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Now and Forever | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff, General, Romance Warnings: Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 238 Summary: Harry’s first year in Auror School and on the London Lions is marred by his memories of the war. Hitcount: Story Total: 143476; Chapter Total: 5517 Author's Notes: Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my fabulous betas, Alexander, Asad, Iris and Rich! Thanks too to Mark Anders Harrison for help with a Latin incantation, and Mike McKean for his help with a sports question! |
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The four friends entered the pub, chose a table and sat down. Harry and Ron helped the girls with their coats, then took off their own and hung them on the back of their chairs before walking to the bar to place their order. The man behind the bar, who was busy and had barely glanced up when they entered his pub, turned toward them now with a smile. “Yes, what I can I do for you gentle–” His voice trailed away as he stared at Harry. “Oh my stars. Harry Potter, here at last!” He reached across the counter, offering to shake Harry’s hand. “Welcome to Godric’s Hollow, Mr. Potter! We hoped you’d come.” Harry shook his hand. “Hello.” “Have you enjoyed your stay so far? Did you see your statue? It’s the newest one in the square.” “Yes.” Harry squirmed a bit, still rather uncomfortable about the statue. The man noticed Harry’s discomfort. “My apologies, Mr. Potter. I’m Ben Sheffield. I knew your father at school, may he rest in peace. Knew your mum too, but not as well as I knew your dad. He was a couple of years behind me, but I knew him even before Hogwarts, from his trips to town, of course. What a lovely man he was! And your mum–such a sweet woman. You look so much like James, it’s just amazing.” “Yes, I’ve heard that,” Harry said. He’d expected to meet some people who knew his parents, but now that he’d met one, he wasn’t certain how to react to the man’s enthusiasm. As he released Harry’s hand, Sheffield glanced at it and gasped. “Oh, no! I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, I wasn’t thinking when I shook your hand! I’ve read about those burns. Did I hurt you?” Harry looked down at the griffins and phoenixes branded into his palm by his wand during the final battle with Voldemort, then turned his hand over, hiding them from sight. “They don’t hurt anymore. It’s OK.” Sheffield seemed about to speak again, but Ron cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. “We’d like four cups of hot chocolate and we’d like to see your lunch menu, as well.” “Of course, Mr. Weasley! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready, shall I?” He handed them some parchment menus. “These are our regular meals, but I’m sure Doris has a steak-and-kidney pie nearly ready back there. Shall I check, Mr. Potter? We know that’s one of your favourites. She has fresh treacle tart, as well.” They know my favourite foods? They’re fans, then. Harry sighed. He’d hoped things would be different in Godric’s Hollow. He wished it was easier for him to accept that fact. Ron loved being recognized by people. Harry just didn’t enjoy the attention the way Ron did. He sighed again as he and Ron took the menus and went back to the table. “What’s wrong?” Hermione said when she saw Harry’s face. “They’re fans.” “What did you expect? You’re the local hero, after all.” She acted as if the situation was perfectly normal. Harry shrugged, feeling a bit disgruntled. “I dunno. I’d hoped–” “You can hope all you want, Harry,” Hermione said, practical as always, “but the truth is, you’re a hero. Wherever you go, in England and Scotland, anyway, you’ll be considered a hero by most people.” A fleeting smile crossed Harry’s face. “Maybe I should move to Australia. Nobody knows me there, and they do speak English.” “I wouldn’t mind visiting Australia,” Ginny said, “but I don’t think I’d want to live that far from my family.” Harry gave her a crooked smile and snorted. “I wasn’t serious, sweet girl. I’ll just have to bear up under all the adulation.” She patted his hand and smiled at him. “That’s my brave Gryffindor.” “Here you go, ladies and gents,” Mr. Sheffield said, handing around their hot chocolates. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?” “That steak-and-kidney pie sounded good,” Ron said. “Let me just nip out to the back and see if it’s ready,” Sheffield said, then disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he reappeared, a woman at his side. “This is my wife, Doris, Mr. Potter. She wanted to meet you.” She held her hand out to Harry hesitantly. Her husband pushed it down, whispering something in her ear. “Oh. I didn’t think of that,” she murmured, folding her hands together and looking uncomfortable. Harry wondered how often this kind of scene would be repeated, people offering to do the normal thing then hesitating because of the scars in his hand. He supposed it would go on for years, at least. He smiled and held out his hand, waiting for her to shake it. After a long moment’s hesitation, she finally took his hand very gently, just grasping his fingers briefly before letting go again. “It’s all right, Mrs. Sheffield. My hand doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s nice to meet you. The food smells delicious.” The woman dropped her eyes shyly, and blushed, then shook herself and looked at him directly, still blushing madly. “I have all your favourites! Just tell me what you want and you’ll have it in a jiffy!” Soon their orders were made and the four friends were left alone to chat while waiting for their food. “Harry, can you show me that house design spell again? Is it hard to learn?” Hermione said. “Dunno. I made it up a little at a time. It’s easy enough to show you how it works.” He pulled out his wand and touched the tip of it to the table top. “Let’s say this is your house, just the outline,” he said, drawing a rectangle in blue sparkling lines. “You’ll want a front door, an entrance hall, a sitting room with a fireplace, a kitchen, a dining room,” he said, drawing lines, squares or rectangles for each one as he spoke. “How about a toilet on the ground floor, too?” He looked up at Hermione, who nodded eagerly. “So here we have your ground floor. Now, if you want to move a room, you just touch your wand to the centre of that room and drag it where you want it to go.” He matched action to words, dragging the dining room across the house to where the sitting room was located. The entrance hall shivered a bit as he dragged the dining room through it. When he let go of the dining room with his wand, the sitting room popped into the vacated space on the other side of the house. “Wicked!” Ron said. “That’s wonderful!” Hermione added. “Yeah, it’s good fun, isn’t it? If you want a room to be bigger–let’s make the dining room bigger, since it will be holding a lot of Weasleys and some Potters, as well, at times. To change the size of a room, just touch the corner with your wand and drag it to make the room bigger or smaller. To change the shape, just touch the middle of one line and you can push or pull it to change the size.” “That really is like a computer program,” Hermione said. “It’s wonderful! And very easy to understand.” “I’m not finished yet,” Harry said with a teasing grin. “If you want to see how it will look in three-dimensions, just touch the edge of the house wall with your wand and lift.” He did so, and the ground floor of a house sprang up from the surface of the table. Harry jumped when he heard a susurration of “Oooooo’s” flowing around the pub. He glanced up and saw that, while he’d been concentrating on the house design, a large group of people had entered the pub. All of them were watching Harry and his friends. They gasped and cringed in their chairs, apparently trying to disappear or at least appear smaller, when he looked at them. “When did they come in?” Harry hissed. He felt like kicking himself. He’d relaxed, he’d actually relaxed, enjoying his friends’ delight in his spell. What if these people were dangerous to them? He’d let his guard down. He shook his head in frustration. “They came in while you were working on the house design,” Ginny replied. She showed him the tip of her wand, which she was holding beneath the edge of the table. “They’ve been coming in fairly steadily. I don’t think they’re a danger to us, Harry. They seem to just want to watch us, or you, really.” In truth, the pub was becoming more crowded by the minute, as more people came through the doors, standing around the walls when they found there were no more seats. “Big lunch crowd, eh?” Ron said with a teasing look at Harry. “If you bring crowds like this to all the businesses in town, you could make a good living just sitting in one shop after the other!” Harry felt Ginny take his hand under the table. “It’s good to see you really relaxed for a change,” she said. “Don’t worry, Ron and I were keeping watch while you and Hermione looked at your spell.” Harry squeezed her hand, grateful that she and Ron had both kept their heads while his was lost in the clouds of imagination. “Here you go, luv,” Doris said as she set Harry’s lunch in front of him. “And Miss Weasley–or is it Mrs. Potter now?” She set Ginny’s lunch down too. Ginny blushed. “Not yet. Soon.” When Doris began chatting to Hermione and Ron, Harry looked at Ginny and whispered, “Not soon enough!” which made her giggle. “Too right!” she agreed. The food was delicious, but it was strange to be eating with so many people just sitting or standing quietly around the pub, doing their best not to be caught looking at the four young people. When the last of the treacle tart plates were cleared away, Ben Sheffield stopped by their table again, twisting a dishcloth in his meaty hands. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Potter, but I wondered if you’d mind meeting someone?” Harry looked at the packed room around them. “Just one?” Ben followed Harry’s gaze and laughed. “Yes, truly, just the one. Would you mind?” Harry looked warily at the crowd ranged around the room. They’d maintained a respectful distance and stayed fairly quiet the whole time they were there. “OK.” Ben beamed. “Right, then!” He turned to an older man who had a purple porkpie hat in his hands. It clashed magnificently with his robes, which were a strange reddish colour with colourful depictions of planets moving around the fabric in various orbits. “Come along then, Chauncey. He’s agreed to talk to you.” Chauncey was a small man with white tufts of hair over his ears and extravagant eyebrows. He was bent with age, but his lively green eyes twinkled with good humour. “Mr. Potter,” Ben said with a rather formal tone, “may I present The Honourable Chauncey Burgess, the mayor of magical Godric’s Hollow.” Harry stood up and held out his hand. “Pleasure, Mayor Burgess. And it’s Harry, just Harry.” “Oh, my, Mr. Potter! What an absolute honour this is!” Burgess said, taking Harry’s hand in both of his. After shaking Harry’s hand much more vigorously than necessary, he released it and gasped when the brands on Harry’s palm caught his eye. “Oh, your poor hand! I’m–” “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Harry said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t worry about it.” The man relaxed visibly. “I’m glad it’s healed so well for you, Mr. Potter. But it will always be a reminder to all of us what you suffered for our sake.” Harry had no idea what to say to that, so he just stood there waiting to see what the man would say next. Burgess took a step back from Harry and turned toward the crowd a bit, opened a scroll of parchment and cleared his throat importantly. “It is my distinct honour to welcome home one of Godric’s Hollow’s own sons, Harry James Potter. I have here a proclamation prepared by the Village Council.” Harry remained standing, more uncertain than before. What was he supposed to do now? He looked at Ron, Hermione and Ginny for guidance, but they all shrugged, as clueless as he was. “Be it known that Harry James Potter, born in Godric’s Hollow from a long line of Godric’s Hollow residents, is this day being given the Freedom of the Village. This honour is bestowed on very few. With it comes the ancient privilege of carrying a naked sword in the village proper, should he choose to do so. The modern privileges we’ve added to that one include Mr. Potter’s ability to go to the front of any queue in shops, a ten percent discount in the Old Scroll Bookshop, a fifteen percent discount in Sheffield’s Pub, a fifteen percent discount in Smither’s Sweet Shop and forgiveness of any drunk and disorderly charges, including a free trip home, should he need it. If he should like to speak in any Village Council meetings, Mr. Potter will be given first place in the queue and a reasonable amount of time to speak. These privileges shall be in force all of Harry Potter’s life. Furthermore, today shall be known as ‘Harry Potter Day’ henceforward and shall be celebrated annually as a village holiday. Signed this day, etcetera, etcetera, and so on.” He offered the scroll to Harry, then held up a gold medal hanging from a purple ribbon. As short as he was, the mayor needed Harry to bend down to let him put the medal’s ribbon around Harry’s neck. Harry hesitated a moment, then bowed to the man’s sincerity, bending down low enough for the little man to slip the ribbon over Harry’s head and settle it around his neck properly. When he straightened up, scroll in hand, Harry had no idea what to say or do. The people in the pub stood watching him expectantly, their faces bright and excited, nearly leaning forward in their eagerness to hear whatever he had to say. “Erm . . . I had no idea you were going to do this. You certainly didn’t have to. But thank you.” The mayor beamed at him. “Mr. Potter, we knew you’d come to see your birthplace at some point in your life, especially once the war ended. We’ve had that proclamation and medal ready for quite some time, merely adding to it as you added glory to your name. And we made the medal gold instead of silver when you finally defeated You-Know-Who.” Harry shook his hand again, thinking that something about the little man reminded Harry of Professor Flitwick. Perhaps it was his size, but then again, his earnestness and enthusiasm were quite similar to his old Charms professor’s manner. “Would you like to say anything else, Mr. Potter?” the mayor said when he released Harry’s hand. “The whole village has come out to see you.” His arm swept around the pub, indicating all those gathered there. “The whole village?” Harry swallowed hard, then looked at the gathered throng again. He laughed nervously. “We were just saying what a good crowd this pub attracts at lunchtime.” The crowd laughed much harder than Harry’s lame comment deserved. Harry felt he needed to say something more important, but what? He blew out a nervous breath, cleared his throat and tried again. “Erm . . . I brought my fiancée and my friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley, to Godric’s Hollow today. I, um, wanted to see the place myself, to visit my parents’ graves and see my old house. I knew there was a village here, but I didn’t know what a pretty place it was. The square with all the statues is very impressive, and, erm . . .” He didn’t know what else to say. “Anyway, erm, thank you very much. I don’t expect to need that drunk and disorderly pass, but the discounts in the pub, book shop and sweet shop are much appreciated. Thank you.” He felt his face flame with embarrassment as he sat down. Had he ever sounded more lame? He didn’t think so. While the crowd applauded, Ginny murmured. “That wasn’t bad. Stop kicking yourself.” He turned and grinned at her. “You know me too well.” She looked rather pleased with herself. “Yeah, I do.” People began to approach the table then, offering to shake hands with each of the four friends, and often telling Harry they knew his parents, his dad, or his grandparents. “Actually, you and I are cousins,” one woman said, smiling at him. “My mum was your great-grandfather Potter’s sister, so that makes us cousins of some kind.” Harry gasped. “I didn’t think I had any family left except Dumbledore.” “Oh, my dear, I think all the wizarding families are related somehow. Godric’s Hollow doesn’t have anyone by the name of Potter living here anymore, but you do have loads of distant relatives.” She patted his hand and smiled. “You’re not an orphan anymore. You have family here.” She turned to the crowd around her, queued up neatly now to meet Harry and his friends. “How many of you are related to the Potters?” Quite a few hands went up. “Be sure you tell him how you’re related, then. It’s time he knew his family!” She turned back to him. “There you go, love. An instant family reunion.” Harry felt both shock and a bright bubble of joy forming inside him. I have relatives here! He had no idea why the thought had never occurred to him. Overcome by a variety of emotions he couldn’t name, it took him a moment to reply. “That . . . that means a lot to me.” “I thought it might. Any time you want to hear stories about your relatives, just let one of us know.” One by one, people introduced themselves and told him how they were related to him. Harry knew he’d never keep them straight, but he saw Hermione taking notes. He flashed her a grateful smile as he shook the hand of the next person in line. He glanced over at the woman who’d told him he had relatives. She had black hair like his, but it was shot through with silver. Would his hair look like that when he was older? He realized she had his chin. No, wait. He had hers. He shook his head, amused at the paths his brain was following. Many of those who now introduced themselves as relatives had some feature he recognized from his own face or his dad’s. The rest of the afternoon was spent in hearing all kinds of tales of his father as a boy, James and Sirius as teenagers and the antics they got up to, and James and Lily as young married people. Only a few people told him about the beautiful little boy James and Lily were so proud of–not many of them had been allowed to visit after the Potters went into hiding. Harry learned that he’d had a toy broom–a gift from Sirius–that he rode much too fast, terrorizing the family cat and keeping James and Lily busy trying to keep up with him even before he could walk well. When the crowd finally thinned a bit, Harry asked the church pastor, who was one of the last to introduce himself, “What happens to the stuff that’s piled on my parents’ graves?” “We have several storage boxes filled with the cards and letters. Would you like me to send them to you?” “Erm . . . I dunno.” “You’ll want the parchments, Harry,” Ginny said. “Someday you may want to read them.” He thought a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, OK. But not for a while, all right?” “We’ll be happy to save them for you, Mr. Potter.” “Thank you. And thanks for taking care of things for so long.” Harry looked around at the people gathered in quiet clusters around the pub. The wonderful stories he’d heard from those he’d met, the warmth and kindness people had shown him and his friends, were overwhelming. And once they’d met him, everyone had backed off and left him alone. No fannish behaviour, even among the younger people. They treated him with respect bordering on awe. Hopefully that would fade into more normal feelings over time, but still, Harry thought he was going to like living in Godric’s Hollow. He had real, blood-related family who knew his family’s history, who'd known his parents. He had a place where he felt he belonged at last. |
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