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SIYE Time:9:40 on 29th March 2024
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Don't Give Up On Me
By HappyHouriFanfic

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Death, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 173
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.
Hitcount: Story Total: 50274; Chapter Total: 1616
Awards: View Trophy Room






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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

Ha rry 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.”
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