

“I almost did.” Harry tried to smile, though there was nothing funny about what he was telling her. “If it wasn’t for Ron and Hermione….” he could see that she was upset and did his best to comfort her; he kissed her lovingly and brought her back down to his side.

“I thought about you– how much I loved you– that I wanted to marry you, spend the rest of my life with you– I needed you to know, I didn’t want you to think that...” Harry nuzzled the top of her head. “When things looked bad, I asked Ron to tell you… it was wrong to do that, to have your brother deliver a message I should have done long before.”

“Whatever happens, Gin… however long this is going to take, I need you to know–” he held her closer, “you’re my salvation, Gin. You’re what keeps me going– keeps me hanging on and…” He paused to steady himself, “if I don’t make it, if I don’t– if I can’t make good on my promise–”

“Shh…” She kissed his neck and nibbled her way to his ear and eventually his mouth.

Injecting something a little more lighthearted, not wanting to spend what time they had relatively alone to mull over all the what if’s they would soon face, Harry asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Um-humm…”

“You’re not going to get sick on me again, are you?” He playfully scooted further back against the tree trunk, earning himself a jab in the ribs.

“No, and just so were clear on that, it wasn’t entirely my fault.” Ginny nestled back down, threading her arm around his waist. “I had help.”

“I made you sick?” he asked. “The first time I was going to ask you, in the common room, I felt–”

“I knew something was up, but didn’t put the two together until after the first proposal.”

“Sorry, it didn’t work out the way I had planned it.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t think Neville was invited.”

“So was it me?” Harry had to ask; it would help put the last few days in perspective.

“Of course not.” Ginny situated herself into a more comfortable position. “It was Fred and George.”

Harry knew they were lending him a hand but getting their sister, his would-be fiancée, sick to her stomach was far from helpful. “What’d they do?”

“Remember those chocolates I ate when we first started talking?”

Harry nodded, “The ones in the dark green velvet box with the light green bow?”

“Those are the ones. Anyway, it just hit me all of a sudden and obviously at the worst possible time.”

“It couldn’t have been the worst...” Harry thought about it for a minute — if she had said yes.... “Okay, it could have.”

“When Mum came home, she found me still upstairs– well, you know– and sometime later Fred and George came back looking for the box of chocolates they had forgotten and saw that someone had eaten a few of them. It didn’t take long for them to figure out that it was me.”

“So I’m in the loo with Mum, Fred, and George, and I can’t stop getting sick. Fred gave me the antidote– I would have hexed him into next Christmas, but Mum beat me to it. You shouldn’t be leaving things like that around the house… I’m sure can fill in the blanks. Anyway, the twins asked me in a roundabout way if you had proposed– I didn’t know how they knew, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. I felt so bad and you had left without an answer–“

“I thought you gave me your answer.”

“Hardly.”

“Your Mum and Dad knew about tonight.”

“She’s my Mum, Harry.”

“Nothing gets by her.” He recalled Ron mentioning the same thing about Hermione and chalked it up to some innate power granted to all members of the opposite sex.

“I think we pulled it off rather nicely, don’t you?” Ginny sheepishly grinned, “I wanted to make it up to you– so did Fred and George, Ron and Hermione– Mum and Dad even.”

“Who doesn’t know?” Harry tried his best to sound irritated.

“Just the family and nobody else. Besides, you told everyone but Mum and Dad, but like you said, nothing gets by her.”

“You realise that I’ve been moping around for just about two days now. I thought–”

“I know it was rather unpleasant, but you survived.”

“Barely.”

“It was hard for me too, you know.” Ginny scoffed, “it wasn’t easy to see you like that, but I couldn’t just throw myself at you, now could I?” This way we’ll have something decent to tell our children instead of ‘your dad asked me to marry him and I spiffed my biscuits’. It’s at least a little more romantic this way.”

“Our children?” He squeezed her tight, the words and the meaning behind them echoing in the back of his mind,Our children.“ So I guess all of you were busy scheming when I was out of the room?”

“You could say that. I wanted to come back here– this was the last place– before– it was the last place we were happy.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“It doesn’t really matter where or how, what matters is you and me, nothing else.” Ginny gave a slight shiver and pulled her legs up closer to her body, further underneath her cloak and the blanket to guard them against the cold. “Hermione came up with the diversion of going to her parents and all, Ron nicked your cloak and they both got me, Fred and George through the wards. We’re not alone.”

“I didn’t think we were.”

“They’ve been keeping an eye out for us.”

“We wouldn’t want Neville to wander in.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Ginny chuckled, “Mum would have never left you in the kitchen to clean up by yourself, you do know that, and there were no Pygmy Puffs either.”

“I’m surprised there aren’t faerie lights and violins.”

Puzzled, Ginny rolled to face, “Faerie lights and violins?”

He kissed her. “Never mind, let’s get you home. I really don’t want you to get sick.”



They had returned to the Burrow ten minutes before midnight to find that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already gone to bed or at least they were giving them their space. There was a hot kettle, two mugs, and a plate of biscuits placed conspicuously on the table and a nice fire had been built in the living room fireplace.


“Oh.” Nestled together on the sofa, Harry slid Ginny to the side and fished through his trouser pockets. “I almost forgot your ring.”

“It’s beautiful, Harry,” she whispered as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“I had help,” he admitted, only just now allowing himself to believe that Ginny was indeed his fiancée; somehow it all suddenly seemed very official.

“Harry, is this the same ring you were going to give me a few days ago?” Ginny asked, examining the brilliant white diamond on her finger. “I thought it was yellow.”

“It was then… It was Fred and George’s idea really; these rings are magically bound together, I have one too.” Harry held open his palm, revealing his own burnished platinum band. “I can’t take you with me, Ginny, but this way maybe you won’t have to worry so much.”

“How do they work?”

“They change colors depending on how we feel at the moment.” Harry threaded it onto his right ring finger; they were not married yet. “See, we’re both happy– they’re brilliant.”

“And yellow means...” Ginny asked, delicately following the curve around his finger with her own. “Should I be worried?”

“Worried, nervous, anxious– that about covers it.” Harry chuckled, “If it’s blue, like a sapphire, I’m lonely, missing you and there’s every color for every emotion in between– if it ever turns blood red, well… I’m probably being brave or something or….” Harry decided, at least for time being, to leave out what else it could be and finished lamely; there would be a time for that. “Red is symbolic of power- fire. Now, if it turns black… well, I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t.”

“I love you, Harry.” She kissed him tenderly and settled down into the crook of his arm, weaving her fingers into his as they draped over her side.

“I love you too.” Shifting his head more comfortably on the throw pillow that he pushed up against the end of the sofa, Harry held onto what mattered most for as long as he could, hoping that it would be for a lifetime.





A/N: I apologise for breaking the 10,000 word count... things just snowballed. I'm throwing caution to the wind, remember? Thanks for reading. I hope that Jaq would have enjoyed this, awkward fluff and all.

And as always, a thousand thanks to Cwarbeck...

~Patrony :)

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