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Accepting Love | ||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Ron Weasley Genres: Angst, Drama, Fluff Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 7 Summary: Accepting and expressing love comes naturally to some, but is a hard-fought journey for others. Our hero, I'm afraid, falls in the latter category. This is a short one-shot about Harry's first steps in his pursuit of happiness. Hitcount: Story Total: 1591 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Hello. This is my first and probably last attempt at a fan fic. I love to read but by no means am I a writer. I hope some of you read it and at least one of you enjoys it. Stay safe out there! |
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“Mr. Potter.” Minerva McGonagall’s crisp intonation cut through Harry’s thoughts, bringing him back to the morning of May 5th, 1998, and his forgotten plate of eggs, bangers, and mash. He glanced up to see her peering at him, her expression impassive but for the weariness in her eyes. “I apologize for interrupting your breakfast, but this is important. If you would please follow me, I’d like to have a word.” Nodding, Harry stood from his seat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked at him with sympathy and Ron just shrugged. Ginny, however, looked murderous at having Harry’s feeble attempt at eating disrupted yet again by seemingly urgent matters. Forestalling her protests, Harry gave her a quick smile and followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall. Matching McGonagall’s brisk pace to the Headmistress’s office, Harry could scarcely hear victory cheers from the inhabitants of the paintings along the way, charred though some of them were. Even Sir Cadogan’s rallying cries, as he cantered from one frame to the next, could not diffuse through the resignation filling him. Harry knew his request was about to be denied. Past the dislocated statue of the disgruntled gargoyle and up the spiral staircase, Harry tried to think of a contingency plan. Too soon, he was sitting across the newly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s plush throne had been replaced with a lightly padded, straight-backed chair. The bowl of Sherbet Lemons was missing. Instead, Harry was offered a tin of biscuits from which he politely took one. Getting straight to the point, McGonagall said, “Mr. Potter, I was surprised to see your name on the list of individuals who have requested to stay at Hogwarts until they find more permanent homes.” While Harry always appreciated her candor, McGonagall’s words were an unwelcome reminder. If only he could trade all his gold and fame for just that — a home. “Professor, I will not go back to Privet Drive even if it weren’t wrecked by Death Eaters. Grimmauld Place is unlikely to be in much better condition since Yaxley followed our apparition there.” With resignation seeping into his voice, Harry added, “And I… I’d rather not camp out in a tent again any time soon.” “I am not suggesting you live with your blasted relatives or stay alone at that morbid Black house, even temporarily!” McGonagall snapped. She continued in a softer tone, “Harry, could you not live with a friend? Mr. Weasley, perhaps? Arthur and Molly would love to have you stay with them.” The only thing that will help mum is being back home at the Burrow, with just her family around her. I’m telling you, mate, the buggering outsiders are driving her deeper into her depression. In his reminiscence of Ron’s words from the other day, Harry almost missed hearing McGonagall swear for the first time in the seven years he had known her. But he most certainly did not miss the protectiveness in her voice or the concern in her eyes. Had that always been there? How could he have failed to notice? Painful as it was for him to admit, Harry knew he owed Professor McGonagall the truth. “Professor, I… The Weasleys have done so much. They have given so much. I couldn’t ask them of this obligation, not this soon after losing Fred.” If Minerva McGonagall disagreed with Harry’s assessment, she could not possibly say so. Hogwarts would not close its doors to Harry Potter, not while she served as the Headmistress. With a firm nod, McGonagall said, “Harry, you will always have a home at Hogwarts. I will see to it.” Relief flooding him, Harry thanked her and moved to leave the office. Just as he reached the doorway, he heard McGonagall’s voice call out to him. “Oh, and Harry, it’s Minerva now,” she said, a smirk tugging on her lips. “Unless of course, Ms. Granger has convinced you to return to Hogwarts with her this fall.” Giving her a small, sheepish smile accompanied by a shake of his head, Harry hurried to the Common Room. Over the last three days, it had become the natural gathering place for the youngsters of the Weasley clan, Neville, and Luna. Harry fervently hoped he could spend a few hours with his friends before they left for their homes that evening. Reaching the portrait guarding the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry said, “Healing.” Flashing him a beatific smile, the Fat Lady raised her goblet in salute. The portrait swung open, and Harry stepped inside to a cacophony of questions. “It was just some Ministry paperwork, Hermione!” “No Charlie, she didn’t profess her undying love for the saviour of Hogwarts.” And then, he was handed a treacle tart wrapped in a napkin, thereby effectively silencing the inquiries. “Thanks, Gin.” As Harry ate his pastry in peace, he was happy to listen to the banter. In no time, the sun had made its way across the sky on the clearest of days, and they had talked of nothing and everything. Eventually, each member found his or her preferred spot in the room. Bill and Fleur sat on the love seat by the window, whispering words of comfort. Charlie regaled George in the corner with yet another story about Norberta, the latter’s smile never really reaching his eyes. Noticing the hour, Luna and Neville said their goodbyes with somber promises to meet at the funerals and memorials scheduled over the next two weeks. Hermione began setting up tea for the elder Weasley couple, a ritual she had carried out every day since the evening of May 2nd. Arthur could often be found in the Common Room for short durations, but Molly left their room on the second floor of the Girl’s Dormitory only once a day for less than an hour. While Arthur drank his tea every evening, Molly’s cup had been left untouched so far. She had scarcely spoken twenty words since Fred died. Hermione, however, was determined to keep trying, and she wanted to get the tray service ready before the elder Weasleys came downstairs. Finally giving in to Ron’s pleas to play a game of Chess, Harry agreed on the condition Ginny could partner with him. While Ron set up the chessboard facing Harry’s chair by the fireplace, Ginny sank down on the floor by his chair, leaning against the side of his legs. Her left arm was draped casually along his right thigh. But her hand was placed tactically on his knee. With a gentle caress or a slight squeeze, Ginny could affect his moods, his actions, and his impulsiveness. He was well aware of the effect she had on him, but he could not begin to wonder how she could read him so perfectly. Just at that moment, there was a flash of bright light in the room. Bill and Fleur sprang out of their chair. Charlie and George spun to face the interruption. There was a sound of shattering china accompanied by a squeal from Hermione as boiling water splashed on her bare hands. With a resolute expression, Ron leapt in front of Harry’s chair, the chess pieces grumbling from where they were strewn by the fireplace. He glanced over his shoulder and was almost thrown off guard. Harry had his wand pointing straight at the source of the impending attack. A shimmering, almost transparent bubble encased the light. Ginny stood directly in front of Harry. Her arms were spread far out, with Harry’s right arm crossing above Ginny’s shoulder. The light then transformed into a silvery tabby cat with square spectacles markings around her eyes. The adrenaline left the room as rapidly as it had spiked for all but two. Harry’s arm was still pointing straight, and Ginny was still standing defiantly, her arms held out wide. Finally, as the cat spoke in Minerva’s voice, Ginny put her hand on Harry’s elbow. In response, the raging storm in his eyes began to wane and his shot nerves started to settle. He lowered his arm, and the wand disappeared up his sleeve, ready to be drawn at the blink of an eye. “Harry, your room is ready. Please allow my Patronus to lead you to your quarters. Winky will be delighted to transport any of your belongings that you don’t wish to move personally.” Before Harry could respond to the questioning gaze from the others, a voice seldom heard prompted everyone to turn around. “What room?” Molly’s words were spoken softly. Yet, there was an underlying fury in her tone. Her eyes seemed focused for the first time in days, their ever-present grief replaced with... hurt. At any other time, Harry would have been ecstatic to see a surge of life in Mrs. Weasley. Now, his happiness was conflicted with fear, remorse, and confusion. This time, Molly was staring him dead in the eyes, demanding an answer to her question. Why did he feel like he had disappointed her in some grave manner? “My room, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answered, his gaze lowering to stare at the scuffed tips of his trainers. “Son, you already have a room at your home.” Harry looked up quickly to see Arthur standing behind Molly, his hands on her shoulders. It was easy to tell from where Ron got his stature. Standing on a higher step, Mr. Weasley towered over his wife even more than usual. But, of course, Harry had witnessed first-hand the wrath of the Weasley matriarch, and he knew size was no guarantee of power when it came to the Weasley women. Finding it easier to form more than two-word responses to Arthur, Harry said, “Sir, it will take me a few weeks to get Sirius’s house patched up. The room at Hogwarts is just until I can move in to my ho— uh, there.” At Harry’s words, Arthur’s expression cleared from confusion to understanding. Molly, however, looked just as angry as before. “Harry, Dad isn’t talking about Grimmauld Place,” Bill said softly. Before Harry could respond, Arthur said, “You will live at your home, Harry. Our home.” “But Sir —“, Harry started but stopped, glancing at Ron quickly. Ron caught the misgivings felt by his best mate. His ears turned bright red as he recalled the poorly crafted statements he had made yesterday. But then his embarrassment turned to shock. You have no family! His words from many months ago, hurled uncaringly at his brother in all but blood, came back to him, and he suddenly felt sick. Disgusted at himself, he cried out, “Harry, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” “Ron, it’s alright, honestly. Your family has done so much for me. And I may have overstepped in the past, but I accept my lot. And frankly, I do have a lot to be grateful for. I have Teddy. I’m fi—“ “I may not have given birth to you, but I couldn’t love you more even if I had. Do you hear me, Harry James? I love you.” Molly’s words cut through Harry’s soul like fire. Time seemed to stop still. Harry, Mama loves you. “We both do, Son.” Dada loves you. Harry closed his eyes, wincing them shut tight against the hot tears that threatened to spill. Just as he felt like his knees would give way, he felt a small hand slip into his own. Soft fingers squeezed his palm and a thumb brushed across his knuckles. He moved his head to the right and blinked his eyes open. The beads of moisture on his long eyelashes were invisible to all but one. He stared into her eyes. Eyes he had believed he would never see again. Eyes that graced the face which was his final thought before he had welcomed Death. Harry, you are so loved. Be safe. Be strong. And for the first time, Harry understood. He was being granted his heart’s deepest desire. A wish he had buried deep, lest he dwell on dreams and forget to live. Live to fulfill his task as a tool before meeting his Final destiny. For Harry, it had been a dream he was conditioned to feel he did not deserve. A longing that had always been accompanied by overwhelming guilt, to be given into only during the darkest of nights. As a man who had been bestowed upon a profound treasure, Harry searched in himself for the ability to reciprocate. What he found astonished him. The first step he must take alone. But then he would have help in this journey. Harry released a breath he had not realized he was holding and gazed intently at Ginny. She had to be the first to know that which he did not yet have the courage to convey with words. Two heartbeats passed, and a dazzling smile blossomed on her face. Her eyes sparkled with a sheen brought about from intense happiness and pride. She knew. Then, she quirked an eyebrow, set her mouth in a determined line, and tilted her head imperceptibly towards her parents. She had thrown the gauntlet. A challenge. An opportunity for him to learn and her to guide. Steeling his resolve, Harry turned. He found Molly’s eyes, so very much like her daughter’s chocolate brown. And for the first time in his seventeen years, Harry James Potter spoke out loud the words, “I love you, too.” |
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