Don't Give Up On Me by HappyHouriFanfic
Summary: Harry Potter has a destiny to defeat Voldemort and save the Wizarding World, but it’s hard to do when he’s the only one who knows that the Dark Lord has returned.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2019.07.10
Updated: 2019.10.01
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Chapter 16: Chapter 16
Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Chapter 20: Chapter 20
Chapter 21: Chapter 21
Chapter 22: Chapter 22
Chapter 23: Chapter 23
Chapter 24: Chapter 24
Chapter 25: Chapter 25
Chapter 26: Chapter 26
Chapter 27: Chapter 27
Chapter 28: Chapter 28
Chapter 29: Chapter 29
Chapter 30: Chapter 30
Chapter 31: Chapter 31
Chapter 32: Chapter 32
Chapter 33: Chapter 33
Chapter 34: Chapter 34
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
He stared at the heavy oak door, his eyes tracing the patterns of the lines and grooves of centuries’ worth of wear on the ancient wood. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to come here now, and he had no idea why he couldn't seem to bring his feet to take him any further, either.Maybe it was guilt. The accident might have been his fault, after all. He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. They’d been out on the pitch, flying drills when the storm came up. Angelina Johnson had been shouting at them to finish up so they could go in and be warm. The snow had been so thick that he hadn’t been able to see Ginny come streaking toward him, chasing the quaffle.
It was all still a bit fuzzy in his head, really. Harry shook the memory away and placed his hand on the door, finally giving it a push. It creaked, a familiar sound that echoed through the empty hospital wing.
Empty except the one bed where Ginny Weasley lay curled around a pillow, the stiff white blanket pulled up over her.
A stray beam of moonlight danced through the window and rested on the end of the bed, near where Ginny’s toes peeked out of the blanket. Harry walked forward, glancing up to see if Madam Pomfrey had heard him come in. No movement from the back of the infirmary meant he was safe for at least a few minutes.
He focused on those toes that he could see, decorated by chipped blue nail polish. He’d never considered that Ginny might paint her toenails. He remembered Ron complaining about the smell when Hermione would paint hers in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, but Ron’d never said anything about Ginny doing it.
Closer and closer he walked until he was looking down at those toes, lit by the moonlight. He followed it up to her knee, her hip, her arms curled around a pillow, and finally, her face resting peaceful against the white of the linens. Her hair twisted into a long rope of dark hair. Harry remembered seeing it whip in the wind behind her when she flew, like it was doing everything it could to try and keep up with the girl.
He lowered into the chair that was next to the bed. Mrs. Weasley had been here hours ago, watching over Ginny. Harry had tried not to stare from across the room, where Madam Pomfrey had been tutting over the perils of teenagers playing Quidditch during a snowstorm and pushing potions down his throat to heal a nasty cut on his arm and bruised body.
The chair sighed when he sat and Ginny stirred, rustling the blanket around her.
Harry looked away, baffled about why he felt so drawn to be sitting next to her. There was a connection there that he couldn’t define, even in his own head. He and Ginny were friends; they often laughed together at Quidditch practice or at mealtimes, but they didn’t hang around outside of that. Ginny had her own friends. She was quite popular, actually.
Except that this year had been a little different, Harry noticed. Ginny had seemed more...reserved, less fiery. She spent more time alone, more time wandering the grounds of Hogwarts and writing in her diary. Ron teased her mercilessly about it, but Ginny had called him a nasty name--surprising the hell out of Harry--and walked away.
He reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of Ginny’s blanket, knowing exactly what it would feel like. It was scratchy, catching on the calluses and rough skin of his fingertips. There was an antiseptic smell--Mrs. Scower’s Cleaning Powder mixed with the smell of some of the potions, if Harry guessed--that permeated everything.
She looked fine--no bruises or noticeable marks on her. He wasn’t sure why Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her overnight when she’d scooted Harry out the door, still nursing his sore arm. But the Hogwarts nurse had informed him that Ginny would be staying, and since Harry wasn’t her mother or father, Madam Pomfrey had no need to disclose Ginny’s condition to him. She’d nudged him out the door and closed it soundly behind him.
“You should be asleep.”
Harry startled when Ginny spoke to him, her voice as scratchy as the blankets. He’d been so focused on remembering the confrontation earlier that he hadn’t realized he’d woken her.
“Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to wake you.”
He could see one eye shining in the dark. The other obscured by the edge of the pillow she was lying on.
“Then you shouldn’t have come.” She shifted and stared up at the high ceiling, scowling at the darkness.
Harry huffed and thought about getting up to leave, but something inside him wanted to get angry instead.
“I was checking on you.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes, but didn’t turn toward him. “You’ve seen me. I’m fine.”
“Ginny...I….” He wanted to tell her why he’d come, why he felt drawn from Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night, even though, logically, Harry knew she was fine, knew that whatever injuries she had would heal and she’d be back to normal again by breakfast. He even opened his mouth, but there were no words that would come out, because he still didn’t know why he was there.
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
The truth slipped out, even though Harry didn’t know what it meant.
Ginny turned her head and looked at him, their eyes connecting in the darkness. Whatever she was feeling melted away and she looked...contrite, almost sad.
“Thanks.”
They watched each other for long minutes--Harry started counting at one point, but lost track as he watched her dark eyes watch him.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“I know.” It might have been. Harry couldn’t remember much about the mid air collision. He remembered repeating over and over that he was sorry--was that only in his head, or had he said it aloud?--and then he remembered watching her from across the hospital wing. The rest was...lost in the jumble of his mind.
“Harry, I…” But whatever it was she was going to say got buried when her eyes filled with tears, shining as they caught the moonlight. One slipped out and her face crumbled. She curled on her side, wrapping around the pillow. Harry reached for her, unable to let her cry alone, even though he had no idea what to do.
Was she in pain? Was there some invisible wound that he didn’t know about?
His hand found hers, their fingers winding together. He held on as she cried, silently, into the pillow. The longer Ginny cried, the longer Harry wanted to hold onto her. A deep emotional swell grew inside him and the back of his eyes burned, as if he might start crying too, even though he had no idea why.
Knowing it wouldn’t help, Harry swallowed past his thick throat and blinked, looking away for a moment until he could control the feeling, wrangle it into place. Crying wouldn’t help Ginny now, and he wanted to stay strong for her, to be a strength, rather than someone who made things worse.
“Sorry,” she finally said. Her nose was running and she reached for a tissue near the top of the bed. Harry got there first and handed it to her. She wiped her nose and eyes with one hand, her other still clasped in Harry’s.
“Don’t know why I’m crying,” she said, a weak sort of laugh leaking out, also.
“S’okay,” Harry said. He tried to smile, but was afraid it didn’t work when Ginny averted her eyes from him. She let go of his hand and they both sheepishly laughed and shook their sore fingers.
“I should go,” Harry said, but he didn’t make a move to get up.
“Get some sleep.”
Harry thought about going back to the tower and climbing the stairs to the dormitory where his bed was waiting. It was warm and familiar, but he still couldn’t move.
“Can’t sleep,” he admitted.
“Bad dreams?”
“I...I’m not sure why,” he said. He thought it would be weird to say, but Ginny only nodded.
“Me either.”
“You were sleeping when I came in.”
“Not really,” she said. She looked up at the ceiling again and Harry tried not to stare at the way her eyes were red and puffy. She still looked pretty to him, he realized. “I was trying, but...I keep waking up. Bad dreams. And then I don’t want to have them, so I make myself stay awake.”
He nodded, no stranger to the phenomenon. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Potter.”
They both jumped when Madam Pomfrey came bustling across the hospital wing, a tattered robe wrapped over her night dress.
“I’m sure I discharged you earlier today. Unless you are back because of another injury--”
“No, Ma’am,” Harry stammered. He stood, nearly tripped over his chair to escape getting corralled into a bed.
“--then get yourself back to your dormitory before I find a permanent place for you here.”
Ginny smirked at him and Harry skirted around the end of the bed, headed toward the door. The nurse watched him until he reached it, and then turned to go. Harry paused, waited until she was out of sight before looking back over his shoulder.
“Do you need anything?” he whispered.
“Like what?”
Harry blinked at her, unsure what he thought he could bring her that would help. “I don’t...maybe your diary? You are always writing in it… I thought--”
But Ginny’s forehead creased in confusion. “Harry, I don’t have a diary. I’ve never written in one.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out of the door at the far end of the room again.
“Mr. Potter--”
“I’m going!”
The door closed heavily, echoing down the hallway and Harry found himself staring at the wood grain again, unsure what Ginny had meant.
Xxxxx
Harry finally did fall asleep and was late getting up the next morning. Bleary, he sat down at the table across from Ron and Hermione as they finished off their breakfast.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ron said with a smirk.
Harry waved him off, tempted to make a rude gesture, but unwilling to fight with Hermione about it if he did.
“Are you feeling alright, Harry?”
“Fine,” Harry grumbled through a yawn. He began to pull platters of food toward him, uncaring about what he was eating, and piled food on his plate. “Just...didn’t sleep well.”
“You should have had Pomfrey give you a Dreamless Sleep potion,” Ron said. “I was surprised she didn’t keep you overnight, like she did Ginny.”
The memory of talking with Ginny last night rose to the top of his mind. “Me too.”
He glanced down the table, hoping to see Ginny sitting there. He had meant to ask when she would be released. Disappointed to not see her, Harry turned back to his breakfast, picking at the food. He needed to ask her about the diary again. He was certain he’d seen her writing in one only weeks ago, but the memory was indistinct, hazy. Perhaps he had dreamed it?
“...the Ministry donated the statue to the British Museum, where it will stand as a monument to a time when the Magical and Muggle communities--”
“What statue?” Ron asked Hermione, through a mouthful of food.
Hermione looked up from The Daily Prophet she’d been reading and blinked owlishly at him. “Ron, don’t you ever listen?!”
“I didn’t hear the first part,” he grumbled. “I was talking to Harry.”
Harry wanted to protest being pulled into their argument, but he hadn’t been listening to Hermione either.
Hermione huffed, pushed her hair back behind her ears and began speaking again.
“The Ministry of Magic donated a statue of Merlin to the British Museum.”
“Why would they want that?”
“As an act of goodwill between the two communities, Ron,” Hermione explained. “And as a reminder of the time when the two were closely intertwined and magic was not restricted to hidden use.”
“Yeah, I remember my Gran telling us stories about Merlin,” Ron said. “She knew loads of them. We used to tease her that it’s because she was old enough to have known Merlin herself. She’d laugh and tell us that they dated before she met Grandpa Weasley, but that she chose Grandpa to marry.”
Harry smirked and shoveled another bite in his mouth, suddenly ravenous. His mind was still tracing over the events of last night’s visit to the hospital wing, trying to piece together why he felt more lost now than he had before he’d gone.
“I think it’s a lovely gesture,” Hermione said.
“What? Gran making up stories?”
“No, the statue. It’s a way to tie the two communities together and remind us all that we are all the same, despite some differences.”
Ron rolled his eyes and helped himself to the last rasher of bacon on the plate. “We are different.”
“Yes, Ronald,” she scolded, “but that doesn’t make us superior, or inferior. And we need to remember that we can live in harmony, like we have been for the last few decades. No magical wars or battles, no upheavals or dark lords, like there once were. I’d say that’s a big step forward.”
Rather than argue, Ron conceded the point and Harry thought about it as he finished his breakfast. Since Grindelwald, back in the 1940’s, the Wizarding world had been at peace, with nothing notable to learn about in Professor Binn’s History of Magic class. They’d reviewed every Goblin revolution known to wizard-kind, but Fred and George told them that they wouldn’t cover Grindelwald’s reign until 6th or 7th year, still at least a year away.
A round of laughter further down the table broke Harry’s train of thought and he glanced down to see Ginny seated, sandwiched between the Weasley Twins as they heaped great piles of food on a plate for her.
Harry smiled as Ginny laughed and his chest felt a bit lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.
“Ginny’s out!” Ron said. He waved down the table, causing Ginny to grin at him.
“Oh, good!” Hermione sighed and waved, also. “I was worried about her. She’s seemed so...down lately. It seems only Quidditch makes her happy.”
Harry thought about that and decided that Hermione might be right. “Has she been writing in a diary?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Hermione blinked at him. “Diary? Not that I’ve seen.”
“Nah, Ginny hates to write,” Ron said. “Mum bought her one once, Ginny ripped out all the pages and wrote nasty notes to Fred and George with them. I’m going to go down and bother her. Meet you in the Common Room later.” He excused himself and Harry watched as he went down to join his siblings.
“I could swear I remember her writing in a diary,” Harry said. He rubbed his head and winced at a lingering pain in his arm when he lifted it. It was the one that was hurt in the collision yesterday, but hadn’t seemed to bother him before now. The pain was sharp, like a stabbing. He wrapped his hand over the spot and tried to remember what exactly had happened.
“Are you alright, Harry?” He looked up to see Hermione peering at him. “Does your arm still hurt?”
“No,” he said. “Just...a phantom pain, I guess. I was remembering...the accident...yesterday. Wondered how Ginny is feeling.”
“She seems to be fine today,” Hermione said. “But you both gave us quite the fright, Harry. We were so worried.”
Harry felt a sudden irritation overtake him. “I’m fine,” he said. “You should go see Ginny before class starts.”
“It’s Sunday, Harry,” Hermione said. “Honestly, between you and Ron…”
But she didn’t finish her thought, only shook her head and got up to walk down where the Weasleys were being extra loud.
Harry glanced at the image of the statue of Merlin that went along with the article in The Daily Prophet. It seemed rather strange that the Ministry would gift something like that to a Muggle museum, but Harry wasn’t sure why. He shook his head and finished the last of his breakfast.
The Great Hall was still rather full for a Sunday, but Harry decided that was probably because the snow had kept up yesterday, shrouding the castle in a sort of blanket. People slept in on mornings like this before they headed outside to have snowball fights or sled down the hills. A few professors remained at the front of the room, but they were busy chatting amongst themselves, paying the students no mind.
Harry looked back, hoping to gauge from her expression how Ginny was feeling this morning. It must be good news if she had been released. The memory of her crying, clinging to his hand last night was fresh and poignant. He wanted to try and get her alone today, at some point, to ask if she was alright, but knew it would be a hard task. Her brothers would likely stay close all day.
Her smile was as brilliant as he remembered from the past few years they’d been at Hogwarts together. There was something about Ginny Weasley that almost...glowed. She was so full of life, but Harry had missed seeing it this year. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but she’d been much more sullen, almost reclusive at the beginning of her fourth year. Harry had noticed but hadn’t really thought much about it until yesterday after the accident on the Quidditch pitch. Now, he felt bad for not paying enough attention.
He seemed rather...drawn to her right now, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The bright smile that decorated her face lit her up. Her eyes flashed as she quipped something pithy at George, and she laughed, full and free.
Her eyes caught Harry’s from down the table and Harry felt himself trapped, unable to look away.
It was just a moment, a hint of a moment, even, but Harry felt an overwhelming sadness seep through those eyes, a desperate need for something that he didn’t know how to fill.
Ginny was the first to look away, turning back to her family, mask back in place.
It stole Harry’s breath and he felt a wave of emotion, much like he had last night when he’d held her hand: helplessness, sadness, despair, and sorrow. It was so out of place, so unexpected that Harry had to gulp in great gasps of air to force it away.
Xxxxx
They didn’t speak of the accident, Harry’s visit to the hospital wing, or even Ginny’s strange behavior again. In fact, Ginny seemed to bounce back extraordinarily and was again the lively, popular girl she’d once been. She began dating Michael Corner, much to Ron’s consternation, and was rarely seen without a smile.
It struck Harry as rather...off, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He found himself watching her much closer than he ever had. So much so, in fact, that Fred and George took him aside and asked if he fancied their little sister.
“Ginny? She’s great,” he’d fumbled. “I mean, sure, I like her, but not… I mean…”
They’d grinned identical grins, nodded to each other and offered to let it slip to Ginny that Harry had a bit of a crush on her. Harry’d glared at them and swore, shaking his head. When he realized that they’d been taking the piss, he finally relaxed and tried to keep his Ginny-watching to a minimum.
The ride home on the Hogwarts Express was more somber than any Harry remembered. He, Ron and Hermione were sharing a carriage and had finished reading the special edition Daily Prophet that from this morning proclaiming a mass outbreak at Azkaban. Hermione was rereading the article to herself and Harry watched the portraits on the front page from across the carriage. At first, Hogwarts was shaken by the news, but as the morning went on and they filed out of the school toward Hogsmeade Station, it was as if they began to forget the seriousness of the situation. More and more laughter rose from the students. Harry got the impression that by the time the train pulled into King’s Cross, it would all be forgotten.
“Still,” Ron said after staring out the window for a time, “the Ministry will get them. I’m sure of it. We’ll get to London and Dad will tell us that everything is fine, that they’ve captured them already.”
“That’s a bit optimistic,” Harry said. He couldn’t help but feel a deep swelling inside him, almost a panic that seemed to be rising and filling him, despite the competing desire to believe in the Ministry and their capabilities. It wasn’t as if the breakouts affected him directly, but they did affect the world that he loved and lived in for most of the year.
The compartment door slammed open and Ginny appeared. “Sorry,” she muttered as she closed it behind her. She slumped into the open seat next to Harry and rested her head against the back of the cushion.
“Alright?” Ron asked.
Ginny glanced at him and nodded. “Everyone’s being...stupid.”
“And you couldn’t go sit with Fred and George?” Ron asked. “Or your boyfriend?”
Ginny’s glare made Harry flinch. He was glad it wasn’t directed toward him. “Fred and George aren’t coming back next year.”
Harry wasn’t surprised, but he wondered how Mrs. Weasley would take the news. He knew that Charlie had left school early, too, but he’d never considered that Fred and George might take the same route. Yet, they’d been very focused on their joke ideas lately and he’d overheard them talking about starting their own business.
“But...their N.E.W.T.’s!” Hermione looked aghast at the idea.
“I figured they might,” admitted Ron. “They’ve been mucking around with the idea of that store forever. Now they’ve finally got enough money…”
Hermione looked like she might argue, but then glanced at the door. “Ron, we need to patrol the last half of the ride.” Ron made a sound in the back of his throat and begrudgingly stood.
“You’ll be alright?”
Harry startled when he realized that Ron’s question had been to him, not Ginny. He blinked up at his friend.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ron glanced at his sister. “Don’t let Ginny drag you down. She’s in a pissy mood.”
“Ron!” He closed the door quickly, blocking out Hermione’s tirade.
Ginny wore the hint of a smile. She sighed and closed her eyes, her head rocking against the seat back as the train rocked.
“You look tired.”
Ginny didn’t answer for the longest time and then opened her eyes. That same depth of emotion that he often saw in her expression was there. He got the feeling that he was the only one to see it.
“It’s exhausting.”
“What is?”
“Trying to be happy.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about it before, but he saw what she meant. Had he been doing that? He could see how Ginny had been for most of the year. Was it always like that, or just this year?
When he asked her, she blinked at him and then looked away. “This year. I don’t...I don’t understand. It’s like, I can’t seem to find things to be happy about. And everyone...everyone is…” She gestured toward the door of the compartment and Harry nodded. He had been noticing more and more how carefree everyone was.
“It’s like this,” Ginny said as she snatched Hermione’s discarded Daily Prophet from the seat across from them and held it up. “This morning people were so worried, so concerned. And I’ll bet you five galleons that by the time we reach London nobody will even remember that they felt that way, let alone why. I can’t even explain it.” She slumped against the seat and Harry fought the urge to slide his fingers under hers on the bench and squeeze them to give her some small bit of comfort. He’d been struggling with the desire to touch her in small ways since their time in the hospital wing months ago.
“I know,” he said. He flattened his hands along the legs of his jeans, instead, feeling the rough fabric there. “And Ron and Hermione don’t see it, either. I tried to explain--”
Ginny’s eyes flashed and she narrowed them. “So you do see it?”
“I do.”
“I wondered.” She seemed to relax, leaning into him a bit, their shoulders touching. “I thought it was just me. All this time I’ve been wondering...what’s wrong with me that I can’t be like them? Why can’t I be happy? Why do I wake up every night with these dreams that I can’t explain?”
“And you can’t tell them because...because they just look at you.” He whispered and Ginny nodded. He moved his hand down to the bench again, intending to touch her fingers, but Ginny moved forward and wound their hands together tightly.
“I know.”
They sat like that for a long minute, Harry reveling in the calming, warmth of her hand and in the strangeness of whatever this was they were sharing.
“I better go,” she finally grumbled, letting go of his hand. “I need to break up with Michael.”
Harry blinked at her. “Er…”
“He’s a prat, and I’m tired of pretending that I like him anymore.”
She was gone before he could process what she meant, or what any of it meant.
He spent the rest of the ride alone, the hand that Ginny had been holding clutched into a fist, trying to retain the warmth and feel of her against him.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 2“I figured you’d be down here.”
Harry looked away from the fireplace, blinking his eyes to clear away the flashes of fire still in them. Ginny sat on the sofa, at the far end, and looked at him.
They’d been back at Hogwarts for a few months and had only exchanged a few words here or there. Harry felt bad. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about Ginny or the things they’d talked about on the train ride home last year, just that...he’d allowed himself to be distracted by the fact that he had a godfather who wanted to spend time with him--one day.
“Sirius is going to try and floo call tonight.”
The soft chime of the clock signaled two in the morning and Harry took a moment to really look at Ginny. During the day, he thought she was hiding her emotions well, but in the middle of the night when they sometimes met up in the Common Room, her weariness was much more evident.
“Bad dreams again tonight?”
Ginny pulled her feet up under the end of her robe, wrapping it around her like a blanket. The fire had gone down and the room was chilly. Harry caught a glimpse of bright red toenails this time.
“Every night,” she said. “When do you expect…”
“Any minute,” Harry said. He glanced back to the fire, but still only saw low flames and glowing coals. Ginny had been here for a couple of Sirius’ floo calls and knew all about his false imprisonment for killing Muggles--a case of mistaken identity. Harry was nervous to have her here tonight, actually, because he was planning to ask Sirius about his parents, something he hadn’t been able to work up the courage to do before now.
Maybe she’d think it was weird that Harry didn’t know much at all about them other than their names and the fact that they’d died when he was little, leaving him with his Aunt and Uncle to raise.
“I can leave if you--”
“No.” Harry rubbed his hands together and turned to look at her. “No. Stay.”
It was an impulse decision, but it felt right, too. Harry had shared quite a bit with Ginny over the past year, even though much of it was not articulated in words.
“Tell me about the dream tonight.”
Ginny turned more toward him, tucking her bare toes between the sofa cushions and resting her head against the side. Her eyes were heavy, full of dark emotion. She looked at him and it felt as if a bludger hit him in the chest.
“You...you don’t have to pretend with me, Ginny.” He whispered and Ginny nodded, even as tears filled her eyes. He’d told her that this summer in a one-lined letter sent with Hedwig after he returned to Privet Drive. Ginny hadn’t responded, but when Harry had arrived at the Burrow, she’d caught his eye for a moment in the hallway and some sort of understanding passed between them.
“The same one,” she started. “I’m in a cold, dark place. I’m alone. And there’s water--always water.” A shudder ran through her and Harry groped for her hand, linking their first fingers together. He only ever did it when they were alone, but it felt...necessary, as if touching was the link that allowed Ginny to finally be free of her demons, for a moment or two.
“That sounds the same.”
“But...it was different, too.” Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes closed as she tried to grasp the last vestiges of the dream. “Someone else was there. I felt...absolute fear, like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life. And I knew...I knew I was going to die.”
The air sucked out of Harry’s lungs as he pictured what she was describing. “Ginny.”
“I should be over it by now, I know--”
“Not at all.”
“--because I have the same one all the time. And I don’t know what it means. I know...that it makes me feel helpless and…and terrified.” Her finger tightened around his and her thumb brushed against him.
“I don’t think it’s something you get over,” Harry said. “The dreams.... They mean something.”
She thought about that for a long minute before nodding. “I wish I knew what.”
“In mine I’m trying to find someone...I don’t know who,” Harry said, “I know that I have to get to them or...or something really bad will happen. And there are all these...obstacles in the way. And I wake up feeling so...angry and tired.”
“What about the other dream?” she asked. “The one you told me last time.”
Harry tried to remember. It had been one of their first weeks back at Hogwarts when Harry had woken from the worst nightmare he’d had in a very long time.
“I was trapped,” he said. “Like...tied, I think, or held in place? I can’t remember, but I know it was bad. I remember my arms hurt, and that something was happening behind me, but I couldn’t see it. And then...I woke up. I haven’t had it since. I don’t know what it means, either.”
“What’s wrong with us, Harry?” she whispered. “Why do we feel so hopeless, so...sad and angry?”
“I don’t know.” The truth was, Harry didn’t feel that way all the time. He didn’t tell Ginny that, though. He didn’t want her to feel completely alone, abandoned. Ron had already told Harry that their parents were worried that Ginny was suffering from some sort of depression or other mental issue because she couldn’t seem to feel happy at all. Harry didn’t want to be a part of that; he wanted to make her feel...valued, wanted, and not pushed aside because of what she was feeling.
“When was the last time you slept, Ginny? Really slept?”
Ginny swiped at her eyes and Harry realized that she’d been crying. He hadn’t been able to tell in the low light of the room.
“Months,” she said. “I can’t seem to--”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of potion that Madam Pomfrey had given to him last spring. Professor Lupin, who was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, had assured him that it was still good. He pressed it into Ginny’s hand.
“It might not be the best answer but…”
Ginny looked down at it before sliding it into the pocket of her robe. “Thanks.”
“You can’t take it often.”
“Not even sure it will work,” she said. “It hasn’t helped in the past.”
“Then we’ll find another solution, but...remember...you don’t have to hide--”
“With you,” she finished with a small smile, one that seemed actually genuine. “Thanks, Harry. I’m going to go now. Enjoy your talk with Sirius.”
“Get some sleep.” He watched her go until she’d disappeared up the staircase to the girls’ dormitory.
When he turned back around, Harry realized that Sirius’ ghostly face was watching from the low flames.
“Sirius!” Harry knelt in front of the hearth, blowing on the flames to increase them.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, I was distracted--”
“I see that.”
“It’s not like that,” Harry said, feeling his face heat. “It was Ginny. She...she doesn’t sleep well. Sometimes we talk.”
“She’s very pretty.”
Harry looked away. It’s not like he could control the way his heart pounded when Ginny came around. He thought about her loads, but… “She’s dating my roommate.”
Sirius thought about that for a minute before nodding. “Yet, she’s down here in the middle of the night talking to you.”
“It’s not like that,” Harry said again.
“Okay. I get it.”
They talked for a couple of minutes about school before Harry gathered the courage to ask about his parents.
“You know, Harry,” Sirius said, a strange look on his face, “I wish I could remember them better, remember what happened. I was so busy with my career at the time. And Moony was...he was struggling with the whole...well, you know.”
“Yeah.” Harry knew all about Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy and how hard he’d had to struggle to survive.
“That we just...well, we lost touch with each other after school.”
“But they made you my godfather,” Harry pointed out. “You must have seen them before--”
“Oh, I did!” Sirius said. “But I…” He scratched at his beard, now trimmed like his hair was. “I wish I could remember better. More than a decade in Azkaban does things to your brain. I know it was an accident of some sort.”
“My aunt always said a car crash.”
“That must have been it,” Sirius said with a nod. “I remember being angry, but I don’t remember why, exactly. And then...the next thing I knew, I was thrown in Azkaban for something I don’t remember doing.”
Harry opened his mouth to ask another question, but the sound of someone on the stairs made him freeze. Sirius turned to look and the floo connection died.
Ron came into the Common Room, yawning and scratching at the back of his rumpled head. “Thought you’d be down here. Good talk?”
Harry sighed and got up, tightening the tie of his robe around him and brushing the soot from his knees. “Didn’t realize it was just you. Sirius left…”
“Oh, sorry. It’s later than usual.”
Harry looked at the clock and was startled to see that it was almost four. “Oh. We...we lost track of time.”
“Have to get up soon,” Ron said after another yawn. “See if you can get a couple hours more.”
“Yeah.” Harry watched his best friend walk up the stairs and gave one last longing look the fireplace before giving it up. He’d have to try and catch Sirius another time, or write to him. He felt...disappointed and out of sorts. And, for just a second, he wished that he hadn’t given Ginny his entire supply of potion. But the feeling passed. She needed it far more than Harry did. Plus, he had History of Magic today; he’d catch a kip in there and Ron could take notes for once. He owed Harry.
Xxxxx
He felt like he couldn’t breathe. There was a heaviness in his chest but at the same time, a hollowness. Tears filled his eyes as he stared at the bright white stone of the tomb. Hermione sniffled at his side and leaned into Ron.
Professor McGonagall’s voice faltered as she gave the eulogy, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at her or let her words do more than skim over the surface of his mind.
“...lived a long life...fulfilled many of his dreams...be forever missed...legacy of learning…his time to go…”
It meant nothing, and yet Harry felt bad thinking of Dumbledore’s life that way. He knew that death was a part of life, he knew that. Hell, he’d experienced that first hand in his life. But there was still something so tragic about this loss, and Harry couldn’t even define why in his mind. He felt so...abandoned, so alone, now.
But why should he? Why should he be affected more than any other student who was at Hogwarts? It didn’t make sense in his mind, even though it felt right in his heart.
A small, cold hand slid into his and Harry looked to his left to see that Ginny had joined him. Her forehead rested on his arm and he could feel her shuddering cry. Neither of them had slept for days, not since the announcement of the Headmaster’s passing.
There was something there, something looming that neither of them could define. They’d whispered about it in the dark corners of the Common Room, clinging together and even shedding tears.
“I can’t do this,” Harry said, not meaning to say it out loud.
“Just a bit longer, Harry,” Hermione said through more sniffles.
“Let’s go, Harry.” Ginny gave a tiny tug on his hand and Harry felt himself follow, not caring where she led him. He ignored the dirty looks for walking out of the funeral but felt a great sense of relief when Ginny led him across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch and they were finally away from prying eyes.
They climbed under the stands, finding a small corner in the back where nobody could see them. Ginny sat in the dirt and patted the ground. Harry sat next to her and rested his forehead on his raised knees.
“Why do I feel like this?” he asked.
Her hand rested on his back, rubbing circles there. “Because you miss him. Because...because the world lost someone great.”
“But...why me? Others lost him, too,” Harry said. “Why...why do I feel this way?”
Ginny didn’t answer and he felt her begin crying again, small movements against him. He gathered her in and they cried together once again.
“I don’t know, Harry. You were...closer with him.”
Harry thought about that, tried to remember times when he’d spoken with Dumbledore, shared something between them. There were faint memories over the years, times when the Headmaster would speak to him or times when Harry thought he remembered sharing a moment, but they were just that...faint. He couldn’t name one time that stood out in his mind that should make him feel so lost and helpless.
“We should get back,” Harry said finally, once his tears had run out.
“Why?” Ginny sounded so cynical, so dark. “It’s not like anyone will be missing us.”
She was right. Even Ron and Hermione had tired of Harry’s sullen mood lately. Sirius was off on some mission, some errand he thought might clear his name once and for all. Even Remus had left Hogwarts when Dumbledore had died, which made Harry feel completely abandoned.
It was only with Ginny that he felt any sort of comfort, and even that was a double-edged sword, because with Ginny it seemed that he only felt confusion and a longing that he couldn’t describe.
He lifted his head and looked at her glossy eyes. His thumb wiped away a tear as it clung to the edge of her jaw. Slowly, he moved in, brushing his chapped lips against hers. She didn’t pull away, but pulled him closer, her fist holding the back of his robes.
“Harry.”
He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her. In fact, the desire coursing through him was demanding much more, pleased to be sated for at least a moment. He’d spent the past few months wanting nothing more than to tell Ginny that he--
“Stop.”
Ginny pulled away and scooted backward on her knees, her hand held out toward him.
“Ginny--”
“This is wrong.”
Harry shook his head, trying to clear away the confusing swing of emotions from his mind. “Why?”
She looked like she might cry again. “Because I’m still with Dean, and because you don’t want this. You just want to feel--”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” Harry snapped. He looked away from her, staring at the faded wooden boards surrounding them. He’d had enough of people telling him how to feel lately.
“Harry, I can’t--” She let out a sound like a cry but Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “You shouldn’t want to be with me.”
“Why? Why shouldn’t I--”
“Because I’m broken, Harry--”
“Like me--”
“--and because you don’t even know what you want--”
“--we’re the same, Ginny!”
“--and because I can’t be with you. It hurts too much.”
Harry’s argument stopped and they stared at each other. Ginny’s hand pressed to her lips.
“Explain.” Harry felt devoid of all emotion, as if it had drained out of his fingertips and spilled on the ground next to him.
“It hurts to be with you,” Ginny whispered, “because I think too much, and because you make me remember, or...or imagine, or whatever it is when I’m with you. My mind doesn’t shut down, and I keep thinking about everything that makes no sense. And it hurts so much, Harry.”
Ginny was almost hysterical now. She’d stood and was pacing in the narrow spaces between the stand supports.
“You hurt when you’re with me?”
She stopped and looked at him, her shoulders slumped inward, arms wrapped around her body. “Yes.”
Harry pushed his hands through his hair, moving it back and forth as he thought about what she’d said. “I didn’t...I don’t mean to--”
“I know,” Ginny said. “It’s not...I don’t think it’s you, just...the thoughts. They...they consume me when we’re together, Harry. You...you’re all I think about. I’ve barely passed my classes this year and I can’t even…. O.W.L.’s have been a complete disaster.”
Harry stood and brushed off his backside, needing someplace to put his hands so he didn’t try to gather her to him.
“And I’m such a horrible person because...because I do like Dean, but I…” She clamped her lips closed, but Harry could guess at what she was going to say.
“I know.” He nodded. “Ginny...I don’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that. And if...if it hurts too much…”
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
“It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. Harry felt as if he was letting his best source of comfort go. But he couldn’t bring himself to be selfish right now. He didn’t want to hurt Ginny and he’d had no idea that she felt that way before now. Did it matter that he liked her, that he only felt comfort in her presence, when she didn’t feel the same way?
“It’s okay.”
“Harry, I…”
“Maybe it’s best if you go, Ginny.”
Harry turned his head so he didn’t have to look at her. “Go be with...with…” He couldn’t say it, not when he felt nothing but overwhelming jealousy that she could be in Dean’s arms and not hurt.
“Harry, I…”
“Just go.” He tried to smile, but his face didn’t seem to work right anymore. “It’s okay.”
She turned on her heel and left, running through the pitch until he couldn’t see her between the slats anymore.
Harry leaned against the wall and rubbed his sore eyes. This was...too much. This morning, Harry had woken up and stared at his black Hogwarts robes, pressed and hanging, ready to wear to a funeral and he’d thought then that things couldn’t get much worse. How very wrong he’d been.
Now Ginny…
And the worst part was, he couldn’t blame her. Ginny had always been honest with him--well, obviously almost honest. And he’d had no idea that she felt such turmoil in his presence. He’d never meant to hurt her or cause her more pain, but it seems that’s all he’d been doing lately.
Harry resolved to stop, to do whatever was necessary so that Ginny wouldn’t suffer a moment more than she had already done.
He didn’t speak to Ginny Weasley for almost eight months.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
“Did you and Ginny have a row, or something?”Harry looked up from his camp bed to see Ron watching him. They were lounging in Ron’s room, escaping the chaos of a crowded house at Christmas break. It was hot up here and Ron had cracked open the window. Flurries of snowflakes would blow in, landing on the sill to melt into puddles. Harry had been watching them and trying not to notice that he was two flights above the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about.
“No."
Ron’s expression was one of disbelief. “Seems like you did. You haven’t been in the same room with her for...I don’t think the entire year.”
“Have too,” Harry said. He turned back to watch the snow, which had now turned to rain. “The Common Room and the Great Hall. We were in the kitchen together an hour ago.”
Ron scoffed and began tossing a deformed quaffle up toward the ceiling before catching it and repeating the motion. “And you’ve been as surly lately as she has. I figured after she stopped seeing Dean--”
Harry lifted onto his elbow. “Since when?”
“Since...I don’t know, a few weeks ago? Maybe longer. They were always fighting. You don’t pay attention, do you?”
Harry lay back down and tried to remember when the last time he’d seen Ginny and Dean together was. It’d been awhile. He had walked down a corridor in September and seen them snogging; he’d scarpered and buried himself in the library with Hermione, trying not to look up spells that would permanently remove the memory from his mind.
“--not my business,” Ron continued, “but I don’t like seeing her so...sad.”
“She’s sad?” Harry thought about that and the ache in his chest seemed to grow. “Maybe they can work things out.”
Ron slapped his hands against the ball and Harry thought for a moment he might toss it at Harry's head. “You’re daft. I said she’s seemed to be better since they broke up. At least, that’s what Hermione says. I don’t know, Ginny’s...difficult. She doesn’t seem to know how to be happy. Mum and Dad…”
He stopped speaking and Harry looked at him, wondering what he was going to say.
“Mum and Dad made her to go a healer this summer, said they couldn’t stand to see her like that anymore.”
“What happened?”
“No idea. They don’t talk about it.” The quaffle went up and down a few more times and Harry tried to imagine how that had gone. Did they even have healers who could help with sadness? If so, Harry wondered if he should see one.
“She doesn’t seem to be much better. She thinks we can’t see it, because she pretends, but….my sister’s not that good an actress. We all know she’s sad.”
Harry thought she was pretty damned good, actually. She’d been pretending that he’d never kissed her for a long time now. In fact, she’d been pretending that she barely knew him. He rubbed at the spot in the middle of his chest that felt the worst. It ached with a sort of coldness that he couldn’t describe, other than to think it was in his very bones.
“Maybe Christmas will help,” Ron said, a hopeful note in his voice. “She always loves Christmas.”
“Maybe,” Harry agreed. He watched the sleet make patterns on the window and tried not to think about it.
After an awkward dinner where Harry found himself the one playing a role, he pretended to be tired so that he could go up to Ron’s room. Ron, who was trouncing Bill in wizarding chess, had waived him off and wished him a good night. Harry walked up the stairs alone. He almost paused at Ginny’s room, where he could hear Ginny and Hermione talking, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from staring at her, so he forced his feet to keep moving.
The top room was hot again, so Harry threw open the sash, breathing the cold December air. He fell into bed and kicked his trainers off before pulling the blanket over him. Despite thinking he wasn’t tired Harry fell asleep almost immediately.
He was running through putrid tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He kept turning, darting down one way only to find that he was even more lost. His face was wet, but he wasn’t sure if it was the water that lined the walls, or if it was something else. Harry kept pushing forward, familiar with the dream now, after having it for so long. It wouldn’t lead anywhere. He already knew he’d wake up before he found whatever it was he needed to find so desperately.
Each tunnel seemed to only lead into the next, but Harry kept running, slipping and sliding in the muck that covered the floor, ignoring the crunch of whatever it was he was crushing with his steps.
For the first time, he emerged into a large open area. Harry stopped running, awed at where he’d come to. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked around at the cavernous area. Something lay crumpled at the far end of the walkway and Harry felt a chill come over him. He took a step forward, and then another until he was running again.
Ginny.
She lay still on the floor, her hair splayed around her on the damp floor. She was so silent, so frozen when he touched her hand, and she didn’t move at all. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she was made out of the same stone that she lay on.
He called to her, gathered her into his arms and began to rock her, begging for her to open her eyes. But she didn’t; she stayed still in his arms, limp and lifeless.
“She won’t wake.”
Harry gasped and sat upright, shivering at the coldness of the room. It was dark, but he recognized the outline of Ron’s bedroom. Ron’s familiar snores came from across the room, a pattern that Harry knew well after all these years.
Teeth chattered, Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed, watching as snow fell on the window sill. He’d left the window open and Ron hadn’t closed it when he’d come to bed. The clock on the bedside table said it was almost midnight.
Harry closed his eyes against the vision in his dream and prayed he wouldn’t get sick. It had seemed so real. He swore that he could still feel Ginny’s lifeless body in his arms. He got up and closed the window, his sock-clad toes brushing the small pile of snow that had formed on the ground.
So very real.
He knew he had to see her, to check… His mind told him it wasn’t real, but his heart and the feeling in his chest told him that it might be. He had to know.
Careful not to let the door squeak when he opened it, Harry watched Ron to make sure he didn’t wake. He stuck to the edges of the stairs, where the old wood didn’t sigh or creak, and made his way down to Ginny’s room, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the door. Hermione was sleeping in there, too. He wouldn’t wake Ginny, but he needed to see her, to feel her skin and make sure it was warm, not icy cold.
His fingers brushed along the handle but pulled back.
“Harry?”
He spun on his heel, catching a gasp behind his teeth.
Ginny stood on the landing in her nightdress, her long red hair falling over her shoulders in a cascade of color.
“What…?”
He couldn’t stop himself from moving forward, catching her in his arms and pulling her to him. He buried his face in her hair, clinging to her. Ginny’s arms came around him, hesitant at first, and then holding him just as tightly.
“I had to make sure,” he whispered once he felt he could speak again. “It seemed so real.”
She didn’t say anything, but nodded, resting her forehead against his chest with a shuddering sigh.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to…” It sounded stupid. The first words he said to her and he sounded like an idiot. Slowly, before she could push him away, Harry pressed his lips to her cheek, and then her forehead. “Happy Christmas, Ginny.”
He forced his arms to let go, his feet to move him to the other side of the landing. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him and wondered what she thought of his middle of the night assault, before banishing the thought. Rather than go back up to Ron’s cold room, Harry went downstairs instead, to sit near the embers in the fireplace. The dark outline of the Christmas tree was there, along with the shadowy gifts beneath it. He tried to imprint them on his mind instead of remembering the dream.
Xxxxx
The grounds were the brightest green that Harry could ever remember them being. Scotland had gotten more snow this year than he remembered in all his Hogwarts years, and the result was the lush, emerald green paradise that lay before him.
Students were scattered around the grounds, sunning themselves in the bright Spring day, dots of black marring Harry’s vision of green. He was meant to be meeting Hermione and Ron somewhere now that they’d finished their classes for good, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to move.
He kept the castle in his peripheral vision, an anchor in the sea of unknown that lay ahead of him. He thought back to the day he’d first seen the castle, a young boy brand new to the Wizarding World and so very unsure of himself. He’d like to say he’d changed in those seven years, but he felt as lost, as adrift in a sea as he had been when Hagrid had set the boats out across the lake.
The grass tickled his hands as he ran his fingers over it and he found a long piece, tugging patiently until the green gave way to white. Using his fingernail, Harry cut the white into small pieces in his palm and then scattered the bits into the ground below him.
Hermione had grand plans for her future--a career at the Ministry after a summer abroad. Ron had been invited to join her family for a tour around Europe, and with a small loan from Fred and George, had agreed.
Everyone else had been talking about their plans for weeks now, excited to be getting on with their futures.
But not Harry. He had an acceptance letter to the Auror Academy tucked away in his trunk, but he hadn’t told anyone about it. There was so much unsurety, so many unanswered questions that Harry didn’t even know how to phrase, that he couldn’t bring himself to plan more than an hour, a minute, in advance. The Wizarding World that he’d fallen in love with so long ago was different now, or maybe Harry was seeing it with eyes open instead of in the hazy glow of childhood.
The Daily Prophet was full of happy stories about a prosperous community thriving and growing, but if you read between the lines, Harry swore he could feel a dark undertone to everything. It all seemed too happy, too positive, like one of the frilly lace doilies that Aunt Petunia would toss on her precious furniture to hide an ugly watermark.
And Harry seemed to be the only one who saw any of it. Hermione and Ron rolled their eyes at him anytime he’d bring it up. Even Sirius and Remus, who were in Eastern Europe on some sort of holiday, pushed off his questions and assured him that everything was fine.
The only person that he could even imagine talking with about it didn’t want to talk to him. Since Christmas, he and Ginny had seemed to find a place of compromise. They didn’t talk often, and when they did, they spoke with hesitant words, carefully chosen to convey little emotion. It was painful and Harry found himself craving and dreading the moments all at once. But at least they’d stopped pretending that the other never existed.
They’d even both joined in to make fun of Ron the other day, laughing together before they looked at each other and realized. Well, the moment had ended when Harry excused himself to hide in the loo until his next class began.
He sighed and pushed himself up off the grass, deciding that he’d better get inside and get his things packed before the train left tomorrow. He didn’t want to forget anything and have to come back. Harry knew he couldn’t take seeing the castle again after finally leaving; in fact, if they’d allow him, Harry would apparate to London rather than take the Hogwarts Express. But Headmistress McGonagall had already put her foot down when Harry petitioned for it. Unless there was some emergency, then Harry would be riding the train like all the other students.
He turned away from the lake and took a step, only stopping when he saw someone standing behind him.
Ginny’s robes were undone and a sort of light-colored dress on below them. The color drew his eye and Harry forced himself to look away, aware of where his eyes had been.
“Ginny.”
“Hi, Harry.”
“Hi.”
The awkwardness washed over him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to walk away. She was...here. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, draping down her back and there were small flowers woven into the place where it was clasped. She smiled at him and the realness of the emotion slammed into him like a bludger. He hadn’t seen her like this...in a very long time.
“Congratulations on finishing.”
“Thanks.” He shifted his robes, wishing that he’d thought to leave them off; they were too hot out in the sun today.
“How does it feel?”
“It feels…” Harry almost lied to her but knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off. He’d told her that she could be real around him, and even though there was a gulf between them, he still wanted to be real around her. “Strange.”
Ginny looked away from him and he could see the war in her eyes, the battle between staying and running away from him, tinged with a darkness that he’d come to recognize every time he looked in the mirror. He wondered if this was how Ginny felt all the time and wanted to ask her how she managed to keep going every day, but it seemed too hard to ask.
“I can only imagine. This place has been your home for a very long time.”
He looked back up at the castle, tracing the lines of it with his eyes. “Yeah.”
“Ron said you were moving in with Sirius?” Her eyes were bright again, but Harry couldn’t tell if she was pretending or being genuine. They’d spent enough time apart that he felt he couldn’t read her well anymore.
“Yeah. He has a house in London. I…” He’d almost told her about becoming an Auror but wasn’t sure how she’d take it. “I got accepted into the Auror Academy,” he finally said. “I’m not sure…”
Ginny moved closer, but still far enough that Harry would have to reach for her if he wanted to touch her. She smelled like flowers and fresh air. “I think you’ll be good at it.”
“I don’t know,” he said as he looked away. “I don’t know what else to do.”
She moved even closer and Harry tried to steel himself for the moment when she touched him. Her hand lifted and she straightened his lapel, brushing her fingertips along his neck. “Does it feel right?”
“No.”
“I know.”
The realness between them allowed Harry to take a breath. Before he knew it, Ginny’s arms were around him, locking him into a strange sort of one-sided hug.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” He rested his arms around her sides, burying his face in her hair.
“And I think you’ll be okay, Harry. You always find a way to make it through.”
“What about you?” he asked. “You’ll be alone coming back here next Fall.”
She sighed and rested her forehead against his chest, right where his heart beat in the hollowness. “We’ll see,” she said.
“You’ll do fine,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure what he meant. Ginny had been anything but fine these past years. Flashes of her in the dream he’d had at Christmas came to his mind and Harry pressed his eyes closed against them. He’d had the dream regularly lately, more and more detail adding until he couldn’t decide if it was real or not anymore. His lips rested against her temple and Harry breathed in the smell of her.
“I like the flowers.”
“Hermione,” she said. “She’s been trying to convince me to come talk to you. She’s got this theory that you and I… Well, she nearly talked my ear off about it the past month.”
Harry chuckled and promised himself to buy Hermione something very nice if all her talking had provided him this lingering hug.
“Don’t let her push you into anything you don’t want--”
“Don’t think I don’t want it,” Ginny said, talking over him. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He closed his eyes and tried to remember why they were not together.
“I know.” And he did. He could see now how being around him had hurt her, had made her think of nothing but the bad, since it was what they had in common together. It wasn’t healthy to be together, to wallow in whatever depression, or sadness, or mental issue they both seemed to have.
“Good luck, Harry.” Ginny finally pulled away and then darted back, pressing her lips to his for the briefest second before leaving him.
Harry watched her go, feeling his heart ache. He felt a bit like the tin man from that movie that Aunt Petunia had made Uncle Vernon and Dudley watch one time. Harry hadn’t been able to see the screen from his cupboard under the stairs, but he could hear the television. The tin man had wanted nothing more than to have a heart. Harry felt like his heart was walking away from him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
The darkness of Grimmauld Place suited his mood, Harry decided. He’d spent a few weeks with Sirius after leaving Hogwarts, but his godfather was still intent on tracking down the real killer that he’d served the time for and spent most of his time coming and going. The Ministry had all but given up searching for him, having captured all the rest of the escaped convicts and returned them to Azkaban. Remus drifted through, but he, too, seemed preoccupied with life, leaving Harry with too much time alone. With both Ron and Hermione gone, Harry found himself wandering the house for hours at a time, staring into dark corners and pondering what had gone so wrong lately.The Auror Academy was nothing like Harry expected. He was the odd man out there and destined to flounder his way through more classes taught by instructors far tougher than Severus Snape had ever been. There were a few others from Hogwarts, but Harry didn’t think he could stomach being around Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott for long. When they weren’t in class, they were supposed to spend hours a day observing the Auror department in action and doing jobs that their supervising Auror’s gave them. Harry was assigned to a gruff, seasoned Auror named John Dawlish who wanted nothing to do with him, belittled him constantly, and had made it his mission in life to make Harry as miserable as possible.
It left Harry feeling...less than satisfied with his life.
He missed the routine of school, the ease of knowing he had a place to be and familiar faces surrounding him. He missed the idea that he had little expected of him other than being on time with his assignments and performing well in exams. Most of all, he missed Ginny.
Those last stolen moments on a golden Spring day had carried him for weeks. Toward the end of June, he found himself wishing he had some excuse to apparate to the Burrow to see her. Mrs. Weasley would have welcomed him, he was sure, but he felt...out of sorts about showing up. How would Ginny react? They hadn’t parted with any sort of promise. In fact, their ending had been as confusing and draining as anything Harry could imagine. Ginny wanted to be with him as much as he longed for her, but she wouldn’t allow it.
And Harry tried to understand, even though it still hurt like a fresh wound.
He set a series of tasks for himself to achieve every day to help the time pass and keep himself focused on whatever it was he hoped to achieve at the end of his training. He still wasn’t even sure that being an Auror was what he wanted, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Ron hadn’t been accepted into training, even though he’d applied with Harry, but had a job waiting for him at Quality Quidditch Supplies when he returned from Europe in August. He seemed happy enough about it, and told Harry that it would work for now, until he found where he wanted to be.
Harry found a few abandoned fields where he flew in the afternoons after work. That seemed to help him clear his mind, although it also left a whole lot of time for his thoughts to wander. They would often land on Ginny, but he also tried to figure out what it was that seemed to be bothering him about the world more and more.
He’d subscribed to every newspaper and magazine there was and read them religiously, scouring them over mealtimes looking for something. The desk in his bedroom was a sort of shrine to things he’d found that felt...off. He’d removed the articles from the papers, laid them out and move them around to try and see patterns in them. Nobody had seen his obsession, and Harry planned to keep it to himself until he could find something concrete to base his ideas upon.
He didn’t even know for sure that something was wrong, only that it felt wrong.
The only pattern he’d found so far was a series of mysterious disappearances reported in The Quibbler, of all places. There would be an advertisement taken out for information about so and so, who had gone missing. Generally, there would be an editor’s note some weeks later mentioning that the person was on holiday somewhere or had moved without telling family. But Harry had tracked at least five disappearances that were unsolved. When he’d mentioned something to his Auror partner, Dawlish had been anything but amused and piled more old cases on Harry’s small desk for him to study and review. Harry’d almost been buried in an avalanche of parchment files.
He’d visited Luna one evening in July to try and talk to her about the cases, having learned that she actually wrote up most of the missing persons articles. But Luna had assured him that the readers of The Quibbler were not unknown for going wandering. Her father, Xenophilius, had rambled on about conspiracy theories that Harry had never even conceived, let alone could believe. He’d told Harry that magical creatures had infested most of the upper officials of the Ministry, that they could not be trusted, and that Harry was better working as a gardner than as an Auror. Both Harry and Luna had laughed off the warning, but Harry couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he left that evening.
It didn’t help that he’d starred in the direction of the Burrow for more than fifteen minutes before apparating to London.
Mr. Weasley caught him in the lift the next day and all but demanded that he come to the Burrow for dinner.
“Molly is worried about you, Harry. We haven’t seen you in ages. And I know that you’ve been spending time with your godfather but...well, we miss you.”
The guilt made Harry almost drop the stack of books he’d been levitating, and he’d promised to be there before six, even if he had to come back to the Ministry to finish his course work. Then he’d spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about how Ginny would react when he showed up.
It took him fifteen minutes to decide on which black robes to wear before he snatched one off the hanger and threw them on, cursing himself. He apparated to the garden at the Burrow and gave himself a mental pep-talk as he walked toward the door. The strong smell of lilacs near the kitchen window made him falter as he realized that was the scent that Ginny generally wore and he stared at the pale purple flowers, wondering if she made her own shampoo before shaking himself and knocking.
“Harry, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you!” Mrs. Weasley gave him the biggest hug he could remember getting and didn’t let go for so long that he felt himself get emotional.
“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I guess I’ve gotten wrapped up in things a bit too much.”
She tsked and tutted him, bothering over the state of his too-long hair, and poking at his ribs before sitting him at the table.
“Afraid it’s just us tonight, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said as he sat at his usual place. “Ginny’s been spending more and more time up at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur.”
Mrs. Weasley was levitating food toward the table and clucked her tongue at Ginny’s name. “That girl,” she sighed.
“Now, Molly,” Arthur soothed. “She’s...stretching her wings. All the children do it. We must remember that we’ve raised them to be independent and we can’t get too mad at them when they use that independence against us.”
Harry tried to appear ambivalent about the conversation, even as he soaked up every word. He was glad they hadn’t told him that Ginny was off with a new boyfriend. Even though he wanted her to be happy, Harry wasn’t at the stage where he could wish her happiness with someone else yet.
“Tell us all about what you’ve been doing, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said as they settled into dinner. Harry’s eyes went wide as Mrs. Weasley added helping after helping to his plate and determined that he wouldn’t eat for a week after this meal.
“Well, it’s interesting,” he lied. “I’ve been very busy with my courses lately…” He went on to tell them about the things he was studying and neglected to tell him that his marks were hovering about the fail level. He’d already received one warning from his partner that he needed to do better, or risk being kicked out of the program completely.
As the evening went on, Harry found himself relaxing more and worrying less. These people loved him, for reasons that Harry couldn’t fathom, and they wanted him to succeed. He left with his arms full of leftover containers and his heart buoyed up a bit more. He vowed to do more than he was to get his life into order, even if it was only to see Arthur and Molly Weasley beam at him again as they waved from the back door.
Xxxxx
Harry was having the worst week of his life.
The last month had seemed...better, if only because he’d stopped losing himself in the newspapers and thrown himself into his classes, determined to do well so that he could make the Weasley’s proud. He’d gone to dinner twice more, thrilled to find Ginny home both times. They chatted about Quidditch, her brothers, and what Harry was doing, but Ginny never answered his whispered questions about how she was. Her smile was bright and her laugh loud, but at least she was speaking to him again. They even shared a few laughs on her birthday as she unwrapped the gift of an empty photo album that Harry had stewed over giving her for hours and thanked him.
Ron and Hermione had come home from their trip, gloriously in love and ready to begin their jobs. They’d come over to Grimmauld Place a few times in the evenings and the friends would play a game or spend time talking. It finally felt like things might be working out for Harry, after all.
Then this week happened.
Perhaps it was the looming date of September 1st, when Ginny would be headed back to Hogwarts that distracted Harry. Or the fact that he’d failed his Concealment Charms exam--spectacularly failed!--and had been trying to avoid Dawlish at all costs. Ron’s visit the previous afternoon to try and lure Harry away for lunch--unsuccessful, as Harry had been buried in more revising--hadn’t helped. He’d let it slip that Ginny and her mother had been rowing loads lately. Harry worried that he should try to see Ginny before she left for Hogwarts, and then worried that he might make things worse if he did. In the end, he’d planned to write to Ginny and see if that helped, rather than include himself on the platform at King’s Cross and make a scene.
He hadn’t slept well at all lately and was yawning when he entered Auror Headquarters. The bustle of activity--unusual for the office--alerted him that something was happening.
“What’s going on?” He asked another of the trainees, Annalese Hawkins, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes.
“No clue,” she whispered back. “Heard they’re mobilizing three whole squads for immediate dispatch.”
“Cor.” Harry hurried to his desk, hoping to see the bright yellow slip there that would give him his orders. Instead, he found the wood covered by stacks and stacks of files, enough to keep him busy for a week. He spun around, prepared to demand to know what was going on from his partner, but Dawlish was across the room, giving instructions to Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying, but from the smug looks on the two men’s faces and the way they glanced over Dawlish’s shoulder toward Harry, Harry could guess it wasn’t pleasant. And he wasn’t surprised, considering who they were.
Rather than wait, Harry marched across the room and joined the group.
“This is not for you, Potter,” Dawlish grumbled. “Your work is on your desk.”
“I’m not being dispatched, sir?”
Dawlish rolled his eyes. “You’re on administrative discipline, Potter, for failing to pass the simplest class. I’d say it will be a cold day in hell before you’re dispatched anywhere.”
The two jackasses standing there smirked and Harry felt his wand hand itch to hex them. They’d always been prats to him, but being accepted to Auror training together hadn’t helped, so Harry wasn’t surprised that he was the joke of the recruits.
“Sir--”
Dawlish spun and loomed over Harry, his heavy jowls quivering. “Back to your desk, Potter, or I’ll send you packing.”
The laughter from the others and the fact that everyone had heard humiliated Harry. He swallowed back a retort and walked back to his desk.
“He’s an arse,” Hawkins whispered as he passed.
Harry nodded but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. His face burned and he got even madder when he looked at the paperwork he was meant to review and organize. It looked as if he was doing it for the entire unit, not only Dawlish’s cases.
“What’s the call out?” he finally asked Hawkins when he saw her getting ready. Her senior partner, Nymphadora Tonks, had handed her the yellow paper a few minutes before and given Harry a pity smile before disappearing to prepare herself.
“Not sure exactly,” said Hawkins. She scanned the paper and screwed up her face as if trying to understand. “Some sort of disturbance in Muggle London. Strange. It doesn’t say what it might be. Maybe it’s a training exercise.”
“Maybe.”
Harry picked up the first case file and leaned against the wall as he scanned it. There were so many piles on his desk he had no room to work there.
“Making sure the world is safe from papercuts, Potter?” Malfoy sidled by and bumped Harry’s desk, causing a landslide of files to fall to the floor.
“Doing your work for you, Malfoy,” Harry grumbled. A silent spell set the files back in order and Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at the magic, but he didn’t retort when Dawlish walked up and shooed them off to their assignment.
“If you ever question my authority in front of anyone again, Potter--”
“I can be of help, sir. I know Muggle London well--”
Dawlish came closer, shaking with anger. “Why? You’re nobody, Harry Potter. You’re one of a dozen recruits who walk in that door every year and think they can change the world. Well, I have news for you; you’re nothing special. You’re no different than any other Auror out here. In fact, you’re less, because you can’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that you’re not needed here. I could snap my fingers and have another dozen recruits here in minutes who could do more magic than you have in your little finger.”
Harry looked away, anger and fury burning beneath his skin. He wanted to fight back, but the truth was that Dawlish was right. Why did Harry think he was anything special?
“Sir, I think--”
“You know what, Potter,” Dawlish said as he threw his hands in the air, “I’ve had enough of you today. Leave your things here. Take some time to evaluate if you want to be here, or if you’d be better off doing something else with your life--anything else!”
“You’re sacking me?” Harry tossed the file in his hand toward the pile, not caring where it landed.
“Not yet,” Dawlish threatened, “but if you’re here when I get back, I will. And if you show your face for the rest of the week in this Ministry, I will. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”
“Don’t bother,” Harry growled.
“What’s that supposed to--”
“I quit.”
Harry summoned his things from the desk, turned on his heel and walked out of Auror Headquarters, his face burning and his ears ringing with the whispers that followed him down the hallway. He nearly stopped in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, where Arthur Weasley worked, but he couldn’t bring himself to see the man’s face when Harry admitted that he’d failed at the only thing he’d ever really tried hard at.
He left the Ministry on foot, ignoring Percy, who passed him in the atrium, and walking down the streets of London until he found himself in a place he’d never been before. With a soul-heavy sigh, Harry found a place he could disapparate from and appeared in the entryway to Grimmauld Place.
It was silent, until the painting of Sirius’ mother began to yell. Harry didn’t even bother to tell her to shut up, just walked past and up the stairs to the room he’d moved into. He undressed, tossing his pale blue trainee robes into a heap on the floor. He thought about owling Ron or Hermione, but lay down on his bed instead, his arm over his eyes.
Why did everything have to be so hard? Harry was tired of being tired all the time, tired of feeling like nothing was working in his life. He felt like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere in either shape or pattern.
He dozed in and out, woken with terrible nightmares of horrific things happening in Muggle London, attacks like he’d read in his history books about Grindelwald and the dark days when wizards tried to take over everything and innocent people got hurt for being in the way.
He also dreamt of Professor Dumbledore, confusing dreams where he sat across the desk from the wizard and saw the man’s lips moving but couldn’t make out what he was saying. And then Dumbledore faded away to dust, leaving Harry to feel helpless and lost again.
“Harry. Wake up.”
Ron nudged him awake and Harry blinked at the faint light in the room. It was golden and coming in at a low angle.
“What time’s it?” he slurred, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, which had been pressed into his face.
“After five,” Ron said. He stood in the middle of Harry’s room, his maroon colored robes with the double Q’s embroidered on the lapel signaled that he’d come straight from work. “Hermione told me the news.”
Harry blinked at him, trying to clear his mind from the swirl of images, both dream and real that danced about. “What--”
“You quit?”
“Oh. That.” Harry lay his head back down on the bed, staring up at the dusty, discolored ceiling where a tangle of vines was pressed into the decorative tiles.
“What the bloody hell happened?” Ron pushed some dirty laundry to the floor and sat down in the wooden chair that Harry had in front of the desk in the corner.
Harry sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “I...I can’t do it, Ron. I can’t work for the Ministry right now.”
Ron peered at him. “Is this more of your corruption rubbish?”
“You never believe me--”
“Because you have no proof,” Ron pointed out. “You and Ginny...” he stopped talking and shook his head. “Like two peas in a pod. Neither of you can point to one thing that shows there is corruption at the Ministry.”
“I can’t explain it, Ron,” Harry snapped. He stood and pushed past Ron, intending to go downstairs and get food, even though he wasn’t hungry at all. “It’s just a feeling I have.”
Ron followed, thundering down the stairs after Harry. “What do you mean a feeling?”
Harry threw up his hands, trying to find the right words to make Ron understand, even though he’d never been able to do so before now. “In my gut,” he said, resting his fist against his belly. “In every fiber of my being, in my very bones, Ron, I know that something is wrong. I can’t… I don’t understand what it is, but I know it’s there.”
He continued on into the kitchen and began banging around, gathering food that didn’t remotely look appetizing, but it was something to do with his hands.
“I wish I understood,” Ron said. He started to gather food too, taking more care than Harry was about what he put on his plate. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just...I don’t see it. Ginny’s been on and on about the same thing lately.”
Harry froze and thought about that. He wanted more than anything to talk to her, to listen to what she had to say and see if she was feeling the same things that he was. But she was leaving for Hogwarts...tomorrow morning, Harry realized, and she didn’t want to talk to Harry about it, anyway.
“I can’t explain it any more than that right now, Ron,” Harry said. He sat at the table and put a fork full of cold food into his mouth. It tasted like ash, but he ate it anyway. “Besides, I was pants at being an Auror, anyway. I never would have made it through three years of that shite.”
Ron’s eyebrow rose, but it seemed that he didn’t have anything to say about that. Harry wondered how bad the rumors at the Ministry were and how much Hermione knew about why and how Harry had quit.
“What are you going to do now?”
“No clue.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the scraping of their silverware on the plates and the soft flutter of Hedwig, whose perch was in the corner of the room near the fireplace.
“You could always--”
“I’ve got time,” Harry said, realizing that it was true. He still had the money from his vault in Gringotts, the one left to him by his dead parents; he’d barely used any of it through his Hogwarts years. And, it wasn’t like he needed a whole lot of money, anyway. He lived here in Sirius’ house for free. Mrs. Weasley had been keeping his cupboards and fridge stocked by sending food to him via owl--something Harry vowed to stop letting her do all the time--and his needs were simple.
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “I guess you do.”
“Besides, if the Aurors really want people like Draco Malfoy in their ranks, it’s not the place for me.”
Ron made a horrified face. “Malfoy? You didn’t tell me that.”
“Him and several other Slytherins.”
“Not sure how you stayed as long as you did, then. Slimy bastards.”
Harry smirked. “Yeah, well, I had the marks and fit their qualifications on paper,” he said. He wasn’t sure if Professor McGonagall pulled some sort of strings for him behind the scenes or not. She had promised him that she would help as much as possible when he’d told her he wanted to be an Auror back in fifth year during his career counseling session. Granted, Harry had pulled the idea from thin air, but still…
“But the Ministry…” He shook his head, unable to articulate it sufficiently. “It’s not right, Ron. It’s...surface. All of it. I know that makes no sense--”
“Is this about the ‘people are too happy’ thing that Ginny keeps talking about?”
“Yeah, in a way.”
“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”
“It is if it’s not real, Ron.”
Ron thought about that, his eyebrows pinched together. “I guess I don’t see it, but...but I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“What about Ginny?”
Ron smirked. “Oh, she’s a nutter, but that’s because she’s my sister and I’ve known her her whole life.”
“You don’t think she’s crazy?”
The smile slipped from Ron’s face. “I think...that Ginny has some problems, Harry. I don’t know exactly what they are. The nightmares--”
“I have them too.”
“I know.”
The two friends stared at each other and then down at their empty plates. Harry couldn’t remember eating all the food he’d put there, but he must have. He still felt empty, not hungry but...hollow.
“It’s like...remember when Flitwick taught us about Cheering Charms in third year?”
“Yeah.
“Well, imagine that,” Harry said, “only on a huge scale. Like someone has cast a massive Cheering Charm on the world.”
“That’s….” Ron shook his head. “That’s barmy.”
“Right.” Harry was fully into the explanation now that the idea had taken hold in his mind. “Only, what happens when the charm wears off? How do you feel?”
“Like shite.”
“Right.”
“And this huge charm has worn off for you?”
“Or never worked right in the first place,” Harry said. “And I know it’s stupid, but...but it’s the only thing I can think of to explain. What if it is like that? What if it’s like someone cast the charm, only what we’re feeling isn’t real, it doesn’t exist. Happiness and contentment and prosperity aren’t things you can create. They’re either real, or they’re not. And if you make something that simulates it, then what is being hidden behind it?”
“Like a mask?”
“Maybe.”
Ron swore and shook his head. “I take it back, Harry. You’re crazy.”
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes after removing his glasses. “I know.”
Ron levitated their plates to the sink and charmed them to begin washing. “I need to go. We’re supposed to have a family dinner tonight.”
“What was that?” Harry asked, motioning to the sink.
“Appetizers,” Ron said with a smirk. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Keep eating like that and you’ll be growing ‘round the middle.”
Ron laughed. “You should come with me.”
“No, thanks,” Harry said. “I’m not in the best mood tonight.”
“Nobody cares about that, Harry.”
“I care, at least right now. Give me some time and...maybe.”
“I understand,” Ron said. “You should go to the station tomorrow. I’ll bet Ginny would like to see you.”
Harry nodded but he knew he’d never go. He couldn’t show up and see Ginny without wanting to talk to her, hold her, demand that she look at him. As good as she was at pretending, Harry knew he never could.
“I’ll think about it.”
Ron nodded and gave him a long look. “Don’t...don’t do anything stupid?”
“Right.”
Harry stayed sitting at the table for a long time after Ron left, thoughts swirling in his head. Hedwig woke him from his trance by flapping at the window, demanding to be released for her nightly hunt.
“Be safe,” he told her as he opened the window. “I’ll leave one of the upstairs windows open for you.”
He walked through the dark house, refusing to light a candle, or turn on a lamp, and back to his bed, where he collapsed again.
Pounding on the downstairs door woke him and Harry stumbled downstairs, glancing at the clock to see that it was past noon.
“I’m coming,” he grumbled again when the pounding resumed. He held his wand firmly, unsure what to expect. Anyone he knew would generally apparate straight into the house, not be at his door knocking. And since the house was unplottable, whoever it was couldn’t be some random sales person…
He peered through the window in the doorway, shocked to see who it was, and swung the door wide.
“Ginny.”
She stood on the steps, her Hogwarts robes haphazardly thrown over her uniform, her trunk standing on end next to her. Her hair was in disarray, as if thrown into a knot at the last possible minute before she was due on the train. She looked...drawn and pale, and for a moment Harry worried that something had happened.
“Hi, Harry.”
“What’re you--”
“I need a place to stay.”
Without another word, Harry levitated her trunk inside before allowing her past him and closing the door.
He followed her through the entry and into the hallway, until Ginny turned to look at him. For the briefest moment, Harry was reminded of seeing her the first time, so young. “I thought you’d be on the train to Hogwarts.”
Ginny removed her robes and tugged at the red and gold tie, removing it completely. “I’m not going back to Hogwarts. I waited until Mum and Dad left me and then disapparated from the train as it left the station.”
Harry shook his head, trying to keep up. “Why--”
“Because…” Ginny sank down until she was sitting on a settee that Harry had levitated in here when he had first moved in, shoulders slumped and looking as exhausted as Harry felt. “Because I can’t go back there, Harry, not alone, and not...not like this.”
Harry sat next to her, aware now that he smelled horrible, that his clothing was still what he’d worn to work yesterday and that he’d slept in it twice.
“I’ve been telling everyone for ages that I didn’t want to go back, but nobody listens to me. They just...don’t see it.”
“I know.”
But Ginny wasn’t even hearing Harry, it seemed.
“I tried to talk to Bill, I thought that he might understand. But he told me to grow up and stop acting like a baby because I’ll be lonely up there.” She was crying now, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “It’s not about that, Harry. At least, it’s not just about that. I can’t go back there because it’s wrong. It’s all wrong--”
“I know.”
“--and I’m so angry because nobody listens, nobody takes me seriously. They think I’m insane. Percy actually accused me of it last night, Harry. Merlin! Ron said he’d invited you, but I’m so glad that you didn’t come. I wouldn’t have wanted you--”
“Seems like I should have come,” he said with a huff. “Someone needs to be on your side.”
Ginny leaned against him, tucking her head under his chin and nuzzling into his shoulder. “I’m glad you weren’t there, even though...even though it would have been nice.”
Harry slid his arm around her back, holding her to him. He closed his eyes and tried not to let hope bloom. She might be here now, she might even be in his arms, but that didn’t mean it would last. It seemed it was always one step forward, but two steps back with them.
“Can I stay?”
“Yes.”
Harry held her until she fell asleep and for a while after, even. She was heavy against him, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was probably the deepest sleep she’d had in a long time. Slowly, when he couldn’t hold her any longer, Harry shifted her onto the settee, making sure she wouldn’t roll off and laid her discarded robes over her, tucking them around her.
He walked to a narrow credenza that sat in the corner of the room and took out a quill and parchment, scribbling a note.
A click of his tongue summoned Hedwig, who landed on his outstretched arm and accepted the rolled note in her talons.
“Take that…” Harry thought about who should get the note. He didn’t want to cause more problems, but someone would know that she wasn’t at school in a few hours. At the very least, Mrs. Weasley’s clock would alert her that something was off. If Harry told someone, at least they would know that she was safe and where she was. He had no doubt that there would be hell to pay soon.
“Take that to Arthur Weasley.”
Hedwig nipped at his ear and allowed Harry to carry her to the window before soaring out.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter 5Ginny slept until dinner. Harry would peek into the entryway every so often, to make sure, before he went about his work. He cleaned out a room for her across the hall from his own, levitated her trunk inside, and even debated putting her things away, but decided that it was too presumptuous of him. There was always a chance that Ginny would change her mind about staying here, anyway, and be gone before nightfall.
Harry wasn't sure what to think of the entire turn of events. He was thrilled that Ginny was here, that she'd come to him in a time of need, but also confused about what it all meant. He couldn't help but still feel deeply for her-he didn't think that would ever go away-but was unsure what Ginny felt for him. She'd kissed him his last day at Hogwarts but had been distant and non-existent in his life since then. And yet, he could feel a pull when he was with her, an attraction that was more than physical affection for this girl-turned-woman.
Unable to make up his mind about what it all meant, Harry vowed to live in the moment, to stop overthinking and just...be. If Ginny wanted to stay for a night, or forever, Harry would always have a place for her. If she wanted to be with him-really be with him-then they would work things out, but if she decided that she felt nothing more than friendship for him, Harry would stuff his heart back in his hollow, tin-man chest and pretend that it didn't exist.
Harry made a variety of things for dinner unsure what Ginny might want. He knew she didn't eat much; he could see it in the way that her cheekbones stuck out and her hands were thin and frail-looking. It also helped burn off some nervous energy as he moved around the kitchen, making a few of the recipes that he actually knew how to make.
"Smells good."
He was sitting at the table, staring at the spread he'd made when Ginny walked down the stairs into the kitchen. She was rumpled from sleep, her hair askew and her clothing wrinkled, but there was a calmness to her face that he hadn't seen in a while.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in a very long time." She chose to sit next to him, rather than across the table where Harry had set a plate. His chest ached in that familiar way, but Harry swallowed past it and handed her his plate before reaching across to take hers.
"Thank you, Harry," she said. "Not for the food or the nap, but…"
"It's okay."
"I don't think you realize-"
He turned to look at her, catching her gaze and holding it. "Ginny. I really do."
Rather than belabor the point, Harry turned and began dishing up food for himself.
"There's a letter for you," he said, motioning toward the owl perch in the corner. "Hedwig won't let me take it off, seems determined to put it into your hands. It's from your parents. I sent them a letter earlier."
Ginny looked at the snowy owl and then back at Harry. "You wrote to my parents?"
"Had to, didn't I?" he asked. "They'd know you weren't at Hogwarts soon enough. Best to let them know you were at least safe."
Her forehead furrowed and her eyes pinched at the corners, her lips narrowing in a way that made Harry fear she was going to yell, but then it all softened.
"I suppose you're right. Best get it over with. I can take that, Hedwig." The owl hopped from her perch to the table and side-stepped along the edge, coming right up to nuzzle Ginny's shoulder. Ginny chuckled and gave her a little attention before removing the scroll.
"Well, at least it's not a howler," she mumbled. "Must mean that Dad wrote it."
Harry didn't comment, but kept picking at his food, trying to seem neutral and disinterested, even as his mind raced and wondered which Weasley family member would tear his limbs off.
Ginny read the letter, her eyes tracking each line, and didn't comment on anything until the end.
"Well, they're not happy," she said as she folded it away and tucked it under the edge of her plate. "But...I'm of age and they're letting me make my own decisions."
Harry hummed noncommittally and added more food to his plate.
"Nothing to say about it?" Ginny picked up her fork and pushed her food around before taking a bite.
"I offered you a place here, Ginny. There are no strings attached to that. I cleared a room for you, but if you change your mind, I won't be-"
"I'm not going to Hogwarts," Ginny said firmly. "And I'm not going back to the Burrow."
"Okay."
"I...I want to stay here with you," she said.
"Okay."
A slow smile spread across Harry's face. It wasn't perfect, but...for now, it was better.
Xxxxx
"I like it." Ginny walked around the bedroom that Harry had planned for her to use, running her fingers over the chair, desk, and bed before turning to look at him.
"There are others," Harry said. "I figured that if you needed something...I'm just across the hall."
"That's good. And this will be fine."
He wanted to ask how long she thought she might stay, but it seemed too much right now, so Harry backed out of the doorway and walked to his room. His hand rested on the doorknob and he breathed deep before going inside, but he left the door open. A few spells picked up the dirty laundry and sent it zooming toward the corner where the hamper sat, gathered his pile of newspaper clippings, and made the bed. He opened the window and let the warm evening air replace the stale air of the house. He did need to get better about taking care of the place, especially now that Ginny-
"Harry?"
He emerged to find her standing in the hallway, changed out of her uniform and into the comfortable shorts and t-shirts he was used to seeing her in at the Burrow.
"I wasn't sure where you'd gone. You probably think I sound so needy, I-"
"Not at all." Harry stood across from her, his hands stuffed into his pockets and Ginny leaned against the wall next to her door.
"I don't want to be alone right now."
"It's fine. Not like I was doing anything important right now. Or...ever." He smirked and Ginny smiled back at him. He mirrored her position, leaning against the wall opposite her and then sank down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up in front of him and his elbows resting there.
Ginny did the same. Her feet, clad in a tattered pair of trainers, rested next to his. If Harry shifted his foot a little, their ankles would touch.
"Yeah. Ron told me about that."
Harry rested his head back against the wall and looked up at the dark ceiling. The only light in the hallway came from his open window as the sun set, making everything glow half-gold.
"What happened with the Ministry, Harry?"
Harry thought about that. "The same thing that happened with you and Hogwarts. It wasn't...right anymore."
Ginny was the one who moved, and Harry felt the warm brush of her skin along the side of his ankle. They sat like that for a long time before Ginny removed her shoes and socks, sliding both of her bare feet along his. It seemed like such a huge thing when they hadn't touched at all since May.
"Will we ever figure out what's wrong with us, Harry?"
"I don't think it's us. I mean...it is, but...it's more, too." He told her his explanation of the Cheering Charm idea to Ron and she thought about it for a while before nodding.
"I see where you were going, but...this is different."
"I know it is," Harry said, "but it was the only way I could think to explain it to him without making him feel the...weight of all this. He doesn't see it, doesn't understand. No one does."
"Do you think Sirius will mind that I'm here?"
Harry's eyebrows rose. He hadn't even considered his godfather's point of view about Ginny staying at Grimmauld Place. "Sirius isn't...well, he isn't ever here. I mean, he drops in occasionally, but…"
"That's got to be hard." Ginny's eyebrows pulled together, and he felt bare to her, open enough that she knew what was going on in his head. They hadn't talked like this since they would spend nights on the sofa at Hogwarts, sharing their nightmares and anxieties. "You wanted nothing more than to build a relationship with him and he…"
"I can't blame him," Harry said. "I mean, he's not free, here in Britain. Not really. No one at the Ministry will do a damned thing to help him." He shook his head, remembering all the strings that everyone he knew had tried to pull to get Sirius' name cleared, to no avail. "Plus, we don't really know each other, do we? I mean, a handful of conversations through the floo and some letters don't tell you…" Harry's words failed him, and he shrugged helplessly. He didn't want to get emotional about Sirius because he had no right to. Sirius had done what he could for Harry, had given him a place to live and some information about his parents, but Harry couldn't expect him to stop living his life-meager as it was-just because Harry was here in this house. What would he have Sirius do, stay locked up here forever?
"Things aren't turning out the way I'd planned with my life," he admitted with a forced laugh.
"I know. Mine either."
"Lumos." The tip of Harry's wand glowed, giving strange, long shadows to the hallway and making Ginny look almost ghostly in its light.
"I got a letter from the Harpies this summer," Ginny said.
"Yeah?"
She looked away from him and lifted one of her shoes into her lap, playing with the lace until she'd shredded the end of it.
"They were going to scout me this year when I played."
Harry jerked forward. This had been her dream; they'd talked about it on some of those late nights in the Common Room. "Do you-"
"I can't, Harry," she whispered, real pain in her voice. "Not when everything is like this. Merlin, can you see me flying around up there, pretending to be happy when all the time I feel...shattered inside?"
He felt hollow; she felt shattered. What a pair they made.
Harry could hear the seconds hand on the clock in his room ticking away time. He started counting and then lost track.
"What do we do now?"
"I don't know."
They looked at each other for a long time before Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We should get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow things will look...better."
"They're looking better already, Harry," she said, her voice quiet and a little quivery.
Harry wanted to respond that he thought so, too, but her flirting was throwing him for a loop. Did that mean that she liked him again? Or was it only his addled mind that was seeing things where they weren't?
"Good night, Ginny."
"Good night, Harry.
Neither of them stood, but sat frozen together, their feet still touching, and watching each other.
Eventually, and only because Harry saw Ginny yawn twice in a row, he forced himself to move. His bum was asleep and his back ached from the way he'd been sitting, but he wouldn't have changed a moment of sharing those hours with Ginny.
"Night."
He closed his door and leaned against it, wondering how he was going to sleep with Ginny just across the hall from him.
xxxxx
It was almost a week to the day that Ginny had arrived at Grimmauld Place and Harry had been summoned into Diagon Alley to meet Mr. Weasley for lunch. Harry'd kept himself locked away with Ginny as they tried to figure out their new living situation-awkward moments like sharing a bathroom, and sweet moments where they made food while bumping into each other in the kitchen. It was still off, and they were both struggling with nightmares often, but they'd grown so used to it through the years that everything seemed normal in that area.
"Time to face this." Harry pep talk didn't instill much confidence, but he knew there was nothing for it. The Weasleys had been more patient than he'd ever imagined they could be and he needed to talk with them. Since Ginny wasn't answering their owls with more than a quick, one-line response that she was fine, it was down to Harry to run interference.
As he passed Number 93 on the Alley, Harry swore he could feel Fred and George's eyes from the window, but they didn't emerge, didn't accost him, and didn't throw products at him. He wasn't sure how they would feel about him now, honestly, let alone anyone else in the family.
The Leaky Cauldron wasn't busy, and nobody seemed to notice him as he walked in. Hannah Abbott, whom he'd gone to school with and recognized, gestured toward one of the tables near the far end where Mr. Weasley and Ron sat together, their heads low over the table as they spoke in whispers.
Harry's hands shook as he continued forward, passing through the thin barrier of a privacy charm. His ears gave a little pop and he opened his mouth to adjust to it before taking a seat.
"Hello, Harry."
"Mr. Weasley. Ron."
An awkwardness that Harry hadn't felt since he was first found sitting at the kitchen table in the Burrow on the morning the twins and Ron had rescued him from Privet Drive in his second year settled. Harry didn't like it; it felt formal and stiff, and...wrong. These were people he'd grown to love, grown to respect, and now they were looking at him with searching expressions, evaluating how well they knew him at all.
"Hello."
"Would you like to order-"
"Mr. Weasley, I don't feel like eating."
Mr. Weasley's smile was tight and controlled. He ordered a round of Butterbeer for all three of them and they chatted about Quidditch and how things were going at Ron's job before the drinks arrived, zooming into their bubble and landing on the table gently enough that the liquid didn't splash.
Harry sipped at his and eyed Ron, wondering what was in his best friend's mind. The only communication from Ron had been Pigwidgeon arriving the day after Ginny had with a scribbled 'Are you BARMY?' written on parchment. Harry'd responded: 'We've had this conversation, Ron. You've already told me I'm crazy.'
Now, he couldn't read the tightness around Ron's mouth or the way his eyebrows pressed down low over his eyes.
"Harry, I don't mean to make you nervous," said Mr. Weasley. "I just want...answers, I guess."
"I wish I had them for you, Mr. Weasley,'' Harry said.
"Why...why did Ginny leave? Why did she not go back to Hogwarts?"
Harry thought about how much he was comfortable revealing of the conversations he'd had with Ginny. They hadn't talked much about what might happen in the future, or about what they were going to do beyond a few hours. There was so much unsaid between them yet.
"You know that things are...different with Ginny and me. We feel…" He shook his head, trying to gather the right words.
"She's told me that she feels like something is wrong with our world, something that nobody else feels-"
"Nobody but me," Harry corrected.
"Right. You feel it, too." Mr. Weasley's fingers pressed together, almost white at the tips, as he tented them on the table in front of him. "And even though she can't articulate what she means, it changes how she feels about everything."
"It's why she couldn't go back to Hogwarts this year. It's why...why I walked away from the Aurors, sir. And I know that it sounds strange that we can't talk about it, but it almost feels as if...as if the words are...stolen from my mind whenever I try to explain."
Mr. Weasley nodded slowly, his eyes searching Harry's. "I don't know where we go from here, Harry."
"Me either, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, being honest. "I only know that Ginny needed a safe place where she didn't feel pressured to...to be like everyone else, where she could be sad if she needed, or angry, or…" He shook his head.
"She could do that at the Burrow-"
"Really?" He didn't want to challenge the man he'd looked up to for so long, but if Ginny didn't feel protected there before, how could she now?
Mr. Weasley removed his glasses and put them on the table before him. "Harry, I don't want you thinking that we don't love-"
"I know you do, Mr. Weasley. I do. And Ginny knows you love her, as well. She doesn't think you understand. And, how could you? She also doesn't want to be a burden." That was Harry's guess, anyway. It's why he'd accepted Sirius' invitation to live in Grimmauld Place and not the Weasley's to move into the Burrow after Hogwarts.
"Is this about the nightmares?" Ron asked.
Harry glanced at him, but Mr. Weasley's next words didn't let him answer.
"Harry, I respect you, and I respect that you feel you can protect my daughter. But you have to understand how Molly and I feel about this whole situation. Our seventeen-year-old daughter ran away from where she was supposed to be and is living with an eighteen-year-old boy. That, in itself, is-"
"I hope you know, Mr. Weasley, that I would never do anything to...compromise Ginny in any way. I... Well, I just wouldn't."
"I know that, Harry, I do."
"Ginny is of age, and she's capable of making her own decisions."
"I know that, as well, Harry."
They stared at each other for a long minute. "What do you feel for my daughter, Harry?"
Harry averted his eyes and thought about it. He'd known how he felt for a long time now. "I love her, sir. But that doesn't mean that I-"
"I understand."
"And I don't know that Ginny feels the same way-"
"You're daft if you can't see it," said Ron. Harry'd almost forgotten he was there; he'd been so focused on trying to convince Mr. Weasley of his good intentions.
"She hasn't said-"
"She's been in love with you most of her life," Ron said. "But she's...being difficult about it. Ginny always has to do things the hard way."
"Very true," said Mr. Weasley.
Harry's face flamed and he pushed that little bit of the conversation to the back of his mind to deal with later.
"It's still not the point of this," Harry said. "She didn't come to me because she's…" He couldn't even say the words. "She came because we share this same feeling, this same anxiety, if you call it that. She came because she knew I wouldn't question her or demand that she explain it. She doesn't have to because I know."
"And you think this...relationship-if it's friendship or more-is healthy?"
Harry tried not to get annoyed, but he was quickly losing patience. He'd been honest and they knew him, for Merlin's sake! A kernel of doubt began to bloom inside him-had they only pretended to like him all these years? Was his character now in doubt because their daughter needed his help?
"Yes. We support each other. When Ginny feels safe, that I can focus on trying to figure out what this is. When she's there we can talk about the nightmares, talk about the memories that don't make sense, and try to find a place where we can be…"
"Happy?"
"Maybe. I don't know right now. The feeling that I thought was happiness is...all mixed up in my head right now. It feels false, like a planted thought."
Mr. Weasley scowled. "You told Ron that you thought the Ministry might-"
"I don't know," Harry interrupted. "I only know what I feel, Mr. Weasley, and it doesn't feel right."
"How do we proceed, Harry?"
He thought about it, but it seemed so far away, some mythical ending where he and Ginny would be okay again, and they wouldn't have to pretend when some days the anxiety overwhelmed them to the point that they couldn't function.
"We...we go one day at a time, sir," he said. "We let Ginny stay where she feels safe and protected. And we let her work through what this is."
"What about you, mate?" Ron said. "We're worried about you, too, if you couldn't tell."
"I'm fine."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Doubtful."
"She's sleeping, sir," Harry said to Mr. Weasley. "She and I... We don't sleep much, but she's sleeping right now."
Mr. Weasley blew out a deep breath and nudged his glasses around the table top. "That is something to be thankful for."
"It helps to clear the mind. That's not to say there aren't nightmares, but not sleeping makes them worse, usually. And there comes a time when the Dreamless Sleep potion stops working. We're both at that point. But she's been sleeping at least eight hours a day-in spurts. That's...that's huge for us."
"What about you?" Ron asked.
Harry took a nervous sip of his drink. "Not as much."
"Harry."
Harry sighed at his friend's warning tone. "About four, but...but I've been worried about her. I'll settle into a better pattern soon. And with her there, we can talk about what this all means. Maybe we can work through it and find what this is."
Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and put his glasses back on. "Harry, we want both of you healthy and happy-real happiness. For now, let's leave things as they are. But we would appreciate it if you could help...persuade Ginny that she should-"
"I won't tell her to leave," Harry said. "And I won't encourage her to leave, either. She's where she is for a reason, Mr. Weasley."
"I was going to say, persuade Ginny to communicate with us, then we wouldn't have to make assumptions about things."
"I can try, but I won't do anything to undermine our friendship, sir."
Mr. Weasley stood after looking at his watch. "I need to get back to the Ministry." His brow furrowed and Harry noticed that he seemed to look much older than Harry imagined he was. "This is a very fine line you're both walking, Harry-"
"I'll walk it for her, sir."
A hesitant hand was placed on Harry's shoulder and then Mr. Weasley was gone, stepping outside the privacy charm, and leaving the Leaky Cauldron completely.
Harry watched him go and then turned to glance at Ron.
"How mad is everyone?"
Ron snorted and shook his head. "You've got stones, Harry, playing house with a girl who has six older brothers."
"We're not-"
"I know." Ron held up his hands. "I'm just joking, but...but there is a bit of truth behind it, I guess."
Harry scowled. "I would hope that by now you'd know me well enough to know that I'm not messing Ginny around. And I'm not taking this lightly. Ginny and I… Of course, I want it to work out between us, to be…" He shook his head, unable to even fathom what they might be one day. "But if it doesn't, if she doesn't feel that way for me, it doesn't change what I'm willing to do for her, Ron."
Ron nodded and drained the rest of his drink. "This thing you and Ginny feel, the fear…. It's real, isn't it?"
"Very."
Ron swore and shook his head. "I thought it was just…."
"Overactive imagination?" Harry asked. "Not hardly. There's something there, Ron. I can't tell you what it is yet, but...but it's real, and it's...big."
"Okay." Ron breathed out the word as the reality of it settled on him. Harry suspected that he wanted to believe them, but that he'd also wanted to believe it was in their heads, that there wasn't some great...corrupt force out there in the world. "What...what do we do about it? Because if you think I'm going to let you and Ginny-"
"Nothing, right now," Harry said. "We don't know what we're facing. We just know that it's there, that Ginny and I can feel it. For now, you wait until we figure out-"
"Harry-"
"Ron. Ginny and I need to talk, we need to get our minds wrapped around this and decide...decide what it is first. And then we'll talk to you about it. I've never left you out of anything-"
"You didn't tell me how you felt about my sister."
"-anything that was vitally important," Harry finished. "How I feel about Ginny...you don't think that's private?"
"Have you at least told her?"
Harry shifted in his seat. "She knows or did know. I told her back in sixth year."
Ron slapped his hand on the table and Harry was glad there was a privacy charm up. The other few patrons of the pub didn't even notice. "Blimey, Harry! That's two years ago!"
"You don't have to count it out for me," Harry grumbled.
His friend gave him a look of pity and Harry almost growled in response. "Look, I love you both, and I think you would be great together, but Ginny's a pain in the arse. She's always got to push things. She's like Charlie. He always had to test every boundary before he figured the right one. And sometimes I think Ginny's even worse, since she's the baby of the family."
"I know she's stubborn. Trust me."
"It's more than stubborn," Ron said. "She'll push every one of your buttons to see what you'll do, how you'll react. But…" he shook his head, "when she's proved that you won't scarper, she'll love you forever."
"I'm not going anywhere, Ron."
"Good."
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
“This place is a disaster.”“I know. You should have seen it before,” Harry said. “When I first moved in, there was this...smell. I have no idea what it was. Sirius told me that there used to be a House Elf, but that he’d died during the time Sirius was in Azkaban. Sirius found him dead when he came back here.”
Ginny’s nose scrunched in distaste. “That’s just…”
“I know.” Harry pushed open the drawing room doors, coughing at the dusty, cobweb-laden space. “Obviously, he was dead for a while. None of this has been cleaned in...forever. Sirius and I did the necessary rooms but haven’t had time for much more.”
Ginny joined him, her face twisting in horror at the cluttered, dirty room that lay before them. “Well, it’s a good thing I stuck around when Mum got into her cleaning moods. The boys used to feign illness, or homework, or anything else to get out of helping. Fred and George even convinced themselves that they were invisible once, so they didn’t have to organize the linen closets.”
Harry smiled and turned on the gas lamps, surprised that they worked in the abandoned room. “Were they?”
“No,” Ginny said with a snort. “Mum sent stinging hexes that followed them around all day until they got their work done.”
“My Aunt used to make me clean until my fingers bled.” The moment it registered what Harry’d said, he cleared his throat and continued. “I figure between the two of us we can sort this place out.”
“Harry--”
He looked at her, hating the way her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down into a frown.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to make light of it. “Let’s get started.”
“Don’t think I’m done discussing that statement, Harry Potter,” Ginny scolded. She raised her wand and voiced a spell that made the cobwebs in the doorway twist and turn until they balled up and finally disappeared.
“Later,” Harry said, even though he had no intention of talking about growing up at the Dursley home anytime in the future.
They attacked the room best they could, enchanting brooms to sweep and feather dusters to reach the high places. Both of them had to leave when the dusters kicked up enough mess that they broke out in sneezing attacks.
“Blimey,” Ginny said as she bent over at the waist and caught her breath. “We may need an army.”
“Or a good charm to set it all on fire.”
They shared a chuckle before going back inside. “I’ll let some fresh air in.” Harry moved toward the tall windows, shrouded with heavy green draperies. He grabbed the edges and gave a hard tug outward. The light that came in the dirty windows almost blinded him, but he was soon covered in a cloud of black that bit every inch of skin he had showing.
“Geroff! Geroff!”
“Harry! Oh, no! It’s doxies!”
Needle-sharp teeth punctured his arms, neck, and face over and over again, and Harry’s head began to spin.
“Get them off!”
One by one, Ginny plucked the nasty creatures from him, getting a few bites herself, and cursing at them the entire time. When she ran out of patience, Ginny cast a spell that immobilized the pests--and Harry in the process.
Ginny levitated Harry out to the hallway and slammed the doors to the room closed.
“I’m so sorry, Harry!” She unfroze him and Harry winced at the spots of blood that burned all over his arms, neck, and face. “Do you have any doxy antidote here?”
“I don’t even know what they are, how would I know if there is antidote?” He gritted his teeth against the pain and the idea that he might pass out. Harry imagined it was like being stung by a hive of bees, or a massive swarm of mosquitoes.
Ginny tried summoning some and an old bottle came zooming down from upstairs somewhere. “There’s not much left,” Ginny said as she poured it on the worst areas. Mum has some, I know. I can floo--”
“My face,” Harry gritted out. Ginny switched directions and poured the last of the potion onto her fingers, rubbing it onto the swelling spots on his cheeks and forehead.
Harry felt himself melt into the floor and tried to slow his breathing. Before Ginny could dart away to floo her mother, Harry grabbed her hand.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Ginny’s eyes were full of tears. “Oh, Harry, I understand. I’m not mad at you--”
“Still.”
Her shoulders slumped and she sat on the floor next to him, her hand still clasped tightly in his. “Any better?”
“Loads.” And it was. The antidote was working, numbing the areas where the bites were and taking most of the sting out of them. His head felt light and full of cotton.
“We still need more,” Ginny said. “I think you’re supposed to drink it, not pour it on. The stinging will be back soon, but it was the only thing I could think of.”
“S’fine,” Harry said. He got up and they went down to the kitchen after Ginny, wondering how horrible he looked. Was his face all swollen, or covered with welts? With the potion working, making him feel tingly and numb all over, Harry couldn’t tell.
“Sit down, Harry. I’ll floo Mum.” She pushed him into one of the chairs and knelt on the hearth before starting a fire. Harry watched, his head wobbling a bit, as Ginny threw floo powder in and called out to the Burrow.
“Oh, Ginny dear! How good to--”
“Mum! Do you have any doxy antidote? We were cleaning and Harry got bit all over.”
Harry couldn’t see Mrs. Weasley properly in the flames from the angle he was sitting at, but he smiled and hoped that he didn’t look hideous. He wondered if she had any leftovers from breakfast; he’d burned the last of their eggs this morning and they’d made do with toast. He almost asked but the thought left his mind when he saw Ginny leaning into the fire, her bum toward him.
“Goodness! How many times did he get bit?”
Ginny sighed. “Quite a few, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll get some, Ginny. Give me a moment!”
Ginny sat back on her knees and glanced at Harry. He smiled and mused to himself how pretty she was, how her hair looked like the fire, and how much he liked looking at her bum. He also wondered if she would let him kiss her again.
Vaguely, he heard Mrs. Weasley speaking again and what sounded like an argument between she and Ginny before Ginny was back in front of him, telling him to tip his head back and pouring something cool down his throat. It tasted of mint toothpaste and Harry fought the urge to gag on it.
“A bit more, Harry.”
Clarity came to him and Harry shook his head, trying to focus on what had happened. Ginny’s face hovered above him, concern there.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” he said. And it was. The stinging from the bites was receding and Harry didn’t feel as disconnected. “Better.”
“Well, you’re lucky. Mum was demanding to come through. She said the old potion made you loopy, and it was a good thing that I didn’t make you drink it. Who knows when it was made! She also sent over some doxycide that will take care of those nasty buggers.”
“We can do it another day,” he said.
“Let’s get it done, Harry,” Ginny sighed. She looked tired and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Harry wiped it off with his hand, smearing some of the sticky blue-green doxy potion there instead. “Mum said the doxycide will paralyze them and we can gather them up and toss them outside. Once they’re out there, they won’t harm anyone. They’re only aggressive when they think their home is being attacked.”
“Won’t the doxycide make them even madder?”
Ginny stood up straight and brushed her hands on her jeans. “Nah. Mum says we should be fine now. Oh, she also said you might itch for a while after the potion gets into your system. The doxy venom takes a bit to work its way out.”
“Perfect.”
“Hurry up,” Ginny said as she started walking up the steps toward the first floor, “and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to stare at my bum some more.”
Harry’s mouth went dry and he scowled, trying to figure out how she’d read his mind.
In the end, it took them over an hour with the doxycide to rid the drawing room of the pests. Harry kept having to stop and scratch in strange places. After Ginny began laughing at his contortions, Harry started trying to hide it from her. He would rub up against the corner of a piece of furniture or wait until she turned the other way to scratch like mad.
“I’m sure there are more in some of the other rooms,” Ginny said as she leaned against one of the ornate sofas. “We’ll worry about those another day.”
Harry had finished wiping down the surface of the writing desk and turned to watch her.
“It does look loads better in here.”
“Yes, it does.”
“But I still don’t like it,” Ginny said. She scrunched up her face and looked at the decorations. “It feels so...dark.”
Harry knew what she meant. Despite getting the majority of it clean, there was a dark, sinister feel to it all. He lifted his hand and began to scratch at a spot on his neck but froze when Ginny glared at him.
“You’re going to make yourself bleed again,” she scolded.
“It’s all the snakes that make it seem so bad,” he said. He tucked his hands behind him and gritted his teeth against the urge to dig his fingers into another itchy spot.
“Probably.” Ginny pushed off the sofa and moved toward one of the cabinets on the side of the fireplace. “Let’s do this one now, and we can do the other after lunch. Then, we can finish with this room completely.”
“Okay.”
Harry moved toward her and stood back as she opened the glass doors, prepared if any other creatures came flying at them. Nothing moved and they inspected the items together, making caustic comments and grimacing at how horrible Sirius’ family must have been.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Ginny suddenly said. She stopped pulling things off the shelves and turned, as if she might leave the room.
“I thought you said--”
“I know what I said, Harry!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’m tired of this. I didn’t come here to be your maid, you know.”
Harry blinked at her and scratched his arm. “I didn’t ask you to,” he said. “In fact, I don’t know why you’re here. You don’t seem too keen on telling me much of anything.”
“You invited me to stay. You said I was welcome.”
“I did.” Harry scowled and tried to remember what they were fighting about, again. “And you are.” He began scratching and gave a low growl, feeling desperate to stop the annoyance of the burning itch.
This seemed to drain some of the fight out of Ginny and she moved closer. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “We’ve had enough today. I’ll give you some more potion.”
After one last dose, Harry watched Ginny making them lunch from the meager supply of food they had left. The entire day seemed to have been one big mess, even though it had started out well enough.
“Ginny.”
She looked at him over her shoulder and he could see that familiar anxiety and insecurity in her eyes.
“Come here.”
Wiping her hands on a towel, Ginny drew closer. Harry reached for her and pulled her into his arms.
“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. “I do want you here, more than I want anything.”
Ginny clung to him, burying her face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why--”
“This is pretty stressful. I think we need to get out of this house for a bit. We could use some groceries.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll even buy you some Wizard Puffs.” Harry remembered how she would sometimes pour a huge bowl of breakfast cereal at times and sit on her mother’s counter to eat it.
“Can we get the ones with the sparkle wand?” she asked with a tearful sniff.
Harry chuckled and nodded, even though he had no idea what a sparkle wand was. “Yeah. I’ll buy you a sparkle wand.”
Xxxxx
Harry half woke when Ginny crawled into bed with him. It wasn’t the first time, but she also didn’t do it often, only when the nightmare was an overwhelming one. He’d never gone across the hall and climbed into bed with her when his night visions became too much, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. More and more, his words to Mr. Weasley kept coming back to him, reminding him that he needed to keep himself in check. Ginny seemed to be so affectionate lately--holding his hand, leaning on him, finding ways to touch him in some way--and it was driving him crazy. He didn’t know exactly what each touch meant, and he found that it was distracting in a horribly wonderful way.
When she would appear in his dark bedroom and put her hand on his shoulder, telling him to budge over, Harry didn’t argue. He would slide backward in the bed and open the covers for her. She would nuzzle in for a while before falling back to sleep. Occasionally, the dream wouldn’t let go and she would talk to him; Harry would listen in his half-awake state, smooth her hair, press his lips to her temple, and whisper nonsense words that seemed to soothe her.
They were exhausted after cleaning another room in the house--neither had been back into the drawing room yet--and had fallen asleep early. It shouldn’t have surprised Harry to find Ginny in his bed, but it did. He reached out in the half-light of morning and found her tucked between him and the wall. He made sure she had enough blanket, glanced with blurry vision at the clock, and then went back to sleep.
He woke several hours later at the sound of his door closing. Ginny was still asleep next to him, her hair tangled around her head. Harry extracted his arm, careful not to wake her. She needed the sleep.
His mind darted to who it could have been; only a few people could get into the house. If it was Ron who’d seen Harry and Ginny sharing the bed, Harry might need to defend himself, either from a spell or a punch. Pulling his jeans on, Harry tucked his wand into his pocket, put his glasses on, and crept out. Ginny rolled in the bed and pulled his pillow toward her but didn’t wake.
It was Sirius who’d come in. Harry found him sitting at the kitchen table, the low light of a single candle flickering against the walls and casting long shadows.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Sirius gestured toward the stairs. “I didn’t realize--”
“It’s not like that,” Harry said. He got a drink of water, drained it and then sat across from his godfather. “Ginny gets nightmares and sometimes--”
But Sirius held up his hands in front of him. “Harry, you’re both of age. I know that things happen--”
Harry groaned. “Nothing’s happened. Not like that, I mean. She gets scared and last night she came in to lay with me. I didn’t even realize it until I woke up earlier. Ginny barely sleeps, Sirius. If she needs me there to help her, then...then I’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
It looked as if Sirius might say more, but he seemed to brush it aside as his dark eyes became less clouded with thoughts. His hair was longer, sort of ragged and choppy, as if he’d cut it himself, hacking at the ends with a knife. The shadow of several days’ worth of beard growth was there, hints of grey poking through.
“You usually send an owl when you’re going to be home.”
“Didn’t plan on being home,” Sirius said. “Just here for a couple of days, actually. Remus had something he needed to do.”
“Is he here?” Harry looked around, is if his old professor might be hiding somewhere in the kitchen.
“Full moon tomorrow. He’s in a safe place.” Sirius rubbed his face, running his hands up and down. He looked old, much older and worn than Harry remembered him being at the end of summer, when they’d last seen each other.
“Thank you,” Harry said, “for letting Ginny stay. It’s...it’s been good, for both of us.”
Sirius studied him for a long time before giving a single nod. “She’s always welcome. I’m surprised the Weasleys allowed it.”
“Ginny can be...persuasive,” Harry said, a smile tugging at his lips. “And stubborn as hell.”
“Usually a dangerous combination,” teased Sirius. “Harry, I know it’s not my business, but…”
Harry sighed, waiting for the lecture about Ginny’s reputation, or some other such thing. He readied the same response that he’d given to Mr. Weasley about respecting Ginny.
“You do know about…” Sirius gestured with his hands and Harry felt his face heat.
“Sex? Yeah, I know.”
Sirius seemed to deflate in relief and nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Uncle Vernon made it quite clear that I was not to bring home some girl, or worse, some bastard kid like me for him to have to raise, too. He was quite...graphic about it.” The memory made his whole body burn with shame and anger.
“Harry, you know that’s not--”
Harry didn’t want to think about that, so he continued on. “But Mr. Weasley took me and Ron aside before fourth year and talked to us, too.”
“That had to be...uncomfortable,” Sirius said with a smirk.
“Well, Ginny and I weren’t...I mean...he didn’t--”
“It’s probably more awkward for him now,” said Sirius, “knowing that it’s his daughter that you--”
“We haven’t--”
“--might put that information to use with.”
“Yeah, well…”
“If you have any questions...ask Ron.”
They stared at each other for a long minute before chuckling. Harry felt a strange fondness roll over him. He’d been mortified when Mr. Weasley had stammered through an awkward explanation involving plugs and sockets, but there was a sort of endearing respect bred for the man out of that moment. He was under no obligation to speak with Harry about such a sensitive subject, but he had anyway, and he’d done so out of love for Harry. And Sirius, in his own bumbling way had tried, also.
“Want some coffee?” Harry asked.
Sirius relaxed into the seat. “Please.”
Harry stood and began summoning things from the cupboards. “I’ll get some breakfast going. Ginny should be up soon.” He froze. “Don’t...don’t mention seeing her in the bed, yeah? I don’t want her to feel--”
“No, no! Merlin, no,” Sirius spluttered and turned red beneath his whiskers.
“Eggs and bacon alright?”
“Perfect.”
Xxxxx
Sirius’ visit helped bring a little levity to the house and Harry found himself sitting back, appreciating the fact that Ginny relaxed more as the day went on.
It was Ginny, in fact, who had asked where Sirius had been and what he’d been doing. The questions had been in Harry’s mind from the beginning, rolling around like a loose gobstone, but he hadn’t wanted to upset the delicate balance of his and Sirius’ relationship. There always seemed to be an edge there, a sort of precipice that they sometimes approached, but never crossed.
“Well, I’ve been all over,” Sirius answered vaguely. His expression darkened when Ginny pressed, a single look from her with raised eyebrows and expectations. “Mostly Eastern Europe. Remus wants to write a book, so he’s doing research. Plus, it’s easier to move around over there.”
“What’s it like?” Ginny asked. “Is it...like here?”
Sirius’ brow furrowed. “I don’t understand your question.”
Ginny glanced at Harry, who was sitting next to her, his arm draped over the back of her chair. “I’ve told you about how Ginny and I feel,” Harry said. “Like everything is...wrong. Like it’s all clouded in this mist of...deception, but not everyone feels it. In fact, most people feel--”
“Happy,” Ginny said. “They feel content and happy with how things are going. But even that’s not real. Take Ron, for instance. Most of the time he’s just happy to be where he is, content, I guess you could say. But then sometimes he’ll see something, or something will give him the feeling that it’s not right. He asks me questions sometimes, but then it’s like the next day it’s all gone again, covered in a sort of… Mist, is a good way to explain it, Harry. Like a fog that’s clouding everyone’s brains.”
“But not the two of you,” Sirius said. He leaned forward, intent on understanding.
“Well, no, most of the time we’re dealing with the misty feeling, too,’ Harry said. “But for some reason, the two of us are either growing more immune to it, or something isn’t working right in our brains and we can see it for what it is--or at least see the effects of it. We have no idea what it is.”
“It’s not like that in other places,” Sirius said after a long minute of thought. “There it’s...normal, I guess you might say. Now that you point it out, I can feel a difference when I’m here. I thought that it was the feeling of home.”
“So, you can feel something?”
“Something,” Sirius agreed. His brow furrowed, his eyes not focused on them, as he thought about it. “It’s...lighter here, which shouldn’t be the case since I’m essentially still a wanted man. But when I’m here, I don’t really think about that.”
Ginny looked at Harry, emphasizing some point that she must have been trying to make. Harry didn’t quite connect but made a mental note to ask her about it later.
“It feels good to be home.” He stood and stretched. They’d been sitting in the kitchen for hours, so long that Harry’s bum had gone numb on the seat.
This was the precipice that Harry had been pondering earlier. Sirius could talk with him about what Harry was feeling, what was going through Harry’s mind, but anytime they approached anything that Sirius was feeling, it was like curtains drawn on the conversation and Sirius would shift it to something else.
“You should stay, then.” Ginny’s words breached that chasm. “I know that Harry would like it.”
“Stay?” Sirius barked. “And spend my days cooped up, like the two of you?”
Harry scowled at him. “We get out.”
“To get food,” Sirius said. “When was the last time the two of you did something fun?”
Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. They didn’t do things for fun and Harry felt guilty. He’d been thinking about asking Ginny to go flying with him, but they seemed to get sidetracked by the moodiness that would strike either of them one day or another. Now that Sirius mentioned it, Harry realized that he felt...bored. It’d only been a few weeks since Ginny had moved in, but they hadn’t gone anywhere.
“We’ll work on that.” It was Ginny who ended that leg of the conversation.
They passed the day with Sirius telling old stories of Harry’s parents when they were in school and the antics that the friends used to get up to. It sort of made Harry uncomfortable to talk about his parents because he had no framework to put them into in his head. He had no memory of them--they’d died when he was one--but he also had little to no information about them from other sources. Aunt Petunia refused to speak of her dead sister and all Uncle Vernon had done was hurl insults and talk about how no-good they both were.
To hear about them as teenagers made Harry wonder how much of Sirius’ stories he could trust. He didn't think Sirius was lying, more that Harry had no way of knowing what was true and what was embellishment for the sake of storytelling and entertainment.
Ginny must have sensed his unease with the topic because she sat back in her chair, resting her head against his arm and winding their hands together beneath the table, giving him little looks now and again. And then she’d interrupt Sirius’ story to question what they were like as parents, or how they’d come to fall in love with each other. Harry appreciated that she was trying to build a foundation of a past for Harry out of nothingness; it might not work, but she was the first to try.
When Harry mentioned that the earliest memory he had was a bright green light that faded into darkness, Sirius thought about it for a while before suggesting that it might be a part of the car crash that he had survived when his parents perished. Something about that felt...wrong, and Harry grew agitated and almost...angry.
“I have no way of knowing, do I?” he growled. “It’s not like my dreams tell me anything helpful. They’re...horrible.”
Ginny’s fingers tightened down on his, in either support or warning. Harry wasn’t sure which, but he was tired of holding back.
“All?” Sirius asked. “Surely there must be some good ones. I mean--”
“Almost all,” Harry interrupted, wanting to steer the conversation away from whatever salacious thing that Sirius might slip in. He’d been true to his word and hadn’t teased Ginny about being in Harry’s bed, but that might change if the sly expression on Sirius’ face was any measure. And nobody needed to know the few pleasant dreams that Harry had because they were not safe enough to air in company and centered around his feelings for Ginny.
“The dreams are different for us,” Ginny said. “They’re almost like secret messages, but they’re so coded, so veiled, that it’s impossible to see what they mean.”
“Like divination, you think?”
Ginny tilted her head to the side. “Maybe? Is that how divination works, Harry? I didn’t take that barmy class.”
Harry shook his head. Professor Trelawney had talked about dreams, even had the students keep a dream journal. Harry and Ron had filled theirs with nothing but nonsense, because at that time Harry didn’t remember much about his dreams. He hadn’t really paid much attention to them until he and Ginny had begun talking more during his fifth year.
A thought occurred to him and he turned to look at Ginny. “Do you think it’s because of the accident that we started having these dreams?”
“Accident? What accident?” Sirius asked, but they were both ignoring him now, intent on each other.
“Possibly,” Ginny said. “But it was before that for me. I don’t know, it’s all so hazy.” She rubbed at her forehead and let out a sound like a low growl.
“It was then for me,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t completely sure. “At least, that’s when I started paying them any mind.”
“What accident?” Sirius said, his voice raised.
Harry looked back at him. “In my fifth year, Ginny’s fourth, we crashed into each other on the Quidditch Pitch during practice. Neither of us remember much about it, but we were both hurt.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Ginny said, her voice quiet, almost a whisper.
Harry looked down at her. “You think I crashed into you on purpose?”
“No, that’s not what I meant--”
“Because I wouldn’t do that!”
Ginny gave him a little warning look for interrupting her. “I meant, Harry, that it wasn’t a Quidditch accident at all. It was...something else that happened to us, something...something bad.”
They hadn't discussed this before and Harry blinked at her, unsure where this was coming from.
“What do you mean bad?” he asked. “Like…”
“I don’t know, Harry,” GInny snapped. “It's just a feeling I get. I don’t remember playing Quidditch at all that day. In fact, the entire year is a bit of a haze, if I’m honest. The memories of that time are all foggy, indistinct and sort of...like I read about them in a book, but they didn’t happen to me.”
“You had your nose stuck in that damned diary all year,” Harry pointed out. “I remember seeing you write in it, and I’m not crazy, even though nobody else remembers it. I talked to you once, but you were sitting there writing in that book. It was like you didn’t even notice me.”
Tears filled Ginny’s eyes and she leaned into him. “I don’t remember a diary, I’m sorry.”
Harry felt bad for losing his temper. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately. “I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t...a good time for either of us.”
“Why don’t you write down these dreams and feelings that you’re having?” Sirius suggested. “That way you can remember more and talk about them more. Remus suggested that I do the same thing, actually, but not about dreams. I don’t remember much before Azkaban,” he admitted. “I remember parts of my childhood, enough to remember it wasn’t happy. Granted, you can guess that much from this ruddy place,” he said as he gestured at the house surrounding them.
“I don’t want to keep a diary,” Ginny said crisply. “I hate them.”
“Not a diary, then. What about… a letter? Write them in a letter to..to…”
“To me,” Harry said. “And I’ll write mine in a letter back.” Maybe they could see some sort of pattern to their dreams and thoughts, or maybe it would open communication between them a little more and Harry could gain insight into what Ginny was feeling more than a glimpse here or there.
“That might work.”
“Get some paper,” Harry urged. “We can start tonight.”
“I’m tired, Harry,” Ginny said. A little whine had crept into her voice and Harry recognized the signs of her beginning to shut down completely. There had been enough emotion for today, he decided.
“Then tomorrow.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, hoping it would help her center.
“No, I’ll get started tonight,” she said, determination filling her tone. “I want...want to figure this out.”
“Okay. There’s parchment in the desk in the entryway.”
“No,” said Ginny. “I used the last of it the other day to send an owl to Mum.”
“My mother used to keep loads of it in the drawing room, in that desk in the corner.”
“I hate that room,” Ginny said as she stood to go. “It was good seeing you, Sirius. Don’t...don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
Sirius smiled and slapped his hands on the table. “Will do, Miss Weasley. Sleep well.”
They watched her go and Sirius turned to look at Harry. “I like her, Harry. I also like her for you. But she can also be a little…”
“Don’t say crazy,” Harry warned, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Because she’s not.”
Sirius held his hands up in front of him. “I was going to say intense. I don’t think either of you is crazy. There’s something there, but it’s not something I can…” He stopped talking and shook his head, as if the words had simply disappeared from his mind.
“I know the feeling,” Harry told him. “Happens to me all the time.” He yawned and although he wanted to spend more time with Sirius, he was exhausted. He wondered if Ginny climbing into his bed last night had woken him more than he realized.
“Go to bed, Harry.” Sirius chuckled as Harry yawned again. “I’ll be here tomorrow for a bit. We can talk more then. I do think writing things down will help.”
“We’ll see.”
Harry climbed the stone steps as he thought about what he would write to Ginny. Maybe writing it would be easier than trying to say it? Sirius followed him, turning out lights and blowing out candles, bathing the house in darkness.
As Harry passed the dark drawing room, he heard his own voice hissing low and a whimper from the blackness.
“...stupid little girl.”
“No. It’s not true.”
“It’s no wonder no one believes you. You’re crazy, Ginny. No one will ever believe you.”
Harry lit his wand and walked into the room only to see himself standing over Ginny as she huddled on the floor, wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth, and shuddering with sobs.
“What…?”
“Please don’t say that, Harry.”
The Harry standing over Ginny sneered at her. “I could never love someone as crazy as you.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry understood what was happening.
“It’s a boggart. Ginny, don’t believe it.” He stepped forward and the boggart was distracted by the movement. It looked up at Harry and morphed, turning into Ginny’s lifeless body lying on the floor, pale and motionless. Harry stared at the image of Ginny ripped straight from his nightmares. Inside, he knew that he needed to get to Ginny--the real Ginny--but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move.
“Harry? Harry!”
Before his eyes the Ginny lying dead on the floor transformed into an iron cage as Sirius pushed past him.
“Get Ginny out of here. I’ll take care of the boggart.”
Harry nodded and swallowed past the panic. He moved toward Ginny and gathered her into his arms.
“Come on, Ginny. You’re safe.”
She cried against his shoulder, her fingers twisting painfully into his t-shirt, but allowed him to help her stand. Harry shuffled them toward the door and glanced back over his shoulder to see the cage shrink small enough that Sirius was able to step on it.
“Harry.”
They’d reached the stairs and Harry could feel Ginny shaking all over. He helped her to the first step before sliding his arm under her knees and lifting her. She wasn’t heavy, and despite his own shaking knees, Harry knew she wouldn’t make it up the stairs alone; he’d be able to carry her.
He didn’t even try for Ginny’s bedroom when they made the second-floor landing, but went straight to his own room, placing Ginny on the bed.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, swiping at her tears. “I tried to make it go away.”
“S’okay,” he replied. He hadn’t even made it that far. What would he have done if Sirius hadn’t stepped in? He wasn’t sure he could get the image of a dead Ginny out of his head, let alone try to make it funny.
“I can’t believe you saw that.”
“Ginny…” Harry sat on the edge of the bed next to her and put his arm around her. “I don’t...don’t care. I mean, we both know it’s not real. That doesn’t mean it’s not…”
“You’re scared of me dying?” she asked.
He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I’m terrified of not being able to save you.”
“Harry, I…”
“Let’s try to sleep,” he said. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
She resisted lying down into the bed and looked at the door that Harry had kicked closed. “Okay.” Instead of protesting that she really should be in her own room, Ginny lay down next to him, pulling the blankets over them both. She curled into Harry’s side and he buried his face into her hair.
“Ginny...I would never say that to you.”
“I know.”
“You’re not crazy, or stupid,” he said after a huge yawn that made his jaw pop. “And...and I do love you.”
She might have responded, but Harry was so exhausted that he didn’t hear it.
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The day after the experience with the boggart was quiet in Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ginny slept fitfully and late. They were both lost in their thoughts too much. When Sirius suggested that they get out of the house for a little while, Harry gathered their brooms, took Ginny by the hand, and apparated them to one of the fields he’d gone flying at during the summer.They flew for hours and it seemed to chase away some of the darkness from Harry’s mind. The sun was high in the pale blue sky, and he wasn’t even bothered by the slight chill in the air. The images still haunted Harry: him looming over Ginny, Ginny’s dead body, and even Sirius’ cage. The more he thought about them, the more they made sense to him, knowing what he knew about each person.
After flying, they sat in the tall grass and enjoyed being outside.
“I’m going to burn and freckle more,” Ginny complained as she poked at a pink spot on her arm where her sleeve had ridden up.
“You should have used some sort of charm, or something.”
“There isn’t a sunblock charm, Harry,” she said, her nose scrunching up. “At least, not that I know of. If there was, I’m sure Mum would have covered us in them, instead of slathering us with goopy sun-repelling potion every time we went outside. The stuff never worked; we’re all covered in freckles and burn every summer.”
Harry looked down at his own arms, surprised to see they were a little pink, too. “Aunt Petunia always used to rub stuff all over Dudley, when we would go out. I was too fast for her to catch me, not that she tried hard, mind you.”
Ginny looked at him and Harry felt the weight of her gaze. He’d let slip little things here and there about how he grew up and Ginny always seemed fascinated in a horrified sort of way.
“Thank you for today, Harry,” she said, instead of expounding on his upbringing. “We both needed it.”
“We’ve been distracted lately,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to be, I just… It felt nice not to have to think about what’s going on outside the house.”
“Yeah.” Ginny kicked off her shoes and peeled her socks away, stretching her pale feet into the grass. Harry noticed that her toenails weren’t painted at all, only the pale natural color of the nail showing.
“But I…” Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure where to begin, but we do need to start trying to figure this out.” He tugged at some long grass until it released and then began twisting the long strands together, around and around his finger, turning the tip purple.
“I was thinking about that this morning,” Ginny said. “I woke up and was looking at that stack of newspapers you have in there.”
“Oh.” Harry’d almost forgotten about his newspaper obsession earlier in the summer. The articles were still piled on his desk, but yellowing, with curled edges from neglect. “I had no idea what I was doing or looking for, to be honest. I just...felt the need to do something.”
“I actually think you were right, Harry. I mean, maybe that’s not all--just people disappearing--but what if...what if it gives us a place to start?”
Harry looked at her. He liked the way she looked in the sun, the way her hair was pulled back in a plait, but that some pieces had escaped and were tickling at her neck and face in the light breeze. Her eyes were squinting against the brightness of the sun, but she was earnest and her expression unclouded for the minute.
“I suppose so,” Harry said.
“We could expand the search, use Muggle sources. Maybe whatever this is its affecting them, too. You said the Aurors had been called out on the day you left the Ministry.”
“Yeah. Hermione dug around for me and found out it was some sort of training exercise to evaluate the entire department. It was nothing, a way to realign the department, I guess.”
Ginny hummed in thought. “I still think it’s worth us looking at.”
“Okay.” At the very least, they’d be doing something, Harry decided. He hadn’t realized how distracted he’d allowed himself to be with Ginny at Grimmauld Place. And he didn’t feel bad about spending time with her because, despite the dreams, they’d both been sleeping more, and Ginny had lost some of the thin, pinched look she’d had when she’d shown up at his door on September first.
The Weasleys had been giving them a wide space to deal with things, and Harry appreciated it. Even Ron and Hermione had only dropped by once during the few weeks that Ginny had been there. Hedwig was kept busy between the Burrow and Grimmauld Place, but very few of the letters were for Harry. Ginny seemed to be communicating better with her parents now that they had a little space between them. And Mrs. Weasley’s head was often in the floo. Harry tried not to eavesdrop when he would walk in and see Ginny sitting on the hearth, talking to her mother. There were some tense moments, still, but overall things seemed to have reached a plateau of cordiality, at least.
“And I do like the idea of writing our dreams down,” Ginny said. “I think...Sirius was right about that helping us talk about them.”
Harry nodded and squinted at the sun to see how high it was. He didn’t fancy talking about the things he saw--Ginny’d seen some of it with the boggart last night--but if it helped Ginny to deal with her demons, then he’d do what he could.
“Last night…” Ginny shook her head and then shifted so that she could lay her head in Harry’s lap. His shadow blocked the sun for her, and she could look up at him without blinking. “Last night was hard.”
Harry nodded and tried to think what he would say if she wanted him to talk about what he’d seen.
“I never meant for you to see that about me. I don’t...don’t like being weak.”
“You weren’t weak.”
“It felt like it. That boggart was able to see everything I feared and magnify it. And to make it worse, you saw.”
“That makes us pretty even, I’d say, then,” Harry pointed out. “Do you think I ever wanted to let you see yourself like that?”
She sat up and turned so that she was facing him, resting one hand on the ground by his hip, leaning into him. “Where did that come from?”
Harry’s hand found the end of the plait at her back and wrapped his fist around it, holding it lightly. “My nightmares,” he said. “That one last Christmas.”
Her other hand rested along his cheek and Harry leaned into it, closing his eyes.
“You were pretty shaken then.”
“It was the first time I had the dream,” he said. “You remember my normal one about running and not being able to find what I needed?” She nodded. “This...well, it was sort of the conclusion, I guess you could say. I found...I found you.”
“Dead?”
Harry tried to remember the details. Even though he had the dream often, little things would change. Sometimes he found Ginny dead, sometimes hurt, others she would be a piece of stone, lying on the floor.
“Sometimes,” he said.
Her fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, ruffling the hair there. “I’m sorry.”
Harry sighed and rested his forehead against hers, letting himself breathe. “Yours wasn’t...wasn’t easy to see, either. I would never--”
“I know. I know it’s not real. I know that you wouldn’t…. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t fear it.”
Harry pulled back to look at her. He brought his hand up and pushed away a longer bit of hair that was resting against the side of her face. He’d told her he loved her last night, and he did, but he wasn’t sure he could say it again in the bright light of day.
“I made a promise to you a long time ago, Ginny Weasley,” he said instead, “that you would never have to hide from me. I meant it. Fears, bad days, good days...I want to see them all.”
“I’ll try, Harry.” She pressed her lips against his sunburned cheek and threw her arms around him, holding him in a shattering embrace.
Xxxxx
Harry didn’t care for making a floo call. He didn’t like that he had to kneel on the hearth, or the fact that he always got ash in his mouth. But it was dead useful when he needed an answer quicker than owl post.
Hermione was busy, flitting in and out of view as she gathered the things he’d asked for in a large stack. He would have invited Hermione over, but Ginny was still being particularly sensitive about seeing anyone. She would floo call them but seeing them in person wasn’t comfortable for her just yet, and Harry was trying to honor that request.
“I still don’t understand why you want all these--”
Harry sighed. “Just a project we’re working on.”
Hermione stopped before the fireplace, a haphazard pile of Muggle newspapers in her arms. She looked frazzled and Harry could see she was working on making something in the kitchen. Cooking was one skill that Hermione was struggling to master, and it seemed to be escaping her, if Ron’s descriptions of their meals could be believed.
“Does this have to do with--”
“Don’t say it out loud,” Harry hissed. “And...it’s possible. Just following up on an idea we had.”
Hermione thought about that and nodded. “Alright, Harry. I’ll send these over. And I’m sure I can have Mum and Dad send their papers to you when they’re finished reading them. Does that help?”
“Loads,” Harry said, trying to sound confident. Ginny’s suggestion that they expand the search for missing people to Muggles was at least somewhere to start. She was currently scouring the Wizarding news to add to their list and also looking for anything else that seemed out of place.
“We appreciate it, Hermione,” Harry said.
His friend nodded and gave him a look that he didn’t want to interpret completely, but it looked a whole lot like pity. “When can we see you again? We...we miss you, Harry. And Ginny.”
“Soon, I hope. We’re working through some things. I don’t know what good it will do, and I don’t want to talk about it this way, but...we’ll see how things go.”
Hermione’s shoulders sank and she almost dropped the newspapers. “I hope things go well, Harry.”
“Me too. Oh, and you might want to check whatever you had cooking. It looks like it’s burning.” Harry closed out the call, having heard a very nasty word escape from Hermione--a rare occurrence. He backed out and winced at the pain in his knees as he brushed the soot away.
“I like it when you floo call,” Ginny said absently. Harry noticed that she’d twisted her long hair up into some sort of knot and had shoved her wand through it, holding it in place.
“Yeah?”
She didn’t even look up from her reading. “Yep. I get to look at your bum.”
Harry’s face heated and he chuckled. Ginny’d been slipping little things like that in here and there. It helped defuse the tension between them. They weren’t defining or naming this strange relationship, but it seemed to fit them, even if it still confused Harry. They shared little touches all the time--the brush of her hand along his shoulders as she passed behind him, his fingertips caressing her cheek when she was close, a little tug on the end of her plait, her buried fingers in his hair, kisses on her cheek, nuzzles against his neck, and a million other things. Harry hadn’t told her that he loved her again, and she hadn’t reciprocated, but he thought he felt it in the way that she responded to him. And even though Harry craved more--he wanted to kiss her again--he was content with holding himself in check until Ginny decided that she was ready.
Once Hermione had sent the stack of newspapers through, Harry spread them across his half of the table and began to search.
“Anything?” Ginny asked a few hours later. She’d made lunch and slid the plate under Harry’s nose. He’d eaten it all eyes still roving the words.
“Maybe,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve read so much the ink is leaking through my fingertips.” He held up his hands and showed her his black fingers.
Ginny clucked her tongue and used a scouring spell to clean them. “I never understood that with Muggle newsprint. We used to charm them in Muggle Studies so that it wouldn't come off.
“Oh. Hadn’t thought of that,” Harry said. “Well, here’s a list of what I’ve found. Two disappearances--fairly notable, I suppose--and then some odd occurrences.” He handed over his notes to Ginny and she added them to the clippings they’d moved down from Harry’s bedroom. The entire wall of the kitchen had been cleaned of its decorations and was now to be their organizing space. Ginny’d done some sort of fancy Obfuscation charm so that anyone flooing in or even standing in the kitchen would only see Quidditch posters.
“It’s at least something,” Ginny said. “The Daily Prophet has nothing, but I see what you mean about it being too...silly, almost. This story for instance,” she said while poking her finger to the page she’d left open, “is about plimpy harvesting. I’ve read more hard-hitting reporting in Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle. But The Quibbler was better.” She indicated the few articles that she’d removed and put on their board.
Harry stood, arching his back and wincing when it popped. “I wish we had any idea what more we should be looking for.”
Ginny joined him at his side, and they looked at the wall together. It looked sparse, to say the least.
“What’s this one?” Harry asked about one of The Quibbler articles.
Ginny narrowed her eyes, scanning the print. “Oh, yes. It’s Zacharias Smith--you remember him from school?--well, he’s been making noise about a break-in at his family’s museum. He claims to be some sort of descendant of Helga Hufflepuff.”
Harry racked his brain, trying to remember. “Tall, skinny, perpetual scowl?”
“That’s the one. Nose always stuck in the air,” Ginny said. “Anyway, he swears that someone broke into the museum and took some artifact---a cup, it seems--replacing it with a fake one. Problem is, he can’t narrow down when it was done because the cup hasn’t been touched in years, decades, even. He goes on and on about it for paragraphs. I feel for Luna; she had to sit and listen to that prat rattle on about it.”
“A cup? Strange.”
Ginny shrugged. “It might be nothing, but you said anything that struck me. I’m not exactly sure why that one did…” She sighed and pressed her hands into her lower back. Harry noticed and moved to stand behind her, digging his thumbs into the sore spot near her spine.
“Ah, right there. Anyway, something told me that it might be important. Or...maybe I remember hearing him say something about it at school? Who knows!”
“Better safe than sorry,” Harry said. He moved his fingers higher, lightening his touch when Ginny gave a little hiss of pain.
“No, keep going. I slept weird last night.”
Harry wanted to point out that she’d been complaining about the lack of sleep ever since she moved back to her own room, but he didn't want to push his luck and set off an argument. They’d both been rather touchy after spending too much time hitting dead ends with whatever it was they were trying to research.
“Well, we still have the dreams,” he said.
Ginny moved away, giving him a little smile of thanks and hopped up to sit on the end of the table, her legs swinging. “Are you still recording yours?”
They had both been writing for days but hadn’t exchanged accounts yet. Harry was hesitant to hand over his parchment and have Ginny read the things that had been roaming through his mind. He’d tried, at first, to soften the images when he recorded them, but found that once he started writing, his mind would race and his hand would record everything in vivid detail. Reading them back had made him sick to his stomach.
“Almost done,” he said. “So many of them are only fragments, little flashes of things that I really don’t understand.”
“It’s the same with me,” she said. “But I do think that Sirius’ idea is a good one. I just...I don’t want you to read mine and think…”
Harry sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Ginny. We’ve had this conversation before. You know how I...how I feel about it. That won’t change.” He wanted to tell her that he loved her again. The words had been rattling around in his mind since he’d said them after the boggart, but he never knew if it was the right time. Ginny hadn’t said them back, so he waited, worrying that he was pushing her or influencing her in some way that would upset or offend. In a way, Harry felt like he was walking on eggshells, afraid he’d shatter them all.
Ginny didn’t answer, but reached out and slid her hand into his, pulling him into an embrace. They clung to each other and Harry thought that he felt what she couldn’t say yet.
Xxxxx
They were back at the field, brooms in hand. This had become their pressure release valve when things got to be too much at the house. Harry’d woken from another confusing dream–a dark, hilly place, tombstones surrounding him, and a heart-pounding panic. He’d quickly scratched as much detail as he could remember down onto his dream record with a quill and then collapsed back into bed.
When Ginny’d come down into the kitchen, scowl in place and irritable from her own dream, Harry declared that they were going to take a break from searching. Ginny, staring down at the piles of newspapers that Hermione had sent again, had looked skeptical, but she’d given in when Harry pressed.
It wasn’t nearly as nice a day--rather gloomy with rain that seemed to spit down at the sky at them--but the fresh air and wind whipping through his hair seemed to help Harry clear his mind, a bit. The lingering feeling from the dream remained like a shadow in the back of his mind, always present, but at least it didn’t feel like it was choking him.
“Thanks, Harry,” Ginny said after she finally collapsed on the ground next to him, her broom still in hand. “I didn’t realize I needed this.”
“We both did.”
They were quiet for a long time, lost in contemplation. Harry was thinking about the endless loop that they seemed to be on, always searching but not knowing what it was they were looking for.
“Do you think we’ll ever be happy?”
The rain started in earnest about them and Harry cast a charm like an umbrella to cover them. The drops made a pitter-patter sound when they splashed against his shield.
“I hope,” he said. “One day.”
Ginny’s head rested against his arm and Harry shifted so that he could wrap it around her. They watched the rain as it came down and then tapered off to only a few drops.
“Is that…” Ginny peered, narrowing her eyes at a dark spot in the distance. They watched as it came closer and closer. It was an owl, but not Hedwig, Errol, or even Pigwidgeon.
This one had the blue leg band of a hired messenger.
“For you,” Ginny said when the owl landed in front of Harry’s feet and lifted its leg toward him, a small bit of scroll attached there. As soon as Harry removed the paper, the owl left, flapping away into the drizzle.
“Everyone we know talks to us through floo.”
“Well?”
Harry blinked at the words, trying to make sense of them.
It was signed Annalese Hawkins, the female Auror trainee that Harry’d known when he was with the Ministry.
“It’s er, it’s…” He flushed and wondered if maybe he was reading it wrong. Was she asking him on a date?
Ginny snatched the paper from his hands and read it herself, her expression going slack at it. “Is this…?”
“We trained together,” Harry said. “I don’t know. I never…. I’m not interested in her, Ginny, if that’s what you think.”
She wore a strange expression that Harry couldn’t read and handed the note back to him.
“I wondered,” she said. “This summer when you’d come to the Burrow you mentioned her when you talked about training. She seemed to be the only one you said anything about.”
Harry shoved the paper into his jeans and turned to look at her. “Ginny, I never felt anything for her, or anyone else. She was the only one who talked to me at all.”
“I know,” she said, but she still looked irritated. “I used to worry about it. I...I thought I’d lost my chance back in your sixth year, when I pushed you away. I used to torture myself picturing you dating someone else, falling in love, and getting married. And I always knew that I’d be alone through it all because...because I was in love with you.”
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I know the feeling,” he said. “Watching you with Dean and Michael--”
Her head whipped around, and she gaped at him. “Michael? Harry, are you saying that you...fancied me, even back then? Merlin, that was years ago!”
His face flushed but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He wasn’t some bumbling sixteen-year-old boy, anymore, and he knew what he felt for her, even if he had no idea what it all entailed. “I don’t know when I started, to be honest.”
“I didn’t even realize you noticed me.”
“I always noticed you. It’s just… I wish my memories weren’t so jumbled and spotty, but I do know I noticed you. And then, one day, it was...more.” When he thought back, trying to focus on his earliest memories of Ginny, it seemed she was always there, just out of reach, but present in everything.
“You should go, Harry.”
“What?” He gaped at her. He should...go? On a date with a woman he wasn’t even interested in? What was she thinking?!
“At the very least, you need to tell her face to face that you don’t--”
“I don’t!”
A small smile played about her lips and Harry wondered if she was taking the piss. “Good. But she deserves to know, Harry. Girls...girls think about this kind of stuff, obsessively. You can’t let her think that--”
“Merlin,” Harry grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “How can you think that I really--”
“I don’t!” She reached over and tugged him toward her by the front of his shirt, meeting him in a searing kiss.
Harry felt so confused. One minute they’d been talking about him going on a date with some other witch, and the next Ginny was kissing him! But it felt too good to stop, and he’d been dreaming about the time that he could kiss her again….
“Go,” Ginny said when she broke apart, “just don’t kiss her.”
“Ginny!” Harry scowled at her, even as his mind whirled. He’d just kissed Ginny! And she was jealous over him. A tiny bit of smugness erupted in him, but Harry pushed that feeling down deep.
“It’s almost noon, Harry,” Ginny warned. “I’ll take the brooms. Go. Let her down easy and then come home to me. You know where the Croaking Toad is?”
Harry was quiet for a long minute. He still had no idea why he was doing this, other than that Ginny had told him to. “Yeah. It’s on Horizont Alley.”
“Right.” She stood and brushed the moist ground off her bum. Harry watched and thought back to the kiss she’d given him and their conversation. Strange as it was, he felt some thrill of hope from it all.
“Merlin,” he grumbled when Ginny apparated out, both brooms in her hands. “I guess I’m going on a date.”
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
The Croaking Toad wasn’t a place that Harry frequented often. He’d been inside once when Hermione had asked to meet him there this past summer. It was a bookish sort of place, like a library only with coffee and teapots floating around ready to give refills. There weren’t tables with chairs, but plush booths and nooks that each had their own privacy charms on them. Only whispered conversation was allowed outside them and Harry’s first experience with the proprietor was a nasty look and a severe hushing when he’d spoken too loud upon arriving.He didn’t fancy having to peer through the privacy charms to try and find which booth Hawkins had chosen. Thankfully, she appeared to have only arrived when Harry walked in the door.
“Good to see you,” she said. “You look...much more relaxed than the last time I saw you.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. If he looked relaxed right now, while arriving for a date he didn’t want to be on, how bad must he have looked the last time they saw each other?
“Thanks,” he said. “Listen, Hawkins, er...I think you’ve got the wrong impression about me.”
“Let’s have a seat,” she said, pointing to one of the booths. “I have a regular spot here; the owner is a family friend.” She didn’t give him much option, walking away and disappearing behind the hazy privacy charm.
Harry watched her go and tried to remember what he’d known about her when they trained together. She was older than he was by several years. She’d been in Ravenclaw but her seventh year had been Harry’s first. He hadn’t remembered her at all when they’d started training. She was competent, but it had surprised Harry that she’d chosen Auror training after working in the Wizengamot Administration Services for a few years.
With a sigh, Harry glanced around and then ducked into the booth.
A coffee pot followed Harry in, but he put his hand over the waiting cup rather than let it pour; he wasn’t planning to stay.
“I don’t mean to be rude, or hurt your feelings,” he said as he sat across the table from her. “I.... This isn’t… I’m seeing someone!”
Her cup of coffee quivered in her hand and she smiled over the top of it. “Goodness, did you think this was a date?!”
Harry flushed. “No, er...well, maybe? Your letter wasn’t detail heavy.”
Her laugh was throaty and full, and even though Harry felt a bit like a prat, he also felt a deep sense of relief.
“I just wanted to give you this.” She thrust a pale gold envelope at him. “I cleaned out your desk after you--”
“Quit, yeah.”
“--and found this tucked up under the edge of one of the drawers.” She sipped coffee again and then charmed the sugar tongs to drop in several cubes. “Thought it might be important to you.”
Harry let his fingers trace over his own handwriting on the envelope and then tucked it away inside his robes. He knew exactly what was inside and it was important to him, even though in his haste to leave the Ministry that day he’d forgotten all about it.
“Er...thanks.” They studied each other for a minute before Harry cleared his throat. “How is the Ministry?”
“Worse than when you scarpered, if you can believe it,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “The Aurors have been gutted; they’ve moved most of us down to MLE, not even finishing our training. I signed up to stop Dark Magic, not to fine kids who break the Restrictions of Underage Sorcery or mediate between neighbor squabbles.” She sighed and shook her head. “Still, at least they didn’t fire me.”
“They fired someone other than me?”
“Some,” Hawkins said. “Or moved them to other departments within the Ministry--Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, or Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. But they also kept some of the recruits in the Aurors. I can’t figure the angle. I mean, I know there don’t seem to be many Dark Magic threats at the minute, but that’s because we do have a strong Auror force--or did!--not because they don’t exist.”
“Right.” Harry’s head was spinning. “Let me guess, they kept Malfoy?”
“And Nott,” she said with a sneer. “Those two are worthless.”
“Their positions were probably bought by their families,” Harry said, even though he had no evidence. “That’s how it was at school.”
“No surprise,” Hawkins said with a sniff. “Cronyism has always been a part of the Ministry, I’m afraid. It was like that in the Wizengamot Administration Services, too. Practically everyone was related or knew someone.”
“At least you still have a job.”
She gave a little laugh. “What’ve you been doing? You're a hard man to get hold of, I tell you. That owl must have come back half a dozen times. I didn’t want to attach the envelope and have it get lost. It seemed...too important.”
“Er...thanks. I’ve been busy. Family things, mostly. And a sort of research project.”
“Well, I hope you find a good job soon. And don’t be too hard on yourself, Dawlish is an arse. He was angling for promotion when you were there. And he got it, too! Turns out he doesn’t know anyone, or isn’t related, so he had to show how much of an arse he could be to please the higher-ups. The Ministry is...a mess right now. But...I’m sure things will work out.”
She said the last bit with a strange shake of her head and a perplexed expression. Harry didn’t know her well enough to read it.
“I need to go,” he said. “Thanks again for the envelope.” He patted his pocket and stood to go. Hawkins looked somewhat sad at his leaving, but Harry couldn’t feel bad. She’d given him something to think about and he wanted to talk to Ginny about it and see if it fit into any of the storylines they’d been working on.
“See you around, Potter,” she said with a salute of her coffee cup. “And good luck with your lady friend.” She finished with a wink and Harry wondered if she’d looked in the envelope before trying to contact him.
He left the Croaking Toad and walked down the Alley, contemplated stopping into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but there was a line that started at the door and snaked down the road. There were garish yellow signs plastered to the front of the store, advertising a sale on WonderWitch products. Buy One, Get One Half Off!
Not wanting to deal with the crowds, Harry turned away and apparated to Grimmauld Place.
He arrived in the kitchen to find it deserted. Hedwig lifted her head from the perch and then tucked it back under her wing.
“Hello to you, too,” Harry grumbled. He wasn’t sure where Ginny’d gotten off to. Their brooms were resting in the corner near the fireplace and there was a low fire there.
Harry pulled out the envelope that Hawkins had given him and ran his fingers over the handwriting there.
His finger found the seal and slid under, popping it lose. He knew what was inside, but needed to see it again, to remember.
The photograph slid out of the envelope and Harry looked down to see himself and Ginny sitting in the orchard behind the Burrow. Hermione had taken the image with the magical camera she’d been playing with during the summer between fifth and sixth year. Harry’d been able to visit the Burrow for the last month of the summer and they’d spent most of those days outside flying and playing two-a-side Quidditch.
He wasn’t sure where Ron had got off to, but Hermione had managed to catch Harry and Ginny in the photo. Their faces were pink with sun and had a shiny sheen of sweat. Their brooms lay in their laps and they were looking at each other, sharing smiles. Harry wished he could remember what was in his mind at the time, because for just that moment, he seemed completely happy, and so did Ginny. They exchanged shy glances and smiles, even leaning into each other for a moment before returning to their original positions.
Harry hadn’t even known that Hermione had taken the photo. She gave it to him the next summer, when he and Ginny weren’t talking. Harry had tucked it away in his trunk, unwilling to look at it and wonder what he could have done different.
When he’d entered Auror training, Harry had kept the photo with him and tucked it away in his desk as a sort of talisman. Deep down inside, he’d always thought that maybe he was trying to become an Auror as a way to help Ginny; he’d had no idea how, but it felt...important that she was his focus.
Harry watched the two young people in the photo again before putting it away in the envelope.
It was still all for her, he decided.
Xxxxx
He hated Halloween. For some reason, he’d always disliked the holiday. When he was young, he understood that Dudley would be the only one going around in costume, receiving so much candy and sweets that he would make himself sick the next day while Harry stayed inside and watched out the windows.
Even at Hogwarts where he was free to celebrate Halloween with the great feast and trips to Hogsmeade, Harry had always felt...strange around that time of year. He couldn’t explain why, only that he always felt a great solemnity and even sadness.
This year was no exception; in fact, it was worse.
He and Ginny had covered the wall in the kitchen with strange articles--Muggle and Magical alike--which were frightening. Britain seemed to be in the middle of a rash of unexplained attacks happening in random places--explosions, fires, and vandalism. Scotland Yard reported being baffled as entire Muggle families disappeared and were found dead in odd places. Right now, it was being labeled as gang activity, but Harry wasn’t so sure.
Mrs. Weasley had invited them to the Burrow for a large dinner and despite Harry’s melancholy, they had planned to attend. But Hermione’s appearance at Grimmauld Place in the afternoon, clutching the latest edition of the Daily Mail--one of the largest Muggle newspapers--with tears running down her face made them rethink.
“It’s so horrible, Harry,” she cried, throwing herself into his arms and crushing the paper between them.
“Come sit down, Hermione,” Ginny said. “You look like you could collapse at any minute.”
“Is everyone--”
“Fine,” she burst out. “Only...” She shoved the newspaper into his hands and Harry looked down at the headline that filled most of the first page while Ginny got Hermione settled at the kitchen table and a cup of tea into her hands.
Harry’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach and all thoughts of a feast with the Weasleys fled.
“There have been attacks all over today,” Hermione said. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and leaned into Ginny, who gave a pointed glance at Harry. They both felt that magic was somehow tied to all the strange happenings but couldn’t prove it yet. “A small explosion at Heathrow--they suspect a gas leak with that one--and threats all over. The whole city is in chaos.”
“Are your parents safe, Hermione?” Ginny asked.
Hermione nodded against her shoulder. “So far,” she said, “but I can’t stop thinking about...on the television...they showed…” She broke down in tears again, crying against Ginny, who held her close. “There were children, Harry!”
Harry set the paper aside. He’d been skimming the article but felt that he didn’t need to read anymore. No known cause.
“And what is the Ministry doing about it?”
Hermione seemed surprised. She lifted her head and blinked. “The Ministry? Why would they be doing anything? This is clearly Muggle.”
“I’m not so sure.” Harry folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “They’ve gutted the Auror department, moved most of them out to other places, or sacked them completely. Why do that? It’s opening the door for Dark wizards to--”
“I’m sure they have every good reason.” Hermione wiped at her face and sat upright, scowling at the table as she thought about what he was saying.
“I can’t think of one beyond stretching the Aurors so thin that they can’t keep up with all that’s going on.”
“There’s nothing going on,” Hermione said waspishly. “These things in London are the responsibility of the Muggle police and places like Scotland Yard. The Ministry has no jurisdiction, and they shouldn’t have any!”
Harry held up his hands, trying to placate her. Sometimes Hermione didn’t see things that seemed clear to Harry, especially when it came to authority figures.
“I’m not saying they should step in and use magic; not at all. I’m just saying that it seems convenient that as soon as the Auror department is depleted things like this are happening.”
“That’s coincidence, Harry. You grew up in the Muggle world, you remember how different it is from this one.”
“Of course, I do.”
“Then how can you think--”
“Things are happening at Hogwarts, too, Hermione,” Ginny said. “The Ministry is doing what they call ‘Education Reform’. Demelza wrote it the last letter she sent me.” Ginny made a face that Harry knew wasn’t only about the Ministry’s meddling. It seemed that Ginny’s former roommate was very pleased when Ginny hadn’t returned to Hogwarts since she was now Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor. She’d been writing to Ginny, keeping her up to date on all the latest Hogwarts dramas, but all her letters had a sort of catty edge to them and Ginny stewed over them for hours when one would arrive.
“I know about it,” Hermione said, “and education reform is a good thing, Ginny. Most of the curriculum at Hogwarts hasn’t been updated in centuries. It’s good that they’re evaluating and changing to meet the needs of the students.”
Ginny snorted and shook her head. “Defense Against the Dark Arts is now Practical Defense. But they only learn about the spells, no practical to it. They don’t even use them!”
Hermione’s face paled. “That can’t be right. Demelza must have been exaggerating. She was always prone to drama--”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Ginny said.
“Surely, they still practice them.” Hermione turned to look at Harry, eyes wide. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“For the same reason they’ve depleted the Aurors, Hermione. Witches and Wizards who don’t know the spells can’t fight back.”
Hermione stood abruptly, shaking the bench she’d been sitting on. “That’s nothing more than a conspiracy theory, Harry. You’re as bad as the twins!”
Harry scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, those two! They’ve been going on and on about the new regulations for businesses in Diagon Alley. There are new forms to be filled out tracking purchases. It all makes perfect sense, if you ask me.”
Ginny came to stand next to Harry. They hadn’t heard anything about this yet. “They’re tracking sales?! Is this happening in every shop?”
“Of course,” Hermione said. “Ron’s had to stay late doing the reports a time or two. The Ministry is studying buying trends and such, sort of like a census. This is nothing new. They’ve done similar things in the past.”
“When?” Harry leaned onto the table, bracing his hands there. His mind was whirling as he tried to fit this new information into the picture of the Ministry that seemed awfully vague and shadowy.
“I overheard a couple of witches from Wizengamot Administration Services talking about it the other day at lunch. It was in the mid 1970’s or so. The Ministry occasionally collects this information to analyze and help form legislation, as well as rule enforcement. They’ve kept records of wand sales for hundreds of years! Surely you can see how that would--”
“Wands, yes,” Harry said, “but even that’s a bit dodgy.”
He and Hermione stared at each other, an uneasy feeling entering the room.
“You always think the worst, Harry,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “I can see so much good in the Ministry, in what they’re trying to do. Why can’t you see it? It’s the same with you, Ginny. The both of you are…” She trailed off and Harry was glad. He didn’t want her to finish the thought and he didn’t want to see the explosion from Ginny if Hermione called them crazy.
Hermione gathered her cloak and folded up the newspaper, tucking it under her arm. “Things will be fine,” she said, a smile tipping the edges of her mouth. “You’ll see. Thank you for listening to me when I was upset. I feel better now. I hope the two of you will think about what you’ve said today and see how--”
“Do not say crazy!” Ginny warned.
Hermione’s face went pale and she shook her head. “Of course not. But...unbalanced, maybe? Tainted by the nightmares and lack of sleep?”
Harry glanced down at Ginny, eyeing the way that she was holding her wand. Hoping to save Hermione from a wicked Bat Bogey hex, he moved forward, wrapping his arm over her shoulder and leading her toward the stairs.
“Thank you for coming, Hermione. Don’t worry about us, yeah? We’ll be okay.” They walked toward the entryway.
“I do worry about you, Harry. And Ginny, too. I want you to be happy.”
“We’re working on it,” Harry promised. Before Hermione disapparated, Harry snatched the newspaper from under her arm. “You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” Hermione looked startled but shook her head and then left with a muted pop.
Xxxxx
The Daily Prophet did report on the attacks in London, although the article left a bad taste in Harry’s mouth. Their details were scarce and bordered more on salacious than factual. In the end, they’d blamed a violent Muggle society and warned witches and wizards that it could encroach on the Wizarding World if they weren’t careful.
“This is...rubbish,” Ginny said after reading the article. She threw the paper away from her and glared at it. Harry was momentarily worried that she might set it on fire, but she just growled and started the dishes washing instead.
“I know,” he said. There was an aching anxiety that had taken hold on both of them after Hermione’s appearance yesterday. They’d tried talking about the implications of the new information and what it might all mean, but both found that they got more and more confused the more they talked, and things made less sense than ever.
“I’m going to work on my dream record,” Ginny said, “although what it matters now, I don’t know. My head is so messed up with the horrible things I keep imagining that I can’t tell what’s dream and what’s worry, anymore.”
“Me too,” Harry said. They exchanged a look and Ginny came over to stand by him, her hand resting along his cheek and then slid to bury in his hair, scratching along the back of his neck.
“I’m going to see Fred and George today,” he said. He rested his head against her stomach, trying to draw comfort from her.
“You think there’s something to it?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. There’s no need for the Ministry to track private sales. There’s no data that they can gather that justifies invading someone’s privacy like that. Why do they care if I buy blue robes versus black robes? Or...what if I buy an embarrassing potion for...for… Well, it’s none of their business.”
“I agree.”
“And don’t get me started on this Education Reform,” he huffed. “I don’t like any of it.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Harry,” Ginny said, “I’m on your side. It’s all horrible and I can’t understand why the Ministry is being this way. It’s like they’re possessed, or something. All these changes and none of them explained past ‘it’s time for change’.” She huffed and tugged at the back of his hair, making Harry wince. “Sorry. It makes me angry that nobody can see it. We explain and explain, but it’s like the moment we point out what’s going on, everyone gets this blank look in their eyes and then their demeanor changes immediately. It was the same with Hermione yesterday. She was so distraught when she came, and then it was like a flame being extinguished.”
“I know.”
“And you know,” Ginny continued “it’s almost like she didn’t realize it at all, like for her nothing was different, nothing was out of the ordinary.”
“I know.”
Ginny sighed and looked down at him. “Be safe, please. I don’t like any of this.”
“I’m no threat to the Ministry, Ginny,” Harry said with a chuckle. “They don’t even know who I am.”
“That may change if you go poking around and someone finds out.”
“I can be stealthy,” Harry said, a little irritated at her lack of confidence in him. “I’m not an amateur at getting into trouble; I did attend Hogwarts with Ron, remember.”
Ginny snorted and bent to place a quick kiss on his lips. “Hiding dungbombs in Snape’s cauldron isn’t exactly on par with subverting the Ministry of Magic, Harry.”
“Oi! We did more than that! Don’t you remember the great Slytherin outbreak of itching powder that occurred in third year? That was Ron and me! The whole Quidditch team couldn't sit on their brooms for a week!” He was rather proud of that memory, even if it was hazy and somewhat lacking; Harry didn’t remember how he and Ron had accomplished the feat at all.
“That was you?!” Ginny laughed. “I thought it was Gred and Forge. They even took credit for it.”
“Another thing I’ll bring up while I’m there today,” Harry said. He kissed her once more, drawing it out a little longer this time.
Ever since his “date” and the joking that had taken place before it, Ginny had been much more affectionate, and Harry took advantage as much as possible. He couldn’t say that he’d snogged her--they never went beyond a certain point--but it was gratifying knowing that he didn’t have to worry about Ginny pulling away from him anymore.
“Buy me some Pygmy Puff food while you’re there, please? Arnold has hit a growth spurt and he’s been eating dust bunnies again.”
“They’re plenty of them around here,” Harry said as he stood and gathered his cloak which hung on a peg near their wall of newspapers. He sighed as he gave the wall one last glance and then followed Ginny up the stairs.
Xxxxx
The three of them stood in the window of the shop at Number 93 and watched the mostly deserted alley. A few people came and went out of shops, but it was nowhere near as busy as it had been the last time that Harry was here.
“People don’t know what to think about the Ministry tracking their purchases,” Fred said.
“Makes it rather hard to get a sale, doesn’t it?” asked George. “People second-guess impulsive buys and spend more time wandering about.”
“I suppose it’s alright for stores like the Apothecary and Madam Malkin’s,” Harry murmured. He was shoulder to shoulder with the twins, looking out over the window displays. He realized, with a start, that he was now taller than both of them.
“Sure,” George agreed. “People need those things; they’re not surplus spending.”
“Even the Leaky is complaining about business being down.”
Harry turned to look at Fred. “They’re monitoring food sales?!”
“Sure. Everything, Harry. It’s...it’s strange.”
“Feels wrong,” George grumbled. He huffed and walked away, going to straighten shelves that were already straight.
“I came by last week when you had that sale,” Harry said. “It looked busy then.”
Fred turned his back to the window and leaned against the casing, crossing his arms over his chest. “Regulations were just starting then, and people were still adjusting. But there’s this look in their eyes when you tell them they have to give their name and address with every sale.”
Harry pondered that. “Addresses, too?”
“Oh, there’s loads more questions we’re supposed to ask,” George said from the end of the aisle of Skiving Snackboxes. “We just don’t.”
“We meet the minimum requirements,” said Fred, “only asking enough to keep the Ministry regulators out of here.”
“Regulators?” Harry mumbled and shook his head. “Merlin.”
They stopped talking and Harry wandered the aisles, looking at everything, but not seeing it. He was still trying to process the angle that the Ministry was trying with tracking purchases. Before he’d known what they were asking it had seemed silly and a waste of time. Now that he knew they required addresses, too, it seemed more sinister.
The term that Hermione had used--census--seemed to float to the top of Harry’s brain. “D’you have the form they want you to fill out? Can I see it?”
“You can have one, mate,” Fred said. “In fact, if you buy something, I’ll help you fill it out.”
“I need some Pygmy Puff food for Arnold,” Harry muttered. He didn’t want to fill out some form and there was no way he would put down 12 Grimmauld Place as his residence.
The twins eyed him with somber expressions. “How is Ginny?” asked George.
“She’s alright,” Harry said. “Better than before. Some days are good, others aren’t.”
“So, about the same.” Fred ran his hand over his face. “I wish we could figure out what's wrong with her and...and fix it.” He took a box of food for Arnold off the shelf and walked toward the cashier desk.
Harry followed. “You’re assuming there’s something wrong with her.”
This seemed to startle Fred and he blinked several times. “What else would it be?”
Harry shrugged one shoulder, unwilling to share his growing suspicions. “Don’t make assumptions,” he said instead, “without knowing what it’s like for us.”
Fred’s face reddened and he jerked his head up and down. It was the first time Harry’d seen him actually contrite about anything. He pulled out a large ledger book that had the seal of the Ministry emblazoned on it and opened to the first blank page. Harry goggled at the sheer number of questions that were on each sheet of parchment.
“I am not filling one of those out,” he burst out. “Arnold can go on eating dust bunnies.”
Fred smirked and tugged at the page, ripping it from the spine of the book. Then he took the box of Pygmy Puff food in hand and held it out over the floor, letting it drop.
“Oops. Damaged in store. We’ll have to destroy that box.”
Harry blinked, catching on. He snatched the parchment off the desk, folding it up to put in his robe pocket and summoned the box of food into his hand.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, mate,” said Fred. He walked Harry to the door and met George there.
“Thanks for taking care of Ginny,” said George.
Harry nodded and tucked the box into his robes before shaking their hands and saying goodbye. Although he’d planned on only visiting them today, the desire to see Ron had been niggling at the back of Harry’s mind since arriving in the Alley. They’d been sending letters and had talked through the floo, but Harry hadn’t seen his best mate in weeks.
Xxxxx
Ron was the only one in Quality Quidditch Supplies when Harry walked in. The store was spotless and the displays pristine, better than Harry remembered ever seeing it. There were brand new Nimbus brooms displayed in the window and Harry made a note to admire them before he left. His Firebolt was still doing fine, but it never hurt anything to look.
“Lo, Ron.”
Ron looked up from where he was studying some parchment or other--he hadn’t paid attention to the little bell above the door, obviously--and smiled.
“Harry! It’s been awhile.”
They shared a smile and Harry leaned his arms on the counter, looking down at the array of broom handle polish encased in the glass.
“Was out getting a few things, thought I’d stop by.”
“Pretty quiet around here,” Ron said. He stood, arched his back, and winced when it popped. “Few people buying lately.”
“Yeah, I stopped in to see Fred and George,” Harry explained. “They told me about all the new Ministry changes.”
Ron’s face pulled into a grimace. “Yeah, but still...it’s just a lull. People will get used to it and then they’ll start spending again. It’s an annoyance at first, but it’s not like you have to fill out the entire form every time--only the first time. After that, you just register your wand signature and what you’ve purchased.” He seemed to go from annoyed to not really bothered by the idea.
“Right pain in the arse, at first,” Ron continued, “especially for us who have to deal with all the paperwork, but...there’s not much we can do about it.”
“Saw Hermione yesterday,” Harry said, “she was pretty upset about the things going on in London.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Ron scowled. “Was she alright?”
“Once we talked to her, yeah,” said Harry. “She was fine when she left the house.”
Ron’s eyebrows rose. “She must have been really worked up if she came there.”
Harry tried not to be bothered by the veiled comment. “It’s not like it’s forbidden, Ron,” he grumbled, “just that Ginny and I don’t want people in and out of there all the time. We like the quiet; it helps us block out all the...all the noise that comes with being us.”
Ron nodded as if he understood, but Harry knew it was impossible to do so. He’d tried to explain it time and time again, but it seemed that Ron never quite got it.
“How is Ginny?” Ron moved forward and fidgeted around one of the displays, straightening stacks of Quidditch Through the Ages and I.A.Q. Rules and Regulations, Edition IXVI that were already straight.
“She’s alright,” Harry said. All Ron’s unnecessary movement was making him anxious for some reason and Harry rubbed his forehead, trying not to snap at Ron to stand still. “Show me the new Nimbus brooms,” he said instead.
Ron’s face lit up and he strode toward the display. Harry listened, losing himself in facts about wind speed, tail configuration, and the new way they’d shaped the wood. It felt good to stop thinking about conspiracies and foggy memories for a few minutes.
“Think you might want to buy one?”
The idea that he could flashed through his mind, but Harry dismissed it. “Nah, I’d better not. I’m not exactly gainfully employed now, am I?” They shared a little chuckle at that, and Ron slapped him on the shoulder. “Plus, I don’t want to fill out all that ruddy paperwork.”
“Yeah, but once you’ve done it--”
“What would I put down as my address, Ron?” Harry asked him.
Ron’s mouth opened and then closed with a snap. “You could always use the Burrow, I suppose.”
“No thanks. I’ll keep my Firebolt, for now. Although…” They both looked wistfully at the brooms and sighed.
The door next to them chimed and two men walked in, covered in dark cloaks that hung all the way to the floor. Droplets of water beaded on them, running off to make puddles on the floor.
“Can I help you?”
Ron stepped forward enthusiastically but hesitated when the men dropped their hoods and Harry saw the white-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy, and his ever-present companion, Theodore Nott.
“I hope so, Weasel,” Malfoy sneered. “I’m here to check on your record books. I had to fine your bumbling brothers five galleons for not keeping their records in order. Seems they accidentally destroyed a page from their book. Wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate, now would you?”
The folded page tucked away inside Harry’s robes seemed to burn against his chest. He saw the silver badges pinned to both Malfoy and Nott’s robes with the ornate letter R and guessed they must be some of the Regulators that Fred had talked about.
“My records are fine, Malfoy,” Ron said, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. Harry was glad to see that he was now a full head taller than Malfoy, and much broader. “I’ve kept them in order and submitted them on time, every single day.”
Malfoy seemed itching for a fight, but he backed away with a glance in Harry’s direction. “Well, well, if it isn’t Potter the Rotter.”
“Still getting your insults from Peeves, are you?” Harry said with a smirk and a shake of his head. “Can’t even think of anything original. I’ll talk to you later, Ron.” He brushed past the two regulators, ignoring Nott’s hissed insults about flunking out of Auror training. As the door closed behind him, he heard Ron.
“If you’re not here to buy anything, Malfoy, you can leave.”
Harry sighed and pulled his cloak tighter against the rain that was now falling. “Nothing ever changes,” he muttered.
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Author's Notes: Time to buckle up, folks. ;)
The more Harry thought about it, the more he became convinced that the secret to what the Ministry was doing hid in that sales registration form that Fred had given him. He walked through the Alley and into London to clear his thoughts and give himself time to ponder what it all meant.
Coming to no sure conclusion, he apparated back to Grimmauld Place.
“Ginny? I have something…” He stopped short, finding the entryway empty. Generally, Ginny was either in the kitchen, entryway, or her bedroom. Neither ventured into the drawing room on the first floor often. It felt...wrong in there. In fact, Harry’d moved the contents of the Boggart desk out to the small table in the entryway, so they didn’t have to go in as often and they left the sofa there, too. Ginny often sat there to read, or nap.
“Ginny?”
No answer from the kitchen, so Harry took the stairs two at a time, knowing she’d likely be in her bedroom. Perhaps she’d even fallen asleep. With that thought, Harry stopped calling for her and began peeking into rooms. Her bed was unmade--a perpetual state, it seemed--and her things lay scattered about. Harry scowled, seeing her dream record discarded on the floor.
They hadn’t yet exchanged stacks of parchment, but Harry knew it was going to happen soon. She’d been hinting that she was ready for him to read hers, but Harry wasn’t so sure he was ready. He had a hard-enough time processing the images floating through his own mind.
He glanced down the hallway to the staircase leading upward. He and Ginny had inspected the other rooms on the third floor and fourth landing but didn’t venture up there often. Sirius stayed in his old room on the fourth floor when he was in town, but they hadn’t seen him in weeks.
His own bedroom door was ajar with filtered light peeking in from the faded navy-blue curtains. He could see the array of dirty socks, balled up pieces of parchment, and discarded clothing...and the edge of Ginny’s bare toes.
“Ginny?” He nudged the door open and stepped inside to see Ginny sitting on the floor next to his bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She lifted her face when he walked in; her eyes were puffy and red, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What? What happened?”
Harry dropped to his knees, his heart hammering in his chest. He’d only been gone an hour or two!
“They’re not dreams,” she said, choking on another sob. She crawled toward him, burrowing into his arms and pressing herself to his chest. Her fingers clutched his robes, pulling them against Harry’s neck.
“Ginny, what? I don’t understand.” His hands smoothed her fly-away hair and ran up and down her back.
“The dreams,” she said. “They’re...they’re memories, Harry, not delusions or some made up thing that our twisted minds imagined.”
Harry’s mind went blank as he tried to put the pieces together in his head. His hands were still in motion, rubbing and holding her, but his eyes landed on his own dream records that Ginny must have been reading.
“I don’t…”
“Remember last Christmas, when you had that--”
“Yes,” he bit out. It was one of his most vivid dreams and had sent him chasing through the Burrow in the middle of the night to make sure Ginny was still alive. He’d never told her all the details, but they’d talked around the edges of the dream, Harry hinting at things here or there that had happened.
“I needed to know,” she said. “So...so I came here to read. Are you mad at me?”
She’d read his account of the dream--in all its glaring detail. The images flashed in his mind again and he closed his eyes against them, holding her even tighter.
“No,” he said, even though he was a little annoyed that she’d read his words when they hadn’t decided to share them. “No,” he said again, surer this time. “We need to face this.”
She nodded and her hands clung to him. “I was reading my own and remembered...remembered the things you’ve told me. I needed to see what yours said. Something...something struck me as being similar. But it wasn’t...Harry…” She pulled back, a fresh wave of tears making her cheeks shiny. Her eyes were swollen, and Harry used his thumbs to wipe the wetness away under them.
“They were the same,” she said. “Exact details.”
“Maybe it’s something we talked about, Ginny. Dreams are influenced by--”
“No!” she said, pulling back. “I never told you about the...about the boy talking to me. I never told you about the coldness and the rough stone.”
Harry remembered those details from his dream; he’d had it many times since Christmas, with more and more detail each time. And there was a boy speaking to him, telling him about Ginny.
“When I read that, my head almost exploded, Harry. I had this clear image--you kneeling beside me as I looked up at you. Your arm hurt--there was blood--and then...and then…” A fresh wave of tears shuddered through her and Harry pulled her into his embrace once more.
He had a scar on his arm. They’d morbidly joked about it in the past, saying that it must have been Ginny’s broom impaling him when they collided during his fifth year. As he thought about it, though, another image in his mind took its place.
It was grey-green dark, and Harry felt the thundering of his heart in his chest. He could hear it coming, hear it moving toward him, hissing words in that low, threatening way. His hand ached from holding the sword so tight, but he couldn’t seem to make his fingers loosen. He knew he had to kill it to save himself and Ginny. It was moving closer now, scales sliding over stone. Harry spun out from behind the column, sword held strong between his two hands. The great snake was there, fangs bared like a hundred glittering swords--- Harry lunged toward it, thrusting the sword deep into the mouth of the creature, hearing the sickening squelch of it sinking deep into the flesh at the roof of the serpent’s mouth. His arm erupted in pain and Harry looked down to see one of the snake’s great fangs had pierced him.
He could almost feel the pain now as he held Ginny to him once more.
“Not a dream,” he choked out.
“Memories.”
Harry’s head spun and everything he’d been thinking about before coming home, before finding Ginny, was lost to the epiphany before him.
“Someone memory charmed us, Harry,” Ginny said. “It has to be. There’s no other way.”
“People would know,” he said. Blindly, he felt behind him, his hand finally clutching the bedspread. He pulled it down over them, feeling as cold as he had in the dream--memory!
Ginny and he seemed to switch places; she was the one holding him up, supporting him as the realization of it all came crashing down on him.
“What? Who?” He didn’t even know all the things to ask or if they had answers. So much made more sense now, even as questions bombarded his mind.
Ginny laid them down, pulling the duvet down over them like a cocoon, and wrapping herself around him, half laying on him.
“I don’t know, Harry,” she said. “But so much...so much makes more sense now. It’s why we’re different. They...they took things from us. They stole our memories and changed who we are.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Harry felt very dizzy and tired. The idea that someone could have...would have...it made his head spin to think of it.
“It’s everyone,” he said, not sure how he came to that conclusion, other than it appeared in his mind, “not just us. Everyone.”
“Yes.”
Ginny seemed heavier in his embrace and Harry pulled her tighter, not able to be apart from her right now. She was his anchor, the only thing he felt was real right now. He closed his eyes and let the darkness take over.
Xxxxx
He would have liked clarity to come to his mind when he woke, but nothing did. His thoughts still swirled around and around, pieces and bits of memory and dream until he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.
Ginny stirred in his embrace and he watched her wake, watched a slow half-smile tilt her lips and then slide away as reality soaked in.
They didn’t say anything for a long time. Harry rolled them to their sides and bunched the bedspread beneath their heads. Ginny’s back was firm against his chest, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the light floral scent of her shampoo.
“Is it wrong to feel a little relieved?” she whispered some time later.
“How so?”
“We’re not crazy. Someone did this to us.”
Rather than respond, he kissed the back of her head and pulled her even tighter into his arms. She clutched his hand like a vice and Harry could feel her vibrate all over. At first, he thought she may be crying, but then realized that it sounded and felt different from the times when he’d held her as tears came. This was anger, this was fury charging through her.
“How could they?!” she asked. “How could someone just...take our memories? Don’t they know how messed up we’ve been?”
She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him, only one eye visible. There was a fire deep down that sparked inside Harry and he pulled her around so that he could kiss her. All rational thought left his mind as they kissed and clung to each other. It was the most passionate Harry could remember being, and something at the back of his mind reminded him of the promise he’d made to Mr. Weasley, but it was drowned out by how Ginny’s hands felt against the skin of his neck, and buried in his hair, and clutching at the robes he was wearing.
“Harry...Harry we need to stop.”
An image of what they must look like--writhing on the floor of his messy bedroom--came into his mind and he pulled back, slamming his eyes closed at the rush of emotion and desire. He threw his arm over his face, hiding his reddening cheeks as he tried to slow his breathing.
“I’m sorry.”
Ginny sat up and straightened her shirt. She fumbled for his hand and twined their fingers together.
“It’s okay. I...I wanted it, too. It’s just...”
“It’s not right,” he said. “Not right now, anyway.”
She breathed out a sigh. “Right.”
Finally feeling some measure of control over his body, Harry sat up and pulled them both back to lean against the side of the bed. “Not when we’re feeling lost, or angry, or sad,” he said as he pressed his lips to her temple and Ginny melted into his side.
“I love you, Harry,” she said, “but I’m...I’m not ready for more right now. Not when all this is going on, not when we’re still not right.”
“We may never figure this out.”
“I know.”
They were quiet for a long time. Harry wasn’t sure what she was thinking about, but her words kept echoing in his head. He imagined them like a lighthouse when he was lost in a stormy sea.
She loved him.
“One day,” he said. It felt like a promise, even more so when Ginny looked at him and repeated it.
Xxxxx
They spent the next two days reading through dreams, trying to piece together what felt real and what felt like just an image designed to torture their heads.
“What are we calling this place?” Harry asked as they talked about the dream they shared.
“In my head I call it a tomb,” Ginny said, “but...but I don’t think that’s right.”
Harry’s head hurt from all the talking, all the remembering. It seemed painful to draw these images out from the recesses of his mind, like he was pulling things from the depths of his soul. It made him achy and grumpy. Ginny was the more patient of them, surprisingly. It seemed like now that she’d figure out what this was--at least in part--she’d gained a new energy to dig into the mystery and paint the picture completely.
And Harry could see where she felt vindicated, validated, even. She wasn’t crazy; despite him telling her that often, there was a part inside her that had always believed she might be.
“It’s like a basement,” he said, his mind jumping back to the memory, “but...not…”
“Cavern?”
“That’s as good a word as any.” He removed his glasses and lay them on the table, rubbing his scratchy, dry eyes.
“And I was there first.”
“Right.”
“You came later--”
“And found you lying on the ground,” said Harry, his voice low. “I thought...thought you were dead.”
Ginny gave him a sympathetic look and scooted a little closer to him on the bench they were sharing in the kitchen. Their records were spread before them and Harry was drawn to the words, imagining them floating before him to create a full story out of pieces.
“Someone else was there--”
“A boy--”
“Worse,” Ginny said as a shudder ran through her. “He was...bad. Evil. He told me I was going to die.”
Harry nodded. She’d told him this already. This was the second time they were running through this particular dream and it seemed easier the more they talked. “Right. He spoke to me, too. Told me you wouldn’t wake. And he called the snake.”
“You could hear the snake talking.” She turned to look at him. “Have you always been able to hear snakes?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “I... I don’t know? There was this one time at the zoo...but...but I can’t remember much. I think I talked to a snake, but it might’ve been a dream.”
“We need to assume that all dreams are memories.”
Harry thought about that and felt his face flush. Not all dreams were memories, he decided. He’d had some rather...intense dreams about he and Ginny lately and he was pretty sure he’d remember them if they’d happened.
“Right.”
“You spoke to the boy; he called the snake.” Ginny’s brow furrowed as she thought about the sequence of events. “You...you killed the snake.”
“With a sword. Not sure how I got it. That part’s still blurry.”
“And then you came back to me.”
“I thought I was dying,” Harry said. “The snake’s fang went through my arm. I thought...there was something red, something…” He closed his eyes, trying to remember what it was. He’d never dreamed this part, but it seemed to be there in his mind, out of reach.
“He spoke to me again,” Harry said. “Told me that I was dying.” A name swam to the front of his mind, hovering out of his grasp before disappearing again. Was it the name of the boy? Was it someone who saved them? Harry didn’t know.
He remembered looking down at his arm and seeing...blood, and then...a great red bird…
“Fawkes!” Harry jerked against the table, startling Ginny, who had been recording his words. “Fawkes was there. He...he saved me. He healed my arm.” His hand went to the spot where the scar was.
“You haven’t remembered that before.”
“No. Just now.”
Ginny lay the quill down. Her hand was shaking too much to write and Harry saw that her writing was almost illegible on the page.
“I stabbed the fang through the diary,” said Harry. “Fawkes gave it to me.”
Ginny stood up quickly and stalked away from the table, huffing.
“I don’t want to talk about the diary.”
Harry sighed and stood, going to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Ginny, we’ve talked about this. It’s not your--”
“Then whose fault is it, Harry?” She spun to face him, her eyes blazing. “I wrote in that damned diary and triggered all this…” She waved her hand toward the table. “People got hurt, Harry. I remember that much. People got hurt.”
“I know.” Harry pulled her to him, but she was unyielding, stone in his arms. “Ginny, you can't take all the blame. We don’t know the sequence of events that led up to this. We can’t see it all. Maybe there was something else that happened that--”
“But I played a big part in it.”
Harry’s heart sank. He couldn't deny that, and he didn’t know where to go with it. “Yeah,” he said. “But we can’t dwell. I’m sure there are loads of times that I messed up that we don’t know about yet.”
Finally, she relaxed into him and nodded against his chest. Harry could feel tears wet his shirt, but he didn’t care.
“You saved us both,” she said.
“Fawkes did.”
Ginny pulled back and looked at him, a different sort of fiery look in her eyes. “You came for me and you saved me.” She went up on her toes and kissed him. It was a soft brush of her lips against his, but Harry felt it like a fire coursing through him, burning away doubts and fears.
“I will always save you, Ginny.”
They stood for a long while together, arms wrapped around each other.
“Memory,” she finally said, as if sealing the end of their discussion about the cavern they’d both been in.
“One of a hundred,” Harry said with a sigh.
“Thousands,” Ginny corrected. Suddenly, she froze, as if a thought had paralyzed her. “Harry...you don’t think they took… What if they took everything?! What if...what if we’ve been in love a long time and they...they took that, too?” She was shaking now, vibrating with the thought.
Harry cupped her face between his hands. “Not possible,” he said, “I remember every minute, every kiss, every touch, Ginny.”
“But they could have,” she insisted. “They could have taken… Merlin, they could have taken everything!”
The idea made his heart drop into his stomach. Was it possible that his entire life was false, that what he’d been dreaming about was the real life that Harry Potter lived, and the rest was...fake? Even as the thought came, Harry knew it wasn’t right.
“No,” he said again. “Ginny, this thing between us, I don’t just feel it in my heart and my mind, I feel it way down deep, maybe even in my bones. You and I both have known there was something there before now. They didn’t take it from us and they’re not taking it now. We know what we have.”
She nodded, but Harry wasn’t convinced she believed him fully; he couldn’t blame her because he wasn’t convinced, either.
“We should keep going,” she said.
“Can you? We could take a break, go flying.”
Ginny gave a weak smile and pulled away. “I would like that but putting it off is making it worse. Whatever this is, it’s so easy to get distracted, to feel it slip away if I don’t focus on it. And that’s horrible, because focusing on it makes me feel so bad.”
“I know,” Harry said with a sigh.
The moved back to the table and Harry picked up Ginny’s dream record, flipping through the pages as he thought about everything.
There was still no concrete idea about who ‘they’ were, only an arbitrary word to describe whoever was taking their memories and putting others in their place.
The incident in fifth year with the serpent was the perfect example. He and Ginny had been through something horrific, and yet they’d woken in the infirmary with memories of a bungled Quidditch practice. And nobody besides them seemed the wiser. If something that large could be hidden in their minds, what about the little everyday things that they experienced? What was the purpose behind hiding these things?
His eyes saw the words on the page, not understanding them until he saw his name. He glanced up at the date that Ginny had written in the corner of the page about when the dream first came to her; Spring of her fourth year.
He trailed his fingertip along the words once more until his name appeared.
“...no one seemed to know where Harry was, or even seemed to care that he was missing…”
“What is this?” Harry asked, tilting the parchment so that Ginny could see.
She looked over it, reading quickly. “It’s vague,” she said. “I remember having the dream several times that Spring.” She closed her eyes, scrunching up her face. “You were missing, gone--”
“Lost? Or taken somewhere?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I only remember in the dream I was running all over the castle, trying to find you, calling for you, and I felt...despondent, like I might never be whole again. When I woke up, I kept asking where you were, but you were right there, like you’d never left. Everyone said I was--”
“Not crazy.”
The corner of her mouth tilted up and she gave a nod. “There were rumors that you’d gone to visit your aunt, that she was sick. That didn’t sound right to me, even though both Ron and Hermione said it. But I could have sworn that I was missing several days of time. Like...like it was gone… I felt like the rest of the world moved on and I was stuck trying to catch you. I was so relieved when I saw you again, when I could hear your voice at the table in the Great Hall, see you passing in the hallway between classes, or see your hair over the top of the sofa in the Common Room. I would check a hundred times a minute, it felt like, to make sure you hadn’t disappeared again. Silly, I know. I think that one was just--”
“There are no dreams, remember,” Harry said. “What if this is a memory? What if I was really gone?”
“Where?”
Harry looked back at the words on the page, but not seeing them at all. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like there are any holes, but it’s hard to tell. It’s like...like a moth-eaten garment. I feel like most of it is there, but key parts are missing.”
“I can see that,” she said. “The analogy is strange, but I know what you mean. The missing stuff really bothers me, but not as much as what they put in its place. And I still don’t understand why.”
“Whatever was taken was dangerous,” Harry guessed. It seemed to make sense. “Whoever it is doing this...they’re protecting something.”
“But what do these memories have in common,” Ginny said. “I don’t see how the diary and you missing--”
“And talks with Dumbledore,” said Harry.
“Right. What do they have in common?” She held up the papers that Harry’d been writing on. “These seem completely disconnected when you take them by themselves, but it’s when we add this,” she said, pointing to her own record, “that it seems more solid.”
“So, whatever this is--a memory charm, Obliviation, some other sort of spell--it’s meant to keep us from talking about it.”
“Think about anytime we try to talk to Ron or Hermione about our dreams, or about how we don’t feel right,” Ginny continued, “what do they do?”
Harry stood, tired of sitting on the hard bench. His body ached from so much time spent sitting and the afternoon they’d slept on the floor. He was fighting back another headache and a feeling of helplessness that hovered above him like a dark rain cloud.
“They don’t understand.”
“Right. And we can’t seem to find the words to describe it. Between you and I we can talk about it, but when we try to tell others it’s like I can’t articulate it or find a way to explain.”
“So whatever magic this is, it’s protecting itself.”
“Others feel some of it,” Ginny went on. She spun and looked at the wall of newspaper articles. “Luna, her father...even my parents, at times, but they don’t have the context to understand.”
“Or maybe their memories are too weak to overcome it,” Harry said. “You and I, what we went through…” He felt his throat get tight at the thought of Ginny lying on that floor in front of him.
“It’s too strong to cover completely,” she said.
Harry looked at the wall, seeing the articles, but not sure how everything was connected. He saw the reports of missing Muggles, missing witches and wizards, strange happenings at Azkaban, readjustments at the Ministry--
“I just remembered!” he said and dove toward the stairs. Ginny’s squawk of protest followed him up, but Harry didn’t stop. Thinking about the Ministry and reminded him of the paper that Fred had torn out of his book and given to Harry. Harry’d been so distracted by the revelation about the dreams that he’d forgotten all about it.
He skidded into his bedroom and began tossing things about, looking for the robes he was wearing that day and searching pockets on them. Once he found the folded parchment, he ran back down to the kitchen, skipping steps along the way.
“Harry!”
“Sorry,” he said and held the parchment out toward her, “I just remembered this. Fred gave it to me.” He pressed it onto the table and ran his hands along the creases to make it readable again.
“I don’t under--”
“The Ministry is making everyone fill out these forms when they purchase something,” Harry explained. “Anything--food, potions ingredients, clothing...you name it.”
Ginny peered at the form, her brow furrowing the more she read. “Why do they need to know my address and…? Merlin, Harry...it says...blood status.”
“I know. I saw that, too.”
She paled. “You didn’t… Arnold’s food...”
“No. Fred gave me a box and tore this page out of their book for me. Remind me to send them some money; Malfoy dropped in on them after I left and made them pay a fine for damaging their book.”
“Malfoy?”
“He works for the Ministry. He’s an Auror trainee still,” Harry explained, “but they’re using him as some sort of enforcer for the Ministry in Diagon Alley. He came in blathering to Ron about seeing his forms, insulted me, and was carrying on. I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of it.”
“Why would they need to know blood status?”
Something like a light turned on in Harry’s brain and he blinked at the form. “Because it’s them. They're the ones, Ginny.”
“It’s the Ministry stealing our memories?”
“It has to be.”
Music began to fill the kitchen, making Harry and Ginny look around. Harry didn’t know where it was coming from, but it got louder and louder until a burst of flames erupted over the table and a great crimson bird floated there, wings spread wide.
“Fawkes!”
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
A strange feeling skittered through Harry as he stared at the red bird. It made the hair on his arms and neck stand up, but it also felt like he could take a deep breath for the first time in a long time. He realized, with a start, that the feeling was hope.He had hope once more.
Ginny slid her hand into his, holding tight, but there was a light in her face that he didn’t remember seeing before.
“Hello, Fawkes.”
Harry hadn’t seen the bird since the last time he’d been in Dumbledore’s office. The details were sketchy in his mind, but he remembered seeing the phoenix sitting regally on his perch behind the Headmaster. That was not long before Dumbledore’s death, Harry realized.
The bird alighted on the table, careful to step around the scattered paperwork toward Harry. Harry realized that in his beak he held a thin scroll of parchment.
“Is that...is that for me?”
Fawkes’ large eyes blinked at him and Harry saw his own reflection there as his shaking hand reached forward. The scroll dropped and Fawkes brushed against his fingers. Harry was surprised to feel that the feathers were warm to the touch, almost hot. Somewhere in his mind it registered that this made sense; Fawkes was a phoenix, after all.
“Thank you.”
Harry stepped back, still mesmerized by the bird. He held the scroll but couldn’t take his eyes from Fawkes as the great bird spread his wings, gave one great flap and a trill of music that sent Harry’s heart racing once more. With a flash of fire and smoke, the bird was gone again.
The feeling of peace and hope lasted for long minutes as Harry and Ginny stood in silence.
“I wish he would have stayed,” Ginny whispered.
Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him. The hug inspired almost as much peace in him as Fawkes had, he realized.
“Me too.”
“I need to sit down.”
Rather than sit at the table, Harry led Ginny up the stairs to the entrance hall and the sofa. They sat together and Harry thought about all that had happened over the last few minutes. It felt like hours, yet less, at the same time. He was exhausted from the emotional swing and even though his head was stuffed full of ideas, he felt like he could think clearly.
“It’s from Dumbledore,” he said, lifting his hand that still clutched the scroll. It was wrapped around something solid, but Harry couldn’t see it, only felt the weight of it.
“I figured.”
He was hesitant to open it, even as he wanted nothing more. It seemed a strange juxtaposition. He broke the seal and took a deep breath. A small vial full of silvery liquid was concealed in the scroll. It sparkled in the light of the gas lantern. Harry slipped it into the pocket of his robe to contemplate later. Seeing writing that he recognized, and the fancy scrolled Albus Dumbledore at the bottom made him feel a deep longing that seemed strange.
“Need me to read it?”
“No. I can.”
Harry took a breath and began to read out loud.
“My dear Harry, I trust that Fawkes has found you safe and I hope that you will forgive his dramatic entrance. Fawkes has always tended toward showmanship.”
“I’ll say,” Ginny murmured, making Harry smile.
“I will also ask you to forgive the way this message has been delayed in order to reach you. There are certain magics which cannot be overcome easily and take time and effort to break through.”
“What does he mean?” Ginny asked.
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “Maybe he means death? But that doesn’t make sense; it’s not magic, it just...is.”
“Keep reading.”
“You and I have spoken of this many times, Harry, although I doubt you will remember any of those discussions.”
Small flashes of memory came to Harry and he stopped reading, thinking of times when he had talked with Dumbledore. They were coming to him now, as if floating through a haze of time and distance.
“Harry? Are you alrig--”
“Memories,” he said, knowing she would understand.
When he’d tucked those glimpses to the side to analyze later, Harry took a shaky breath and continued.
“The vial that came with this message contains my memories, Harry, everything that you need to know to understand the predicament you now find yourself in.”
“Merlin!” Ginny exclaimed. “How are we supposed to--”
But Harry kept reading, overriding Ginny’s question. “You will need a pensieve to view them. Before my death, I arranged for mine to be set aside for you. You will find it in the care of Arthur and Molly Weasley. Please forgive me, Harry, and know that all I have ever wanted was your health and happiness.”
“What did he mean by that? I don’t understand.”
Harry barely heard Ginny’s questions. He was staring at the words, sadness and a little bit of anger flooded him, driving out the earlier peace he’d felt.
“Why couldn’t he just tell me? Why does it have to be a mystery?” He stood, the scroll crumpling in his hand, and stalked back and forth across the entrance hall. “It’s like he couldn't trust me when he was alive. And why wait so long? He had to have known that you and I were...were unhappy. Miserable. I don’t understand.”
Ginny moved to sit on her knees, rising up and tugging at his robes when Harry passed her. He almost pulled away, wanting to remain angry. It felt better to revel in it, to allow it to grow and fester like an open wound.
“Maybe he did.”
“I would have remembered,” he lied. “It’s important enough for him to make all these plans before he died. You don’t forget something that important.”
“Really?” Ginny brushed past him as he stood and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “We forgot great gobs of stuff, Harry. Loads of important things. Do you think I wanted to forget that I wrote in that damned diary and did horrible things?!”
Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. “That’s not what I mean.”
“But that’s what you said,” Ginny said. “Whoever this is that is stealing our memories--the Ministry, or someone else--is making us forget the most important things. Dumbledore must have figured it out. That’s why he’s reaching out to us now. That’s why he gave you those memories, Harry.”
He felt suddenly very stupid and small. He reached down and clutched the vial through the pocket of his robes. “I’m sorry, I…”
Ginny sighed and moved closer. “You’re still mourning him.”
“It made no sense before,” Harry said, “because I don’t remember having those conversations with him. There must have been…” He shook his head as memory after memory flashed, a kaleidoscope of tiny moments.
“Being angry is understandable. We’ve just realized what’s been happening to us all these years.”
The weight of it seemed to hit Harry all at once, anger, grief, disbelief, confusion, frustration… It sapped his energy and he sank to the sofa, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands.
“What are we supposed to do? How do we--”
“We go to the Burrow.” Ginny’s words were small. She’d joined him on the sofa, and he looked at her to see her staring straight ahead, freckles standing out like ink blotches against her pale cheeks.
“Can you go back there?”
She took a shaky breath in and nodded. “It’s time.”
“They’ll know soon, Ginny,” Harry said. He pushed his own feelings away and tried to imagine how she felt. She had as much to worry about as Harry--even more because her family had doubted her for so long. Harry pulled her to him, and they sank back, lying down on the sofa. “They’ll understand that it’s not only in our minds, that we’re not…” But he couldn’t say the word; she would know what he meant, anyway.
“I haven’t slept in two days,” she murmured after a yawn.
“Let’s rest,” he said. “Then...then we can floo the Burrow and make arrangements.”
“Okay.”
Xxxxx
Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous to visit the Burrow. The butterflies in his stomach were trying to escape out his throat, but he did his best to keep a smile on his face for Ginny’s sake. She’d made the floo call to her mother, asking if they could visit, and ever since then she’d been silent.
“I know she’s going to ask me to move back,” Ginny said. A light snow was falling--the first snow of the year--and it landed on her hair, leaving speckles as they walked toward the Burrow from the lane that led to Ottery St. Catchpole.
“You’re of age,” Harry reminded her. “Your mother can’t make you do anything.”
Ginny’s nose scrunched up. “I know, but that doesn’t mean she can’t make me feel like a naughty toddler when I refuse.”
“I’ll bet you were a very naughty kid,” Harry said with a chuckle.
“Of course,” Ginny answered, proud. “I had to stand out from the boys, didn’t I?”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “They weren’t bad?”
“Oh, they were; I was worse.”
Harry took her hand in his, grateful that she was able to find a little humor in the stress.
“Did your brothers ever figure out that you used to steal their brooms?” He remembered her telling him that story in the middle of the night as they sat in front of the Gryffindor fireplace.
Ginny tilted her head. “Dad might’ve told them--he’s the only one who knew--but I doubt it since they haven’t come screaming yet. I think Dad was proud that I learned to pick the lock without using magic when he kept hiding his wand from me.”
Harry chuckled, picturing the scene. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Came in handy at Hogwarts,” Ginny said. “In third year, I stumbled on Fred and George trying to break into Filch’s office. They were struggling with the lock, trying every spell they could think of. I had it picked in less than thirty seconds.”
They’d arrived at the back door to the Burrow and stopped. The lights were on in the kitchen, casting warm yellow rectangles of light onto the dusting of snow that lay on the ground.
“Too late to leave now,” GInny murmured. “Mum would have sensed us coming up the drive. She always could tell.”
Sure enough, the door swung open wide, but it was Ron who stood there.
“Going to come in, or stand out there all night?”
Harry grinned, thrilled that Ron was here. A wave of relief washed over him, even more so when he and Ginny stepped inside and Hermione was seated at the table, talking to Mrs. Weasley.
“Thanks,” Harry said when Ron closed the door behind them and brushed the snow off Harry’s shoulders. “Didn’t expect you,” he said.
Ron winked and gave his sister a hug before picking up whatever conversation they’d had going before.
“Ginny, dear, you look...well,” Mrs. Weasley said. She stood near the stove, brushing her hands on her apron. “Hello, Harry.” She nodded in his direction and Harry tried not to wince at her cold tone. He’d expected as much, but it still hurt.
Hermione greeted them both as if she hadn’t seen them for weeks, rather than a few days before at Grimmauld Place.
“Your father is running a bit late, but he’ll be along shortly.” Mrs. Weasley began levitating food toward the table and Ron jumped up to help.
“Let me do that, Mum.”
Harry hadn’t seen Ron jump to so quick before and wondered if he was reacting to the nerves that must be painfully obvious in both Harry and Ginny. Ginny hadn’t said more than murmured hellos and she’d stayed stuck to Harry’s side the entire time.
“Take your seats,” Mrs. Weasley said as the food arrived at the table. “Ginny, your place is…”
Ginny didn’t take the chair that she had always taken on the other side of the table from Harry, but moved to sit next to him, where Ron usually sat.
“It’s fine, Mum,” Ron interrupted. “I’d like to sit next to Hermione, anyway.” He gave a tight smile to Ginny, who didn’t respond, but stared at him, eyes full of gratitude.
“Oh, well, I suppose…” Mrs. Weasley seemed flustered and Harry wondered if things would be better if he stood up and told her that he was in love with Ginny, that nothing untoward was going on between them, and that he’d never seen Ginny naked. He didn’t count the one time he’d walked into the bathroom when she’d stepped out of the shower; he hadn’t seen that much, anyway.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to make some embarrassing confession, Mr. Weasley apparated into the corner in the kitchen. He wore his travel cloak and hat, but he was soaking wet; water dripping from the brim of his black Trilby, blended into the dark wool of his robes and puddled on the floor.
“Hello all,” he said, exhaustion painting his tone.
“Arthur! What on earth happened to you?!” Mrs. Weasley stood and hurried to him, her wand already in her hand as she cast drying charms.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as the blowing air ruffled his clothing.
“Malfunction in Experimental Charms, Dad?” Ron joked.
Mr. Weasley sighed and tilted his head to the side, letting water run out of his ear. “No. Magical Maintenance seems to have had a mix-up. It’s been raining in my office for the past four hours. Torrential downpour. Lightning and everything. Makes for an interesting day, let me tell you.”
“Surely, they could get someone to fix that,” Mrs. Weasley said as she continued to fuss around him. “You’re sure to catch a cold.” Mr. Weasley patted her on the shoulder lovingly and moved toward the table.
“I’m sure they will,” he said. “This all smells wonderful; I’m starved. My sandwich was too soggy to eat at lunch. I gave it to the ducks who swam by.”
Harry thought he heard Mr. Weasley’s shoes squelching but didn’t think it was polite to point it out.
“Ducks?!”
Mr. Weasley was too busy pulling platters of food toward himself to be bothered by his wife’s shrill question.
“Hello Harry, hello Ginny, nice that you could make it for dinner. And Hermione, always welcome.”
They answered him with a chorus of greetings and Harry thought it best to dish up since the food was ready and waiting.
“Please sit, Molly,” Mr. Weasley said, “and don’t fret about my office. They’ll figure it out soon enough. I can handle a little rain.”
Mrs. Weasley scowled, but sat in her spot next to her husband, across the table from Harry, mumbling under her breath.
Harry filled his plate with great helpings of everything, even though he wasn’t sure he could choke it all down. He tucked in immediately, anything to keep him from looking up at Mrs. Weasley, who was still grumbling.
Mr. Weasley recounted how Perkins had been trying to keep the ducks from nesting on his desk while they sloshed through a foot of water, and how they’d had to waterproof their file cabinets and stick them to the floor, afraid they might wash away. He had them all laughing soon enough with his description and Harry felt himself marginally relax.
Ginny was pushing food around her plate while asking Hermione questions about her job. Hermione seemed more than happy to ramble on, and Harry was grateful to her.
He and Ron discussed Quidditch a little, a discussion that both Mr. Weasley and Ginny took part in. All the while, Mrs. Weasley picked at her food and kept shooting looks at both Harry and Ginny.
Finally, as the meal came to a close, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. “I was hoping, Ginny, that we could discuss when you’d like to come back home.”
Ginny gave Harry a look that he interpreted to mean ‘I told you so’ and sucked in a breath.
“Mum--”
“I think it’s good for Ginny to get out,” Ron said. “She’s of age, after all. None of us have stayed around here long after that--”
Mrs. Weasley spluttered, her face turning red as she slapped her fork down onto the table. “You at least all finished schooling--”
“Not Charlie,” Ginny pointed out, “or Fred and George.”
Harry watched the back and forth, unsure if he should step in and say something or keep his mouth shut and be prepared to dive under the table if spell fire broke out. Ron and Ginny were just as red-faced as their mother and Hermione was twisting her hands in front of her now, as she watched the argument.
“--not proper for a young lady to live--”
“--know that Harry’s a decent bloke--”
“--not doing anything wrong!--”
“Mrs. Weasley, surely you trust Harry--”
“--perfectly capable of taking care of myself--”
“--beside the point! There’s no adult--
“--Harry’s an adult!--”
Unable to stand it any longer, Harry cleared his throat. When they kept going, he did it loud enough that everyone at the table looked at him. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and tried to decide what it was he wanted to say to everyone present. He’d already had this discussion with Mr. Weasley and Ron, but it needed saying again.
“Mrs. Weasley,” he said, his voice shaking, “I would hope that you know how much I love your daughter.” Ginny took his hand in her shaking one and it helped to ground Harry. “I would never do anything to compromise her in any way. We live in the same house, but that doesn’t mean that we...that there are improper things going on. You know that things are different for Ginny and I. We’re working on learning how to handle those things and how best to...cope with them.”
He sighed. “I don’t want this to cause problems with your family, but I support Ginny in whatever decision she makes. If she chooses to move back to the Burrow, I would support that. But if she chooses to stay where she is, with me at Grimmauld Place, then I support that decision, too. Ginny’s health, happiness, and safety are my highest priority.”
Mrs. Weasley’s face was still red, but she seemed to soften toward him. “Harry, dear, I understand that you think you love Ginny--”
Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but Harry squeezed her hand. He needed her mother to understand this point from his own words, not Ginny defending him. “I don’t think, Mrs. Weasley. I’ve been in love with her for a while now.”
“He has, Mum,” Ron said.
“He really has,” added Hermione.
Mr. Weasley sighed and turned to his wife. “Molly, please trust Ginny. We’ve raised her to be a fine young woman. And she’s chosen to love Harry, who we know to be an honorable young man. We may not always agree with their choices, but we have to respect that they are their choices to make.” They shared a long look and Mrs. Weasley finally nodded, although Harry thought he could see tears in her eyes.
“Very well, Ginny.”
Harry glanced at Ron to see him smiling at his sister.
“Ron, perhaps you and the girls can help your mother clear the table. Harry, I believe you wanted to speak with me?”
Harry turned to make sure that Ginny would be alright without him. She gave him another hand squeeze and levitated her plate toward the sink.
“Go on,” she whispered. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know that,” he said, hesitating.
“Stop mothering me, Harry.” She softened her words with a quick kiss to his cheek and turned to talk to Hermione as they continued to clear the table. Harry watched her move and felt a reassuring glimmer of faith that she would be alright, eventually.
They both would.
Xxxxx
Arthur led Harry toward the sitting room. He sat on the edge of the sagging armchair and removed his shoes, pouring out the last bit of water onto the floor before charming his socks to dry. Little wisps of smoke drifted up from them.
“Sit, please, Harry.”
Harry perched on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans. He wanted to confide in Mr. Weasley all that they suspected of the Ministry, but he wasn’t sure where to begin.
“I hope you don’t hold Molly’s outburst against her,” he said. “She worries about all her children, Ginny especially.”
Harry’s cheeks heated. “I understand completely. I feel the same way.”
“I don’t.” Harry looked up, surprised at the firmness in Mr. Weasley’s tone. “I don’t worry about my daughter at all, anymore, Harry. I can see a difference in the way that she looks. I can see that she’s eating again and sleeping.”
“Sir, I--”
“I’m not asking you to explain anything, Harry.” Mr. Weasley held up his hand, forestalling Harry’s argument. “I see the same thing when I look at you. You are good for each other. Now, I’m not saying there aren’t problems or issues; we’ve discussed this enough to know that there might always be something...different with the two of you--”
“Sir,” Harry burst out, unable to hold it in any longer. “What’s happening at the Ministry?”
Mr. Weasley’s brow furrowed and he removed his glasses, polishing them on the lapels of his robes as he thought about Harry’s question.
“What do you mean, Harry?”
“The rain in your office,” Harry said. “It’s not only been today, has it? And it’s not an accident, or mistake by Magical Maintenance.”
Mr. Weasley narrowed his eyes, glanced over his shoulder, and replaced his glasses. “How did you know?”
“You have water marks on your pant legs,” Harry said. “I’m surprised Mrs. Weasley hasn’t noticed.”
Mr. Weasley gave a little chuckle as he looked down at the faint lines on his trousers. “I was in such a hurry to get home today that I completely forgot to dry myself until it was too late. Perkins and I have been dealing with various...inconveniences for a few weeks now. First it was heat, then cold, now it’s progressed to rain.”
Harry pictured the small office flooded with water and sighed. “Why?”
“There have been...changes at the Ministry, Harry. The Minister for Magic is streamlining some departments, eliminating others, cutting excess and waste, he calls it.”
“Like moving most of the Aurors to the MLE,” Harry said.
Mr. Weasley’s eyebrow rose at Harry’s point and he nodded. “Like that. He asked me to come to his office a few weeks ago to discuss...the viability of my department. He believes that the MLE can handle any cases of Muggle Artifacts that may arise and suggested that I move to another division.”
Harry thought about that and how it might fit into the puzzle of the Ministry messing with memories. “Which division?”
“He suggested the Obliviators. Any Aurors who opposed the Minister’s...realignment have been stationed there.”
“What about Perkins?” Harry asked.
“He’s close to retirement age,” Mr. Weasley said, “and his lumbago has been acting up more and more.” He sighed and gave a shrug. “I don’t want to work with the Obliviators, Harry. I’m too old to train for something different, too young for retirement. And I get the feeling that…” He trailed off, his face pinched in confusion. “Well, I get an odd feeling when I go to work lately.”
“And the weather problems started after your meeting.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think they’re connected?”
Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows rose. “Of course, they’re connected, Harry, I just don’t see the angle yet.”
Harry wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say to Mr. Weasley. He didn’t know how much of what he suspected was right and how much might be paranoid imagination. And he also wanted to see the memories that Dumbledore had sent him before he made accusations that he couldn’t back up. Perhaps there would be something there that would confirm or deny what he and Ginny surmised.
“Do you have a package for me, Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked instead. “Someone said that you might…”
Mr. Weasley looked up from inspecting his drying socks. “A package? Yes. Albus asked me to keep a box safe for you. He said you’d come for it one day. Is that what you mean?” He stood and hurried toward the stairs, beckoning Harry to follow upward. “I have to say I was very curious, but I respected his privacy--and yours!--enough that I didn’t peek. In fact, I didn’t even tell Molly about it but tucked it away in the attic for safe keeping. I’d forgotten all about it until you asked.”
Harry followed him up to the fifth floor, giving a fond look to Ron’s door, which was cracked open and still as cluttered as it had been when Harry had stayed there last Christmas.
Mr. Weasley tugged on the handle for the hatch in the ceiling, grunting when it didn’t open right away. “It sticks sometimes,” he said and gave one more pull. It gave way, revealing a ladder that led upward.
“It should be right near the back of the rafters,” he said as he climbed onward. Harry eyed the rickety ladder but followed Mr. Weasley up.
“Will we set off the ghoul?” Harry asked, half joking.
“Oh, Reginald hasn’t banged on a pipe for ages.” Mr. Weasley’s voice was muffled as he crawled on his hands and knees to the far end of the small space. Soft wand-light glowed and he moved things here and there, mumbling about the box he was looking for. There wasn’t enough space for Harry to join him, so he stood on the top rung of the ladder, glancing around at the contents of the part of the Burrow he’d never seen before.
Two broken steamer trunks were stacked up on each other, parchment and various bits of clothing leaking out of them. One had a half-torn label that read ---iam Arthur Weasle-- and another covered with the stickers of various Quidditch teams and looked to be slightly burned on the corner.
“Ah, ha!”
Mr. Weasley must have found what he was searching for because he began crawling backwards towards Harry, his bum coming closer and closer. Harry almost fell off the ladder, missed a few steps, and managed to catch his footing part way down.
“Careful there, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said as he levitated the box and climbed down after Harry’d scrambled out of the way. The square wooden crate was heavy in Harry’s arms, and despite the urge to rip open the top and see what exactly was inside, Harry resisted. Mr. Weasley’s eager expression turned into a scowl, but he clapped Harry on the shoulder and began speaking about adding the various levels to the Burrow as they made their way down to the living room.
Harry was eager to return to Grimmauld Place and pry open the top of this mysterious delivery that Dumbledore had left him, but he was also wary. Whatever this was that he and Ginny had stumbled upon, Harry had a feeling that as soon as they knew, as soon as they had confirmation that something was indeed happening to them, everything would change.
He stopped before entering the kitchen and looked at Mr. Weasley. “Please be careful at work, sir,” he pleaded. “Ginny and I...we think… Well, I’ll tell you what we think as soon as I can, but… Just be careful. The Ministry is...not safe.”
Mr. Weasley’s expression hardened and he rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I understand--”
“No, I don’t think you do,” said Harry. “It’s bad, Mr. Weasley. Don’t...don’t trust anyone. And be careful of who you talk to, who you floo, and what you say.”
Mr. Weasley paled, and his blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Harry, is my daughter in danger? Or any of my children?”
Harry looked away, thinking about the question. In a way, everyone was in danger, but Harry didn’t think there was anything immediate.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I don’t know anything for sure--”
Mr. Weasley nodded. “Say no more, Harry. Just keep us informed, please. And...be safe. Take care of each other.”
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
The Pensieve sat on the table in front of them and other than lifting it out of the crate that it had come in, Harry hadn’t touched it.Ginny leaned forward, her hair brushing the edges as she peered at the runes and symbols carved around the edges. “I’m glad I didn’t take Ancient Runes in school, but I do wish I could tell what it says,” she murmured.
“Yeah.” Harry could feel the vial of memories in his pocket; it was heavy. Whatever it contained Harry was sure would change things for both of them.
“We don’t have to do this tonight, you know,” Ginny said as she looked up at him. She straightened and slid her hand into his. “We could wait until tomorrow, or even the next day.”
“We need to know.”
“I know, but…”
Harry sighed and turned away from the Pensieve. His mind was swirling again, and he wished, for a minute, that Fawkes would come back so he could feel calm and courageous once more.
“Come on.” Ginny tugged him up the stairs and past the entrance hall, where Harry figured she’d take him. Instead, she led him to his bedroom and stripped off his travel robes. Harry helped her and kicked off his shoes before pulling her with him down to the bed. They were still dressed but curled together as Ginny tugged the bedspread over them.
“This house seems to get smaller by the day,” she murmured.
Harry knew what she meant. It was a large house, but there were rooms they didn’t want to go in, and now, it seemed, the kitchen was one of them. That Pensieve seemed to call to Harry and he closed his eyes against it. He wanted to know, but it felt...too big.
“We could go flying tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
“And the day after that.”
He smiled against the back of her neck and tugged more of her hair out of his way. It tickled him when he breathed.
“Or, we could keep flying, cross the Channel and explore Europe,” Ginny continued. Her voice was heavy and low, but she felt solid and strong in his arms. “Just keep flying.”
She talked about all the things they’d see, and Harry fell asleep to the pleasing cadence and the warmth of the cocoon they’d made.
Harry woke up alone in a bright, sun-lit room. He’d slept the entire night through with no nightmares. He wondered where Ginny was and had the thought that she’d taken the vial and done something with it while he slept. He peeked over the side of the bed and found his robes in a heap on the floor. He could see the top of the vial and the yellow-brown cork that capped it inside the pocket and let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ginny, he just wasn’t sure what this whole process entailed, and he didn’t want Ginny to do it alone. In a way, he felt possessive of the vial, like it was for him alone. That thought made him feel bad and he forced himself to get out of bed and prepare for the day. The vial of silvery liquid stayed in his pocket where he could see and touch it.
When he entered the kitchen, he expected to see the Pensieve on the table, but it was surrounded by open books and notes that Ginny had made.
“I made you breakfast.”
“Huh?” Harry looked up to see Ginny staring at him.
“I made you breakfast,” she repeated.
He nodded and moved forward toward the other end of the table where he’d realized Ginny had laid out a place for the two of them. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Harry, are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he said with a shake of his head. “I feel...strange.”
Ginny came closer and pressed her hand to his forehead, peering at his eyes. “Like you’re sick?”
“No, like my mind can’t seem to focus on anything but that,” he said with a nod toward the Pensieve.
Ginny sighed and nodded. “I know what you mean. I thought about it all night. I woke up after a nightmare and came down early to stare at it.”
“What’s all that other stuff?”
A smirk tilted her lips. “Hermione’s not the only one who can research, you know. I wanted to look for information about what a Pensieve is and how it works. There aren’t many resources here, but–"
“I know how it works.” Harry didn’t realize that he did until he said the words. The way Ginny recoiled from him made him rethink how he’d said it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I can’t seem to stop focusing on it.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Let’s eat.”
Harry felt bad that he’d hurt her feelings, so he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I do appreciate the things you do for me--the food, the research. I don’t mean to be a git.”
“I do understand, Harry,” she said, “even if I don’t like the way you speak to me sometimes. I snap at you, too. It’s all the stress we’re under. And we’re locked away in this house. That doesn’t help.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
They sat down far from the Pensieve and Harry forced himself to take a bite of breakfast. It wasn’t until it was in his mouth that he realized how hungry he was. He began to shovel the food in, earning a grin from Ginny.
“Did your mother drive you crazy last night when I left?”
“No,” she said, but her tone made him think she was covering how rough it had been. “She talked circles around the issues. She’s not happy with our living situation--she’d be right pissed off if she knew where I sleep half the time--but she knows there’s nothing she can do about it.”
“She blames me,” Harry said. “She’s never been cold to me before.”
“I know.” Ginny’s nose scrunched and he watched as she picked at her food, nudging it around her plate.
“Ginny,” he said. “Eat.”
She sighed and stared at him while lifting a bite that filled her cheeks to almost overflowing.
“I don’t blame her,” Harry continued. “I understand their concern, but I don’t--”
“I do,” Ginny said through her food. “She should know to trust us by now. It’s not like we’re kids, Harry. And we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Still, I see her point about the look of the thing.”
“Merlin, Harry! Ron spends more nights over at Hermione’s loft than he does at the Burrow. Mum chooses not to see that. Charlie’s got a different girlfriend every time we talk to him. And Bill...well, don’t get me started on what he used to get up to before he met Fleur. My point is, they seem to trust the boys more than they do me.”
“Maybe they worry more about you because of our issues,” Harry pointed out.
Ginny thought about that as she ate a few more manageable bites. “It’s a moot point, anyway; I’m here and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
That made Harry smile. He finished up his food and pushed the plate away from him.
“Tell me what you learned about the Pensieve.”
“You already know about them.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “I think I do, but I didn’t know until I said it before. I must have used one or seen one used.”
“Likely this one,” Ginny said, “in one of those meetings with Dumbledore.”
Harry hummed in agreement. “Tell me, anyway.”
“A Pensieve lets you view memories,” Ginny said. “That’s what’s in Dumbledore’s vial--his memories, although I suppose it could be other people’s, too. When you watch them, you can relive them as a bystander. They’re rare. The book I read said that Hogwarts has its own, which means this one must have belonged to Dumbledore. Usually, a Pensieve is buried with the owner, but occasionally they are passed down through families.”
Harry made a sound in the back of his throat as he stared at the shallow basin.
“It didn’t say how you viewed the memories, though,” Ginny said.
“You tip your head into the basin,” Harry said. “We can view them together.”
Ginny thought about that. “Do you...do you think they’re meant only for you to see? I wouldn’t want to see… What if they’re private?”
Harry took her hand in his. “Ginny, I’m not going to watch them without you. I don’t keep secrets from you and I’m not about to do so with this. We’re in this together.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Let’s get this all cleaned up and then we can decide how to do this.”
“Okay.”
Once the kitchen was cleaned and organized again, they both sat in front of the basin, shoulder to shoulder.
“What if there are multiple memories?” Ginny asked. “Do we watch them all together?”
“Well, we can leave anytime by lifting our heads. I don’t remember how it works exactly, only that I’ve done it before.”
“Alright. What if we watch one and then come out to make notes? I don’t want to forget anything.”
“We can watch them again.”
Her face scrunched. “What if they’re bad, Harry? I don’t want to have to relive them again.”
“It’s not reliving,” Harry said, “even if they’re your memories. You can be...detached from them, analyze and watch them like a stranger would.”
“I don’t know if I like that.”
“It’s odd,” Harry admitted. “But it’s a dead useful way to get us to understand whatever it is Dumbledore wanted us to see.”
Ginny sighed and seemed to square her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Harry nodded and unstopped the vial, tipping the contents into the Pensieve. Even though it was a small container, the liquid seemed to expand in the basin to fill it.
With one last look at Ginny, Harry leaned over, putting his face into the liquid light.
Xxxxx
They tipped into the Pensieve, through the gossamer liquid, spinning and spinning, and landed in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.
Ginny grasped Harry’s arm. “I might be sick.” She was pale and green as she clutched her other hand to her stomach. Harry shook his head to wipe away the disorientation and held onto her, hoping to steady them both.
He looked at his younger self, fidgeting in a chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk. The office was deserted besides Harry.
“When is this?”
“I don’t...I don’t know,” Harry answered, but he had a suspicion. He moved to the side where he could see his face and sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was a gash in his upper arm and the edges of his robes were dark with blood, right where the serpent’s fang had gone in. His face had smears of dirt and dried blood.
“It’s right after the serpent,” he said.
Ginny let out a shaky sigh. “I must be in the hospital wing.”
Behind them, the door closed, and Professor Dumbledore came into the room. He patted the seated Harry on the shoulder and sat at his desk, tenting his fingers in front of him.
Harry and Ginny watched the conversation unfold with fascination.
“Is Ginny going to be alright?”
“Miss Weasley will recover, Harry. She’s a strong witch.”
“What...what happened?” Harry asked. “Was it really...Voldemort?”
Dumbledore sighed. “Of a sort, yes. You see, Tom Riddle was once a student here at Hogwarts. He became the Dark Wizard we know as Voldemort.”
Harry turned to Ginny. “Why don’t I remember this?” he asked. “This seems important.”
Ginny’s eyes were glued on the younger Harry. “I don’t know. And who is Voldemort?”
They turned back, having missed part of Dumbledore’s explanation of how Ginny had become possessed by a shade of Tom Riddle through the diary.
“I believe, Harry, that we are just now beginning to see the things that Voldemort has been trying to keep hidden. He’s very cunning, very tricky. It’s likely that he may be back to full strength.”
Harry almost leaped forward and banged his hand on the desk to get Dumbledore’s attention. “What do you mean? And who are you talking about?!” He huffed hot breath out his nose as Ginny held him back.
“It’s a memory, Harry. He won’t answer your questions.”
“I know.”
“...believe that the Ministry knows more than they are telling, in fact,” said Dumbledore.
The Harry in the chair seemed overwhelmed. He nodded, but Harry could tell he wasn’t processing it all. He’d been through something horrific and the Headmaster was explaining things that neither Harry understood.
“He’s trying to kill me, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Harry.”
Ginny gasped and covered her mouth.
“I should remember this,” the older Harry breathed out.
“...since that night he killed your parents,” Dumbledore continued, “you’ve been...connected, in a way, to him.”
“But...I thought he died.”
“Alas, I have never believed that, Harry. I have always thought that he would return one day. It appears he has done so in secret. There are signs that we are now seeing.”
“The diary?”
Dumbledore’s thick white eyebrows pushed together. “I do not think so. Miss Weasley was the victim of an ill-timed revenge. Lucius Malfoy was in possession of that diary, if I can believe the house elf who came to me. He and Arthur Weasley have long had a sort of adversarial relationship…”
“That bastard,” Ginny hissed. “He slipped it into my things when we were at the bookstore. I remember now. I was only eleven. But I didn’t write in it until...until fourth year.”
“...this was some sort of sick revenge?” Memory Harry asked Dumbledore.
“Unfortunate, but yes.”
“But this Tom Riddle...he’s back?”
“I do not know for sure,” said Dumbledore. “It will take some time to find what I’m looking for. That is enough for tonight, Harry. Since Madam Pomfrey looked you over and has found nothing seriously wrong with you, you may go back to Gryffindor Tower.”
Harry scooted forward on the front of the chair. “But, Sir--”
Dumbledore was firm, yet gentle. “Harry, get some sleep. You and I will talk more when I have answers to your questions.”
The memory began to get hazy and Harry pushed back from it, gasping as he found himself rising toward the ceiling through inky, cold blackness, and then he was standing on shaky legs back in the kitchen of Grimmauld place. Ginny was still in the memory, so he tugged on her shoulder until she emerged, holding her head and blinking.
“I don’t like that,” she said with a wince.
Harry’s head was spinning. They’d only been gone a few seconds, it seemed, and yet there were so many things he’d learned.
“My parents,” he whispered. He backed away with a staggering step and collapsed on the bench that had been pushed away from the table. “I thought...thought they died in a car crash, but...but they were…”
Ginny threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Harry. We all thought… I don’t understand why that would be taken from you.”
“Because it was him,” Harry said. “Voldemort...whoever he is. He killed them, and he tried to kill me.” His hands tangled in her long hair and he knew he was pulling it, but he couldn’t force his fingers to let go.
“I want to kill Lucius Malfoy,” Ginny hissed. Anger and fear made her words shake and Harry clung to her.
“I’ll do it for you.”
They sat like that for a long time, until Harry’s back ached from holding them upright. If the bench had been a sofa, he would have laid them down, but he didn’t trust his legs to get him upstairs, or his shoddy spell work to transfigure anything right now. He was too distracted.
“Can you watch another?”
“I don’t know,” he said. The craving he’d had for information before was gone now. Harry wanted to forget all that he’d seen and pretend that he didn’t know.
“We need to,” he finally said with a sigh. “We have to know.”
“We know what to expect now. It won’t be as bad,” Ginny said, although she didn’t sound like she believed herself.
“It might,” Harry said. He relaxed his arms and they fell to his sides. Ginny held on a moment longer before pulling away.
Xxxxx
They arrived in the second memory on quivering legs but holding each other upright. The Headmaster was watching out a window high up in the castle, the view overlooking the grounds at dusk.
Professor Snape rounded the corner, his black robes flying out behind him in a dramatic way.
“Old bat,” Ginny hissed, making Harry smirk.
“Still no sign of him, Severus?” Dumbledore asked when Snape came to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder.
“The entire castle was searched, Headmaster. Nobody knows where the boy may have gone. He is a foolhardy child; it’s likely that he slipped away as a part of some imprudent Gryffindor dare and has gotten himself lost in the forest.”
Dumbledore sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “He did not leave on his own, Severus. I have questioned the Centaurs and they have not seen him.”
“They’re less than cooperative, Headmaster.”
“This is the end of your fifth year, Harry,” Ginny whispered, “when you went missing. It has to be.”
Harry nodded, even though he couldn’t remember any of this at all.
“I believe we both know where to put the blame, Severus.”
Snape actually snorted. “You and your theories, Albus. The Dark Lord has not returned. I would know if he had.” He pulled up the arm of his cloak, revealing a horrible inky tattoo on his forearm. “Nothing for more than fourteen years!” The sleeve lowered to hide the tattoo, but Harry wished he could have gotten a closer look at what it was, more than just a glance.
“Did you know that Snape had that on his arm?” Ginny asked.
“Kept it well hidden, didn’t he? What d’you suppose it means?”
“I’ll bet it’s like some sort of sign that Snape once worked for this Voldemort,” said Ginny. “Like, people who did all got the same tattoo and they showed it to each other to prove their loyalty.”
“Maybe,” Harry said. He turned back to the two men in the memory.
“It’s quite possible that he believes you have betrayed him, Severus. Word of you working for me may have reached him.”
“Headmaster,” Snape said in that tone that Harry’d always thought was a warning sign to leave him be. “I have been patient with your theories for the past several months. If the Dark Lord has indeed returned, why has it been kept quiet? My memories may feel like a lifetime ago, but there are still some things I remember as clearly as if they just happened.”
Dumbledore eyed Snape. “Indeed.”
“The Potter boy will turn up,” said Snape.
“And what are the students saying?”
“A rumor is circulating that he was taken away to see his Muggle aunt, who is horribly ill. Everybody should believe it; even Weasley and Granger have been heard spreading it. The only one making noise right now is the Weasley girl.”
“And what is Miss Weasley saying?”
“I was telling everyone that you were missing,” Ginny said with a huff as she folded her arms in front of her. “But nobody was listening.”
“You know how she is, Headmaster,” said Snape, “head full of cotton and lungs full of air.”
“Foul git,” Ginny said.
The Headmaster smiled fondly. “You underestimate Ginny Weasley, Severus. One day, she will prove you wrong.”
“Another person to add to my list,” Ginny hissed as she glared at Snape’s profile.
“In the meantime, make sure the rumor spreads,” said Dumbledore. “I will speak with an old friend and see if he can help us out.”
“Which old friend?”
“Alastor Moody.” There was a little sparkle of mischief in the Headmaster’s eye when he turned to look at Snape. “Didn’t he arrest you once?”
“No,” Snape drawled out. “He tried, but I was always too quick for that one-legged, grisly old Auror. Hasn’t he retired yet?”
Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet. The Ministry keeps trying every year. Perhaps one year they will succeed in convincing him.”
“Contact whomever you wish, Headmaster, but mark my words; Potter will show up and tell the tale of adventure in the forest after some half-witted nonsense of a wager. He’s just like his father.”
“He is a right git, isn’t he?” Harry asked Ginny as the memory faded.
Xxxxx
The memory melted into another, putting Harry and Ginny back into the Headmaster’s office. It was late at night, the windows were dark, with only a splash of moonlight playing in the long shadows created by Dumbledore’s candles.
Dumbledore sat at the desk, a variety of strange objects in front of him on his desk. An ugly, broken tiara, a ring with a cracked stone, and the diary that Harry had stabbed with the great snake fang. The Headmaster’s face was aged, much more than Harry remembered it being. He looked almost...frail. His hands clasped in front of him and Harry noticed the hand that looked gray, almost dead.
“Sixth year,” Harry whispered. “Not too long before he…”
“Yeah.”
Despite the soft sound of Fawke’s phoenix song flowing in the background, the Headmaster didn’t seem to be calmed. He stared at the items, his brow furrowed and his eyes full of darkness.
“Why does he have the diary?” Ginny asked.
Harry looked at the book and the hole where the ink had oozed out in his memory. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re all connected to this...Voldemort person.”
A steady thumping came up the staircase and with a wave of Dumbledore’s wand a shiny covering of dark silk draped over the items, hiding them from view.
“Albus, you should have some pity on an old man and put in a lift of some sort.” A gnarled old man limped into view. He was wearing an overcoat that appeared weighed down by overstuffed pockets. His hair was long and stringy, reaching down past his shoulders. When he looked in their direction, Harry couldn’t help but be startled by his scarred appearance and the one protruding eye that spun in its socket.
“You complain every time you come, Alastor, and yet you never imagine a way to get out of walking up the stairs.”
“That’s Mad Eye Moody,” Ginny whispered. “I’ve heard Dad talking about him. He’s one of the best Aurors there ever was.”
“They talked about him in training, but I’ve never seen him. They said he had some sort of brain malfunction or something, took an early retirement.”
“...broom up those stairs!” Moody slumped into the chair across from the desk, causing it to scrape back along the floor. He lifted his stump of a leg with his trouser, summoned a small footrest, and rested it into position with a heavy sigh.
“What news at the Ministry?”
“Bunch of booby heads,” Moody growled, making Ginny snicker. “They’ve got their heads so far up their own arses that they can see out of their belly buttons!”
Harry snorted. “I can see why your dad likes this bloke so much.”
Dumbledore sighed. “Is it as bad as we feared?”
Moody was quiet for a long minute; even his eye was still. “Worse,” he grunted out. “They couldn’t turn Scrimgeour, so they killed him. Now Thicknesse is in, but I know he’s sold out to them.”
“Death Eaters running the Ministry,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What’s a Death Eater?” Harry asked. But he already had a sneaking suspicion that included that black tattoo on Snape’s arm.
“We are in the middle of a war and nobody knows it,” the Headmaster continued.
“The Potter boy is our only hope,” murmured Moody.
Harry jerked in place, his jaw dropping. “Me?!”
“Have you told him yet?”
“I have, several times, but with this memory charm affecting us, he doesn’t remember. We’ve talked for hours about the prophecy. None of it matters because the next time I see him, he doesn't remember.”
Moody growled and banged his fist on the arm of the chair. “Damn them. Voldemort did it right this time, didn’t he?”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Very Slytherin of him to infiltrate the Ministry even before his rebirth.”
“Has Potter recovered from that nasty business last Spring?”
Harry’s mind was reeling as he tried to keep track of all the things they were revealing. Ginny slid her hand into his and seemed to be holding him up through it all.
“He has a few more scars, but no memory of how he got them. Or, false memories, at any rate.”
“How he escaped alive is beyond me. He should have never made it out of there, let alone with only a gash on his arm and a bloody nose. Damn lazy of Voldemort to leave the portkey lying there after using it to lure Potter to the graveyard.”
Harry’s hand slid up to his upper arm on the inside, where there was a four-inch-long scar. He didn’t remember getting it, but Ron told a good story about a brilliant Quidditch victory.
“Harry is a strong young man,” Dumbledore agreed. “He’ll need that in the coming years, I fear.”
They were both silent for a long time before Dumbledore sighed. “How much do you know about horcruxes, Alastor?”
Moody’s face twisted and his magical eye spun to settle on the black silk cloth covering the desk. “Is that what you’ve got under there? Right nasty bit of magic. How on earth did you…” His eyes snapped upward, and a very dirty word escaped his lips. “Do you mean to tell me…”
Dumbledore vanished the cloth, revealing the items. “Voldemort has split his soul and hidden the parts of it away in various items that he believes have magical worth. To do so, he needed to murder an innocent. Murder splits the soul, as you know.”
Moody swore and then repeated it. He leaned forward, letting his eye rove over the times. “These have all been destroyed?”
“They are harmless now. I had hoped to discover more before I talked to Harry again. He will need all the help he can get if he’s to defeat--”
“Merlin’s beard!” Moody hissed as he levitated the ring and made it spin in the air in front of him. “How many--”
“Seven, I believe, is a magical number.”
The ring dropped to the desk and the sound echoed through the room. “Seven?”
“Possibly. The diary was the first, made while he was still a student. Or close to the first, at any rate.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Ginny said as she buried her face into Harry’s arm.
“The ring--”
“A treasure from the Gaunts, Tom Riddle’s mother’s family.”
“The diadem?”
“Found, ironically enough, in this very castle with the help of a very industrious house elf named Dobby. It once belonged to--”
“Rowena Ravenclaw,” Moody said and then whistled low. “That has been lost for ages.”
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “I’ve had others out looking for clues--of course, they don’t know exactly what they are searching for, relics of the Hogwarts’ Founders, mostly.”
“Black and Lupin,” Moody grunted. “Yes, I’ve run into them a few times.”
“Sirius?” Harry asked. “That’s what he’s been doing?! Why didn’t he tell me?!”
Ginny’s face was still pressed into the side of his arm, her fingernails digging into his hand. “He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, Harry, just that he’s on an errand for Dumbledore.”
It still annoyed Harry that he hadn’t known.
“...cup of Hufflepuff,” said Dumbledore. “I fear it may be lost forever in the depths of Gringotts. The Lestrange vault is not one easily breached.”
“And that’s the last one?”
“I suspect Voldemort’s familiar–his snake, Nagini–may be one, as well.”
Moody barked out a growl and stood, stumping back and forth between the Headmaster’s desk and the place where Harry and Ginny were frozen into place, listening to the conversation in horror. “That’s not an object.”
“Still,” Dumbledore said. “It explains the peculiar behavior of the serpent, if what my spies have told me is correct.”
Moody leaned on the window ledge and stared off into the black visible through the window. “What’s the last? You said seven.”
“I guessed at seven. It’s a theory. Perhaps he has yet to make his final one, waiting for a particularly significant death.”
“Yours?”
The two men stared at each other.
“Perhaps,” agreed Dumbledore.
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
The memory faded and another took its place, but not much changed with the scene. Moody was gone, the horcruxes were no longer on the desk. Dumbledore sat, shoulders stooped and looking small in the busy room.“Harry.”
Harry startled at Dumbledore speaking directly to him and almost replied. His throat closed over any words he might say, and he nodded instead.
“I am so very sorry to have had to share these things with you in this way. We discussed them many times together in this very office but I’m afraid the machinations of Voldemort have beaten me this time and I have been unable to find the source of the memory charm that I fear has been placed upon the entire Wizarding World.”
Harry breathed out a sigh and slid his arm around Ginny, who had begun sniffling as she watched the aged Headmaster speak to the empty room.
“There is so much I need to tell you, my boy, so much that you need to know, but my time is running short. The curse that was protecting the ring, I’m afraid, has gotten the better of me.”
He lifted his hand and his robes fell back, showing a completely black hand and arm. “Professor Snape has been able to stay the damage with potions for this long, but the end has come.”
A coughing attack hit the Headmaster and Harry stepped forward, his arm outstretched. But there was nothing that could be done. Dumbledore had ceased to exist and only lived in these memories.
“Voldemort has seeped into the very heart of the Ministry, Harry. I’m afraid that it is not safe to trust very many people. He changes people, Harry, into the vilest things you can imagine. He rose to power once before, when your parents were at school, but he was not subtle about his desires to purify the Wizarding World then.”
“Blood status,” Harry said, giving a knowing look to Ginny.
“Your parents were part of a group of people called the Order of the Phoenix who opposed him, and they paid with their lives. Voldemort killed them to get to you, Harry. Your mother stood in front of you when he tried to kill you. Her sacrifice caused the curse to rebound upon him, banishing him from his body for a time. Only the horcruxes he had made kept his soul tethered to this earth. That is where the scar on your forehead came from. You are known as the Boy Who Lived or should be. And there is a prophecy, Harry, that you will be his downfall.” He went on to recite the wording to Harry, who felt as if he weighed a million stone. The words echoed in his head, rattling around like loose gobstones. He felt Ginny there next to him, anchoring him to the floor, but he couldn’t feel much else.
“I have placed key memories of mine into a vial that I will give you, and I will place this memory last of all, so that one day you will understand.” The depth in Dumbledore’s eyes, the sorrow and distance, made Harry’s heart thunder in his chest.
“I have shown you the horcruxes and told you what I believe the others are. These must be destroyed, Harry, before Voldemort is faced. I believe that as time goes on, he will grow tired of hiding in the shadows and his agenda will be more and more clear. You will see things that feel wrong to you, but you may not understand why. This is Voldemort’s influence.”
“How?” Harry asked in a hoarse whisper. “How do I...how do I kill him?”
“Remember, help will always be given to those who ask.” Behind him, Fawkes gave a trill of song that seemed to buoy up the Headmaster.
“Harry, I wish that things did not happen this way. I wish that you could remember our talks, remember the things that we spoke about and the things that we did together. But most of all, I wish that you did not have to feel alone while you accomplish this task.”
A great sigh shuddered through him and Harry thought he looked like he might expire at any minute. Harry wondered how much longer Dumbledore had at this point--days, or mere hours?
“You are never alone; there are people--good people--who will help you along the way. Look for them, but keep the secret of the prophecy and horcruxes, please. Even good people can make mistakes. If Voldemort finds out that you know, that you are a threat to him, it will overrule the fear he has of facing you once more and he will come for you directly. Use the shadows that you now enjoy, Harry, to work, and work quickly. I have left something for you at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall knows where to find it when you are ready.
“I have faith in you, Harry. I know you can accomplish this. And I know that one day you will be happy, find love, and have everything that you desire, my boy.”
The Headmaster’s eyes sparkled in the low light of the room and Harry thought there might be tears there. He was close to crying, too, and Ginny had given up fighting it. Tears streamed down her face and she used the sleeve of her robes to wipe her eyes and runny nose.
The memory faded and Harry’s head spun as he and Ginny moved toward the ceiling, through cold and darkness, and back onto the solid stone floor of Grimmauld Place.
“Harry--”
“Don’t,” he bit out and slammed his eyes closed. There was too much in his head, too much to think about, and too many questions. He felt the floor rising up toward him, scrabbled for the edge of the table and missed. The last thing he remembered was his head hitting the hard floor, and then blackness.
Xxxxx
In the hazy moments of waking, Harry felt the weight of Ginny next to him, the tickle of her hair on his face, and the warmth of her body pressed to his.
“I had the strangest dream,” he murmured. He kept his eyes closed as his arms pulled her closer, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo. She arched against him and Harry gave himself over to the emotions bubbling inside him. The dream played about the edges of his mind, but Harry didn’t want to think about it; he wanted only what was here, right now.
“Harry?”
Her sleepy voice called to him and Harry fumbled to find the best places to touch, the things that made her breathing hitch and her heart race. He could feel it beat now against his chest and it made him smile. His fingers ran up and down her arms, raising goosebumps. They trailed over the soft, fragrant flesh of her neck, under her ear, along her jawline. And they teased the pale bit of skin at her waist, where her shirt had ridden up in sleep.
“Ginny.”
He cracked open his eyes and found that it was early morning. Barely any light illuminated the room, but he could see the shine of her eyes.
“I love you, Ginny.”
He felt that he needed to kiss her, to drown in her. Ginny reciprocated and didn’t pull away when Harry rolled them until he was resting on top of her. They’d never been like this before; Harry had always been so careful, so cautious. He was tired of that. Reckless abandon seized him, and he pushed all rational thought out of his mind. He needed this.
“I love you, Harry,” she responded back. “You need to wake up, though.” Her hands were on his back, fingertips digging in.
“M’wake,” he murmured as he kissed along her jawline down to her ear. Ginny arched, setting off the most delicious feeling rocketing through him. He felt lit up, like a Weasley Whiz-Bang Firework had gone off inside his body. “Just want to feel you.”
“Harry...Harry, look at me.” She pushed on his shoulders and Harry lifted to look down at her. She was so beautiful, sleep-rumpled with swollen lips from their kisses. They lay there for long moments, their breath mingling while Harry tried to clear the fog of sleep in his mind. The coursing feel of desire was like a fire inside him and he swore he could feel it in Ginny, too.
Slowly, he lowered again, humming with pleasure when their bodies met. His hand ventured to her hip, pulling her even closer. Ginny’s hands buried in his hair, holding him to her.
“Is this what you need, Harry?”
“Yes,” he murmured as his hand slid up into her shirt, exploring the smooth skin there. “Need.”
“O-okay,” she said, but her hesitant tone brought a nagging feeling to the back of his mind. Harry tried to smother it with the feel of her, moving against her, letting sensation and desire rule him. He was tired of being in control, anyway.
His hand reached what he most wanted to touch, and Ginny arched against him again. He could feel the warmth and pounding of her heartbeat beneath his palm as he handled her breast.
She kissed him, almost frantically, and Harry ground down against her.
A warning voice, sounding rather like Mr. Weasley, came into his mind and Harry pulled back, lifting off of Ginny and forcing himself to the far side of the bed. His heart raced and clarity settled in--the prophecy, the horcruxes, the memory charms. It pressed down on him, squelching out any desire that had consumed him earlier.
“Not...not like that,” he breathed.
Ginny adjusted her clothing and crawled toward him. “Harry...it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I...I almost…”
Her shaking arms came around him and Harry fought the urge to push her away. Shame and regret burned inside him. “Not like that,” he said once more.
“I thought it was what you needed,” Ginny said. “And...and I feel it too, Harry.”
He turned to face her, his hands cupping her cheeks, and pressed his lips to her heated skin under her eye. “I know. I was trying to block it all out. All I wanted was…”
“I know,” she said. “Me too.” She tugged at his arms. “Come lay back down.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s not...completely gone. I don’t want to lose control again.”
“Oh, Harry,” Ginny sighed. “You’re far too controlled. And now that we’re both awake it won’t happen again.”
Harry caught her eye and peered at her. “Don’t bet on that, Ginny. You drive me crazy.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In the best way possible, but…”
“But it’s not time,” she agreed. She was able to coax him back down. They lay side by side on the rumpled bed. Merlin, he’d almost broken every rule he had for himself, and it had been the most wonderful feeling he’d ever had!
“One day,” he promised. The words sounded hollow to him as the truth spread through his body. He couldn’t make promises like that, not with a prophecy looming over him and the almost sure certainty of death.
“Stop thinking, Harry,” Ginny warned. “We have time for that when the sun is up. For now, just dream.”
“I thought I was dreaming before,” he said. Ginny laid down on his arm, her head tucked under his chin. “Best dream I’ve ever had.”
Her low laugh didn’t help, and Harry tucked the bedspread between their bodies, more as a reminder to himself than anything.
“Sleep, Harry.”
Xxxxx
Harry didn’t sleep, and neither did Ginny. They lay in the darkness, blanketed by awkward silence. The ticking of the clock sounded extra loud and Harry wondered what time it actually was; without his glasses, he couldn’t see it at all.
“This is stupid,” said Ginny, “we should just get up.”
“Alright.”
Ginny kicked the blankets away from herself and left the room while Harry watched her go. He reached for his glasses and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting for a while. He heard Ginny moving around in her bedroom and then the closing of the bathroom door before he gathered the energy to move.
He hated this feeling between them and felt it was his fault. He’d been so forward and out of control before with her. And even though she’d said that she felt it too, perhaps she’d been saying that to make Harry feel better? He hated that he’d made her feel like she needed to do that, but how could he fix this?
Harry got dressed and went downstairs, trying to put it all out of his mind. There was plenty to think about besides what had happened. Entering the kitchen, Harry stared at the soft light of the Pensieve that they’d left out last night. The memories swirled in the basin, cloudy and almost translucent. Harry had the impulse to put his face in again and watch once more, hoping that he’d missed something the first time that would tell him how to proceed.
“Stupid to leave them out,” he finally told himself. He used his wand to siphon the memories and place them back in the vial before levitating the Pensieve to the crate it had come in and securing the top back on. He put the vial in his pocket and slid the crate under the table to think about later.
While he made breakfast, Harry began to pick apart the memories, adding them to the puzzle that was in mind. They knew that the Ministry had been completely overrun and could not be trusted. Harry now saw the little things they were doing--interfering with Hogwarts, controlling the media, requiring the questionnaire when purchasing things, and changing the structure of the Aurors--for what they were: Voldemort had returned and begun his slow quest to bring the Wizarding World under his control. Harry had the feeling that the more he and Ginny dug into what was happening, the more they would find wrong.
He fixed breakfast with mechanical movements while he tried to quell the rising panic that itched below the surface of his skin. Dumbledore had so much faith in Harry, but Harry wasn’t sure he could find it in himself. He was one boy against an entire corrupt Ministry.
He burned the toast twice and finally gave it up, sitting down to a simple bowl of Wizard Puffs with questionable milk. He looked up and tried to smile when Ginny came into the room. She returned the stiff expression with a hesitant smile of her own.
“Pretty dark in here,” she murmured as she fixed her own breakfast.
“Didn’t feel like having light,” Harry grunted out. In truth, he had turned on the gas lamps, leaving them low, but hadn’t lit the fireplace. The whole room was rather icy, he realized. Ginny shivered and Harry dropped his spoon into his cereal before turning and using his wand to light a fire in the grate.
“You didn’t have to--”
“I’m not going to let you freeze.”
Ginny bristled at his tone and he watched as she gathered food, her back toward him. “We need to get more food soon.”
“Yeah.” Harry finished off his breakfast and stared down at the empty bowl. His stomach was churning, but he wasn’t sure if it was everything in his head, this thing between he and Ginny, or if the milk had gone off.
Ginny sat next to him, like she always did, but far enough away that they weren’t touching.
“We need to talk about this.”
“What is there to talk about?” Harry asked, feeling slighted. He missed the warm way she normally greeted him. Their closeness had evaporated, and Harry chided himself for ruining it with his hormonal display earlier.
Ginny glared at him, but then her look softened. “Sometimes I wonder if you doubt what I feel for you.”
Harry gaped at her. “I know you love me. You’ve told me.”
“Yes, but...sometimes words don’t convey what I feel.” She picked at her toast, tearing little bits off and chewing them while she measured what to say.
“This morning was my fault,” Harry said. “I...I woke up from what I thought was a bad dream and...and…”
“And you wanted comfort,” Ginny said, “you wanted to forget about what we’d seen. I can understand that.”
“No,” said Harry, but then thought about it. “Maybe. But I still shouldn’t have tried to make you--”
“You weren’t making me do anything, Harry. It was my choice, too.” She turned to face him, swinging one leg over the bench and scooting close enough that her knee pressed into his thigh.
“Do you think I don’t feel the same way, Harry?” she asked. “Because I do. I... desire you, also. I don’t want things to progress for the wrong reasons, though. We need to both be ready, not dealing with grief, or anger, or sorrow, or even using it as a distraction.”
Harry nodded. “That’s why I stopped.”
“I know,” she said. “I want you to know that it’s not just you.”
Harry looked at her and felt a small bit of burden lift away. He smiled and reached for her hand, but Ginny wasn’t done yet.
“But I also don’t want you treating me like glass, or shutting me out, Harry. We’re in this together.”
He wanted to point out that her name wasn’t attached to a dirty, great prophecy, but bit back the comment. “I know.”
She seemed satisfied with his answer and turned back to her breakfast. “Do you want to talk about what we saw last night?”
Harry let the question roll over in his mind and the panic beginning to rise again. “No.”
Ginny jabbed her finger into his side and Harry flinched. “That, right there,” she said. “You’re shutting me out.”
“I...I haven’t even wrapped my head around this yet, Ginny,” Harry snapped. “You heard what the prophecy said. I have to kill him. I don’t even remember who this person is, or that he...he killed my parents.” He stumbled over the last part, only now realizing how angry he was about it. “It’s not fair that they took that from me.”
“No, it’s not.”
“They took it from Sirius and Remus, too, you know. They don’t get to mourn their friends properly. And I know that Dumbledore said this memory thing was over the Wizarding World, but it must be over everyone else, too, because my Aunt and Uncle...they didn’t know, either.”
“Or they did, but your memory of it was removed, or covered,” said Ginny. “I don’t understand how it all works, yet, or why it happened.”
“So that he could do all this stuff in secret,” Harry grumbled. “So, he wouldn’t get caught, like last time.”
“He didn’t get caught. You stopped him, Harry,” Ginny said.
“No,” he said, “it was my mum. She did it.” He felt weird about saying that. The only things he knew about his parents were learned from second-hand sources. Sirius had told him some, his Aunt and Uncle had said nasty, spiteful things, and now this. None of it helped him understand who he was better.
“I know what the prophecy said, Harry,” Ginny said with a sigh. “And while I don’t know how it will play out yet, I know that you’re capable of--”
Harry spun on her, jerking in his seat. “You think I can kill someone?! Am I capable of that, Ginny? Great Merlin!”
Ginny took a shaky breath. “You’re capable of protecting those you love. You’re capable of seeing what’s wrong in this world and doing something to fix it.”
“I don’t even know where to start, Ginny.”
“I know.”
They both stared ahead and only looked up when Hedwig rapped on the narrow window at the far end of the kitchen. Ginny walked over and opened the latch, letting her inside. She landed on the table near Harry and dropped the morning’s edition of The Daily Prophet.
“Good hunting, Hedwig?” Harry asked. He ran the back of his finger along her feathers and she nipped at him. It was a simple affection that they’d shared regularly through the years and it made Harry feel a little bit normal for a moment.
“I’ve always loved that owl,” Ginny murmured as she retook her seat, sliding a bit closer to him this time.
Hedwig made little sounds that Harry smiled at. “She’s talking to you.”
Ginny smiled and nodded. “I can only imagine what she’s telling me. She’s saying that you can sometimes be a git, but that she knows you love me and that I need to take care of you.”
Harry scoffed. “We take care of each other.”
“Right.”
With one last little nip at Harry’s fingers, Hedwig alighted to her perch, where she fussed at her feathers for a few minutes and then tucked her face under her wing.
Harry began to unroll the scroll and his heart dropped at the headline there.
“Oh no,” Harry breathed, “this can’t be good.”
Ginny leaned over his shoulder to read.
The Ministry of Magic has announced that due to a recent outbreak of Lycanthropy infections in Great Britain, they will be working with those infected to provide--free of cost--the vital, yet expensive, Wolfsbane Potion.
Madam Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was on hand to give The Daily Prophet a one-on-one interview at the start of this revolutionary new measure sure to help so many people.
“The Ministry wants to be able to help these poor creatures,” she said. “They suffer horribly during the full moon, and it’s unnecessary. Wolfsbane potion does not cure Lycanthropy, but it does help relieve the symptoms and control their dementia. It’s best for all the Wizarding population if these creatures are well cared for and provided with the necessary means to treat them. We wouldn’t want more attacks on helpless individuals, now would we?”
Harry stopped reading and looked at Ginny. “Have there been werewolf attacks?”
“A few more than usual,” Ginny said. “I put them on our wall under ‘Mysteries’.” She pointed to the section and Harry nodded. He didn’t remember reading about them, but Ginny was much more thorough about things than he was.
“What’s usual, though?”
“I don’t know.” Ginny’s face scrunched up as she thought about it. “It’s not something that’s talked about, I don’t think. But I don’t remember ever meeting anyone, other than Professor Lupin.”
Harry nodded and turned back to the article.
“Under this new program,” Madam Umbridge continued, “those infected would come into the Ministry monthly to receive their necessary dose and to stay in a well-protected environment while they transform. The Ministry wants to make sure that their needs are met. It’s a harsh reality of our world that often these poor creatures are thrust away from their families and live on the edges of society. A necessity for the safety of those they come into contact with, but not always the most pleasant aspect of the deformity.
What about infected werewolves who are unable to travel to the Ministry to receive the potion? Madam Umbridge was full of sympathy for them.
“Yes, I understand that it may be hardship for some,” she said, “but it is vital that they obey the new laws and take what the Ministry is offering to them. Surely they will want to take advantage of the generosity of the Ministry!”
“Merlin,” Harry said. “I don’t know who this woman is, but I hate her already.” He shoved the paper away from himself and scowled down at the tabletop. “Registering them, imprisoning them, making them feel less than human… Beasts, creatures, deformity, infected.” He scoffed at the words used, knowing that they were chosen specifically to breed distrust, fear, and anger in the everyday witch and wizard.
“I’m betting we won’t be seeing Remus anytime soon,” said Ginny with a sigh.
Harry hadn’t thought about that, but he guessed she was right. Lupin wouldn’t be involved in any sort of Ministry control program. “Yeah, he’ll stay away, which means that we won’t be seeing Sirius anytime soon, either.”
Ginny’s hand rested on Harry’s shoulder and he reached up to place his over the top of hers.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I know that you probably want to talk to Sirius about all we’ve learned.”
“I don’t know.”. There was a part of him that had built a sort of wall about Sirius Black in his mind. He wanted to trust him, to love him, even, but something seemed to be missing between them. He wondered if the Ministry’s memory charm wasn’t in place if things would be different. Now, it seemed they didn’t connect with each other.
“I need to shower,” he mumbled, “then I need to go to Hogwarts.”
“We,” Ginny corrected with a spark in her eyes. “Don’t shut me out of this, Harry. Besides, I have something I want to check in the library.”
Harry wanted to protest; there was a part of him that wanted Ginny to stay at Grimmauld Place, where she was protected, but he also knew that wasn’t fair. Instead, he nodded and excused himself after clearing the table.
“Maybe Dumbledore left me a spell that will clean up this mess,” Harry told himself as he walked up the stairs. It would make it all easier if there was a simple magic spell that Harry could learn that would put everything right. “Then again,” he reasoned, “when has life ever been that easy?”
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who is reading and letting me know. I hope you are all enjoying the story.
Walking up the road from Hogsmeade to the gates of Hogwarts was strange. There was a thrill the moment the castle came into view, but for Harry it seemed dulled and distant. It was a hazy sort of winter day and there was an inch of new-fallen snow on the ground. That should have made it feel even more magical, but Harry, instead, thought it only felt sad.
“Didn’t think I’d be coming back here this year,” Ginny said. Her mittened hand was in Harry’s and he could feel her shake, whether from the cold or nerves, he couldn’t say.
“I know. Me either.”
“I wish we could have had one good year here together,” she said. “One where we could have held hands and walked on the grounds, kissed under the Quidditch stands, flown together on the pitch.”
“I did kiss you under the stands,” Harry pointed out with a bit of a smirk. “Have you forgotten?”
Ginny rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, but I don’t want you to discount what we did have here,” he said. “Midnights in the Common Room when neither of us could sleep, Quidditch games--”
“Days spent in the infirmary,” Ginny said with a chuckle.
“--playing pranks on Ron and Hermione…” Harry trailed off and sighed. They’d reached the gates now and were waiting for Hagrid to arrive to let them in. “This is where I fell in love with you, you know.”
“Right here?”
Harry wrapped his arms around her. “You’re full of sass today.”
“What’re you going to do about it?”
Just as Harry lowered his lips to hers, Hagrid arrived at the gates.
“Blimey!” he said cheerfully. “Look who it is!” The keys jangled against the lock as Hagrid worked it and Harry looked up at the man. They hadn’t had much interaction while Harry was at school beyond Harry’s participation in Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures class. He’d always wondered…
A memory came to him as Hagrid swung the gate wide and grinned at them both. He was young, staring up at this giant of a man, who was holding a cage with Hedwig inside. “Happy Birthday, Harry!” he’d said.
A wave of affection for Hagrid overcame Harry and he had to swallow past a thick throat. Of course. He and Hagrid had been friends, but the memory charm had taken that away, too.
Hagrid peered at him with dark, shiny eyes. “Alright, Harry?”
“Yeah,” Harry said as he clapped Hagrid on the arm. “Doing well.”
“An’ you, Ginny?” Hagrid said. “Shame yeh didn’t come back this year. Gryffindor team hasn’t been the same without yeh. But I understand.” Hagrid’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his tangled beard twitched.
“I heard you’re head of Gryffindor now,” said Ginny. “Congratulations.”
“Cheers,” he mumbled. He glanced down at their joined hands and his eyes crinkled even more. Harry thought he even saw the sparkle of a tear. “Are yeh together now?”
Harry looked at Ginny, who couldn’t hide a smile. “Yeah, we...we finally figured things out.”
Hagrid said, “‘bout time, I’d say.”
Harry laughed and for the first time in a while he thought he felt...happy.
“Perfessor McGonagall said to bring yeh right up,” Hagrid said. “That yeh had somewhat to talk abou’.”
Back to reality, Harry thought. “It’s good to see you, Hagrid. If you’re ever in London, send us an owl.”
“It’d be easier for the two of yeh to ge’ away,” Hagrid pointed out, “but I guess yeh’re proba’ly jus’ as busy as me.”
They parted ways at the great doors of the castle, Hagrid going off to take care of his next class, and Harry and Ginny preparing to enter the castle.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Harry opened the door and stepped inside, Ginny following him in. Professor McGonagall was standing in the middle of the hallway, her lips pinched together. “Potter,” she greeted. “Miss Weasley.”
“Hello, Professor,” said Harry. He felt like a young boy again, late for his Transfiguration class as the knowing eyes of Minerva McGonagall looked down on him. But he was now taller than she was and as they walked closer, it was she looking up at him. “I didn’t mean to have you wait on us.”
One eyebrow quirked upward, and she seemed to appraise them completely. “Well, it would have been quite a feat for you to gain entrance to my office, Potter, not knowing the password, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said. His lips tilted and Ginny seemed to be as amused as he was.
“Your letter said you had something urgent to speak with me about. Shall we get on with it, then? Perhaps you’d follow me to my office?”
“Actually, Professor, I’d like to use the library, if you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind, Miss Weasley?”
Ginny stammered out, “I...I guess I thought that since I’m not a student here…”
“The Hogwarts library has the largest collection of books in the Wizarding World, Miss Weasley. It is open to anyone to visit, upon prior arrangement, of course. You’ll not be allowed to check out a book, you understand.”
Harry realized that not even Mrs. Weasley could cow Ginny as much as Minerva McGonagall could and it was rather surprising.
“Be off with you, then,” the Professor said, but there was a twinkle in her eye and the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “When you’re finished, you may meet Mr. Potter in my office. The password is faileas.”
Ginny repeated it back, gaining a nod, and then winked at Harry before walking away toward the library.
Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and headed toward the nearest staircase. “I see, Potter, that you’ve finally gotten your head out of your backside about Miss Weasley.”
Harry’s jaw dropped for a moment before he chuckled. “Actually, Professor, I told her how I felt about her during my sixth year. It was she who dug her heels in.”
“Really? Well, that is interesting.”
“I suppose she needed to get used to the idea.” They kept climbing and Harry’s legs reminded him that he wasn’t used to ascending seven or eight floors every day between classes anymore.
“Love can be like that at times,” McGonagall said as they walked toward the large gargoyle. She spoke the password and the statue leaped aside, revealing a split between the two walls and the moving staircase upward.
Remembering the memory of Alastor Moody on the staircase, Harry looked down at it. “Professor, can you freeze these stairs, so they don’t move?”
She eyed him over her shoulder. “Hogwarts is capable of many things, Mr. Potter. That trick was one Headmaster Dumbledore was particularly fond of.”
This made Harry smile and he wondered how many other tricks Dumbledore played that were never discovered.
“Now,” the Headmistress said once she settled behind her desk, “what exactly did you need to speak with me about, Potter?”
Harry had to shake himself to be able to concentrate. The room looked so different than it had in Dumbledore’s memories. They were so fresh in Harry’s mind that he half expected to see the old Headmaster walk out from one of the darker corners of the room.
“Potter, are you alright?”
“Yes,” Harry answered. “Sorry, I…” He lifted his hand and motioned toward the room. “I haven't been here since…”
“Understandable,” Professor McGonagall said. Her expression softened and she glanced around. “I couldn’t bear to keep it the same.”
Indeed, it was very different. The tables and shelves of whirling and smoking silver instruments were gone, replaced with a much softer and more feminine look. He was amused to see a small cat toy tucked under the edge of the claw-footed desk. The windows let in the soft light from outside, casting long afternoon shadows on the various surfaces.
Behind the Headmistress’s chair was a large portrait of Albus Dumbledore, resplendent in robes of pale blue with silver thread decorating them. The color made his eyes nearly glow and Harry found himself unable to look at the portrait for more than a moment.
“I understand,” Harry said after clearing his throat. “Professor Dumbledore told me that he had left me something in your care.”
“Indeed. We wondered when you’d be showing up.”
Harry blinked at her. “We?” He’d been under the assumption that whatever Dumbledore had left him would be something quite private.
“Of course, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said. “Did you forget that the portraits are animated? Surely you can imagine that I speak with them. Although the last few years they’ve been...” Her face twisted into a look of disapproval, but she shook it away.
Harry felt particularly stupid, so he just nodded.
A tall, wooden wardrobe that was in the corner began to creak and unlock with the Headmistress's wand work. Finally, a box about the size of the one Harry’d received the Pensieve in appeared, floated toward him and settled on the desk before him.
“I will leave you alone to open it.”
“Oh, er…” Harry had planned to wait until he was back at Grimmauld Place before opening whatever it was, but the stern look Professor McGonagall gave him made him change his mind. “Thank you.”
“I need to speak with Madam Pomfrey, anyway,” she said before disappearing out the door. Harry heard the grinding of the staircase and turned back around to look at the box.
There was nothing unusual about it. In fact, it looked almost identical to the one the Pensieve was in. There were no markings on it at all to indicate what it might be.
Harry stood and removed the top covering, peering inside. He saw several items that he wasn’t sure he understood the purpose for, and several he recognized. A silvery sort of cloth was covering everything, and Harry lifted it out, fearing that it might slip through his fingers it was so much like water made into fabric. A flash of memory came to him--a dark corridor, Ron and Hermione behind him as they huddled under the same cloth. They must have been much smaller then, as Harry swore he could feel it tickle his ankles as they walked.
“Cloak of Invisibility,” he murmured. It had been his, given to him by...someone...he couldn't remember. When it had gone missing, Harry couldn’t be sure. In fact, he had forgotten about it completely.
Harry set the cloak on the desk and reached in again, taking out the two horcruxes that had been in Dumbledore’s memory--the ring and the diadem. He inspected them both, seeing the cracks and fractures. Was that how the bits of soul escaped when you destroyed one?
The diary came next and Harry held it firmly in his hands, foggy flashes of memory coming to him. The book nearly vibrated in his hand, and then Harry realized that he was shaking. He set the book down next to the other items and reached inside one last time.
Dumbledore’s wand was the final item. Harry blinked at it in his hand.
“I don’t understand,” he murmured. “I saw this with him when they buried him.”
“Or a reasonable facsimile of one, at any rate.”
Harry gasped and blinked up at the portrait of Dumbledore. It seemed frozen, but he could have sworn that it had spoken to him.
“Sir?”
“You should find that wand well suited to you,” the portrait said after a long moment of silence. “You are it’s master, after all.”
Harry tore his eyes away from the old Headmaster and blinked down at the wand. It felt like any other wand in his hand.
“I...I have a wand, sir.”
“I believe that you’ll find this wand has particular qualities that might help you on your quest, Harry.”
His mouth went dry and all Harry could do was nod. “Thank you, sir.”
The portrait smiled, eyes twinkling as they had in real life.
“How…” Harry’s voice broke and he cursed himself silently for acting like a teenager. It didn’t matter that he still was a teenager; he felt like he’d age a dozen years in the past few weeks.
“You disarmed me,” Dumbledore said. He didn’t seem inclined to expand on his answer, so Harry only nodded.
“Right. Okay.”
They stared at each other again. “Is there anything else that I need to know, Professor? For this...quest?”
The image seemed to think about the question before shaking its head. “I believe you have been given everything that you need, Harry.”
A fissure of annoyance broke apart in Harry and he quickly packed up everything into the box again and put the top back on.
“Remember, Harry. The cup, the snake, and one more item. I believe you could benefit from studying the items that Salazar Slytherin left behind.”
Harry jerked his head up and down. He had no idea about anything Slytherin might have left--
“It is good to see you again, Harry.”
Harry’s mouth went dry and he nodded. “You too, sir.”
“You always know where I am, Harry, should you require something of me.”
A hundred questions flooded Harry’s mind, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice to get them out. He didn’t even know where to start, or why any of what Dumbledore had given him mattered at all.
Without saying anything, Harry turned on his heel and left the office. Perhaps he was being rude, but Harry felt particularly brittle right now, as if any further revelations might shatter him into tiny pieces scattered on the ground.
He charged out the doorway when the gargoyle moved and almost ran over Ginny in the process.
“Sorry!” the both said. Ginny eyed the box in his grip but must have decided not to ask because she shook her head and gave him a tight smile.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t see Professor McGonagall again and Harry wondered if he should seek her out but decided that he didn’t want to see anyone else right now. Ginny seemed lost in her own world until they met up with Hagrid again near the gates.
“Don’ be strangers now, yeh hear?” Hagrid asked once he’d opened the gate for them.
“Of course not,” Ginny said. She went up on tiptoe, beckoning Hagrid down, and placed a kiss on his whiskery cheek. Hagrid’s face flushed and he patted her on the head, nearly knocking her over in the process. He grabbed Harry up in a huge hug and Harry almost dropped his box but managed to hold onto it while saying goodbye.
“That was torture,” Ginny said as they walked back toward Hogsmeade. “I didn’t think it would be so hard.”
“Yeah.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed at him and she took his hand. “Hold on, I’ll take us home.”
Harry wanted to protest that he could apparate on his own, but then he remembered her comment that morning about how she wanted to take care of him, so he kept his mouth shut and let her take him back to Grimmauld Place.
Xxxxx
“This is the right thing to do.”
Harry wasn’t sure if Ginny was trying to convince him, or herself. They’d talked for days about what the things in Dumbledore’s box had meant, but neither came to any conclusion. Harry relayed that he thought the cloak belonged to him, in some way, but Ginny had no insight; she didn’t remember him ever using an Invisibility Cloak that she’d known about.
“We need to tell them,” Harry agreed. He had no idea how they were going to do this, or what they were going to say when they arrived at the Burrow. He hoped that words would come to him when he needed them but didn’t know how tonight might go.
“Come on,” Ginny sighed. “We’d better go, or we’ll be late. Mum insisted that we come for dinner.”
Harry couldn’t argue with that. Neither he or Ginny were great cooks and they’d been living on sandwiches and breakfast cereals for a while now. A good, home cooked meal sounded wonderful, even if Harry’s stomach was full of butterflies.
Ginny took his hand and apparated them to the back garden of the Burrow. Harry had stopped trying to argue with her about taking them places; she was much better at it than he was, in truth, and it wasn’t something he wanted to argue with her about, anyway.
The kitchen of the Burrow was warm--almost stifling--and smelled of wonderful things: bread, melting cheeses, roasting vegetables, and savory meats. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around, with Hermione trying to help but getting in the way and greeted them both warmly.
Harry was pleased that her coolness toward him from the last visit seemed to have faded enough that she kissed him on the cheek, commented about how thin he was, and then told him how wonderful it was to see him again. Harry let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Mr. Weasley greeted him with a handshake and a clap on the shoulder before excusing himself to change out of his wet clothing.
“How’s the shop?” Harry asked Ron, who was still in his work robes.
“Horrible,” Ron grumbled. “The old codger who owns the place has cut everyone else back to half hours, but not me. I’m stuck working ‘round the clock because I’m the newest. He says it’s because I know more about Quidditch and brooms than the others, but I don’t believe him. I’ve half a mind to quit, but I can’t figure out what I’d do if I did.”
“Don’t quit,” Harry warned him with a grin, “otherwise you’ll be stuck at home all day like me.”
“It’s alright for some,” Ron teased, “but most of us don’t have a big house to live in and the leisure to do as they please all day.”
Harry nudged him but couldn’t help wondering if that’s how people saw him. He supposed, in a way, it was true, but that wasn’t because he’d chosen this life. And Ron had no idea the sort of things that Harry was facing.
“Alright?” Ron peered at him and Harry realized that he must have drifted off for a moment.
“Yeah, just tired. Had a rough night.”
Ron smirked. “You live with my sister, mate, I’d assume most nights are--”
Ginny, who had been standing next to her mother and Hermione talking, must have heard Ron’s comment because she banished a pot at Ron’s head. Harry caught it before it cracked his friend in the skull.
“I meant that Ginny talks in her sleep,” Ron said. “That’d be hard to sleep through.”
“We sleep in different bedrooms, Ron,” Ginny said acidly.
They didn’t speak about it, but Ginny had moved back to sleeping in her own bed, probably to reduce temptation. While Harry missed sleeping with her next to him, he had a whole lot on his mind and the disturbing dreams had returned with a vengeance. It was better to be apart so Ginny could get some rest, at least.
“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley scolded, “there is no need for violence, even if he did deserve it.” Her glare was more effective at silencing Ron than the pot would have been.
Harry took his seat as Mr. Weasley rejoined the room and food hovered to the table.
“Still swimming at work, Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked.
Arthur chuckled. “Unfortunately,” he said. “The pressure to close the division got the best of Perkins and he took retirement this past week, but the rains have continued. Last week we got a hurricane!”
“It’s not right what they’re doing to you, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” he said, “but I can hold out a while more. Have to, don’t I? With all the law changes someone has to stand their ground.”
“Are you talking about the werewolf registration?” Ginny asked. “We got a letter from Remus and Sirius this morning. They’ll be staying away for a while more.”
Mr. Weasley sighed. “I’m afraid that’s only the beginning, Ginny. So many things have shifted at the Ministry that it’s almost unrecognizable. The Wizengamot meets almost daily now, rather than periodically. And The Daily Prophet only reports on a few things. What you’re not seeing far outweighs what you know about.” He rubbed his forehead and Harry noticed how tired he looked. There were heavy bags under his eyes and rather than crinkles of laughter and smiles, he wore creases of weariness and concern.
“I don’t understand where all this is coming from,” he said after some time.
“Change can sometimes be for the better, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said, but her words weren’t sure, like they usually were. Harry could hear the falter in them and knew that she was struggling. Hermione had a strong sense of loyalty towards authority figures and it was hard for her to question them, even when it needed to be done.
“Change for the sake of change is useless, Hermione,” Mr. Weasley said. “And it’s not necessarily the changes that I question, it’s the motivation behind them. It seems...almost sinister in nature. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, why it feels that way, but...”
Harry glanced at Ginny, who nodded. He cleared his throat and nudged his plate away.
“I know why. There is a sinister force at work,” he said. “His name is Voldemort. Dumbledore left me some information about what was happening. He knew before his death that something was going on and put it together.”
“His name is Tom Riddle,” Ginny corrected, “but he’s given himself the ridiculous name of Voldemort.”
Harry nodded at her and continued. “He rose in power once before, but was...defeated, temporarily, anyway.”
“When was this? Why don’t we know anything about this? Where are you getting this, Harry?” Hermione was vibrating with her questions.
“You don’t remember it because he wants it that way. He’s returned and he’s gotten control of the Ministry.”
Harry looked around at those seated at the table. They were all staring at him with varying reactions. Ron gaped, his jaw hanging loose. Hermione was scowling, her forehead pinched with worry. Mrs. Weasley looked rather pale and a little green. And Mr. Weasley looked grim but determined.
“I suspected there was something else at work,” he said.
“He’s somehow placed a sort of memory charm on the Wizarding World--”
“On everything,” Harry corrected.
“Right. On everything,” continued Ginny. “So, anything connected with him and his agenda is shrouded in mystery or erased completely from our minds and covered. That’s why Harry and I have the dreams we do. They’re not dreams, they’re memories.”
“You’ve...you’ve both...seen this wizard?” Mrs. Weasley stammered.
“We’ve had...interactions,” said Harry.
“And what is his agenda?” Hermione said. Harry could tell she was still struggling, but willing to hear him out.
Harry said, “It’s about control and power. Think about all the changes and find a common thread.”
“Purification,” Mr. Weasley said. “They’re culling out Muggleborns and Half-Bloods. I hadn’t thought about it before, but those in positions of authority at the Ministry are pureblood witches and wizards with similarities. They tend to be more radical, more vocal in their desire for power and purification of the Wizarding race.”
“Magical ability has nothing to do with blood status!” Hermione burst out.
“Of course not,” said Mr. Weasley, “but there will always be people who think differently about it. And someone who has that sort of desire for power and control can manipulate them to the extreme. Look at the stories that The Daily Prophet has begun printing. Today there was an expose on how depraved the Muggle community has become and another last week about Muggle diseases spreading among the population.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. He had been so tired this morning that he hadn’t done more than glance at the paper. He made a note to go back and read it when he and Ginny returned home.
“Witch Weekly ran a column the other day about the superiority of magic,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Shocking to see it, actually, but I didn’t connect it to anything until…now.”
“It’s small things like that,” Harry said, “and it’s been going on for years.”
“How do you know?” Hermione asked. “You say we’ve all been memory charmed, but there’s no proof other than your dreams? You can’t say those things without proof, Harry. And if it’s true, how does it not work on you and Ginny?”
“It does work,” Ginny said. “Our guess is that because have such strong memories that they’re harder for it to overcome. Some of the things we’ve been through…” She bit her lip and wound her fingers through Harry’s. “And we can’t overcome it all. There are parts that we don’t remember at all, but others that come as impressions or dreams. That doesn’t make them false, though.”
“We’ve talked about this before, Hermione,” Harry said, “how our dreams are different.”
“So, you’re saying that we all have this done to us?” Ron said. “There are parts of our lives that we don’t remember?”
“Or have been covered up,” Ginny said. “Remember when Harry went missing at the end of your fifth year?”
Hermione huffed. “He wasn’t missing. He’d gone to see his aunt, who was sick.”
“No, Hermione,” said Harry, “I didn’t. I was taken from the castle by a portkey--”
“Kidnapped, you mean.” Ginny scowled at him, but Harry knew it was more over the memory than anger toward him.
“--and was there when Voldemort was reborn.”
Ron’s face was pasty white, making his freckles stand out like spots of ink. “Reborn?”
Hermione shook her head. “Harry, I don’t… You were there? Why you?”
“Because Harry was the one who defeated him the first time,” said Ginny.
“It was my Mum,” Harry corrected. “Voldemort tried to kill me when I was a baby, but my Mum stood in front of me. He killed her for it and then tried to kill me.” He reached up and touched the scar on his forehead. “The curse rebounded, and he was thrown from his body. He lived as a sort of specter until...until he was reborn.”
“Your parents died in a car crash,” said Hermione. “I...I thought…”
“I thought so, too,” said Harry. “Or was told that, at any rate, but that’s not right.”
“How...how do you know these things? It wasn’t taught to us at school. There are not books that say--”
“Hermione,” Ginny snapped, “of course it wasn’t taught to us at school!” She summoned the bag that she’d brought with her and began rifling through it. Harry’d wondered why she was bringing it but hadn’t thought to ask before they left.
“Look,” she said as she presented a book to Hermione. “I got this at the Hogwarts library the other day.”
Harry gaped at her almost as much as Hermione had. She’d stolen a book?!
“You’re not supposed to--”
“Just look, Hermione!”
The book was bound in dark brown leather, with intricate scrolls carved on the front and the title of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord written in gold lettering on the front and spine.
Hermione snatched the book and flipped through the pages. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing, Ginny. All the pages are blank.”
“Of course, they are,” said Ginny. “Any section of any book that talked about Voldemort has been erased. It was the same with every book I looked at when I was at the library. There were whole chunks missing out of books. I knew you’d want proof, so I borrowed this book.”
Hermione’s forehead creased in thought as she considered that. “Ron, do you have your copy of Hogwarts, A History? I gave it to you for Christmas fourth year.”
“Er...maybe? If so, it’s upstairs.”
Hermione summoned the book and they could hear doors opening and closing as the spell brought the book toward them.
Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “I believe you Harry, even though I don’t remember any of this.”
“What do we do about it?” Ron asked. “If we are memory charmed, will we even remember this conversation tomorrow?”
Harry sighed. “I don’t know, but Ginny and I knew that you needed to know.”
“Everyone needs to know,” Mr. Weasley said.
The book Hermione summoned had arrived at the table and Hermione was turning pages, looking for the holes that Ginny had talked about.
“Yes, they do,” said Harry, “but nobody will remember the next day. And I’m not sure how to go about it. They’ll need proof. I don’t have proof; I have memories, like Hermione said. She’s not wrong.”
“There’s nothing in here,” said Hermione as she closed the book, “but you’re right, there are sections missing toward the end. I don’t...I don’t understand. I could have sworn I read something once…”
“I don’t know exactly when Voldemort placed the memory charm--”
“I thought you said that the Ministry--”
“Voldemort is the Ministry, Ron!” Ginny said. “He’s controlling everything. Last time he tried open defiance and it didn’t work so well for him; this time he chose to return with stealth, to play some twisted, long game with us.”
“It’s like he’s trying to erase history,” said Hermione.
Harry was relieved that she seemed to believe him now; they all did. A weighted silence settled around the table as the reality of everything Harry and Ginny had told them sunk in.
“What do we do now?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “We can’t wait. People are going to get hurt.”
Harry knew they needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. In part, this was another reason that he’d wanted to confide in others, to get some guidance and direction for where to start.
“We need to figure out how this charm is working and break it,” Ginny said. “Otherwise, nobody will believe us, and we’ll tip our hand that we know what he’s doing. He’ll come after us.” Her eyes rested on Harry for a moment and he felt the weight of the prophecy resting on him.
They’d come after him. He didn’t understand why Voldemort hadn’t yet. Perhaps there was some plan in place that prevented him from killing Harry outright? Maybe he didn’t know the prophecy completely, yet? The time when he had moved against Harry before might’ve been enough to warn him away.
“That’s a good place to start,” Mr. Weasley said. “I can start poking around the Ministry.”
“Arthur, you need to be careful!” Mrs. Weasley said with a wail. “If they find out that you know…”
Mr. Weasley took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I know, dear.”
“I can look, too,” said Hermione.
“You don’t think you’re under suspicion, too?” Ron barked. “I hate to point it out, love, but you’re a Muggleborn. I’m surprised they’ve kept your job this long.”
Hermione sighed and Harry thought he saw something in her eyes, something she was hiding from them. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “The worst they can do is fire me.”
“That’s not the worst thing they can do, Hermione,” said Harry. “I don’t like the idea of you going back there--any of you--but I don’t think we have a choice right now. We need people on the inside. If I thought they’d take me back, I’d rejoin the Aurors--”
“No!” Ginny’s fingernails dug into his hand enough that Harry winced. “You can’t go back there, Harry. You can’t be that close--”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. He’d already thought this through, and it was part of why he hadn’t slept well last night. “They won’t take me, anyway. I burned too many bridges there.”
Ginny’s shoulders relaxed and her grip loosened. She still clung to him and Harry realized how deep her fear of losing him was. He understood it; the same fear lived deep inside him, but he wasn’t sure he could even talk with her about it yet.
“Do you think there are others at the Ministry who suspect?” Mr. Weasley asked. “There’s enough discontent going around.”
“It’s possible,” Harry said. “Dumbledore was working with an old Auror named Moody.”
“Alastor Moody?” Arthur asked. “Yes, it’s a shame what happened to him. Some sort of breakdown. He’s confined to his home now, but he has a House Elf to take care of him, at least. The Ministry gave him a healthy retirement settlement.”
Ron scoffed. “Likely they caused the breakdown in the first place.”
“I need to talk to him,” said Harry, making the decision on the spot. “And anyone else who might suspect something is going on. We need...we need to get more people to understand what we’re facing. I think that’s the best way to begin spreading the truth.”
“What’ll it matter if we don’t remember this tomorrow?” Ron asked.
“It matters, Ron,” said Hermione. “Harry’s right. We can’t just sit back and let this happen. We need to do something.”
Xxxxx
Ginny and Harry stood in the dark hallway between their two rooms. It was late when they returned from the Burrow. Nothing more was decided, other than for Arthur to begin telling members of the family and reaching out to contacts inside the Ministry.
It was all a rather shaky beginning, Harry decided, especially since there was no guarantee that anyone would even remember a moment of the conversation in the morning. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d do if that happened, but they’d needed to know.
“We need to go see Alastor Moody,” he mumbled after a deep yawn. “Soon.”
“It can wait,” Ginny scolded. “You’re dead on your feet, Harry, and I can see everything churning in your head.” Her fingers tangled with his and Harry leaned into her, resting his forehead on hers, breathing deeply.
“Can see right through my ears, can you? Snape always used to say there was nothing in there.”
Ginny snorted. “Old bat. We’re going to need to reach out to him, too, Harry. Dumbledore trusted him.”
Harry almost growled at the thought of speaking to his old Potion’s professor again. “Not yet. Not until we even know what we’re doing.”
Ginny wrapped her arms around him, and they clung to each other. “I wish we could sleep next to each other.”
“We could,” Harry said. But he knew she wouldn't give in. There was a spark between them lately which neither of them was good at resisting. Harry craved her touch, wanted to feel her skin against his fingertips all the time, and he was slowly losing his internal arguments about why it wasn’t a good thing to give in.
“We could,” Ginny said, but he could hear the reluctance in her voice. She wasn’t ready, and he would wait until she was. Harry kissed her forehead and tried to think of something else.
“They’ll be talking to others,” she said.
“If they remember,” said Harry.
“Right. They’ll be getting the word out. That’s their job. But you and I...we need to find those horcruxes, Harry. You know we do.”
Harry swallowed and nodded against her. “I know.”
“We’re going to figure this out, Harry. We’re going to make it so that...so that he’s gone forever this next time.”
Harry wished he had her faith. Sometimes it seemed like he was walking into a dark tunnel with no way of knowing if there was light at the end of it or not. He had no idea what to expect and it was terrifying.
“Harry, look at me.” Ginny took his face. It was so dark in the hallway that Harry couldn’t see much besides the shadowy outline of her features. “I love you, Harry. I believe in you. And we can do this.”
He could only swallow past the lump in his throat and nod.
“Go get some sleep. We’ll start making plans in the morning.”
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Alastor Moody’s house was set back from the street and enclosed by a chest-high fence, overgrown with what looked like a Venomous Tentacula, only the leaves were smaller, and it gave a warning hiss when Harry came too close. Harry was surprised that it was in a more populated area than he’d expected. Then again, Harry lived in the middle of London, so who was he to judge?“Had to get Alastor out of trouble a few years ago,” Arthur said as he led the way up the walk after entering the gate. He’d warned Harry and Ron not to touch the plant or the fence as it was likely enchanted.
“What happened?”
Arthur’s face pinched for a moment and then he smiled. “Alastor is a bit…”
“Paranoid?” Harry supplied. “We’ve heard the stories.”
“Right. Well, this was back when he’d just retired. He swore someone was mucking around in the back alley behind his house, started throwing curses and hexes out the back door toward them.”
Ron and Harry exchanged a look and Harry could tell Ron was biting back a laugh at the image.
“Turns out it was only some cats,” Arthur continued, “but he’d enchanted the rubbish bins with his stray curses, and they were running up and down the alley causing all sorts of mayhem. A friend of mine contacted me and I took care of it before the MLE could get Alastor in trouble.”
“He sounds like a complete nutter,” said Ron. He gave an uneasy look at the front door of the house.
It was large and looming, painted black but faded from the sun. Harry saw a strange sort of mirror hung at an angle above it and realized that it showed the person inside the house who was standing outside without them having to open the door. A series of locks and deadbolts ran up the side of the door above the handle.
Harry was uneasy meeting this man. He felt odd knowing something about him--having seen him in Dumbledore’s memories--and yet never having met the man in real life. Or, at least, he didn’t remember meeting him.
“I don’t know if he’ll let us in,” Arthur said as he knocked. “He didn’t answer any of my owls.”
“We have to try,” Harry said. They’d been trying for several weeks to arrange a meeting with Moody but had finally decided to just show up since he wasn’t responding through official channels. Harry needed answers and since Dumbledore was gone…
“What’do you want?” A loud, gravelly voice boomed through a speaker situated next to the small window alongside the door. Harry hadn’t even seen it there, but he stared at it now. It appeared to be some sort of Muggle stereo and was implanted right into the wall. Harry could see bits and pieces of wiring that still hung out the sides. He glanced at Arthur, who was looking up at the mirror.
“It’s Arthur Weasley, Alastor. I’ve brought my son, Ron, and Harry Potter to meet you today. Wanted to check in and see how you are doing.”
There was hesitation on the end and a bit of shuffling. “I’m fine. Go away.”
Arthur sighed and cleared his throat. “Alastor, please let us in, we have some things we need to speak with you about.”
“I’m fine. Go away.”
The speaker made a clicking sound and then went dead.
“Might be able to fine him for that, Dad,” Ron said with a nod toward the speaker. “Magical use of Muggle artifacts. Isn’t that illegal?”
“Hard to do that, Ron, when I helped him put it there.”
Harry snorted out a laugh and raised his hand to knock. The sound was hollow, as if there were a great, long hall in front of the door.
“I said--”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moody. My name is Harry Potter. I was a...a friend of Albus Dumbledore. I know that you and he were friends, as well. If we could please have a few minutes of your--”
The locks on the door began to click and clank. Harry stepped back, watching with wide eyes as the door cracked open. His hand closed around the wand in his pocket, in case the batty old man started throwing curses.
Instead of Alastor Moody, they were met by a tiny creature with bulging, watery eyes and flapping ears; a House Elf, Harry realized.
“Master Moody will see you in the drawing room,” it squeaked out.
“Thank you, Bitsy,” Arthur said as he walked in.
Harry nodded to the House Elf and motioned for Ron to follow his father as they walked down the hallway and then into a set of glass double doors. Bitsy closed the door behind them and Harry heard the grinding, clicking locks move back into place.
On the outside, the house looked like a standard, boxy suburban house, but the inside was definitely charmed. The ceiling was high and ornately decorated, although old.
“Reminds me of your place, Harry,” Ron murmured.
Harry smiled. “Only a little less creepy.”
Ron pointed to a series of portraits of witches and wizards staring down at them, their eyes measuring the visitors’ progress down the hallway. “No, equally creepy.”
Harry had to agree and wondered if all old Wizarding houses were decorated in such a gothic, imposing style.
All along the hallway were odd little tables full of silver instruments and dark detectors. It reminded Harry of Dumbledore’s office and he wondered where all Dumbledore’s things had gone after his death. Could some of these have belonged to--
“Ah, there you are, Alastor!”
The drawing room was dark, with heavy velvet curtains pulled over the windows. The only light peeked through cracks, letting strips of winter sunshine paint the ornate furniture. Moody hunched in a chair near the fireplace, a thick tartan rug wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was pure white and stuck out at odd angles from his head. It reminded Harry of a cartoon he once saw where a man stuck his finger in an electrical socket and got shocked. His grizzled face was deeply pockmarked with scars and Harry wondered how much weight the old man had lost, as it appeared to be sagging from his frame.
“Arthur Weasley,” he bit out and then coughed. “Haven’t seen you in years.”
“It has been too long.” Mr. Weasley sat on a chair near the hearth, not far from Moody. He rubbed his hands together. “It’s chilly, Alastor. Do you mind if I add to the fire?”
Harry could see there were only embers under the logs and not giving much heat to the room. Without waiting for permission, Arthur pointed his wand at the fireplace and the flames burst to life.
“Damned House Elf never keeps it warm enough,” Moody bit out. He seemed to pause for a moment before lifting his head, letting his magical eye take them all in. It moved much slower than in Dumbledore’s memory and Harry felt as if this man had aged dozens of years in the past two or three.
“Who’re you?!”
“Remember, Alastor,” Arthur said patiently, “I said that I brought my son, Ronald--”
“Not him! I’m not an idiot! I know a Weasley when I see one! I meant the other one.” His eye singled in on Harry, fixating on him, the pupil dilating in and out. It reminded Harry of a camera lens focusing.
“I’m Harry Potter,” he said. “I was a friend of Albus--”
“Yeah. Yeah. I remember now.”
But Harry didn’t think he did. There was a detached way about him that bothered Harry. It was more than only the Ministry’s memory curse affecting this man.
Harry summoned a chair and sat next to Mr. Weasley. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he appraised Moody. “I need to speak with you about the Ministry.”
Moody bristled and pulled his rug tighter around his shoulders. “Ministry,” he spat out.
“Yes. We believe that it has been corrupted.”
“You’re with them!” Moody’s eye fixed on Harry again and the old man began to shake. “You’re here to spy on me, are you, boy?”
“No,” Harry said. “I don’t work with the Ministry.”
“Not anymore,” Ron added, unhelpfully. “I mean, you used to but--”
Harry wanted to send a stinging hex to his best mate, but he settled for a glare instead. Ron paled and pretended to lock his lips closed.
Moody’s hands shook and Harry could see that he was clutching his wand inside the folds of the rug. “I don’t want Ministry spies here. If you’re here for that, you can get out.”
“I promise I’m not here for the Ministry. I hate the Ministry.”
Moody’s magical eye rolled around, taking all three of them in before he seemed to settle. Arthur gave Harry an encouraging look and urged him to continue.
“Er, we believe that the Ministry has been compromised by a Dark Wizard.”
Moody grunted. “Dark Wizard?”
“Voldemort.”
The eye spun crazily as Moody jumped out of his chair, much more agile than Harry’d expected for someone who looked so old.
“NO!”
The first spell shot over Harry’s head, making his hair stand up. Mr. Weasley pushed him to the ground and Harry’s cheek dug into the carpet.
“Alastor, please!?” Arthur rolled to the side to avoid a blast of blue that scorched the rug.
“He’s off his nut!” Ron wailed. He’d dived behind one of the sofas and the stuffing exploded out where another of Moody’s spells blasted it.
“Take cover, Ron!” Harry shouted. He struggled to get his wand out of his pocket, but Mr. Weasley was pressing him down still. Flashes of light shot all over the room as glass shattered and furniture exploded.
“He’s lost his mind,” Mr. Weasley murmured. Another barrage of spell fire came their way and Arthur hissed as the sleeve of his arms caught on fire. He began patting it down, but Harry sprayed water on it instead, extinguishing the flames. They scrambled to their knees and began to crawl to safety.
“I don’t think he has,” Harry said as he tugged Mr. Weasley behind a sofa that Ron had overturned. Ron was now shooting spells back, small things meant to distract Moody. “He’s been hexed,” Harry said. He peeked up over the arm of the sofa and watched as one of Moody’s stray spells struck some ornaments on the mantel, shattering them and sending glass flying everywhere.
“Be careful, Ron,” Mr. Weasley admonished. He’d begun sending spells, also, but more to keep Moody from being hurt than anything.
One of their spells collided with Moody and he flew backwards, arching toward the floor.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry immobilized the old Auror and floated him toward a clear place on the sofa covered with bits of leaking stuffing.
“Damned old nut,” Ron grumbled. He had an eyebrow missing and his left foot was tapping out a strange rhythm on the faded rug.
They all surrounded Moody, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully; even his magical eye was still for the moment.
Harry’s heart was still racing, and he was glad that Ginny hadn’t felt well enough to come today. Granted, she was fast on her feet and would have reacted quicker than any of them had, but he didn’t want her in danger any more than she had to be. He took Moody’s wand and held it tight.
Mr. Weasley began cleaning up the debris and clucked his tongue when he bent to pick up a piece of twisted metal that had been sitting on the mantelpiece. “They gave this plaque to him when he retired from the Aurors. What a shame.”
“Not very sturdy, was it?” Ron asked. He and Harry both looked at the award for Distinguished Service to the Wizarding World. It was mangled, most of the words charred off the surface.
They tried several spells to restore it, but nothing seemed to work. Mr. Weasley tucked it in the back of the repaired glass ornaments once he fixed the fireplace mantel.
“He’s awake again,” Ron grumbled.
Harry came to stand next to the man and watched the magical eye twitch in place. “I’ll release you, but if you attack us again, I’ll stun you myself.”
Once the spell released, Moody struggled to sit up. His wooden leg thumped on the floor when he righted himself.
“What...what happened here?” he asked, looking around. “Arthur? Arthur Weasley, is that you?”
“Great Merlin,” Mr. Weasley said. “Don’t you remember what happened, Alastor?”
The old Auror shook his head, pressing his hands to it as if he were dizzy.
“What did you hit him with, Ron?” Harry whispered.
Ron gaped as much Harry was. “Nothing!” he said. “I was trying to disarm him, but I don’t think that’s what hit him. Pretty sure I missed, actually.” He nodded toward a dark mark on the wall, the remnant of spell fire.
“Are we under attack?!” Moody moved much quicker now, searching for his wand in the faded pyjamas he wore. He seemed much more lucid; his movements crisp.
Both Harry and Ron lifted their wands to cover him.
Mr. Weasley moved forward, his hands out in front of him. “Nothing like that, Alastor. You don’t remember--”
But Moody’s eye had fixed on Harry again, pinning him in place with his stare. “Harry Potter.”
“Er...yeah.”
“It’s about time you came to see me, boy! I expected you ages ago!”
Harry and Ron exchanged a look and Harry stood up straighter. “Er...sorry?”
Moody’s expression turned stern. “Well, better late than never, I suppose. Don’t just stand there, we have work to do! Or maybe you’ve forgotten that a great bloody Dark Lord has overtaken the Ministry?! And where the hell is my wand?!
“Cor.” Ron shook his head and dropped his arm, stuffing his wand into the back pocket of his trousers.
“Better Wizards than you have lost a buttock by putting your wand there, Weasley,” Moody growled. “Great Merlin! Has the entire world gone insane?! Constant vigilance, boy!”
Ron immediately removed his wand and glanced back over his shoulder, making Harry smirk. “Just wondering what it might look like to lose a buttock,” murmured Ron.
Harry handed him back his wand and Moody stumped over past Arthur and toward a small table that had escaped most of the carnage. A glass decanter filled with golden liquid sat there along with several crystal goblets. Moody splashed a drink in one and tipped it back into his mouth, draining it in one swallow. He turned to the House Elf who was hovering in the corner of the room, eyes wide and entire body shaking. “Bitsy,” he bit out, “don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen here, or who came to visit me.” She nodded so vigorously that her ears flapped down to slap against her face, and then she scurried from the room.
“Let’s get him to the Burrow,” Mr. Weasley said. “I don’t understand what is going on here, but it seems that he’s come around. This is the Alastor Moody that I remember.”
Xxxxx
Christmas dinner at the Burrow was a strange affair. Harry hadn’t seen all the Weasleys together since the summer and he wasn’t sure how they would treat him. Ginny seemed to have reached some sort of understanding with her mother and Harry was accepted again with open arms and loving smiles. But now everyone knew that he and Ginny were not only living together but heading the movement to subvert the Ministry. Would things be different? Would they look at him differently? He didn’t know.
The house was hot when Harry and Ginny arrived, and almost overflowing with people. Harry regretted wearing the jumper that Molly had made him and pushed the sleeves up on his arms.
“The oven’s been on for the last four days,” Ginny murmured when they walked through the kitchen. The windows were covered with steam and the table was overflowing with food already.
“She’s not feeding an army,” Harry grumbled to himself. He’d had another nightmare last night and woken up early, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling until Ginny knocked on the door and offered to open presents together.
“Don’t be so gloomy,” she warned him, “take today to relax, Harry.” Her fingers twisted into his own and Harry forced himself to take a breath. For today, he’d try to forget what lay ahead of them and enjoy the minute.
That thought went right out of his head the moment they entered the sitting room and saw all the different faces looking back at him.
“Er…”
“I guess Mum did invite an army,” said Ginny.
The entire Weasley family was there, along with a few people that Harry’d known from the Ministry, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, and a handful of people that Harry’d never seen in his life.
“Come in, Harry and Ginny,” Mr. Weasley greeted. “No need to be shy. Everyone here is aware of what’s going on.” He waved a piece of parchment at them and Harry let out a shaky breath.
At least he didn’t have to tell the whole story again; Hermione’d taken it upon herself to write up a short paragraph explaining the situation. The Weasleys kept them circulating to remind themselves when the memory charm worked particularly well. To anyone not in the know, it was a copy of an old family recipe. Brilliant spellwork by Hermione, Harry thought.
Ginny excused herself to see Charlie, who was playing chess with Bill on the far side of the expanded room, and Harry worked his way through the crowd toward Hagrid and Neville Longbottom, who were on the far side. Despite charms to make the room larger, Hagrid still had to duck his head at a strange angle.
“Happy Christmas, Harry!”
Hagrid greeted him with a firm thump on the back that sent Harry a few steps forward and almost into Fleur and Nymphadora Tonks, who were deep in conversation about...something.
“Hello Hagrid. Neville.”
“You look like you could use a drink, Harry,” Neville said with a smirk.
“Didn’t expect...all this,” he said as he surveyed the busy living room.
“Righ’ nice of the Weasleys to welcome us all in,” Hagrid said.
Neville summoned a cup of eggnog from the table across the way and it floated into Harry’s hands. He nodded his thanks and sipped at it, appreciating the slight burn of alcohol, hoping it would settle his nerves.
“Cheers, Neville,” Harry said. “Ginny said she wrote to you, but--”
“This is my fight, too, Harry,” said Neville. There was a hardness to his voice that Harry’d never heard before. “I think...he might’ve been the one to hurt my parents.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose as he considered that. He’d never thought much about Neville’s parents past what he knew: that they were alive, but so damaged from spells that they lived as patients in the permanent ward at St. Mungo’s. “This is your fight, too,” Harry agreed.
They talked about a few other things--Neville’s work in a potions facility greenhouse, Hagrid’s classes at Hogwarts, and a few friends they had in common--before Harry was called away by Ron and Hermione who were talking to Bill.
The chess game had long been abandoned and Charlie was telling more stories of his barmy life at the dragon preserve, surrounded by people. Ginny was seated next to her brother, his large, protective arm around her. She winked at Harry and then turned back to listen to Charlie once more.
“Hello, Harry.”
“Bill.”
Hermione turned to him. “We were discussing the situation with Moody, Harry. I was saying that it doesn’t make sense how quick he seemed to recover from his illness. The way Ron described him makes it seem like he was completely disconnected with reality before he...woke up.”
Harry glanced over to find Moody and Arthur in a corner of the room, speaking in low voices. The transformation over the past few weeks was almost miraculous. His hair was still white, but it was groomed and clean, and he appeared to have put on more weight. His face was no longer haunted.
As if he’d heard them speaking about him, Moody’s eye fixed on their group across the room and narrowed in on Harry.
“If I didn’t know better,” Harry said, “I’d say he was cursed.”
“Why not?” Bill asked. “A curse makes sense, although I’m not sure what it was without being able to see his behavior for myself. We know that a curse can be tied to a person, or even people in general.” He gave them all a knowing look.
“Yeah, but why curse him beside what they’ve already done?” asked Ron. “Wouldn’t the one that’s on us be enough?”
“From the little bits that Dad remembers, and what Tonks has said, I understand that Moody was quite the Auror in his day,” said Bill. “Perhaps the Ministry had more to fear from him than we think.”
“Why not just kill him, though?” Harry asked. Hermione gasped at his casual question, but Harry’d been thinking about it loads. If they’d gone after Moody for his role in fighting Voldemort last time, why had Harry been left alive? So far, only Harry, Ginny, and Moody knew of the prophecy and Harry wasn’t sure he wanted the knowledge to spread further than that.
“I don’t know,” said Bill. “Maybe he has information that they were trying to get from him?”
“You mean he’s been being tortured all this time?” whispered Ron.
Hermione hissed out a breath. “How horrible.”
“It’s possible,” Bill said. He leaned back against the table, bumping the chess set. The little pieces began to threaten him, shaking fists in his direction and calling out nasty phrases. The old game had gotten more personality over the years; Harry refused to play with this set as the knights, in particular, had come up with naughty names to call him when his playing was sub-par, which it always was.
“You should see the stuff that some wizards do to each other. This one witch in Egypt was so worried about her husband cheating on her that she hexed his pocket watch to wrap around his...erm…every time he thought about another woman.” Bill trailed off and chuckled at Hermione’s scowl. “Got him into a fair bit of trouble when he’d have even the most innocent thoughts.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“Oh, I agree, Hermione,” said Bill. “The things people think up to torture each other would make your curls straighten.”
“This looks like an intense discussion,” Ginny said as she joined them and wrapped her arm around Harry, curling into him. “Mad Eye’s going to interrupt at any minute and one of you is going to end up the unfortunate victim of a body cavity search if you don’t stop looking over at him like that.”
Ron snorted, but schooled his features. “We can talk about this another time. Mum’s almost ready with dinner, anyway.”
“Any word from Sirius or Remus, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“They’re somewhere in Eastern Europe,” he said. “We had a letter from them the other day.”
“They’re working on a way to come back into the country,” said Ginny, “they just have to get in under the watch of the Ministry.”
“Poor Remus,” said Hermione.
Chapter 15: Chapter 15
With the bleak January weather, the house seemed to close in around them again and Harry found himself staring at walls for hours. They only ever went out to get food, and only to Muggle stores so that neither had to register their purchases with the Ministry.Everything seemed to be in a holding pattern, as if the entire world had frozen in the middle of December and hadn’t thawed yet. There was a building anticipation that Harry couldn't quite figure out; he knew something would change--soon--but he wasn’t sure what it was.
He and Ginny had made a list of the remaining horcruxes and tacked it to their wall of newspaper clippings. It was several layers deep now and the old ones were beginning to curl at the edges and age to brown. Every week The Quibbler ran more and more stories of the corrupt practices of the Ministry, of missing people, of strange happenings, while The Daily Prophet prattled on about the Quidditch standings or which witch was best dressed at the most recent Weird Sisters concert. Harry’d stopped reading them, letting Ginny take over that part of things completely.
Ginny.
That was another place where Harry felt things were falling apart. They’d been arguing more and more lately. Ginny’d taken to cleaning parts of the old house. She wasn’t quite sure why, just that it felt important to get it done. At first, she’d goaded Harry into helping, but since that sparked even more arguments between them, she’d finally kicked him out of the third floor and told him to get his head out of his arse.
Mad Eye Moody had sent two letters, trying to get Harry to commit to some sort of action--any action!--but Harry wasn’t ready yet, and still had no idea what to do. He knew he needed to go after the horcruxes, but there was also the looming presence of the corrupt Ministry always in the back of his mind. How could they win?
So, Harry sat in the kitchen, facing the wall of evidence, and tried to wrap his mind around it. He could hear Ginny upstairs pushing furniture around and the faint sound of the old radio that she’d charmed to play while she worked.
He was still like that when she entered the kitchen again, her hair twisted up behind her head and dirt smudged on her cheeks. The old clothing that she’d donned was tattered and tight in all the right places, drawing Harry’s eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about things while I clean,” she said. Harry watched her bum as she washed her hands, letting his eyes rove over her and lamenting the fact that she hadn’t done more than peck him on the lips for weeks now.
“We need to tell Ron and Hermione about the prophecy and the horcruxes.”
She turned to face him, and Harry stared at her, tracing the curves of her body and growing even more frustrated.
“I don’t think--”
“Of course not,” she huffed. Her face was pink from exertion and Harry saw the fire in her eyes. This was going to turn into another argument and even though he knew he should stop, a part of Harry also wanted to row with her. At least then he’d feel something other than confusion and this burning desire that threatened to consume him.
“You can’t shoulder this alone, Harry.”
Harry pushed away from the table, making the bench scrap along the stone floor. “I’m not. I have you.”
Ginny’s jaw clamped shut and she shook her head. “I can’t handle this alone, either, Harry. That’s...that’s a whole lot to put on my shoulders.”
Recklessness careened inside Harry and he took a few steps toward her. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Ginny flinched, as if he’d struck her. “We’re in this together. You said--”
“I know what I said, Ginny!” he roared. “I just…” Harry’s hands lifted into his hair, his fingers twisting in the too-long strands there. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear how weak and...just...lost I am? Yeah, that’s attractive in a boyfriend. Well, I hate to tell you, Ginny, I am weak and lost.”
“You think I don’t know that?!” Ginny’s face was red, and she nearly vibrated with anger. Harry swore he could feel a spark in the air.
This always happened when they fought, and he was torn between saying something horrible and pulling her toward him to kiss her.
“You think I don’t feel just as lost as you? Harry, you’ve got this prophecy hanging over you and you have to--”
“I know what I have to do, Ginny. You don’t need to tell me.” Harry forced himself to walk across the kitchen and began cleaning the area around Hedwig’s perch. It was the one chore that Ginny refused to do; Harry’d been slacking lately.
“Well, someone should remind you,” snapped Ginny, “because you seem to have forgotten.”
Harry froze in his movements. His jaw clenched as the words crashed into him like a bludger. He finished spelling away the mess and then summoned the latest Daily Prophet to spread under the perch to catch the droppings; that’s all it was good for, anyway.
“Not moving fast enough for you, am I?” he asked once he’d cleaned his hands. He glanced at Ginny to find that she was standing with her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Harry, that’s not--”
“Maybe you should leave, then,” he said. The idea tore him apart inside. He knew that if Ginny left, he’d never do this. He’d never win if he didn’t have her by his side.
“Harry…”
He turned and looked at her, feeling as if he were on the edge of a cliff, leaning even further into danger.
“Ginny, I…”
She seemed to compose herself, even though tears still streamed down her cheeks. “I’m not leaving.”
Harry let out a shaky breath and took a step forward, and then another until his arms closed around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He buried his face into her neck, searching for the scent there that always grounded him. “Please don’t go.”
Hesitantly, she reciprocated the embrace. “Don’t say those things, then. You can’t tell me to go away.”
“I know.”
“And you can’t pretend that you’re alone in this, Harry. I feel the weight of it, too. It may not be me that has to… But it’s you. And I...I love you.”
Harry closed his eyes and held her even tighter. “I know.”
“This is killing me, Harry. I don’t know how to help you anymore.”
“I know.”
They were quiet for a long time, until Harry didn’t feel her shaking.
“If we tell Ron and Hermione--at least them--then we’d have some help figuring out what to do next, where to start.”
He’d been thinking about doing that since Christmas, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. Did he just come right out and tell them about the prophecy and the horcruxes? He supposed that he could let them see Dumbledore’s memories, but that felt...wrong.
“It’ll help, Harry.” Ginny pulled back and held his face in her hands. “It’ll help.”
“Okay.”
Xxxxx
The kitchen was silent when Harry stopped speaking. Harry felt the only thing keeping him grounded was Ginny’s presence next to him. He glanced up at his friends and saw that Hermione’s face was wet with tears and Ron was pale, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Well,” said Ron, his voice shaking, “I guess that explains why.”
“Why, what, Ron?” Ginny asked.
She’d been Harry’s rock through the past couple of days as he worked through what he was going to tell his friends and how he would say it. In the end, nothing he’d rehearsed had worked, but the words had spilled out of his mouth, instead, telling them about the prophecy, the death of his parents, and the horcruxes.
“Why you are the way you are,” Ron clarified. “Like...the memories, the dreams...everything.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said. He glanced at Ginny, who seemed to be mollified with Ron’s answer. Her hair shone in the light of the fire and her eyes were fierce. “Both of us have had some experiences that make the memory charm less effective, that’s why we have these dreams.”
Hermione pulled a handkerchief out of the small beaded bag she carried and wiped her face. “We need to come up with a plan to get these...these horcruxes. Anything that will weaken him.”
“Agreed,” said Harry. He glanced at Ginny, who was already pulling her wand to remove the charm on the wall behind them.
“Cor,” Ron breathed, “you’ve both been busy.”
They all turned and looked at the wall, now covered by parchment--newspaper articles, scribbled notes, and even sketches of the cup and other artifacts that they might be looking for.
Ginny’d been pouring over books in Grimmauld Place looking for anything she could find about the cup, but it wasn’t much with their limited resources. She’d been itching to go back to Hogwarts, but they hadn’t made time, yet. There was plenty to read about Slytherin; the problem was in narrowing down which artifact might have been used.
“Not much to do around here,” said Ginny with a shrug. “And we’ve been rather...focused on this.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before, Harry?” Hermione asked. She’d moved over to examine the wall and Harry swore he could see the wheels in her mind turning as she made sense of it all.
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Ron beat him to it. “We wouldn’t have remembered, Hermione.”
“I would have, Ron,” she said with a glare over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said with a snort, “we both have to read that ruddy paper you wrote a dozen times a day, Hermione.” He spun back around to face Harry and Ginny. “I think breaking this memory thing should be the first priority. None of us can even think straight with it in place, and we’re not likely to get much more support than we have now with it still mucking things up.”
“I agree--”
“I don’t,” said Ginny. “I used to think so, but now…. If we break the charm, then he’ll know we’ve figured it out.”
Harry paused, thinking about that. He could see what she meant; they didn’t want to alert Voldemort that they knew he was even back, let alone that they were searching for the horcruxes and working on a way to destroy him. Then again, how would they ever get the support they needed to even fight if people were still so complacent about anything even going on?
“I agree with Ginny,” said Hermione. “For now, we wait.”
“But it would still be nice to figure out how the charm works,” said Harry, “so that when we need to, we can break it.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Ron. “Remember when Mad Eye was going crazy, shooting spells everywhere and then he just...stopped?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “you disarmed him.”
“That’s the thing, Harry. I didn’t.” Ron shook his head. “He tipped over, but he still had his wand. I didn’t hit him. I missed and my spell hit the wall.”
“Then why--”
“I think he was hexed, like you said.”
Harry remembered back to that moment, seeing the blank look on Mad Eye’s face and then recognition in his eyes when he looked at Harry. “I don’t know, Ron,” he said.
But Ron was getting worked up now about his idea. “I’ve talked to him, Harry. He remembers even less than the rest of us do for the last few years. It makes sense. What if the Ministry hexed him and kept him prisoner that whole time?”
“Why not kill him?” asked Ginny. Harry nodded his agreement to her question.
“I don’t know. Maybe he had something they wanted, like we were talking about with Bill, or killing him off would have drawn too much attention. You said this Dark Wizard wants it kept quiet that he’s back, I think offing the Ministry’s best Auror would be a pretty big arrow pointed right toward him.”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I guess it might make sense. Or, maybe they were torturing him for information. He wouldn’t remember, would he, if there was a hex along with the memory charm.”
Hermione joined the table again, a thoughtful expression on her face. “If that theory is true, then what changed when you were there?”
“He went mad,” said Ron with a shrug. “It was too much for him.”
“No,” said Harry. “It was something else...the hex or spell--whatever it was--broke, releasing him.”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Didn’t Bill say something about charming an inanimate object to hold a hex? Remember the story about the--”
Both Harry and Ron winced. “The pocket watch?”
“What pocket watch?” Ginny asked. “I didn’t hear this story.”
But Hermione was getting excited about her idea now. “What if the hex was...anchored in an object in the room?” She turned to look at Ron. “You said he was firing spells all over the place. What if he inadvertently destroyed the object, destroying the hex in the process?”
“I don’t know if it works like that,” said Harry.
“Ask Bill,” Ron said.
“Yeah?”
“Floo Shell Cottage. He’s always there at lunch.”
Harry glanced at the fireplace. “I don’t want to ask something like that through the floo, Ron. We never know who’s listening.”
“I didn’t think about that. You don’t think…” Ron paled and looked at the dark brick surrounding the low-burning fire. “Merlin, Harry, I’ve said all sorts of things to the Twins through ours.”
“We need to be careful.”
“Ask him to step through, Harry,” said Ginny. “I’m sure he would for a moment or two.”
“Okay. It won’t hurt to ask, I guess.”
Harry knelt on the hearth, tossed the powder in, and watched the flames turn green. He called out for Shell Cottage and tried to hold back a cough as ash swirled in his mouth. He’d always hated using the floo and usually let Ginny do it.
“Hello Harry,” Bill said as he came into view. “Everything alright?” He was tucking his shirt into his trousers and slipping his feet into his boots.
“Yeah, if you have a minute can you come through? I have a question that I hope you can answer.”
Bill smoothed his hair down and nodded. “I’ll come through on my way back to Gringotts. I came home for lunch.”
“Sure thing.”
Harry backed out of the fireplace and dusted his knees off. “He’ll step through. He’s on his lunch break. Looked a little ruffled, actually. I wonder if everything is alright.” Harry scowled as he thought about it.
Hermione and Ginny giggled, and Ron’s cheeks flushed.
“What? What did I miss?”
“Harry…” Hermione shook her head. “They’re newlyweds. Bill goes home for lunch all the time.”
Harry thought about that, trying to decide why that would matter much. “So?”
“He doesn’t just go home for lunch, Harry,” said Ginny. Her eyes were crinkled in the corners and her lips were pressed together, holding in a laugh.
“If I doubted that you and Ginny sleep in separate rooms,” said Ron, “I don’t anymore. You really haven’t figured it out, mate?”
Harry scowled at the three of them, growing annoyed that they seemed to be teasing him over something he couldn’t see. “What do you--”
“Harry,” said Ginny as she stood and came closer to him, pulling him into her arms. “Think about it.”
It was almost like someone lit a candle in Harry’s mind and he thought back to the way that Bill had seemed to be getting dressed, even though it was the middle of the day. “Oh.”
Ginny pressed a kiss to his heating cheek as the floo flashed green and Bill stepped out.
“You’re adorable, you know that?”
“How was I supposed to know?!”
“How are you supposed to know what?” Bill asked as he brushed at his robes.
Harry’s eyebrows rose and he stammered for a response.
“That he had floo powder all over his nose,” Ginny said, not missing a beat. “Silly boy always uses too much.” She swatted his bum and sat back down at the table.
“Harry.” Bill shook his hand and then sat at the table, straddling the bench and looking expectantly at them all. “What can I help you with?”
“Right.” Harry retook his seat and looked at Bill, praying his cheeks weren’t bright red. “We’re wondering if you can explain to us how, and even if, a spell like a hex could be attached to an object.”
Bill’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Harry. “I may need a little more information about what you’re trying to do, Harry.”
“Nothing nefarious,” Hermione assured him, which caused Bill’s shoulders to relax.
A flash of inspiration came to Harry and he wondered how much Bill knew about horcruxes. He tucked that away to think about later.
“You told us at Christmas about the pocket watch that was enchanted to wrap...er…”
“Right,” Bill said. “That witch anchored the spell in the item itself. It’s not easy magic, but when the spell or hex isn’t necessarily strong magic, it’s not impossible.”
“We were thinking about Mad Eye,” explained Ron, “and wondering if something in his house wasn’t hexed to muddle his brain even more than it already was. When we were there and he was shooting spells around, all of a sudden it seemed as if he was--”
“Released,” said Harry.
Bill’s eyebrows pressed together, and his forehead wrinkled. “I see. And you’re thinking about this memory charm thing, wondering if it isn’t something similar?”
“I hadn’t…” Harry shook his head.
But Ron interrupted. “Yes. That’s exactly what we’re thinking of.”
“Interesting idea,” Bill said.
“If there was an object that this spell was anchored to, what would it be?”
“Going back to Alastor,” said Bill, “You’d need to find whatever this object was, first. If I could see it, I could decide if it was a receptacle for something like that. As for anchoring the memory charm into an object that affects the entire Wizarding community...well...that’d be a pretty big feat.”
“He could do it,” Ginny said. “He’s that strong. He’s got the entire Ministry under his control, Bill.”
“Not everyone,” Hermione said. “There are people who can see it, can feel that something is wrong.”
“Not enough of them,” said Harry. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it with a snap. Harry was right.
“But the spell could be broken if we found what this object is?” asked Ron.
“In theory,” said Bill. “And that’s assuming that it is anchored in an object. I’m not sure…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know if it’s possible to do something that big, that...encompassing.”
“We have to find out.”
Chapter 16: Chapter 16
“Oh no.”Harry looked up from The Daily Prophet article he was reading about the Quidditch league to see Ginny staring with wide eyes at the edition of The Quibbler, which had just been delivered.
“What--”
“Look, Harry.” Ginny thrust the paper at him.
Harry took it and looked down at the headline, large letters that took up most of the top fold of the paper.
“Unnamed Ministry Insider Claims Ministry Overrun by Mysterious Dark Forces,” he read aloud. He scanned the article while a chill crept over his entire body. Xenophilius Lovegood had a source deep inside the Ministry who was feeding him some pretty damning information. Yet, in Lovegood’s style, he’d claimed the dark forces were some sort of creature that was altering everybody’s mind.
“He’s getting close to the truth, isn’t he?”
“Does he know?”
“Only if Luna told him,” said Ginny with a sigh. “She was rather skeptical the last time I spoke with her--ironic, isn’t it?--but I think she was starting to believe me.”
“We need to get word to him, then,” said Harry. “He’ll be in danger after this.” He sighed and moved to kneel down at the hearth, floo calling the Burrow. Molly was in the kitchen in her bathrobe, looking frazzled.
“Mrs. Weasley, is Moody there?” Harry asked. “I need to--”
“He and Ron have just left, dear,” she said with a nervous glance over her shoulder. “There was an alarm early this morning, something that Alastor had set over at the Lovegood--”
“I’m coming through,” Harry interrupted.
Behind him, he could hear Ginny’s protests that he was still in his pyjamas, but Harry didn’t care. He needed to get to the Lovegood house and help if there was trouble.
He arrived in the kitchen at the Burrow, covered in soot, and dizzy from the floo, but determined.
“When did they--”
Ginny arrived in the kitchen immediately, having apparated. She cast spells at Harry, and he felt his pyjamas tug this way and that, becoming heavier as Ginny transfigured them into outerwear suitable for a cold January morning.
“Less than ten minutes ago,” Mrs. Weasley said, pointing toward the door. “They were eating breakfast when the alarm went off. Arthur needed to go into the Ministry early today.” Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands until her fingers were almost bone white. “I don’t--”
“It’ll be fine, Mum,” Ginny soothed. She snatched a few miscellaneous cloaks from the pegs that hung on the wall and tossed one at Harry. “We’ll look into it.”
“Ginny, I--”
Harry placed his hand on Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine, I promise. We need to go and see. The Quibbler published an article today about the Ministry…” He trailed off, a terrifying thought popping into his head. “Mr. Weasley isn’t The Quibbler’s source, is he?”
Mrs. Weasley gave a frantic shake of her head. “No, that’s why Arthur went in early. He was going to try and find out who it was.”
Harry swore and wondered how he would be able to protect Mr. Weasley if he dug too deep. “We’ll deal with that soon,” he said before turning to Ginny. “You know the way?”
“I’ll guide us.” She held out her hand and the moment Harry’s fingers closed on hers, she apparated them.
Xxxxx
They arrived at a scene of post-chaos. The house--whatever it had been before--was nothing more than a pile of rubble now. Ron and Alastor were standing next to Xenophilius, who was wearing a pale purple set of robes that reached down to the ground and had little burned spots, some still smoldering. All three were staring at the pile, which was smoking and shifting.
“What happened?” Harry and Ginny approached, both with wands out, surveying the mess.
Moody’s eye roved over them both before turning back on the rubble. “This booby didn’t think to warn us that he was printing that article,” he said as he hooked his thumb toward Mr. Lovegood.
“Should I have?” Xenophilius asked. The tips of his white hair were black with smoke.
“Some sort of explosion,” Ron said. He was still in his pyjamas, too, Harry noticed, and they were several inches too short, showing white ankles before his feet disappeared into worn carpet slippers. He was likely freezing because he had no winter cloak on, either. Ginny noticed and transfigured his clothing.
“Thanks,” Ron murmured before continuing. “Moody set an alarm a few weeks ago--”
“Good thinking,” said Harry with a nod.
“--and we heard it go off before we’d even finished reading the article.”
Harry turned to the batty old man who stood watching his destroyed house with a pleasant expression on his face. “Mr. Lovegood, can you tell me what happened?”
“Of course!” he seemed delighted that Harry’d asked and turned to face him with a smile. “I had sent out The Quibbler--a special edition, you know--very early this morning and was sitting down to breakfast when someone knocked on my door. I always open it. One never knows what luck a stranger might bring--”
“Weren’t you worried, Mr. Lovegood?” Ginny asked. She was surreptitiously sending spells toward the man’s robes, putting out the smoldering sparks before they ignited into flames.
“Not at all. We get all sorts who visit us here,” the man said. Harry thought his eyes looked even more crossed than normal, but he couldn’t be sure. “Many times, our sources come to us.”
“Who was it this morning?” Ron asked. He walked gingerly among the ruins, levitating out a few personal items that he could see here or there. Moody was prowling within hearing distance, casting various spells here or there.
“Two men from the Ministry,” Mr. Lovegood said, “or so they said. I didn’t recognize them. One was a large man with long, dirty-blonde hair, sort of stringy, and with a squashed nose. The other was a tall man with a high voice. He did the speaking. They asked me about my article. I invited them in to share my breakfast, but they didn’t seem inclined to stay.”
Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes.
“How did this happen?” Harry asked as he pointed at the house.
“Oh, I must have gotten a bit carried away and let the campfire get out of control.”
Harry blinked at him. “Campfire? Sir--”
“Breakfast always tastes better over a campfire, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Lovegood said. His tone suggested that Harry was an idiot for not knowing that.
Harry blinked at him. “You had a campfire in your kitchen?”
“Of course.” Mr. Lovegood waived his hand dismissively. “When the men declined to stay and kept asking about my source in the Ministry, I informed them that I never reveal my sources. They were unhappy…” He trailed off and a strange, detached look overcame him. Harry wasn’t sure if it was his natural dreamy state or the result of some sort of spell work.
“Then what happened, sir?”
“I don’t...I don’t remember.”
“Erumpent horn is what happened,” Moody said as he stumped over, a strange piece of bone-like substance clenched in his hand. “Class B Tradeable Material,” he growled. “How on earth did you come across this, Lovegood?! And why would you keep it in your house?”
“That is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” Mr. Lovegood informed them all. “My Luna and I found it this summer when we went to Sweden.”
Moody called him a name that made Ginny snort. “Ministry were probably scared off when the house blew up. I don’t blame them.”
They all stared at the charred remains of the house in awe.
“Do you have somewhere safe to go, Mr. Lovegood?” Harry asked with a sigh. “It’s not safe to stay here and I doubt the Ministry is going to give up after one visit.”
“I have a place,” Mr. Lovegood said with a nod.
“A safe place,” Ron clarified, “one that none of your sources know. They’re not mucking around, Mr. Lovegood. You’re lucky you didn’t die today, either from this or by the hand of the Ministry.”
The eccentric old man bristled, but one look from Moody, both eyes narrowing in his direction, made whatever he was going to say dissolve into thin air. “Yes, I know a place.”
Harry and Ron both nodded and then walked away, leaving the man to poke around the edges of the pile with a broken cane that he’d pulled out earlier.
“Great start to a morning, right?” Ron said. His forehead was smudged with smoke and dirt and Harry could see a few small spots of blood on it, too.
“How soon did you get here?”
“It was just going down when we apparated in. Didn’t have time to change clothing or anything.”
“Me either.”
Ron looked at him. “You look--”
“Ginny,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows at Ron.
“Right. Smart girl.” Ron looked around to see that Ginny was gathering a few things, levitating them into a pile. “Old Xeno was standing out in the field, watching it go up. He had no clue how he got there or what was happening.”
“No Ministry around?”
“Mad Eye thinks they scarpered the moment they saw that horn.”
Harry turned as Moody limped up to them, grimacing and holding his leg above the stump. “Not what you’d call a coordinated attack, now was it?”
“Do you think it was an attack?” Harry asked. “Maybe they just wanted to--”
“I recognized the pair from his description; they’re Ministry Hit-Wizards. Not the type to ask questions and wait around for the answers. If the old fool hadn’t had that horn...well, we’d likely never have found a single piece of him.”
Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “No coincidence, then, that this happened.”
Moody eyed him then shook his head. “No, it was that damned article. The fool should have known better.”
“Can’t blame him, though,” Harry said. “It’s not easy knowing what’s going on and not be able to convince anyone. Sitting back and watching isn’t...easy.”
Moody’s finger came up and jabbed Harry’s nose. “Don’t go getting any crazy ideas, Potter. You’ve got more important things to worry about than running all over the countryside. You leave the Ministry to me and Weasley here.”
Ron grinned, but it fell away as Moody’s eye measured him up and down. “Or...maybe not.” He walked away, already lecturing Ginny about pulling more things from the pile.
“He’s not your biggest fan,” Harry said with a smile.
Ron smirked. “I’m growing on him. You just watch.”
“Like a fungus,” Harry murmured, earning a slug to the shoulder from Ron.
They skirted the edges, sending jets of water here and there. Harry saw the pages of a book fluttering and bent to tug it out from under some of the rubble. It was a small book with Tales of Beedle The Bard written in silver lettering on the front. The edges were charred, but most of the book was intact. Harry tucked it into the pocket of the travel cloak he wore to add to Ginny’s pile later.
Two wizards came through the field and Harry moved to pull his wand, but Ron stilled him. “It’s the Diggory’s. You remember Cedric from school?”
Harry peered closer at the younger of the two men. The memories were vague, but Harry remembered seeing him here and there in the halls at Hogwarts. He’d been several years older than Harry, and their paths didn’t naturally cross.
“They live on the other side of the village,” Ron continued. He gave a quick wave and Cedric nodded his head in recognition before turning back to the conversation between his father and Mr. Lovegood.
“They’re alright,” Ron said. “Both work for the Ministry, but they seem fine.”
“You never know, Ron,” Harry warned. He narrowed his eyes at the two men and moved to stand closer to Ginny, his hand on his wand.
Ginny’s face was dirt smudged and Harry could see fine hairs framing her face held with sweat. She’d been working, trying to save everything she could. “I don’t know how much of it I can get.”
Harry pulled her into his embrace. “Ginny, it’s enough. Luna won’t care about any of it. You know her.”
She turned an earnest face up to him. “Harry, some of these things were her mother’s.”
He sighed and looked back at the pile. Ginny’d been able to save more things than he realized. “We’ll keep an eye on things here. Maybe they can rebuild, save more than what you’ve already managed.”
“Maybe.”
The Diggory’s stayed for a while more but didn’t approach Harry at all. When they’d finished talking to Mr. Lovegood and Moody, they gave one last look at the house and apparated away.
“I don’t like them,” Harry told Moody when he’d joined them.
“Amos Diggory is a little stiff,” Moody said, “but he’s--”
“I don’t trust them,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, and couldn’t even name what he was feeling, just that he didn’t know them and had no basis for building trust with either man.
Moody smiled and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Wise decision.”
“But you just said…!” Ron goggled at the man.
“I know what I said, Weasley, but Potter has no experience with either of them to base any confidence upon. It’s a smart decision to withhold trust at this point. Haven’t I been trying to teach you constant vigilance?!” He sighed and turned to Harry again. “I’ll take Lovegood where he wants to go and get him settled, then meet you back at the Burrow. We have much to talk about.”
They watched until Moody had apparated away with Mr. Lovegood and Ginny turned to Ron. “He’s been teaching you stuff?”
Ron snorted. “He shoots spells at me when Mum isn’t looking. That’s his method of teaching me constant vigilance. It’s worse than living with Fred and George again.”
Ginny bit her lip, but Harry could feel her shaking with laughter next to him.
“Come on,” Harry said. “Let’s gather up this stuff and go back to the Burrow. I wasn’t half started with breakfast when we left. Maybe your Mum--”
“I’m sure she has a feast already waiting for us, Harry,” said Ginny.
Xxxxx
Mrs. Weasley was seated at the table, reading from The Daily Prophet when they returned. As Ginny had guessed, an entire spread of food was arrayed on the table.
“Thanks, Mum,” Ron said as he sat at the table and began digging in. “I’m famished.” His mother glared at him, but Ron ignored it and added more and more food to his plate.
“Is everything--”
“Mr. Lovegood is fine,” explained Ginny as she took her seat after washing her hands. Harry did the same and sat next to Ginny. The smells were making his stomach rumble hungrily. “The house is gone, I’m afraid.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Weasley sighed as she watched them dish up. “Well, The Daily Prophet wasted no time. They’ve sent out a special edition--second delivery this morning--proclaiming that all other publications not endorsed by the Ministry of Magic are not to be trusted and may even be supporting dark wizards.”
“Ironic,” Ron grumbled through a mouthful of bacon.
Mrs. Weasley folded up the paper and banished it to the rubbish bin that sat in the corner of the room. “Your father flooed and I let him know what was happening. He said he’d check on Xenophilius later today.”
“If he can find him,” Harry said. “Moody’s taking him someplace safe.”
“Well, I’m sure Arthur and Alastor can arrange something.”
It wasn’t long until Moody reappeared in the kitchen. He thanked Mrs. Weasley for the food and sat down, helping himself to almost as much as Ron had eaten.
“Lovegood won’t give up his Ministry source, no matter how much I threaten,” he told them. “I admire him for it, but I still wish we knew who it was. Whoever it is could be a strong ally for us.”
“If they’re not already one of us,” Harry pointed out.
“I don’t think so,” said Moody. “It’s someone far higher up than we have on our side currently. The information in that article came from the office of the Minister himself, I’m betting.”
They all looked at each other, wondering who it could be.
“At any rate, things are beginning to get dicey at the Ministry. I’m not sure how much longer we can hold out until it’s all out in the open.”
“What’s happened?” Harry asked. Neither Mr. Weasley nor Hermione liked to confide in Harry what was going on at work. He thought they were trying to protect him, but all they were doing was making things harder by keeping him in the dark.
“Nothing blatant,” Moody said.
“Hermione’s been placed on a watch list,” Ron interrupted. “She told me about it yesterday.”
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. “What does that mean, a watch list?”
“She’s Muggleborn, isn’t she?” Ron asked. “There aren’t many of them left in the Ministry, but she’s been left alone, for now. They’ve put the pressure on the Muggleborns to resign or found other places for them to work. I’m sure they’re threatening them, but nobody will come right out and say it. One bloke came into the store the other day, trying to sell some used brooms. We buy them occasionally, but these weren’t models that are in high demand so I couldn’t do anything for him. He told me he’d been given a week to leave his position and find something new. He and his family were leaving, moving to the continent.”
“Can’t we do something, Harry?” Ginny asked.
“Nothing that won’t make things worse,” Harry said. In his head, he was trying to think of all the different ways that they could stop the Ministry, but none of them turned out well in any scenario. In the end, as Moody had said earlier, Harry had enough to worry about without taking on the entire Ministry, too.
It’d been almost two whole months and Harry was no closer to finding and destroying a horcrux or figuring out how he was supposed to kill a madman.
“It’s time to organize ourselves, officially,” Moody said. “Back in the day there was a group of us who fought him. We called ourselves the Order of the Phoenix. Your parents were members, Harry, along with Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”
Mrs. Weasley gasped and clutched at the neck of her robes. “I didn’t… I had no idea.”
“We need to organize and take stock of what our resources are, find out what we’re working with and what we can do to begin helping people, as well as taking back the Ministry.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” Ginny asked quietly.
“Yes,” said Moody, “but it won’t be easy.”
A heavy silence settled around the table and Harry found that he was no longer hungry. He looked down longingly at the remaining food on his plate before nudging it away. Rather than scold him, Mrs. Weasley put her hand on his arm and gave a little squeeze.
“We need an emergency portkey for Hermione,” Harry said. “She needs to have a way out of the Ministry, if necessary. And one for Mr. Weasley, too.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Moody said. “In the meantime, you two have work to do.” His eye pierced into both Harry and Ginny, and they nodded.
They needed to begin searching in earnest for the horcruxes. No more distractions, no more complacency.
“And I’ll keep working in Diagon Alley,” Ron grumbled, “contributing nothing and--”
“Stop your whining, boy,” Moody growled. “You’ve given us more information than you think by keeping your eyes and ears open. There are others in the Alley who feel like us. Use your brain for more than just stuffing between your ears and seek them out. They can be resources for us.”
Ron sat up a little straighter and gave a nod.
“We’ve all got roles to play in this. Some of us will be in the spotlight, but most of us will be behind the scenes, doing things that never get recognition. They won’t be less dangerous or necessary, just not praised. Once you get that into your thick skull, you’ll be better off.”
Moody turned back to his breakfast, lecture over for the moment.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for the food,” Harry said. He was teetering on the edge of feeling exhausted and frustrated. He wanted to put all of this into perspective and talk with Ginny about working toward the horcruxes.
“Oh, you’re very welcome, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said. Tears were shining in her eyes and Harry had the strangest urge to reach over and pull her into his embrace. He’d never initiated physical affection with anyone besides Ginny before, and it was an odd thought. The moment passed, however, when Ginny started speaking and Harry felt a strange sort of void in his heart about it all.
“--go up to Hogwarts to speak with Luna, and there are some things I need to look for in the library.”
“Hermione’s probably got all the books you need,” said Ron, his lips tilting in a smirk.
Ginny agreed. “But I really do want to speak to Luna about her house. It’s not something she should read about in a letter.”
“I’ll go, too,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure what he could contribute, but it felt important to be there both for Luna and Ginny.
“Watch yourself up there, Potter,” Moody warned. “The Ministry is watching Hogwarts close. Too many there still loyal to Albus Dumbledore’s memory for their comfort. I’d expect they’ll be doing something about that soon enough.”
Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Moody’s warning stuck in Harry’s mind the entire walk from the gates up to the castle. Hagrid seemed preoccupied and didn’t talk much. When Ginny pried, he admitted that the Ministry had come the other day and demanded he surrender the last remaining Blast-Ended Skrewt that he’d bred and somehow managed to keep alive. It was well over fifteen feet long now. He’d also been fined for illegal breeding of creatures and warned that if he violated the statute again, he’d spend time in Azkaban. He grumbled that the statute had never been enforced, especially at a teaching academy.Harry clapped Hagrid on the arm as they parted and told him not to worry so much about it and that he and Ginny would do what they could. It sounded hollow to Harry, but he had no idea what to say. A Blast-Ended Skrewt wasn’t very high up on his priority list, even if it was Hagrid’s.
Professor McGonagall received them with stiff cordiality and warned them that a Ministry overseer would be sitting in on their meeting with Luna. The Ministry was already hard at work subverting Hogwarts; this overseer had been causing problems for McGonagall about course curriculum and the way that professors interacted with students.
“What can we do to help, Professor?” Ginny asked.
McGonagall’s lips pulled into a tight line and Harry noticed that her hair was even grayer than the last time they’d visited a few weeks before. She appraised them with her piercing eyes, her square glasses slipping down her nose a bit.
“Just keep your wits about you, Miss Weasley,” she said. “And hold your tongue, Potter. She’s not stupid; she only looks that way. And she’ll twist anything you say against you.”
Harry and Ginny both nodded. Harry’s mind reeled as he tried to figure out what this might mean for Hogwarts and why the Ministry was so concerned with the education of children. He supposed it all stemmed into the desire to purge the Wizarding world of those who were considered ‘less than’.
They entered the Headmistresses’ office to find Luna seated next to a small, squat woman, dressed all in pink tweed. A strange little bow sat on the top of her head of curls, like a fly that had landed there and never left. It seemed appropriate since Harry thought she looked like a fat toad with beady eyes that locked on him almost the moment he’d stepped into the room.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, may I introduce you to Dolores Umbridge, Overseer from--”
“Ahem. Overseer for the Department of Magical Instruction and Education,” Umbridge said. Her voice was high and reminded Harry of a fake, little girl’s voice. It set him on edge.
“Quite,” McGonagall said, her eyebrow raising at Umbridge’s interruption.
Both Harry and Ginny nodded, but didn’t move forward to shake the hand that the Overseer had offered. It hung in the open space between them, not far from Luna Lovegood’s face.
Umbridge.
She’d been with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and had given the interview about werewolves. Harry’d hated her just from that interview and wasn’t further impressed by her appearance at Hogwarts.
Someone cleared their throat at the back of the room and Harry turned to see Severus Snape standing in the shadows, not far from the door.
“Severus,” McGonagall said with a sigh. “Your presence is not required--”
“Headmistress,” he responded in his oily tone, “Miss Lovegood was summoned from my class--my N.E.W.T. level class. I believe I have a vested interest in whatever this...may be.” He looked Harry up and down and Harry returned his look, uncowed. He now understood something about Severus Snape that he never had before. Whether he could be trusted now, Harry didn’t know, but he had once worked with Dumbledore to take down Voldemort.
“I must renew my objections to you all being here,” Professor McGonagall said. “Miss Lovegood deserves--”
“Ahem. Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said, talking right over the Headmistress’ words. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since you were dismissed from service with the Ministry.”
Harry felt his ire rise, but he was no impulsive sixteen-year-old boy anymore, and McGonagall had warned him to mind his tongue. “I quit, Madame Umbridge.”
“Potter has always had issues with authority figures,” Snape said. “Anyone who thought his career with the Ministry would be a success has obviously never met him.”
Harry smiled to himself and didn’t move when Snape came up to stand on one side of him, Umbridge on the other. Ginny took the opportunity to sit with Luna, her arm around the girl, and whisper what they’d come to tell her.
“And yet you found him a sufficient enough student to include him in your N.E.W.T. level Potions class, Professor Snape,” Umbridge said. “I do wonder about your ability to discern talent, then.”
Snape sneered at her in what Harry thought might be his attempt at a smile. “Potter showed...potential...but proved to be nothing more than a half-decent follower of instructions. He lacked the finesse for the finer skills necessary to excel at the highest levels.”
“What did you receive on your O.W.L. exam for Potions, Potter?” Umbridge said. She peered up at both Harry and Snape from her low vantage point. Harry glanced at the bow, which was quivering in place, tucked into her hair.
“An Exceeds Expectation.”
Umbridge huffed out a breath through her nose and narrowed her eyes at Snape. “I was under the impression from our earlier interview, Professor, that you only accepted those who had achieved Outstanding on their exams.”
“Some exceptions can be made, Madam, in particular cases.”
“So, Mr. Potter’s defiance of authority did not extend to your class.”
“Indeed,” Snape sneered, “Mr. Potter was insufferable, yet…”
“I passed N.E.W.T.’s,” Harry pointed out, “and managed to be accepted into Auror Training.”
“Only to fail dismally,” Snape quipped back.
Harry nodded his head in acceptance. Now wasn’t the time to correct the man, and it appeared that Ginny was finished talking to Luna. They were embracing, Ginny in tears, and Luna smiling serenely.
“Sometimes failing is the best teacher, Professor Snape,” said Harry. “And I don’t see it as a failure when it helped me discover what I didn’t want to be doing in life.”
Snape’s eyebrow arched and his lips thinned as they pressed together. Umbridge opened her mouth to speak, but McGonagall interrupted.
“I’m sorry, Dolores, but Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter must be going now. They have an important appointment after this and were gracious enough to come all the way to Hogwarts to inform Miss Lovegood of her father’s...accident. They must be about their business, however.” There was a steel behind her words and Umbridge backed down, but Harry knew it wouldn’t sit well with her. Professor McGonagall would pay in some way for her forcefulness.
The Headmistress motioned toward a stack of books that sat on her desk. “Miss Weasley, do not forget the books that you asked to borrow--”
“Hogwarts is not a public library, Professor! And Miss Weasley is no longer a student here.”
“Of course not, Dolores.” McGonagall arched her back as she bristled. “These are from my own private collection. Miss Weasley and I share a great thirst for knowledge, and we trade books back and forth often. Surely, you are not telling me who I can loan my personal possessions to?”
Umbridge shuffled and stammered, patting the back of her hair. “Of course not. I want it to be known that the Ministry will not tolerate the mismanagement of Hogwarts--”
“I assure you, Madam Umbridge, Hogwarts is well in hand.” McGonagall turned toward the rest of the room. “Miss Lovegood, you are free to return to your classroom, escorted by Professor Snape, or you may take some time in the infirmary, if needed. Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter, I shall escort you to the entry hall where Professor Hagrid will guide you to the gates. Madam Umbridge, I will see you later, I’m sure.”
Without waiting for another word, McGonagall led the way toward the stairs. Harry and Ginny followed. Ginny was nearly vibrating with laughter, but she held it in.
“That was brilliant, Professor,” Harry whispered when they were finally back in the main hallway once more.
McGonagall eyed him and the corner of her lips quirked upward. “You did well in holding your tongue, Harry, despite both their efforts to ruffle you.”
Harry sighed. “There are worse things out there than Dolores Umbridge or Severus Snape, Professor.” Ginny’s hand slipped into his and she adjusted the bookbag she’d slung over her other shoulder.
The Headmistress shot a sideways glance at him, her eyes softening. “Indeed.”
When they reached the large oak doors, she turned on her heel. Her hands were clasped in front of her, twisting together. “I will see you later this week. Alastor Moody contacted me about a meeting to take place in London.”
Harry nodded, although he hadn’t heard the details yet. He’d rather pretend he had any idea what Moody was planning than be thought stupid.
“Miss Weasley, if you’ve finished with the book that you borrowed…”
“Oh! Yes!” Ginny fished it out of her bag, her cheeks going red, and handed it over. “Sorry.”
“We must be careful,” McGonagall said. “The Ministry will be making it very difficult from now on to communicate at all. But you are always welcome to borrow books from my...personal collection.” With a tight-lipped smile, she left them standing there, staring out at the cold, wet day.
Xxxxx
The Ministry’s only sanctioned newspaper, The Daily Prophet, began an onslaught of negative articles aimed at dividing the Wizarding Community, each edition worse than the last.
They’d officially labeled Xenophilius Lovegood a ‘disturber of the peace’ and there was a warrant out for his arrest. Thankfully, he’d gone deep enough underground that no one but Mad Eye Moody knew where he was. Every time The Daily Prophet would print something salacious, The Quibbler would rebut the article or provide an alternative view. With the frequency it was being published, it was no longer considered a magazine. Harry wasn’t sure how Mr. Lovegood was getting his information about the Ministry, but it seemed to be from a direct source.
Mr. Weasley let them know that none of his contacts at the Ministry were aware of who the mole was, but they were all cheering this person on in secret.
The evening of the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry was a nervous wreck. Everyone was meant to be at Grimmauld Place after dinner and Ginny’d been cleaning all day.
“Nervous energy,” she’d told him.
Harry did his best to stay out of her way and tried not to touch anything she’d cleaned. Ron came early, having just gotten off his shift at Quality Quidditch Supplies. He and Harry sat at the table and watched Ginny as she sent spell after spell this way and that, directing brooms and feather dusters to every corner of the room. They could even hear the dull sound of the vacuum she’d enchanted to hoover the rugs in the hallway.
“She gets it from Mum,” Ron explained, as if Harry’d never seen their mother in action. “They both clean when they’re nervous. Mum’s been at it all day and nobody’s even coming to the Burrow.”
“Ginny’s most nervous about your mother coming,” Harry said under his breath. She’d been through Harry’s room three times this morning making sure there was no trace of her in there, even though they hadn’t shared a bed in months. They did sometimes take naps together on the sofa in the entrance hall, but Harry knew better than to bring that up in front of anyone in the Weasley family.
“Understandable,” said Ron as he picked at the remains of the sandwich he’d cobbled together. “In a way, it’s sort of like her house, too. She runs the place, even if you two are not...well.”
Harry wondered how he should answer. He and Ginny were together, but there’d been no formal announcement, or anything. He didn’t even think of her as his girlfriend, although he supposed that’s what the title would be. They were definitely committed to each other, but Harry wasn’t sure what to call it.
“I’m surprised nobody has said anything about it,” said Harry.
“Why would they?” Ginny breezed through the kitchen, stole some crisps off Harry’s plate and plonked down in the seat next to him.
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I…”
“They trust you, mate,” Ron said as he stuffed the last of his food into his mouth. “You’ve proven that you take care of Ginny--”
“Hey!” Ginny tossed a crisp at him. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much!”
“--and they know you love her.”
Harry considered that. Ron and Ginny were the only ones in the family who know about the prophecy, however. Would things change if they knew what lay in Harry’s future?
“Stop brooding over it,” Ginny commanded. “It doesn’t change how I feel, Harry.” She kissed him on the cheek, making Harry’s face heat. He glanced up at Ron, who was grinning at him.
“Don’t look at me. I’m here to stay, but if you think I’m kissing you, you’d better--”
The crack of someone apparating into the entryway made them all look toward the stairs. The portrait of Sirius’ mother, which Harry’d draped with a heavy cloth when Ginny moved in, began howling.
“Blood traitor! You’re no son of mine!”
Harry turned to Ginny, a grin stretching his face. “Sirius,” they both said in unison.
“Oh, shut up, you old bag of--”
Boots appeared on the stairs coming down into the kitchen and Harry stood as Sirius and Remus were revealed, little by little. Nymphadora Tonks followed them down. Harry blinked at her bright pink hair, but before he could comment, Sirius pulled him into a back-breaking hug.
“You!” Sirius said. “Your father always said you’d do something amazing.”
“You...you’ve heard then?” Harry choked out.
“You’ve the makings of a true Marauder, Harry,” said Remus. He sat at the table and Harry sighed at how gaunt he looked.
“Subverting the Ministry,” Sirius said with a shake of his head and a grin stretching his face. “And you’ve figured it all out!”
“Not everything,” said Harry. “We still have--”
“Hello!” Hermione came down the stairs, rubbing her shin. “Whose idea was it to put a sofa in the middle of the entryway?”
“Mine,” Ginny said. “I hate the drawing room. Can’t stand to be in there.”
More and more people began to arrive, and Harry felt his heart race watching their faces as they would tentatively enter the room, light up at seeing someone they knew, and then sober when their eyes settled on him standing near the fireplace.
“When did you get back?” Harry asked Sirius. The Weasley’s arrived along with Bill, Fleur, and George--Fred was apparently at the store to keep up appearances.
“Two days ago,” Sirius said. “Got an illegally made portkey--cost a fortune!--and have been hiding out at my cousin Andromeda’s place since then.”
“You could have come here.”
“Not without risking alerting the authorities. The portkey was dodgy enough, but there’s a price on Remus’s head.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t heard anything about that.
“Tonks told us about it. He’s decided to take it as a compliment.” Remus gave a roguish wink to Harry and turned back to his conversation with Mr. Weasley and Bill.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Sirius as he clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s a known werewolf and he won’t comply with the Ministry’s asinine regulations. It was bound to happen.”
“You know you can come here now,” Harry said. “It’s your house.”
Sirius smirked. “Looks more like Ginny Weasley’s house, I’d say.”
Harry’s face flushed. “Yeah, about that--”
“Don’t apologize, Harry,” he said. “I love it. In fact, I’d love nothing more than for the two of you to completely gut it, make it your own, and fill it with a dozen little Potters for me to corrupt.”
Harry’s mind seemed to fizzle at the idea of children--he was only eighteen, for Merlin’s sake!--and he still had this mess hanging over his head. There was no guarantee that he and Ginny would get to live that dream.
He looked across the room to where she was showing their wall of information to Moody and Professor McGonagall. A wave of longing for the life that Sirius described washed over him. What he wouldn’t give to know that he could make those promises to Ginny.
“Harry?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled when Sirius peered at him.
“Let’s get started, please,” Moody said as he called the meeting to order. As he moved through several orders of business, Harry found his mind wandering. He looked around the room, seeing all the faces of these people who were pledging to help fight the Ministry on Harry’s word alone. Some worked for the Ministry and had been contacted by Arthur Weasley or Nymphadora Tonks, and others were witches and wizards who had been in the original Order of the Phoenix that Moody had contacted. And each and every one of them would likely have a price on their heads by the end of this, if they weren’t dead.
The weight of it all hit Harry and he felt his shoulders sag.
“Alright?” Ginny asked as she leaned into him.
“Yeah, just…”
“I know.” She rested her head on his shoulder and watched as Tonks gave a rundown of changes at the Ministry in the various departments and what they thought it might mean for them.
“I want to give you babies,” Harry whispered to her.
Ginny looked at him sharply. “Harry? What on earth…?”
“Not right now,” he explained, “but...one day. If you want them. And a house. A good house. But I don’t know if I’ll be…” He wondered if this was how his parents had felt when they’d been at meetings like to this one. Had they worried about having him? Had they second-guessed their decision to bring a child into this world with a war on? Had they clung to each other the way he wanted to cling to Ginny?
Ginny searched his expression, her eyes bright with emotion. “We’ll have that, Harry. One day.”
He appreciated that she would lie for him and he slid his arm around her back, his hand resting on her hip. “Okay.”
The meeting dragged on as people asked question after question about how they were going to proceed. It seemed as if no one had answers and Harry could tell they were restless with Moody’s cautions to keep the information to themselves and be aware of what was happening. For now, they were to do what they could to protect others without alerting the Ministry that they knew it was nothing but a shadow government for Voldemort.
“This won’t last long,” Harry interrupted when a particularly vocal witch named Hestia Jones kept badgering Moody about why they weren’t coming out in the open about what they knew.
The entire room turned to look at Harry. “It won’t,” he said. There was something in him that told him a confrontation with the Ministry was coming sooner rather than later. “The Ministry is digging into Hogwarts,” he said. “They have control of The Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless. They are working on controlling Diagon Alley. Hogsmeade will be next, if it’s not already underway. And then he’ll start coming out. We’ll see his followers--”
“He called them Death Eaters last time,” Moody said.
“We’ll see them come out in open attacks,” Harry finished. All eyes were riveted on him and Harry felt the beginnings of a headache take hold deep in his brain. “He won’t be able to hide his agenda much longer. We all know people who have already been affected. When this is over…” He couldn’t finish and Moody cleared his throat.
“Potter’s right. We need to be gathering people as quickly and as quietly as we can. Right now, we don’t have enough to mount much of a resistance. But we need to be ready.”
Harry didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the meeting as Moody divided up various responsibilities and assignments. He knew his role in this.
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
“You know,” Ginny mused as she looked up from one of the books McGonagall had let her borrow, “that prat Zacharias Smith might have been onto something with that cup he claims was stolen from his family’s museum.”Harry looked up from the notes he was making and blinked at her, trying to remember what she was talking about. The Pensieve sat next to him, giving a strange light to the room; He’d re-watched Dumbledore’s memories, looking for anything they’d missed.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember that article I told you about months ago with Smith going on and on about some cup that was missing?”
“Vaguely.”
Ginny stood and went to the wall, ruffling the articles and papers there until she crowed with triumph and came back to the table with a tattered part of a Quibbler article. “Right here. He claimed that someone had broken into the museum and stolen the cup at some point, because they discovered that the one they had was a fake. Problem was, nobody had touched it for years and years, so it might have been a long time ago that it was stolen.”
“And we care about a cup because…” Harry was still lost.
“It was the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, Harry,” said Ginny with a bit of a sigh. “Voldemort might’ve been the one who stole it.”
“Okay.” Harry tried to put that piece into place in his mind and began flipping through the notes. He’d written something about that… “Wait, Dumbledore mentioned that a cup was in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. It’s probably the same one.”
Ginny’s shoulders fell. “If it’s in Gringotts, we’ll never get to it.”
Visions of the cavernous bank with thousands of vaults came into Harry’s mind and he had to agree. It sounded like a daunting task. “Well, maybe these Lestrange people will be on our side? Or easily persuaded to give us access?”
“The name sounds familiar,” said Ginny, “but I don’t know where from. I could have sworn I’d seen it somewhere recently.” She gave a forlorn look to the stack of books she’d been culling, not looking forward to combing back through them for a small reference to a name.
Thumping boots on the stairs made them both turn. Sirius and Remus had been staying at Grimmauld Place but were preparing to leave again because it was almost the full moon. Remus was antsy about getting away from civilization and away from anywhere the Ministry might think to look for him.
“We’ve got everything,” he told them. He gave a curious look to the Pensieve and then seemed to shake it away before looking at Harry.
“Ask Sirius,” Harry told Ginny. “He might know.”
“Likely, I would,” Sirius said. “I am fairly knowledgeable.”
“It’s like living with Gred and Forge again,” Ginny muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Do you know a family by the name of Lestrange?”
Sirius snorted, his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes and he shook his head. “Yeah. My cousin married into that crazy bunch of bastards. Granted, she fits right in because she’s completely insane.”
“Is there a family that you’re not related to?”
“Small community,” Sirius said with a shrug.
“Which cousin?” asked Harry.
“Bellatrix.”
Ginny slapped the table. “Bellatrix Lestrange! That’s where I remembered the name, Harry. Merlin, she’s in Azkaban.”
“She was,” Sirius said. He snatched an apple off the counter and began taking massive bites. “Broke out the same time I did.”
They peered at him. “But the Ministry said they captured everyone that--”
Sirius shook his head. “Haven’t you learned not to trust anything they say?”
Harry felt particularly stupid. “That was back in fifth year,” he muttered. “Three years they’ve been out?”
“We need to know who broke out, again,” Ginny said. “I didn’t even imagine they’d still be out.”
“Me either, to be honest,” said Sirius. “I mean, I knew, but…” He pointed to his head, which Harry understood to mean the memory charm. In truth, he thought it’d been taken from him, too.
“How did you break out, Sirius, and why?”
Sirius leaned his hip against the far end of the table, his face screwed up in concentration. “It’s still a bit hazy, but I do remember that the dementors were distracted. It was the first time that I’d been left alone for a very long time. I’d held to the memory that I was an innocent man for so long--but it wasn’t necessarily a happy memory, mind you--and it came to me clearly then. I stared at those bars and thought I might be able to squeeze out from between them as a dog. It took me forever to transform, something that really pissed me off since I’d been able to do it immediately for so long. But I did it, then I left the cell and swam to shore.”
“What about the others that escaped at the same time?” Ginny asked. “Did you see them?”
Sirius shook his head. “If I did, I don’t remember, but I read about it later, after I’d gotten away. I came here and started trying to make contact with Remus. I knew he’d believe me.”
“And I did,” Remus said as he entered the kitchen. He looked sick and Harry half stood, afraid that he might tumble down the stairs and break his neck.
“Professor Lupin come sit down,” Ginny said.
Remus chuckled. “Stop calling me that, Ginny. I haven’t been your professor for a very long time.”
“It makes you sound old,” Sirius teased. “You should grow a beard.”
“I will in two days,” Remus said sardonically.
“You didn’t look this sick when you were at Hogwarts,” Ginny said. “What was different then?”
Remus sighed and rubbed at his face. “Professor Snape was making me the Wolfsbane Potion then. It does make a huge difference.”
Ginny looked to Harry, as if imploring him to do something. “Couldn’t you get it from him now?”
“There is no love lost between us and Severus Snape,” said Sirius. “He only made the potion out of loyalty to Albus Dumbledore.”
“I doubt Umbridge would let him, anyway,” Harry pointed out. “She’s got a stranglehold on the school, according to McGonagall. New Ministry decrees come every week that completely undermine and hamper the school. They’re barely able to teach anymore without the Ministry breathing down their necks.”
“I’ll be fine, Ginny,” Remus said with a pat to her hand. “I’ve survived this long.”
Harry turned to look at Sirius. “So, there’s no chance of getting this Bellatrix woman to allow us a look into her Gringotts vault?”
Sirius barked out a laugh. “No chance in hell,” he said. “Why, what’s in Gringotts?”
Harry and Ginny exchanged a look and Harry wondered how many more people he was going to have to tell before this whole thing was over.
“Something we need,” Ginny said.
“Bellatrix Lestrange is not exactly what you would call a stable personality,” said Remus. “She was one of Voldemort’s followers back then. It’s why she was imprisoned in the first place. She and her husband attacked Frank and Alice Longbottom and tortured them into insanity. I’ve been piecing together my own memories ever since you sent us that letter, Harry, but I remember that clearly now. It was after your parents were killed.”
“Great,” Harry said. He stood and siphoned the memories in the Pensieve off, putting them back in the vial. “We need into that vault.”
“You could always break in,” Sirius said. “But it’s also said to be impossible.”
“Even with a Gringott’s cursebreaker as a brother?” Ginny asked.
A slow smile spread over Sirius’ face. “Even then, I’m afraid. Can this quest to get yourself thrown in Azkaban wait until we get back?” he asked Harry. “Maybe we can find another way around whatever this problem is.”
“It’s waited this long, I suppose,” Harry said with a sigh. He hated dragging this out. It’d been three months since he’d learned about the horcruxes and they weren’t any closer to finding one. Now they knew where one was and there was still a massive obstacle to getting it. And he had no idea how to destroy one when he did finally get his hands on it.
Sirius and Remus said their goodbyes and Harry forgot to ask them where they’d be until after it was too late.
They’d settled back in to work when Hermione appeared in the kitchen. The amulet that Moody had given her as an emergency portkey dropped from her hand and she launched herself toward Harry.
“Oh, Harry, everything is just awful!”
Xxxxx
It took a few minutes for both Ginny and Harry to calm Hermione down enough to tell them what was happening. She’d burst into tears once she reached Harry’s embrace and he’d helplessly patted her on the back until Ginny sprang into action summoning tissues and getting her a drink of water.
They sat her at the table between them and listened as she began to tell them her story.
“They fired all the Muggleborns at the Ministry who were left today,” she said through hiccups and more tears.
“We knew this was coming,” Harry warned her.
“I know, but it was just so awful. And that’s not the worst of it. So many things have been happening behind the scenes, we’ve been so naive.” Hermione dabbed at her eyes as new tears fell again. “It’s so very corrupt. Even those who were considered Half-Bloods were put on notice that they’re being watched and evaluated to be able to keep their positions.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Ginny worried.
“They escorted us out with Aurors. Aurors! As if we were criminals.”
“To them you are, Hermione,” said Ginny. “They have this mindset that anything but pure magical blood is tainted.”
“If anyone resisted, they were arrested. And they were so rough. They made one witch from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad fall to the floor, they were so harsh. Grabbing at us, emptying our bags and cloaks to make sure we weren’t stealing anything! Tonks grabbed my arm so hard, I’m sure there will be bruises--”
“Tonks!?” Harry burst out. “But she’s--”
“Oh, I don’t blame her,” said Hermione with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She’s our spy with the Aurors, so she had to make it look real. She’s the one who told me to come here, to go into hiding because...because they’re looking at me, Harry. They think I’m leading some movement against the Ministry.”
“To be fair,” Harry pointed out, “you are.”
“Of course, but I’ve tried to be so careful at the Ministry,” she said. “I’ve only told a few people what I suspect, and I’ve never mentioned your name or what is going on. I’ve only said that I don’t like this or that regulation when we’ve been talking.”
Ginny sighed loudly. “There are spies everywhere, Hermione. One of them was reporting back.”
Hermione sighed. It seemed that the tears had dried up for the moment, but Harry knew they were just hovering, waiting for another chance to burst out. He’d been around Hermione enough to know how this whole thing worked.
“Tonks said she’d be coming here later to talk to us. She couldn’t do more than whisper a few things. They’re watching her, too, so she had to make it look good.”
“Did you contact Ron, Hermione?” Ginny asked. “Word of this won’t stay quiet for long. He’ll find out soon, if he hasn’t already.”
“Not yet,” said Hermione through a new batch of sniffles. “I came straight here.”
“I’ll send an owl,” said Ginny. She moved over to Hedwig after scribbling something down on a piece of paper.
“It’s gotten worse before now, hasn’t it?” Harry asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Hermione said, a defiant tone in her words.
“Hermione.” Harry hated when people tried to shelter him from the truth. It felt too much like lying to sit well.
“Just...comments in the halls. I heard worse at Hogwarts, but I didn’t expect it from adults. They’d say the most dreadful things to me. And...the looks. I felt like everyone was always watching.”
Harry sighed and rubbed her back in circles. At least it hadn’t been worse. He’d had nightmares about what could happen to Hermione there at the Ministry, surrounded by Death Eaters and others who followed along with their twisted philosophies.
Ginny rejoined them and took over comforting Hermione.
“You were careful in what you said?” Harry asked her.
“Told him thank you for lending me his copy of Hogwarts: A History, that I wasn’t finished reading it and that I would be keeping it with me.”
“Good enough,” Harry said. “He’ll understand that.”
“Should,” Ginny agreed.
“I feel so bad, Harry,” Hermione said. “All these years I’ve thought...even after you told us, I still… Something inside me still thought that maybe you were both being paranoid.”
“It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry, “believe me, I wish that was the case.”
“Some days I wake up and wish that it was all in my head,” said Ginny.
“We have to stop him,” Hermione muttered. “He can’t be allowed to do this sort of thing to people.”
“We’re working on it, Hermione.”
Xxxxx
Moody, Tonks, and Ron showed up all within a few minutes of each other. Harry got the feeling now that they were using Grimmauld Place as a sort of headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix that he and Ginny’s quiet solitude was long over.
Ron clasped Hermione to him, and another wave of tears erupted. Harry and Ginny turned to see Moody unloading the many pockets of his overcoat, filling the end of the table with various containers of food.
“Your mother says hello,” he grumbled out with a wave at the provisions she’d sent. “Began stuffing my pockets full of food for you the moment she heard I was planning to come over.”
Ginny smirked and got it all put away while Tonks dropped onto the bench across from Harry. Her shoulders were low, sagging toward the table as she rested her arms on it.
“That was horrible,” she said. “But, sadly, not the worst thing that I’ve had to do.” She was pale and Harry noticed that her usually bright hair was muted. “I hope you can forgive me, Hermione.”
“Of course,” said Hermione from Ron’s arms; he hadn’t let go of her yet. “I understand even if it hurt my arm.”
“Some of that bruise paste from Fred and George’s shop should help,” Tonks said. “I had to make it look believable. They’ve been questioning me about my loyalties. I got called into a meeting the other day with Dawlish, Shacklebolt, and the head of the MLE, a man named Scabior. They grilled me for two hours on who I associate with, who I talk to, my parents...everything. I’m surprised they didn’t force me drink Veritaserum or to make an Unbreakable Vow.”
“Don’t think they won’t next time,” Moody grumbled.
“I’d be dead if they knew the company I’m keeping.” Tonks gave a half-hearted wink at Harry. “Maddening old Aurors, Ministry rejects, revolutionaries, Hogwarts dropouts, werewolves, Azkaban escapees… Merlin, it sounds like a bad Weird Sisters song.”
Ginny snorted as she came to sit next to Harry again. “Did they at least believe you?”
“For now,” said Tonks. “I think Shacklebolt wanted to ask more questions, but Scabior walked out of the meeting once he was satisfied. He gives me the creeps,” she said with a shudder. “There’s just something wrong about him.”
“Appointed to the position by the current Minister,” said Moody. “No doubt he’s a Death Eater.”
“Others are as bad,” said Tonks. “The whole Ministry seems to be falling apart. New laws being churned out every day, taking over Hogwarts--”
“What?” Harry interrupted. He’d remembered how determined Umbridge seemed to be about Hogwarts when he and Ginny were there, but he hadn’t heard that she’d taken over.
Tonks waived her hand. “Oh, you’ll hear about it soon enough. The Overseer has changed so much at Hogwarts that she’s basically taken over completely. Minerva has had her hands tied by all the legal mess. She’s still Headmistress in name, but I’m sure that’s what Umbridge is after, too.”
Harry felt as if the top of his head might blow off from how mad he was. He’d always thought of Hogwarts as safe, untouchable. He turned to Moody. “Is she a Death Eater?”
“No,” said Moody. He sat heavily on the bench near Tonks. “After your little trip to Hogwarts I started digging into who she is. Sorted into Slytherin--”
“No surprise there,” Ron said with a snort.
“--she’s the daughter of nobody, really. Although, I shouldn’t say that, because Orford was a damned hard worker. He worked for the Ministry in Magical Maintenance, but she always hated that fact. Her mother was Muggle and her parents split up. When they did, the mother took the Squib brother with her and I don’t think they have any contact with each other at all. She tells everyone her father died, but I heard he’s still alive, just living in seclusion, forced there by his own daughter.”
“That’s sick,” Ron said.
“She rose up through the Ministry quickly because she’s ruthless, conniving, and not above stepping on anyone to get what she wants. I haven’t found any ties directly to Voldemort, but it’s not always necessary when you’ve got a person like that, hungry for power. She’ll work for anyone as long as it gets her recognition. And her name as Headmistress of Hogwarts would be a fine prize to win, wouldn’t it?”
“How can she take over?” Hermione asked. “It’s...it’s Hogwarts!”
“It’s all about power,” said Harry.
“Exactly,” said Tonks.
“And anyone who controls the next generation controls a whole hell of a lot,” Moody said. “Think of it. They’ve already eliminated the practical use of defensive spells. Next will be--”
“Next will be removing all the Muggleborns,” said Tonks. “They’ll be announcing that in the paper tomorrow. It leaked to the Ministry today. The Wizengamot decided this morning. They’ve been locked away for two days debating.”
Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach. Hermione gave a low wail behind him and buried her face into Ron’s chest.
“Not surprising,” Ginny murmured. “Not at all.”
“Where do they expect those students to go?” Ron asked. “They have a right to an education as much as anyone else. Hermione’s Muggleborn, and she’s the brightest witch of any I know!”
“They don’t care, Ron,” said Harry. “Voldemort has this idea about being pureblood--which he’s not, by the way--and he’ll do everything he can to push it. I wonder if it even matters to him, or if he’s just seized on an idea that could be promoted among those who think blood status matters? He doesn’t even have to believe it himself, you know, only convince others to believe and he’s won.”
“An interesting idea,” said Moody, “but it doesn’t matter in the end. His true colors are beginning to show and it’s going to start dividing the community more and more. Most people were fine to go along with parts of it, but they’ll start waking up to what’s going on around them.”
“Not bloody likely with that memory charm in place,” said Ron. “They’ll just go along with it happily.”
The seriousness of the situation weighed heavy on Harry and he felt a nagging fear that all of this was too big to overcome, too big to right.
“Then maybe it’s time to think about breaking the damned charm,” Moody said as he stood, “and letting people know what’s really going on.”
“Won’t that just escalate things?” Hermione asked.
“Yes,” answered Moody, “but it’s time people started waking up and seeing what’s going on around them. We’ll start working on a strategy for that.” He caught Harry’s eye with his and they shared a look full of secretive warnings.
Moody was telling him to get off his arse and get those horcruxes destroyed.
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Hermione officially moved into Grimmauld Place and Ginny surrendered her bedroom, choosing to move into Harry’s. There were plenty of rooms and Hermione tried to protest, but Ginny rolled her eyes, levitated her trunk across the hall, and told Hermione to mind her own business.Harry’d watched this with a bit of trepidation, but enough sense to keep his mouth shut. The two girls usually got along well, but the first few days things were tense as they adjusted to living in the same house and being cooped up for most of the day doing research.
“My eyes are going to fall out of my head if I have to read another book,” Ginny grumbled. They’d been researching Gringotts and ways past their security, but the situation was looking bleak. Harry had no idea how they were going to get into the Lestrange vault to get the horcrux cup.
“We could go for a fly,” Harry said. He peeked up at the window to see it spotted with rain. “Or...not.”
“You can’t just go off and have fun whenever you want,” Hermione snapped. “No wonder this is taking so long.”
“Not moving fast enough for you, am I?” Harry asked.
Hermione paled and guilt settled on her face. “That’s not what I meant--”
“But that’s exactly what you said, Hermione!” snapped Ginny. “It’s not like we’ve been dragging our feet. This information isn’t easy to come by, and with nobody able to help, it’s not like Harry and I can waltz into Gringotts and demand they give us the bit of Voldemort’s soul that they’re keeping safe. Or, perhaps you can guide us to what item of Salazar Slytherin’s Voldemort’s tucked a bit of his soul into? You seem to know so much.”
The venom in Ginny’s tone took Harry by surprise, but he understood it.
The three friends stared at each other for long minutes. Hermione chewed on the corner of her lip. Finally, Harry closed the book he’d been looking through and pushed it to the center of the table.
“We’ll need more food soon,” he said. “I’ll go get some.”
He half expected Hermione to protest and Ginny to demand to come with him, but both girls were still locked in some sort of silent communication.
“Be safe,” Ginny said finally as Harry tucked his wand into his trousers.
It was nice to be outside, despite the drizzle of rain. Harry walked several blocks to the grocers and filled a buggy with what he thought they might need. He used the last of his money to pay and made a mental note to make a trip to Gringotts to get more soon. In truth, he thought it might be a good idea to go anyway and scope out any weaknesses he could see.
After leaving the store, Harry shrunk down the bags and tucked them into the pockets of his jacket. As he walked home, glad to be out of the house, he wondered if the girls would still be staring at each other when he got home. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but there was some definite friction.
From the moment she’d moved in, Hermione had tried to take over several things in the house. No doubt she was trying to help, but Hermione was a forceful personality. But she was no match for Ginny Weasley in stubbornness and passion. Ginny’d pushed back hard on Hermione’s attempts and was standing her ground.
In truth, Harry thought Ginny was being a bit over possessive, while Hermione was trying to be bossy. They needed to find middle ground if everyone was going to get along. And Merlin only knew how long they were going to be living together. Harry hoped he wouldn’t be stuck in the middle when things came to blows.
Xxxxx
He returned to find the house in chaos, but not in the way he expected. Ginny and Hermione seemed to be attacking the house itself, together. They were in work clothes with their hair pulled back, wands out, removing parts and pieces of the old Black family home. Mrs. Black’s portrait had been left alone--still draped in the heavy cloth that Harry’d found in the attic not long after he moved in--but the elf heads were torn from the wall and piled in the hallway, and several other ghastly decorations were added to the heap.
“Er...hello,” Harry said as he stood and watched the girls work together.
“Hi, Harry,” Ginny said. “You’re more than welcome to join us once you get those groceries put away.”
“Sure.” Harry was, in truth, rather reluctant to join them. There was a determination that shown in both Ginny and Hermione’s eyes that made him wary. Whatever was said between them once Harry’d left was a mystery, but it had bonded them in a war against the house. Not that Harry minded, but he wasn’t sure what they’d make him do if he did join them.
After he’d gotten everything put away and had changed his clothing, Harry grudgingly came downstairs to find them standing in front of the open Drawing Room doors, both staring inside.
“I hate this room,” he grumbled. “Doxies.” The memory of the attack by the little creatures made him shudder all over.
“That’s why we have this,” Hermione said as she held up a large bottle of doxicide. “Mrs. Weasley sent a new batch over.”
“Why are we doing this?” Harry asked. “We could leave it closed, you know.”
Hermione sighed and gave him the look that Harry hated. He always felt like a naughty toddler when she quirked her eyebrow at him in that way and tilted her head. It was a good impersonation of Professor McGonagall, Harry thought.
“I reckon we’re going to end up being a refuge for more people, Harry,” Ginny said. “Better to have a place to put them than have to scramble to prepare something when they do show up. Plus, if Mum ever comes over, she’ll never let me hear the end of it for leaving these rooms filthy.”
“Is this about the respectability thing?” Harry asked. He peered at her sideways and watched as her cheeks turned pink.
“I guess so,” she said.
“Okay.” Harry nodded and took a deep breath. If it made Ginny feel better about them living together then he would do whatever he needed to do.
“Hermione,” Ginny said. “You’re on curtains. Harry, make sure there are no more Boggarts. I’ll start with the furniture and then we’ll move on to those shelves that are packed with nasty things.”
“Right.”
Hermione gave him a look that Harry wasn’t able to interpret as Ginny marched into the room, determined to do whatever it was that was in her mind. Harry shrugged and followed his girlfriend.
It was quiet as they worked: Ginny hadn’t brought the wireless into the room and Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad about that or not. The squeaky handle of the bottle Hermione was using and her soft calls of “immobulus” when a doxy came out were the only sounds. As he looked around the gloomy room, Harry got a sort of shiver, as if someone were watching him, but there were no portraits in the room. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he swore he felt another presence there.
“No Boggarts,” he proclaimed after an examination of all the places one could hide.
“Good,” Ginny said. “The furniture is clean, only the rugs left, but I’ll do those last. Let’s tackle the shelves.”
A doxie darted by them, wings beating furiously as it escaped Hermione’s notice. Harry had to duck as Hermione spun and pointed her wand his way. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she immobilized the creature and summoned it back to the little cage she had for them. “What do you want done with the doxy eggs, Ginny? There are loads of them.”
“Fred and George will pay a fair price for them,” Ginny said. She looked at the creatures and a shudder ran through her. Harry wondered if she was remembering the last time they’d experienced the bites.
“What do they want with…?” Hermione’s words trailed off and she shook her head. “Nevermind. I don’t think I want to know.”
Harry joined Ginny in front of the glass doors on the shelves and they looked at each other with a sort of dread.
“We need some dragonhide gloves for this job,” Ginny said. When Harry offered to summon his old ones from his trunk, Ginny shrugged it away and opened the latch on the doors. “Let’s just get it done.”
There were a few old ugly portraits in gaudy frames that Harry looked at before discarding into a rubbish bin that Ginny’d drug into the room. Sirius had already told them both to throw away anything they didn’t want; he had no attachment to anything in the house.
Harry rolled his shoulders, feeling an ache in them. He hadn’t slept well last night--nothing unusual there--but for some reason he felt bone tired and irritated that they had to do this right now.
“I hate this,” he grumbled as he picked up a snuffbox that seemed to be leaking a strange sort of golden colored powder. “What is this, even?!”
“It’s wartcap powder,” Hermione said over his shoulder. “Mind you don’t get any on you. Your skin will form a…”
But Harry’d already brushed his finger along the substance and a nasty, thick crust began to spread along the surface of the skin. He growled and tossed the box into the bin, despite Ginny’s warning that the twins would buy it from them, too.
“Why me?!” He asked. “Why does this always happen to me?”
Ginny rounded on him, grasping something silver in her hand and waving it around. “Maybe because you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing half the time! You’re so distracted and whining about getting it done that you don’t think about what you’re doing until it’s too late.”
The venom in her voice angered Harry and he stood up straight, glaring at her. “Maybe you ought to tell me about things like wartcap powder before I grab it, then. We didn’t all have the luxury of growing up in this world, Ginny. Some of us have to learn these things the hard way when people won’t inform us.”
Her eyes flashed and she moved closer. “If you’d paid attention in school rather than setting off dungbombs to blame the Slytherins, or spending your days flying around the Quidditch Pitch, or--”
“Oh ho! You like Quidditch just as much as I do, Ginny. You’d have been better at it if you’d have focused on it, rather than on whatever was going on inside your head!”
“You prat! You know very well what was going on inside my head--”
“--then those scouts that were supposed to be at Hogwarts this year would have been interested--”
Hermione set off a loud boom with her wand and both Harry and Ginny startled, looking over to see her staring at them wide-eyed.
“What is going on between the two of you?”
Harry looked down to see that he and Ginny were chest to chest, the anger crackling between them. He felt...strange, as if he were outside himself, watching some sort of uncontrollable animal take over inside him.
He wasn’t angry at Ginny. He’d been annoyed at the wartcap powder and the fact that his hand was now covered in a nasty yellow scale that was beginning to itch, but...the anger felt out of place.
Hermione clucked her tongue. “What is that in your hand, Ginny?”
Ginny looked down, blinking at the chain she had clutched in her fist. She’d been swinging it around when she gestured toward Harry during their argument and her fingers were white as she clutched it now.
“I don’t...I don’t know. It’s some old necklace that was on the shelf.”
Hermione sighed and came closer, her wand still clutched in her hand.
“The two of you never argue like that.”
Harry ran his hand through his hair and took a step back. “We do sometimes,” he grumbled.
“Mostly when we’ve been cooped up for too long, or...or when we have to clean.” Ginny gave him a hesitant smile, a small quirk of her lips and seemed to shake herself as she handed the chain over to Hermione.
“I can look at your hand in a bit, Harry,” she mumbled.
“S’okay,” he said, glancing down at the mess of it. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“This is...wow. This might be…” Hermione held up the chain, an ugly silver locket dangling from the end of it. “Ginny, did you even look at this?”
“No. I reached for it when Harry grabbed that wartcap powder. I didn’t even…” She trailed off as the locket turned their direction and they could see the carving of an intricate S on the front of it.
“Is that…” Ginny paled and Harry peered at the necklace, trying to decide why it would elicit such a reaction. “Harry, that looks just like Slytherin’s locket. It’s the one thing we thought might have been used for the…”
The bottom of his stomach dropped, and Harry felt his heart thump against his chest. He stared at the locket dangling at the end of Hermione’s grasp. Could it be Slytherin’s locket? Right here in the house all this time?
“It looks like the sketches I’ve seen in books,” Hermione said. “But we can’t be sure. And we don’t know if it’s a horcr--”
“It’s a horcrux,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure how he knew, exactly, but it just felt right. He reached forward with a shaking hand and let the locket rest in his palm. It was cold to the touch and he had to stop himself from recoiling.
Ginny let out a little sound that Harry had a hard time interpreting before she stepped forward. “No wonder I hate this room.”
Their eyes met and a silent apology for all the arguments and tension passed between them; Harry didn’t need to hear the words from her.
“We need to figure out how to destroy it,” said Harry after a sigh. “Dumbledore was a little vague on the concept.”
“He didn’t say anything about it,” grumbled Ginny. She rubbed at her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt and dust there.
Hermione stared at the necklace in Harry’s palm, a strange sort of horrified fascination in her expression. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever read anything about them, to be honest.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly the type of book one would have lying about, is it?” Harry asked.
“We could ask Bill,” said Ginny.
“Maybe.” Harry couldn’t say why he was so reluctant to mention horcruxes to anyone other than Ron and Hermione. Moody knew about them, too, but he had never asked Harry a single thing about the ones they were still looking for.
He slipped the chain over his head and tucked the locket under his jumper. It made him shiver when it pressed against the skin of his chest, but Harry forced away the feeling.
“Harry--”
“Just until we can figure out how to destroy it, Hermione,” Harry said.
Her eyebrows pressed together with worry, but Harry looked away. “Come on. Let’s finish this.” He tried to ignore the feel of the locket against his skin as he pulled more items off the shelves, not even looking at them before he tossed them into the bin. If Sirius had wanted any of this, he would have gotten it already.
Xxxxx
Harry found himself lying in bed a few hours later, the locket propped on the small bedside table where he could stare at it. The girls were still cleaning and had moved on to the two other bedrooms on the same floor. Whatever argument there was between them had dissipated as they worked together, but Harry still felt the tension between them. He wasn’t sure how to help, other than to stay out of it.
The idea that there had been a horcrux here in Grimmauld Place all this time and they hadn’t known about it made him ill. He had no idea how it had come to be here, or what they were supposed to do about it. Staring at it made him feel strange inside, like a heavy weight had been added to his chest and with it came a whole lot of doubt and fear.
Could he destroy it, even if he ever figured out how? Would Voldemort know if Harry did destroy it?
The more he stared at it, the more his eyes began to water, and he felt drowsy, lethargic. He slipped into sleep, dreaming of strange things.
A snake slithered along a dark hallway, lit only by low torches on either side. Its tongue flicked out now and again, tasting the air, sensing where its master was. Further and further on it moved, turning this way and that, deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of hallways until it arrived at a doorway that was cracked open. Inside, lay the truth. Harry’s own curiosity seemed to propel the snake forward, urging it to enter. As it did, Harry felt as if he became the snake in the dream. He moved forward, trying to see.
“--our plans moving forward--”
“--surely, they’ll find us out soon--”
“Does that worry you?”
Harry moved forward still, winding through the feet of the people standing in the room, disturbing their robes. He could feel some of them recoil at the brush of his scaly skin and saw dark eyes watching him. But he could taste his master in the air, feel him there.
“Ah, Nagini,” a high, disturbing voice greeted Harry, “you have returned.”
A figure stooped lower, a pale, skeletal hand reaching down toward Harry, lowering and brushing along his neck and back. Harry, as the snake, wound around the hand and up the arm, moving his head until he could see the being.
He got his first look at Voldemort and recoiled as their eyes met. Red, soulless eyes in a white face that was most snake-like itself.
Voldemort’s eyes widened and his grip on Harry’s scaly skin tightened as something flashed in recognition.
Harry gasped and pulled back, waking from the dream as Ginny pulled back from him. She’d been the one to wake him and it was her arms wrapped around his arm, not Voldemort.
“Harry?”
“Sorry,” Harry gasped out. “Bad dream.” He pressed his eyes closed and dug his thumbs into them, trying to block out the images he’d seen. His head was aching, and he felt a shiver fill him from toes all the way through his body.
Ginny lit the candle on the table next to the bed and peered at him. The room was dark, and Harry wondered how long he’d been asleep before the dream came. He glanced at the locket, still perched on the table, and then at Ginny.
“Must have been a bad one,” she mumbled. She was in her pyjamas and her side of the bed was rumpled. She lowered once more and patted the spot where Harry should lay. He stared at it for a long moment before sliding down.
His skin nearly itched with the memory of being the snake. He felt...unclean, tainted, and he almost wanted to ask Ginny not to touch him.
“I was a snake,” Harry said. He didn’t go further, unable to put into words what he’d seen, or suspected he’d seen, at any rate. Had it been just a dream?
“Come here,” Ginny pulled him toward her, winding her arms around his chest and clinging to him. The embrace actually helped, because Ginny was warm and soft, not cold like the monster he’d seen in his vision. The room went black as Ginny extinguished the light.
Her lips found his and they kissed, clutching at each other, a desperation pulling Harry down. It felt a bit like drowning to him, but it was also one of the best feelings he could remember. They hadn’t kissed like this for ages.
Harry wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, rubbing against each other, letting out quiet sighs and soft moans, but eventually they broke apart, needing air and space. Everything seemed to be going too fast, and not fast enough.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny said. She sat back against the wall, her back pressed to it and her knees brought up to her chest. “I lost myself a bit there.”
“S’okay,” Harry mumbled. His body was still raging with desire and he closed his eyes, trying to control it, but it wasn’t easy. He didn’t remember why they were waiting anymore, other than Ginny never seemed ready. It was frustrating, but at the same time Harry knew he would never push her.
They were quiet a long time until Harry felt he was in control of both body and emotion enough to pull her to him, again. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“I feel like I’m losing you,” she whispered.
“What?”
She slipped her fingers into the collar of his T-shirt, resting them on his collarbone, tracing the line of it back and forth. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”
Harry huffed out a breath. “We talk all the time.”
“Not really,” she said. “We talk about everyday things, but never about how we’re feeling.”
“I’m feeling...tired,” said Harry. And he was; it was a tiredness that seemed to seep from his bones. Every part of him was exhausted.
“Don’t go to sleep, Harry!” Ginny warned as she pressed her finger into his chest.
He couldn’t deny that the tantalizing tendrils of sleep were reaching out toward him. “I’m not,” he said, “I’m just…”
“Just randy,” Ginny said with a sigh.
Harry’s lips quirked a bit. “Yeah,” he admitted. “A little.” His body was still humming with lust. He kissed her forehead again. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “Thank you for being patient with me while I work through this in my head. I...I want to be with you, Harry. I’m making too big a deal out of it--”
“Not at all. It is a big deal.”
“I want…” She trailed off and Harry buried his fingers into her hair, rubbing against the back of her neck.
“You’re not losing me, Ginny.”
“You’ve been staring at that locket for hours, Harry. And when you’re not staring at it, you’re touching it through your shirt. You’ve barely spoken since we found that damned thing.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but he realized that she was right. He’d been trying to figure out how they were going to destroy the horcrux, but those thoughts had given way to deeper misgivings about how Harry was destined to either kill or be killed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I…”
Ginny tugged on his shirt, making him look at her. “I know, Harry. You don’t have to hide with me.”
Harry nodded as a lump welled up in his throat and he pulled her tighter to him, burying his face into her hair. “I was the snake in my dream,” he whispered. “His snake. The one Dumbledore said was another…”
Ginny made a choking sound and her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“I...I saw him, Ginny. And I think...he might have known I was there.”
“It had to be a dream.” Her words were more desperate and pleading than Harry wanted to hear.
“I wanted it to be, but...I don’t think it was.”
“We should tell--”
“I’m not telling anyone right now,” Harry said.
Ginny pushed up to rest on her elbow, looking down at him in the dark. “Harry--”
“Not...not right now. It’s enough that I’ve got this damned prophecy floating above my head, and the horcruxes. Now this...whatever it is. It’s too much. I need...I need time.”
“Harry, I…”
“Please, Ginny.”
She sagged against him, but he felt her nod. “Okay. For now.”
Chapter 20: Chapter 20
“We should go to Hogwarts and ask--”“No.”
“Harry--”
“Hermione, leave it alone for right now.”
The tension in the room was thick and Harry wished that he could go back in time and discover the horcrux on his own so he didn’t have to deal with Hermione nagging him about it, or Ginny’s deep looks that were full of emotions he didn’t want to deal with.
They’d had the thing for more than a week and Harry still had no idea how to destroy it, or if they even could. Hermione had come up with a dozen different ways for them to try and figure it out, but Harry’d found something wrong with each one of them enough to actually win an argument.
He knew he was being a prat, but there was something deep inside him that wasn’t ready to tell anyone else about the horcruxes yet, and all Hermione’s plans included telling someone else.
Ginny was quiet about his request for time so far, but he knew she was still worried about the dream of the snake. He hadn’t had one since and had come to try and convince himself that it was nothing more than a dream. It wasn’t working.
“We should try and figure out where this memory charm is anchored,” said Ginny. “We need to break it.” Harry eyed her closely and wondered what was going through her head. She’d accused him of holding things back from him, which he did, yet it was clear that her own mind had been working overtime. She’d been the strongest proponent for waiting to destroy the charm and free them all from the effects, but it seemed as if she might have changed her mind now.
“We’ve found one horcrux,” she continued. “And we’ll figure out how to destroy it soon enough. The other two...well, we know where they are, at least. And we need to start making a plan to get them.”
Hermione pressed her lips together and picked at her meal, staring down at the food in thought.
“What about--”
Whatever it was she was going to say, however, was drowned out by the flash of the floo and Ron, stumbling through. He was in his work robes, but they were wrinkled and twisted.
Harry stood up so quick that he banged his knees on the table. “Ron! Is everything…?”
“Fine,” Ron said. His hair was in disarray and a bruise was forming at the corner of his eye. A single drop of blood fell from his nose and splashed on the maroon of his robes, soaking into the fabric. “I’m okay.”
“What happened?!” Both Hermione and Ginny rushed forward, tugging at him to sit down. Harry stood, his wand drawn and pointed at the floo, in case someone else should come through.
“Bloody Malfoy,” Ron growled. “He showed up at the shop today, demanding to know where you were, Hermione. When I wouldn’t answer his questions, the berk began threatening me.” A slow smile spread over his face as his eyes met Harry’s over Hermione’s bushy hair. “I punched him in the nose.”
“Looks like he landed one back,” Ginny pointed out.
“Oh, this?” Ron touched his nose, wiping away another drop of blood. “Nah, I barreled through a couple of Aurors out on the Alley to get away. Damned Nott was trying to arrest me for hiding a fugitive.”
Hermione gasped. “Fugitive? I’m a fugitive?!”
“Of course, you are, love,” Ron said. “You didn’t show up to Muggleborn Registration, now did you?” He patted Ginny on the shoulder and took Harry’s spot at the table, digging into the food left on Harry’s plate.
“Registration?” Harry asked. “What’re you--”
“They’re forcing all Muggleborns to register now,” said Ron. “The Ministry makes them come in and give a whole bunch of information. Ran into Dean this morning at the Leaky. He said he didn’t want to, but the girl he’s dating talked him into it. Said they asked him a whole load of questions about his family, who he spent his time with, who he’d gone to school with… All a bunch of nonsense but rather damning when you link everything together.”
“Why haven’t we seen anything in the paper about this?” Ginny demanded.
“Brand new,” Ron grumbled through a mouthful of toast. “Haven’t said much about it in the papers, but I’m betting they’ll have some stupid story to cover it all when they do. Magical genealogy or some such. At any rate, any Muggleborn who doesn’t comply is being called before the Wizengamot. Oh! And you’ll never guess who heads the Committee on Muggleborn Registration...Lucius Malfoy.”
Both Harry and Ginny growled at the name. Harry took her hand, pulling her to sit down next to him on the bench.
He’d been making more strides to try and not distance himself from her, even when he hadn’t meant to do so in the past. Simple things, like holding her hand, making sure they talked at the end of the day, and doing little things together, even if it was laundry or dishes.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Harry said. “It’s not as if Draco learned how to be a prat from nothing.”
“What are you going to do, Ron?” Hermione asked as she sniffled. Her eyes were shiny with tears and Harry couldn’t blame her for being scared and upset.
“Move in here, I guess,” said Ron with a shrug, “if that’s alright with you.” He looked up to Harry, who shrugged.
“Sure. Sirius said he didn’t care who all lived here. And we’ve sort of been expecting that more people would need a safe place. The girls have rooms ready.”
“Have you told Mum and Dad?” Ginny asked.
“Yeah. That’s where I flooed from,” Ron said. “Mum’s steaming mad--not at me, but at the Ministry. I’ve no doubt they’ve already visited the Burrow, looking for me. I thought it was best if I wasn’t there.”
“Good thinking,” Harry said.
“I hope your parents are safe,” said Hermione.
But Ginny snorted out a laugh. “I pity any Ministry official that comes to arrest Ron and tries to bully my mother.”
Harry pictured it in his mind and had to smile. Mrs. Weasley was as fiery as her daughter and for just a moment, Harry wished that he could be present to witness such an exchange.
“Guess I’m done with my job, too,” Ron said, a hint of regret in his voice. “It was dead dull at times, but...when I was talking to others in the Alley, I think I was actually doing some good, like Moody said. Some of the vendors are starting to notice things that felt wrong. They don’t know why, yet, but when I would complain about the new Ministry regulations or point out things in The Daily Prophet that were off, they would agree and get this...look on their faces.” He trailed off and finished the last of Harry’s breakfast.
“And still they do nothing about it,” Harry said. “I think it may be time to think about breaking the charm,” he said after a quick look at Ginny. “I know it’s dangerous, but I think we’re getting to the point where--”
The sound of someone apparating into the entry hall stopped Harry’s words. He drew his wand again--as did Ginny--and stood.
It was Tonks who came down the stairs, with her scuffed combat boots and her Auror robes thrown on. Her hair was dull brown and pulled back away from her heart-shaped face. Harry noticed how thin she looked and the dark circles under her eyes.
“Figured this was where you’d come,” she said as she slumped onto the bench across from Ron. She gave a longing look to the cup of coffee that Hermione had in her hands and Ginny summoned another cup, pouring some from the carafe for her.
“Did they send you to arrest me?” Ron asked.
“Something along those lines,” she agreed. Reaching into her robe pockets, she pulled out two scrolls and tossed them onto the table. “Those are the summons to appear before the Muggleborn Committee. Surprised we’re actually still delivering them. I’d have figured by now they’d have given up all pretense and started snatching people from their homes.”
“How horrible,” Hermione muttered as she read one of the scrolls.
“D’you think they’ll put my face on one of those wanted posters now?”
Harry and Ginny snickered at Ron’s question as Hermione scowled.
“It’s not a joke, Ronald Weasley. This is serious.”
“Of course, it’s serious, Hermione,” he said, “but you have to admit that the whole Ministry is a joke right now.”
“He’s not wrong,” Tonks said. Her shoulders slumped lower and lower and she was almost wrapped around her cup, sipping at the hot coffee.
“I don’t find it funny in the least,” Hermione said. “They’re arresting people, Ron.”
“They’re doing more than that,” said Tonks. She let out a long sigh and finished her drink before pushing the cup away from her. “They are taking some people from their homes without warning. Amelia Bones has gone missing…” She trailed off and shook her head.
Harry opened his mouth to ask who that was, but Hermione answered before he could get the words out.
“Susan Bones’ aunt,” she said. “She was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and on the Wizengamot.”
“Was,” Tonks emphasized. “She was removed from the MLE a few months ago and her standing in the Wizengamot was questionable. She was generally fair and honest, but that might have been what got her in trouble. Rumor is that she was pushing back on some of these laws, beginning to see the cracks in the surface of the Ministry. I doubt we’ll ever find her.”
“You think she was killed?” Ginny asked.
“Fairly sure,” said Tonks. “Moody did a pretty thorough investigation after the Aurors had poked around a little.”
“I can’t believe they haven’t come for him, yet,” Ron said.
Tonks snorted and gave a dismissive wave. “He hasn’t told you? We staged his death more than a month ago. Did a right fine job. In fact, Fred and George were in on it, too.”
Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I suppose that makes it easier for him to move around in the shadows.”
“Much,” Tonks agreed.
“So, what exactly are the Aurors doing, nowadays, besides prowling Diagon Alley and botching investigations?” Ron asked.
Tonks gave a smirk that slipped away. “We’re busy covering up Voldemort’s crimes,” she said. A heavy silence descended in the room. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve seen. What I’ve had to do...”
Hermione reached out and clasped her hand over Tonks’ on the table. “Surely you don’t have to keep--”
“I do,” Tonks snapped. “We need a spy in the Aurors, one who can warn the Order when Voldemort is on the move or can get a warning to others that might save their lives. They’re already suspicious of me; I’m being watched. I had to deliver the summons to my own father.”
Ginny and Hermione gasped. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. They’d known that Tonks’ father was a Muggleborn, but Harry hadn’t thought it through enough to realize that he would be in danger. “Is he...did they…?”
“I was able to get a warning to him in enough time,” Tonks said. “He’s on the run.”
“He’s welcome to come here,” Harry said. “We’ve got room.”
“Thanks,” said Tonks, “but he’ll be okay. He’d rather be out there helping others. There are loads of Muggleborns who are evading the Ministry right now. The MLE has pulled in these people they’re calling Snatchers. They’re nothing more than glorified bounty hunters. They get paid per witch or wizard that they bring in and the Ministry turns a blind eye when they’re rough. I wouldn’t want to get caught by any of them.”
“Completely barbaric,” grumbled Hermione. “How can people not see what’s going on?!”
“They don’t want to,” Ginny suggested. “It’s easier to do nothing if you pretend that it’s all sunshine in the world.”
“Maybe,” Tonks said, “but I think people are beginning to break from this memory charm thing.”
Harry looked at Ginny and then cleared his throat. “It’s time to break it, then.”
“Can you?” Tonks asked. She was looking more and more tired, her eyelids heavy and her posture slumping.
“We’re going to figure that out.” Harry looked at Hermione. “You and Ron will be working with that problem. Ginny and I... We have a few other things to do first. And we need to figure out how to break into Gringotts.”
Tonks shot up in her spot. “Gringotts?! What’s in--”
“Nothing,” Ginny said. She summoned Tonks’ cup to her and then floated the rest of the breakfast dishes over to the sink. “You look absolutely smashed, Tonks. When was the last time you slept?”
Tonks narrowed her eyes at all of them, but then shook her head. “A couple of days ago.”
“Are you expected back at the Ministry right now?”
“No.”
“Then go up and crash in one of the bedrooms for a while.”
“I’m supposed to meet Remus--”
But Ginny got that Molly Weasley look in her eye and her hands came up to rest on her hips, cutting off Tonks’ words.
“Go.”
“Fine.” Tonks stood and turned to look at Harry. “You sure you know what you’re getting into with her, kid? She’s bossy.”
Ron guffawed and Harry smiled up at Ginny. “I tried warning him,” said Ron.
“I like it when she’s bossy,” Harry said, shutting everyone up.
Xxxxx
“I have no idea what it could be tied to, Harry,” Hermione said a few days later. She and Ron had traveled to Shell Cottage to pick Bill’s brain again about anchoring a memory charm in an object. They’d even tried it, charming a fountain pen to remove the memory of the conversation from Ron entirely. Even now, he was a little vague on the details.
“It has to be something big,” Harry said as he paced in the kitchen. The entire table was covered by stacks of books and research. While Ron and Hermione had been hard at work on the memory charm, Harry and Ginny had been scouring everything they could find for any mention of destroying a horcrux. Harry was just about to surrender his pride and make a trip to Hogwarts to ask Dumbledore’s portrait, as they’d found next to nothing.
“Not necessarily,” said Hermione.
“It has to be,” Ginny argued. “This isn’t one memory that they’re covering, Hermione, it’s loads--lifetimes’ worth--and it’s over the entire Wizarding World. I’d think that for the object to contain the sheer size of the spell, it would need to be something large.”
Hermione’s forehead creased as she contemplated that. “It’s possible, I suppose, although I still don’t see that it would be necessary.”
“If we did find this object,” Harry said, “will we be able to identify it? Is it even possible to break the spell?”
“Bill and I did it several times,” said Hermione with a rather guilty glance at Ron. Harry wondered how many things he’d forgotten recently as a part of their research. “Bill is working on spell mapping to try and break down whatever it is, but it will all depend on the size of the object, too. And if there are layers of spells. It’s brilliant, and very hard.”
Harry shook his head, overwhelmed by it all. He didn’t care to know the theory behind the magic, right now, only if they could break the spell or not.
“Can we narrow it down by figuring out when the spell was placed?” Ginny asked.
“Not easy to do,” said Ron, “since we’re all dealing with memories altered by the spell. Even the two of you are still missing things, right?”
“Right.”
“It might help us decide where the spell might be centered if we knew when it was cast,” said Hermione. “At the very least, it would give us a better understanding of the spell itself.”
“Then we need a timeline,” said Ginny. “We go back as far as we can with our memories, then start asking others.”
“That’s going to take forever,” grumbled Ron.
Ginny snapped at him. “You have something better to do?”
The two siblings glared at each other. There’d been more tension when Ron moved into Grimmauld Place and realized that Harry and Ginny were now sharing a bedroom. Ginny’d been the first to point out that Ron had eagerly moved into Hermione’s room without hearing a word from either Ginny or Harry about it. Since then, things had thawed, but at times they would argue and gripe at each other before letting it rest.
“We’ll start on a timeline,” said Hermione. “And then we can all brainstorm items that would work for anchoring the charm.”
“Sounds good.”
“Any luck on the horcrux?”
“None,” Ginny said as she shut a book violently. “Not a single word. And I don’t think this is the sort of thing we can take a bash at to see if it responds.”
All three of them looked at Harry and it was clear to him that they’d been secretly discussing his aversion to seeking help to destroy the horcrux.
“We’ll go to Hogwarts tomorrow,” he said finally.
“Great,” Ginny grumbled. “Dealing with Umbridge the Toad should be a pleasant way to spend the day. McGonagall said she’s taken over the entire school now. She was able to send me another round of books, but I got the feeling that it was a whole lot of work to do so.”
“Nothing for it,” Harry said. “We need the information.”
Xxxxx
It turned out that arriving at Hogwarts was nearly as daunting an idea as breaking into Gringotts was proving to be. After sending an owl, McGonagall’s silvery Patronus feline arrived in Grimmauld Place warning that they were going to be up against the might of the Ministry if they still intended to arrive at Hogwarts. They’d been vague in their request, expecting that Umbridge would be monitoring the mail.
But Professor McGonagall hadn’t denied them outright, so Harry determined that they were still going to go. Hermione fretted when Harry pointed out that neither she nor Ron could accompany them, as Umbridge would completely lose her mind if two wanted fugitives arrived at the door. Instead, she gave Ginny a list of books to requests, and grumbled that they’d better take good notes when talking to Dumbledore’s portrait so they didn’t miss any steps. Ginny’d opened her mouth to begin an argument, but Harry whisked her away before it could start.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ginny said once they arrived on the muddy road outside the Hogwarts gates. “I can take care of myself.”
Harry pulled her to him, resting his hands on her hips. “I know very well how capable you are, Ginny, but I also know when to head Hermione off. You can’t let her get into her stride when she’s ready to argue. She was already annoyed about not being able to come. No need to rub it in.”
“She doesn’t need to be so bossy.”
Harry chuckled and kissed Ginny on the end of her nose. “You can be pretty bossy, yourself, love.”
“You like it when I’m bossy,” she cheekily shot back.
Harry’s eyebrow rose and he might have kissed her, but Hagrid arrived at the gate, his keys jingling.
“‘Lo, yeh two,” he said, “back again?”
“We can’t seem to stay away,” Ginny said as they both gave Hagrid hugs.
“As much as I miss yeh, it’s prob’ly better that yer not here this year.” He sighed and Harry noticed that his tangled black beard was grayer than the last time they’d visited. “Yeh’d have ended up in detention mosta the year, I suspect.”
Ginny smirked. “See, Harry, Hagrid knows to respect my skill as a witch.”
“Oh, I have nothing but respect for your skills, Ginny,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Believe me. But Hagrid and I both know a troublemaker when we see one.”
A grin that was reminiscent of the twins spread across Ginny’s face.
“If I’d been here this year,” she said, “detention would be the least of my worries, I assure you. I’d probably be facing Azkaban.”
A light drizzle began to fall as they walked up toward the castle. Harry looked up to see both Professor McGonagall and Dolores Umbridge standing in the open doors. The moment Hagrid saw the squat toad of a woman, his words died out and he excused himself, leaving Harry and Ginny to walk up the path themselves.
“No killing anyone,” Harry warned Ginny.
“Yes, dear.”
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greeted him. “Miss Weasley.”
“Headmistress,” they both replied back and then looked at Umbridge, who had cleared her throat in a most annoying manner.
“Hogwarts is not in the habit of receiving visitors,” she bit out. “This is twice that you’ve disrupted learning with your unnecessary appearances. I demand that you cease this behavior--”
“Dolores,” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “Miss Weasley has been preparing to take her N.E.W.T. level tests at the end of the year.”
Umbridge seemed to swell in place, the buttons on her lavender coat threatened to burst. “Preposterous! She is not a student here.”
“N.E.W.T.’s may be taken by any witch or wizard who provides the proper credentials and can prove they have prepared for them adequately, Madam Umbridge,” Ginny said. “I am in the process of preparing and obtaining those credentials. Headmistress McGonagall has been most helpful in my quest to complete my education.”
This was all news to Harry, but he tried not to look surprised and nodded.
“And what about him?” Umbridge asked as her piggy eyes settled on Harry. “Surely, you don’t need an escort every time you arrive. Does Mr. Potter have nothing better to do?”
“No, Madam Umbridge,” Harry said. “I do not.”
McGonagall’s lips pulled tight into some form of smile and she motioned for them to enter the castle. “Follow me to my office, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter, and we will retrieve the paperwork that you need.”
Umbridge was seething, but there was nothing she could do other than watch them walk away. Harry could feel the daggers she was glaring at them sink into his back.
Rather than walk toward the Headmistress’s office, McGonagall turned another direction, toward her old offices.
“Professor…”
“Do you remember, Mr. Potter, when we had a discussion about how Hogwarts can change itself depending on the needs of those who teach and attend here?”
Harry remembered the conversation about the stairs to the office on one of his last visits. “Yes.”
“Not long ago, Madam Umbridge attempted to depose me as Headmistress of Hogwarts and take the office for herself. Unfortunately for her, the castle opposes that decision. The Headmistress’s office has been sealed up tight as a drum ever since. Not even I can get inside, I’m afraid.”
Harry’s shoulders fell as he realized that there would be no way to speak to the portrait. “Does Professor Dumbledore have other portraits, Headmistress?”
McGonagall’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and understanding. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter. Now, I’ll get the books that you requested, Miss Weasley.”
“I have another list, also, Professor,” said Ginny as she handed over Hermione’s scribbled titles.
McGonagall looked them over and nodded primly. “I will have these pulled for you and sent over as soon as I can.” She glanced around at the empty hallway and then leaned in toward both of them. “After today, visits to Hogwarts will be a thing of the past. No doubt an owl requesting an official decree is currently on its way to the Ministry.” She sighed and let them into her office.
They gathered the books and chatted for a few moments about Hogwarts before McGonagall urged them to be quick about leaving.
“No need to cause more trouble than I already have,” she said. “And, Miss Weasley, I do hope that you consider sitting for your N.E.W.T.’s. It is possible, as you said.”
“I can’t make any promises, Professor,” said Ginny, “but I’ll see what I can do.”
As they made their way down to the gates, Harry glanced back over his shoulder and saw Professor Snape standing in one of the large windows. His sallow face was pinched, but there was a thoughtful look in his expression as he watched them go.
Xxxxx
Harry was frustrated when they returned. The moment they popped back into Grimmauld Place, Hermione had begun badgering them about what they’d learned and how they were to go about destroying the horcrux.
Ginny jumped into the fray, raising her voice against anything Hermione said, which had set Ron off, defending his girlfriend’s honor. Harry already had a headache and was brooding over the fact that he was no closer to destroying the damned locket that he wore around his neck than before they’d left. All avenues that he could think of were now closed.
The more they yelled at each other, the more his head pounded.
“Stop,” he pleaded and pressed his fingers into his eyes. But nobody heard him, and he had to repeat it until he felt like he was yelling. They all blinked at him and Harry realized he must have been yelling.
“Harry--”
“I can’t take this anymore,” he said. “All the arguing and fighting. Just...work things out, please. There’s enough conflict out there; we don’t need it in here, too.”
He walked out, up the stairs, and toward the bedroom, where maybe he could get a little peace. The weight of the locket tugged at his neck and he realized that the chain had rubbed a raw spot near his shoulder. He pulled it off and set it on the bedside table before collapsing into bed.
He could no longer hear them talking downstairs, but rather than helping, the silence allowed Harry to focus on the pain behind his eyes. He removed his glasses, setting them next to the locket, and let his eyes close as he concentrated on breathing through the pain. This felt unlike any other headache he’d had before, and he wondered if it was all the stress of the past few weeks pressing down on him. Or could the horcrux itself be affecting him?
It was an idea he hadn’t thought of before and he reached out, snatching the chain from the table and dangling it not far from his face so he could see the detail there. The S looked like a silvery serpent, swirling through the small windows on the frame.
It was quite gaudy when he thought about it. The locket was large and ostentatious. No wonder it had drawn Voldemort’s attention.
Harry’s head seemed to clear a little and he focused on the snake, remembering how snake-like Voldemort had looked in that dream. He’d been hissing, speaking to his snake and, somehow, Harry’d understood every word. Was it only in the dream?
He thought back now, remembering the high voice, the way the monster had been caressing the scaly skin of Nagini. Harry repeated the words he could remember hearing.
“Nagini,” he slurred. But it didn’t sound the same. He focused on the word and stared at the snaky S on the locket. “Nagini,” he said. It came out as a low hissing sound. The locket in his hand jumped and Harry sat up, clutching the thing and blinking with wide eyes.
Carefully, he set it on a chair that was in the center of the room, replaced his glasses, and stared at it. His heart pounded and his palms grew sweaty.
“Nagini,” he said again. There was no mistaking the jump that the locket made now.
He was about to try it again when Ginny opened the door to the bedroom. Harry blinked at her and then down at the locket, trying to find the words to tell her what he’d done.
“We’re sorry, Harry,” she said as she closed the door and leaned against it. “It’s the stress getting to everyone. We’re stuck here in this place, and neither Ron nor Hermione can leave anymore--”
“I can speak snake,” Harry said.
Ginny blinked at him. “What?”
“I just tried it. I remembered from my dream, when I was the snake, and...and he was talking to the snake. When I tried it, the locket jumped.” Harry pointed to the horcrux that sat alone on the wooden chair.
Ginny took a step forward and peered at it. “Parsletongue?”
“What does that mean?”
“Snake language,” Ginny said. “It’s...it’s rumored that Salazar Slytherin was one.”
Harry swallowed and nodded. “I didn’t know before now. And maybe it’s just the word I’m remembering.”
Ginny came to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “Say something, then.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
Harry thought about it and tried to say her name, but Ginny shook her head. “In English,” she said.
He closed his eyes and pictured the snake again. It was a whisper, but Ginny’s name crossed his lips and she startled.
“Did it work?”
“Was that…?”
“Your name.” Harry wondered what she was thinking. Her face was a mask right now as she looked between him and the locket.
“D’you think that’s how we destroy it?”
“No,” Harry said, more out of a guess than anything, but it felt right. “I think we need another way, but maybe that’s how we open it.”
They both turned to look at the locket. “I wish we knew how to do it.”
“I wish we had help,” Harry said, feeling the return of his headache. He stood and pressed his hands on the side of his head. “Why wouldn’t Dumbledore tell us? Why does it always have to be so hard? If I’m supposed to be this important person who can kill Voldemort, why don’t I already know?”
“Doing the right thing is rarely easy,” said Ginny. “That’s why we’re where we’re at, right? I mean, if we took the easy route, we’d be out there living our lives, never knowing how bad things are.”
Harry looked at her. “Do you think we’d have figured things out? Between us, I mean.”
Ginny smirked. “Have we figured them out now?”
He conceded the point with a tilt of his head and turned back to look at the locket. “Dumbledore told us that he’d give us help when we needed it,” he said, “but no help is coming.’
“Maybe he meant that we needed to find help?” Ginny asked. “We haven’t asked Bill.”
The thought of talking to Bill about this made Harry uncomfortable and he couldn’t say exactly why. But somehow it felt like a puzzle that he needed to figure out himself.
“Maybe that’s the point,” Ginny said as she stood and came to be with Harry. “We need to ask.”
It was like a lumos charm in his brain and Harry blinked at her. “You mean…”
“Ask, Harry.”
He swallowed past a dry throat. “Erm, we need some help.” The words sounded stupid as they passed over his chapped lips and seemed to float in the room.
Nothing happened.
He turned his head to look at Ginny, one eyebrow raising, but she was staring out into the room, a strange look on her face.
“Ask again.”
Harry felt stupid, but he wiped his hands on his trousers and cleared his throat. “We need help to destroy this horcrux,” he said. “We don’t know how and--”
A burst of flame and song erupted into the room as Fawkes came to them. Harry felt a wave of hope and warmth fill him from head to toe.
Fawkes let out a long trill and Harry saw he was clutching an old linen bag that was dirty and worn from age. Out of the top of the bag stuck the glittering hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor.
“You brilliant bird,” Harry murmured.
The phoenix hovered in the air for a moment before sort of tossing the bag in Harry’s direction. He caught it and stared as the bird flamed out of existence. When Harry looked at Ginny, she was beaming at him.
“See?” she said. “You need to learn to have a little faith.”
Harry snorted and reached in to pull the sword from the bag. It was just as he remembered, only more brilliant than ever. In the low light of the bedroom, it seemed to almost glow with silver and gold glory.
“Harry let’s destroy it,” Ginny said.
The both looked at the locket, which seemed to be trembling on the surface of the chair, skittering along the wood.
“It’s reacting to the sword,” Harry said. “This is it. This is how we destroy it.”
He felt the weight of the moment as the sword seemed to shine even more in his hands. But then a thought entered his head. He looked up at Ginny, her eyes bright as she stared at the locket.
“You do it.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” Harry handed over the sword, knowing immediately that it should be Ginny who did it. “I did the diary. You need to do this one.”
“I’m not sure if I can.”
“Weren’t you telling me today to respect your skills as a witch?”
A sort of determined look overcame her face and Ginny nodded once, positioning the sword near the locket, with the tip pointed down at it. “Open it.”
Harry fell to his knees next to the chair. “Try not to take me out in the process, love.” His joke fell flat, and Harry reached for the locket, holding it in place. He focused on the serpent S and tried to recall the low hissing sound needed.
“Open,” he said.
The locket sprang open and Harry blinked at the red eyes looking back at him.
“Stab it, Ginny,” he said. He couldn’t seem to look away from the eyes, but he could see the trembling tip of the sword in his peripheral vision, held there by Ginny.
A voice seemed to emit from the locket, and it made Harry shiver.
“I have seen your heart, Ginny Weasley, and it is mine.”
“Don’t listen, Ginny!” Harry commanded.
“Silly little girl. Little, crazy girl who nobody believes.”
“Ginny,” Harry warned. “Stab it now.”
“How could Harry Potter love someone like you?”
The locket quivered as Harry held it down and he stared into those red eyes, dreading what might happen next if it wasn’t destroyed. Could the bit of soul actually come out and possess one of them?
“He does love me,” Ginny responded. The sword quivered in her hands and she raised it, dashing it down into the locket. The clang of metal echoed in the room and Harry watched as the chair cleaved in two, dropping the locket to the floor. A piercing scream erupted, and Harry clapped his hands over his ears. Ginny dropped the sword to her side and stared down at the dead locket, her chest heaving.
“You love me.”
“Of course, I do,” Harry responded. He wasn’t sure what to do but stare at the locket.
“Lying bastard,” Ginny said to the horcrux.
Harry reached for the locket, seeing that Ginny had broken both pieces of glass. A slow wisp of smoke emitted from it.
“Is it gone?”
Harry lifted it into his hand. It was no longer cold. He hissed at it, commanding it to open, but the locket did not respond to the word. “It’s gone.”
The door burst open, Hermione and Ron were there, wands stretched out in front of them.
“What the hell happened?” Ron asked.
Ginny held up the sword, but it was heavy enough that her arms trembled. “We destroyed the horcrux.”
Both Ron and Hermione blinked at them as they took in the scene. Harry was still on the floor, kneeling next to the broken chair, the locket clutched in his hand.
A slow smile spread over Harry’s face. “Ginny destroyed it.”
“Where’d the sword come from?”
“Long story.” Harry sighed and began to stand. The headache was gone, he realized as he slipped the broken locket into his pocket. “Talk about it tomorrow?”
“You’re really alright?” Hermione asked.
The sword clanged to the floor as Ginny’s arm gave way. Harry watched her, worried that she might collapse, but she seemed to steady herself and gave a nod.
“We’re alright.”
Harry looked at Ginny and took a step toward her. Their eyes met and Harry wondered if she’d ever been more beautiful to him. She’d done it. She’d faced her fears and destroyed Voldemort's power over her. He reached out and twisted his fingers into hers.
Hermione was speaking behind him, but Harry didn’t care. He stepped over the sword and pulled Ginny to him, leaning down to press his lips to hers.
“We’ll talk more later,” he heard Ron say, but Harry didn’t care as Ginny was kissing him back as eagerly. Her hands clutched at him, lifting his jumper as they backed toward the bed. Harry lay down, resting his weight on top of Ginny and welcoming her embrace.
“You love me.”
“I do.”
With one last glance at the door to make sure they didn’t have an audience, Harry lowered to kiss her once more.
Chapter 21: Chapter 21
Something between them had changed and Harry wasn’t sure exactly what it was, beyond the fact that they’d given in to their hormones, but it seemed as if many barriers had been burst within Ginny when she’d destroyed the horcrux. She laughed a little freer, smiled more, and didn’t argue as much with Ron or Hermione.Harry watched her in awe as she dove into their research the next day with vigor and purpose, rather than grumbling about it. He wanted nothing more than to drag her back upstairs and make love to her over and over again but knew that desires like that had to be tamped down for now. There would be time, he kept telling himself, even if he wasn’t sure it was true.
The Sword of Gryffindor now resided between the mattress on their bed and the wall, the broken locket horcrux joining the others in the crate Dumbledore had given them.
Two more to go.
Ron and Hermione’s cobbled together timeline was sketched right onto the wall in the upstairs hallway. One could tap their wand on an event and Hermione’s notes would expand up the wall and allow more information, shrinking back when it had been read. She’d blushed when Harry called her brilliant and went on to point out the gaps that existed. Harry and Ginny were able to fill in a few with their memories and the knowledge they’d gotten from Dumbledore’s memories, but there were still gaping holes that needed to be filled if they wanted to get an accurate picture of when the memory charm had been placed.
Sirius and Remus breezed through London a few days later. They both looked tattered and tired. They’d been on assignment from Moody, helping Muggleborns find shelter and hiding them away. Sirius, in particular, was extremely helpful in using his connections to smuggle people to the continent to hide.
Remus had been in contact with several werewolves who were doing their best to escape Ministry persecution, but it was a hard sell to get them to join the Order as the Ministry was cracking down even heavier on lycanthropes, now imprisoning them ‘for the protection of all’. It was as Harry and Ginny had feared when they’d read the first article and interview by Umbridge.
They were able to add a few points to the timeline, but not many. Mostly, Sirius told stories about Harry’s parents when they were in school and the antics that the boys used to get up to.
It was during one of his tales of a daring midnight raid on the Slytherin Common Room that Harry remembered the Invisibility Cloak and asked Sirius about it. Both Sirius and Remus stared at him with blank eyes, until something sparked in Remus’.
“You know, you may be right. I think...James might have had something like that. It would explain how we never got caught all those times.”
“Cloak of Invisibility?” Ron asked with a smirk. “Like the one in that story about The Tale of the Three Brothers?”
Harry turned to look at him. “What story?”
“You’ve never read that?” Ron asked incredulously. “Mum used to read it to us all the time. Remember that, Ginny?” he asked.
Ginny, who had been across the hallway with Hermione adding points to the timeline, nodded absently.
“Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump?” Ron asked Harry.
“Never heard of them,” Harry said.
“The Tales of Beedle the Bard,” Remus told them, “is an old book filled with folk stories. Most Wizarding families grew up on those tales.”
Something sparked in Harry’s memory and he thought about the book with charred edges he’d pulled from the rubble of the Lovegood home months ago. He’d forgotten all about it and had never returned it to Luna.
Remus was still talking about the stories and Harry paid more attention now. “...James used to tease us that his family was the one in The Tale of The Three Brothers. I never took him seriously, only thought he was bragging, like young boys do.” His eyes seemed to mist over, and Harry realized how tired and old Remus looked, despite being quite young. He supposed lycanthropy took a lot from the man.
“Now I’m remembering the Cloak,” Remus said, a smile tilting his lips. “We got up to a whole lot of trouble with it.”
Sirius slapped him on the back, and they devolved into another story about something or other that they’d done. Normally, Harry ate up their stories of the past, but he was now wondering about that Cloak and the story of the Three Brothers. He vowed to find the book and read through it later, when he had a moment to slip away by himself. Was it possible that an old story in a child’s book connected to him?
Hours later, he closed the book, staring off into the bedroom, and thought about the things that were hidden away in Dumbledore’s crate. The Cloak, the wand, and the ring with the stone. Could they be the same items from the story? The Deathly Hallows?
And if they were, why did Harry have them? And why had Dumbledore given them to him?
Harry had no answers, only more questions to add to his already-filled head.
Xxxxx
Harry and Ginny were curled on the sofa in the Drawing Room, speaking softly and kissing occasionally, when Hermione burst in, waving The Daily Prophet in her fist.
“Harry, we have to do something about this.”
Harry looked up and sighed. “What now?”
Hermione was vibrating in rage. “They’ve declared war on Muggleborns. They’re banned from holding any Ministry positions, banned from Hogwarts and learning magic, and now…” She gave a low wail and slumped into a chair across from them. “Now they’re having to prove that they’re magical at all. The Committee on Muggleborn Registration is requiring all Muggleborns to appear before them to show proof of magical lineage, not just answer questions. Which is insane, because if you’re Muggleborn, there’s no way to prove your magic is inherited at all. It’s like proving your eye color by looking at family charts. They’re...they’re making them wear a mark, Harry. What does that remind you of?!”
Ginny nudged Harry to sit up and they exchanged a look.
“It was the same under Grindelwald, the last Dark Lord,” Ginny muttered. “I’ve been reading the most horrible accounts.”
“It was the same in Nazi Germany,” Harry said. He locked eyes with Hermione and let out a low sigh. They’d been talking about breaking the memory charm, but it was becoming more and more obvious that something would have to be done before that to oppose the Ministry, since they still didn’t know where the charm was anchored. Bill had been using his spare time apparating to various magical sites around the country and checking for spells, but their list of possible locations was long and vast. And they still had no idea what they were looking for.
“I think it’s time, Harry,” Ginny said. “People need to know.”
“Talk to Moody,” Harry said, “and find out where Xenophilius Lovegood is hiding. We’ll talk with him and start getting the word out. Don’t bet that it will change things,” Harry warned. “It’s likely that they Ministry will only escalate their propaganda even more.”
“We have to do something, Harry,” Hermione said. “You know what comes next.”
“The extinction of Muggleborns,” he said with a nod.
“They’ll be calling for the death of Muggles, also,” said Ginny.
Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses but nodded. “That, too.”
Xxxxx
The little hut that Xenophilius Lovegood was living in was filled with his printing press and not much else. His bed was pressed against the far wall and doubled as a writing surface when he stacked boxes on top of it and pulled a wobbly stool to sit in front.
He appeared even more disconnected than usual when Harry, Ginny, and Alastor Moody knocked at the door. His cotton-candy, white hair stuck out from his head at strange angles and he was in his nightdress, stained with printing ink, and mismatched boots. The untied laces clacked musically along the scuffed wooden floor as he shuffled back and forth, insisting on making them bundiroot tea, a strange, purple sort of liquid that smelled of lavender and old sweat socks. Moody refused his, but Harry and Ginny politely took theirs, holding the warm, chipped cups in their hands and forgot to drink it while they talked.
The printing press hummed and whirred in the room as page after page of The Quibbler printed and then floated to stack in the corner.
“It’s good that you’ve still been able to keep the paper running,” Ginny said.
Xeno’s crossed eyes turned on her and he looked serious for a moment. “Have to, don’t I? Nobody knows the stories without me telling them. Although these days it’s mostly a list of warnings and missing people,” he added with a sigh. “Nobody will advertise with me anymore, and most of my sources have dried up, gone missing, or refuse to talk to me.”
Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. “I need you to print something for me, Mr. Lovegood.”
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Lovegood said. “You tried to help with my house. And Luna tells me that you’re a great friend to her.”
“It won’t make things easy,” Harry warned. “In fact, the Ministry will be actively searching for you after this. And me,” he added as an afterthought. The constant headache he had seemed to grow, and Harry rubbed at his forehead, wincing as his fingers caught on the scar there.
“Mr. Potter,” Lovegood said as he held his hands wide and gestured to the humble place he was existing in, “how much worse could it get?”
Harry was afraid to know, but he gave a nod and took a deep breath. “The Ministry has been compromised for some time now. It exists as nothing more than a shadow government for a wizard by the name of Tom Riddle. He’s known to his followers as Voldemort…”
Xenophilius took no notes as Harry laid out the conspiracy, aided by Moody and Ginny. He watched Harry, nodding here or there, with an earnest expression.
“And you want me to print this in my paper?”
“People need to know, Mr. Lovegood,” Ginny said. “They need to wake from this memory charm and see what’s going on around them.”
“Why not just break the charm?”
“We’re trying,” Harry said. He was growing impatient as his scar continued to hurt. Ginny must have sensed his annoyance because she began rubbing his back. “But it’s not easy. We have no idea where the charm is anchored, or if it even is! We have others working on that, but in the meantime, people are going missing, Mr. Lovegood. People are dying.”
“It’s much worse than we even know,” Moody said. “The coverup is so deep, so high up that most of it has been done in the dark. Now, though…” He shook his head and Harry wondered what Moody’d seen that made his gnarled face look so despondent. Tonks had hinted that she’d been party to some pretty nasty doings; no doubt Moody had seen similar things.
“You say that the Minister himself is involved?”
Harry met the gaze of the seemingly crazy old man who now seemed incredibly lucid and aware. “I don’t know if he’s being controlled by Imperius, has been confunded, or if he’s complicit in it all, but yes.”
“And where is your proof?”
“I have none.”
Xenophilius sipped at his tea, making a rather sour face, and contemplated that. “I believe you,” he said finally.
“And you’ll print it?” Ginny prodded.
“After I verify a few things.”
“You can’t leave, Lovegood,” Moody warned.
“I’m aware,” Mr. Lovegood snapped. “But I still do have a few sources that I can speak with before I print it.”
Harry nodded and was about to ask another question when a silvery wolf appeared, lighting up the entire room with an unearthly glow. It said nothing but stared at Moody before disappearing into a wisp of smoky light.
“I need to go,” Moody said as he stood. His leg bumped into Xeno’s little makeshift table of boxes, knocking the steaming kettle of bundiroot tea over. He gave no further explanation before apparating out, leaving the three other occupants of the room to stare at where he’d been standing.
“I will print your story, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Lovegood said as he watched Ginny clean up the tea mess.
“Thank you,” Harry said. The tea in his hand had gone cold, but Harry still held it cupped in his palms. The liquid inside trembled and Harry wondered if they would all have the strength to see this thing through.
“Mr. Lovegood,” he said, “when we came to help with your house, I found a book. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I meant to take it to Luna but forgot to give it to her when we arrived at Hogwarts.”
“One of Luna’s favorites,” Mr. Lovegood said with a fond smile, “she read them so much she could recite them from memory. Keep the book, Mr. Potter.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. “I wanted to ask...the story of The Three Brothers… Do you think it’s possible that it’s true?”
“Of course,” Xeno said quickly. He dipped his long finger into the dregs of his tea and then dragged the wet tip along one of the boxes that separated them, drawing out a triangle. With another dip into the tea, he drew a circle in the middle of the triangle, and then a line down the middle.
“The Deathly Hallows are very real, Mr. Potter,” he said.
Harry watched the wet symbol as it soaked into the cardboard, slowly disappearing. “But, what do they mean?”
“Whoever possess all three is the master of Death.”
Xxxxx
Thoughts of the Deathly Hallows plagued Harry even though he refused to talk about it with Ginny more than in passing. She’d heard what Xeno said and probably had her own theories about why Harry was asking, but she was good enough at reading him that she let him stew about it alone and try to organize his thoughts before forcing him to speak about it.
“Please don’t shut me out,” she’d whispered to him in the darkness of their bedroom that night before curling into his embrace.
“I don’t mean to,” he responded. “I just need time to figure out what I think about it all.”
Everyone was tense as the days ticked by and no article from The Quibbler came. Grimmauld Place was in constant motion with people coming and going. Moody reported that an attack on a prominent member of the Wizengamot by Voldemort’s Death Eaters had been thwarted by members of the Order of the Phoenix in time enough to save the wizard and his family. Tonks had been able to give enough warning when she’d stumbled upon the plot.
“I don’t understand how he gets away with it,” Ron said when Tonks arrived at Grimmauld Place after Harry’s return from speaking with Mr. Lovegood.
“It’s not the Aurors doing this,” Hermione explained. “I can only guess that there are layers of corruption that Voldemort has surrounded himself with. He has his inner circle, those most loyal to him, who know his purposes. Those would be the ones he’d use for attacks and some of the things that Tonks and Moody have told us about. Then there are others who support him but are not involved in those things. I assume they are leading the Ministry from the inside, while doing what they can to support him. Then another layer who have no idea they’re actually supporting him by working for and with the Ministry. They’re innocent, to the degree that the don’t actually know their policies and actions hurt others. But they are complicit in a government that is hurting its citizens.”
“And where does Dad fit into that?” asked Ron.
“Well, he’s not complicit at all,” said Hermione. “He’s actively trying to help others and stop what is happening. Tonks is the same way.”
“Yes,” said Ginny, “but she’s a little different. As our spy, she’s been involved in some ugly things. She carries a whole lot of guilt for that. That’s one reason she spends so much time with Remus. They’re a lot more alike than we might see on the surface.”
Harry hadn’t really noticed, but now that Ginny mentioned it, he realized that Tonks looked more drawn and defeated than ever. She’d given them the report and then dragged herself upstairs to one of the bedrooms and fallen asleep. She’d been staying more and more at Grimmauld Place and Harry wondered how much danger she was in being their spy inside the Ministry.
“None of it will be hidden much longer,” Harry said. “Once this story comes out, we’ll see some of those layers fall away.”
“As long as it does come out,” Ron said, “and assuming anyone reads it and believes it.” Ron had already expressed his distrust of Xenophilius Lovegood when Harry’d explained his plans to talk to the man. It wasn’t that he thought Lovegood untrustworthy, but that Ron thought him completely barmy.
“It’ll come, Ron,” Ginny assured them all.
Xxxxx
It was two weeks until Mr. Lovegood printed the story of conspiracy at the Ministry and the return of a Dark Lord who called himself Voldemort. The edition came out as a special, delivered in the late afternoon.
Harry read the headline and let out a shaky breath. He realized that his hand was trembling, and Ginny reached out to steady the paper so that she could read over his shoulder. Her warm and solid presence at his back as he sat at the kitchen table helped ground Harry and he leaned into her.
“It’s out now,” he said.
“Whether or not people believe will be a different thing,” Ginny muttered.
He looked up and saw Ron and Hermione sharing a second copy of the article, faces pressed together as they read.
Harry didn’t read it; he didn’t need to. Instead, he focused on their expressions and the way they reacted to the words.
“At least he was smart enough not to name you, mate,” said Ron once he’d finally finished reading.
“He’s listed several unnamed sources,” said Hermione. “I wish we could at least know who they were. They might be able to help our cause.”
“They have to be deeply embedded to be able to have this type of information,” said Ginny. “I’m sure it’s completely for their own protection that he doesn’t say or even hint. I’m impressed with his loyalty to them.”
Harry hadn’t thought about that before, but he had to admit that even though the old man was, at times, completely insane, Mr. Lovegood had nothing but integrity toward his sources.
“They’ll be searching for him in earnest now, though. Have we made arrangements to protect Luna?”
Harry rubbed his head and nodded. “She left school after we met with her father. Professor McGonagall has her hidden away somewhere.”
“It’s a shame she has to miss her N.E.W.T.’s,” said Hermione.
Something in that struck Harry as funny and he chuckled and shook his head. “Her N.E.W.T.’s, Hermione?”
They shared a wry smile. “I know,” Hermione said, “but the end of the year is only six weeks away. I just meant that it’s sort of a waste of a year to do all that work in your classes and then not take the tests.”
Harry felt Ginny stiffen behind him and he reached up to take her hand in his. “There are other ways to take them, Hermione. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will take care of it.”
Hermione looked as if she might respond, but her eyes flitted toward Ginny and she swallowed whatever it was she was going to say.
Throughout the afternoon and evening, members of the Order came and went from Grimmauld Place, each reporting their own reactions to The Quibbler, as well as the reactions out in the world. Harry contemplated apparating to Diagon Alley to see for himself, but Ginny seemed disturbed by the article. She claimed she wasn’t feeling well, but Harry noticed that she was quieter and seemed to always want to be in contact with him in some way--holding his hand, pressing close to him when they sat, and keeping him in her line of sight when they moved around Grimmauld Place.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” he asked as the evening wore on and they’d slipped away to get ready for bed.
“I’m just tired, Harry,” she said as she pulled her nightdress over her head.
“Ginny…” He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and lifting her chin so that she would look at him. “Don’t shut me out.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded, her lips pulling into a thin line as she tried to hold back from crying. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m feeling the stress of everything. I can feel things changing and it feels...so fast, so out of control. I don’t know each day if I’ll wake up and everything will be different. My family might be gone. Our friends. You.” She pressed her head to his chest and Harry buried his face into her hair, smelling the faint lavender scent there. He wished they could get away for a bit, get a chance to reconnect and share a flight, or even a meal without someone else there, eyes on them all the time, and the ever-present ticking of a clock.
He was worried about many of the same things. The weight of the prophecy, the need to find the horcruxes, the safety of those in the Order, and how they would all survive if Harry was unable to defeat this horrible monster, Voldemort.
“I can’t stop thinking about what you and Mr. Lovegood talked about,” Ginny said after a bit. Harry shuffled them toward the bed and they sat, still holding each other tight. “About the person who holds all of the Deathly Hallows being the master of Death. What does that mean? And if that’s something that will protect you, then why do I feel so…” She gave a frustrated groan and shook her head.
“I know,” he said. “I feel the same way. I want to believe in them, because then it means that I might have some protection against whatever Voldemort might do to me. At the same time, it’s a children’s story; how much faith can I really put in it?”
“I wish I remembered more of the story.”
Harry reached between the mattress and the wall, pulling out the book that he’d stashed there. He handed it to Ginny.
“Luna’s book?”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you. More from Ron and Hermione.”
Ginny turned it over and over in her hand, rubbing her thumb along the bit of charred binding. “Why haven’t you told them about the Hallows?”
“At first, I wasn’t sure what they were. I mean, I already have a wand, and I have no use for the ring. The Cloak might come in handy someday, but I’m always here, where I don’t need it.”
Ginny nodded against his shoulder. “I’d feel better if you carried them with you.”
Harry thought about it and gave a jerky nod. “We’ll figure it out.”
Ginny finally set the book aside and pulled Harry to lay down with her. “You have to survive this, Harry,” she whispered before kissing him.
“So do you.”
Xxxxx
Harry blinked at the low light of the corridor he was in. He moved forward and felt his fingertips touch the cold walls and wanted to recoil, but felt compelled to touch, to feel. Nothing decorated the walls, but there was a single black door at the far end of the corridor that called to him, driving him forward.
He walked on until he reached the door. A set of stairs to his left led downward, but Harry paid them no mind after a glance. What he wanted was behind the door.
Harry woke, panting and feeling as if he’d run a marathon. He was in his bed, Ginny asleep next to him. The room was still dark, and he collapsed back onto his pillow, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Just a dream,” he whispered. He’d no idea of the significance of the hallway, or even if there was one. Perhaps his mind was only compensating for the conversation he’d had with Ginny before falling asleep. Could the door be an answer to Harry’s questions about how to survive?
Ginny muttered something next to him and rolled, tugging the blanket with her. Harry gave it up; he was sweating anyway.
When he finally fell back asleep, Harry dreamed of a different place.
It was dark again, but Harry knew that he was outside. There was a biting chill to the air and the scent of factory smoke. There was enough light to allow him to see the rundown buildings and houses surrounding him, but not enough to make out street signs. He glanced up to the partly cloudy sky obscuring the moon. No stars peeked through wherever he was. Tall chimneys and factory smoke stacks carved the night sky into blocky shapes.
A stooped man bundled up in a heavy cloak slipped around a corner and walked toward Harry, his head swiveling left and right to make sure they were alone.
“He is there?”
“Yes, my lord. He came, as you said he would. He could not resist visiting Spinner’s End once we disturbed the wards on his house.”
Harry felt his skin crawl at the tone of the man speaking to him. His face was pockmarked, his nose bulbous and out of proportion with his other features. The skin around it was purple and black. It looked like he’d gotten the bad end of one of Fred and George’s punching telescopes.
“Your failure in the Department of Mysteries will be overlooked if the traitor is captured tonight, Rookwood.”
Rookwood bowed low before Harry. “My lord, the protections have been changed. The security for the Hall of Prophecy has been increased. My men should be able to break the curses by the end of the week.”
“I need to retrieve the full text of the prophecy,” Harry told him. “I must understand why.”
“Perhaps, my lord--”
Harry scoffed at the man. “I have had enough of your guessing games, Rookwood. Retrieve the prophecy for me or die.”
“My lord, only those who are the subjects of prophecy may retrieve them.”
“Then get me access.” Harry sneered at the man, growing frustrated with the incompetence surrounding him.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And bring Severus Snape to me. He has betrayed me for the last time.”
Harry awoke with a gasp, clutching his hand to his scar. He must have cried out because Ginny was awake, standing next to the bed with her wand lit.
The door burst open as Ron and Hermione entered, wands drawn and pointing towards Harry.
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Ginny said at the same time Harry said. “I’m fine.”
They all glared at him and Harry pressed his hand tighter as his head throbbed.
“They’re going after Snape,” he finally bit out. He reached for his wand on the bedside table and slid past Ginny, walking toward the door.
“What do you mean?” Hermione demanded. “Who’s--”
“Voldemort!” Harry roared. He felt a growing despair in his belly. He’d been inside Voldemort’s head in both dreams tonight, and he couldn't stand idly back and watch as Snape was delivered to the monster.
“Harry, whatever you’re planning--”
But the decision was made before Ginny could finish her words. Harry latched onto Ron’s arm and apparated away.
Chapter 22: Chapter 22
“Blimey, Harry! A little warning might have been nice.” Ron swayed on his feet and patted various body parts. “Lucky I didn’t splinch!”“Shh!” Harry crouched lower and scanned the darkened street looking for Death Eaters or whichever house was Snape’s. He pulled on Ron’s pajamas, forcing him to get lower into the shadows.
“Where are we?”
“A place called Spinner’s End,” said Harry. “No idea where it is, but I dreamed about it.”
Ron’s eyebrows rose into his hairline as he stared at Harry. “You dreamed about it?! And thought it was fine to apparate us here in the middle of the night?!”
“Shh!” The idea to silence Ron by spelling his lips together came to Harry, but he supposed he wasn’t being fair. Ron’d been woken in the middle of the night by Harry’s calling out and then taken with no preparation.
“Professor Snape is here somewhere and he’s about to be attacked by Death Eaters.”
Ron processed that information and scanned the street. “Why did you dream about it, and if it was just a dream--”
“It wasn’t,” Harry said forcefully. “Those dreams aren’t...well, they aren’t the same as regular ones. I’ll explain more later. We need to find Snape and help him. We can’t let Voldemort take him.”
Ron paled. “He’s here?”
Harry watched one of the brick row houses that sat near the river. A shadow moved, blocking out the low light of a candle. Nothing else in the area was in motion, and Harry decided that must be Snape’s house.
“Not anymore,” Harry said. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think Voldemort would stick around to participate in the dirty work. He’d directed Rookwood to bring Snape to him.
“You’ve got a whole lot of explaining to do when we get back,” said Ron as he squared up his shoulders and held his wand out. “And I’m not going to protect you from Ginny.”
Harry winced, but knew he had to put any confrontation with Ginny out of his mind. He’d deal with that later.
“Appare vestigium,” he whispered, and watched as a gold mist swirled from his wand and breezed over the narrow street before them. Two sets of footprints appeared not far away, and Harry knew that was where Voldemort and Rookwood had stood. He followed the mist as it moved forward, toward the row house that Harry’d been watching before moving down the row and snaking around the back.
“Right,” he said. “It’s this one, with the light in the window.”
“If we die tonight, Harry, I’m going to kill you,” muttered Ron as he moved forward.
There were wards on the house, but they appeared to have been breached, as far as Harry’s rudimentary cursebreaking skills could be trusted. Bill’d been teaching them all a little here and there.
“Watch yourself,” Harry warned as he prepared to open the door, “he’s probably set traps and such.”
“In addition to the Death Eaters. Brilliant.” Ron gave him a dirty look but took a deep breath and gave a single nod.
Harry opened the door and peeked inside. The tiny sitting room was empty and in perfect order, despite being shabby. Rows and rows of books lined the walls, all centered around an old sofa, single chair, and table. Only one flame flickered in a lantern.
Movement in the corner caught Harry’s attention and he swore he saw two eyes peering back at him before the flash of a spell shot out. Before he could breath, Ron had erected a shield and the spell deflected off, destroying a section of books not far away.
“Professor,” Harry called out in a low voice. “You’re under attack. We’ve come to help you.”
Another spell came their direction and Harry tugged Ron down behind the sofa as it struck.
“I do not need your help.” Snape’s oily voice came at them from the darkness.
“Professor, there are Death Eaters outside. They’ve been sent by Volde--”
“Do not say the name!” Snape roared. In an instant, he was beside them, his wand pressed to Harry’s neck, his black eyes malevolent and flashing. “Prove that it’s you, Potter.”
Harry swallowed against the pressure of the wooden wand tip digging into his windpipe. “You looked for me at the end of my fifth year. You were convinced that I’d gone off on a foolish bet into the Forbidden Forest, but Dumbledore knew that I’d been taken from the castle. You discussed it with him as you stood by a window overlooking the grounds. He told you where to put the blame and you showed him your arm.”
Their eyes locked and for the first time ever, Harry saw something deep within them that might have been fear.
“How could you have known--”
“Professor Dumbledore left me a vial of memories,” Harry said. He reached up and pushed Snape’s hand away from him. “I saw it.”
Snape’s gaze lifted to Ron momentarily before he looked to Harry once more. “I’m aware of the Death Eaters in the back of the house, Potter. I would have dispatched them, had it not been for your intrusion--”
“I came to save you, Professor.”
Snape sneered at him and then turned, as if he’d heard some invisible alarm. “Come to get yourself killed, Potter. Be it on your own head.”
“Dumbledore trusted me, Professor,” Harry said. “You should, too.”
Harry felt some sort of magic pass through him from his head to his feet and shivered at the feel of it.
“The wards have fallen,” Snape muttered. He squared himself facing the rear of the narrow house and Harry turned toward the front, his shoulder along Snape’s side. Ron completed the triangle by facing the dirty, small windows.
“Can’t we apparate out?” Ron asked.
“It’s too late,” Snape said. “They placed an anti-apparition jinx.” Harry decided that was what he’d felt pass through him.
“Harry can break that,” Ron said, with less conviction in his voice, “he’s dead useful at cursebreaking.”
If they hadn’t been facing Death Eaters, Harry might have smiled at Ron’s compliment. He’d enjoyed Bill’s lessons but held no illusions that he was anything more than a novice at the craft.
“Be that as it may, Weasley,” Snape said, “the Dark Lord will have sent many of his--”
“Two,” Harry interrupted. “Rookwood and...someone else. I didn’t see him, only Rookwood.”
Snape looked sideways at him and his posture straightened. “Only two?” If Harry wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn Snape was insulted by the idea that Voldemort was planning to take him with only two Death Eaters.
“Rookwood?” Ron asked. “Wasn’t he an Unspeakable before he was in Azkaban?”
Harry didn’t have time to answer as spells began flying toward them. Flashes of light destroyed books on the shelves and parchment went flying as they deflected spell after spell.
“Harry!” Ron roared. “I’ll cover, you remove the jinx!”
He hesitated a second, but then drew a long breath and knelt, drawing an intricate rune on the scuffed wooden floor. Bill’d been very explicit in this part of his instruction and Harry’d practiced it over and over long after Ginny and Hermione had given it up.
The magic in the air made the hair on the back of his neck raise, but Harry pressed on until he felt he’d been successful.
“Go!” he roared. He felt both Ron and Snape disappear from beside him and looked up just as the pockmarked man from his dream looked into the room. Harry gave the rune one final prod with his wand and apparated away.
Xxxxx
To say that they arrived back at Grimmauld Place to complete chaos and bedlam was an understatement. The kitchen was full of members of the Order of the Phoenix with maps spread across the table and a dozen different conversations taking place.
Hermione had thrown her arms around Ron but was lecturing him at the same time. And Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Snape, all eyes on the two of them.
“Welcome to Grimmauld Place, Professor,” Harry said. He tried to smile but the despondent look he caught from Ginny stole any amusement right from him. Her eyes were bloodshot and red. There was also a fire there and Harry knew that he was going to have to try and get her alone to explain himself very soon.
It seemed that the noise started slowly again as the maps began to roll themselves and people stood from the benches. Both Fred and George walked by, slapping Harry on the back, before apparating out.
“Next time send a message,” Tonks growled at him.
“Would if someone would teach me how,” Harry replied. It was a spell he hadn’t been able to master on his own, yet; he could make his Patronus but hadn’t been able to get it to speak yet.
Mr. Weasley gave him a tight smile, shook Professor Snape’s hand and spoke to the room as a whole. “I’ll let Moody and Bill know.”
“Where’ve they gotten off to?” Ron asked.
“Looking for you two,” Mrs. Weasley snapped. Her eyes were almost as ferocious as her daughter’s but softened when she looked at Professor Snape still standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Severus,” Professor McGonagall said as he tugged a shawl over her tartan night robes. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. It appears I have you to thank for saving my Potions Professor. Or, should I say, my former Potion’s Professor?” Her gaze was steely, and Harry wondered for a moment if she and Professor Snape were talking through some secret magical means.
“You cannot return to Hogwarts, I’m afraid.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll try to find you adequate accommodations--”
“He can stay here, Professor.” It was the first thing that Ginny’d said since they arrived back. She was looking down at the map, her finger pressed to the little dot with Spinner’s End written beneath it. “We have plenty of room.”
Professor McGonagall looked between Harry and Ginny before giving a final nod. “If that is acceptable. Severus?”
Snape cleared his throat and gave a single nod. “It will be fine, Minerva.”
“Very well. I will take my leave. I will send your things from Hogwarts, Severus, and then I must come up with a reasonable excuse as to why we will be short one professor at the breakfast table in the morning. The Ministry will have a field day, I’m sure.”
They watched her go and an awkward silence fell upon the kitchen.
“It’s early, but if any of you would like breakfast…” Mrs. Weasley asked. Her hair was spilling out of her nightcap, curls dancing down by the side of her face. Harry watched them move hypnotically.
“Mum,” said Ginny, “I think we’d rather try and get some sleep. There will be plenty of time for food and questions in the morning.” Her tone surprised them all, more so that her mother gave a nod and with one last scolding look at Harry and Ron, apparated away.
Harry opened his mouth to speak--to say anything--but Ginny talked over him. “Professor, if you follow me, I can show you to one of the bedrooms that should suit.” She moved toward the stairs and waited for the sallow man to follow her.
“Thank you, Miss Weasley.” Snape glanced at Harry with as much of a smirk as Harry’d ever seen him wear.
Harry looked down at the floor, feeling the tiredness creep up his legs and settle in his bones.
“What were the two of you thinking?” Hermione hissed once Ginny and Snape were off the stairs.
“You’re treating me like I had a choice, Hermione,” said Ron. “You saw how Harry snatched me.”
He had a point and Hermione relented, turning her focus to Harry. “You...are in so much trouble. You didn’t tell us anything other than Snape was in trouble. We had no idea where you’d gone! It took us forever to get the information we needed. And now there are people out there risking their lives because you had a dream?!”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Harry asked.
Hermione glared at him, stomped her foot, and then took Ron’s hand to lead him upstairs once more.
“Just apologize to Ginny, Harry,” said Ron.
Hermione made a sound in the back of her throat and Ron winced. “It’ll take more than an apology.”
Harry let out a long breath and leaned forward, blowing out the last candle in the room. The smell of smoke tickled his nose and he stared into the dark before walking slowly out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
The bedroom door was open, which surprised him. Ginny was in bed already, her back turned to him with no light on.
“Ginny--”
“We’ll talk in the morning, Harry.”
He sunk down to sit on the mattress. It seemed strange that he’d been right here less than thirty minutes ago, asleep next to Ginny. He pressed his hands together and let out a long sigh before removing his glasses and setting them on the bedside table. He swung his legs up and tucked them under the covers. Ginny hadn’t moved and he wondered if she was crying, or if she was too mad to let tears fall.
“I love you, Ginny.”
“I love you, too, Harry.”
They lay in the darkness, stiff and silent. The tick-tick of the clock hands moving around the dial nearly drove Harry crazy as he rehearsed what he needed to say.
“I’m sorry.” Ginny didn’t answer but he heard her take in a deeper breath and let it out again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get the chance to tell you more before I left. I felt...I felt it was urgent.”
“I’m not mad about you leaving.”
This surprised Harry and he contemplated what it meant.
“I’m mad because you took Ron.” Ginny rolled and pressed against him, laying her head on his shoulder where her tears wet his t-shirt. “You chose him. I thought we were partners in this, Harry. I’ve been there since the beginning and now to know that you doubt me…”
“No.” Harry reached up and rested his hand on her head, holding her in place while he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I don’t doubt you.”
“You do,” she argued, “or else you would have reached for me, taken me.”
He nudged her until she was looking up at him. He could barely make out her features in the light, but he knew them well. “It wasn’t doubt, Ginny. It was...complete and utter fear.”
“Then why go?”
“You know why.”
She nodded and Harry knew she understood but was letting the emotional high of the situation drive her right now.
“I couldn’t leave him to die or be taken hostage.”
“Damn Gryffindor,” she muttered.
“You’re one, too, love,” Harry pointed out. He tried to kiss her, but Ginny smacked his chest instead.
“You know the funny thing about courage,” she said, “is that it’s knowing something might get you killed but doing it anyway. It’s the same with stupidity.”
“I can’t lose you, Ginny,” Harry said. As the words came out of his mouth, he understood why he’d reached for Ron tonight, instead of her. He hadn’t been aware of it before he’d done it, just acted on pure instinct, but he was terrified of Ginny getting hurt or killed.
“You’re my heart in all this. I can’t…”
“And how do you think it felt knowing that you’d just gone off to face Voldemort, maybe, and there was nothing I could do about it?!” Ginny sniffled. “You disappeared and I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even know where to send help.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And,” she continued, “you took my prat of a brother who can’t even manage to wear pajamas that aren’t four inches too short.”
Harry snorted and tried to kiss her again.
“No,” she said as he pushed him away. “I’m still mad at you.”
Harry shifted so that he was looking down at her. “You’re not going to kiss me?”
“No.”
“How long--”
“Until I say so.” Harry knew she was softening, though, because she pulled him down to lay next to her. “Go to sleep, Harry. We’re going to have a rough couple of days.”
“Why?”
“Because you just invited Severus Snape to live in your house.”
Harry gaped at her. “I’m fairly sure that was you, Ginny.” She made a sound but didn’t argue. “And it’s your house, too. In fact, I seem to remember you ordering your mother out of our house and having her obey you.”
“Stop trying to flatter me, Harry,” Ginny said as she pressed her back against his chest. “Get some sleep. You need to figure out how you’re going to tell Sirius that Snape is living here.”
Harry swore and flopped his head down onto the pillow. For a moment, he thought he might rather be back in that dingy little house at Spinner’s End facing Death Eaters.
Xxxxx
Harry knew the Order would come trickling back in bright and early, or at least a few of them. He let Ginny sleep in but got himself out of bed and was sipping at a cup of bad coffee when Moody showed up.
“Mind telling me what that was all about last night, Potter?” He stumped toward the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, grimacing before he reached into the inside pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a flask. He tipped a small bit of whatever it was into his cup and then resumed drinking it.
“I’ve been having dreams lately,” Harry said.
Moody’s eye swung around to him and Harry felt completely bare to the man once more. “Seer blood in your line?” he grunted.
“Maybe,” Harry said, even though he didn’t know if that’s what it was. He had a deeper, darker suspicion that he was somehow connected with Voldemort.
Perhaps Moody could tell he was holding something back, but he gave another grunt and plunked on the end of the bench closest to the fireplace, facing it. “And this vision of yours said that Severus Snape was in danger.”
“Yes.”
“Do me a favor and the next time you get one of these dreams or visions, let someone else know what’s going on before you dive into the fray?”
Harry felt his face heat and he nodded from where he was leaning against the counter. “I am sorry. It was impulsive and not well thought out--”
“These things rarely are.”
“Ginny’s already raked me over the coals for it, but I can’t apologize for the results. We were able to save Snape--”
“Dumb luck,” Moody grunted.
“Not luck at all.” They both turned to see Ron enter the kitchen. He had just woken up and was still in his pajamas, with creases from the bedclothes on his face. “Harry broke an anti-apparition jinx to get us all out of there.”
Harry looked down into his cup to hide a smile. A swell of pride filled his chest at Ron’s compliment.
“Interesting,” Moody said.
“Did you really?” Hermione and Ginny had come down the stairs, followed by Snape. He was still dressed all in black and Harry wondered if he owned anything in a different color. The idea to ask made him smile, but he held back. The man’s sour face was enough warning to leave off unimportant questions.
“It was nothing,” Harry said.
“Indeed,” Snape said. “A clumsy effort, at best.”
“But one that saved your arse,” Ron muttered. Snape’s eyes turned to Ron, but he held his tongue.
“Might you have any essence of dittany?” he asked Ginny. Surprisingly, there seemed to be a bit of respect in his words toward her and Ginny nodded. She summoned what she wanted from one of the far cupboards and Harry goggled at the sheer number of potions and powders stored away in there.
“When did you--”
Ginny glanced at him before reaching for Snape’s hand, which had a nasty spell burn on it. Harry hadn’t realized that he’d been hit last night and hadn’t even taken the time to find out once they’d arrived safely.
“Let me see,” Ginny said. Her no-nonsense tone must have convinced Snape that it was easier to agree than argue. He sat and pulled back his sleeve just to the wrist, careful not to go any higher. Harry found he was partly curious about the skull tattoo on the man’s arm, and partly glad he didn’t have to see the hideous thing.
“Fred and George have been running a black-market potions trade from the backside of their shop for months now,” she explained, “for anyone who doesn’t want to register with the Ministry to buy the stuff.”
“Make use of it all the time,” Moody grunted appreciatively.
“Why am I not surprised,” Snape sneered. “Breaking the law was always their strong suit.”
“Damned good thing they do,” Harry said. He took a seat next to Ginny, but as far from Snape as he could manage, and turned back to Moody. “We need to do something about the security at the Ministry,” he said. “Rookwood’s been trying to get into the Department of Mysteries.”
“Another of your visions, Potter?”
“Something like that,” Harry answered Moody’s question. “I don’t know what’s in there, but they haven’t been successful yet. Voldem--”
“Do not say the name,” Snape hissed.
Harry turned on him. “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. Dumbledore taught me that.”
“The Dark Lord will have jinxed the name by now,” said Snape, as if he were talking to a particularly stupid toddler. “Or he will, soon enough. Saying the name will draw his Death Eaters to the location.”
Hermione let out a little squeak. “How would you know--”
“My memories are dim,” said Snape, “but I do remember some things.”
“Fine,” said Harry. “We’ll find something else to call him, but he’s trying to get in there.”
“There are many things studied there,” said Hermione. “The mysteries of the world--time, death, life, love. I contemplated trying to work there. The research side of it seemed fascinating, but…it just didn’t feel right at the time...” She trailed off and Harry knew many things had changed in the Ministry with Voldemort’s regime.
“What would he want there?” Ron asked. “And doesn’t he have access to it all, anyway? He’s in control of the Ministry.”
“Not all,” Moody corrected.
“And why would he go after Snape?” Ron asked, turning to the professor. Ginny had finished applying the dittany and the man was sitting stiff and still, staring toward the fireplace.
“He believes I may have written the article about him,” he said finally. “It contained many details that I would have been privy to, considering our history.”
“You mean that you were a Death Eater,” Ron challenged.
Snape’s eyebrow rose. “Once. Yes.”
“But you don’t serve him now, right, Professor?” Hermione prodded.
“Not currently, Miss Granger.”
Harry watched the exchange curiously. He had no idea which side Snape was on, to be honest, but Professor Dumbledore had trusted the man.
“Is that why you stay in the castle?” asked Ginny. “For protection.”
“It is not why I took the job,” said Snape, “at least, not completely the reason, but, yes. The Dark Lord does not trust me.”
Harry thought he looked rather put out by that notion and it was a strange idea. Snape had once found acceptance and belonging with a murderous group of criminals and now that he was no longer useful to them, they’d abandoned him and were even trying to kill him. Without the friendship and protection of Dumbledore, Snape was very much on his own in the world.
“But you didn’t write the article,” said Harry.
“No. I did not. I am not sure who did, actually.”
“I did. Or, at least, I was the original source. Xenophilius Lovegood wrote it.”
Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry.
“Does that surprise you, Professor?”
“I’m rarely surprised, Potter.”
Harry turned back to Moody and Ron’s original question. “Whatever Volde--sorry, he--wanted Snape for, he didn’t get him. He’ll be furious.”
“There will be repercussions,” Snape said.
“Already are,” Moody grunted. “Been up all night dealing with them. Dozens of attacks all over the country.”
“Muggleborns?” Hermione gasped out.
“And Muggles,” Moody said. “The Aurors have been busy trying to cover them up, but it may be too late. I noticed quite a few people around when I was prowling the scenes.”
“The Ministry will be Obliviating everyone soon enough,” Harry muttered.
“If your intention was to piss off a Dark Lord, Potter, the article had the desired effect.”
“My intention was to warn people,” Harry told Moody. “They need to know what’s going on under their noses.”
“But with the memory charm in place,” said Ginny, “most won’t believe it, anyway.”
“We’re working on that,” Hermione said. “Bill was able to clear another three sites from our list this week.”
“The list is too big,” Harry said. “We need to find a way to narrow it down.”
“I know.” Hermione let out a low sigh and rubbed her eyes. “We’re working on that, too.”
“We’re spreading ourselves too thin,” Ron said. “We can’t do it all. Moody and Tonks were killing themselves before with trying to be at all these attack sights or prevent them. Bill’s working around the clock to keep up at Gringotts and then searching for the anchor point of the curse. Hermione and I have exhausted all our resources here to try and figure out where the anchor might be.” He stopped and shook his head.
“Then we need to get more people,” said Harry. “Or at least figure out what the most important jobs are and focus on them.”
“Protecting Muggles.”
“Department of Mysteries.”
“Memory Charm.”
“Recruiting others.”
They all spoke at the same time and Harry looked at each of them, realizing how spread thin they were. Plus, he still needed to figure out how they were going to break into Gringotts to get the cup horcrux. He let out a shaky breath and Ginny took his hand under the table.
“Yeah,” he said.
“One thing at a time,” Moody said. He pushed the bench away from the table, drained the last of his coffee, and turned to leave. “Do me a favor and try to stay out of trouble for at least a few hours? I could use some sleep. And, Potter, don’t ever brew coffee again.”
Ginny snickered at him. “It’s awful, Harry.”
Ron looked into his cup. “I didn’t mind it. Sort of an...earthy taste.”
“It tastes like dirt,” Harry said. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Your limited skills at potion making carry over into the kitchen.” Snape said.
Surprisingly, Harry chuckled and agreed with him.
“I’ll start a new pot,” said Hermione, “and get some breakfast going.” Ginny joined her and both Harry and Ron sat awkwardly at the table with Snape.
It was a strange feeling to sit at a table where the three of them were equals in status as wizards. In truth, even though Harry knew Snape wouldn’t see it that way, he was in their debt for saving him.
“What do you think Vol--he wants in the Department of Mysteries?” Ron asked, casting a side glance at Snape, who stiffened at the almost-slip.
“I doubt he wants to study love,” said Harry. He thought back to the dream and tried to remember the details. So much had happened since then. It came to him in a hazy thought. “The Hall of Prophecy,” he said. “He wants the prophecy. He must’ve known part of it. He said...he said something about getting the full wording.”
Ron glanced at Snape, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I remember Dad telling us that there’s a whole room where they keep the prophecies given by seers. I bet there are loads.”
“Pasiphae Selen, a Seer in the seventeenth century, wrote a book about how the Ministry collects them and stores them,” said Hermione. “It was fascinating the way she speculated on why and how they study them. No one knows, other than the Unspeakables. I think it would be quite interesting.”
“It would be bad for him to get his hands on it,” Ron said. “I mean, if he does know some of it.”
“It makes sense that he might,” said Harry. “Otherwise, why attack my parents? He must’ve found out some of it.”
“I believe you’ll find that the Dark Lord is in possession of more information than you give him credit for,” said Snape. His words were slow and carefully chosen. He stared at his bone-white fingers as they rested on the table. For a brief moment, Harry wished he could see inside the dark mind of Severus Snape. He wondered what drove the man, what made him tick. But then his eyes rose to Harry’s and there was a sinister darkness there that made Harry shiver.
“It’s not like it matters if he knows,” said Harry.
“Of course, it matters,” Ginny said. A note of hysteria tinged her words. “He’ll be completely focused on you, Harry, if he knows.”
“We should talk about this later,” said Ron, eyeing Snape again.
“Do you think I’m unaware that a prophecy exists, Weasley?”
“How would you know, Professor?” Hermione asked. “I mean, unless you were the one who gave it--”
Snape snorted his derision at the idea of him being a seer.
“--or you were present when it was given.”
“He doesn’t know,” Harry said firmly. “He’s left me alone all these years, so he can’t have known all of it, or even most of it. It was my mother’s sacrifice that drove him out of his body last time, but I wasn’t the one to kill him. He’s smart enough to know that. It’s all speculation anyway, isn’t it? It’s likely he doesn’t know any of it.”
“He knows.” They all turned to stare at Snape.
“How--”
“Because I am the one who told him the prophecy, Potter.”
Chapter 23: Chapter 23
Harry stayed well away from Snape for the next few days after the revelations in the kitchen. Snape seemed inclined to keep his distance and rarely stayed in any room with anyone for more than a few seconds. Most of his time was spent locked away in the bedroom provided for him, which was fine with Harry.He didn’t want to think about Snape betraying Harry’s parents, or about him being a Death Eater at all. When Ginny’d tried to get him to talk about it, Harry had brushed it off, but the more he thought about it, the angrier he grew.
Bill, upon hearing about Harry’s successful work at Spinner’s End, had stopped by Grimmauld Place and offered another lesson in cursebreaking. In the end, only Harry was able to accomplish the summoning spell by using runes, rather than spoken magic. It was a fascinating process to infuse his magic into the drawn figures and watch as the magic worked.
“It’s less about the words than it is the intent,” Bill said. He and Harry were sitting in the Drawing Room, while the others were working on preparing the next list of locations for Bill to search.
“It’s not very practical,” Harry said as he motioned to the rune they’d just drawn together. “Takes too long.”
“Right. Traditional spells with your wand make more sense for everyday use. But the runes are more powerful because they concentrate the spells. Plus, you can layer a series of spells in them. It’s generally how most security magic like wards are done.”
“D’you think that’s how Vol--he did the memory charm?”
Bill smirked at the slip. They’d all been struggling with it and needed to come up with a better pseudonym to keep from summoning Death Eaters everywhere they went.
“Probably.” Bill began to gather the parchments he’d brought with him, using the rune Harry’d drawn to send everything into his leather satchel. “You’re good at this, Harry. You should have studied Ancient Runes in school.”
“No,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I’d have gotten a Troll for sure. School was...it was okay, but out here, learning the way magic really works is much more interesting.”
“Agreed. You could be a good cursebreaker, Harry, once this is all done.”
“Maybe,” Harry said, even though he wouldn’t let himself think that far.
“What’s it like having Snape around?” Bill asked in a low voice. “Ron said he was being a git.”
“Always is,” Harry said. He didn’t want to talk about Snape right now. “Any luck thinking of a way to get me into Gringotts?”
Bill’s smile slipped from his face and he shook his head. “I really don’t think it’s possible.”
“It is,” Harry said. “It has to be. There’s no other way for me to do this.”
“Oh, I can get you in,” said Bill. “That’s not where the problem lies. It’s getting you out in one piece that is damned near impossible.”
“Keep thinking,” Harry said. “It needs to happen soon.”
Bill nodded and Harry felt bad for how much they were putting on him. He’d been scouring the countryside when he wasn’t working at the bank. Occasionally, Fleur went with him, but she’d been feeling under the weather lately, Ginny said, so she’d been staying back at Shell Cottage more and more.
“Let me know when and I’ll do everything I can for you.”
Harry shook his hand and turned to see Ginny lingering near the doorway.
“Are you staying for lunch, Bill?” The rift between the siblings the past Fall seemed to be healing a little at a time the more they interacted with each other and Harry was glad to see it happen.
“Much as I’d love to,” said Bill, “I need to get going if I’m going to check on a few of these sites before I head home.” He came to stand in front of Ginny, looking down at her with a wistful look in his eye. “I suppose you’re going to want to be included on this insane Gringott’s break-in, right?”
“Right.”
Bill sighed and looked to Harry to refute it, but Harry could only shrug. He didn’t want Ginny in anymore danger than necessary, but after his trip to save Snape, he’d promised not to leave her out. If she wanted to be involved, Harry couldn’t stop her.
“We’re partners, Bill,” said Ginny. “Would you leave Fleur home if it was you?”
“Right now, hell yes!” he snapped.
A slow grin spread across Ginny’s face. “Well, of course, now, but I mean--”
“I know what you mean,” Bill said with a sigh. “And I’m glad to see you standing by each other, but I still don’t like it.”
“Didn’t ask for your approval.”
Harry moved to stand next to Ginny and slid his hands to rest on her shoulders.
“Okay,” Bill said with a sigh. “I’ll let you know if I can think of anything that might help.”
He slipped past them, nudging Ginny and winking at her.
“Name that baby after me,” she said. Bill looked shocked for a moment before he nodded.
Harry looked down at her. “Baby?”
“You’re so cute, Harry,” she said with a pinch to his bum, “pretending that you don’t know what goes on around here.”
“Were we supposed to know about a baby?”
Ginny laughed and walked down the hall to where Ron and Bill were looking at the list of sites to inspect.
Harry felt a bit stupid. How was he supposed to know that Fleur was pregnant?! He joined them in time to see Ron adding another few places to the list.
“More?” he asked. “Aren’t we narrowing it down at all?”
“We are,” said Ron, “but since it could be anywhere, it’s a guessing game.” He wrote the last one and Ginny peered at it.
“Your handwriting is atrocious, Ron,” she said. “I can’t even read that. Founding of Mythical Beheadings?”
“Fountain of Magical Brethren,” Ron said. He spelled away the words and tried again. “The one in the Ministry.”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Bill grunted. “All this time we’d’ve been searching high and low and it’s right there.”
Harry gaped at him. “Is it possible?”
“Not likely,” said Bill. “With so much magic going on around it, I doubt it would work as well. I think we’re looking for something more obscure.”
“Which is why I added the Statue of Merlin, too,” said Ron.
“What statue of Merlin?” Ginny asked.
“The one the Ministry gave to the Muggles. You remember, Harry? Hermione was going on about it during fifth year. It was right around the time of the broom accident.”
“No clue,” Harry said.
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“Right,” Ron said. “Well, whatever it was, there was an article in The Daily Prophet about it.”
“I’ll add it to my list,” Bill said with a sigh. “And I’ll give the statue in the Ministry the once-over this week. I’ll take Dad out for lunch, or something, and look at it when I’m there.”
Xxxxx
Sirius took the revelation about Snape living in Grimmauld Place better than Harry’d hoped. The two men had eyed each other, something very heavy passing between them before Sirius had made an off-color joke and asked Ginny what there was to eat. Remus, looking as haggard as ever, had shaken Snape’s hand and followed Sirius down to the basement.
Harry turned to see what Snape’s reaction was, but the man was gone, as if he’d apparated away. The black edge of his cloak disappeared from the hallway into the Drawing Room.
Entering the kitchen, Harry sat at the table next to Sirius and watched him devour the entire plate of food that Ginny’d provided.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” Harry said.
“Nothing for it,” Sirius said. “I told you before that anyone who needed to stay was welcome to stay. If that greasy old bat was in danger, then I suppose that means him, too, no matter how much I despise him.”
“He’s been helpful,” Ginny said when she came to sit down next to Harry. “He helped us figure several more points on our timeline.”
“Why do we need a timeline?” Sirius asked. “We know that Vol--”
“Ahem.”
Sirius rolled his eyes at Remus. “Right pain in the arse,” he muttered. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“Right,” said Harry.
“We know that You-Know-Who is deep in the Ministry. Why does it matter the order of events? It will be moot when we find out what’s causing this memory stuff and destroy it,” said Sirius.
He had a good point, one that Harry’d argued before, unsuccessfully, to Hermione.
“It gives us a clearer picture of when the charm might’ve been placed,” Ginny explained, “and might help us figure out where it’s anchored.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes and nudged his empty plate away from him. “Sounds like a bunch of busy work to me.”
“You never appreciate the academic side of things, Sirius,” Remus said with a smirk.
“I’m more about action,” Sirius said, a grin splitting his face. He winked at Ginny and Harry rolled his eyes. “We’re in town for a bit, what can we help with? And, Merlin, don’t say babysitting Snape.”
Harry snorted and shook his head. “Know anything about cursebreaking?”
“Not a single thing,” Sirius said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Sorry, Harry,” said Remus, “that isn’t either of our strong suits. We could give it a try, but Bill’s time is better spent out searching than teaching two old men new tricks.”
“Maybe they can help us figure out a plan for Gringotts,” Ginny suggested.
Both men sat up straighter. “Gringotts? What’s going on with Gringotts?” Sirius asked.
“We’re breaking in.”
They took that in stride, thinking about it before Remus asked, “Why?”
“It’s necessary to defeat him.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sirius said. His grey eyes were sparkling with amusement and the idea of a challenge. “To defeat You-Know-Who, you need to break into Gringotts?”
Harry nodded. “And steal something from a vault.”
“Bellatrix LeStrange’s vault, to be more specific,” Ginny added.
A full, throaty bark of a laugh burst out of Sirius and he nearly tipped off the bench. “That’s what that whole mess about Bellatrix was last time? You’ve got to be joking.”
“Not at all, I’m afraid,” said Harry. “We’ve been trying to come up with a plan for months now. Bill said he can get us inside--”
“Which is the easy part,” said Remus. His eyebrows pinched together as he thought. “The security measures that the goblins take are--”
“We know,” Ginny interrupted. “Both Bill and Fleur have made a list for us.” Ginny summoned the parchment and Remus snatched it from the air and began studying it.
Sirius rested his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together in front of his face. It looked to Harry as if he might be praying, but Sirius had never struck Harry as a very religious person.
“You’ll need the cooperation of one of the Goblins,” said Remus. “The lowest vaults require their touch to open. We’ve seen that with Sirius’. And, you’ll need one of them to operate the cart down to that level.”
“Right,” said Harry. “We figured a Confundus Charm would do that.”
Remus’ eyebrow rose and he gave a half-nod before returning to the list. “Probably require an Imperius,” he muttered.
“It’s illegal,” said Harry, “but the end justifies the means.”
“Slippery slope,” Remus warned with a glance upward.
“The Ministry is torturing Muggles, Remus,” Harry pointed out, “when they’re not killing them outright. What we need in that vault gets us one step closer to defeating Volde--”
“Harry!” Ginny clasped his arm to stop him from completing the name.
“To defeating You-Know-Who.”
“I didn’t say I disapproved, Harry,” said Remus, “just that we must not become the monsters we’re trying to defeat.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond but closed it upon further thought.
“Bill’s right that getting out will be the hardest part. Once they know you’ve taken whatever it is you need, they’ll stop at nothing to catch you.”
“I know. That’s the part we don’t have a plan for.”
“I can get you closer than Bill can,” said Sirius eventually. “The Lestrange vault isn’t much further than my own.”
“We’d thought about using Polyjuice to get in, but that would require one of us to get a hair or something from either Bellatrix or her husband,” said Ginny.
“Not easy,” mused Sirius, “but not impossible, either.”
“And it would require time to make the Polyjuice,” said Harry, “something we’re running out of.”
Remus smiled and it reminded Harry of Sirius. “Good thing you’ve got a resident Potions Master, then, isn’t it?”
“Like Snape would do anything for us,” Harry said.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” said Remus. “I’d venture he wants out of here just as much as you want him gone. If defeating You-Know-Who is what it takes, then he’ll cooperate.”
“Give me a few days to think on this, Harry,” said Sirius. “I’ll let you know when I have something.”
“Alright,” Harry responded, “but we need to move quickly, especially if we need to have that potion.”
“Then get what you need for it and have Snape get it started. The bit of hair or skin goes in last, anyway.”
“When have you ever brewed Polyjuice?” Ginny asked.
Sirius winked at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“We can get everything for that,” said Harry. “Or, Fred and George can, anyway.”
Xxxxx
Sirius walked in a few days later while Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Remus, and Tonks were sitting around the table.
“You may say ‘thank you’ at any time,” he said as he brandished a vial with a single black hair inside it and a long wand of dark wood. “I also accept groveling, tributes, and all other forms of worship.” He tossed the vial to Harry, who caught it, stared at the hair, and then up at Sirius. The wand was placed onto the table where the others looked at it.
“Er…”
“Don’t ask me how I got that,” Sirius warned. He flopped onto the bench next to Tonks and pretended to be engrossed in the parchments spread out on the table. There was a dark look in his eyes that Harry hadn’t seen in a very long time, not since he’d first met the man after his escape from Azkaban.
“Sirius…”
“I think we need to know,” Harry said.
Sirius was a long time in answering. “I reached out to my dear cousin Bellatrix--who is certifiably insane, by the way--and told her that despite the rebellion of my youth, I was beginning to warm to the idea of Magical race purification. My time in Azkaban had made me bitter toward the Wizarding World, I said, and I was tired of living in the shadows and ready to join forces with the Death Eaters, if she would kindly arrange a meeting with the Big Man himself.”
Every jaw around the table dropped.
“I’m beginning to think insanity runs in the family,” muttered Remus.
“You...you met with him?!” Hermione asked.
“Of course not,” Sirius scoffed. “The moment she showed up I got close enough to yank some hair, and then I...I took care of the problem.”
Remus glared at him. “Took care of…?”
Sirius’ eyes clouded over even more.
“Do you mean to say you…” Hermione couldn’t finish the question.
“I cannot believe you did that,” Harry said. “You could have been killed, Sirius! She’s a Death Eater, and how did you know she’d come alone?”
“No one will know,” Sirius said, “at least not for a while. What did you want me to do, memory charm her and hope it held? I’m decent at memory charms, but not that good. We’re in the middle of a war.”
“You remember that slippery slope we talked about before, Harry?” Remus said as he tilted his head toward Sirius. “This is it.”
“You all seem to forget that I spent fourteen years in a cell in Azkaban surrounded by Death Eaters--one of them my insane cousin, Bellatrix. The things they talked about…” He jerked upward and began searching the cupboards until he found a small bottle of Firewhisky. Without even bothering to pour himself a glass, Sirius drank deeply.
Harry watched as the bottle shook in his hand. “Sirius, you should have come to us and discussed it before you made a decision like that.”
“Alright, Mr. I-Apparate-Into-Death-Eater-Ambushes-With-No-Plan,” Sirius said. “I am capable of taking care of myself, you know.”
Harry sighed and rubbed his face. He couldn’t argue with the results in his hand, but he hated the method. “Don’t do it again,” he said.
“Don’t plan on it.” Sirius glared at the room in general.
An uneasy feeling descended as they all contemplated the things that Sirius had done
“Let’s get the plan down on paper,” said Hermione. Her voice shook and Harry knew she was affected, but pushing forward, as they all needed to do. “Then we can see if there is anything more to be done.” She pulled a blank piece of parchment from the stack in front of her, dipped her quill, and began writing, her letters shaky on the page.
“Who’s going, Harry?” Ron asked.
Harry stared down at the hair in the vial and thought about it. “Me--”
“Obviously,” Hermione agreed. “We have no idea what we’re looking for.”
“It’s the cup of Helga Hufflepuff,” he said. “That’s the last one.”
“Besides the snake,” Ginny reminded.
“Last one what?” Tonks asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. He was growing more and more irritated and his head was beginning to ache.
“What do you mean ‘don’t worry about it’?” Sirius snapped. “We’ll be putting our lives on the line, here, Harry. Don’t you think we should be let in on whatever it is you’re keeping secret?”
“Sirius,” Ginny said, “you’ve trusted us this far.”
Harry rubbed at his forehead. The headache was coming on so strongly that his eyes were beginning to blur. “Can’t you believe me when I tell you that it’s necessary?”
Sirius glared at them. “Fine. You better put my name down on that list, Hermione. I’m going to be there. I’m the only one here capable--and willing--of casting an Imperius curse.”
Ginny laid her hand on Harry’s arm and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Fine.”
“Put Bill down, too,” Ginny suggested.
“No,” said Harry. “He’s got a baby on the way. I don’t think we should involve him.”
“He’ll want to help, Harry,” Ron said. “He’s been in this far.”
“I’m not going to be responsible for creating an orphan,” Harry said. He was beginning to seethe now, anger bubbling up inside him so much that his skin was itching.
Ron held up his hands in front of him, scowling at Harry’s tone. “I’m just saying that he’ll be upset.”
“I don’t care about his feelings right now, Ron, to be honest. I have a job to do.”
“I know.” The two friends stared at each other and Harry gave a slow nod.
“Sorry.”
“That’s two,” said Hermione. “We need at least three, and preferably a witch, since she’ll have to impersonate Bellatrix.”
“I can do it,” Tonks said.
“That’s a big risk to take, Tonks,” said Ginny. “And it’ll mean you’re finished with the Aurors, because this scheme is likely to fall apart.”
Tonks gave a tight smile. “I’m finished with them, anyway. They’ve moved me to the menial jobs and it’s only a matter of time before they sack me--”
“Or worse,” muttered Remus.
“Plus, I don’t need the Polyjuice, do I?”
“Guess we should have thought of that before Sirius went and got this, then,” said Harry. He hadn’t even considered asking Tonks to transform into Bellatrix.
“Not that I’m condoning what Sirius did, but we’ll need the wand,” said Remus. “Can you transform?” Remus asked Tonks. “I know it’s been harder, lately.”
“Only one way to check, I guess,” Tonks said. She screwed up her face in concentration and began to change before their eyes. Her face became rounder, her hair dark, long, with spiral curls. Her neck grew longer, and her shoulders pulled down, slumping some. “Well?” she asked as she turned to face Sirius.
“Cor,” Ron breathed.
“Not bad,” said Sirius. “And if I hadn’t watched it happen, I would believe it was her sitting right next to me.”
“Still needs a little work,” said Tonks. “I look more like my mother than Bellatrix.”
“The voice needs more,” Sirius suggested. “And the mannerisms. But we can work with it.”
“That’s three,” Harry said. For the moment, his head had stopped throbbing, but his thoughts were becoming jumbled as confusion and frustration warred inside him.
“I’ve been thinking about the exit strategy,” said Ginny. “Would it help to have a riot in Diagon Alley? A small one at the far end?”
“That’d get the guards away from the doors of Gringotts,” Ron pointed out.
“The twins told me when I went to get the potions ingredients that the atmosphere in the Alley isn’t good. Fortescue’s has been closed for months and others are about to close. Fred and George only stay open because they run the black-market potions from there. And the Ministry has been getting close to discovering that. They’re prepared to move their operation on to somewhere else.” Ginny glanced at Harry, trying to gauge his reaction to her suggestion.
“Yeah,” Ron snorted, “Great Aunt Muriel’s house.” The two siblings shared a smirk.
“That could work,” said Hermione, “if you can get enough people there, and not get arrested.”
“We’ll work on it more and get the details ironed out,” said Ginny.
A deep throb of pain slashed through Harry’s head and he winced. Ginny clasped her hand in his, holding on tight.
“We have a plan, Harry,” said Hermione. Her face creased with worry for him and Harry fought the urge to snap at her. He didn’t understand where the anger was coming from, but it seemed to be consuming him.
Tonks transformed back into herself and refilled her cup of coffee, topping off Remus’. Everyone else declined when she offered the pot.
“Sirius, you need a haircut,” she said.
Sirius untied the knot he’d made at the back of his neck and shook his head, letting his long, scraggly hair flow down his shoulders.
“No!” Ginny burst out. Her cheeks flamed when everyone looked at her. “No, it should be kept long. You should look as much like those old wanted posters as you can. They’re...intimidating. It could help our cause when you go into Diagon Alley.”
“People do tend to step out of your way when you’re walking down a street,” Remus said.
“Me?! Intimidating?” Sirius asked, a roguish smile tilting his lips. “I have no idea what you mean, Ginny. I’m as innocent as the day I was born.”
Remus choked on his coffee, nearly bathing the table in it.
Harry’d had enough. He excused himself and stumbled up the stairs, leaning on the wall as he tried to make it to the bathroom. His stomach was churning with the pain from the headache. He swayed on the first step and would have fallen, but arms came around him from either side--Ginny and Ron--as they guided him up.
“Bathroom,” he panted.
They got him inside in time to heave. Harry emptied his stomach into the toilet and collapsed on the floor, panting. Images burst into life behind his eyes and he suddenly understood where the pain had come from.
Ginny removed his glasses and pressed a cool cloth to his face, wiping away the sweat.
Harry wanted to tell her to leave, that she shouldn’t see him this way, but knew she wouldn't go, anyway.
“Another vision?”
Harry just nodded. “He found Rookwood.”
“Rookwood?” Ron asked. “The bloke from Snape’s place?”
Harry nodded and pressed his hand to his forehead. Ginny pried it away and replaced it with the cool cloth.
“He’d been in hiding since he wasn’t able to get Snape.”
“You don’t need to tell us anymore,” Ginny said. “We can guess what happened.”
Ron sighed and rubbed at his face as he sat on the tile next to Harry. “Merlin, how bad will it be when he finds out about Bellatrix?”
Chapter 24: Chapter 24
Diagon Alley was like a ghost town, or what Harry assumed one might look like. Some shops were closed: windows covered with boards, chains and padlocks over doors, and a general deserted feel that made Harry both sad and angry.He didn’t want to remember Diagon Alley this way; when he came here, Harry wanted to remember the first time he’d arrived with Hagrid next to him, and he wished he had more eyes to be able to take it all in. The colors and activity in his mind seemed so bright, so...magical. To see it reminded him of the disconnect he now felt for Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, in general.
Voldemort was ruining everything Harry loved about the Wizarding World and it made Harry hate him all the more.
They’d arrived behind the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius, Tonks, and Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak.
“Let’s get this done,” Tonks whispered. Her voice coming out of the image of Bellatrix Lestrange threw Harry for a moment, but he pushed the thought away and placed his hand on Sirius’ back to signal that they should move forward toward Gringotts.
As they passed Number 93, Harry threw a longing glance to the windows. Both Ron and Ginny were inside with Fred and George, preparing the distraction. Other merchants were beginning to make their way to the shop, leaving behind their own places of business. He caught a glimpse of Ginny in the upstairs window and his heart leapt in his chest, pounding against his ribs. She pressed her hand to the glass for a moment before forcing herself to turn away.
Eyes watched them proceed down the Alley, furtive glances covered by hats pulled low, and peeks around doorways or corners. No one approached, but Harry didn’t expect they would with Bellatrix Lestrange and the infamous Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black, marching determinedly down the Alley, with dark clothing and even darker countenances.
“Don’t speak to anyone,” Sirius whispered to Tonks. “You’re pants at doing the voice.” Tonks whispered a horrible threat back to him and Sirius chuckled. “Getting a bit better now, though.”
Harry wanted to tell them to focus, but Gringotts had just come into sight. Two Ministry wizards stood at either side of the doors, strange instruments in their hands. Bill had warned them that it was standard procedure to search all bank customers with the Probity Probes before entering and that getting inside might take several hours. That’s where they were hoping that the demonstration at Number 93 would help.
Right on time, a volley of fireworks burst into the sky along with the chanted protests of the merchants and staged demonstrators. Harry glanced back over his shoulder as Fred and George whipped them into a fury.
The Gringotts guards both stepped toward the ruckus, exchanging hesitant glances, but they did not abandon their posts.
“It’s not working,” Sirius mumbled. “I’ll have to Confund them.”
“Just wait,” Harry breathed. “Ginny‘s on it.”
Less than ten seconds later, the entire Alley shook with a resounding boom. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour shuddered under the explosion, teetering, and finally collapsed. Harry couldn’t see them, but he knew that both Ginny and Seamus were safe as one of the top windows in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes went completely black, the pre-arranged signal.
“That should do it,” Tonks said. Her eyes were wide as the Wizard guards rushed past them.
“I love that girl,” Sirius growled, peering toward the space Harry should be. Beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry grinned.
“Let’s go,” Harry said.
They slipped inside the imposing doors to Gringotts, Harry tucking carefully behind Sirius to avoid being noticed. The marble hallway stretched out before them and they hesitated only a moment before moving forward. Harry counted the clicks of the heels Tonks was wearing as they passed hundreds of Goblin eyes. Harry swore they could see him, but nobody moved as they continued counting and writing in their ledgers.
The goblin at the far end of the hall looked up as they approached and seemed startled to see Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black standing before him. His glasses slipped down his long nose and perched near the tip, hovering like they might drop off at any moment.
“Madam Lestrange! How...pleasant...to see you again so soon.”
Tonks cleared her throat and gave a sharp nod. “I wish to enter my vault.”
“Of course,” the goblin stuttered. He looked at Sirius and flinched away from whatever look the wizard was giving him; Harry couldn’t see the expression. “May I see your wand, please, Madam?”
“My wand?” Tonks rose up to her full height--which wasn’t much--but the goblin took notice of the movement and cleared his throat.
“For identification purposes only,” he said. “I’m sure you can understand that with so much unrest these days, we are taking more precautions for security.”
“I don’t see why you would question my identity at all,” she challenged, but raised the walnut wand and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Do you need his, as well? Surely, you recognize my beloved cousin, Sirius Black, who has now joined our cause.”
The goblin accepted the wand with trembling fingers and his eyes widened at the thought of having Sirius Black point his wand. “N-no,” the goblin said, “unless he plans to visit his vault, as well.”
“Perhaps, I will,” Sirius said. He whipped out his own wand--dogwood and dragon heartstring--brandishing it before passing it over.
The goblin swallowed audibly and nodded after giving both wands a quick once-over, handing them back. “Very well, Madam Lestrange, Mister Black.” He turned in his chair and snapped his long fingers. Behind him, a younger goblin came to attention and moved forward. Harry recognized him as the one who had helped him on several occasions, Griphook.
“You’ll need the Clankers,” the old goblin ordered. Griphook gave a firm nod, scurried away, and returned with a bag that gave a muffled jangling sound. Bill had told them about the dragons housed in the lowest parts of the bank vaults, and how the goblins controlled them. It was the one part of their plan they hadn’t figured out but were hopeful that all would go well enough that they wouldn't need to deal with any dragons.
Griphook led them to a door leading off the main hall and they passed into the stone hallway beyond, the light of the torches guttering with their movement. Sirius stepped in front of Tonks, blocking her way as they got to the cart and Tonks argued with him over allowing her to go first. Griphook watched the exchange with wide eyes and Harry took the created opportunity to climb into the cart first, sliding as far to the back corner as he could.
“Well, then, cousin, after you,” said Sirius, “if it means so much to you to go first.”
“Remember your place, dear cousin,” Tonks growled. She was growing into the role of Bellatrix with frightening ease, Harry thought.
Griphook eyed them once more and noticed the odd way that Tonks was not sitting all the way to the end of the bench. He seemed to shake it off and climbed into the cart.
“First stop, the Black vault,” Griphook called out.
“I prefer to visit my vault first,” Tonks commanded.
Griphook shook his head and was just about to argue when Sirius whispered, “Imperio!”. The goblin’s eyes glazed over, and he turned back into position. The cart jerked forward and began to gather speed, whipping through passages, headed downward. The cloak pulled tight across Harry’s face, the edges whipping behind him, as they wound down farther than Harry’d ever been before. Vaults were nothing but a blur.
Even as he held on to the side of the shuddering cart, Harry couldn’t help but feel that things had gone well. They’d been prepared to fight their way in, but so far, they’d only been forced to use one spell. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
The thought hadn’t even fully formed in his mind when the sight of a waterfall ahead made his heart pound. There was no time to stop the cart, no time to do more than call out a warning and tug the cloak from his head before they crashed through it.
“No!”
The cart tumbled from the track as they fell toward the floor. It was only Tonks’ quick thinking that saved them. She arrested their fall and the four of them--Tonks, Sirius, Griphook, and Harry--stared at each other.
“Thieves!” Griphook roared. Before he could yell again, Sirius had cast the Imperius once more.
“They’ll know we’re here now,” Tonks grumbled as she released them to rest on the rocky ground.
“Best get moving, then,” said Sirius.
Harry shoved the cloak into his jacket and lifted his wand, lighting it and looking for the numbers on the vaults. “This way,” he said. He nudged Griphook to go ahead and the compliant goblin did so, the bag of Clankers knocking against his short legs.
He refused to let the panic rising in him take over. They had no way out of the underground vault now once they retrieved the cup. The water had washed away all enchantments. Surprisingly, Tonks’ disguise was still in place, but she’d dropped all pretense of acting like Bellatrix Lestrange, now.
A roar shook the passageway around them, and Harry swallowed hard.
“Dragons?” Sirius asked. “There really are dragons?” He let out a string of filthy words under his breath.
“Yes,” Griphook said. “Just ahead.”
“Great,” Harry muttered. “How do we get past them?”
Griphook, his eyes still glassy, tapped the bag tied to his belt. “We use these.”
They turned a corner and the dragon came into view. It was clear to Harry that it had been held captive down here for a very long time. It looked nothing like the majestic dragons that Charlie had shown Harry in his books and photographs. This one was pale and looked sick, with opaque white-pink eyes. It was confined, tethered to the stone floor with chains that were held with gigantic pegs driven right into the stone.
“I can’t believe they actually have dragons,” Tonks murmured as she pressed them both against the passageway. A burst of fire had come from the dragon, passing over the top of Griphook’s head.
“Bill warned us, but--”
“Get down, Griphook!” Sirius hissed, tugging at the goblin’s jacket. “We still need you to get into the vault.”
Griphook resisted the tug and pulled out the Clankers from the bag by his side. At the first motion of the metal instruments the dragon shrank back from the vaults it was guarding.
“It will not advance,” said Griphook over the ear-splitting clatter of the sound. “It’s been trained to expect pain when it hears this sound.”
Harry grimaced, but followed Griphook as they moved toward the vaults. They kept well away from the dragon and the goblin kept him at bay with the noise.
Sirius snatched the Clankers from Griphook when they’d reached the correct vault and gave him a stern look. “Open it.”
Griphook hesitated, his hand reaching out, but fingers curling backward just before it touched the wood.
“Do it!” Sirius commanded.
Harry could see the war in the goblin’s eyes. The charm was either beginning to wear off, or he was fighting it. They needed inside this vault! The downfall of Voldemort was dependent upon it.
Harry raised his trembling wand and focused on the word. “Imperius!”
Griphook’s eyes glazed over and he raised his hand with determination, pressing it to the surface of the door until it melted away.
Sirius nudged the goblin forward. “You go in, too.”
Harry and Tonks both raised their wands. The doorway sealed behind them and Harry glared at the little goblin, who blinked owlishly up at him with distracted eyes.
“Lumos!”
The light shined off almost every surface, reflecting back piles and piles of golden galleons, treasures, and jewels.
“What’re we looking for?” The words were barely out when Tonks gripped her hand, screaming as whatever she’d touched burned her. Her wand dropped to the floor and cast it’s beam of light up to the ceiling of the vault, which seemed to stretch immensely.
“It’s all cursed,” Harry hissed. “Don’t touch anything!”
Tonks swore and snatched her wand from the ground, glaring at the piles of gold around them. “They burn when you touch it. And it multiplies. Look!”
Harry looked to where she was pointing and the silver platter she’d touched had replicated itself onto the floor of the vault.
“Don’t touch anything,” Harry repeated desperately.
“Summon the damned thing, Harry, before we get buried in here,” Sirius commanded.
Harry swallowed and raised his wand. “Accio Cup!” Nothing happened. Harry tried a second time and growled in frustration. “No use,” he said. “We’ll have to look at everything. It’s a small golden cup with two handles and a badger engraved on it. Look everywhere, but don’t--”
“Touch anything,” Tonks finished. “Right.”
Beams of light scattered from them as they searched. Occasionally, a curse word would ring out and then the sound of clattering metal as they touched something. The narrow path through the treasure was becoming more and more crowded.
Harry’s light passed over all sorts of glittering jewels, teetering stacks of gold coins and bars, swords, shields, and helmets. As it rose higher and higher, Harry caught sight of the cup on one of the higher shelves.
“There it is!” he cried. His excitement was doused, however, when he realized the cup was too high up to reach. He would have to climb to retrieve it, setting off an avalanche of gold that would bury them alive, if it didn’t burn them to death first.
“Levitate me up,” Tonks said as she came to stand by Harry’s side.
“I should--”
But Tonks elbowed him in the side. “I’m lighter than either of you. Levitate me up there. I’ll grab it--”
“It’ll burn.”
Her face paled, but a determined look set on her face. “I won’t let go.”
Harry wanted to argue, but with no other options before them and a helpless shrug from Sirius, he agreed.
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
It wasn’t easy to hold Tonks upright while trying to keep her limbs from brushing anything. She flailed a little at first and a cascade of golden jewelry came down around Harry’s feet, burning through the legs of his trousers.
Sirius used his own spell and they guided Tonks up and over the piles of gold toward the shelf and the little cup.
“Almost there,” she encouraged. Her arm stretched straight out, fingers extending all the way to try and loop through the handle.
Outside the closed vault door, Harry could hear the echoing sound of more Clankers coming their way. He concentrated on the spell and nudged Tonks forward a bit more. Her fingers closed around the cup handle and Harry winced as she whimpered.
“Go, just, go!”
Bringing her back was easier, as Harry wasn’t nearly as careful to keep her from touching anything. She came to rest next to him, both hands searing as she gripped the cup. Replica cups began cascading all around them.
“Sirius, make him open the door.”
“They are coming for you,” Griphook said in a harsh voice. He’d broken through the charm completely now and was glaring at them.
“Open the door before we all get killed,” Sirius roared.
The goblin refused to move.
“Griphook!” Harry roared. “Open the door now!” Tonks was shuddering in his embrace, hands still stuck to the cup. Wisps of smoke could now be seen at the edges of her grip and the cup was beginning to glow golden-red with heat.
“No, Harry Potter! You’re a thief!”
Sirius twisted his wand violently and Griphook swung upside down, coins falling from his pockets. “Levicorpus!” His face grew terrified as he came nose to nose with Sirius Black. “Harry might not kill you, goblin, but I have no qualms. Open the door now.”
He levitated the upside-down goblin toward the door and forced him to press his palm there.
The door melted away and they could hear the growing sound of Clankers and the hoarse roar of the dragon filling the space.
Harry felt better in the cool rocky corridor and away from the heat of the treasure inside the vault, but the impending rush of goblins that was sure to overrun them at any minute quashed that feeling.
“I don’t think I can--” Tonks cried out as she pried her hands away from the cup. It fell, but Harry reached out with the Cloak from his pocket and enveloped the cup in it. He twisted and tied the Cloak up around the cup before burying it in his pocket.
Griphook was still hanging upside down, cursing at them in his own language, mixed with a few nasty threats in English.
“You’ll never get out!” he warned.
Harry ignored him and turned to look at Tonks, who was staring down at her burned hands, tears running down her face. The countenance of Bellatrix Lestrange melted away and Tonks’ true appearance was restored. The skin on her hands was red and shiny, nearly burned away in some places. Harry put his arm around her shoulders. “Hermione can fix that,” he mumbled to her.
She sniffled loudly and gave a jerky nod. “I can’t hold my wand, Harry.”
“S’okay,” Harry said with a sigh. “Not sure what good it will do, anyway.”
“Can we apparate away?” Sirius asked.
“Try it,” Harry said. He watched as Sirius screwed up his face, but nothing happened. Another try and Sirius shook his head.
The echo of the Clankers was getting louder and louder. Harry and Sirius shared a nod and turned to face the sound, determined to face whatever came around the corner and fight their way out.
Griphook fell from Sirius’s spell, hitting his head on the stone ground and his eyes closed. Harry didn’t much care about him anymore, anyway. He would not be helping them escape.
In a brief moment of hysteria, Harry remembered a wave of facts from Professor Binns’ endless lectures on the goblin wars. Names and dates popped into his head and he forced them away.
“I haven’t told you lately, Kiddo,” Sirius said, his voice weak and shaky.
“Don’t,” Harry snapped. “We’re getting out of here; I promised Ginny.”
Sirius turned to him, shaggy hair hanging in his grey eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
They turned and held out their wands, ready to blast the wave of goblins. The sound of the Clankers was almost deafening and Harry wondered how many goblins were coming. The sound seemed to precede them, filling the vaults and bouncing off the walls. Just as Harry was about to shout a spell into the darkness, he saw the tip of...a broom.
Bill Weasley, his red hair streaming behind him, came into view. Behind him were other members of the Order of the Phoenix on their own brooms--Charlie, Fred, and Remus.
“Get on!” Bill said as he reached down, hooking his arm through Harry’s and swinging Harry up to clamber on behind him.
“Bill! What’re you--”
“Someone’s always gotta save your skinny arse, Potter!” he said, shooting a grin back over his shoulder.
Harry glanced back to see that Charlie had pulled Sirius up, and Remus had Tonks in his grip. Fred had dipped down and was trying to pick Griphook up off the floor.
“Leave him!” Harry roared. “Little bastard was trying to lock us in.”
Fred dropped the body and soared up to meet them. Bill continued to shake the Clanker in his hand and the dragon gave a weak roar.
“Barbaric,” said Charlie as he came to hover next to them. “Should be killed just for doing that.”
“Don’t know how we’re going to get out now,” Bill said. Harry could hear the pounding of his heart almost blocking out the sound of the Clanker.
“I do,” Harry said, a flash of crazy inspiration coming to him. “Watch out!”
He aimed his wand as the bindings for the dragon. “Relashio!”
The nearly-blind dragon lunged toward them as it spread its spiky wings, filling the entire corridor. With a massive blast of air, it flapped and lifted to hover. A jet of fire erupted down the tunnel and Harry could see a massive goblin army in full gear in the light of the flames.
“Go!” Charlie yelled at the dragon. “You’re free, you great stupid oaf!”
Another burst of fire held the goblins at bay and the dragon gave another mighty flap of its wings, shooting upward. A deafening roar shook the cavern and the dragon lifted higher and higher. Bill and the others rose with it, dodging spears and daggers that flew at them from below.
“Watch yourselves!” Bill screamed as the crash of glass and metal sounded above them. Razor-sharp fragments fell around, and Harry managed to deflect most of them away from Bill as they followed the dragon out of the top of the bank. Harry heard a cry behind him but could do nothing more than cling to Bill’s leather jacket as they followed the dragon out of the ceiling and out into the brightness of day.
“Everyone okay?” Bill called back when they were over London.
Harry glanced backward to see Fred falling from his broom. He pulled his wand and levitated Fred.
“Swing back around,” he ordered Bill. Bill’s looked back over his shoulder, face going pale and eyes wide. He gave a single nod and swooped back, allowing Harry to lower Fred onto their broom. The old Nimbus gave a jolt and dipped precariously, but Harry knew they didn’t have to go far. Harry clung to Fred, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his unconscious body between Harry and Bill. Fred’s legs dangled alarmingly off the side of the broom.
The dragon was a mere speck over London as Harry clung to Fred. He looked down and watched as a crimson stain spread from the front of Fred’s robes onto Harry’s jacket.
“Hurry, Bill,” he pleaded and held Fred even tighter to him.
Chapter 25: Chapter 25
Author's Notes: Content warning: Character death (not graphic)
They landed in a small abandoned lot that Harry didn’t recognize. Scattered about them were the debris of the Muggle neighborhood: old, rusty fencing materials, half-rotted posts, trash bags ripped open to spill their contents into the dried mud, and a mangy stray cat who hissed at them and then skittered away, tail in the air.
Somewhere over London, Harry’d found the source of the bleeding--a jagged piece of glass stuck out from the side of Fred’s chest. Harry hadn’t wanted to remove it, unsure if that would do more damage. He pressed one hand to the wound, not caring if the sharp glass cut his own skin. Harry collapsed to his knees as they touched down, still cradling Fred in his embrace.
“Let me see, Harry.” Bill nudged Harry, but Harry wouldn’t move.
“No. He’s...he’s hurt.”
“I know. Let me see.”
Harry finally relented as the others landed around them and closed into a tight circle. Moody’s voice battered through Harry’s mental haze, but Harry couldn’t make out what he was saying. Bill took Fred from Harry, assessing the damage.
“Are you hurt, Harry?” Sirius tugged at Harry’s jacket, nearly pulling it off as he searched for the source of the blood.
“No. Fred.” His hand hurt, but Harry wasn’t going to say anything right now. He stared at Bill as Charlie joined him.
“Need to take him to St. Mungo’s--”
“No! It’s overrun with Death Eaters,” Moody said. “Take him to--”
“Snape,” Remus interrupted. “He’s your best option.”
Bill lifted Fred into his arms and prepared to apparate. Just before he blinked out of existence, Harry watched him lean down and rest his forehead against Fred’s. Bill wore a fresh streak of blood--Fred’s blood--like war paint across his face.
Harry closed his eyes against the image and swayed in place. He felt like they’d been gone for days.
“Did you get it?” Moody nudged him and Harry blinked up at the grizzled old wizard. “Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
Charlie dove toward him as Harry swayed and thick arms wrapped around him.
“Take them all to Grimmauld Place,” Moody said. “I’ll make sure the others know to go there, too.”
Harry allowed himself to rest against Charlie’s side. “Alright, Harry?”
“Hi, Charlie,” said Harry.
Charlie’s freckled face widened into a smile, but his eyes were still troubled. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up before my sister sees all that blood and thinks we let you get hurt.”
Harry wanted to protest that he could take himself home, thank you very much, but exhaustion won out and he slumped into Charlie’s embrace, instead.
Xxxxx
Harry felt numb all over. He’d been sitting in the hallway across from the room where they’d taken Fred for hours. Ginny sat with him for a while before excusing herself and went downstairs. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to move. He listened to the muffled conversations and watched as Snape came and went from the room, bringing various potions and ingredients. His face was stoic, but his eyes would catch Harry’s and then dart away before he slunk this way or that.
He knew it wasn’t good. Harry’d touched the piece of glass from the ceiling at Gringotts and seen how deeply embedded it was. He’d been the one to whisper to Fred to hold on. And even though Fred had been unconscious the entire time, Harry thought maybe his friend had heard him; he hoped, at least.
In his mind, he replayed every minute of their escape trying to see where it had gone wrong. He’d been the one to free the dragon and, in his heart, he knew that he was partly responsible for Fred’s injuries.
As the evening wore on, less and less movement came from inside, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat with Bill and Fleur, George, and Ron. Ginny’d slipped past him, muttering that Charlie’d gone off to try and track the dragon, before she’d disappeared inside.
Hermione joined him, laying her head on his shoulder, and Harry had fallen asleep before the scrape of the door woke him. He looked up to see Snape exiting, his face lit only by the single candle he held.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a voice far different than anything Harry’d ever heard him use. “There was nothing more I could do.”
Harry bit the inside of his lip hard enough that his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. Hermione gripped his arm so hard she broke the skin with her fingernails and sniffled. Her tears soaked into Harry’s t-shirt and he stared at the door.
One by one, the Weasleys filed out of the room. Ginny had given him a half smile, her face wet with tears, and led her mother downstairs. Hermione scrambled up from the floor when she saw Ron and wrapped around him, whispering words that Harry blocked out.
Instead, he stared into the room ablaze with candle light. George sat at Fred’s bedside, his head down, sniffles disrupting the quiet.
“Harry?” He looked up to see Bill standing over him. “Did you want to come in? You should have earlier. You could have said…”
“Did he wake up?” Harry’s voice cracked from disuse.
Bill looked years older. “No. But you should've come in.”
“It was for family,” Harry said.
Bill’s face twitched. “Haven’t figured out yet that you are family?” His hand stretched out and lifted Harry to stand.
Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to go inside, but felt he owed it to the Weasleys. He wondered if they blamed him for Fred’s… Merlin, he couldn’t even say it to himself.
Bill guided him inside and he took an empty chair next to George.
“I…” Harry shook his head and looked down at his hands. He realized with a start that he hadn’t even washed himself up. The dark stains on his hands and arms were still there. No wonder nobody had wanted to talk to him.
“We knew the risks,” George said, finally.
“Not like this,” Harry said.
George turned to look at him. “Yeah, even like this.”
Harry stared at Fred’s body, cleaned and covered with a plain sheet. His face was peaceful, at rest, but he looked so young, like his eyes might open at any moment and quip some sarcastic comment or joke.
Harry’s eyes filled with tears and his chest became tight. Bill’s hand came down onto his shoulder and gave a little squeeze, George leaned into him and they sat in the silence until Harry couldn’t stand it anymore.
When he left, Harry wandered down the hallway, unsure where he should be going. It was late, but bedroom doors were all standing open. The last one on the second floor had been given to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for the night, and it was the only one he could find that was shut. A sense of relief washed over him; Harry didn’t think he could look at Mrs. Weasley again right now, anyway.
He slipped into his own room and changed his clothes, banishing the ruined shirt and jacket to the corner. Another stop at the bathroom washed away the dried blood on his hands and Harry stared at his pale face in the mirror, concentrating on the scar in the middle of his forehead.
All this because some madman wanted more power.
He made his way downstairs and to the only place with any light--the kitchen. The only ones missing were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Charlie. Harry was surprised to see Snape sitting in one of the dark corners of the room, sipping at a glass of amber liquid. Other glasses--some empty, some still with liquid in them--dotted the table along with a mostly-empty bottle of Firewhiskey.
“There’s a spot here, Harry,” said Ginny as she scooted down from Bill. Harry stared at it for a long moment before sliding onto the bench.
Seeing Tonks triggered Harry’s brain to remember anything other than the stillness of Fred lying in that bed upstairs.
“How’re your hands?” His voice croaked from disuse.
She raised them to show that both were wrapped in bandages. “They’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
“As long as you keep the salve on them,” murmured Remus with a raised eyebrow at her.
“That’s good,” Harry said. Their time in Gringotts seemed weeks ago, rather than hours. “Everyone else alright?” he asked.
“Everyone is okay, Harry,” said Hermione. “A few cuts and burns, but nothing to be worried about.”
“Did you get yours healed?” Tonks asked.
Harry looked down at his hands and arms, realizing that pink and red welts dotted the surface of his skin. “I...I didn’t see them…” He trailed off as he realized why; his hands had been covered with Fred’s blood.
“There is enough salve left to clear them up,” Snape said from the corner of the room.
Harry looked at him, met those dark eyes, and then looked away. “Thanks.”
“I’ll put it on,” said Ginny. She summoned the little jar with blue-green goopy liquid inside and rubbed it onto Harry’s burns and the cut on his palm. He shivered with the gentle touch of her fingers and everything in the room seemed to melt away as he looked at her.
“Sirius said you got the cup,” she murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Ginny…”
“Not now, Harry,” she said. Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down on it. Harry leaned forward and rested his lips to her forehead. She finished tending to his burns and put the cap back onto the jar. “They’re not bad enough to need bandages.”
Fleur was asleep against Bill, his arms wrapped around her. Sirius sat in a similar position to Snape, only on the opposite corner, clinging to his drink and glaring into the room. Hermione had her arms folded on the table and her head resting on them while Ron rubbed circles on her back and stared at the table.
“Any word from Moody?” Harry asked.
“He stopped in not long ago,” said Remus. “Diagon Alley is under siege by the Ministry. All shops closed until further notice. The riot did the trick and Gringotts just added to it.”
Harry tried to feel bad about that, but he couldn’t. Now maybe people would stop believing everything the Ministry said and start thinking for themselves.
“What is the press saying?”
“It’s been pretty quiet so far,” said Tonks. “Speculation of who the wizards were and why they broke in.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I thought for sure we’d been seen.”
“No doubt you were,” said Remus, “but seeing and the Ministry conceding that they failed are two very different things.”
“I’m surprised Gringotts is admitting there was a successful break in,” said Bill.
“With a great bloody dragon on the loose,” said Ron, “I doubt they’d’ve been able to keep it quiet long.”
Harry thought back to the rescue. “Did they see you?” he asked Bill. “I don’t want you losing your job--”
“All wizards were sacked the moment they realized they’d been breached,” said Bill with a wry smile. “Looks like both Fleur and I will be looking for new employment.”
Harry scowled. “I didn’t mean--”
“Would have happened anyway, Harry,” said Bill. “Maybe once everything is over… Then again, maybe not. Goblins don’t forgive or forget easily.”
“We will manage,” murmured Fleur. Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment before closing once more. Her accent was much heavier when she was sleepy.
“I’m finished at the Ministry, too,” said Tonks. She looked more relieved than upset about it and laid her head against Remus’ arm. “Besides, we have another source there now.”
That made Harry sit up, jerking against Ginny. “Who?!”
“Percy,” said Ron. “Turns out he’s been working his way in more and more. That’s why none of us have heard much from him lately. He came to Dad not long ago and let him know that he felt he was in a position to feed the Order information. So, they staged a big argument a few weeks ago, with Dad yelling that Percy was choosing the Ministry over family."
Harry blinked at his best friend. “And nobody told me about it?”
“You’ve had enough to think about, Harry,” said Hermione. “We thought we’d handle this and--”
“Well, you thought wrong!” Harry snapped. “And I don’t want Percy risking his life over this. We don’t need a Ministry spy. We can’t risk another--”
“Do not belittle his choice, Potter.”
Harry was surprised to hear Snape’s voice over top of his own. He gaped at his former professor. “His choice?”
Snape stood and drained the rest of his drink. “We all have them. If Mr. Weasley feels he can contribute more to the cause by spying, then who are you to take that choice away from him?”
Anger and helplessness warred in Harry. For a moment he tried to decide if the emotions were his own or if they were being influenced by another vision. But did it matter?
“I won’t let anyone else--”
“So, it is your pride that stands in the way of another’s courage?”
Harry stood to match Snape, his knees banging into the table. He ignored Ginny’s plea for him to sit back down and glared at Snape.
“It’s my responsibility to look after them all,” said Harry. “I failed tonight and Fred’s...gone. I won’t let anyone else get hurt--”
“You presume far too much responsibility, Potter,” Snape sneered. “I agree that Weasley’s death tonight was unnecessary, but I will not take the dignity away from his choice to dive headlong into one of your ill-conceived and poorly planned--”
“How far would you have Percy go, Professor?” Harry challenged. “How far will he need to go to prove his loyalty? Would you have Percy get that damned mark on his arm like yours?”
Snape glared at him and Harry knew he was restraining himself from lashing out against Harry.
His words were carefully chosen. “I would not wish that hell upon anyone, Mr. Potter.”
Harry ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt or...or dying. We’re too close to the end for people to take unnecessary risks.”
“Such as breaking into Gringotts?”
Harry’s shoulders fell. “That was necessary.”
“Then Weasley’s sacrifice was not in vain,” said Snape. “And you’re a fool if you think that this is only your war, Potter. You may be the center of the prophecy, but there are plenty more witches and wizards who have earned the right to stand up and fight.”
Harry sank back into his seat. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”
“I’d bet there’s a fair bit that you don’t know that happens, mate,” George said as he shuffled into the kitchen. His eyes were red and bloodshot, but his cheeks were dry.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at George. He nodded and looked down at the table.
“There are people fighting,” George continued. “Fred and I met loads of them doing our potions. There’s even a publication going around--deep underground stuff even The Quibbler doesn’t touch. Bet you didn’t know that?”
“I had no idea,” Harry said.
George took an open spot next to Tonks and pulled an empty glass toward himself, upending the bottle of Firewhiskey until he’d drained it. “It’s not well written, mind you, but it’s out there. They give tips on how to get what you need without the Ministry knowing--medical supplies, potions, basic needs, stuff like that. And they tell people how to avoid getting tangled up with the Snatchers. Even use pictures when they can. Malfoy’s has been a regular lately, warning people to stay away from the pissy little prat. There’s also ads for people who can hide you or get you out of the country, if need be.”
Harry goggled at George. He’d had no idea any of that was going on. “Who…?”
George gave a little shrug. “Nobody knows, do they?”
Harry suspected that George knew very well who was publishing the paper but was unwilling to say.
“How have none of us ever heard about this before now?” Sirius asked.
“Well, you aren’t that well connected, I’d say,” George said, a hint of smugness in his tone. “Plus, you’ve got to know the secret, or the thing looks like publication about potions.”
“Potions Watch?” Tonks asked. “I’ve seen it all over and figured it was some new advertising campaign by the Ministry to ease people into buying regulated potions again, rather than making their own.”
“Right in one,” said George as he sipped at his drink. “When you know the charm, then you know the secrets held inside. And, in a way, I guess it is advertising, too. Some people are pants at making their own potions.” He glanced over his shoulder at Snape, who had gone back to hovering in the shadows of the room. “We had loads of people looking for things.”
“Your marks were below adequate,” Snape said. “If I remember correctly, only one of you achieved an O.W.L. at all.”
“Only needed to be one of us, didn’t it?” George said. His words were laced with heavy emotion and seemed to float above the table for a moment. “Besides, I never said we made the stuff, only sold it. We had our suppliers. But I suppose that’s over now.”
“You could always do it by mail order,” said Hermione.
George’s face lit up a little and he gave a nod. “An idea to consider.”
Ginny cleared her throat and turned to Harry. “We need to break the charm, Harry. People have to know.”
“I agree,” said Hermione. “It’s time.”
“We have to find the bloody thing first,” grumbled Ron.
Bill cleared his throat. “I suddenly find myself with an abundance of time on my hands. I’ll be going out as soon as…” He trailed off and pressed his lips to Fleur’s silky hair.
“Right,” said Harry. “We break the charm, and then...and then we go after the bloody snake.”
Xxxxx
Harry lay in bed hours later, Ginny curled in his arms. He couldn’t seem to sleep, no matter how tired he was.
Fred would be laid to rest behind the Burrow tomorrow and then...they’d move on. He’d at least convinced the Weasleys to move to Grimmauld Place, in case the ramifications of what had happened in Diagon Alley and Gringotts came back to them. He couldn’t stand the thought of another Weasley being taken from his life.
Ginny was restless against him. She kept rolling, trying to find a comfortable spot, and then he’d hear her sniffling start again.
He didn’t know what to say to bring her any comfort and couldn't find the words for himself, either.
Finally, she rolled in his embrace and sat up on her elbow, looking down at him. “Harry…” But she didn’t say anything else, only leaned into him and pressed her lips to his in a hungry sort of kiss. Harry allowed it to continue, even took it further, before pulling back.
“Ginny, I...”
“Don’t stop, Harry.” She pulled and tugged at him until Harry was on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress.
“Your family,” he murmured between kisses. “They’re down the hall…”
“Don’t care.” Ginny’s hands were everywhere: in his hair, up the back of his pajama shirt, down into his trousers. And her lips were as busy.
Harry wasn’t sure why this wasn’t the best idea she’d had in forever, but something nagged at the back of his mind until a thought floated forward--Fred’s body was in the bedroom above them. It was like a blast of cold water to Harry’s libido and he pulled back.
“Fred.”
Ginny blinked up at him. “Harry…”
“How can we do this?” Harry lifted himself off and sat on the edge of the bed. “Your brother just…”
“I know what happened,” she snapped as she sat up next to him and ran her hands through her hair to tame the tangles.
They were both quiet for a long time before Harry took her hand in his. “I love you, Ginny, I just don’t think I can...not right now.”
Ginny burst into tears and Harry gathered her to him. “All I can think about is the fact that it could have been you, Harry.”
His heart twisted and he pulled her closer to him, laying them back against the pillows. “Shhh.”
“And I feel like a horrible person because...because when Bill appeared with Fred...with him...like that… I was terrified for a moment that it was you he was carrying. You and Fred wear the same shoes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t think of it before,” she said with a sniffle. “I saw those shoes and...and I died a little inside. And then...it wasn’t you and I felt… Merlin, Harry, what kind of sister am I that I was relieved!? My brother… But it wasn’t you.”
Harry didn’t care that her tears were wetting the front of his shirt, or that she’d used it to wipe her nose on, either.
“I can’t imagine what that felt like,” he said.
“The whole time you were in the bank...I kept thinking...what if that morning was our last goodbye…”
And now Harry understood the desperation in Ginny’s kisses and touches. She’d been making sure he was real, communicating with him in the only way she felt was possible in that moment.
He kissed her. “I’m okay,” he murmured. “And I’m here.”
Ginny responded by pulling him back on top of her. “Then show me.”
Chapter 26: Chapter 26
“The daring daylight assault on Gringotts Bank on Wednesday was the work of a rogue group with undesirable motives toward overthrowing the Ministry of Magic,” newly-appointed Ministry Spokesman, Percy Weasley told The Daily Prophet reporters in an announcement Thursday evening. Weasley said that the Ministry strongly condemns the action as undermining the delicate relationship between Wizardkind and Goblins.
When contacted by The Daily Prophet for a statement, Head Goblin Banker, Bogrod, informed reporters that while the bank itself had been breached, no vaults had been compromised and nothing was stolen. “Wizards and witches should not be afraid to keep their trust in Gringotts,” he said, “we are as sound as ever and will continue protecting your treasures.” He declined to comment on the breakdown of security which allowed two wizards and one witch to make it into the vault area of the bank. However, he did vow that “It won’t happen again!”
The Ministry has identified the three suspects as Sirius Black, former escapee from Azkaban, Harry Potter, his godson and former Auror with the Ministry, as well as current Auror, Nymphadora Tonks. Warrants for their arrests have been issued and anyone with information on their whereabouts, or their known associates, is urged to come forward. Anonymity of those wishing to assist the Ministry is assured.
Some have defended the action by claiming that the three were actually Dragon-Rights Activists intent on making sure that the dragons used by Gringotts to secure their oldest and largest vaults were well-treated. Others claim that the three are working for a secret organization earlier identified in an untrustworthy tabloid weeks ago as having evil intentions to take over the Ministry. Yet, some are of the opinion that the thieves were actually fighting Ministry corruption which already exists.
“Foolishness,” Percy Weasley said when questioned about the theories. “These individuals should be considered dangerous subversives and treated as such. The Ministry is putting every effort into finding and punishing these outlaws, rest assured. Their actions will not go unpunished.”
When questioned whether the Ministry believed rumors that other Wizards had helped the three perpetrators escape, Weasley denied all knowledge and called it “nothing but a rumor”. He urged people to get their news from reputable and approved sources, such as The Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless News Network (WWNN), rather than believe rogue publications and common gossip. “Wizardkind can put their faith in this Ministry to do what is right and what is just. Magic over Might.”
Weasley’s use of the new Ministry motto signaled the end of the press statement and he released sketches of the perpetrators, indicating that the public should be on the watch for them and notify Magical Law Enforcement immediately if they are spotted.
“Well, that’s us, I suppose,” Harry mumbled after he’d finished reading the article. He scrunched his nose as he peered at the suspect sketches of himself and Tonks. Sirius’ old wanted poster had been used alongside the drawings.
“Doesn’t look much like you, love,” Ginny murmured.
“Looks just like him,” Sirius pointed out with a smirk. “And why even try with Tonks? She’ll change her appearance.”
“Not common knowledge,” Tonks pointed out with a smirk. “The Ministry put out a decree over a year ago that any witch or wizard with ‘special abilities’ was to register, but I never did. I’ve kept my abilities to myself over the years; people assume I’m good at charm work and I don’t correct them.” She unwound the bandages on her hands and Harry had to look away from the red, angry welts still there, even though they were looking better.
“If I didn’t know Percy was on our side,” said Ron as he reread the article, “I’d find a way to hex him with something awful.”
“It’s a good thing he’s not a complete prat,” Ginny murmured, “because he sure sounds like one in this.”
“He’s playing a part,” said Harry, even though he wasn’t completely sure. The idea of Percy embedded firmly in the Death Eater camp wasn’t comfortable in any circumstance. He had no idea how Mr. Weasley had agreed to be a part of this. Then again, as Snape had said, everyone had their own choices, didn’t they?
“I have to admit that I feel a little better knowing that there are three more of you relegated to hiding here in Grimmauld Place with me,” said Hermione with a smirk.
“We’re getting quite the collection of Ministry outcasts, aren’t we?” said Remus with a smirk. “The Ministry’s most wanted, dangerous creatures, those on You-Know-Who’s hit list… It seems a bit strange to lump us all together.”
“Wasn’t that how it was before?” Harry asked. “The Order seemed to be made up of the odds and ends witches and wizards who knew what was right, despite being all different.”
Remus’ eyebrows rose. “I suppose you are right about that.”
The levity of the moment faded as reality set in. Harry was a wanted man, now. The Ministry--which meant Voldemort--knew he was working to subvert authority. That would connect the dots back to the prophecy, wouldn’t it? Harry wanted more than anything to be able to talk with Dumbledore again, to voice his confusion and thoughts, and see where the wise old wizard would lead him.
Why hadn’t Voldemort come for him again after regaining his body? Why had Harry been able to live a relatively quiet life up until he’d discovered the truth about the Ministry?
Did the answer lay in the prophecy itself? Snape admitted to only overhearing part of it before he’d been caught, and only delivering that much to Voldemort. Was it possible that Voldemort feared Harry? It made sense when Harry thought about it, as Voldemort was still trying to get into the Department of Mysteries to get at the prophecy.
And why was Harry having visions and feeling the emotions of a psychotic Dark Lord? How were they connected?
None of it made sense to Harry and he tried to keep the worry at bay, but it was beginning to creep more and more into his mind.
“Knut for your thoughts,” Ginny whispered as she nudged his shoulder. They were seated at the kitchen table, but everyone had finished eating long ago.
Grimmauld Place was in a strange sort of limbo, stuck between mourning the death of Fred, dealing with the hurried burial at the Burrow, and trying to find a way to continue moving forward in their half-war. There were times when grief swamped the dark house, and others when it was a hive of activity.
“They’re worth more than that,” Harry responded with a forced smile. He took her hand in his and caressed the soft fingers. The callouses she’d had from riding a broom were beginning to fade. He ran his fingers over the area and wished he could take her riding again. “Thinking about what we need to do next.”
“Break the charm,” she said. They’d been talking about it for days, and both Bill and Fleur were spending all of their time now searching the list of sites for anything that might hint that the charm was anchored there.
“Yeah.”
“And destroy the cup.”
“Right.” Harry let out a deep breath. He hadn’t forgotten the cup, which was tucked in a corner of their bedroom, wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak and piled under a mass of dirty laundry. It’d been the first place Harry could stash it after returning and he hadn’t looked at it since.
“Let’s go,” he urged.
Ginny’s eyes went wide. “Right now?”
“Why not?”
“They’re a lot more people here now, Harry,” she said. “You remember what happened last time?”
Harry felt his cheeks flush at the rush of memories that came to him when they’d destroyed the last horcrux. “I think we can restrain--”
“Not that!” Ginny said, her own cheeks growing pink. “I mean...it was rather loud destroying it, and there are people here that don’t need to know everything we do.”
Harry nodded slowly. “You mean your Mum.”
Ginny grew even redder and her eyes narrowed. Harry had walked in on Ginny and her mother the other day having a blazing row about whether Ginny and Harry should be sharing a bed, and Mrs. Weasley warning Ginny that she was acting like a scarlet woman. They’d been walking on eggshells around each other since, exchanging tight, polite conversation.
“Her, too,” said Ginny. “But not everyone needs to know about--”
“Right.”
They looked at each other for a long minute and Harry could feel the curious glances of the others in the room.
“Then we’ll take it somewhere else,” he said. “The Burrow, or...or Shell Cottage...or that field where we used to fly.”
“That might work.”
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice broke through and Harry turned to look at her. “Is there something we need to know?”
He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “No, just...talking about--”
“Something private,” Ginny finished.
Hermione opened her mouth to ask another question, but Ron put his hand on her arm and gave a small shake of his head.
“Let them talk, Hermione. None of us gets enough privacy around this place.” The tips of his ears were bright red and Harry wondered if he hadn’t been the recipient of one of his mother’s lectures on proper behavior, also.
“It’s nothing pressing, Hermione,” Harry said. “Just something Ginny and I need to get done.”
“Alright,” Hermione finally agreed. She began clearing the table, still casting furtive glances their direction.
“Let’s go now,” said Ginny. “We don’t know how many more chances we’ll get.”
Harry nodded and helped clear his breakfast things away before he took Ginny’s hand and led her up to their bedroom. He began pulling clothing from the pile, feeling for the silky material of the Cloak against his fingers. Finally, he brushed it and pulled the cloth-covered up from the pile.
“Got the cup. Get the sword, will you?”
He heard her lift the mattress behind him and then a sharp exhale of breath. “Did you move it?!”
Harry spun on his heel and stared at the space where he’d put the Sword of Gryffindor. But it was gone.
“No! I haven't touched it!”
Ginny let the mattress flop back down and fell to her knees, peering under the bed, growing more and more frantic in her movements as she began searching their room.
Harry’s mind whirled. The sword was gone. He looked down at the cup, just visible when the cloak slipped away. How would they destroy the cup without it?!
“It’s not here!” Ginny said. She’d levitated the bed from the wall, scooting it to the center of the room, and then begun levitating other pieces of furniture in her search.
“Accio Sword!” Harry said in a faint voice. His heart hammered in his chest.
Nothing happened and Harry felt his stomach turn over.
“Who could have--”
“How could it have disappeared?” asked Harry.
Ginny let out a string of curse words and Harry was surprised her mother hadn’t heard through two closed doors and come running to wash her mouth out with a good Scourgify charm.
He slumped down to sit on the mattress and stared down at the cup. “How are we supposed to destroy this?” he asked.
“How am I supposed to know?!”
“I didn’t mean to ask you,” Harry said. “Just...thinking out loud.”
Ginny sat next to him, leaning on his shoulder. “Harry, I swear I didn’t--”
“I know. It’s not… I think the sword comes and goes when it’s needed.”
“Stupid sword,” Ginny growled. “We need it now.”
They sat together in the silence of the room, staring at the cup Harry held.
“What’re we going to do, Harry? We have to destroy it.”
“I know. I don’t… I’m trying to think how the others were destroyed. Maybe there’s another way.”
“We destroyed the locket with the sword,” mumbled Ginny.
“I don’t know how the tiara or ring were destroyed. Dumbledore never said.”
“The diary…” Ginny shook her head.
“Basilisk fang,” Harry said. They looked at each other as an idea bloomed in Harry’s mind. “We know where one of those is.”
“You mean...going back there? To the Chamber?”
“To Hogwarts and the Chamber.”
Xxxxx
“We need to talk to both of you,” Harry murmured to Ron as they watched Hermione and Remus discuss adding more locations to their search list.
Ron peered at Harry in the low light of the hallway. One eyebrow rose and he nodded. “Right. Give me a couple of minutes to pull Hermione away.”
Harry gave a nod. “We’ll be in our bedroom.”
Ron’s lips pressed together, and he must have guessed that whatever Harry had to say was serious.
Harry didn’t wait to see how Ron would distract Hermione, just turned on his heel and went back up the stairs. He found Ginny sitting on their bed, her legs tucked under her and their dream journals spread before her.
“What are you--”
“Just reading,” she murmured. “Trying to wrap my head around going back there.”
Harry nodded. He came to sit by her and glanced down at the handwriting on the pages, seeing words like ‘terrified’, ‘dark’, ‘despair’, ‘cold’, and ‘snake’ written there. A shudder passed through him.
“If there was any other way that I could think of...”
“Maybe Hermione can.”
“Maybe,” Harry agreed, but he was doubtful. It seemed fitting that they would somehow end up back at Hogwarts for all of this. And perhaps it was meant to be that they come full circle with the Chamber of Secrets, as well.
“Can you remember enough about it to get in?”
Harry sighed and rubbed at his forehead. The headaches had eased, but one was starting to form now. “Enough.”
Ginny laid her head on his shoulder and closed the journals. “I’m going back there with you.”
“Ginny.”
“This is not me being stubborn, Harry,” she said, “this is me working to overcome my fears and facing what happened to both of us in there. I may not remember everything, but I know enough to know that we both went through some pretty nasty experiences. I don’t want that haunting me for the rest of my life.”
Harry wanted to argue with her, wanted to tell her that she wasn’t going anywhere near that place ever again. The memory of her lying on the floor, pale enough for Harry to think she was dead, shook him now, years later. But he also knew he couldn’t stop her, and he didn’t want to; she had as much right to go after that fang as he did in order to destroy the horcrux and bring justice to Voldemort.
Instead of arguing, Harry kissed her forehead and pulled her tighter into him.
Ron and Hermione found them like that when they walked into the room.
“You wanted to talk to us, Harry?” Hermione said.
“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat and sighed. “We came up here to get the sword to destroy the cup.”
“Right.” Ron nodded. “That’s what we figured.”
“Only…”
“The sword is missing,” said Ginny.
Ron jumped in his chair, his eyes going wide. “Missing? You think someone stole it?!”
Harry held out his hand to shush his friend. They didn’t need anyone overhearing them. “No. I think the sword comes when we need it and goes when we don’t.”
“That makes sense,” muttered Hermione.
“And we don’t need it now?!”
Ginny growled at her brother. “Ron, keep your voice down. We don’t need Mum bursting in here.”
“Of course, we need it,” said Harry. “But...but there are other ways, too.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Other ways to destroy a horcrux? I thought you said you didn’t know enough about them to--”
“I remembered something that I missed last time,” admitted Harry. “We destroyed--”
“You destroyed,” corrected Ginny.
“--the diary with a basilisk fang.”
“Well, since it’s something easy to get,” Ron scoffed.
“We know where one is, Ron,” said Ginny.
“Bloody hell.”
Harry almost smirked because Hermione didn’t correct Ron for his language.
“Hogwarts?” asked Hermione
“Wait, you’re telling me that we survived breaking into and out of Gringotts, and now we have to break into Hogwarts?! Why not just break into the Ministry while we’re at it?!”
“We could,” said Ginny with a smirk, “but Hogwarts will do for now.”
“This is the last one, isn’t it, Harry?” Hermione asked. Her earnest eyes were weary, and Harry knew that being stuck and unable to help with more than research was wearing on her.
“Before the snake, yeah.”
“And how do we get the snake?” asked Ron. “It’s not like it’s locked away somewhere, and we just have to break in. You-Know-Who keeps it with him, doesn’t he?”
“From what I’ve heard, yeah,” said Harry.
“Alright,” Ron sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “We’ll deal with this one first, then.”
“How are we going to break into Hogwarts, Harry?” asked Hermione. “The Ministry has control over it, too. And that Witch is always there.” They’d all come to despise Dolores Umbridge and her weekly Educational Decrees announced in The Daily Prophet. Not to mention the little bits and pieces of news that escaped Hogwarts through the monitored mail.
“I don’t know yet,” said Harry. “Ginny and I hadn’t gotten that far before we knew we had to talk to you both.”
“It needs to be soon,” said Ginny. “Every day that we wait, the Ministry grows stronger. And I’m worried about the headaches and visions that Harry gets--”
Harry’s head whipped around, and he stared at her. “I’m fine!” They hadn’t discussed talking about this with others. Harry knew they knew about it, but he didn’t want to have them all asking him how he felt or worrying about him all the time. He’d survived this long without them analyzing his every move.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” said Hermione. “And I’m wondering if it’s your scar, Harry--”
“I’m fine!” Harry scowled.
“--you got it the night You-Know-Who tried to kill you. Perhaps it links the two of you in some way.”
Harry stood and nudged past Ron and Hermione, heading toward the door. “I don’t want to talk about it. We need to get planning.”
“You have to admit, Harry,” said Ron, “that it’s a little weird having him in your head.”
Harry rounded on his friend. “You think so, Ron?! A little weird?”
“Harry--”
“Don’t, Hermione,” snapped Harry. “Don’t waste time on this. If it is connected in some way, then it’ll end soon enough, right? If it’s not…” Harry bit off the words that were in his mouth; he couldn’t bring himself to say them. “It’ll resolve. Or maybe I’m really good at Divination and old Trelawny was wrong about me the entire time.”
“Alright, Harry,” Ginny said. “Let’s plan how we’re going to get into Hogwarts.”
Xxxxx
They couldn’t seem to agree on anything, and it was driving Harry mad. How had storming Gringotts seemed so much easier than getting into Hogwarts?!
It didn’t help that Harry’s headache was becoming more and more prominent, moving from a dull throb to a pounding that made his eyes cross. And the looks shot between his friends when they thought he wasn’t looking were making his skin crawl in annoyance. He tried to pretend he didn’t see, but it wasn’t easy.
“This would be so much easier if we could apparate--”
“Ron! You know--”
“I know, Hermione,” Ron said, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. “I just wish it was different.”
Their plans were spread out on the kitchen table, as Grimmauld Place was unusually deserted that afternoon. Harry didn’t even know where everyone was, but he was relieved to be able to escape the bedroom they’d been planning in. It was stuffy and cramped and Harry was tired of Hermione’s endless parchment plans covering every surface they weren’t actually sitting on.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to be extra intuitive about their planning and had found a hundred different reasons to interrupt or require Ginny or Hermione in some way. Harry was trying not to get frustrated with her, but he missed the days when they could stick their plans to the walls of the hallway or kitchen without having to hide them. It wasn’t that she disapproved of the actions they were taking, more that she always questioned whether they were necessary, or if they shouldn’t let the adults handle that particular part of it, completely forgetting that all of them were of age.
And Harry also missed being able to kiss Ginny anytime he wanted. Their love life had been relatively non-existent since the Weasleys had moved en-masse to Grimmauld Place. To put it bluntly, Harry was exhausted, in pain, and randy. Three very difficult things to work around.
“There has to be some other way to get inside,” said Ginny. They were searching a map that the twins had given Ginny before they left Hogwarts. Harry’d never seen it--something he planned to discuss with George one day--but it was bloody brilliant. “George said the tunnel behind the mirror on the fourth floor caved in years ago.”
“What about the one from Honeydukes?”
They’d been over this time and time again, and Harry was tired of hearing the same things.
“Can we skip over the part where we get in and get the damned fang?” Harry grumbled.
Hermione swung around on him. “Harry, getting in is the most dangerous part!”
“Really?” Harry snapped. “And you think destroying a bit of a mad-man’s soul is going to be a picnic?!”
“Quit bickering,” Ginny pleaded.
“Oi! Don’t speak to her like that!” Ron glared at Harry. “She’s only trying to help.”
“I just meant, Harry, that if we don’t have a way inside, then there’s little point in planning the rest of the mission.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, conceding the point. “I know, Hermione. And I’m sorry. I’m tired and--”
“And in pain.” Ginny gave him a sharp look.
“How about polyjuice?” Ron asked. “We snatch some little Frankie First Year from Hogsmeade and pretend to be him long enough to get into the castle.”
“First years can’t get into Hogsmeade, Ron,” Hermione pointed out.
“I know that,” Ron said. “Obviously, it’s going to be a third year, or higher. I just said Frankie First Year because--”
Talking over her brother, Ginny agreed. “The idea might work, but they’ve canceled all Hogsmeade visits, and we couldn’t wait for one, even if they hadn’t.”
“Hagrid could get us some hairs,” said Harry. He didn’t feel right about involving Hagrid without telling his friend what the stakes were, but he also knew that Hagrid wasn’t great about keeping secrets. Half the castle might know before they even stepped foot onto the grounds.
“Or McGonagall.”
Harry and Ron both snorted at Ginny’s suggestion. “Not strait-laced McGonagall,” said Ron. “She’d have us all in detention for even thinking it.”
“I’ll bet you’d be surprised,” said Hermione. “Let’s use that plan as a backup. It still doesn’t address the fact of how we would get inside the castle gates.”
“The path from the Whomping Willow is still open.”
They all turned to see Remus and Sirius standing in the doorway. Hermione flicked her wand and all their parchments curled into rolls and slid into her satchel.
Harry gaped at the two men. “How do you know--”
But Sirius shrugged casually and began helping himself to food from the cupboard. “We’ve been in and out of the castle more than anyone alive.”
“The tunnel was still open in your sixth year, Harry,” said Remus. He took a seat next to Hermione and, giving her a look, tugged one of the parchment scrolls from the bag to inspect. “It leads to the basement of Shrieking Shack. Not hard at all to get into that.”
Ron scoffed. “Except it’s haunted. Just what we need is some ghost--”
Sirius and Remus exchanged a smug look that Harry couldn’t read. “How d’you know about that tunnel?”
“I used it when I would transform,” said Remus. “Dumbledore had the shack built the year I was to begin classes. It was never haunted--”
“Only by four teenagers who were up to no good,” said Sirius. He took a seat next to Ginny, who eyed him carefully. Harry didn’t understand the look.
“Wait, you used to go there?” Harry asked.
“Me, your father, Peter, and Moony, here. Yes. That’s why we learned to be Animagi, to help Remus when he transformed. Our school days were spent figuring out every way to break the rules that we could. That’s why we called ourselves--”
“The Marauders,” Ginny said, in awe. “Wormtail, Padfoot, Moony, and Prongs.”
Sirius’ eyes went wide as he stared at her. “How did you--”
She lifted the map that she’d tucked under her leg when they’d come in. “You made this.”
Remus snatched it from her hands and poured over it, his eyes running back and forth over the surface. “Where did you get this?”
“Fred and George nicked it from Filch’s office their first year while they were serving detention,” said Ginny. “They gave it to me before they left, but I didn’t use it at all. I was sort of bothered by how much it seemed like the diary. I completely forgot I had it, to be honest.”
“Makes sense,” said Ron, “with the memory charm on us all.”
A strange sort of silence settled around the table as Harry took it all in. His father had been a mischief maker along with his friends, and the fruits of their labors had been sitting in Ginny’s school trunk all this time.
“That might work, Harry,” said Hermione. “We can get to the Shack, at least. Honeydukes was a risk, with the Aurors and Snatchers patrolling constantly.”
“Then we transform using polyjuice and hair from a student, get onto the grounds,” Ginny continued, “and then get to the Chamber.”
“What chamber?” Remus asked.
“The Chamber of Secrets,” Harry told them. Sirius met his gaze and something deep passed between them. Harry had a feeling it was respect.
“It seems, Moony, that our map isn’t as complete as we thought it was.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Remus but was cut off by the loud crack of someone apparating into the kitchen. Harry pulled his wand and pointed it at Bill Weasley, who stood with his hands out in front of him and a grin on his face.
“I’ve found it, Harry.”
Chapter 27: Chapter 27
Harry gaped, not believing what he was hearing. He moved forward as Ginny launched at Bill, clinging to him in celebration.“Really? Bill, you’ve found it?”
“Positive,” he told them. “Fleur and I split up today, each taking a few locations. We’re getting down to the last few on the list and I--”
Harry let out a long breath, almost forgetting the pain in his head as he realized how close they were to the end. “Where?” he interrupted. “Where is it?”
“The damned Merlin statue,” Bill scoffed.
Harry lowered to sit at the table as the rest of the room erupted in celebration. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder and Harry gave him a half-smile. Ginny hugged him, moved on, and then hugged him again.
“Isn’t that great, Harry?” Ron asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” A heaviness settled in his heart and Harry tried to force it away. “It’s great.”
“Now we can break the charm,” said Hermione, “and people will join us.”
But Harry wasn’t so sure. It had been years since people were allowed to think for themselves about the truth and he wasn’t sure that the average witch and wizard would believe that someone like Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and deceived them all. It wasn’t an easy truth to hear.
It wasn’t until hours later, while he and Ginny were making love to celebrate, that Harry grew aware of why he was feeling so melancholy about the whole thing. With the end looming, Harry wasn’t sure if he could actually kill Voldemort and save the Wizarding World. As he looked down at Ginny, stared into her deep eyes, lit with blazing passion for him, he realized that he was on the verge of saying goodbye. And he wasn’t ready.
Xxxxx
He watched as Ginny pulled the hat she wore down tighter to cover her bright hair. It was raining again, and Harry was thankful for it. It was easier to avoid eyes that might question or even look twice at them. In the rain, people pulled their collars up and hats down, or hid beneath umbrellas.
They joined the crowd exiting the Tube at Holborn Station and walked down the street, trying to blend in. Bill had said he would meet them on the grounds of the museum after approaching from another direction. Fleur had stationed herself nearby, in disguise, and had been watching the statue since they’d discovered that it was the anchor for the memory charm.
Harry wasn’t comfortable with her being such a visible part of their defiance, but anytime he thought about arguing he remembered Snape’s words about taking people’s choices from them. Fleur knew the consequences and was making a choice to be an active member of the Order of the Phoenix. Who was Harry to say that she couldn’t?
Rain dripped from the brim of Harry’s hat, running down the back of his neck and making him shiver.
“Alright?”
Ginny’d known something was wrong but seemed to be letting him work things out in his mind before pushing. Harry appreciated it; he didn’t think he could articulate it, anyway.
“Fine.”
Her eye caught his as she looked up at him and Harry tightened the grip on her hand. “Let’s get this over with. Once the spell’s broken, he’ll know, and we’ll need to get into Hogwarts before he finds us.”
Ginny took a breath to say something more, but only nodded instead.
Harry kept his eyes looking ahead as much as possible. He scanned the streets for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. If the Order was watching the British Museum, then the Ministry would be, as well. Would he be able to recognize a witch or wizard out in the Muggle world? He had no idea, but Moody’s repeated ‘constant vigilance’ came to mind often enough.
Tucked up against him, Harry could feel Ginny’s wand pressed against his ribs, keeping them covered from the front. Ron was somewhere behind them, disguised with a great bulbous, red nose and straw-colored hair, while Hermione had come to the Museum earlier this morning in disguise and was touring it as a Muggle, keeping a watch out the windows that overlooked the statue, positioned on the lawn.
As they came to the corner and the museum came into sight, Harry hissed a foul word under his breath. Across the street stood a great bear-like black dog, looking like a Grim portending death to unsuspecting Muggles.
“I told him to stay away,” Harry growled.
Ginny sighed and shook her head. “As if he was going to listen, Harry.”
He glared at the dog as they passed, and Sirius looked the other way but stayed put on the corner.
“Let’s do this,” Ginny said as she tugged on Harry’s arm.
The statue stood to the side of the British Museum, in a small open area, overlooked by two other buildings. Harry vaguely remembered coming here for school once, but he’d spent most of the trip hiding from Dudley and his gang, who’d threatened to flush his head down a toilet if they saw him lurking nearby. He didn’t remember much of the museum exhibits at all.
The rain was driving most patrons of the museum inside; they ran up the stairs, past the scattered bystanders and benches, and ducked in out of the rain while shaking off hats, slickers, and umbrellas.
Harry and Ginny ventured toward the front of the museum and then past, into the area which contained the statue.
Another man was there, trying to hide a museum map under a great umbrella and failing as the paper sagged with water.
Harry led Ginny around the statue until they’d circled the entire thing and stood staring up at it.
The pewter effigy was large, towering over Harry and adorned with a great crown of antlers, carrying a staff. The famed sword, Excalibur, was immortalized in a stone in front of the Mage.
“Rather impressive, isn’t it?” The man who had been holding the umbrella asked. Harry glanced at him and then back again as the man winked at him.
“Rather,” Harry replied to Bill.
“There’s an inscription ‘round the back.” He pointed toward the far side of the statue and Harry moved to read it, Ginny always on the watch.
“In honor of Merlin Ambrosius, a character of myth and legend found first in Historia Regum Britanniae, the works of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Merlin is considered a historical figure of King Arthur’s famed Camelot Court by some, nothing more than fiction by others. Please visit our Special Collection Display: Wizards and Magic, Myth and Legend to learn more,” Harry read.
“Merlin was no myth,” Ginny said. “He’s long thought to be the first Metamorphmagus, you know. Mum used to tell us stories all the time about him.”
“Muggles don’t know that,” Harry pointed out. He peered closer at the inscription, only seeing the faint shape of a rune behind it. To most, it would seem a design in the base of the statue itself, but Harry followed the lines of it with his eyes, seeing the outline of other runes along the edges. He moved his finger following along the carving.
“This is it,” he confirmed as he came around to where Bill was standing.
“How do you know?” Bill asked. His face was disguised behind a beard and transfigured nose, but there was no mistaking those crystal blue eyes.
“I can feel it,” said Harry. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him. The magic rippled across his skin, tugging and pulling, urging him to move away.
“Me too.”
“I don’t feel a thing,” Ginny said, “except the urge to get this done. Break the curse, already.”
“It won’t be easy,” Bill said. “It’s strong magic; the most complex matrix I’ve seen in a very long time.”
“Can it be done?”
Bill looked at the statue, chewing on the corner of his lip for a moment before giving a nod. “Yeah. But it may take both of us, and we’ll be exposed, vulnerable.”
Harry looked around, watching people come and go. The museum was busy enough that two men holding wands at a highly visible piece of art would be very conspicuous.
“Good thing I brought something to help with that,” Harry said. He patted his pocket where the Invisibility Cloak was tucked. Next to it was Dumbledore’s wand and the ring with the cracked stone. Ginny’d made sure he brought them all with him.
“I don’t like leaving Ginny out here alone,” Bill said. “Fleur’s upstairs in the section that’s closed off, but even through the windows it’s not a direct line of sight.”
“There are others here,” said Harry. His stomach twisted and he looked around once more. Ron was seated not far away, a scruffy overcoat pulled up high around his neck and a hat crammed over his transfigured hair. Padfoot had wandered down the street and was lifting his leg on a lamp post nearby. Harry nudged Ginny and tilted his head in that direction, causing Ginny to snort.
“I’m going to bring that up for years,” she muttered.
“Let’s get this done,” Harry said. “I feel too exposed.”
“Be safe,” Ginny pleaded with one last squeeze of Harry’s hand. She took the map Bill had been holding and sat near the statue on a ledge that surrounded a bit of soggy grass. Bill and Harry walked away, disappearing around the edge of the building. Before Bill could ask Harry any questions, Harry swirled the cloak over them both.
“Can I ask where you got this?” whispered Bill as they slid along the edge of the building.
“A wizard never tells,” Harry answered back with a smirk. He worried about their feet showing, since they were taller, and the cloak didn’t cover them completely. Testing it at Grimmauld Place had proved that they could do it if they stooped down.
Slowly, they inched toward the statue, freezing when a group of noisy school children in uniforms and rain slickers came close, their welly’s squelching in the puddles. One boy hovered outside the view of his teacher, who was talking over the chatter, and almost bumped into them, but was called to rejoin the group in the nick of time.
“Too close,” Bill breathed once the group had moved on.
Inch by painful inch they moved forward until Harry could touch the base of the statue. “Tell me what to do.”
“I’ll start removing the protective layers then tell you when I need you to join in. Remember breaking that curse at Spinner’s End?”
“Yeah.”
“That was child’s play compared to this one, but the same concept.”
“Perfect.” Harry sighed and looked over at Ginny, who appeared to be studying the map closely. Only her eyes would dart about here and there every few seconds.
He hated leaving her vulnerable, but she was the only one protecting them at this point. And, she was prepared to add her magic, if necessary, to break the curse.
Bill began to chant beneath his breath and Harry could feel the magic building next to him. His hair stood up along the back of his neck and down his arms. His head began to throb, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind and watched as the runes began to pulse and glow.
“Now, Harry.”
His wand joined Bill’s, pressed into the large rune at the center of the inscription. A jolt of magic raced up Harry’s arm and his wand began to burn against his skin. Bill’s chanting became louder as ward after ward began to fall away.
A flash of black darted past them and Padfoot nearly took out Harry’s knees. A loud squeal sounded, and Harry looked away for a moment, seeing Sirius with a creature clenched in his jaws, struggling. It was a rat! Another shape joined the fight and Harry saw Remus latch onto Sirius and apparate away, taking the struggling rat with them.
“Harry!” Bill hissed. “I need you!”
Harry closed his eyes and pictured the rune in his mind, saw the edges of it flake away, as the magic crumbled beneath the weight of their combined efforts. His body began to shake, and Bill sagged against him. Harry tried to hold him upright, but his own knees knocked together. The edges of his vision sparked with light and he pressed them tight, feeling the magic pulse through him.
“I think…I think we need some blood,” Bill said.
“Blood?” Harry stared down at the runes that were glowing, edges of fire outlining them. “Like…”
“I’ll cut my hand.”
“No,” said Harry. “It needs to be mine.” He wasn’t sure how he knew, other than it felt right to suggest it. With his free hand, Harry reached into his pocket and drew out Dumbledore’s wand. He made a small cut his arm, just above the wrist, and watched as the blood pooled and dripped out. Tucking the wand away, he dipped his fingers into it and then smeared it over the two brightest runes.
“That’s enough,” said Bill. His voice was growing more distant and Harry imagined him drifting away, even though he could feel Bill leaning on him.
“Hold on, Harry.”
Ginny’s voice came from beside him and he could feel her arms supporting him. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard Fleur speaking to Bill in the soft cadence of French.
They were completely exposed, and the pops of apparition surrounded them but there was no way to break off now. Harry couldn’t have lifted his wand if Voldemort himself stood in front of them. Blood from the cut on his arm trickled down his hand and onto the wand, making it slick in his grip.
“Almost,” Bill said through gritted teeth.
Spellfire lit up around them and Harry glanced about to see the Order battling with Death Eaters. Ginny was pressed to his back, shoulder to shoulder with Fleur, as they defended their loves.
The curse fell away with a sound like the ringing of a loud bell. Harry fell to his knees and Bill slumped against him. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to shake all over. Harry wrapped his arms around the man and prepared to leave.
“Go, Ginny!” he yelled. He didn't want to leave her, but Bill was completely vulnerable. Others were there to protect her. With one last glance, Harry apparated to Grimmauld Place.
Mrs. Weasley and Snape were waiting when they arrived into the entrance hall. Harry collapsed under the weight of Bill. His knees smashed into the black and white tile, and he just managed to keep Bill’s head from crashing into the wall.
“He’s alright,” he told Snape when the man lurched forward to catch them. “He’s alive.”
“Thank Merlin!” Mrs. Weasley wailed. She leapt into action, prying Bill from Harry’s grip and levitating him down the hallway to the Drawing Room. Harry’s arms flopped to the floor and the edges of his vision grew dark. Strong arms wrapped around his chest and Harry winced as he was lifted off the floor.
“’lo, Harry.”
A smile tilted his lips as his head leaned back against a set of broad shoulders. “Neville.”
“Ginny sent word that you might need some help today. I got here a bit late, but--”
“You came.” Harry let out a sigh of relief that disappeared in the next moment. “Ginny! I left her there!”
“Ginny’s fine, Harry,” said Neville. “She’s just arrived back, spitting fire and curse words for everyone to hear.”
Harry laughed, almost hysterically, until the darkness pulled him under.
Xxxxx
The room was dark, and Harry peered into it, trying to decide where he was. Rows and rows of empty chairs like a theater stretched before him as he stood in the middle of the room and looked at them. Anger burned beneath his skin. Everything was falling apart. He’d been so careful in planning his return, but it was all ruined now.
“It was the Potter boy, my lord.”
Harry looked down to see a massive man with long blonde hair cowering in front of him. Harry hated the sight of him, hated the words that dripped with veiled disdain and contempt.
“And you let him escape?” Harry sneered. “More failures. Tell me, Rowle, have previous failures not taught you to succeed when the Dark Lord gives you a task.”
Despite Rowle’s size, Harry could feel him recoil.
“I was not in time, Master,” Rowle pleaded. “The failure is that of Pettigrew’s. He didn’t raise the alarm fast enough.”
Harry fingered his wand, feeling the smooth surface of the wood. “And where is our friend Wormtail?”
“Captured, my lord. A great dog grabbed him as he ran to stop Potter from breaking the curse.”
“Harry Potter,” Harry sneered, “has become more than an annoyance lately, has he not? Have you found Bellatrix, Rowle?”
The large man nearly quivered. “N-no, my lord. There is no sign of her. Her husband… He thinks she’s dead.”
A seething anger flooded Harry but he tamped the feeling down. He’d suspected as much. Could Potter be blamed for that, as well?
Rowle continued, “We suspect, after interrogating the Goblins, that Potter was involved with the Gringotts break-in, also. And he got inside the vault.”
There was only one reason for Potter to get into the Lestrange Vault. He must know. Somehow.
“Harry Potter seems to be everywhere, doesn’t he? In fact, Harry Potter...is here.”
Harry awoke with a jolt and pressed his hand to his scar to try and stop the burning. He gasped in great gulps of air and reached for the rubbish bin in case he lost the battle to keep his stomach calm.
Thankfully, the pain began to recede, and Harry was able to open his eyes and wipe the wetness away. The door was open to his bedroom and Ginny peeked in, eyes going wide when she saw him sitting on the side of the bed.
“Harry! Are you--”
“M’okay,” he said. “Bad dream. How long have we been back?” The room was still light, and Ginny was wearing the same clothing as when they’d gone to the museum.
“An hour.”
Harry stood, swaying when his knees grew weak. “Need to get to Hogwarts. He knows.”
Ginny jumped to his side and wrapped her arm around his back to support him. “He knows?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
With a heavy sigh, Harry nodded. “Had another dream. He knew I was there. He’s very angry. I...I could feel it.”
Ginny clung to him and her forehead pressed against his chest. “We’re not ready,” she mumbled. “We still need a way into Hogwarts.”
“I don’t think it matters much anymore,” Harry said. He held her to him and tried to gather his thoughts. Remnants of the dream and the emotions he’d felt were warring inside him, making him dizzy. “We need to destroy the cup before he finds us.”
She looked up at him and something heavy passed between them. Ginny pressed up on her toes, kissing him urgently, her hands twisting into the shirt he wore. “I’m not ready,” she mumbled against his lips.
“I know, but--”
“Stop saying goodbye to me,” she begged. Her eyes were fiery, flashing with emotion. “I know that’s what you’re doing. Last night… I can’t bear it, Harry. You’re not leaving me. We’re going to destroy this horcrux, kill the snake, and then kill him. And then…”
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, even though he wasn’t sure it would work that way. “Right.”
“And we’re going to be happy.” Her words were broken, torn from her lips. Harry pulled her impossibly closer, tucking her head under his chin.
“I want that for you, Ginny, and I’m going to do my best.”
“For both of us,” Ginny corrected. She kissed him one last time and let her hands fall away, sliding down his arms to grasp his hands. “Come on. Let’s go tell them it’s time.”
Harry let her lead him down the stairs to the kitchen, where many of the Order were seated. The ripples of quiet conversation died when he and Ginny entered, and Harry thought a sort of new respect shown in their eyes.
“There he is,” Mr. Weasley said, a warm smile gracing his lips. He clapped Harry lightly on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Good to see you again, Harry, my boy. You and Bill…”
“How is Bill?” Harry asked. He looked over Mr. Weasley’s shoulder, not seeing Bill or Fleur in the room.
“Exhausted,” said Mr. Weasley. “Molly his him upstairs in our bedroom. Whatever that spell that was the two of you broke drained the energy right out of him.”
“I understand completely,” Harry said, a wry smile breaking out. “Everyone else?”
“Fine,” Mr. Weasley said. “For the most part, anyway. A few bumps and bruises.”
“Remus? Sirius?”
Mr. Weasley’s expression darkened as the smile fell away. “Haven’t heard yet, I’m afraid. They--”
“Went after Wormtail, yeah. I saw,” said Harry.
“We have to trust that they’ll be fine, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said. He gave Harry’s shoulder one more squeeze, pressed a kiss to Ginny’s forehead, and then moved past them to speak with Moody, who was studying some sort of map.
“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks said as she came up beside him. “Some mess back there, yeah?”
“Alright?” Harry asked her.
She glanced down at her scarred hands and then tucked them away in the pockets of her robes. “Yeah. They still work.” She gave him a wink, but he could see the worry etched in her expression. No doubt she was just as concerned about Remus as Harry was. “Did the job back there, at least.”
“Thank you for coming.” Harry remembered seeing her in his peripheral vision while he and Bill had been working to break the curse.
“That’s what I do, Harry,” she said. “I...I had no idea how much that damned curse had suppressed, though. There are things…” Her voice faded away and Harry nodded in understanding.
“Are people remembering now?”
“Loads,” Tonks said. “I know things I had no idea about. Things I did while I was with the Aurors…”
“You can’t blame yourself, Tonks,” Ginny said. “They were controlling us all.”
Tonks sniffed and seemed to mentally tuck it away. Her expression hardened and her shoulders straightened. “What’s next?”
“Ready for more action?” Ron asked as he came to join them.
“Ready for this to be over,” Tonks corrected. “They’ve robbed us of enough.”
“Right,” said Harry. He turned to Ron, trying to communicate that they needed to get moving. “We have something we need to do, and then…”
“And then we end this,” said Ginny.
“Breaking into Hogwarts,” Tonks said with a nod. “Remus told me.”
Harry ground his teeth together, annoyed that Remus hadn’t kept their mission quiet.
“Don’t get that look,” Tonks warned. “He thought you might need some help with a few things. And it’s a good thing I know, since he’s not here to tell you the plan.” Her scowl returned, but Harry could see the worry in her eyes, also.
“You’re going in through the willow, right?”
“That was what we talked about,” said Ginny.
“There’s a knot at the base of the tree, just as you come out of the hole. Press it and it’ll freeze the limbs. Otherwise, you’ll be pummeled. It was a security measure that Dumbledore put in to keep people safe from Remus.”
Harry nodded and some of the frustration slipped away. “Now we just have to figure out how to get into the castle from there.”
“Use the greenhouses,” said Neville, who slipped into the circle next to Ron. “Professor Sprout locks them up when she’s not there, but I know the password to get in.”
“If she hasn’t changed it,” Ron pointed out.
“She hasn’t. I used to go up there loads to deliver plants and even taught a few of her classes when she was out with Dragon Pox. Haven’t been up there for a few weeks but it’ll be the same password.”
“Cheers, Neville,” Harry said. The man standing across from him was no longer the pudgy, unsure boy who they’d gone to school with, and Harry realized that everyone had gone through trials the past few years that had changed them.
Neville gave a nod. “Anyway, I’m going with you.”
“We don’t need an army,” Ginny pointed out. “We’re not taking over, just need something that the castle can provide.”
“Since none of you knows the security provisions that Umbridge has put in place,” Neville pointed out, “you’ll need me. I’ve been in the castle loads of times.”
Harry and Ginny shared a look and then a nod. “That makes Harry, me, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, then,” said Ginny.
“I’ll marshal the troops outside, then, shall I?” asked Tonks. “You’ll need a diversion. Hogsmeade is overrun with Death Eaters and while you have a plan for getting into the castle, I’m betting you don’t have one for getting out.”
Harry felt his face heat. He opened his mouth to respond, but Ron beat him to it.
“Hermione does,” he said. “We’d planned to go down the Honeydukes tunnel, but we will need a way out of Hogsmeade, because they’ve put up anti-apparition wards.” He flushed when Harry stared at him wide-eyed. “The owner of Gladrags used to be one of my best customers,” Ron explained. “We’ve kept in touch after I left, and he’s told me about the occupation. At first, it was just Aurors and Regulators--”
“Same thing as Death Eaters,” Ginny grumbled.
“Not all,” said Tonks. “Some were deceived, and some...well, people have their reasons for being there. You can’t judge anyone until you know.”
“Right,” said Harry, “but there came a point when the scales tipped and those who know made their choices.”
Tonks tilted her head in agreement at that point. “At any rate, I’m going to help you get out of Hogsmeade.”
“What’s your plan?” Harry asked.
“You just worry about your end of things, Harry,” she said. “You’ll see what I have planned once you reach Honeydukes.”
Harry didn’t like her patronizing tone, but he let it slide, choosing to focus instead on the task before them.
“Where is Hermione?”
“She went to check on her parents,” said Ron. “When the charm broke...well, she said she needed to see them again. It’s been weeks and--”
“And you let her go alone?” Ginny asked.
Ron flushed. “She apparated right there and should be back any minute. She’ll be fine.”
Snape’s long arm entered their circle, holding a steaming goblet before Harry’s nose. “A restorative potion, Potter. Whatever it is the five of you are planning, you should make sure you can at least walk upright the entire time.”
Harry bit back a snarky comment and accepted the goblet, looking down at the sludgy concoction that it held. It was a putrid green color and a low sizzle could be heard from it. He looked over the rim of it to his old professor, their eyes meeting for a long minute before Harry tipped it into his mouth, grimacing at the taste.
“That was disgusting,” he muttered after finishing it all. But he couldn’t argue with the results. A wave of energy rippled through him and he felt as if he’d just woken from the best sleep he’d ever had.
Snape eyed him carefully. “Do you need me to heal your arm?”
“I can heal the cut,” he said, “it’s nothing.”
“Yes. Blood magic is nothing but a trifle.” There was a strange shadow to Snape’s tone, but Harry couldn’t place it.
Harry touched his wand to the tip of the red mark and watched as the skin laced together when he pictured the rune for healing. It wasn’t precise, and he’d likely have a scar, but what was one more?
“Thank you,” he said to Snape.
“You’re welcome.” Snape took the goblet back and Harry had the feeling that he’d knew exactly what they were planning, why they were planning it, and many other dark secrets that Harry would rather have kept to himself. He left the kitchen much the same as he’d come in--silently and in the shadows.
“Still don’t trust that git,” Ron grumbled under his breath.
“Leave off,” Ginny warned him. “We’ve got far bigger battles ahead of us.”
“Let’s gather what we need,” Harry said. “I want to leave in the next ten minutes.”
Chapter 28: Chapter 28
The plan wasn’t solid in his mind, but that didn’t bother Harry as much as it should have. Besides, all their plans usually fell apart, anyway.When they arrived in the Shrieking Shack, Harry looked around and decided that he was glad he’d never considered coming here before. It was filthy; dust and dirt coated every surface of the torn up, broken furniture. Rags and bits of ripped fabric lay scattered on the floor. He tried to imagine the violence that must have taken place here when Remus would transform before the Wolfsbane Potion was available to him and it made him shudder.
“Remus said the entrance was in the basement,” Ginny urged.
Harry shook the thoughts away and focused on what they would need to do to get into the school. His head didn’t hurt for the first time in months, and Harry decided that it was because Voldemort was blocking him out. The last vision he’d had made Voldemort fully aware of this strange connection between them and he was now doing something to stop it from happening. It was a relief.
“Let’s go,” said Harry. “I’m not sure how much time we’ll have, and we still need to figure out how to get past Umbridge.”
Neville let out a low growl. “That woman…”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Hermione. She’d arrived back from checking on her parents moments before they’d departed Grimmauld Place. Harry wished there was time to talk to her more; she looked pale and distracted since returning and he wondered if the release of the memory charm had caused it.
Ron led the way down a narrow set of stairs and toward a door that was barred from the inside. He removed the boards that secured it and opened up a web-infested tunnel. “Spiders,” he mumbled with a sigh. “Always spiders.”
“Budge up,” Ginny said. She used her cleaning charm again and the spiderwebs spun into a ball before disappearing.
Harry held his wand out and let a beam of light shine down the dark shaft. More webs decorated it.
“Could be worse,” Neville mumbled. “At least there aren’t spiders hanging from them.”
Ron glared at him and stood back to allow Neville and Harry to go first into the tunnel. “Remember the knot at the base,” he said, “I’d hate for you to get walloped by that damned tree.”
Neville smirked and nodded. “Cheers, Ron.”
They walked down the tunnel, stooped over because it wasn’t tall. Harry cleared the webs and Neville held his wand up for light. Harry could feel Ginny’s hand pressed on his low back and hear Ron’s shuffling steps bringing up the rear. Hermione must be just after Ginny, he decided.
“Students should be at supper now,” Neville said. “Might be the easiest time to get in, actually.”
“I’m sure there have to be enchantments to let them know someone is in the castle who isn’t supposed to be,” said Hermione.
“It doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History?” Harry asked.
“No,” Hermione answered waspishly.
“Yeah, well, you’re in the presence of someone who is allowed inside,” Neville reminded her. “Or, I was, at least.”
“Mum was contacting Professor McGonagall,” Ginny informed them. Harry glanced over his shoulder at her; this was news to him. He opened his mouth to snap, but Ginny continued, cutting him off. “We thought it was prudent to at least let someone know, but I have no idea if the warning made it in time.”
“Doesn’t much matter anymore,” said Neville, “we’re here.” He climbed a set of rough-cut stone steps upward and ducked his head out a hole at the base of the Whomping Willow. Harry could hear the creaking and groaning of the tree as the branches began to thrash.
“The knot!” Ron urged through clenched teeth.
Harry hurried up the steps and stuck his head out to watch as Neville lay flat against the ground, pressing every knot on the base of the tree. Finally, his fingers connected with the correct one and the branches righted themselves and froze in place.
“Hurry!” Harry called out behind him. “No telling when it’ll start moving again.”
A pile of bodies poured out of the hole as Harry and Neville stood watch over it, their eyes scanning the grounds for any hint of a threat.
“To the greenhouses,” Neville said, pointing the way.
They ran toward the low, glass structures and Harry felt the strange sensation of being watched. There was nothing for it now, however; they needed into that castle to get the fang from the Chamber. He could feel the weight of the cup horcrux tucked into the pocket of his robes, as well as the other items that Ginny insisted he bring--the Elder wand, Cloak, and ring--in the other pocket.
“Tuck to the side,” Neville instructed, “while I get it open.” He began mumbling what sounded to Harry like a string of nonsense words. A few he recognized as names of plants, but there seemed to be a sort of cadence to the way Neville said them, as if he were reciting poetry, or singing.
The door made a clicking sound and opened, creaking at the hinges. They peered into the deserted greenhouse and the strong smell of dirt and fertilizer took Harry back to the days when he had Herbology class here.
“Come on,” he said, taking the lead. “We’re not all going down into the Chamber,” he informed them. “Just Ginny and I--”
“Now, hang on!” Ron grumbled. “We’re supposed to be--”
“I need you to keep the way back up protected,” Harry said. “Umbridge will lose her mind when she knows we’re in the castle. It won’t be easy, but the three of you can defend the bathroom well enough.”
“Bathroom?” Hermione asked.
“The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in a girls’ bathroom on the second floor,” said Ginny.
They entered the castle proper now, taking care to duck through hallways and stay to the shadows as much as possible. It seemed strange to Harry that these halls were the same ones he walked a year ago. It seemed so...distant now. Memories of his time as a student here assaulted his mind, but he pushed them away, trying to focus on the path toward the bathroom.
“Not Moaning Myrtle’s?” Hermione questioned, a forlorn expression on her face.
“What’s wrong with Myrtle?” Ron asked. He seemed amused at Hermione’s consternation.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just… She’s not the nicest ghost around, is she?”
“No,” agreed Harry, “she’s not.”
“It’ll be alright,” murmured Ginny. “She fancies Harry. He’ll charm her.”
Neville snickered and Harry elbowed him in the ribs, less than amused. He glared at Ginny, who grinned back, unrepentant.
“Let’s keep moving.”
Harry stopped in a small alcove. The murmur of voices from the hallway ahead of them stopped him cold. The dinner service must have ended, and students were beginning to leave the Great Hall, moving about the castle.
“You two should go on ahead,” Hermione told Harry and Ginny. “Use the Cloak and go. We’ll find a way through this and meet you there. If you don’t see us soon, go into the Chamber.”
“Agreed,” said Ron. “It’s too much risk for us all to go this way. We’ll be seen. And we can’t all fit under that Cloak.”
Harry and Ginny traded a look and decided to go with that idea. Whatever they did, they needed to get to the Chamber as quickly as they could.
“Fine,” said Harry. He pulled out the Cloak from his robe pocket and shook it out. “If anything happens--”
“It won’t,” said Hermione.
“--but if it does, meet back inside the Shrieking Shack.”
A heavy look passed between them all and Harry felt the weight of it, but there wasn’t time to analyze and think about what they were all facing. There was a horcrux to destroy and then...Voldemort.
He lifted the Cloak and swirled it over he and Ginny. Her hand slipped into his and they began to move away, sticking to the edges of the hallway as they came into an area populated by students.
Progress was slow and Harry thought they’d blown their cover when they bumped into a suit of armor and drew the attention of a group of Hufflepuff girls. Thankfully, the girls didn’t inspect too much, but hurried along their way, casting glances back at the metal.
“Too close.”
“We’ll be alright,” Ginny soothed. “You forget that I grew up in the Burrow; I know how to sneak around.”
He smirked and gave her hand a squeeze. If there was anyone he trusted to be with him on this mission, it was Ginny. She knew how to watch both their backs and keep a cool head.
The stairs were crowded but didn’t move on them as they crept upward, pressed to the sides of the staircase. Finally, they made it to the second floor.
“The bathroom is up this way,” Ginny said, tugging Harry down the hall. He knew where it was but could feel the way Ginny was beginning to tremble. Her hand had grown damp and icy in his.
“Yeah.”
Nobody was congregated near the doorway and the entire corridor had a deserted feel to it.
“Nice to see that Myrtle’s kept her loo just how she likes it,” said Ginny.
“Bit of luck for us,” agreed Harry. He gave one last look around before pushing the door open. Once inside, he tugged the Cloak away and smirked as Ginny’s hair raised with the static it made.
“Oh, shut it, you,” she said, bumping her hip against his. “I knew I should have worn it up.” He watched in fascination as she reached behind her and began plaiting the long strands, her fingers flying.
“Ready for this?” he asked.
Ginny’s face was pale, and her freckles stood out like dark splashes of ink on her skin. “No, but…”
“Who’s there?”
They both turned as Myrtle emerged from her stall, filmy and indignant. She glared at them as they stared back at her. Myrtle’s expression was sour--rightfully so, Harry decided, since she lived in a toilet. She moved toward Ginny, scowling. And then, recognition as she saw Harry.
“Oh, it’s you!” She became giddy, if a ghost can do so.
“Hello Myrtle,” said Harry. “Sorry to intrude. We’re just passing through.”
The dark expression returned to Myrtle’s face. “Of course, you are. Nobody ever comes to visit me! I stay all day in here alone!”
Harry felt Ginny bristle next to him. “Perhaps if you were nicer to people--”
“What do you know, girl?!” Myrtle turned to look at Harry. “Who is this girl, Harry? Why is she with you, and where are you going?”
Talking with Myrtle was wasting time, but they also needed to avoid setting her off, so she didn’t raise the alarm that they were here.
“Sorry, Myrtle. We’ll only be gone a few minutes and then we’ll come back to visit with you,” he lied.
She seemed pacified. “I’ve missed you, Harry Potter,” she said. “You haven’t visited me in years.”
Ginny pinched his side and Harry flinched but nodded to the ghost. “I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes life gets busy.”
Myrtle sniffed and began picking at a spot on her face. “Don’t talk to me about life! I’m dead!!” she wailed.
Harry held his hands out. “I’m sorry. I promise that we’ll talk more when we get back. And I’ll tell you...a story,” he said.
Myrtle, still picking at a spot on her hazy face, looked at him in what he assumed was supposed to be a coy way. “Really?”
“Er...yeah,” he said and nodded emphatically. “Right, Ginny?”
“Sure, Myrtle,” soothed Ginny. “A good story. Why don’t you go and get ready? We shouldn’t be long. And don’t tell anyone we are here; it’s a surprise.”
Myrtle didn’t look convinced until Harry nodded. Then, she turned and went into her toilet with a splash.
Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick look. “Completely barmy, that one,” Ginny muttered.
“Right.” Harry moved toward the sinks, touching each of the faucets and feeling for the right one. He didn’t remember which it was, exactly. His finger traced along, searching for the snake scratched into the surface. When he finally found it, he froze and looked over his shoulder at Ginny. “This is it.”
Ginny’s tongue darted out and wet her dry lips. “Do it,” she said.
Harry stared down at the faucet and tried to remember what to say. “Open,” he commanded.
“English,” Ginny prompted.
Harry growled low in his throat and twisted his head from side to side, releasing the tension. He focused on the little snake etched into the metal and tried again.
“Open.”
A grating sound echoed in the bathroom and the sink began to pull back, revealing a narrow pipe. Harry blinked at it.
“Looked much bigger last time.”
“We were both smaller,” Ginny pointed out. She peered around his shoulder and sighed. “Help me in?”
“I’m going first,” Harry said. “If I can’t fit down, then our whole plan is--”
“Then I’ll go,” Ginny said. “I can fit for sure.”
He nodded, even though it made his blood run cold thinking of her going into the Chamber alone.
He barely fit, and his shoulders rubbed on either side of the pipe, but Harry was able to slide down. He heard Ginny enter the pipe behind him and the whoosh of her robes along the sides of the slide. Down and down they slid into the cold, murky depths of the Chamber.
Finally, Harry crashed down with a crunch. “Urgh,” he mumbled as he pressed himself up to stand in the low pipe. Everywhere he stepped was the crunch and crack of rat bones, years and years old. The Basilisk had been dead for more than three years, but the bones of its dinners still lay scattered in the tunnels.
Ginny came down with an “oof!” and grumbled swear words as she dusted herself off.
It was dark and damp. Harry lit his wand and tried to force away the panic from his mind. His memories were clearer now that the charm had been broken, but he couldn’t help but still feel that the entire Chamber incident was shrouded in shadow in his mind.
Ginny’s hand found his after fumbling and he gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go,” he said, motioning toward the pipe ahead of them.
“I don’t remember much about this,” admitted Ginny as they began to move forward. Each time her shoe would crunch on a bone or skeleton, she would cringe.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Harry. “He was controlling you by then.”
Ginny made a sound like an angry cat. “I remember more about coming out. Fawkes brought us, right?”
“Yeah.” Little flashes of that time were coming back to Harry as they moved down the tunnels. They made several wrong turns and doubled back, until they came to stand in front of a large pile of rubble.
“The tunnel collapsed in here,” Harry explained. “I had to crawl through, but I was able to levitate some big boulders out of the way.” He held his hand out for Ginny to use as balance as she picked her way through the uneven area. “The entrance was just up…” Harry stopped, his eyes resting on a solid wall with serpents carved on it.
Harry let go of Ginny’s hand and wiped his sweaty palms on his robes. “Open,” he hissed. This time, he didn’t have to wait for Ginny to tell him if he was speaking in Parseltongue. The serpents before him parted and the wall opened.
“I’m as nervous now as I was then.”
“The basilisk is dead,” Ginny said. To Harry, her words were as shaky as he felt.
A wave of stench overcame Harry and he gagged as his stomach turned.
“Merlin,” Ginny groaned. She pressed her hand over her nose. “It’s just as bad breathing through your mouth! I can taste it!”
Harry cast a bubblehead charm for each of them, but the smell still lingered.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s get this over with.” His longing to be out of here was strong enough to overpower the bad memories.
Ginny nodded and Harry stared ahead. He could see the great snake, draped dead over the stone floor ahead of them. As they moved forward, the greenish glow of the Chamber enveloped them, returning Harry to a different time.
“Disgusting,” Ginny said at the sight of the serpent’s corpse. Her voice quivered and it sounded as if she were underwater; Harry’d momentarily forgotten about the bubble that encased both of their heads.
“That’s where you were laying.” Harry pointed to a place where there was a great black stain spread on the floor. “I stabbed the diary and you...you woke up.”
“I remember feeling so confused looking up at you,” said Ginny. “And then…” She shook her head and her cheeks flushed. “Only shame. I remembered what I’d done.”
“What he did to you,” Harry said.
Ginny’s eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying. They shone in the low light of the cavern. “Merlin, Harry. The things I wrote in that diary… It’s a good thing you destroyed it. I was...I was a fourteen-year-old girl, in the throes of a deep crush.” Her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes wouldn't quite meet his. “I didn’t think you’d ever notice me and I...I had this whole fantasy life planned out for the two of us. One day, you’d notice that I was a girl--”
“I always knew you were a girl, Ginny.”
“Well, then you’d notice that I actually had breasts!” she said, her lips tilting into a smirk. “And you’d want to kiss me and touch me…”
“If we weren’t in the most disgusting place I can imagine right now, Ginny Weasley,” Harry said, “I’d do more than kiss you.”
A different sort of fire burned in her eyes, but she blinked it away and turned to look at the great ink stain spread on the floor. “It’s good that those thoughts were destroyed. No teenage girl needs things like to survive and haunt her.”
“Let alone that a Dark Lord used those thoughts to manipulate you.”
The way Ginny turned away from him made Harry wonder how much Ginny was remembering and if there was more that she hadn’t shared with him yet.
“Let’s get the fang, destroy the cup, and get the hell out of here, Harry.”
“Right.”
Harry moved toward the head of the snake and eyed the dagger-like teeth still there. Decomposition hadn’t hurt them at all. Careful to mind the tips, Harry reached out and wrapped his hand around the largest fang. It came loose with a squelching sound that made Harry’s stomach flip uncomfortably.
“Let’s go over here a bit,” Harry said, pointing to an area away from the dead snake. They walked over and Harry knelt down. He pulled the cup from his pocket and rested it on the stone floor in front of them.
Ginny knelt beside him. “You do this one,” she said. “I did the locket.”
“I did the diary,” Harry pointed out.
“Then it’s your turn,” she said.
“It’ll fight, just like the locket.”
“Then don’t give it a chance. Stab it and let’s get out of here.”
Harry nodded and stared down at the cup. It wasn’t reacting to the fang as much as the locket had to the sword, but Harry also wasn’t threatening it yet. He wiped his hands on his robes again and took hold of the fang, ignoring the rotting flesh near the top, and swung it down into the side of the cup.
A blast threw them both backward, knocking the wind out of Harry. His arm pulsed strangely, but he could feel the fang still in his hand.
“Alright?” he asked. The stench of the snake engulfed him again and he realized that the blast had released his bubble charm.
Ginny breathed out a big sigh and groaned. “Yeah,” she said.
“Did we destroy it?”
“I don’t...I don’t know.”
Harry lifted his head and looked for the cup. It wasn’t where it had been; the blow had skittered it away along the stone. He could see the dent in it as it lay innocently on its side.
He stood up, still clutching the fang, and moved toward the cup, keeping a wary eye on it. He gave it a little kick, satisfied with the hollow ring it made, and then bent to pick it up.
Pain like he’d never felt before erupted and Harry thought his skull had been cleaved in two. He collapsed to the floor and lay on his side. He pressed his hands to his head, discarding the fang. Fury coursed through his veins, burning like fire.
“He knows,” Harry groaned. “He knows we’ve destroyed them.”
Ginny was over him, her cold hands pressed to his forehead. “Did we?” she asked. “Is it done?”
Harry took an unsteady breath in. “Get it for me?”
She crawled away and was soon back, pressing the cup into his hand. Harry opened one eye and then slammed it closed at the sight of her hands covered in his blood. His scar must have broken open.
He ran his hands over the surface of the cup. “Can you see a crack?”
It sounded like Ginny was crying; she sniffled, and he felt a motion as if she’d swiped at her face. “No, I can’t...I can’t see anything. Just the dent.”
Harry tried to concentrate, tried to clear his mind enough to be able to feel for the horcrux. “It’s still there,” he said as a shiver ran through him. Ginny swore and the cup disappeared from his hands. She moved away from him crawling on her knees. He opened one eye and watched her raise the fang above her head. As it came down, Harry hissed, “open”.
Another blast rocked the cavern and a scream of agony rang in the air. It seemed to hang there for a moment before dying away.
Harry stared up at the tall ceiling and tried to control his breathing. “Thought you said it was my turn.”
Ginny snorted and the broken cup came skittering along the stone before resting next to Harry’s shoulder. He picked it up and eyed the torn metal.
“If you’d gotten the job done the first time, I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”
Harry laughed and relaxed into the cold floor beneath him. Ginny lay down with her head on his chest. Her mirth disappeared when she caught a glimpse of his face and she lifted the edge of her robes to mop up the blood that was streaming down his nose. He could see it now, spattered onto his glasses, and feel the tickle of it along his eyebrow.
“You look a fright, Harry,” she muttered.
“I’m sure I do,” he agreed.
“What do we do now?”
Harry thought about that, thought about the anger that Voldemort had let slip through their connection and the momentary glimpse of a decision that he’d had.
“He’s coming here.”
Chapter 29: Chapter 29
They picked their way back through the rubble of the tunnels until they came to the pipe that led up into Myrtle’s bathroom.“Ron?” Harry called. “Hermione?”
But it was Neville’s voice that came to them, distant and small. “I’m here, Harry!”
Ginny turned to look at him. “How do we do this? The sides are steep, and it’s slimy. We won’t be able to climb back up well.”
“I thought about that.” Harry pulled his wand out and touched the tip to the side of the pipe. “Gradibus!” Starting at the bottom near their feet, the pipe began to bend and twist until a single step appeared before them, and then another above it, and another, ascending upward.
“Best hurry,” Harry said. “Don’t know how long it will last; it’s the first time I’ve used it.”
They hurried up the steps, ducking low. Harry knocked his head on the top of the passage several times and he heard Ginny’s hissed swear words a time or two, also. He could feel her holding to the back of his robes, using him to balance herself.
Once they reached the top, Neville’s hand appeared and Harry grasped onto it, using the leverage to hoist himself, and then Ginny, out. They collapsed onto the dirty floor and stared at each other.
“Alright?” Neville asked
Harry looked at him and scowled. He was covered in dirt and smoke, with signs of spell damage to his robes. There was a small cut on the edge of his jaw and a single trickle of dried blood had run down his neck, disappearing into his collar.
“We’re fine, Neville,” said Ginny, “but what happened--”
“You’re covered in blood!”
Harry looked down at his own hands, spotted with brown stains. Ginny’s hands were similar, and he could only imagine what his face looked like.
“We’re fine,” Harry said. “Just a cut.”
Neville narrowed his eyes at Harry, but then shook it away. “The castle’s under attack, from the outside and inside. That’s where Ron and Hermione are. Ron wanted Hermione to stay here, but we weren’t sure how you’d get out and we wanted someone strong enough to pull you up, if needed.” He motioned to a long, coiled rope that sat nearby. “Besides, Hermione’s sort of in charge of the resistance out there.”
“There’s a resistance?”
“Oh, yeah. The students hate that cow Umbridge. The moment they got the chance they’ve been doing everything they can to overthrow her. Last I heard, they had her barricaded in her office.”
Harry let out a little chuckle and held out his hand for Neville to help him up. “I suppose that’s good, but we need to get them out of the castle. Volde--”
“Don’t say it!” Neville hissed.
“Doesn’t matter much right now, mate,” said Harry.
“He’s coming here,” Ginny said.
Neville paled and he swallowed once before nodding. “I figured as much. There’s fighting in the village. Dennis Creevey keeps running in here to give me updates. I haven’t seen him for a bit, though. Some of the professors were talking about going down there.”
“We need them here,” said Harry. “They have to help get the students out.”
“How, Harry?” Ginny asked. “We can’t lead them down to Hogsmeade; it would be sending them right into You-Know-Who’s clutches.”
“The castle isn’t much better,” said Neville. “Umbridge got word out that we were here, and the Ministry sent Aurors. Not sure how they’re getting in, but--”
“The floo still works, doesn’t it?” asked Ginny. “Maybe we can--”
“I wouldn’t trust it.” Harry glanced in the dim mirror and grimaced at his reflection. Blood had spilled down his nose and was smeared along his cheeks where Ginny’d tried to wipe it away. One eye was darkening to black around the edges and the corner of his lip was split. His glasses were cracked along one lens and horribly bent.
He wet the edge of his robe sleeve and used it to wipe away what blood he could; no sense scaring the life out of everyone if he made it out of this bathroom.
“Then how--”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Harry. “Let’s get out there and see what we can do to help.”
Neville hefted the rope he had and slid it onto his arm and up to his shoulder. “Might need it,” he said when Harry gave him a questioning look.
“Have the Order arrived?”
“Yeah,” said Neville. “Not sure if any have made it into the castle just yet, but I heard McGonagall tell Ron that they were in Hogsmeade.”
Harry took Ginny’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. He glanced at the cup still held in her hand and reached out to knock it to the ground. “We’ll come back for it later,” he said. All three of them stared at the cup for a long moment before turning to leave the bathroom.
Behind them, a long, mournful sigh echoed, and Harry realized that Myrtle had been hiding, listening to everything they said, and probably waiting for Harry to tell her a story still.
Xxxxx
The corridor outside the bathroom was empty, but Harry could see discarded book bags, parchment, and various items pushed up against the walls. A dull thudding could be heard, like the pulse of a great animal, and Harry wondered if the students were trying to breach Umbridge’s office now.
Harry, Ginny, and Neville strode down the hall toward the main part of the castle. Students moved out of their way, eyes wide as they pressed against the walls.
“Gather in the Great Hall,” Ginny directed them. “Tell everyone. We need to get you out of here.”
“The Aurors have gone there,” one boy in Gryffindor robes told her.
“We’ll take care of it,” said Harry. “Just get people ready.”
They marched on, now determined to rid the castle of Death Eaters posing as Ministry Aurors. A group of older students and teachers were holed up in the corridor outside the Great Hall, exchanging spells with wizards wearing the blue robes of the Ministry who ducked in and out of the large room.
Harry, Ginny, and Neville took cover behind the makeshift barricade of desks and tables, tipped on their sides, and scuttled along behind it until they found Ron and Hermione.
Hermione gaped at him. “Harry, what on earth?!”
“Looks like you had as much fun as we’ve been having, mate,” Ron said with a smirk. He turned and looked at Ginny, exchanging something silently between them as he pulled her to him, tucking her face into his shoulder and giving her a quick hug.
“I’m fine,” said Harry. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Hermione sighed and cast a quick spell that fixed Harry’s glasses and must have cleaned the dried blood from his face, because she looked satisfied when it was finished with him.
Another barrage of spells hit the barricade and broke against a magical shield, ringing like a gong and sending a shower of sparks over them. Harry ducked his head even further. Ginny gasped, but Hermione just rolled her eyes at the attack.
“We’ve got them cornered now after chasing them through the castle.”
“How many?”
“A dozen or so,” said Ron. “Malfoy’s in there. Nott, too.”
“Anyone else?”
“Some faces I recognize,” said Hermione, “but I don’t know the names.”
Ron lay flat on the floor, peeking through the desk he was hiding behind and shot a spell into the open doors of the Great Hall. Blue light flashed and then a loud alarm sounded in the room. Harry looked up over the edge of a table and swore he could see an Auror run past the door with his hands clamped over his ears.
“It’s mostly psychological warfare now,” explained Ron. “We can’t do much to breach it without getting cursed with something nasty. Couple of seventh years tried,” he said, nodding toward the corridor that led to the infirmary. “We had to send them to Pomfrey. Don’t know if they’ll ever get sorted out.”
“Lucky they didn’t get killed,” grumbled Ginny. She turned to Harry. “There has to be another way inside. Aren’t there rooms off the side, in the back? The Professors come through there sometimes.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “I’m sure they’ve secured those, though.”
“But it’d be easier than trying to get in through here.”
Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged a look. “It’d be worth a try,” said Ron.
“We have students headed this way,” said Harry. “We need to clear the Hall so we can mobilize and get them out. Voldemort is outside, probably in Hogsmeade. He knows what we’ve done and he’s--”
“He’s right pissed off,” finished Ginny.
“I can imagine,” said Ron with a dark chuckle.
“Let me get things settled here,” said Hermione, “and then we’ll try to find those entrances.” They watched as she crawled down the line of the barricade and Harry turned to Ron.
“Settled?”
Ron shrugged one shoulder. “Several of the older students are capable enough to do what we’ve been doing. That crazy roommate of yours, Ginny...the one with the loud mouth--”
“Demelza?”
“Right, that’s the one. She’s been yelling obscenities and keeping up the spell fire on the other side.”
Harry chanced a glance over the barricade again and realized that it was in a great arch around the doorway. He ducked back down as another series of spells fired from the Aurors splashed against the shield and knocked into the desks, pushing them toward the resistance a few inches.
Ron cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled a horrible string of swear words and vile names which made the Ravenclaw boy next to him snigger.
Down the hallway, Harry could hear the rustle of students approaching. He motioned to Ginny, who sighed and hurried away, crawling on her knees toward the end of the barricade.
“Tell me who you recognized in there, besides Malfoy and Nott.”
“Your old partner,” said Ron.
“Great,” Harry mumbled. “He should be thrilled to see me.”
“And that tall one, big and bald, and has a really deep voice. Don’t think I’ve ever heard his name, actually, but I’ve seen him around.”
“Shacklebolt,” said Harry. “I can’t think of anyone else that fits that description.”
“A few others, too, but I don’t know their names.”
Hermione crawled back to them. Harry noticed that the edge of her hair was on fire and reached out to pinch the section away.
“Thanks,” she grumbled and glared at the charred section before clearing her throat. “Demelza will keep things going out here. I’ve pre-arranged a signal to let them know when to advance, or make enough noise, at least, to make it seem like they’re advancing. Hopefully, that should give us enough cover to breach the back of the Great Hall.”
Ron bussed her on the forehead and shot one last spell over the desk before getting to his knees. “Let’s go.”
Xxxxx
Neville and Professor Sprout were left in charge of the other side of the barricade. Harry watched with fascination as they plotted to levitate pots of immature mandrakes toward the Great Hall and passed out dozens of fuzzy earmuffs along the line.
“Right, Harry,” Neville said and clapped him on the shoulder when Harry told him their plan to flank the Aurors. “We’ll be ready on this side when we get the signal.”
“That should be enough to distract anyone,” Ginny muttered as they pushed their way through the halls, now crowded with students gathered to watch the upcoming battle.
Hermione set about putting shield charms over the entrance to the hall, gave the students in front a worried look and then shrugged it away. There was nothing more they could do until they cleared the Great Hall. Harry was still a little fuzzy on what the plan would be after that--Hermione had assured him that they could have some of the Order make portkeys that would take the students to safe locations. At any rate, they needed the Great Hall to be able to sort out the sheer number of portkeys to be made and where they would go.
“To the right,” Hermione instructed once they’d reached a cross hallway. “It has to be up this way.”
“Mr. Potter!”
Harry froze, feeling like a misbehaving eleven-year-old once more. He turned to see Minerva McGonagall bearing down on him, Professor Flitwick trailing in her wake.
“Headmistress,” he said.
Her lips were pulled into a thin line and she gave him a disapproving once-over when she was finally standing in front of him.
“The next time you decide to invade my castle, Potter, a little advance notice would be appreciated.”
“I’m sorry, Professor, I tried--”
“That said,” she interrupted, and those hard-grey eyes softened, “I realize the situation you found yourself in and am willing to extend my forgiveness. This time.”
Harry chuckled.
“I have heard, Potter,” she continued, “that it was you and Miss Weasley who discovered the vile memory charm and broke it.”
“Harry and my brother Bill broke it, Professor,” Ginny said.
“An impressive bit of charm work, no doubt,” Flitwick squeaked from near their knees. “I should very much like to talk with you about the sequencing of the charms and what was required. Perhaps, you have a career in cursebreaking, Mr. Potter--”
“Filius,” McGonagall warned.
Flitwick raised his hands. “Of course,” he said, “neither the time nor place for it.”
“Professor,” Harry said, “we need to get into that Great Hall. Is there a way--”
“There is,” Professor McGonagall said, “but it’s heavily guarded right now. We’ve just come from there, I’m afraid, and I don’t think it’s the best idea to--”
“We have to do something, Professor,” Hermione said, a little desperation leaking into her voice.
“Voldemort is on our doorstep,” said Harry. “We need to start getting the students out. And we need to get these Death Eaters out of the school, too, before someone gets hurt.”
McGonagall gave a tight nod. “It may be too late for that, Potter. They’ve unleashed that monster, Fenrir Greyback--”
“The werewolf?” Ron growled.
“The very one,” McGonagall said. “He’s loose in the school. Filius and I have set a series of charms and enchantments to try and slow him down, but I fear the damage he will do if we do not get the students to a safe place.”
Thundering footsteps approached and they all whirled, wands drawn. Bill Weasley and Sirius came into the cramped corridor and Sirius gathered Harry and Ginny to him in a bone-crunching embrace.
“Sirius!” Harry gasped. “What--”
“We’ve heard about the Death Eaters in the school,” said Bill. “The Order is fighting their way in through various parts of Hogsmeade. We came in through the Shrieking Shack. Tonks and Moody were making their way through the tunnel from Honeydukes.”
Sirius grabbed Harry’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. Something very deep and dark swirled there. “Is it done? Tell me it’s done.”
“The cup is gone,” Harry said. “Destroyed.”
Sirius seemed to sag against Harry and Harry’s knees threatened to buckle. He hadn’t seen his godfather since earlier in the day when he and Bill had been breaking the memory charm and Padfoot and Remus had gone after--
“Remus?” Harry whispered.
The man in his arms flinched and he looked away, his grey eyes swirling like a dark storm. “I did everything that I could, Harry. Wormtail had a damned silver hand...once he got it around Moony’s neck…”
Ginny gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no.”
“Are you saying…”
Sirius looked at Harry, the most haunted look Harry’d ever seen on his face. “I tore Pettigrew’s throat out for doing it, but I was too late…”
Bill’s hands rested on their shoulders and Sirius seemed to shake it away. “There will be time later,” he murmured.
“Right,” said Sirius. “Where do you need us, Harry?”
“I don’t…” Harry couldn’t think. All he could picture was Peter Pettigrew killing Remus over and over in his mind.
“Portkeys,” said Hermione. “We need portkeys made to get the students out. Bill can you--”
“I can make them easily enough. Not legal ones, mind you--”
“Doesn’t matter much anymore, I’d say,” said McGonagall. She wiped at her eyes and turned to Professor Flitwick. “Filius, you go along with Weasley. Mind you watch for Greyback.”
“The werewolf?” Sirius growled. “He’s the one who turned Remus. They’ve brought an effing werewolf into the school?!”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Black,” McGonagall said. “I am going to go and reinforce the protections to see if we can’t contain him. The only problem is in knowing if he’s already escaped--”
“I can help there,” Sirius said with a firm nod. He gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze and a tight smile. Before Harry could answer, Sirius had transformed into a great black dog, earning a gasp from McGonagall and a little hand clap and squeal of delight from Professor Flitwick.
“Off you four go, then,” said McGonagall. “Mind yourselves; the Carrow’s are guarding the passage and they’re very nasty business, I assure you.”
She moved off after Sirius who had bounded down the hallway, his nose stuck to the ground.
“Come on, Harry,” Hermione urged, tugged on Harry’s hand.
Harry was still shaken over the news of Remus, but he did his best to push the emotions away as they moved deeper into the narrow passage.
Every few steps, Hermione would cast a spell to reveal any curses or hexes, but no traps appeared to be set for them.
Harry finally felt the fog clear from his brain and he put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Let me go first. I’ll go under the Cloak and scout it out.”
“Harry--”
“Not the time for arguing,” Ron chided. “He’s right. If he can get a look at these Carrows and let us know what we’re up against...I say let him do it.”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ginny added her support and Hermione scowled at Harry. “Fine. You know the spells?”
“Probably more than you do,” Harry pointed out. “At least for this sort of thing. Bill’s a great teacher.” He tugged the Cloak from his pocket and swirled it over him. “And I may have failed out of Auror training, but I do remember some of it.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Potter,” Ginny whispered as he began to walk down the hall.
Harry inched his way down the corridor until he could hear voices. Two people were talking in low tones. Every so often they would cackle out in laughter about the crude things they were discussing. The higher voice wanted to see how long someone could stand under a Cruciatus, while the deeper voice talked in disgusting detail about the things he wanted to do to the young female students. Harry’s stomach turned and his skin crawled in anger.
He froze when he was finally able to see them. It was a witch and a wizard, both leaning against the door that led into the back of the Great Hall. He tried to block out what they were saying and think of a way to draw their attention enough that he could take them off guard. A plan began to form in his mind and he slowly inched back down the hallway to where his friends were waiting.
“Two people,” he said, “witch and wizard. Disgusting people,” he added. “If we come up with some sort of distraction to get them to look away from the tunnel, we can take them out.”
“Take them out?” asked Ron.
Harry repeated quick versions of what he’d overheard them threatening to do and his friends scowled at him,
“No mercy, then,” said Ron. “Got it.”
Once they’d figured out the basics of Harry’s plan, they let him go back down the hall with Ginny under the Cloak, as well. It was much more difficult to be quiet, but Hermione’d sent her signal and Harry could hear the beginnings of whatever it was the students at the barricade were doing. It would be enough to cover the sound of his and Ginny’s footfalls.
Before they reached the turn that would put them in front of the Carrows, Hermione finished her spell work and a rat came streaking by Harry’s feet, its long tail shining in the low light of the hallway.
“That you, Wormtail?” the burly wizard said, peering at where the squeaking had come from. “Thought you was finished when that dog took off after you.”
“Can’t be him,” the woman snapped. “The Master told us he was dead. At least he offed that werewolf bloke.”
Harry couldn’t resist any longer and he sent a spell at the woman. Ginny’s spell hit the man half a second later and they dropped to the ground. A low alarm sounded at the door, but Harry didn’t wait to worry about it. He pulled the Cloak loose and threw his shoulder against the door.
Ron came barreling behind and added his weight to the push. The wood gave an angry sigh, but only moved a fraction of an inch.
“Stand back, Harry!” Ginny roared. She stood in front of the door and hit it with a spell that had the force of a battering ram.
Harry blinked at it and then turned to Ginny. “Again!” he demanded. Ginny sent it two more times in quick succession and the door gave way. A barrage of spells lit up the entrance from the inside and Harry ducked.
“They’re all secured,” said Hermione, motioning to the Carrows, who were trussed up with enough rope to almost cover them completely. “But I do worry about leaving them there. If that Grayback--”
“It would be a fitting end,” growled Harry. “I didn’t tell you half of what they said, Hermione. They made their decision when they chose to follow Voldemort.”
Hermione looked like she might argue, but clamped her lips closed and gave a firm nod.
A horrible wailing came from inside the Great Hall and Harry realized that Neville’s attack of mandrakes had begun. Hermione pulled earmuffs out from her pocket and they pulled them on before squaring their shoulders toward the doorway. Harry conjured a shield and they began advancing forward, wands out.
Xxxxx
The long house tables had been overturned and more than a dozen Aurors and Death Eaters were stationed behind them, shoulders pressed against the wood, and their hands clamped over their ears.
A sound similar to Ginny’s battering charm shook the big doors at the front of the Great Hall and Harry wondered how long they would hold; they were much bigger and thicker than the one they’d just broken through.
Ginny and Ron both shot spells out from behind Harry’s shield, taking the two Aurors who had been watching the back entrance by surprise. Harry nearly grinned when he saw Malfoy’s blonde head duck behind the long table where the professors had always sat. He assumed it Nott was the other one, since they seemed to always be together.
Harry turned his shield toward them and began marching their direction. The Death Eaters in the room were trying to shore up the door by levitating the long tables as the massive doors threatened to give way. Harry heard a long, deep growl and realized that the battering spell he’d suspected they were using was actually Hagrid, forcing his way inside.
“Potter,” Malfoy called out, “and your little band of misfits. I should have known you’d be mixed up in this--”
“Shut it, you great prat!” Ron called out, shooting another spell his way. Malfoy ducked just in time and the purple light left a singed circle on the wooden table.
“Of course, I’m here, Malfoy,” Harry called out. “I’m always going to fight when someone like your half-blood Dark Lord master tries to take over. And there are plenty of others who will do the same.”
Another round of spells came at them from the side, but Hermione shielded them and fired back, sending a round of bright yellow canaries flying toward two Aurors Harry had known--his old partner, John Dawlish, and the tall, bald Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry would have loved to watch them fight off the birds pecking at them, but Malfoy had managed to get a jelly-legs jinx under Harry’s shield and his legs wobbled precariously.
He swore and fell to his knees, doing his best to hold the shield so Ginny and Ron would be protected. It faltered, though, as Harry tried to reverse the jinx on himself. He growled and sent a spell toward Malfoy. It impacted the table and smashed a hole in it, sending splinters flying. Malfoy was thrown back and landed face-up, little bits of wood that looked like confetti covered him.
“Potter!”
Harry heard Dawlish behind him but didn’t stop to look. Ron spun and began helping Hermione fend off the two Aurors as Harry dropped his shield completely and scurried over to help Ginny take Nott down.
A blinding spell impacted with Nott as he crawled away from the destroyed shelter of the table and Harry almost laughed as giant bats began to fly out of Nott’s nose and attack him.
“Brilliant,” he cheered her on. Ginny graced him with a bright smile before she turned on Malfoy and blocked a spell headed straight for Harry.
“Coward,” she hissed at him.
“Always was,” said Harry. They worked together to keep the two Aurors on the defense.
Harry disarmed Malfoy and watched as his hawthorn wand sailed from his grip and into Harry’s open palm.
Nott was next, tripped by Ginny’s hex and stunned before he even hit the ground. Great bogey bats were still clawing at his face.
“You’re the coward, Potter,” Malfoy spit. “Give me back my wand and face me in a fair duel!”
Harry stood over him and glared down. “Fair? You call this fair?” he asked as he gestured toward the room full of Death Eaters. Hagrid had broken through the doors at the far end of the room and older students, Order members, and Hogwarts Professors were beginning to fight their way past spell fire.
“The Dark Lord will--”
“Oh, give over, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped. “The Dark Lord is dead; he just doesn't know it yet. And you’ve chosen the wrong side.”
Malfoy sprang to his feet and snarled at Harry even as he lunged at Ginny. “Letting your little girlfriend fight your battles for you, Potter? Is she this feisty in bed--”
His nose erupted, but not in bat bogeys as Harry would have suspected; Ginny’s fist had collided with Malfoy’s face and Harry heard the sickening squelch of bone and cartilage breaking before a gush of blood spilled down Malfoy’s face and onto his robes.
Ginny shook her fist as she began hopping around. Harry barked out a laugh and bound Malfoy tightly with ropes. He’d opened his mouth to respond when Hermione’s cry came from behind him.
“Harry, help!”
Harry spun and stared with wide eyes at Ron and Hermione, who were battling spells from Dawlish and Shacklebolt, and being pushed back toward the door they’d entered through.
Ginny, still shaking her sore hand--the way she held it at her side made Harry suspect it was broken--had switched her wand to her left hand and shot spells that Dawlish deflected easily.
“Always the troublemaker, Potter,” Dawlish said. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you trying to overthrow the Ministry.”
“And I’m not surprised at all to see you as Voldemort’s lapdog, Dawlish,” said Harry. “You always did anything for attention.” He shot a spell that Dawlish deflected. It hit a student who was running across the room, but Harry couldn’t feel too bad; it was only a disarming spell.
“Did he promise to make you second in command? Did you have to lick Lucius Malfoy’s boots to get this far?”
“Not helping, Harry,” Ginny said with a grunt as she blocked Dawlish’s barrage of spells. “You’re pissing him off more.”
“Good!” Harry yelled. “He’s more a coward than Malfoy was!”
Dawlish landed a spell that sent Ginny reeling and her wand flying through the air. Harry tried to grab it as it flew past him, but Dawlish had moved quickly and now had his wand trained on Harry, inches from his face.
“You’ve chosen the wrong side, Potter.”
A manic sort of glee lit Dawlish’s blue eyes, but before he could say the spell that was on his lips, his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor. Harry blinked and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt there; it had been his spell that hit Dawlish in the back.
Harry trained his wand on the tall man, but Shacklebolt sank to his knees and tossed his wand at Harry’s feet. His deep voice split the air between him and Harry. “I’m Xenophilius Lovegood’s spy,” he said.
Chapter 30: Chapter 30
Author's Notes: Warning: Character deaths (not graphic)
Harry stared down at Shacklebolt, eyes wide. Around him, the Order was taking control. The Death Eaters had been overrun by the resistance. Moody was in charge; Harry could hear him ordering people around and the distinct ‘whoosh’ of portkeys taking groups of prisoners away.
“What do you mean you’re Lovegood’s spy?” Ron said. His wand was inches from Kingsley’s head, but the man didn’t flinch away or even seem to be paying Ron any mind at all. His black eyes were focused solely on Harry.
“I’ve been feeding The Quibbler classified information for years now,” he said. “If I’d had any idea there was an organized group fighting, I would have come to you.”
“Prove it,” Harry bit out. “Tell me something only Lovegood would know.”
“I was there the day that the Lovegood home was destroyed--”
“Where?!” burst out Ron. “We were there seconds after--”
“You wouldn’t have seen me,” said Kingsley. His gaze flashed to Ron for a long second before returning to Harry. “I cast a memory charm on Xenophilius moments before Alastor Moody arrived. I watched from a hiding spot as you picked through the rubble. You took a book from the ruins.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” Harry said. “You might’ve been there as Voldemort’s spy.”
“I was the source who verified the information you gave to Xenophilius about the Dark Lord taking over the Ministry. I confirmed it for him, fed him the names of high-profile Death Eaters, and even helped him print and distribute the paper.”
Harry ran his hand through his hair as he thought about it. There was no dark mark on Shacklebolt’s forearm, but that didn’t mean much.
“Why would you stay and work for Voldemort?” Hermione asked. “You knew what he was doing!”
“Of course, I knew,” said Shacklebolt, “but I had no idea that anyone else did. There were no other Aurors who did, I thought. Tonks did a good job of hiding her loyalties until the end. By the time I realized she was fighting with you, it was too late. I needed to stay and do what I could to sabotage them from the inside.”
“Harry, what do you think?” Ginny whispered. She was still cradling her hand that was swelling and turning purple.
“I don’t--”
A motion at his side startled Harry and he looked down to see Luna Lovegood, as serene as if she’d been strolling through a garden, standing next to him.
“You’ve found Kingsley, Harry,” she said. “He’s one of Daddy’s closest friends, you know.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Luna? You know him?”
“Of course,” she said plainly. “Kingsley helps us write for The Quibbler. And sometimes he comes over for tea, although he has been rather busy lately.”
“Why’re you out of hiding?” Ron accused. “You’re supposed to be--”
“I came to help.” Luna’s protuberant eyes pinched at the corners as she smiled.
“Of course, you came to help,” Ron grumbled. “Don’t suppose your father came, too?”
“No,” she said. “Sadly, he kept trying to leave in the past few months, so Mister Moody put a charm on the house. Every time Daddy gets near an exit, he forgets what he’s doing and thinks of something more important. I could have removed it, I suppose, but it was keeping Daddy safe. I thought it best to leave it where it was, for now.”
“Luna, you can vouch for Kingsley?” Ginny asked
“Yes,” she said immediately.
With his foot, Harry nudged Kingsley’s wand back toward him. It rolled along the stones in the floor, but Kingsley didn’t pick it up.
“Are you sure, Harry?” Ron asked. “Might be part of another trap. Or, he could be a double agent.”
“He’s already a double agent, Ron,” said Ginny.
“Okay, a triple agent, then.”
“He might,” said Harry, “but we can’t spend all day discussing this. We need to get to Hogsmeade; that’s where Voldemort is. And...I trust Luna.”
“Percy never told us about him,” Ron pointed out.
“Percy Weasley is a spy, as well?” Kingsley said. His eyebrows rose slowly. “I suppose that explains a few things.”
“You didn’t trust anyone, did you?” Hermione said.
“I couldn’t,” said Kingsley. “Too many were either Death Eaters or under the Imperius curse.” He stood and tucked his wand into the sleeve of his robes
“What about Dawlish?” Harry asked.
“He was just an arse,” Shacklebolt said with a shrug. “I have no idea if he believed the ideology or not, but he wanted the recognition and power that the Dark Lord offered. Not everyone took the mark, you know.”
Ginny rested her head against Harry’s shoulder, and he glanced down at her pale face. “Right. I need to get Ginny to the infirmary, and we need to get down to Hogsmeade.”
“I can heal your hand, Ginny,” Luna said. “I’ve been studying to be a Healer from home. Normally, I use all sorts of roots and herbs, but spells work just as well, most of the time.”
Ginny looked relieved and moved past Harry to allow Luna to heal her broken hand. Hermione joined them, leaving Ron, Harry, and Shacklebolt together.
“You’re the one in the prophecy, aren’t you?” Shacklebolt asked Harry.
“You know about the prophecy?”
“Not what it said, just that one existed. I spent many nights hidden in that hallway making sure they couldn’t get into the Department of Mysteries to see it. I’d overheard enough to know that he wanted in there badly enough. Luckily for me, his focus was always so intent that he wasn’t able to sense me there. I’d have been dead long before now if he’d ever caught me.”
Harry considered that and gave a single nod. “I’m the one.”
Kingsley’s dark eyes widened. “Let me join you to finish this. I need to see him gone before I answer for the things I’ve done.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond, but he gave another nod and turned to see that Ginny appeared to be whole again, thanks to Luna.
“Let’s go,” he said to the group of them.
Students were being directed into the Great Hall in groups and handed portkeys. He watched two different groups hold random items and then disappear out of sight. Two women he knew as Order members nodded to him, but kept the lines flowing to evacuate the castle as Harry and his friends passed. Shacklebolt followed.
Xxxxx
Harry led the procession of fighters through the castle--now eerily quiet without the sound of the student’s trampling feet and the barricade noise--toward the entrance to the hidden passageway that led into Honeydukes. It felt odd to have so many people following wherever he led and listening to him tell them what to do. For so many years it had just been he and Ginny who were fighting at every turn, that it made Harry feel off-kilter and self-conscious.
“Alright?” he asked Ginny when she came up to walk beside him and slid her left hand into his.
“Yeah. It’s still achy, but Luna did a good job.” She held up her hand and flexed the fingers, opening and closing it.
“I can’t believe you broke your hand on Malfoy’s nose.”
“Always knew he had a thick head,” Ginny said with a scoff. “Besides, I was defending your honor.”
Harry snorted and would have kissed her, but they arrived at the entrance. Neville pushed his way to the front to stand next to Harry.
“We know it’s safe?” he asked.
“No,” admitted Harry, “but Moody came through here, so I’m betting that the Order has taken control of at least Honeydukes.”
That seemed to placate Neville and he lit his wand before descending into the tunnel. Harry blinked at the man, still unnerved by this confident, almost reckless side of Neville Longbottom.
“In you go,” he said to the rest. Hermione and Ginny ducked inside, followed by Ron. Shacklebolt, Luna Lovegood, and several other Seventh year students nodded toward Harry as they passed.
Hagrid brought up the rear of the group. “Tha’ tunnel’s not big enough for me,” he pointed out. “I’ll find another way. I jus’ wanted to make sure you got here safely.” He patted Harry on the shoulder and his black eyes shown brightly in the low light of the hallway. “I’m right proud of yeh, Harry. Yer a good man.”
Before Harry could respond, Hagrid turned away, his pink umbrella in hand, and lumbered down the hallway and out of sight.
“Harry?”
Ginny’s voice from the tunnel shook Harry awake. “Coming,” he responded, and closed the tunnel. He debated sealing it so no one could follow and trap them inside, but he didn’t feel right about cutting off an exit, if needed. Instead, he quickly set a ward on the door to warn them if someone did open the passageway again. The rune he drew glowed blue at the edges before fading into the wood.
Xxxxx
Honeyduke’s cellar was dusty and covered with abandoned boxes. Harry and Ginny were the last to enter through the trap door and found themselves jumbled together, all held under the formidable wand of Fleur Weasley. She ran Harry through a complex identification process before her shoulders slumped and she sat down on a pile of boxes. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the little round belly that she curled her arm over.
“Have you seen my Bill?” she asked.
“He was making portkeys in the Great Hall less than ten minutes ago,” Ginny assured her sister-in-law with a pat on her shoulder.
Fleur nodded her head and swiped at her eyes with her hands, leaving streaks of dirt smeared on her face. Strangely, Harry thought it made her appear more beautiful, if that were possible.
“Good. He is good at those. And he will be safe there.”
“Everything secure up there?” Harry nodded to the staircase.
“Oui,” said Fleur. “Tonks has secured it. She is stationed upstairs. I believe there are others; I heard footsteps, but I did not leave my post.”
Harry reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze before urging the others on. He had to nudge one of the boys, whose jaw dropped open and eyes went glassy at seeing Fleur.
“Come on,” he said with a scowl. “Stop ogling and get up the steps. That’s my sister, you know.”
The boy shook himself, but Harry saw him shoot glances backward over his shoulder as they climbed the steps. Harry rolled his eyes in Ginny’s direction, but was surprised at the strange expression on her face. He didn’t have time to question it, however, because Tonks was standing in front of him in the next second.
She looked awful--pale face, mousy brown hair pulled back severely into a knot at the base of her skull. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, puffy purple skin surrounded them. Harry wondered if she’d heard about Remus but decided that she must have; Sirius would have made sure to tell her himself.
“Wotcher, Harry,” she said as she took his hand to help him up the last few steps. “Ginny.”
“Everything alright here?” he asked. The windows of Honeydukes were charmed dark, but he could still see through them. Harry peered past the displays of sweets--licorice wands, blood-flavored lollipops, and a massive jar of Fizzing Whizbees--through the dusky window that showed the main street of Hogsmeade.
“Quiet for right now,” said Tonks. She came to stand next to Harry. “Moody ordered me to stay here. Said I wasn’t to be running about being ‘emotionally compromised’.”
Harry glanced at her, but her expression was stone. “Tonks--”
“Not right now, Harry,” she said. “I can’t...I can’t think about that. I need to focus on my job and on keeping you alive long enough to do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Right.” Harry understood. Grief was a strange thing, and everyone dealt with it in a different way. He and Tonks were a lot alike in how they handled it, Harry thought. “What else has been going on? Neville said the whole place was under siege.”
Kingsley Shacklebolt came up to stand on Harry’s other side and Tonks’ eyes went wide. She raised her wand, but Harry forced her hand to go down.
“He’s on our side; he’s been a spy the whole time.”
“And you believe him?!” She tugged her wand out of Harry’s grip and leveled it at Kingsley. The tall Auror didn’t flinch but seemed resigned. “You don’t know the things he’s done, Harry. I’ve seen him…” She stopped speaking and clamped her lips closed, shaking her head. “How could you be on our side?”
“I will pay for my crimes,” said Kingsley, “but only after Voldemort pays for his.”
“He’s the spy for The Quibbler, Tonks,” said Harry. “Luna vouched for him.”
“I still don’t trust him--”
“You don’t have to trust me,” said Shacklebolt. “I don’t deserve it, but I am fighting for the same outcome. That monster needs to be gone.”
Tonks narrowed her eyes but turned back to look out the window again. “A few skirmishes now and again up toward the end of the street, but the shopkeepers have held their own. We’ve stationed Order members here and there along the way up to Hogwarts. I think most of the Death Eaters went up there, to be honest.”
“Not all,” said Kingsley. “There are many you don’t know about. He has a loyal following.”
“So do we,” snapped Tonks.
Harry bristled, but dismissed it. “What more do we need to secure?” Just as he finished asking, George burst into the shop through the front door.
“They’re at the gates!” he yelled before disappearing again. Harry watched him scurry across the street to another shop.
“Let’s go,” Harry said. “We can’t let them get back into Hogwarts.”
Order members and the residents of Hogsmeade filled the street, abandoning their shops as they marched toward Hogwarts. Several of them shot Harry strange looks, but he did his best to ignore them.
In the throng, Harry saw faces he recognized–Cedric and Amos Diggory were walking determinedly toward the school gates. Cedric caught Harry’s eye and gave him a nod before turning back to something his father was saying to him. And there were others–people Harry’d known from Hogwarts, and the Ministry–even Annaliese Hawkins–all headed toward whatever confrontation was looming.
Ginny greeted both her parents with quick hugs and explained the things that had happened at Hogwarts as they walked.
In the back of his mind, Harry couldn’t help but wonder when Voldemort himself would appear. The flash of menacing thoughts while Harry’d been in the Chamber still rang clear in his memory. Harry knew Voldemort would come and knew that he would have to face the monster and end this once and for all.
But there was still the horcrux in the snake, Nagini, to be dealt with. Harry knew that Voldemort would now be guarding the snake furiously, having lost all his other horcruxes. It would be no easy feat to kill it, and Harry still had no idea how it would be done. Ginny’d wrapped the basilisk fang in her torn robes and it was tucked away in Harry’s pocket.
The wards over Hogwarts flashed in the darkening sky, lighting up the growing evening with brilliant, menacing color. Whatever protections Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had set up were holding, for the moment, under the onslaught of spells that Voldemort’s followers were throwing at them.
The attack shifted when the Order flanked the Death Eaters. They began defending themselves, rather than trying to break the wards surrounding the castle.
Harry felt as if it were all a blur around him. Spell fire erupted and Harry threw up a shield to protect himself. He ran forward and engaged a man he’d never seen before, but who grinned with broken, dark teeth at him and tried to slash through his shield with a curse Harry didn’t know. As his spell rang against Harry’s shield, George fired a spell of his own, crushing the man’s knees and making him cry out in agony.
Harry summoned the man’s wand and broke it in two before tossing it away.
All around him, Order members were fighting. He saw Ron head-butt one Death Eater while Hermione cut down another. Others he’d known from Hogwarts--Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and even some of the girls--had been in Hogsmeade, too, and were fighting.
Harry shot off spell after spell, trying to find Ginny in the fray, but she must have worked her way around to the far side, because he could see no sign of her.
The battle seemed to go on forever, even though Harry knew it was only minutes. More and more Death Eaters were apparating away rather than face those who were fighting back.
“Cowards,” Harry muttered viciously, even as he felt a wave of relief wash over him. His glasses were broken again, and he could feel a trickle of blood near his ear, but Harry kept fighting until, at last, he looked around and could see no further threats.
Any Death Eaters left were being contained by Kingsley and Tonks, a portkey slapped to the lapels of their robes, and sent away.
“Where are you sending them?” Harry asked.
“Moody set up a secure location,” said Tonks. “We’ll sort them out later.” Her left arm hung limp at her side, but she still worked with fierceness and speed to remove the threat from the scene.
“This isn’t the end,” Kingsley warned Harry as he sent another away. “I don’t even know these ones. And I haven’t seen Lucius Malfoy, or the Lestrange brothers at all today. His most loyal fighters aren’t even here.”
Harry grimaced, nodded, and turned away to find Ginny. He walked through the makeshift triage that Luna and Madam Pomfrey had set up outside the gates of Hogwarts, praying that he wouldn’t see Ginny lying there.
He found her, along with George, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley, at the back of the group. Molly Weasley lay on the ground, her wizarding cap abandoned and her hair covering her face.
Harry’s heart leapt into his throat as he stared at the only mother he’d known lying on the cold ground.
“She’s okay,” Hermione burst out when she realized that Harry stood next to her, “only hurt.”
Ginny sat on the ground, her mother’s head in her lap, and tears streaming down her face. “Dolohov,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with fire. “He’s the one who killed her brothers, and she took him on all alone.”
“She’ll be alright,” Mr. Weasley muttered over and over. He knelt at his wife’s side, clutching her hand in his own.
“Did she at least get the bastard?” Ron asked.
“Yeah,” said George. “Crushed both his hands, but he got one last spell in. Not sure what it was, but--”
“Get someone over here,” Harry said. “Someone who can--”
“She’s not the worst off, Harry,” said Hermione. “They’re doing the best they can. Give them--”
But Harry didn’t want to hear that. He only knew that Molly needed saving. He couldn’t lose her. “I don’t care about anyone else, get them--”
“Harry!”
“Hermione, she’s...she’s…”
“I know.” Her hand rested on his arm and Harry fought the urge to push it away.
“She’ll be fine, Harry,” said Ginny. “We’ll take care of her.”
Harry gave a nod but had to turn away. His eyes scanned those who had fallen--too many--and the few left who were trying to help them. Neville was trailing after Luna, limping, and helping where he could. Fleur, who had stayed behind for the fighting, was now on her knees next to Lavender Brown, wrapping bandages around the girl’s arm, which looked to be badly burned.
Sirius, his arm wrapped in a sling, limped up to stand next to Harry. Harry startled; the last time he’d seen Sirius, he’d been going with McGonagall to hunt down Fenrir Greyback.
“Harry?”
“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically. Sirius blinked and then nodded. “Greyback?”
“Dead,” said Sirius. “But not without cost.”
Harry’s heart gave a painful thump in his chest. “Who?”
“Bill was attacked, but he’ll live,” said Sirius. “Don’t know if it was bad enough to turn him. We’ll have to wait and see.”
But there was more, Harry could see it in Sirius’ eyes. “McGonagall?”
“Tough old bird,” Sirius said. “She’ll be okay. Banished that bitch Umbridge through a wall. But Flitwick...it was too late by the time I found him. Greyback tore him apart. I...I actually enjoyed crushing every bone in his body.”
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but a searing pain erupted in his head as a low, hissing voice came into his mind.
“Enough have died today, Harry Potter,” it said, “while you have hidden behind school children like a coward. Come to me in the Forbidden Forest. Sacrifice yourself and no more have to suffer. Do not, and I will unleash hell upon those who fight for you.”
Sirius held him up as he swayed.
“Harry!”
“I’m fine,” Harry said as he pressed his hand to his forehead. The pain receded as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling weak and dizzy. “I need...I have something I need to do, Sirius.”
“I’m coming--”
“No!” Harry blinked away the feeling and forced himself to stand upright. “No. I need you to do something for me.” He reached into the pocket of his robes and found the basilisk fang, wrapped in part of Ginny’s robes that she’d torn away. He pressed the bundle into Sirius’ hand. “Kill the snake,” he said. “It’s...imperative, Sirius. The snake has to die, or...or this will never end.”
Sirius’ eyes swirled with confusion, but he nodded and tucked the fang into the sling holding his arm to his chest. “Okay. Kill the snake.”
“Kill the snake.”
Chapter 31: Chapter 31
“I have to go.”“Harry--”
“Ginny, we both knew it would come to this.”
She wanted to argue; he could see it in her eyes, but there was also a resignation and an understanding there that Harry appreciated. They’d talked about this possibility before--that Harry would have to face Voldemort--and talked through every scenario that they could imagine.
“Not alone,” she whispered. She glanced toward Ron and Hermione, who were leaned up against the wall in the Great Hall, Hermione resting against Ron’s chest.
“It has to be alone,” said Harry. “I can’t… Anyone else will be killed.”
“Then I’ll come,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll use the Cloak.”
“I have to have the Cloak with me,” Harry pointed out. “All three, remember?”
Ginny’s face twisted and her fingers clutched at his robes, pulling him closer. She knew he was right. It made it harder for him to leave her behind, though.
“I love you,” he whispered, “don’t ever forget that. And…”
“No promises,” she said, “just...come back. Save the promises for later.”
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, kissed her, and then forced himself to turn away. Behind him, he heard Ron ask where he was going, but Harry didn’t answer. Ginny would explain and stop Ron from following.
The moment he was out of the Great Hall, Harry pulled the Cloak over himself; if anyone else saw him, they wouldn’t let him leave alone, and he needed to go. Time was running out.
He reached into the pocket of his robes and felt the ring there with the shattered stone. Tucked in the back pocket of his jeans, Harry could feel the Elder Wand. Whether the Deathly Hallows were real or not, Harry couldn’t say, but Dumbledore had believed in them enough to gather them for Harry. Harry would have faith in the possibility; he had no other choice.
Near the doors to the castle, Harry passed Professor McGonagall and Alastor Moody, deep in conversation about security and the losses in the staff--Flitwick and Sinistra’s deaths, and Hagrid gone missing. Harry wondered how he would get the doors open without having them try and stop him.
As he inched past them, Moody’s magical eye swiveled in his direction. Harry held his breath and waited for Moody to call out. The Cloak had always protected him from being seen before, but Moody’s magical eye might have enchantments that thwarted it; Harry wasn’t sure how it worked, to be honest.
“I’ll make another round toward the far end of the grounds,” Moody said. Harry could have sworn that his eye settled on the exact place where Harry was standing, but Moody made no outward motion or declaration to stop Harry.
“Be safe, Alastor,” McGonagall said, her voice shaky. “We cannot afford more losses if we are to continue to defend this castle and those who remain in it. I fear…” She didn’t finish and Harry turned his head away, unwilling to watch her break down.
He needed to get outside and finish what needed to be done before he lost his nerve.
Moody opened the doors wide and stood in the black of night. Harry could see the lights from Hogsmeade in the distance--the few shops that still held Order members on the watch for another invading force of Death Eaters. Hagrid’s hut stood as a black hole on the grounds, empty of its jovial occupant. Harry watched it for a long minute and then turned to pass Moody.
“Only the snake left,” Moody muttered, almost under his breath.
Harry froze and debated saying something. Moody would not stop him from going into the forest, he knew. In fact, Moody would probably frog-march him in, if Harry resisted, in order to finish the fight with Voldemort. But it wasn’t necessary.
“Sirius has what is needed,” Harry breathed as he moved past Moody and out into the night.
He didn’t look back--couldn’t allow himself to see the castle--but moved forward, eyes fixed on the black edge of the Forbidden Forest. He switched his own wand for the Elder Wand and gripped it. The unfamiliar ridges and knobs felt weird in his hand and Harry wondered how it would work for him. He’d never even considered trying it before now.
He stopped when he reached the line of trees and allowed himself one last glance back. Fang, locked in Hagrid’s hug, gave a long, mournful howl that rattled the windows. There were only low lights in the windows, nothing to make the castle stand out against the horizon, but Harry swore he could see Ginny standing in one of the glass casings, watching him go.
Xxxxx
Harry removed the Cloak and tucked it into his pocket; he no longer needed secrecy. He stepped into the forest and wondered how far he would have to go. His hand found the ring in his pocket and slipped the tip of one finger into it, not letting it go on completely. Should he use the stone now? Who would come?
The thrilling idea that Dumbledore might appear made his heart thump against his ribs. If he did, then Harry could ask him...so many things, many more things than they had time for. But he would know how the prophecy might come about…
The thought gave Harry a shot of courage and he moved forward with more determination now.
A rustle off to his left made Harry freeze. Out of the shadows melted a man, his cloak pulled low over his head so Harry couldn’t see who it was. But the stooped, tall shadow moved soundlessly, and Harry recognized Severus Snape by the motion.
Harry sighed. “There’s a price on your head, Professor.”
“You think me a coward,” said Snape, his oily voice almost scoffing. “Did you think that I would stay in that rotting house while you were out here, Potter? Want to make sure you get all the glory, do you?”
“Not at all,” Harry said. He began to walk again, following the path into the forest. Snape fell into step with him. “You know what I have to do, Professor.”
“I did not expect you to do so alone. If you succeed--which is not likely to happen--no one will be there to see it.” The sourness in his tone was one that Harry remembered.
They were quiet and Harry clenched the ring in his pocket. He was reluctant to use it now, to see Dumbledore with Snape right here. He didn’t want Snape to see, to even hear what Dumbledore might say. He stopped walking and turned to face the man, who had pulled his cloak back enough that Harry could make out his features in the dim light of the moon shining through the trees.
“Nobody saw you come through Hogsmeade,” Harry pointed out.
“I have my own ways, Potter.”
Harry smirked. “You know, there was a betting pool going around when I was still in school.”
Snape looked down his long nose at Harry. “Really?”
“People thought you were an Animagus.” The stories of how Snape came and went through the corridors so silently had rippled up and down the halls at Hogwarts for years. “We all figured you took the form of a bat.”
Snape looked into the trees, but Harry could have sworn he saw the corner of his lips twitch upward. “Unfortunately, Potter, that is not a talent that I possess, but I am aware of the rumors. Who do you think started them?”
In the months that they’d lived under the same roof, Severus Snape was still a mystery to Harry.
“He’s not going to be happy to see either of us,” Harry pointed out.
Snape took in a long, deep breath and shook his head. “No, he will not.”
Harry opened his mouth to ask Snape whether he was brave enough to continue on, but Snape looked at him, dark eyes flashing.
“Have you destroyed all of the horcruxes?”
Harry tried not to react, but it was impossible. How had Snape known--
“You were not the only one he confided in, Potter.” Snape’s lip curled up at the corner.
“Yes,” said Harry, reluctantly. He didn’t want to talk about the horcruxes, not when his heart was still pounding so hard and thoughts of facing Voldemort consumed his mind. “The snake is the only one left. Sirius is working on that.”
Something passed in Snape’s eyes and he gave a slow nod, his intense gaze never leaving Harry. “Surely, you are not that stupid, Potter, as to have missed one of them.”
“No! I got all that Dumbledore told me about--”
“I do not mean the ones on that foolish list,” said Snape. His voice was low and dangerous. “I mean the obvious one standing right in front of me.”
Harry blinked at him, trying to decide what he meant. His hand clutched the ring so tightly that the ridges dug into his palm.
“I don’t--”
“Come now, Potter,” said Snape. There was almost a smile on his face and Harry looked away. “The visions, the headaches, the pain in your scar. Even you have to admit the connection to the Dark Lord was more than a little convenient.”
Harry’s teeth ground down so hard that his jaw ached. Something at the back of his mind slid into place and it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
“I’m a horcrux, too.”
The smile became nasty and then melted away into a look that Harry interpreted as pity. “Made accidentally the night he killed your mother, yes.”
“How could Dumbledore not know--”
“He knew,” said Snape. “He raised you as he did, groomed you like a lamb for slaughter. You were always meant to sacrifice yourself, Potter. You know what needs to happen to a horcrux to release the trapped soul inside.”
Harry felt as if the ring burned his hand and he let it go, removing his fingers from his pocket and pressing them to his leg. His heart thundered in his ears and all he could think about was Ginny, her dirt-stained, tearful face as he told her he would come back to her.
And now he would never see it again.
“Do not falter in your duty, Potter,” Snape warned, “or we will all die.”
Harry wanted to call him a name, wanted to growl at the man and scream at the skies, but all emotion drained out of him. He could feel it leak from his chest down through his fingers and out. Defeat enveloped him.
“I’d like to be alone,” he told Snape.
“Do not--”
“I won’t!” Harry hissed. “I’ll do what I have to do; I always have.”
Snape gave him one last look and swirled his cloak around him as he apparated out. Harry stared at the place where he’d stood for a long time before reaching into his pocket and removing the ring. He pried the black stone loose and it lay in his palm. Slowly, he turned it over three times and waited.
He expected to see Dumbledore materialize before him, but a tall figure with messy hair and glasses like his own shimmered into existence before him, and then a woman, and another man.
Harry let out a shaky breath and looked into the eyes of his parents. They approached him, eyes wide, taking him all in.
“Harry,” Lily said.
His father smiled even wider when they stood in front of him. Over James’ shoulder, Harry could see Remus Lupin, looking fitter and younger than Harry’d ever seen him.
“Hello, Harry,” Lupin said. His smile came easy and free.
“Remus. I...” He wanted to say so much, but the words wouldn’t escape his mouth. And the look in Remus’ eyes said he already knew anything that Harry might say, anyway.
“We’re so proud of you, Harry.”
His mother’s voice shook, and she raised her hand as if she might touch him but then pulled back. Harry wondered what her touch would feel like--cold, or like a warm mist? He raised his own hand and then let it fall.
“We’ll stay close,” his father promised.
Harry swallowed and nodded, even though he didn’t know if he really understood.
“You...you know what I have to do?”
A chill came through the forest and Harry couldn’t stop the shiver that shook him. Absently, he wondered if there were Dementors in the trees, watching him.
“We know,” said James.
“I don’t...I don’t know if I can.”
“You’re brave,” said Lily.
“I don’t want to die.” Harry swallowed and hoped he wasn’t crying; he couldn’t tell. “Ginny…”
“She’s wonderful,” said Lily.
“Her family will take care of her, Harry,” Remus told him.
Harry nodded again and tried to convince himself that she would be alright without him. Sirius would kill the snake after Harry was gone, and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione would see to it that everything was finished.
“I need to go,” he told them. “I don’t want…” But the words melted in his mouth and Harry couldn’t say them.
“We’ll stay close,” said James again. “Until the end.”
Harry took them all in one more time and then let the stone slip from his fingers as he walked forward on the path. His parents and Lupin faded from sight, but he had a warm feeling in his chest now and wondered if they’d gone there, instead.
Xxxxx
The forest got darker and colder as he walked. He knew there were Dementors not far away; Harry could feel the chill from them in the air and see his own breath. He tried not to think of what he was walking away from or walking toward. Instead, he thought about his parents and Lupin, how real they’d looked. Much more real than Harry felt right now.
The snap of a twig, and the hollow sound of Harry’s feet on the path, the flapping of a startled bird, and Harry’s heartbeat thundering in his ears. He counted the beats but gave up when he tripped on a root and had to catch himself.
“Someone’s coming!”
A crackly voice came from his left, calling out toward the clearing that wasn’t far away. Smoke tickled his nose and he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the pungent air. He moved forward, eyes trained on the few dark shadows that surrounded a crackling fire.
The clearing was small, and Harry was surprised that Voldemort had so few of his Death Eaters with him. He stood at the top of a circle, his pale skin almost glowing in the light of the flames.
Harry remembered times when he’d seen this monster--at the graveyard and in his visions. Nothing could compare to seeing him now, though. Here was the man-turned-Dark-Lord, who had once been nothing more than a wizard, like Harry. And yet, Harry knew that Voldemort had never been like he was.
He’d never had friends, family, or known love. He’d done everything he could to seek power no matter who it hurt.
“He has come.”
The high, snake-like voice reached across the clearing and to Harry easily, despite the crackle of the logs and the shuffling of those who stood in the undergrowth. Glowing red eyes appraised Harry and the hooded Death Eaters moved to clear the path between Harry and Voldemort. Hovering not far from Voldemort was a bubble with Nagini suspended inside it. Harry’s hand twitched, but he knew there was no way to get past the Death Eaters and Voldemort to get to the snake. And, what did it matter? There were two horcruxes left.
“Harry Potter.”
Voldemort moved closer, his dark robes swishing around his legs as he walked. But his wand was not raised. Instead, he looked curiously at Harry.
“I underestimated you, Potter.”
“You’ve always underestimated everyone,” Harry replied. He was not sure where the bravado was coming from, but it seemed to be flowing in his veins, driving him toward a reckless action that he could not name in his mind.
“You were never supposed to live. And you were never supposed to break my memory charm.”
Harry couldn’t say anything to that, so he just raised his chin and looked at the Death Eaters over Voldemort’s shoulder. They were watching the exchange from behind their dark hoods, waiting for some signal from their master.
“My lord...” Harry’s heart gave a jolt as the voice of Severus Snape came from those watching. “Give me the pleasure of killing him for you.”
Voldemort’s lipless mouth twisted up into a sneer. “You overstep yourself, Severus. You have been my faithful servant and spy for years, but you are not the master.”
“He trusted you,” Harry told Snape. His voice caught and crackled, making the Death Eaters chortle. “He trusted you, and you betrayed him.” An idea flashed in Harry’s mind, an image of Dumbledore, old and frail, facing Severus Snape, his wand drawn. “Did you kill him, also?”
Snape lowered the hood of his cloak and let it rest onto his shoulders. His face was stone, his eyes glittering with the light of the fire. “Albus Dumbledore was a fool, like you are Harry Potter, and those that follow you. The child of fools, the leader of fools. They will all die tonight.”
“You are too emotionally connected, Severus,” Voldemort chided. “You cannot separate yourself from your anger over your lost love so long ago. You project that weakness onto her son.”
Snape’s jaw clenched but he continued to stare at Harry.
“I offered you protection when you had nowhere to go,” Harry told Snape.
“A naive fool, then.”
Nothing was making sense. Snape had once been a Death Eater, claimed he was reformed, and yet he’d been still supporting Voldemort all this time? Harry’s mouth went dry and anger flooded him. Snape knew all the Order members, he knew how to get into Grimmauld Place, and nobody knew he was a traitor. There was no way to get a message to anyone to protect them; Harry was out of time.
Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. A short five feet separated them.
Harry didn’t even see the spell coming at him. He was still staring at Snape. Snape, who had betrayed them all. Snape, who had put Ginny and the Weasleys in danger for so many months without them ever suspecting. The green light impacted his chest and Harry flew backwards, enveloped by the glow of it. He closed his eyes as his body arched and didn’t feel the impact of the forest floor beneath him push one last breath from his lungs.
“Ginny.”
Xxxxx
Harry breathed out and in, dirt came into his mouth, but he lay frozen on the floor of the forest. Around him, the Death Eaters erupted in celebrations of his death. He tried to decide if he was dead, or if he had crossed over into some sort of afterlife.
He could feel the coldness of the dirt under him, the knots of the bush he’d landed on digging into his belly, and the dull ache of the spell in his chest. There was a sharpness there, also, and the faint trickle of what Harry thought might be blood.
Voices surrounded him, but Harry refused to move. He only breathed out when necessary and kept his eyes closed.
There was scuffling and whispers, and then the voice Harry dreaded hearing.
“My lord--”
“I do not require your assistance, Severus. The boy...check on the boy…”
Someone smelling of smoke and acrid potions leaned over him. Fingers pressed to his neck, feeling for a pulse there.
“Well?”
“I cannot tell, yet,” Snape said.
Snape’s fingers were cold against Harry’s neck as he leaned further over. “Your Cloak, do you have it?” Snape’s voice was nothing but a breath as his chest pressed Harry into the ground.
Harry could not disguise the thumping of his heart against his ribs; Snape knew he was alive.
“Pocket,” Harry whispered.
The pressure from his back lifted and he felt Snape kneel at his side, between Harry and the Death Eaters.
“He is dead!” Snape called back to Voldemort.
“The Boy Who Lived...no more!” Voldemort called out to his followers, jeering and congratulating himself.
“Disapparate the moment you feel the Cloak cover you.”
Snape hissed in Harry’s ear and there was a still, quiet moment where time seemed to freeze for Harry. The next, he let out a breath as the silky feel of the Invisibility Cloak covered his entire body. Harry pinched the edge of it and pictured the gates of Hogwarts in his mind. He didn’t open his eyes and didn’t hear the crack of his own spell as he left the clearing.
Chapter 32: Chapter 32
He arrived even further in the forest, beyond where Voldemort and the Death Eaters were still celebrating. In the last second before he disapparated, Harry had decided against taking this fight to the gates of Hogwarts. Ginny was there, and the Weasleys, and the rest of the Order. He couldn’t bring them out of danger only to place them in greater harm by directing all Voldemort’s wrath on them.He took a moment to bend at the waist and breath. His chest ached and he pulled at the edge of his t-shirt, glancing inside to see a gash cut into the skin there. It was superficial but was still leaking blood onto his clothing.
“Later,” he grumbled and pressed the cotton of his shirt against it to try and slow the flow. His head seemed stuffed full of ideas. Snape a traitor. Snape saving him. Voldemort still alive. The horcrux gone? Nagini wrapped in that protective bubble.
The fight was not over, he knew, but how to go about it now, Harry wasn’t sure. Everything had seemed so clear when he’d walked into the forest to sacrifice himself. And now...he had no idea how to go about it.
Their voices echoed now through the trees, reaching out to him. They didn’t realize that he was gone. Had Snape done some sort of transfiguration or illusion to make it seem as if Harry’s body was still there? He must have, or he’d be dead right now.
Harry crept closer. He was still under the Cloak, still invisible, but he needed to see, needed to be able to assess the situation. Perhaps he could break the ward surrounding the snake himself and kill it before they realized.
Even as the thought entered his mind, Harry knew it was impossible. He’d given Sirius the fang, and Harry had no weapon capable of destroying a horcrux. He glanced down at the Elder Wand in his hand and wondered if it would do the trick. It was, after all, a powerful wand. Would a severing charm sent from it destroy a horcrux? Harry wasn’t sure.
Closer and closer he crept until he stood outside the circle of trees that Voldemort and the Death Eaters stood inside. Snape stood on the far side from him, in front of something that resembled his body. Impressive spell work.
Voldemort was lecturing his followers on their doubts and calling out one hooded individual in particular, wand pressed to the Death Eater’s neck. “–and you, Rodolphus, with no idea where you wife has disappeared–"
Harry paid them no mind but tried to think of a way to get to the snake which hovered not far from him. He braced himself and raised his wand, bent on either summoning the beast or breaking the ward that surrounded her.
He probed the ward, a fleeting thought of Bill Weasley echoing through his mind. A prayer, in a way, that the wizard would recover from the werewolf attack in order to see his child. The thought of it being born and never knowing its father gave Harry a sick feeling in his stomach.
The ward was complex, but not as hard as the one around the statue of Merlin, Harry decided. It would take some time to break, and Harry wondered what his chances of doing it before anyone noticed were.
Across the clearing, the dark eyes of Severus Snape focused on the trees Harry stood behind. He stared where Harry was but made no motion or indication that anything was amiss.
“And you, Lucius,” Voldemort said as he turned to another Death Eater, robed all in black. Harry could now see the ends of the man’s blond hair showing under the shroud he wore. “You have secured passage for your wife and son, have you not? A portkey to the continent?”
“My lord?” Malfoy stammered and stepped back as Voldemort approached.
Harry used the distraction to focus on breaking down the protective bubble around the snake. Slowly, he could see the glow of sparks tickle the outside edge, working their way inside the magic. He began to sweat, and his arm shook with the strength it took to hold the spell. The Elder Wand almost hummed in his grip, relishing the power flowing through it.
“You all doubted my power,” Voldemort accused. “You did not think that I would prevail. You chose the side of a blood traitor, a child! Look at him now! Harry Potter is dead, and I, Lord Voldemort, have triumphed!”
The ward surrounding the snake began to burn, edges floating away like strands of gossamer. Nagini was writhing in the air, dark orbs staring right at Harry as he destroyed her protection. The last of the bubble burst and the snake dropped momentarily before it began to float once more.
Harry blinked, surprised to see it still suspended. How? Who? He glanced up to see that Snape’s wand was pointed at the snake, but the illusion of Harry’s body behind him had faded into nothingness.
As Harry took a breath to cast a spell, jets of light came streaming in from all sides of the clearing, illuminating it with brilliant spells.
A ward that had concealed the Order of the Phoenix dropped, revealing them one by one surrounding Harry, their focus intent on the battle before them. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind and Harry had to duck as a spell that Neville sent would have impacted him, had he remained standing. Harry opened his mouth to yell but realized that he was still wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Nobody knew he was there. In fact, it was possible that they’d seen the illusion of his dead body in the clearing and thought....
He could hear Ginny’s voice on the far side, calling out spell after spell as she battled one of the Death Eaters. Harry was torn; did he go to her, or did he focus on destroying Nagini? The indecision was only a moment, because the snake was headed straight for him slithering through spell fire, intent on killing him. Harry could see the malice in its eyes.
Harry stumbled backward, pulling the Cloak from his head just as a flash of black rushed past him. Sirius raised the fang high as he dove toward the snake, stabbing into the middle of the largest fleshy bit.
Nagini let out a sharp hiss and turned, striking Sirius in the arm that held the fang. Sirius fell backward to the forest floor, bare and undefended. The snake struck again and again, hitting Sirius in the chest before Harry could even think of what spell to use.
“Protego!”
Harry’s shield flashed silver in front of his godfather and Sirius slumped to the ground, red seeping from the wounds in his chest.
Nagini coiled in circles around her own body where the fang still nestled. Sickly yellow green blood oozed out of the wound.
“How?” Harry demanded as he took a step toward the serpent. How had the snake survived the strike with the basilisk fang? If it was a horcrux, then it should have died!
Nagini’s eyes focused on Harry once more, glowing red. Harry swore he could see Voldemort’s face superimposed upon the creature as it came toward him. Harry threw spells at it, backing away from the battle as the snake gained momentum, raising up and coming closer and closer.
A solid shape slammed against Harry’s back and he realized that he was up against a large tree, unable to escape the predatory advance of Nagini. Higher and higher the snake stood, looming before Harry. Just as it made the final lunge, a flash of silver shone and the great snake collapsed with a squelch at Harry’s feet, the severed head hitting his thigh.
Severus Snape stood before him; the Sword of Gryffindor glowed in his hands.
The two men, both breathing raggedly, watched each other for half a breath before Snape’s eyes went wide. A flash of green had struck him in the back. His eyes rolled backward, and he fell forward, landing on top of Nagini’s dead body, the sword tucked under him.
Harry looked up to see Voldemort’s face, twisted in fury, red eyes fixed on Harry with a look of disbelief.
The last thought Harry had before he raised the Elder Wand was...the snake is dead.
Xxxxx
With so much motion around him, Harry was surprised to realize that he felt as if he were stuck in slow motion or under water. Even sound seemed to have stopped while he stared at the monster who had plagued his nightmares for so long, invaded his mind, and killed so many innocents.
“How is this possible?” Voldemort asked. “How are you not dead?”
“Love,” Harry said simply.
“Love is not real,” Voldemort dismissed as he stepped closer.
“It’s as real as magic is,” said Harry. “As real as you or I. My mother’s love saved me.”
“An accident,” Voldemort dismissed. “Mere chance.”
“Choice,” Harry countered as he stepped over the dead bodies of Nagini and Severus Snape. “Everything comes down to our choices, Tom Riddle. My mother chose to die for me. I died for them.” He lifted his hand and indicated the Order who were beginning to gather around, watching the exchange. Spells were still flashing here and there, but the Order was prevailing.
“You did not die!” Voldemort said. “Dumbledore has somehow reached out from the grave to protect you. There is some spell…”
“Like your horcruxes?” Harry questioned. “The diary. The locket. The diadem. The ring. The cup. The snake. Me? I’ve destroyed them all. Well, I suppose that’s not true. You destroyed the last one when you killed me. I meant to die for them. It is enough.”
“Not possible.” Voldemort’s snakelike face twisted again, and his eyes flashed. “Not possible.”
“They’re gone,” said Harry. “And you know that. All that’s left is you and me, Tom Riddle.” They were circling each other now, everyone pressed in around them. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Luna Lovegood and Hermione pulling Sirius out of the way and hoped they’d be able to save him.
“Love did not save Severus Snape,” sneered Voldemort. “Your final protector.”
“Others would do the same,” said Harry. The images of the Order members and his friends flashed through Harry’s mind. “And it was love that saved Snape,” he said as he thought about it. “He loved my mother, didn’t he? That love caused you to hesitate in killing her, and it gave her the choice to protect me.”
“Love,” Voldemort scoffed again. He lifted his wand, but instead of pointing it at Harry, he spun and pointed into the crowd, right at Ginny Weasley. “Will love save her, Harry Potter? She is the one that you love, is she not?”
“Yes,” Harry said, answering both questions.
“No!” Mr. Weasley threw himself in front of his daughter, shielding her from Voldemort’s wrath.
Harry’s heart twisted inside his chest. “You see?” he said. “Love will save her.”
Voldemort grimaced and spun his wand back toward Harry. “Love is nothing but the dreams and desires of foolish, weak men, Harry Potter. It does not exist, it does not linger, it does not stay. Like all things, it fades away. All things do, except power.”
“Power fades,” said Harry. “It’s there one moment, gone the next. Look around,” Harry gestured to the clearing where the Death Eaters had been defeated. “Your time is up, Riddle. In the end, right always wins. The light prevails over darkness.”
“I am power,” Voldemort hissed. His eyes flashed, widening. “I will defeat you, and then my power will continue.”
“You know the prophecy,” said Harry, “neither can live while the other survives.”
Voldemort flinched and Harry realized that he knew something that Voldemort didn’t; he knew the full wording of the prophecy. “You could never get to it. Protections that others put in place stopped you every time, didn’t they?”
“You cannot defeat me,” Voldemort said. “I am too powerful.” His breathing hitched and Harry could imagine a spell building, practically feel it in the air.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
A blast echoed when the two spells collided, golden and green light clashing like great flames of light. Harry’s ears rang and he watched in awe as Voldemort flew backward, eyes wide slits of red light that closed as his body arched.
He slumped in a heap of robes, dead on the forest floor.
Harry glanced down at his shaking hand and the Elder Wand clasped in his fist. The killing curse had rebounded upon Voldemort, killing him. Harry hadn’t needed to utter the fatal words. It was Riddle’s own choices that had ended him, after all.
In the next second, Harry was buffeted by hands and arms, his ears still ringing with the clash of spells, he now heard faint cheers and screams. Arms wrapped around him and Harry struggled to keep himself upright.
“Ginny!” he called out, searching for her in the sea of faces surrounding him. He knew them all, but he needed to see the one.
Before he could call again, she was there, clinging to him and kissing him for all she was worth. He couldn’t breathe, but somehow that was alright, as long as he could feel her there.
From somewhere far away, Harry heard his name being called, but he didn’t want to listen.
“Harry!”
Hermione finally managed to pull Ginny from his grasp. “Harry, you’re hurt!”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically. His chest did hurt, and he was lightheaded, but that might have been the way that Ginny was kissing him, too.
Hermione huffed and rested her hands on her hips, looking so maternal that Harry wanted to laugh at her. “Harry, you need to be seen by Madam Pomfrey. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Harry said, rubbing at his chest. When he winced, Ginny sighed and took his hand, pulling him toward where the Hogwarts nurse was walking down a line of wounded, tending to each of them. He wanted to argue, to pull on Ginny’s hand and get her to kiss him again, but she seemed almost as determined as Hermione was. A firm hand rested on his back and Harry knew that Hermione was marching with them
As they walked, Harry got handshakes and hugs along the way. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to touch the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived Again. He didn’t know what to say to them, so mostly he just nodded along with whatever they said.
They walked past the place where Snape had killed Nagini, but the bodies were gone. “Snape,” he said, lifting his arm and pointing.
Ginny said, “McGonagall took him someplace safe.”
Harry nodded, but then another thought came to him. “Sirius!” He tugged on Ginny’s hand and stopped walking. “I have to find Sirius--”
“Tonks took him to St. Mungo’s, Harry,” Ron said. It had been his hand on Harry’s back, not Hermione’s. “He’s in rough shape, but Tonks will let us know…” He didn’t finish and Harry imagined how bad it was for Sirius. He’d been struck at least three times by Nagini. There was a very good chance that he wouldn’t survive. The thought made Harry’s chest hurt and he pressed his hand there, holding it to the wound.
Ginny gave him a tear-filled smile over her shoulder and tugged him into motion again.
They passed Mr. Weasley and Fleur, who were surrounding another on a stretcher.
“Bill!”
Harry barely recognized Ginny’s oldest brother; a great gash was carved in his face, through one eye. Magical sutures were holding it together, and there were human bite marks near his jaw and down his neck. Despite all of that, he smiled and attempted to sit up, only stopped when both Fleur and Mr. Weasley protested.
“It was you who held the ward and hid them,” Harry said in realization.
Bill nodded but looked to Fleur. “We both did. That was some amazing spell work, Harry.”
Fleur beamed at her husband, and then turned to Harry, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him right on the lips.
“You are amazing, Harry Potter! And I hear that you are to be my brother soon, no?” She pulled back with a little wink and Harry felt himself flush.
“You proposed?!” Ron gaped at him. “Not romantic at all, mate!”
Ginny giggled next to him as Harry shook his head. “I didn’t propose. I mean...not that I don’t want to marry Ginny… I mean...one day, if she wants…”
Mr. Weasley and Ron were both grinning at him. “Breathe, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley gently. “There will be time for all that now.”
When he said it, something seemed to click inside Harry and he took a deep breath, wincing when his chest expanded. He had time. They all did now.
“Yeah. We have time.”
Xxxxx
Madam Pomfrey sent him up to the hospital wing, but she at least allowed him to walk, as long as Ginny and Ron went with him.
Harry insisted on stopping now and again to talk to Order members and students who had fought and been injured, despite how tired he was. Too many were being covered with white sheets and levitated to the Great Hall, and Harry felt they were owed a bit of gratitude and respect for their sacrifice.
They passed Hagrid, who was carrying Neville. Harry’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled when he saw his friend in Hagrid’s massive arms.
“Neville?”
“I’m alright, Harry,” said Neville, despite the large bandage that covered most of his face. “Got hit with a blinding curse, but...I still took both Lestrange brothers down.”
“He’ll be fine,” Luna assured Harry as she passed by, levitating a stretcher with a seventh-year Ravenclaw on it. The girl was alert but cradling her arm and had a bandage on her leg, also.
“Good for you, Neville,” Harry said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.
The path up to Hogwarts was busy as people bustled back and forth. George and Charlie Weasley passed, and Harry was relieved to see them. George kissed Harry on the lips before dodging out of Harry’s arm reach.
Charlie guffawed greatly and then shrugged. “What the hell,” he mumbled as he, too, leaned in and kissed Harry’s lips. “Heard you and Ginny are getting married,” he said.
Ron was doubled over in laughter next to Harry. Harry, scowling, wiped the back of his hand along his mouth.
“I’d be careful, you two,” Ginny warned. “He’s not in the best mood, and after seeing what he did to Voldemort, you don’t want to piss him off, do you?”
Both Charlie and George pretended to back away in fright, bowing and begging forgiveness the entire way.
Ginny smirked at Harry and pulled him into motion again.
“Merlin,” Harry grumbled. “Everyone’s going to think I proposed before I ever get around to doing it.”
“One day,” said Ginny, “I’ll let you make an honest woman of me, Harry Potter.”
Ron gave a choked little grimace and looked away as Ginny leaned in toward Harry, a blazing look on her face. “But for now, we can just settle with getting you into a bed.”
Harry knew he was pushing his luck, but he pulled Ginny even closer. “Join me?” he asked.
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Ron grumbled. “You’re barely standing upright as it is, Harry. And you,” he said, rounding on Ginny, “might remember that Mum’s up in that hospital wing, so she’ll be keeping an eye on the both of you.”
Harry sobered at the mention of Mrs. Weasley. Before he could answer, however, Ginny tugged him forward. “Don’t get that look, Harry. Mum’s just fine. She stayed behind at the castle to tend to the wounded. She’ll be bossing everyone around when we get there, you’ll see.”
Harry nodded and let himself be taken inside the castle doors. He tried not to see the spell damage to the castle itself and reminded himself that magic could fix it.
Percy stopped them in the Entry Hall, going on and on about prisoner transports to the Ministry and such, but Harry couldn't seem to focus on him. His eyes were growing heavier and heavier. He leaned more and more on Ron, who slipped his arm under Harry’s and hoisted him up.
“Perhaps we can take a statement about what happened, Harry,” said Percy. He adjusted his glasses and then shook his head. “Later,” he clarified. “When you’ve had some rest. It’ll keep.”
Harry wanted to thank him, but felt more and more as if he were fading, sinking under water.
“Just a bit longer, Harry.”
Ginny’s words were the last thing he remembered.
Chapter 33: Chapter 33
It was the ticking and whirling that woke Harry. He blinked and wiped at his eyes, wondering when the hospital wing had changed into...the Headmaster’s office?Harry found himself sitting in the chair across the large desk from Albus Dumbledore. He was smiling at Harry and looked...younger and healthy!
“Professor!”
Harry sat more upright in the chair and fought the urge to launch himself at Dumbledore in gratitude.
“Hello Harry. I wondered when you might wake.”
“Am I awake?” Harry asked. He looked down and saw that he was wearing the scratchy, starched pajamas from the hospital wing. “I don’t remember going to sleep. Or maybe I died,” he said. Little bits and pieces of the past came to him, floating as if upon feathers, gently landing upon his mind.
But Dumbledore smiled even wider, his cornflower eyes twinkling at the corners. “To die, to sleep — to sleep, perchance to dream — ay, there's the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come.”
“Sir?”
“William Shakespeare, my boy,” said the Headmaster. “You will find that wizards do not hold the only magic in the universe. For words themselves can weave as powerful a spell on the human mind as a wand can.”
Harry nodded, unsure exactly what Dumbledore meant. “But...I did die,” he said. He remembered that now, remembered falling to the forest floor, feeling the green light of Voldemort’s spell envelope him.
“Yes, you did,” Dumbledore said.
“But I came back. I thought...I thought I would see you,” Harry said, “when I used the stone. I wanted to ask you...to confirm what Professor Snape told me.”
“I feared that by coming to you I might dissuade you from making a choice. Because it had to be a choice, you understand, Harry?”
Slowly, Harry nodded. He sat back in the chair and tried to count the times he’d been in this very spot, conversing with his beloved Headmaster. But his mind was still foggy. Could it be a remnant of the spell that Voldemort had cast, or was it something else, an effect of dying, or even whatever potions Molly Weasley poured down his throat?
“When did you know about the memory charm?” Harry asked.
“It was placed before your fifth year, I believe,” said Dumbledore. “Riddle was determined to conquer the wizarding world this time and, I have to admit, he was almost successful.” Long fingers steepled as he rested his elbows on his desk. The gesture was familiar, and Harry smiled at the warmth it brought him. “I suspected there was some spell work at play, but he was very clever. Very clever, indeed.”
“How did you know?” Harry asked. “Did it not affect you? In the memories, it seemed like you knew.”
“Oh, the charm worked just as well on me as anyone else, I assure you. But I have more experience with memory charms that some. I was able to notice…inconsistencies with my thoughts, ideas that did not seem to fit quite right. It was only after using the Pensieve to examine those memories that I was able to understand what was happening. That is why it took so long to break through with your own thoughts, Harry. The key was in questioning deeply, examining them and seeing the situation for what it was.”
Harry thought back to when Fawkes had appeared in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He and Ginny had been struggling for so long trying to figure out what was wrong with them.
“We had to break a barrier, of sorts,” Harry murmured.
“Exactly.”
They were quiet for a long minute as Harry thought about the damage the charm had done to so many people. Dumbledore sat back in his chair and looked out the window, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards in a fond smile.
“And the horcrux inside me?” Harry asked. “Is it gone?”
Dumbledore’s eyebrow lifted and he turned, taking Harry in. “Can’t you tell?”
Harry nodded immediately, knowing it had been a silly question. There was a difference inside him that Harry felt clear and distinct. He was different now. There was no longer a darkness inside him, clawing to get out.
They sat in silence for a long minute, the ticking of Dumbledore’s instruments marking time.
“You have no further questions for me, Harry?”
“I do.”
Dumbledore tilted his head, waiting for Harry to ask. But the only thing he could imagine asking was too horrible, too painful to imagine.
“You want to know why I died,” said Dumbledore, “or, more appropriately, how I did so.”
Harry jerked his head up and down. “I thought maybe...Snape…”
Dumbledore smiled. “Professor Snape was many things, Harry, but not my murderer.” He stopped speaking and a strange look came onto his face. “I died as a result of my own choices, Harry, much like you told Tom Riddle. It is our choices that reveal our true character. I’m afraid, Harry, that my choices revealed how weak I am when it comes to certain temptations. I could not resist placing the ring on my finger when I found it. I knew that it was a horcrux, and that it was cursed, but my own desire to see my family…” His words ran out.
“I understand, Professor.” The memory of seeing his parents and Remus in the forest was fresh and poignant.
“I knew you would, Harry.”
“You...you trusted that I could figure it all out,” said Harry. “Why?”
Dumbledore leaned forward, his lips twisting into a full smile. “Why would I not trust you, Harry?”
More warmth spread through Harry reaching down to his toes.
“I didn’t remember much of anything,” he admitted. “The memory charm worked well. Even Ginny knew more at first than I did, she just didn’t realize.”
“Yes, Miss Weasley has an extreme capacity for feeling, doesn’t she?”
“I’m in love with her,” Harry blurted out.
Dumbledore laughed. “That is good, Harry. Very good.”
“Do you think...do you think that I can be happy now?” Harry asked. “That Ginny can be happy now?”
“Were you happy before, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.
“Sometimes,” Harry said with a shrug of his shoulder. He stood, feeling the pull of something at his chest. His hand pressed there, holding the fabric of his pajamas in place until the ache went away and then he moved on bare feet toward a silver light that played in the cracks of a cabinet on the far wall. He knew what he would find inside and without asking permission, Harry nudged the doors open until he was looking at a Pensieve full of gossamer memories floating and giving off a brilliant light.
“Happiness can be found in the darkest of times,” said Dumbledore from beside him, “if one only remembers--”
“To turn on the light,” Harry finished. He looked up at Dumbledore’s face, lit with the shine of hundreds of glowing memories and thoughts.
“You will be happy, Harry. You and Miss Weasley both, because you have found the light inside yourselves.”
Harry thought about everyone who had been willing to stand up against evil for him, and the hundreds more that would have been willing, had they been given the chance. He thought of Mr. Weasley clapping him on the shoulder, George and Charlie teasing him, Bill smiling through pain and praising Harry’s curse breaking, Fleur calling him brother, Ron holding him upright, Hermione’s well-meant mothering, and Ginny’s smoldering look.
“I need to go back,” Harry said.
“To wake,” Dumbledore corrected. “You’re only asleep, Harry, but that doesn’t make this any less real, I promise you.”
“I need to wake up,” Harry said. He reached out to clasp Dumbledore’s hand one last time, but the fingers slid through Harry’s, disappearing into nothingness as the Headmaster’s office faded before his eyes.
Xxxxx
The ticking and whirling were gone, but there were distant noises when Harry opened his eyes. He recognized the smell of the Hogwarts hospital wing immediately, but there was a soft fragrance that was far more enticing not far away.
Ginny was curled up in the chair next to him, leaning forward on the bed, her head pillowed on her arms as she dozed.
The room was dark, lit only from the moonlight peeking in through the tall windows and playing along the buttresses and columns.
Harry was taken back more than three years to when he’d been here in this hospital wing and Ginny’d been the one in the bed, her pink toes with blue nail polish sticking out from under the blanket. Careful not to wake her, he lifted his hand and brushed his fingers along her temple, moving stray bits of hair away from her pale skin. So much had changed in those years.
Had he loved her then? He wasn’t sure because somewhere between then and now his memories had gotten so jumbled up with what he felt for her that it was hard to push them aside and analyze.
And, really, did it matter?
Ginny took in a deep breath and her eyes fluttered open, going wide when she saw he was awake. Wincing, she moved her arms toward him, careful to avoid his chest.
“You’re awake.”
“I love you,” he said.
Ginny chuckled. “I love you, too, crazy man.”
Their eyes locked and Harry leaned forward as much as he could, ghosting his lips along her nose and over her eyes.
“You’re here,” he whispered. “And you’re safe.”
Ginny’s fingers tugged at his pajamas, holding him to the bed as she nudged him over and lay with him. She twined their hands together.
“I’ve cried so much today.” Harry held his lips to her temple and hummed. “It was horrible watching you walk away and knowing...knowing that I had to let you go.” She hiccupped through a sob and pulled even tighter into him.
“Ginny--”
“You died, Harry.”
“Yes.”
“You died so that we…”
“Yes.”
Her free hand tucked into the space between buttons on his shirt and brushed against his chest, where it was tender. “You have a new scar.”
“I thought I might,” Harry said. He hadn’t thought much about it, but it made sense. “Dumbledore once told me that scars can be useful. Did you know he had one the shape of the London underground above his knee?”
Ginny snorted and shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that.”
They lapsed into silence and Harry twisted a lock of Ginny’s hair around and around his finger. There were people all around them, but the wing was silent and still. Harry guessed that it was the middle of the night. Absently, he noted that Mrs. Weasley and Madam Pomfrey were not up and bustling around, shoving potions down throats and wrapping bandages.
“You should be asleep,” Harry murmured. He settled more into the mattress, feeling the lumps and springs poke his backside.
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Harry smiled and closed his eyes, remembering a similar exchange not so long ago.
“We’re going to be happy now, Ginny,” he promised. “It’ll take time, and some work, but--”
Ginny lifted her head and kissed his chin. It was such a simple gesture, yet so intimate that it made Harry shiver with pleasure. “We already are,” she said.
“There’s still loads to do,” Harry said. “And we’ve lost so many people. Remus...Fred...even damned Snape.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.”
Harry told her about his dream of Dumbledore, and they lay in the darkness. There was an aching sadness, but Harry understood that there always would be in life. And maybe that was part of the sweetness of it all; he could appreciate the good because they’d lived through the bad.
“Go to sleep, Harry,” Ginny murmured to him. “I’ll stay here and watch over you.”
Harry let his eyes close and rolled onto his side, pulling her even further into his embrace. Her fingers rested over his heart, exactly in the place where his new scar stretched. But Harry could live with the scars, as long as he got to keep the memories.
Chapter 34: Chapter 34
“Harry?”Harry looked up from the runes he was enchanting to see Ginny enter their little flat. Her hair was windblown and there was a brightness to her cheeks and eyes. She set her broom in the corner of the room, tucked behind their cloaks and various things that hung on pegs near the door.
“I’m here,” he answered. She came close and he abandoned his work, turning to gather her into his arms. She was sun-warmed and smelled of fresh air, salty and pungent, and a little spicy.
“Still working on that?” she asked when she spied what he had spread all over the table.
“Just finishing up, actually. Anwar should be happy. He’s been after me to get this done before we leave.”
Ginny hummed and grabbed the glass of pumpkin juice he’d left on the table, drinking it down completely. “It’s getting hot out there. I’ll be glad to be back in England where the weather is cooler.”
“I’ll get you some more,” he said.
“No, I’m okay. I’ll make us something for dinner soon. I want to get the last of the boxes packed today and labeled for shipping.”
Harry watched her move through the narrow hallway toward the kitchen and mentally checked the list of things they needed to accomplish before they could return home in a few days’ time. They’d been gone much longer this time--nearly a year--and it would be good to get home.
Sirius had been owling weekly, giving them updates on the renovations to Grimmauld Place before their return. He’d been enthused about Harry’s suggestions to make the place more livable, but it turned out that he was pants at DIY, even with Ron pitching in to help. In the end, Harry’d suggested using a reputable wizard that Seamus Finnigan knew to get the work done. It was almost completed, and Harry couldn’t wait to surprise Ginny with a few little changes he’d made to their plans. Even Neville had done his part and filled the house with plants that he promised were perfectly harmless.
“I ran into that witch who Bill used to date here--”
“The tall, exotic one?” Harry asked.
“Right. Rumbidzai,” Ginny said from the other room. He could hear the whoosh of her summoning things from the cupboards and occasionally see a flash of her as she walked back and forth through the hallway. “She sent me a few things to take back to Bill for his classes--just some little Egyptian and African scrolls to show the kids.”
Harry turned back to his work, tidying up the magic surrounding the runes. “They’ll like that.”
“She was pretty surprised how settled down he was,” Ginny said with a little laugh. “Apparently, my brother was quite the man-about-town down here.”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s over now.” Ginny laughed and must have gotten distracted because her chatter stopped.
Bill Weasley was indeed settled. He and Fleur were doing wonderfully at Hogwarts and their two children were growing up, happy to be scarpering over the sand hills surrounding Shell Cottage. Bill, who showed no signs of lycanthropy other than a fondness for undercooked meat, had taken the post as Charms Professor after Filius Flitwick had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. The students thought his scars were wicked and more than one young witch had written him anonymous love letters.
He and Fleur had invited Harry and Ginny to stay with them during the months after the Battle and it had been what both couples needed. Bill and Harry would stay up late talking about curses, runes, and wards. Ginny found a sort of sisterly affection in Fleur, whom she’d always discounted as flighty and rather vain before. Shell Cottage gave them both the chance to get away without having to worry about anything for a bit.
And Harry’d decided what he wanted to do for a career there, with Bill’s guidance. He’d been offered the chance to return to finish Auror Training from Kingsley Shacklebolt, the interim Minister for Magic, but Harry’d turned it down. It wasn’t what he wanted at all; not anymore, anyway.
Bill had used his contacts in Egypt to get Harry established as a cursebreaker with a specialty in wards, and he and Ginny had been on the move ever since, bouncing from job to job, city to city, and even country to country. Ginny was happy to deal with the business end of things while leaving Harry free to poke around dark old caves, tombs, and cellars for wizards who needed particular warding work done.
And for a while, it had been enough, but the calling of home grew stronger and stronger. Every time they traveled back to England for a visit, it became harder to leave. Letters, although frequently exchanged, were not enough to quench the need for interaction and familiarity.
They’d decided just a few months ago that moving back to England, where they could start over again, would be the best idea.
“You’ll never finish if you keep getting distracted like that,” Ginny murmured as she set a plate of food down in front of him, nudging his work to the side.
Harry pulled her to him again and laid his head against her. “Just thinking about going home.”
Ginny smiled and rested her arms on his shoulders. “It will be good to be back.”
“You’ll have less stories to tell your nieces and nephew.”
She hummed. “And you’ll have less stories to tell Ron.”
Harry chuckled. “He does like a good story.”
“That’s because his job as an Auror is boring; even he admits it.”
Harry smiled when he imagined Ron, partnered with Tonks, milling about the Ministry. “There’s still plenty to do, you know. Just because we defeated Voldemort--”
“I know,” said Ginny. “Did you hear that Tonks is dating again?”
Harry took a bite of food as she asked and nodded his response.
“I hope she can find someone that makes her happy again,” Ginny said. She picked at the edges of his plate and Harry didn’t protest. He was used to it; she always claimed she wasn’t hungry, but then would eat half of whatever she made for him.
“Sirius went out with Josephine again.” The way she said the name told Harry everything Ginny thought about the woman.
He chuckled. “I know. He told me all about it.”
Ginny nudged him. “He always tells you the gross stuff.”
Harry snorted and gave a nod at the same time. Sirius was rather prone to overshare in his letters, but Harry was glad that his godfather was fully functional after spending weeks in hospital and months convalescing at the Burrow.
“Do you think it will be weird to be back there?” There was a hint of...something in Ginny’s voice. “We’ve been gone for years.”
“But not so out of touch,” Harry pointed out. Ginny’s family and their friends kept the Owl Post in business writing to the couple. It was almost every other day when Reseph, the little dark-haired, black-eyed son of the postmaster would run up the street toward their house with an envelope or two marked to Harry and Ginny Potter on the front. Harry would slip him a knut and a little piece of candy, loving the grin with missing teeth that would split the boy’s face before he ran away again down the narrow street.
“I suppose,” Ginny mused. Her fingers buried in his hair and Harry tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “We’ve been rather self-reliant, it’ll be strange to have people dropping in, wanting to get together--”
“Having someplace we can unpack boxes,” Harry said with a smile.
“We unpacked here,” she said, a little defensively. Harry recognized her shift in mood and wrapped his hands around her legs, pulling her to him.
“I know,” he said. “I love this place, but…”
“But it’s not home.”
They shared a smile and Harry let his hand drift upward, rubbing along the swell of Ginny’s belly that was just beginning to show.
“No, it’s not home,” he said. “And we need a good place for this one to play and learn to ride a broom.”
“Which you’ve already bought,” Ginny accused. “Reseph spilled the news of your purchase, Harry. He was delighted to be able to drag that little package up the street the other day, going on and on about Harry Potter teaching him how to fly, too.”
Harry felt his cheeks heat and he pressed a kiss to her belly. “I couldn’t help it. Ron sent me the latest Which Broomstick and I couldn’t resist when I saw those small ones. I paid Reseph an extra knut to keep quiet.”
Ginny chuckled. “I slip him an extra chocolate frog now and again to tell me all the good things you purchase behind my back. It pays to keep my informants loyal. Plus, he got a Harry Potter trading card last time, so he was over the moon.”
Harry chuckled. “I’m going to miss that kid.”
“Maybe we’ll have one just like him.”
“With Sirius around, no doubt that he or she will be spoiled rotten--”
“And completely corrupted,” Ginny agreed.
They looked at each other and sighed. “Happy?” Harry asked.
“Unbelievably,” Ginny said. “Now finish your work. There are more boxes to be packed and then I’ll let you rub my feet.”
“Lucky me.”
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story.